The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast - Waiting for 15 - 01

Episode Date: August 9, 2020

While we’re in between Season 14 and 15 we have two tales which will steal you away. “The Light from Windows” written by Laura Cabral (Story starts around 00:03:55) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Narrator - Dan Zappulla, Aiden's Dad - Jesse Cornett, Noah's Mom - Nikolle Doolin, Noah's Dad - Mike DelGaudio, New Mom - Jessica McEvoy “Questions for an Abductee” written by Jared Roberts (Story starts around 00:44:40) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Narrator - Mike DelGaudio, Jonas - Jes Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hi, I'm Nicole Goodnight, voice actor for the No Sleep podcast. These days, many of us deal with anxieties and struggles. It's totally understandable, a lot's going on, but there doesn't even have to be a concrete justification for why you're having a hard time mentally. Sometimes it just happens. And that's just as valid. Everyone needs help sometimes, and it can be hard to accept that we deserve it when we can't pinpoint why. But whether you can explain why you're feeling bad or not you do deserve to be able to talk to someone and to be listened to, we all do. That's where services like BetterHelp come in. If you need someone to talk to or just to listen, they're a great option.

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So visit betterhelp.com slash no sleep to get 10% off your first. month whenever you need it. Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. We're in between seasons 14 and 15, working hard to get the new season ready to launch on August 30th. And this week, we have two tales for you previously released on Season Pass episodes from the past.

Before we start, I want to let you know of a special project we're involved in. The YouTube channel, Creepy Pizza, is released. a new short film today, August 9th. It's called infection. A bizarre late-night text message from a friend sends a woman's quiet evening hurtling into violent madness with only one hope of salvation. It's written and directed by Michael Davis

in collaboration with Michael Lutz and the No Sleep podcast. Based on the Smile Dog Creepy Pasta by Michael Lutz, This film features familiar folks like Jessica McAvoy and Peter Lewis, with a score by Brandon Boone and sound design by Phil Mikulski. So head on over to YouTube.com slash creepy pizza to experience infection. Now, while we wait for 15, we wait no longer for our sleepless tales. In our first tale, we meet a young boy. He's lost. He wanders the streets, looking into all the houses at the people inside.

But as we learn from author Laura Cabrell, when he reaches one door, a family takes him in. But this has happened before. And every time it does, it leads to a terrible event that the boy cannot avert. Performing this tale are Dan Zippula, Jesse Cornett, Nicole Doolin, Mike Delgado, and Jessica McAvoy. So let's join this boy on his lonely walk as he heads towards tragedy, as he gazes at the light from the windows. I'm walking on a quiet suburban street. The sky is fully dark,

and light spills from windows onto the lawns and hedges. I avoid looking at my reflection in the glass as I try to catch glimpses of the people inside. Some of the curtains and blinds are closed, but some of the families are careless. I pass by one house and watch two parents putting their twins to sleep. When you're staring out of a window at night in a brightly lit room, you can't see anything outside. But it's so easy to see inside from the dark. I watch each parent kiss each child on the forehead until the dad shuts off the lights.

I pass up that house. I don't want a family that already has kids. I choose the next one on the street and knock on the big front door. A man in his 30s opens it and smiles at me like he knows me, as if I'm his son. Hi, Aiden. Come in. So, I'm Aiden this time. I step over the threshold and meet Aidan's mom sitting at the dinner table and work clothes.

There's already a place laid for me with a plastic cup and a plate full of chicken and mashed potatoes. It's plain, but it's the first food I've had in days. It tastes wonderful. They don't ask me where I've been all day. They never do. When it's time for bed, I'll find a room just for me. There's usually a closet full of clothes that fit me, a bed just my size, and toys and things I don't recognize. It will be my first time sleeping indoors in three days.

It's worth the price I'll pay in a little bit. The mattress is soft. Before I fall asleep, it's easy to pretend that it's really my room, in my house, and my family. I look, 11 maybe. I'm not sure how old I really am, but I'm not 11. The next day is a Saturday. Before breakfast, I look through Aidan's Things. Aidan's room is full of model planes and pictures of astronauts.

I have pancakes, steaming hot and covered in syrup, and then Aidan's dad spends the rest of the morning building model airplanes with me. He designs the real ones, and he talks about it as we're working. It's almost funny. Aiden's dad and mom will take a vacation sometime soon, and their plane's engine will fail. They'll die on impact. It'll be quick,

least. Some of the other deaths weren't. Those are the ones I feel bad about. The ones that keep me out on the streets for days when all I want is a hot meal, a bed to sleep in, and an end to all the walking, hungering, and looking through windows. At lunch, Aidan's dad looks at me closely. I steal glances at him, wondering if he's starting to think something is off about me. Have I been caught finally? I nod with my mouth full. It's rude to talk with food in your mouth after all. You must be growing. I swallow and try to smile back. I never grow. I just prepare for when they'll die and I'll have to walk again. I feel better if I can go a few days without choosing another house. My time in this one is already ticking by. I read about a bird. I read about a bird,

called a cuckoo in a book in another boy's house. When I can't sleep at night, I always wonder if I'm taking another kid's place. If my parents, whoever or whatever they are, left me in someone else's house, I want to ask them why my new parents always die. I want to ask them what I am, but I haven't seen any sign of them as far back as I can remember. My first memories are of being hungry and cold and knocking on a door to accept the name that wasn't mine. I've been to a lot of schools. There's always a desk free for me.

I'm always the new kid, but nobody notices that I don't know my way around. This is my tenth time reading Bridge to Terribithia, and I like it even less than I did the first time. I know how it ends. A hush falls on the class every time when the... the rest of them figure it out. Leslie is dead, and she's not coming back. Maybe some of them think it will still turn out okay. That this is like a movie and she'll come back, alive and unhurt.

I know better. Most of these kids don't really know what it means, even though it scares them. They don't know how to lose someone, and they probably won't for a while. Once, I could have hated them for that. but I'm too tired for hating. The recess bell rings, and it's a relief to get out of that class full of growing kids.

Kids who will grow up to live without guilt, without a trail of dead parents in their wake. Some days I can't join them in their games. I feel like my arms and legs are so much heavier than theirs. But today, one of the monitors is watching me when she thinks I'm not looking. I join in on a game of basketball, running and jumping with the rest of them. Am I really getting so bad at pretending to be a kid?

The first few times it was easy. I thought I am a kid. But lately, I'm not so sure. Some people seem to suspect that I'm not normal, maybe not even human. But it's almost never more than suspicion, and I'm always out of the neighborhood. quickly. I've only ever been shut out of a house once. I knocked late at night and a man answered. He looked at me for about a minute and got this scared look on his face. His eyes all whine and his mouth open like a fish. He didn't invite me in or ask what I was doing out there alone at

night. He just slammed the door on me without saying anything. It hasn't happened again. I want to know what he saw. If I look different before I become Aiden or Dylan or Will. I want to know if I don't look like a boy who's 11 years old, like the image I see in the mirror when a family accepts me. But I can never bring myself to look at my reflection when I'm out walking. I know I'm some kind of monster, but I don't know if there's even a name for what I am. And it's easier to pretend to be a kid, not knowing. They have their flight booked, just a short vacation. I have three days left, and then I won't be Aiden anymore.

So, I enjoy it. I make time for them, begging to bake with them, to shop with Aden's mom, or to just sit and watch movies in the living room. They've been good to me. Not all families are. As I sit between them on the couch, munching popcorn, I forget for a while. This is what it's like to be part of a family to bask in their love. It's not real, and it hurts.

But it's better than nothing. They leave me with the babysitter. Her name is Brianna, and she lives in the neighborhood. That night, she makes hot chocolate for me while I watch a movie she brought from home. One of her old favorites, she said. But I'm not tasting the sweetness of the cocoa or laughing at any of the jokes. I'm waiting for the news. It'll come in a matter of hours.

I look over at Brianna. She's doing her homework and not paying much attention to me. When Aden's parents are dead, I could easily get her to invite me back to her house. All I'd have to do is ask. She'd be a really cool big sister. I look at her again and imagine what it would be like to die so young, like Leslie in the book. She has so many friends and people who care about her. Would anyone remember me if I died?

Or would my death be as unnoticed as any other parasite? I go to bed early. When I wake up, it feels like no time has passed at all. It happened. It felt like there was a kind of string tying me to the house and the family, and now it snapped. I go downstairs, making for the front door. It's best not to linger and delay the inevitable. Brianna is sleeping on the couch.

If I try to shake her awake, she won't see me. She won't cook for me or read to me. This house isn't mine anymore. The first time my family died, I thought someone would help me and take care of me. I waited and waited and hoped that the policeman or the coroner would notice me. But nothing happened. It was like no one could see me anymore, like I was no one. After a few days had passed, I went out to find another family, and another and another.

I have a feeling that if I ask Brianna to take me back to her house, she will listen. Her parents will feed me and take care of me. They're nice people, too. I stand there for a bit, thinking about it, but I know them too well to let that happen. It's much easier to let someone die when they're a stranger. I leave the house and leave her alone. The next day, my stomach either. is rumbling, and it's cold.

But I'm not ready to pick yet. I keep hoping that someone will come looking for me, that I'm still Aden somehow. It's amazing that hope still comes so easily to me, but no one sees me. I'm out on the streets and on my own until I choose a door, a family to destroy.

It would be easier if I could fend for myself at all. In neighborhoods like this, trash bins are behind locked gates and fences, except on garbage days. I wish there were grocery stores to steal from, but I can never find one. I remember what they're like from trips with different families, how cold and bright and huge they are, but I never see one when I'm out walking. Between families, the world is an endless string of residential street. I'd rather live by stealing food. I walk for two days, stomach rumbling.

Sometimes I sit on a sidewalk and watch people come and go. Would I die if I starved for too long? Maybe I'll find out. I keep walking, mostly to distract myself from the hunger. On the third day, I arrive on a street with big, beautiful houses. It's dark and dinners are cooking all over the street. I smell barbecue sauce and stop. That's too much.

I follow the scent up a pretty stone path to a big front door. The light from the windows is buttery warm, as welcoming as the smell of the food. I can see right into the kitchen. There's a woman moving around, checking on something in the oven. My hand has a mind of its own. I watch the woman straighten up and walk over to the door, peeking out the window. I want her to turn me away. I want her to run and scream and get help.

I want her to smile and let me in. I want her to be my mom, for her to live forever. She opens the door. Hi, Noah. It's a good name for a boy who always escapes disasters. Too good. But there was one thing I couldn't see from the window. A high chair.

I stare at the baby and I want to throw up, even though I don't have anything to throw up. I've never had a little brother or sister before. Sometimes I have much older siblings or steps, but I've never had anyone younger. and never a baby. Noah's mom looks at me, eyebrows drawn together in concern. Something wrong?

Nothing. She goes back to preparing dinner, and I go to my room and try to pretend that my world isn't crashing down around me. Usually, I'm careful to avoid picking houses with kids. I see bicycles and toys on the front lawn or by the door and move on. I was stupid to think that this would never happen to me. I know how they'll all die. I can see it clearly as we eat dinner. The baby, Matthew, will get sick,

and they'll get very worried and drive him to the hospital. They'll leave me behind, and they'll have an accident with a drunk driver. I have about four weeks. I've become very good at estimating the time I have. The ribs taste like mush, even though I haven't eaten in days. The baby giggles and chatters in between sloppy bites of his food. It's hard to look at him, so I look at his parents instead. The dad is tall, and Noah would probably be tall if he could grow up, too.

He's not handsome, but he has nice brown eyes and a smile that comes easily, especially when he looks at me and Matthew. The mom has a long nose. but on her face, it fits fine. She's pretty tall, too. I should go on ignoring the baby, but it's unfair to him. I owe it to him to be the best big brother possible, even though I don't know how that works, really.

I owe it to him to look at him at least, because he'll die, and it'll be my fault. I take a breath. He has big blue eyes, like the idea of a baby. Like those little baby angels in paintings. It's easy to think of him as nothing more than a very, very realistic doll. He turns those fake baby blue eyes at me and smiles, and I still feel like I'm holding a knife to his throat.

Noah's room is big, big enough for two people. The whole house seems like it has room for more people, like maybe Noah's parents are thinking about having more kids after Matthew grows up a bit. I can't help but think about those kids who will never be born. Next to pictures of me and the baby, or Noah and the baby, Noah's mom and dad have copies of paintings in the hallway. Some of them are famous and familiar. I've seen them in books.

But there's one that catches my eye in the room where Noah's dad does work and keeps files and things. Noah's mom passes by and spots me staring at it. You like that one? It's interesting. I realize how strange it must be to her that I'm suddenly noticing this painting. Either she doesn't notice or doesn't care. It's called Nighthawks.

How do you like it? I don't know. It's a strange painting to put in a house, I think. It doesn't make me happy. The colors are too sharp and cold. I guess it's supposed to be old-fashioned, charming, but all I can imagine when I look at it is someone standing just outside that wall of windows.

It looks like there's no door and no one can get in, but the electric light spills onto the sidewalk. Why do you say that? It seems kind of... I don't know. I search for the kind of word an 11-year-old boy should use. Lonely, I guess. There's no one out on the street, and it's late at night.

She examines it again. Yeah. I guess I never really thought about it too much. You're right. Over the next few days, Noah's mom remarks on how quiet I am. I hear her whispering on the phone to someone when she thinks I can't hear. Her sister? Her mother?

Once, when she doesn't know I'm close, I hear the woman on the other end clearly. He's just an old soul, always has been. She has no idea how right she is. It turns out that being a big brother is hard, when you know your little brother is going to die soon. I try to avoid the baby for days. But on Sunday, after church, Noah's mom has me watch him while she does some laundry. He's lying on a blanket in the living room, bathed in soft afternoon light, holding some noisy toy.

He flings it out of reach and looks lost, so I hand it back to him. For some reason, he decides to grab onto my finger instead of the toy. Matthew's grip is stronger than I thought it would be. He stares into my eyes, and it's like he's trying to tell me something. I can't escape from the fact that he will never tell anyone anything. He'll never do more than baby talk. He'll never learn to ride a bike or read a book. He'll never have little brothers or sisters,

and those kids will never take their first steps and fill this house with laughter. I've stolen that chance from them. I've stolen all their days and all their joys. When I take my shower, I find a razor. Probably Noah's moms. I've wanted to do something like this for a while, but I'm not strong enough to let myself starve to death. This is better.

I don't deserve to exist. All I do is want and take. I press the blade against my skin. Blood seeps out, running down my arm until the wound closes like it was never there. I try again, again, again, again. Every time my skin seals back up, holding me in a life I no longer want. I try to cut deeper and deeper, but even those wounds fix themselves. I'm shaking what I stop trying to kill myself.

I clean off the razor and watch my blood drain away. It's clear now. Death won't take me too. If I can't end my life and save their lives, then I can only try to be the perfect happy sun. I spend the next days going through the motions of Noah's life. Noah plays baseball. Noah goes to church.

Noah is polite. Noah helps his mom and dad with chores. Noah helps care for his younger brother. Noah doesn't think about what's coming for his family. What he's brought on their heads. It's hard to pretend that the outcome of this baseball game matters to me, but I try my hardest. You look kind of tired. We head out of the park and into the parking lot.

She noticed. I can't tell her why I'm tired because a boy my age shouldn't be having trouble sleeping. I think I just need a snack. We'll get something to eat. Noah's dad smiles. Matthew really enjoyed watching the game. He was riveted the whole time. I smile over at Matthew.

even though this is just another reminder that I'm stealing the rest of his life. I have about two days left. Lying awake in bed, I end up thinking about how I tried to kill myself. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. I know that my family will be killed in a car accident. Could a car kill me? If I walked out into a busy street, would that be the end of me? Of all of this?

It dawns on me then. Covered in moonlight, looking out the window, I realize that there might be some other way of stopping this cycle once and for all. The answer has been right in front of me the whole time, like maybe someone gave it to me on purpose. I know how they'll die. So maybe I can stop it. I could persuade them not to go to the hospital, convince them to wait for the morning. Could it hurt to try? It's the night they're supposed to die.

I hang around as Noah's mom puts the baby to bed and notice that he's having trouble breathing. She tries to clear his airways, but nothing works. She calls Noah's dad in, and they decide to take him to the hospital. I know how this is supposed to go. They'll want to leave me behind. Noah's dad rushes the baby to the car, and Noah's mom lingers in the house to collect her purse and the bag for the baby. I'm coming, too. You don't need to come. It's late for you, and there's probably nothing really wrong.

She's lying, of course. No, I'm coming. My voice comes out as a low growl I didn't know I could make, and I grip her hand tightly. She pulls her hand away and back. backs up slowly, looking at me like she's really seeing me for the first time. Okay, you can come with us. Noah's dad doesn't ask any questions when I take a seat next to Matthews in the back of the car. I nod as we all buckle in.

Every time a car passes us on the narrow country lane to the hospital, I think it's the drunk driver who will kill them. But they all pass us by, headlights raking us. Noah's mom keeps looking at Matthew and me in the rearview mirror. It's hard to say who she's more concerned about. Does she know she let a monster into her house now? Does she know that something bad is going to happen? We're not far from the hospital,

and my heart starts to flutter with fear and hope. Maybe being here means it won't happen. Not tonight. Maybe I'll just have to keep pushing their death back. I can do that. I can live with that. I'll probably always be looking out for things that could kill them. It's a life on the edge of a knife, but that's better than sitting back and letting it happen. Better than having to pick another family.

That's when headlights flash in my face. There's a car headed straight for us, driving on the wrong side of the road. There's a guardrail to our right. Nothing Noah's dad can do to steer out of the way. I won't be able to save all three of them, but I unbuckle my seatbelt and throw my body over Matthew. I can shield him. I won't die no matter how much I bleed.

There's a sickening crunch and creaking, but my eyes are closed. I hold on to the car seat, covering the baby, feeling glass and metal, cutting and bruising me. The car's come to a stop. I'm bleeding. but all of my hurts stitch up. Shards of glass falling out like I'm shedding scales. I glance to the front seat and see only broken glass, crumpled metal, blood.

I look away. I know by that frayed feeling that they're both dead and I'm homeless again. But Matthew is alive. I can feel his breath against my neck. I saved him. I get him out of his car seat. He starts crying, but his breathing is coming easily again. There are bruises forming on his head where he bumped against me,

but when I look closer, they're already disappearing. After a second, his skin is perfect again. I start shaking. What have I done? Blood pounding in my head, I take the baby. in my arms and pull him out of the wrecked car. He still looks like a baby and not some monster. I watch and wait as the emergency vehicles arrive.

As firemen and paramedics check on Noah's parents and the other driver, they rush him away on a stretcher and completely ignore us as they work on recovering the two bodies. I start walking down that country lane before I can see too much with the baby in my arm. The road eventually turns into a residential street, which doesn't surprise me at all. I'm good at ignoring my hunger for a while, but he's not. After the sun rises, he starts crying. An old man and a little old lady stroll by, and they don't see us. For a second, the old lady turns her head in our direction, like she heard something.

weird. But they keep walking. I don't want to knock. I don't want to kill another family, so I put it off for a few hours. But now, I have the baby to worry about. People are turning out lights when I finally choose a house. No evidence of other kids that I can see. I'm not sure I could save another one. A woman in a fuzzy bathrobe answers the door. and smiles at us. She takes us inside. Most adults would freak out if a kid holding a baby showed up at their door, but she takes the baby from me without question.

And I follow her as she gets a bottle and a sandwich from the fridge in the kitchen. As me and the baby eat, I see how she'll die. Her husband will kill her with the gun they keep for emergencies, and then he'll shoot himself. We'll survive. Like always. This woman doesn't deserve to die. None of them really do.

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich feels thick in my mouth, like I could choke on it. And wouldn't that be a funny end for me? I swallow and take a drink of milk. I'm not doing this just for me anymore. Maybe I can save these people, like I saved my baby brother. and maybe I can't. But I'll plan something and keep trying. I'll build and protect my family,

one way or another. I'm Jessica McAvoy, voice actor and editor for the No Sleep Podcast. I have a lot of interests. Writing, reading, video games, playing with my cats, but something I also like to do is eat. Unfortunately, while eating itself is enjoyable and great, the preparation can often take time. Time I could spend doing other things, like becoming a pro gamer, or making my cats watch me become a pro gamer. That's why I use DoorDash.

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In our final tale, we meet a research psychologist who specializes in memory recovery. Instead of pursuing one of the more obvious routes to advance his research, he decides to interview alleged alien abductees. After all, who doesn't want to believe? But in this tale, shared with us by author Jared Roberts, we find out that sometimes there are darker mysteries behind alien abductions than little gray men. I join Mike Delgado, Jesse Cornett, and Graham Rowett in performing this tale.

So plan out your interview and get ready to take a trip. into the subconscious, but be careful about getting answers you're not prepared for when you come up with. Questions for an abductee. The thread uniting all genuine abduction experiences is memory. Every abductee has to recall the experience slowly, piecemeal. Often they start, not remembering anything happened at all. Then the memory is fuzzy, with bits clarifying over time or through comparison with later experiences. The rest is filled in by reason, guesswork, or imagination. I find that the accounts that ring truest are those that admit their memories are imperfect. That suggests to me two things.

First, that there is some real experience behind the memories. Second, that we can do psychological work to recover it. What we recover may or may not resemble what you initially believed happened to you. My audience was Jonas Plath, a kind lighthearted man. He'd had a cold beer and several wisecracks waiting for me when I arrived. I took an instant liking to him and to his sole companion, Pedro. Pedro was a stout Labrador mix who also enjoyed a good beer. I was a researcher at Stanford then. I was considered promising.

Imagine that. When I told the chair I was interested in the psychology of alien abductees, he advised I was pissing my career away. Those people are just after tabloid dollars to buy their peasant. BBR. That's one hypothesis. I believed, and still do believe, the phenomenon has not been given proper psychological scrutiny. What is the real reason, intelligent, otherwise normal people believe they've been personally visited by extraterrestrials? Or what's more interesting to me is, why do they forget so much? I gathered together many accounts honed in on those that struck me as genuine and

conducted phone interviews. From the pool of those interested and that appeared sincere, I narrowed down to just Jonas. The department refused to fund my travel, so I paid my own way to the middle of nowhere, Oklahoma, to meet Jonas in person. Jonas had listened to my spiel attentively, nodding at the right spots. He seemed excited to get started. He even got a speech, including Pedro, fresh beer. He had only one question. me now, are you? No, sir. I just ask questions. Okay, good, because it seems to me

everyone's Marie Antoinette in the past life, and I just assume not know. The theoretical side of my work, and why I was considered promising, was my research into restoring fractured memories. The first stage of the process involves getting an account of the event, or the most significant from a series of events,

as the patient best remembers it. Next, I ask questions to clarify vague points or to show where future clarification is needed. Just drawing attention to the vagueness begins the process of healing. Then we repeat again and again until a picture without vagueness remains. I'd always thought of it like carefully tuning a radio to get the best signal. Sitting out on Jonas' front porch, he sat back and gave me his full recollection of the event that would be our starting point. Well, it's just as you said. First, I didn't remember nothing. I woke up one morning feeling sore and stiff, tender even. I didn't do much working or drinking the day before, but I wasn't too worried about it. And then I start to notice things that don't make much sense. A big bruise on my neck. I'd slept 36 hours. That was the first. Folks saying I called them or they saw me when I know I was sleeping. So I get to going over what happened in my head.

I keep thinking about it and I don't let up. I couldn't even focus on TV anymore on account I'm always thinking about what happened. Here's how come I remember it. I got home from a night out. My girlfriend then, Jenny Holland, she didn't live with me yet at that time. So I'm home alone. I didn't have nothing to drink all night. I remember that because I had a dinger of a hangover that morning

and wasn't ready for another. I put together a sandwich and watched some TV. I was tired, but I tried to stay up anyway. After a while, I turned the TV off and it's dark. I get a knife out of the kitchen and walk fast to my room, fast like something's trying to grab me. You ever get that feeling? I hopped into bed and covered up tight.

I never been jumping like that in my life. I didn't know what got into me. I'm not sure if I fell asleep and woke up or just never slept, but sometime later I'm feeling that that feeling, someone's in the house. I go back downstairs to take a look, and I see all the curtains pulled open. The front door isn't all the way shut.

I know I didn't leave the house like that. I go to the door to close it. I know there's something looking. at me from the window. Well, I turn to look away, and I see something looking at me from the windows. Someone in a mask, I think. I shout that I got a gun, and he better get. And the door flies open, and something comes running into the house, screaming.

It runs right at me. I never heard screams like that. I try to run, but I'm paralyzed. I don't know why that is. I just can't move. I must have passed out because next thing I know I want a cold

metal table. They got me strapped. Strange machines all around. Here, I guess you'd say it's talking, but it's like no language I ever heard. It's grunting and groaning. I think I hear a kid and I ask,

Who's that? Who's there? And I still can't move. I see some machine is attached to me. I think it's putting something into my neck. It hurts. And then that's it until I woke up two days later. Jonas must have told his story many times since recalling it,

but he was visibly shaking all the same. Pedro, sensing the man's unease, rubbed against him and calmed him. There was no doubt in my mind that Jonas believed everything he told me had happened, just as he had said it. That didn't mean he was right in his beliefs, of course. course. Once he was ready and we each had another lone star in hand, we began the questioning. Let's start with an easy one. What were you watching on TV? I see what you're getting at. Like, was I watching some flying saucer crap on the history channel? No, sir. The guide said it was

Bloodsport. You ever see Bloodsport? Hell of a movie. But I don't think that's what it was. Now than I think about it. Yeah, now that I think about it, you know, I tried to change the channel, but it was the same thing on every channel. It's not likely that was Bloodsport. What was it? I don't know. I can't remember. But you wanted to watch it?

No, I did not. I just wanted to stay up all night. Like it a sleepover when you're a kid, no matter what you do. doing as long as it's not sleep, but I was getting tired. Why did you want to stay up? Well, I reckon I was scared. Yeah. And when I turned off the TV and it was dark, I remember feeling scared. That's why I wanted to stay up. I was scared to go to my own bed. I felt pretty stupid about it too, being scared in my own house. I ought to feel stupid about that, right? I mean, I'd work myself up, thinking things like maybe someone's in one of the rooms,

or maybe someone's right beside me now that it's dark. Stupid thoughts. What happened to the knife? I left it on my nightstand. Oh, wait, I took it with me when I went downstairs because I was scared. You know, I must have dropped it when they took me. I don't remember. Why was your front door unlocked?

It wasn't. I always lock up. My parents never did. My folks out here don't. I could drive down 10 miles to Ed Richter's place and walk in there right now and get a drink out of his fridge. Me, I always lock up, though. Maybe I've been scared in my own home for a while. How could it be opened?

Well, there's only one key that you could pry it open, I guess, but nobody did. There wasn't any damage. I don't know. Or there's lock picking like on TV, or I guess I would have had to do it. Why did you feel someone was in the house? Well, they told me. Who told you? I think it was a dream.

Someone said to me, We're inside. Who said that? I don't remember. Well, did it sound male or female, older, younger? Michael. If I had to say it sounds like someone, it sounded like Michael Fletcher. Who's that?

Oh, yeah. Michael Fletcher. Michael was this kid we used to pick on in school. He used to say he has asthma. And we'd get on him about it. His asthma. He died from him, the asthma, when he was a kid. Jesus God, it did sound like him. Maybe it was a dream then, because Michael ain't talked in 20-something years. What happened to Jenny Holland?

Well, nothing, really. She moved in for a bit, and then she didn't want nothing to do with me after I told her what happened. It wasn't her fault. I changed for a while Couldn't think of anything but what was done to me I didn't want to be touched She said I screamed at night Who wants to live with that He got up and signaled that was enough And it was enough for the first day

I drove an hour away to the nearest motel The drive gave me a chance to settle down He'd offered me a room but I preferred some distance I spent the night thinking of about his story and answers. The method was working. We were getting somewhere. It was exciting. He'd soon be free to face the truth, and that's the beginning of a long road in itself. The next day we sat in Jonas's den for another session. The furniture hadn't been updated since at least the 80s. The most remarkable item was the wood-frame luxury RCA television

set, with the most eccentric labyrinth of rabbit ears I'd ever seen. I pointed at it wordlessly. He said that's what it took to get a signal down here. Paul said it was something in the soil composition, magnetism or some such. Messes up signals. I explained to him that all he had to do was tell me the story again, as fully as he now remembers it. With our equipment ready, beer, that is. We began an earnest. Man, but won't that be kind of boring?

This is the key. We balk at repeating the exact same story again. Our mind strives to find additional details for our own sake as well as our audience. Combined with the questioning on the last session, I expected new information. I can live with boring. Give me all the boring details. If I wanted Star Wars, I'd go to the movies. All right. Well, Jenny drove me home from the roadhouse after a night out. And we had fun. Normally I would have drove myself, but my truck wouldn't start that day.

Funny things like that were happening. Things not working or getting misplaced. I asked her to come in. The house was dark and I don't want to be alone. She had to work early the next morning, so she can't. I cook myself up with grilled cheese and turn on the TV. There's another one of those things. Something's wrong with the TV.

It ain't been picking up channels right for a while. no matter how I moved the antenna. I wasn't getting reception at all, so I turned it off, sat there and finished my grill cheese until I got tired. I had that feeling of being spooked that night. No sense in it for a man to be spooked in his own home. I checked all the doors and windows to make sure they was locked. Got a knife from the kitchen, then I ran to bed.

I even jumped a weak step because it's got a creak to it. couldn't sleep. I lay there listening. I don't think I ever did sleep. I feel crazy for doing it. I just can't stop. Whenever I stop listening, I hear something. Like it knows when I forget to listen, it's something in the room with me. If I'm still enough and pretend I don't know, I'll be okay. I must have been when I fell asleep, because that's when I hear poor Michael Fletcher saying to me. me, we're inside now. I jump awake, reach for the knife. It's gone.

I don't remember where I put it. I get downstairs, and the door's open, and the windows, too. Something comes through the door. It's screaming, and it asks, where's your kid? And it keeps screaming and coming at me, and I can't move at all. And... Jonas stopped suddenly. He grabbed hold of Pedro.

who'd leapt up beside him on the couch. I hadn't seen Pedro all morning until then. He tried to apologize, but I told him to forget it. I was glad for the interruption. I'd expected the fantastical elements to fade with new details, but they've gotten worse, and Jonas's reaction to them was more intense. I felt shaken myself by empathy alone,

because he believed it. Something certainly had happened to him. We went hiking back through his property after a lunch of grilled cheese and jerky. Pedro led the way, sniffing trails through the tall grass. This process is kind of a doozy. Whatever happened to you was a doozy. This process is just making it clear.

The wind blew gently through the long grass. Birds chirped lazily, ignorant of problems like psychological trauma and repression. I'd never inhaled air so clean, rich with earth sense. We'd been walking several minutes. without a word. It's peaceful here. My great-grandfather got his land after the war, the first one. The way he tells it, they all said he was crazy to build here. Even the Indians didn't do nothing with it. Never did say why. They built his home here anyway, and we ain't all fit to leave it yet. Pedro had taken us full circle. We were back at the house. We relaxed

on the front porch with, you guessed it, more beer. As soon as the cans were popped, Pedro's tail was wagging. I patted him and felt a kind of euphoria. This was one of those charged moments where nothing special is happening, but you know you'll always remember it. A perfect moment. One of those moments you'd like to recreate every day if you could. Now, I'm going to ask you a question.

What is it you're looking for? Because I got the notion you don't believe in aliens at all. Oh, I believe in him, but you're right. It's not really why I'm here. I want to understand what it means to remember something, Jonas. This moment here, I'll cherish this memory for the rest of my life, and I mean that. But even if I could recreate the physical events exactly, it'll never be the same. It can't be done. The memory stands alone. I stopped for a moment to take a sip and gather my thoughts. Pedro seemed to be paying more attention than Jonas, who was watching. squirrel scratching up an oak. I didn't doubt he was listening, though. I have a handful of those moments in my life. They come to my mind often, unbidden. They give me strange feelings, a mixture of thrill and loss, feelings of closeness to those I care about, and yet distance, because these

memories and feelings can't be shared, not really. I've tried to talk about them and their eyes just glaze over. We sat in silence for a while after that. I thought I was done. I'd made my statement on the profundity of memories in my life. Jonah seemed to know I wasn't done before I did. He just waited, and I found myself going on. I have one memory like that, where my family left me with some strangers, just a random couple and their kids, for one day only. But the place was totally unfamiliar. Pleasant though. I remember bits and pieces, and I feel absolutely that it was real. But our reality is constructed of memory. If I remember seeing unicorns, then unicorns are real to me. If it turns out they're not real, then what does that mean for my memory?

That it's not real. Well, no one in my family remembers this happening, except me. These memories have that emotional charge that is, I think, part of the realist memories, the ones that define me. What else do we have to go on? So, I've dedicated my career to understanding memory. And aliens? Abductees. I feel some kind of kinship, because I see them in the same struggle. Here's this memory that's unclear. Everyone says it didn't happen, yet something happened, and that something was of the highest importance. Did it happen? If not, where did those memories come from? I didn't express it as well as I'd hoped. I wanted to keep digging with words until I found the right one to make it clear.

But Jonas nodded, took a drink, and said, yep, I laughed a little in embarrassment, mostly with genuine amusement. What else was there to be said? Yep. The sounds of traffic were just about non-existent out there. The wind was warm against my skin. The day was passing fast. Can't say I put much thinking to it. I guess I just want to be believed. I want to say for sure I ain't a liar. I'm believing myself seems like a damn good start.

Sometimes I don't. He stood up and stretched. If I can't believe these here events, as I recollect them, who says anything I recollect is worth of shit. Yep. Can't say is I want these ones to be real. It's like him fellas, you see him on the news. They find an old grenade buried somewhere or other,

and they don't know if it's still got a charge or not, but they stick it up on the mantle for everyone who comes by to admire. What I mean is if it's real? They don't know what they're dealing with. Let's get back to the questions. Why were you nervous about being at home alone? I don't know. just a feeling in the house.

Even just looking at it. What was wrong with the house? Something different about it. Like, you know how in the movies, where they have twins, and one of the twins is good and one is bad, right? And there's always that scene where the bad twin pretends to be the good twin, but, you know, something just doesn't feel right. It's like that.

It looks just like my house. It isn't, though. The inside of it's different. I can feel it. When were you feeling that? I don't know. I used to feel that way a long time ago. When I was a kid, I tell my folks the house switched again.

I could always tell the house was switching by how it all got fuzzy. That didn't pay me any mind. So there's always been something wrong with the house? Not like this. This was different. What was different about it? Them. Who's them?

I don't know. I don't know why I said that. You said before you watched TV all night. This time you said the TV was off. How could you watch it if the TV was off? I just looked at it. I didn't like what was on, so I turned it off. But you had no reception.

It wasn't TV on the TV. I was watching the house. My house was on TV. Look, I swear it. And there were people outside, and walking around. I could see them on the TV. They wanted to get inside. Who are they?

I don't know. Where'd they come from? They weren't there when you arrived with Jenny. They were there. I couldn't see them then, because they're switched. That's how it's always been. You see things different when it goes fuzzy. You should stay.

I was packing up my notes, getting ready to leave. Well, I have lots of room here, and we keep working at it. He looked embarrassed to be asking. No, embarrassed because there was desperation in his voice. He didn't want to be alone, no offense to Pedro. The truth is, I didn't really want to leave. This research was feeling less like work and more just like chilling with an old friend,

and I also had an irrational anxiety about what might happen if I left him alone. Like, if I left, he might not be there when I got back. So on the condition that he was certain it was no inconvenience, I agreed to stay. I'll set up in the spare. I strolled up the stairs and directly to the room that was kept for guests. Jonas walked in behind me. His breathing had changed.

It was heavy, restrained. How'd you know which room was this spare? The wind was picking up outside. It whistled through the old house. It was like you. I know. He put his hands on his hips and walks to the window, ducking his head because the ceiling slanted. This question in process, you ever try it on yourself?

I shook my head. He wasn't looking at me, but he seemed to know my answer. Why's that? You say you got memories like me. I couldn't do it to myself. The questioning is meant to jar the memory free from its own defenses. Those same defenses would keep me from asking the right questions. Someone else has to do the questioning.

I could do it. It don't seem too hard. I thought about it for a moment. Freud always thought psychoanalysts should be analyzed themselves. And if my method was good, if it worked, I might know the truth. Better get us eat your beer then. I told you most of what I remember already. My family must have been going somewhere to some event where they couldn't or didn't want to take me. They arranged for me to stay with someone, you know, as you do. I remember it was a nice couple

with their two kids. I was scared at first because I didn't know where I was or what was going on. The mom said I'd be okay and made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us and actually cut off the crusts. We sat around and talked. Maybe something happened because I think they wanted to contact my parents. Then I went out to play with the other kids. It was a nice farmhouse kind of deal, like this place, maybe a little smaller. I remember there being huge mushrooms around the yard and I'd kick them and, uh... I was having a hard time concentrating on what I was saying.

Not because of the memory lapse, but because I started to... to look at the jumble of rabbit ears connected to the TV set. The longer I looked, the more I became convinced it was a single antenna twisted indefinitely over generations. I tried to follow the metal thread with my eye. Eventually, I went home, I guess. I had no idea who those people were. Yeah, and I don't remember seeing them ever again, and... The antenna coiled, twisted, formed knots and ties, a double windsor, a loop, a circle, bisected, and it seemed to go on without end.

I began to feel disoriented and dizzy. And Jonas tapped me on the shoulder, and my parents didn't remember it at all. You all right? I noticed the television was on, tuned to a football game. Jonas and Pedro had been watching it. Weren't you listening? When did you turn on the TV? He was out for a few hours.

He must have needed it, as what my folks would have said. He didn't even have time to ask questions, he said. I'd fallen asleep right after telling my story, and he couldn't wake me. Four hours had passed. After we had a late dinner, we got back to work, beer, and questions. They say you didn't know where you were. How was that? Your folks bring you, didn't they?

Not that I recall. I used to sleep a lot when I was a kid. Kind of like what happened today. I assume I just woke up there. You remember waking? No, I just remember being there in one of the rooms. They got me, sat me down, and made some sandwiches with the crusts off. You know what she did with the crusts? What? Well, you're supposed to answer, right?

I think she put them in a bucket? She'd bring them out to the pigs. We only had two pigs, more pets than anything, because she wouldn't let my dad kill them. I didn't live anywhere near here. Why did you come here? Really? I told you.

I didn't even reach out to you. You responded to the posts. That spare room was a room we found. found the boy in. I forgot all about it. That was a fuzzy day. We didn't know where he come from. He was just there and crying. Ma tried to find out how to call his folks, but he didn't know. He was too young. He stayed with us most of the day. Ma called the sheriff out. And by the time he got out here, well, you'd gone. Was out playing and he went off kicking mushrooms. and then you must have switched.

That doesn't make any sense. I was just with some friends of the family, I'm sure. Nobody remembered him but me after. We threw crab apples at some old bottles in the field. Cans. Rusty cans? Yeah, over yonder, where Pedro was sniffing this morning. I'd said bottles to test him.

I remembered the cans. I didn't know whether to trust my method anymore, if this process was fabricating memories from a strange folia d'U. If I could trust my method, if these memories were real, then it was reality I couldn't trust. We couldn't sleep that night. After the overall strangeness washed away like froth, we were left with this hoppy exhilaration. We'd uncovered something nobody else knew but us. We'd connected. after all these years and felt confirmed in something.

We didn't even know what something was. What happened to your family? Well, the folks passed away. I got sick, pawned out of grief. And Eddie, my sister, they went off to the city. So it's just me and old Pedro left. I'm sorry. We drained our lone stars in sync.

You look at the stars much, Jonas? Less and less. Exactly how I feel. When I was a kid, I'd look up at those things and wonder. Hours sometimes, lying back in the grass and looking up. Now I almost never look up. I'm almost surprised to see they're still up there. Jonas laughed so hard he had to put his beer down.

You find some wacky tobacco in your beer or something? Not exactly. Just, you know, that... feeling of being small in an immense universe. That feeling shuts off when you have to worry about paying your mortgage and Netflix and fill out your taxes. I saw he was looking up too. He hadn't picked up his beer again. One more time. The house was fuzzy when Jenny brought me home. I know you know what that means now, so I ain't got to dance around it. I always get scared when the house is that way. I seen strange things before when the house is fuzzy.

People I didn't know just walking on to and off the property, heads nor tails of them seen again. I saw other things. Animals you won't find in any book. Lights and other things. You, those years ago. Things that just shouldn't be. I was scared.

So I tried to get Jenny to come in for the night. She was scared too. I don't know if she sensed nothing. I think she heard it in my voice. Can always tell when a man's desperate. When I get in, I can tell the house was switching. It wasn't the same house. I got onto the couch, like if my feet ain't touching the ground, I'm safer somehow.

I turn on the TV, thinking I'll stay up all night like I used to when the house was switching. It's all fuzzy, but it's showing the outside of the house. Not this house. This house has no cameras. The switched house. I see people walking through the grass, going around the house, making schemes to get inside. I turned the TV off and I waited. That's what I was doing.

I was just waiting. But I don't know if there's a soul out there for real. That's how it is when it's fuzzy I wait and wait and I'm starting to fall asleep So I figure I better get up to my room I get a knife from the kitchen I feel something behind me I don't want to look

I run Dump past that weak step into my room and into bed I don't know how long I'm laying there waiting for some sound A long time I don't hear or see nothing. And I just know something's in the room with me. I feel it. I look at my closet. Too dark to see much, but there's an outline. It looks like a person. I'm holding that knife pretty close until I remember my suit hangs there. And I keep looking around. Most everything looks

right, except one corner is dark, darker than the closet. And that don't make no sense. sense. I look into that corner so long, I'm not sure I'm really seeing anything, but it looks like it's moving into eyes. Then I hear dead Michael. You're inside now. And then I see it run from the corner out the door. Oh, Jesus shit. I hear it going down the stairs. Then stop at the weak step. I get up to see who it was. Nothing's on the steps. Doors closed. Curtains are shut. And if something comes running at me, I thought it was screaming, but it's not. That's alarm. And flashing red lights. Its face is white and waxy and with small black eyes like raisins. I don't think it's a mask. It asks me.

Where's your kid? Maybe he means you. I step back. I step right on that weak stair. I'll slide into the stairs. Not through them. I go into them like I can see the grains. I can't move no more.

I'm stuck in the stairs. Then the lights are gone. I wake up on the table. Machines. And there are people. These look like more normal people. maybe a little different and they're talking to me, but I don't understand. Something about, save the signal.

They said that. Save the signal. It's all signal. And they put something in my neck. Jonas, normally strong and straight-backed with his farmer's impassivity, hunched forward. He seemed on the point of collapsing. He unconsciously pet Pedro, who was panted. in his face. We're close. We were both exhausted by a day of recovering lost memories, yet neither of us could sleep. The memories newly uncovered, brought with them anxiety,

and a breathless wonder, so Jonas put the beer away and broke out the old medicinal wild turkey. After a few drinks, we parted to our rooms. Being in that room again, after so many years, well, it didn't feel like anything. I still barely. remembered it. It was more the idea of it that struck me. How did I get there? How does anyone get anywhere? I was marginally drunk, so my thoughts weren't that deep, and I quickly passed into sleep. Two hours after midnight, Jonas woke me up with a violent shake. I almost screamed, but he shushed me. And then I felt it. I felt the fuzziness, a static, crackling invisibly and soundlessly over the substance of things. Yet it was there. I perceived it. We, we, uh, we, we, we, we switched. He nodded.

I remembered more. What was going on when I was taken? It's a machine. It's called the orchid. Those things didn't ask, where's your kid? They asked, where's the orchid? It's a machine. It's the machine that saves us. The answer just sprang to my lips. You remember, too? I don't know. I told me to guard it. It's hiding here in the fuzz.

That's what they're here to get. They'll kill us to get it. They're here now. I grabbed Jonas's arm to steal him, and I listened. I could hear rustling gruel. grass and malignant groaning from outside the house. We shouldn't have remembered. Now they know we know.

How's that? Listen, I never had a dog. We didn't have to exchange another word. I grabbed my bag and we practically leapt down the stairs. We were too late. The front porch was crowded with people. They wore wax and masks like Jonas described and all black jumpsuits. Jonas shrieked to run to the back door.

Before he could, they grabbed him. He was calling for me to help him, but I didn't know what to do. Somewhere, I heard a soft but stern voice. I saw their long, pallid fingers sinking into Jonas' skull, like he was made of butter. He was shouting unintelligibly. Then it hit me. I snagged a chair from the porch and ran back to the den,

where the monstrous antenna hovered above the television. Pedro stood growling in front of it. When he lunged at me, I hit him away with the chair. Then I slammed it as hard as I could into the antenna. The chair and the antenna both shattered, and a crack slithered down the TV's convex glass. Those things were still out there. I heard Jonas screaming.

I hadn't done shit. What signal? I seized another of Jonas's innocent chairs and launched it at the assailant surrounding Jonas. I tackled the one with hands on. and found myself surrounded as well. One of them struck me with something, and I started to see in waves. Everything was made of waves, and I knew them all.

I could interpret every wave and saw what it meant. I could see the signal. At first I thought I was dying, but then I knew it. I could see the signal. All reality is signal, signals on impossible wavelengths. And here the waves had crossed. The tuner had broken. There were many signals overlapping.

An alarm blasted with suddenness and firmness within Jonas' house. From the weak step in Jonas' staircase that, to all sensory organs, was made of some old hardwood. A kaleidoscope of phantasmal colors erupted. The colors organized into a single object of interconnected geometrical shapes. This object of pure light had solidity. It knocked over Jonas's coat rack as it moved through space. With another blaring alarm, a pulse emitted from the holographic entity. Following the pulse, reality was restored to its ordinary smooth reliability

in a wave emanating from that one source. The fuzziness was gone. The wax-faced horde was gone. And just like that, the cosmic light show had gone with them. Just Jonas and I were like that. left. Dawn came up on us sitting on the porch. Only one chair was left, so we sat on some cushions. We talked a little, not much. Were those aliens, he wondered? In a sense, I said. They were people from some other way the world had gone on a different wavelength. I figured the combination of the

unique landscape and soil composition with the Byzantine TV antenna as a catalyst had somehow altered the wavelength of reality here, like when a radio is between stations. It was that thing. The orchid. Maybe it was the wild turkey. I drove back to the university that day, turned in my study. Despite drawing no conclusions, it was destroyed in peer review. Just as I was warned, I didn't care. Later in the year, I decided to visit Jonas again. I figured I owed him for being a mooch, so I bought a 24-pack of Lone Star. I arrived to find that the house was gone. There was no mistaking the location.

I recognized the field, the trees, the tall grass. I drove back out there many times and walked over the property. Neither Jonas nor the house ever returned. I knew what that meant. We'd always been on different wavelengths. Our signals, it seems, crossed paths only briefly. Twice in my life. So far.

The spells are wearing off for now, but the magic will linger. The shop will be open again next week with more spells to enchant you. 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. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening. This audio production is copyright 2020 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

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