The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S9E04

Episode Date: May 28, 2017

It's episode 04 of Season 9. On this week's show we have five tales about escaped evil, horrifying heritage, and conjured creatures. "The Field"‡ written by M.J. Pack and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Jeff Clement & Nichole Goodnight & Jesse Cornett. (Story starts around 00:03:30) "The Capacity For Evil"† written by Garon Cockrell and performed by Peter Diseth & Mike DelGaudio & Atticus Jackson & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 00:33:20) "Feed Them, Leave Them, or Free Them"† written by Emily Lynch and performed by David Ault & James Cleveland & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 00:58:30) "The Bald Man"† written by Connor Muldowney and performed by Nikolle Doolin & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 01:16:20) "Banshee"† written by Leo Harrison and performed by Dan Zappulla & Kyle Akers & Nichole Goodnight. (Story starts around 01:41:45) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about M.J. Pack   Click here to learn more about Garon Cockrell   Click here to learn more about Emily Lynch   Click here to learn more about Connor Muldowney   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ "Banshee" illustration courtesy of Jörn Heidrath 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 storytelling podcast. Our tales are dark and disturbing, intended to shake you up. Listen at your own risk. We are all around you. And tonight's there will be, brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us.

On this week's show, we have five tales about escaping, evil, horrifying heritage, and conjured creatures. It's my pleasure to welcome back two friends of the show for this week's episode. I've mentioned in the past that my favorite podcast is not, in fact, this one. I don't really care for this one. The host is annoying. But rather, it's the Jimmy Pardo comedy podcast called Never Not Funny. One of the cast members on that podcast is the intern Garen Cockrell. Longtime fans of No Sleep may recall a story we did of Garen's back in season three called Eggs. Well, Garen has penned not only a new tale that we're proud to adapt for audio, but he also is close to completing his second horror novel. I'll be sure to bring it to your

attention when it comes out. So welcome back, Garen. We're thrilled to have another one of your stories on our show. And joining us to perform in Garen's story is Peter Dyseth of TV's Better Call Saul and our season 8 finale. It's a pleasure to have you back with us, Peter, and a thrill for me to be able to act with you, albeit from two different countries thousands of miles apart. Probably more pleasant for you that way. And finally, since I've already mentioned Never Not Funny and Better Call Saul, I want to give a hearty recommendation for the return of the TV series Twin Peaks. I was a huge fan of the original series, and it's great to see what creator David Lynch is doing with the new series. I know it's not a show for everyone, but since you're a

fan of horror and odd, disturbing storytelling, you really should check this out. It's weird, freaky, trippy, and brilliantly unsettling. Lynch's visuals and sound design are worth experiencing. I find myself mesmerized by it. So there you go, lots to see and hear. And speaking of hearing, we have our stories ready for your ears, so let's wait no further and kick off this week's show. In our first tale, we meet a woman who decides on a new career path in the world of paranormal investigation. But as we learn from author MJ Pack, when she decides to consider a tragic event from years past, she discovers that some memories don't just linger, they invade. And please note, while this story takes place in the supernatural,

realm, it might be a good idea to check the show notes on our website for the trigger warnings, especially for parents. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Jeff Clement, Nicole Goodnight, and Jesse Cornett. So leave the past in the past, especially if you venture onto the field. I'd been dreaming about it for a few weeks. A guy I went to high school with told me about the place. I don't know, maybe 11 years ago. I didn't know him very well, but I was the girl who liked spooky shit, so Sean pulled me aside during chemistry class and told me there was an abandoned field down by the old industrial complex.

It's totally haunted. A long time ago, right before the factories were built, there was a little school there. The field was its playground. supposedly something really bad happened and all the kids died during playtime right there in that field what happened there's a lot of different stories sean was keeping a wary eye on our elderly professor who might figure out we weren't exactly filling out our periodic table worksheets some people say it was a psychopath, just went through the playground and blew them away one by one.

Others say it was an explosion at one of the factories. Wait, I thought you said it was before the factories were built. He waved me off the way you'd shoe a fly. I can't remember, who knows. Anyway, like 20 kids died all at once. And that kind of stuff makes some real bad juju, man. So what goes on down there? Periodic table be damned.

I had to find out more about this place. I don't know. Haunted shit. I heard people who go down there lose their minds. My older brother told me about it, and I knew you'd want to hear. I did. I did want to hear. More importantly, I wanted to go there.

But I didn't have a car yet. and there was no way my parents would let me go somewhere like that, especially at night, which, of course, was the only way to go to places where haunted shit went down. But before Sean could continue, crotchety Mr. Christopher caught us in the act, and we had to return to our stupid old worksheets in silence. I don't know what happened between then and now. Maybe a boy caught my attention. attention, or I had to buckle down and study after failing the test on the periodic table,

or more than likely, I was a dumb scatterbrains teenager and I just forgot about it. I graduated, moved away to college, did the whole grow up and get a real job thing. It sucked. I bobbed along on the sea of life, marginally succeeding at my desk job until one day, deciding I'd had enough. I couldn't sit through one more meeting that could have been an email. So I quit.

I went to a Starbucks and sat there with my rapidly cooling latte and wondered just what the fuck I was going to do with myself. I was 27. Young enough to change the course of everything, but at the same time, not getting any younger.

It was my moment, I knew. My one chance to do what I wanted. And what did I want to do? What had I always wanted to do? If I was really honest with myself, I wanted to be a paranormal investigator. Don't laugh. It's a real thing.

I've always been fascinated by the dark, The so-called other side. But I'd never had an actual... Experience. I wanted that experience. That was my moment. I had enough saved up in the bank to invest in some decent equipment.

Digital recorders, EMF reader, thermal camera, spirit box. And I put an ad on Craigslist looking for a partner. Anne responded right away, and we started Girls Gone Ghostly Paranormal Investigation. Don't blame me, the name was Anne's idea. Over the last two years, we built up a reputation for ourselves. We went all over the country, once even to a Scottish castle, in search of paranormal proof. And you know what?

We hadn't found a fucking thing. Not one thing. But that's just it. The money is great. People pay exorbitant amounts of cash to have us come out with our equipment and figure out what's been going bump in the night. And girls gone ghostly? Well, we won't lie to you.

We won't sugarcoat it. The whaling you hear in your basement is a faulty water heater. When you catch the fleeting scent of old tobacco, it's your neighbor smoking a cigar on his front porch. Those cabinets that keep popping open, they're shitty fucking cabinets. Your house is a hundred years old. Get new cabinets, you idiot. That's why we make them pay up front. But then, a few weeks ago, the dreams started.

Nothing much happened in them. I was just standing alone at the top of a hill, dry, bleached grass under my feet, staring down at a little patch of fenced off land, a little field. All around me towered ancient monstrous factories. That was it. Just me staring at this field. and then I'd wake up. I found myself thinking about it more and more, wondering what the dream could mean,

when out of nowhere I remembered that afternoon with Sean in Mr. Christopher's chemistry class. It was the haunted field, the one Sean had told me about. It had to be. I blew off some whiny old lady who was convinced that her childhood doll was possessed. Because yeah, sure it is, and scheduled a trip to my hometown. I told Anne we had a freelance project, went vague on the details,

and asked her to pack up our gear in her little PT cruiser. It took us a few days to get there, and every night I dreamt of the field. When we arrived at the industrial complex, Anne realized she forgot her spirit box. It's this little thing. Kind of looks like a handheld radio, and it's got all sorts of words in an electronic bank inside. Spirits are supposed to use their energy to pull out the words they want to communicate.

Like I said, this is all bullshit, but it's my favorite because sometimes it says the most random stuff, and it makes me laugh. We need the spirit box. I don't do sessions without. it. That thing is hilarious, especially when I'm bored. You're always bored. So true. Go back to the hotel and grab it. I'll just get started alone. Anne chanced a quick look around the place. It was almost midnight. Are you sure? You're kind of out in the open. There could be like homeless

guys or something. I flashed her the mini can of mace on my keychain. I'll be fine. Just get the spirit box and come back. We might actually get something this time. Because of your dreams? Yeah, maybe. Anne turned the key, starting the car up, and looked at me again. Does it look like you dreamt it? I glanced down the hill, the factories, the bleached grass, the little fenced off section, the field. Yeah. Go, hurry up. You don't want to miss anything good. I sat down on the grass on the top of the hill and started unpacking my gear. It really did look exactly like I'd dreamt it, but I was unfazed. For all I knew, I'd seen a picture of it somewhere. On the internet, maybe.

In this line of work, you learn pretty quickly that most things people chalk up to miracles or paranormal activity are just coincidences. Boring old coincidences, nothing more. I was turning on the thermal cam when I saw it. A flicker of movement just beyond the rusty old, road-closed signs near the factory. In the field, behind the fence. Quickly, I aimed the thermal cam towards the spot I had seen the movement. The screen remained dark, no spots of heat in sight.

I waved my hand in front of it. My fingers glowed red, hot, orange, and yellow at the edges. The camera was working. Probably a plastic bag or something. Then I saw the movement again. Much too big to be a plastic bag. I waved the camera over the spot. Nothing.

I got to my feet, shouldering the bag of gear and began walking down the hill. Don't worry, I didn't yell out hello or anything, because I'm not an idiot in a horror movie. I'm a very different kind of idiot. As I got closer to the fence, my heart began to pound. Was this it? Was I finally going to have the experience that I was. I'd always wanted? Wash away my cynicism with a real brush with the paranormal? You can imagine my disappointment when I got close enough to see it wasn't what I'd hoped. It was Sean. Sean from

chemistry class, the one who'd told me about this place to begin with. He was standing there, staring at me with a slack, blank face. Right away, Something felt wrong. Sean? His expression didn't change. Oh, hey Margo. I put the thermal cam in my bag. What the fuck are you doing here, man?

I threaded my fingers through the chain-link fence that separated us. I couldn't really see how he'd gotten in. The whole area was sectioned off, and there didn't seem to be a gate. I haven't seen you since high school. I told you about this place, didn't I? His freckled brow furrowed slightly. I think you were the last one I told. Yeah, you told me about it.

That's why I'm here. I do paranormal investigations now. I thought... You've been dreaming about it. How did he know that? What are you doing in there, Sean? How'd you get in there? He responded in the same dull tone, one that sounded like he was hypnotized or something.

I went after graduation. I got drunk and wanted to go, but no one wanted to go with me. So I came here by myself. I'd been dreaming about like I had to. I felt around in my bag for my cell phone. Do you want me? to get someone? I can call someone for help. No. He seemed to pause to think. That's right. You were the one I told about this place. It makes sense. It makes a lot of sense. Sean started to walk towards me.

I stopped digging and put my fingers lightly on the mini can of mace. Are you drunk now, Sean? to keep my voice calm. Why the fuck had I sent Anne to leave me by myself? He still walked towards me with a slow, measured gait. I haven't been drunk in a long time. Long time. What took you so long, Margo? What took you so long to get here?

He pressed his face up against the chain-link fence between us. I took a panicked step back. And suddenly, I realized what was wrong. I had recognized Sean because he looked exactly like he did in high school. Same mess of red hair. Same gap in his front teeth. Same pudgy face that hadn't lost its baby fat yet. But that wasn't right, because it had been 11 years since I'd seen him. Right? What's going on here? I was rapidly losing my fight to appear unafraid. It gets in your head. Even if you'd leave, you don't leave.

Not really. Not ever. Bad ju-choo, man. Just like I told you. I began backing away slowly. I pulled the mace out of my bag and held it in front of me. Don't come any closer. That was unnecessary because he was behind the fence and I wasn't.

It only took me two weeks. Sean went on like I hadn't even spoken. Two weeks and every night the dreams got a little worse. And it wasn't even when I was dreaming. It was when I was awake. I glanced over my. shoulder to look for Anne's blue PT cruiser. And when I looked back, Sean was standing right in front of me. I was so taken off guard, I tripped over my own numb feet and fell onto the prickly

bleached grass. My bag overturned and gear scattered everywhere. Sean just stood there. They tore down the schoolhouse after. I don't know. Who put up the fence, but the schoolhouse? It was right over there. He pointed to an empty square of land adjacent to the fenced-off field. Margo, they screamed. They screamed when he did it. He shot their legs first so they couldn't get away.

Then he went around one by one and picked them off. They were easy, like drowning a bag of puppies. But they screamed, hearing them scream. Until one day. Sean's lips finally split into a smile, showing me that gap between his teeth. It wasn't a nice smile. I got the pills from my mom's room. She took lots of pills.

She'll see, and never threw them away, even if she didn't eat them. I swallowed as many as I could and just slipped away. He made a flowing motion with his hand, a boat bobbing on the ocean. What he was saying, it didn't make any sense. I tried scrambling backwards, not wanting to take my eyes off him, but he just followed me. I thought that was how I could make it stop. But instead I ended up here. The field wants more.

He couldn't get enough the first time, but you're here now. So I think I think I can go. He stopped, grimacing, and looked just past me. At the hill I'd descended. Can I go now, please? What are you talking about? He pointed. Sure.

Always preferred girdless. Much prettier. Get out of here, you little freckle fuck. Seen enough of your face anyway. Sean closed his eyes, and then he was gone. I began to turn towards the sound of the voice. And suddenly there was a flicker of darkness right in front of my face. A weight descended on me, and all at once I couldn't breathe.

There was someone on top of me, and I couldn't breathe. My vision went hazy for a moment, then cleared as the pressure let up a little. Sorry, get excited when there's fresh meat. It was a man, probably late 30s if I had to guess. with wild, dark hair. Stubble was spread unevenly across his chin and upper lip. One eye was black, the other an odd, milky white. His shirt was a ragged, ancient-looking thing,

like he'd stepped out of a yellowed mugshot. He was grinning. Get the fuck off me! I grabbed wildly for my can of mace. The man seized. me by the wrists and pinned my arms above my head. Funny. You usually can't get this far inside their heads till some time has passed.

Definitely don't get to talk to them until they're on the other side. You gone looking for trouble, princess. That hit? Get the fuck off me! Tears of hysteria prickled at my eyes. The prince is gone looking for trouble. Poorly. I began screaming for help, and his grin just got wider.

He shook his head a little like he was witnessing a naughty child with their hand in the cookie jar. Oh, no, princess, no one can hear. We's alone out here. Now the freckle face is gone. You're here to play. Won't that be fun? Have yourself a real good time in the playground? He paused, then added.

But that's once you're behind a fence, of course. I inhaled deeply to scream again, and he placed a grimy palm over my mouth. I could smell something on his skin, something old and smoky, like gunpowder. I'm going to let you go. I felt my limbs go limp with relief. But not really. Freckle face told it right. He tapped my forehead with the tip of his index finger.

I'm in here now. Real didn't I've ever been before, I'd reckon. Because you's looking, looking harder than the others. I stared at him, unable to do anything else. You wanted this bad, didn't you, princess? The man wondered aloud, then leaned his nose into my hair and inhaled deeply. I wanted this real bad. I shook my head.

The movement was restricted slightly by his palm. After a moment of thought, he took it off my mouth. Please let me go. I already told you I was going to let you go. He smiled again, revealing rows of black. teeth. Just not really. You'll go home.

You'll leave the field, but not ever. Won't be long till you hear the screams. I stared at him, heart thudding thick in my throat. He leaned close to me until we were almost touching noses and said. Because the screams were my favorite part. The tears welling up in my eyes finally. gave way and slid down my cheeks. He nodded, still smiling. Then he snapped his head up to look at something behind me. What the hell are you doing on your back, Margo? I twisted to look for the source of

Anne's voice. She was standing in front of her PT cruiser, spirit box in hand. When I turned back, the man was gone. Anne, I choked. Because that's all I could think of to say. Looking at the stars or something, you big weirdo. She demanded, and I knew she hadn't seen him. Anne clicked the spirit box on. Immediately it began to spit out the same word in its tinny electronic voice, over and over.

And she did. An alarmed look on her face. Okay, Jesus, what's your problem? I got slowly to my feet, brushing the dry grass off my ass, and began gathering the gear into my bag. My hands were shaking. Nothing. It's probably broken. Don't worry about it. Let's go back to the hotel. Back to the hotel? We just fucking got here. Stay if you want.

I'm going. I marched back to the car, head high, trying not to let her see how terrified I was. Well, Anne always does what I tell her to, so she followed me, even though she was pissed. I'm so glad I didn't let her go down to the field. Sean and the man were right. It's only been three days since I. I got back from the field, and I'm already hearing the screams. At night, I see how it all went down.

He just marched right down to the schoolhouse and began shooting. Teacher got it first, dead sent her in the middle of her forehead. Authority figure gone. He went after the children, shot as many as he could in the legs first, but that required a lot of accuracy, so some of them got it in the back and neck instead. Once the faster ones were down, he took his time,

made the survivors watch until they weren't survivors anymore. He talks to me during, and leaning on the fence that wasn't there, forced to watch the massacre as it unfolds, and he tells me things. How the kick of the gun felt so good. How watching the light to go out of their eyes was better than sex. How he couldn't wait for me to be there with him.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd let me do it a few times to see what it was like. He won't tell me why he did it. It's only been three days. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay. The last person I told about the field was Anne. And after I blow my brains out with the handgun I keep in my nightstand, she'll go back to the field.

She'll have to. Then he can have her. and I can go. When a psychiatrist seeks to learn more about the depravity of the human mind and what provokes such wicked acts, he seeks out one of the most notorious serial killers in captivity. But as told by author Garen Cochrell, he soon realizes there is much more the killer can teach him.

Performing this tale are Peter Dyseth, Mike Delgado, Atticus Jackson, and Erica Sanderson. So beware of what you'll learn when gauging the capacity for evil. Everything was gray. He noticed that before anything else. Gray floors and stone walls themselves gray, but a darker shade from the aged chunks of stone that made up the halls that Carson was currently walking through.

He felt like he had gone through time and somehow ended up in a prison from the dark ages. It was all bars, moist walls, like something out of a Victor Hugo novel. Above him, the lights flickered, dimming the already poor glow. Spooky, ain't it? The guard ahead of him turned to face Carson with a grin on his face. In the weak glow of the bare bulbs, it looked like a skeleton was smiling back at him.

Carson shifted his bag and did his best to smile back and hide his growing dread. Yeah, I didn't even know places like this existed anymore. Not many do. Proper treatment and all that. Folks, we keep here, though. People don't much care one way or the other what happens to them. They're still people. The guard stopped at a massive steel door.

His keys jingled like sleigh bells, appropriate for the constant chill Carson had down his spine. Are they? He slid his key into the lock and pushed the door open. The sounds echoed through the hall loud enough that Carson feared to the entire ceiling would come crashing down around them. You okay, Doc? Carson realized he was clutching his bag to his chest.

He lowered his arms and smoothed out his tie. Yeah, touch claustrophobic. Is that right? The guard stepped aside and allowed Carson to pass through the doorway. This area was much different than the previous hall. Thick cords ran to alarm bells, and there were numerous cameras scattered around the hall. Every conceivable angle was covered. The door slammed shut with a thunderous boom that sent Carson nearly jumping

out of his skin. Clostrophobia, eh? The guard locked the door and walked past Carson with a chuckle. Before Carson nearly found himself in the bowels of one of the oldest prisons on American soil, he found himself in another kind of prison, at least to him. He was never one for learning, hated the idea of classes, but his fascination with the darkest dredges of humanity led him to psychiatry. He was smart, eerily so, and most in his family wondered where he was.

he got it from. His father was a case of beer a night drunk, who would have beaten Carson and his mother senseless on a regular basis if he weren't ten sheets to the wind so often that his balance was shot. Any attempt at exertion usually sent him spiraling and desperate for something to keep him off the ground. But living with a man on the edge of violence for his entire life didn't breed much courage in Carson. Contempt he had plenty of, but courage was in short supply. His only escape from the hell of his abusive father and the shame of his weak-willed mother was school, and he fled there as soon as he possibly could. Scholarships carried him as far away as he could get from that miserable experience, except that school wasn't much better. He was too impatient, and the academic world moved too slow for him.

He devoured everything he could and pushed himself through year after year as quickly as he could, until finally he was done and he could get what he wanted. Freedom from the prison of academic life and a deep dive into the most depraved of human minds. It was the darkness that he was most fascinated by, the human capacity for evil. What drove men to madness? What drove them to kill? What drove a man to beat his wife and son with a broken chair leg? He had done hours and hours of research.

It was countless days in medical libraries. and case files searching for the truths of the mind. It wasn't long before his research caught the attention of academic types he loathed so much. They threw money at him, gave him an office, offered him teaching opportunities. He wasn't much interested in any of that, but a man has to survive, and funding is something that even the most jaded of researchers coveted. It also gave him a legitimacy that got him in the door of Barstow Prison for the criminally insane, where the minimal courage he had was running on empty. The idea of coming into this place and speaking with what most would consider a monster was fascinating to him. It was exciting, life-changing. Now, in the musty, dim

hallway, walking with an overweight, smug prison guard, Carson found himself questioning the intelligence of this endeavor. He could never face his own drunk of a father, and now he had the nerve to come speak with a serial killer? One that ripped and slashed his way through dozens of people, no less. Who did he think he was? It's just up here. We keep him separate. He rouse up the others.

It's like they smell something on him. They passed several solid doors, windowless, and each with smaller access panels on them. Do they see anything at all outside of their cells? One hour a week, one at a time. That seems barbaric. You've seen what they've done, you would find it a kindness. The guard pulled another set of keys from his massive leather belt and unlocked another door.

This one's smaller. He's in here. He's chained with limited movement. You have a table, chair, all you need to get your Clarice Starling on. Do not cross the red line and do not make physical contact. The guard pulls the door open. Are you coming in? The guard shakes his head. You follow the rules, you'll be fine.

Cameras watching everything. Anything goes wrong, I'll be in, lickety split. Carson's mouth is dry, his palms slick. Don't worry, Doc. They're people, right? That skeleton smile again. This man felt Carson was a coward. He could see it in his eyes, and it bred a rage in Carson's stomach.

He glared at the guard and stepped across the threshold. Have fun, Doc. The door slammed shut and the lock echoed as it clicked into place, leaving Carson alone in the corridor. The hall stretched out before him. Ahead, he saw the chair and edge of the table he was promised. He kept his eyes locked on the chair in the hopes that it would allow him to make his legs work. He hadn't moved at all since stepping through the door. His heart gave a lurch when he heard the twinkle of the shifting chains.

Get yourself together, Carson thought. This is what you've been working toward. He took a breath and walked down the corridor. It was brighter by the table. Someone had set up additional lighting, probably to make the picture clearer for the cameras, so the oppressive dimness of the halls was not present here. Carson placed his bag on the table, but had not brought himself to look at his subject. The man hadn't said a word, so Carson was able to ignore him while he unpacked his belongings

and desperately searched for the spine he thought he had when he came to this place. Carson removed a handheld camera and a recording device from his bag and placed it in the center of the table. The chains rattled and Carson froze. He heard a soft chuckle. Carson took a breath and continued setting up, cursing his weakness. He flipped the camera on and placed it on the table. Through the viewscreen he saw his subject swaddled in chains. Carson's pulse went into overdrive when he noticed the man was staring at him.

Carson lowered himself into the chair and shifted it closer to the table. He removed a folder from his bag and placed it on the table in front of him. It was thick, stuffed with copied case files, photographs, and newspaper clippings. Carson reached over and started the audio recorder and the camera. Interview one, Dr. Carson Neely with subject named... Just gonna jump right in? Not even a hello. You even gonna look at me, Mr. Schrad.

The chained man shifted and the chains sang their song. It chilled Carson to hear it. It was unnerving him. He forced himself to look up at the man in front of him. For a moment, Carson was looking into the cold, yellow eyes of his father. But the man shifted again and Carson saw him as he truly was. Middle-aged, brunette hair graying at the temples. The file said he was pushing 50, but he didn't look it.

He was muscular and his fist. face was covered with several days of beard growth. He was tightly chained to the chair, along with chains connecting to the walls and floor. They had him locked down as if he had some kind of superhuman strength, like a rabid animal. It was almost sad. Mr. Arnold, Samuel Jefferson. Carson opened the folder and the history of this man was laid out before him. The girls call me Arnie. He said this with a grin, a satisfied third. quenched grin. What would you like me to call you, Mr. Jefferson?

Well, I'm a friendly guy, Doc. You can call me Arnie. That's how the world knows me anyway. Is it of concern to you that the world also knows you as a monster? Is that why you're here, Doc? Dr. Neely. I'll call you whatever the fuck I want, Mary. Arnie shifted in his chair.

You want to rise out of me? See what I'll do? I'll do. Carson lowered his eyes to his folder. He flipped through it in hopes that the silence would diffuse the growing tension. This was not going at all the way he had hoped. He was not expecting such aggression from a man who had been locked up for so long. He shifted a paper. Twenty-five years he's been hidden away here and supposedly not a single interaction with any outsider in that entire time. Based on what he has read and learned about this man, Carson doesn't think he has changed in the slightest.

This is not a man beaten down by two decades of isolation. Carson turned to a photo of Arnie at the time of his incarceration. Aside from the slight graying at his temples, he looked much the same. Carson scratched a few notes into his legal pad. You find something interesting in there? There's a lot of interest in here, Mr. Jefferson. You've had quite an impact in the lives of a lot of people. Isn't that why they wrote stories about me, made movies about me?

Death chimes, was it called? That doesn't make a fucking bit of sense. I didn't kill anyone with a bell, did I? I used a buckknife. Knife like that will sing, but it sure is shit don't chime. Are you proud of that? You're infamy? They turned me into a legend.

And I wonder how many of those people, wearing those t-shirts, getting those tattoos. How many of them know I'm real? I'm down here in the dark, waiting. What exactly are you waiting for? Arnie gave that smirk. My sequel. Forgive me, Mr. Jefferson.

From what I've read, your life is forfeit. You've been given more consecutive life sentences than anyone else in the history of criminal justice. With that aside, this place seems more than adequate in terms of security. Arnie gave a shrug and leaned back in his chair. The two men remained in silence for a moment. Carson took a moment to compose himself.

He needed to get this conversation under some kind of control. He straightened the folder almost absent-mindedly. Why are you here, Dr. Neely? He said Carson's name in a menacing, almost insulting way. Why do you want to be in the room with the... The boogeyman. Carson made another note. Obsession with image, narcissistic tendencies.

Do I scare you, Doc? You've killed dozens and dozens of people. I would be foolish to not be afraid. Chains or not. What are you after? You write in a book about me too? Not exactly, no. I'm researching evil and the capacity of humanity to commit acts of evil.

Evil! Arnie cackled. His laugh was heavy and echoed throughout the room. I can save you a lot of trouble. It ain't real. That's Sunday school or shit. You don't think a person can be described as evil? Evil is a place to hide what you don't understand.

What scares you? It's a good place for them to stick me. I don't find what I did to be evil. I wanted to do it. I felt the need to do it. So I did it. Does enjoying it make me less human, more evil? What about the police station?

What about it? You murdered an entire squad of police officers and strung their body parts up like Christmas decorations. Surely that is an act of evil. That was an act of showmanship. It was a goddamn work of art. That's why they made those fucking movies about me. Oh, it just about drove her insane to see it. She thought she was running into her salvation.

Carson checked the folder. She being Jennifer Rogers. Jenny, yes. What about her made you do what you did? What about any of them makes a man do what he does? Most men don't try to kill those they are interested in. Guess they're missing out then. Most people would find what you did horrifying, inhuman.

It's nature, horse. Arnie cracked his neck and shook the chains. It's dry. The strong hunt the weak. I wanted Jenny just like I wanted the others, so I took them. Then I murdered them. She was the lucky one who got away, or maybe not so lucky in the end. You're proud of what happened to her?

Arnie gets what he wants in the end, one way or the other. Ain't no escaping me or my knife. Carson tapped the file. But Jenny did. She escaped you every time. Outsmarted you every time. It's all right here. She survived you.

Arnie leaned forward. Is that right? No, I didn't destroy her body. You're right, Doc. She escaped that. Her mind, though. I fucked that. up but good. That she didn't escape. Couldn't escape. In the end, it was worse, wasn't it? In the end,

she became me, and I got her anyway. Carson glanced at his watch. His time was running short. Ain't this what you wanted, Doc? Aren't I given you the information you came looking for? You want to know about evil. I'm telling you that there ain't no such thing. I killed those people because I wanted to. I wasn't driven to do so by some supernatural force. I wanted to pull their guts out and watch them spill onto the floor. I wanted to hear the screams. I wanted to see the fear.

I wanted to taste their fear. What the fuck's evil got to do with that? You... Don't you see that in itself? What you're describing? This ain't the fucking Bible. It's desire. Well, maybe it's genetics.

Maybe the right switches have to be thrown. Maybe your daddy has to beat the fuck out of you a few times. But that desire is there for anyone. Carson started in his seat. Arnie leaned forward. Something I say hit a little close to. To all, your dad take his hands to you? It was a drunk.

It's nothing that will make me want to murder someone over. Maybe not just that. You have fear in you though, don't you? Fear ain't that far from rage. And once that gets out, maybe you and I will need to have another chat. You're insane. I thought I was evil. I'm not a killer.

I'm not evil. Who are you trying to convince? We're off track. You. You already did it. A flash, and Carson is back home. His mother is crying in the hallway, looking into the living room. Her face, a mask of pure terror.

Carson stood in the center of the room with a meat cleaver in his hand. It was dripping with gray meat and blood. Streaks of blood covered the walls, the floor, even the television. He was panting heavily. His cleaver arm was shaking. His body heaving. with each breath. On his face, though, a grin spread through the blood running down his face. He can't hurt us. He can't hurt us anymore. At Carson's feet, his father's massacred body lay in a mess

of blood and gore. We're safe. You're safe. Back in the prison, Carson is shivering in his chair. Was it, Daddy? Carson leaned forward and stopped. the tape recorder. He wouldn't stop hitting her. Just over and over. I had to stop him. How did it feel? In the guardroom, Jimmy Frenchy Lamont was on the edge of his chair.

This doctor was confessing a murder right in front of his face. He could nab this psycho and be a hero in the papers. He reached for the phone to dial the police, but hesitated. He should subdue the suspect first. He didn't need any cop. cops to come down here and steal his thunder. Besides, this little pipsqueak nerd wasn't going to do anything. Carson spoke through the monitor.

It felt my relief. Jimmy grabbed his keys and his baton and slid it into his belt. He turned to the lockbox on the shelf behind him and unlocked it. His revolver was loaded and ready inside. He fished it out and slid it into the holster on his belt. She burned him up. She was so proud of me. Christ, the mother was part of it.

Jimmy hurried out of the guardroom. Carson rubbed his hands over his face and stood up. He began packing his things. Was this your absolution then, Doc? Tell the big bad serial killer your secret. The heavy metal door thunked and breathed as it opened, and Jimmy entered. Time's up, Bernie. Dr. Neely, can you come over here, please?

Jimmy had his hand resting on the butt of his gun. Of course, let me just pack the rest of my stuff. Carson filled his bag, and without another word, he walked towards Jimmy, placing the bag over his shoulder. He walked forward, and before Jimmy could even react, Carson raised his hand and plunged his pen right into the soft flesh beneath Jimmy's chin. He gave a shove, and the pen pierced the roof of Jimmy's mouth and tore into his brain. Jimmy didn't even curl a finger around the gun. His arm twitched, a useless attempt at the fence. Carson curled his arm around Jimmy's neck and gave a violent yank, snapping his spine.

Jimmy dropped to the ground. Carson knelt and grabbed the massive key ring and ripped it free from the belt. He also slid Jimmy's gun free of its holster and slipped it into his belt. Holy shit. That was like a ballet. Carson approached Arnie. keys in hand. This is it. This is what?

Your sequel. Carson began unlocking the chains. I came here to get you out. I need you to teach me. Make me a legend. One by one, the chains fell away. Arnie rubbed his wrists as they were freed, still red from the shackles.

Each chain dropping to the ground was a song in his ears. Finally, Carson unlocked the chest restraints, and Arnie was free. We have to hurry. The guard rotation will happen at any time. Arnie nodded and stood up. Carson took a step back. Arnie was bigger than he even realized.

He was looking at Carson with a strange look on his face. It took a moment for Carson to realize Arnie was holding out his hand. Carson relaxed and took his hand. Arnie gave it a good shake. I want to thank you. You got me out of here much sooner than I was planning. Carson nodded.

and moved to turn away, but Arnie wasn't releasing his hand. Instead, his grip was tightening. Time for your lesson? Arny yanked Carson forward and stepped aside. Carson flew across the room and slammed into the wall. His head cracked hard against the stone wall, and his vision blurred. What fuck? Arnie grabbed him by the neck and leaned close to Carson's ear.

You never trust any. With that, Arnie slammed Carson's head against the hard gray. stone. Carson was dead after the third time, but Arnie had 20 years of pent-up need. He bashed Carson into the stone until his head was nothing but pulp. He let Carson's body fall to the ground and rubbed his blood over his hands. Been too long for that. Arney said with pleasure as he grabbed the keys and gun from Carson. Arnie pulled Carson's bag off his shoulder. It came rather easily with Not much of a head getting in the way. He dumped the contents onto the floor and grinned when the car keys dropped out.

Keys in hand, Arnie tossed the bag away. He made his way towards Jimmy's body, stopping to grab the baton, but something caught his eye. He knelt next to Jimmy and popped open the pocket on his belt. Well, look he here. He pulled a rather large buck knife from the case and flipped it open. Hello, beautiful. The lights went dark, an alarm blasted into the air. The red emergency lights came to life.

Arnie smiled again. We got work to do. He began pulling off Jimmy's uniform. The alarm sounded over and over echoing through the stone halls of the prison. Dozens of armored guards filed into the long hallway. The alarm echoed around them, announcing their arrival, like the deep chime of a high bell. in a church tower.

And so, another episode has drawn to a close, and our nightmares dissolve into the ether. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions of our audio program, please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season past program, 25 episodes, each over two hours long, and three exclusive bonus episodes,

all for only 1999. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening. Join us again next week when our dark tales will enfel up you in a nightmarish, swirling fog. This audio production is copyright 2017 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of creative Reason Media, Inc.