The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast - Waiting for Ten

Episode Date: November 5, 2017

We're in-between Seasons 9 and 10 so to tide you over we have two stories while you wait. "The Orangutans Are Skeptical of Changes in Their Cages" written by Zachary Adams and performed by Peter Lewis & Mike DelGaudio & Dan Zappulla & Jesse Cornett & Elie Hirschman & Jeff Clement. (Story starts around 00:02:20) "Arkansas Sleep Experiment" written by Jared Roberts and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Peter Lewis & Atticus Jackson & Mick Wingert. (Story starts around 00:34:00) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about the NoSleep Live Tour 2018   Click here to learn more about Zachary Adams   Click here to learn more about Jared Roberts   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski "Waiting for 10" illustration courtesy of Krista Neubert Audio program ©2016-2017 - 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 no sleep. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings.

Thanks for joining us. We're currently in between seasons 9 and 10. working hard on our season 10 premiere on November 12th. But we want to ensure you have some sleepless nights before the start of season 10, so we have two stories for you this week, which originally appeared on Season Pass episodes from Season 9. Speaking of Season Passes, our new Season Pass 10 starts pre-orders today, or Sunday, November 5th, if you're not listening to this on that day,

head over to the No Sleep Podcast.com and click the Season Pass link to find out more. And I also want to let everyone know that the tickets for our No Sleep Live 2018 tour are now available. Go to the tour page at the no sleeppodcast.com slash tour to find links to every venue we'll be performing at next February and March. And so while we're waiting for 10, let's wait no longer for our stories as we kick off this week's show. Imagine an affliction where you hate the idea of change so much that your brain refuses to recognize it. As we learn from author Zachary Adams, one man finds himself accused

of a heinous crime, even though he has no recollection of anything going wrong. Performing this tale are Peter Lewis, Mike Delgado, Dan Zabula, Jesse Cornett, Ellie Hirschman, and Jeff Clement. So perhaps we should learn to be a little more like our primate brethren, because, you see, the orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages. Is this a new couch? The psychologist looked at the couch. No, same as always. New chair?

No. New glasses? No. Are you the same, doctor? The psychologist paused. Yes. He scratched his head and sighed. Father,

side the exact same way often. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small rectangular bottle of Jim Beam. He raised the bottle to his lips, avoiding eye contact with me and took a sip. Then he offered the bottle to me. Take a swig. What? I'm retiring in a week. I'm leaving.

Take a swig. I took the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip. This isn't whiskey. You're right. It's brandy. You notice that. You're fine. You overreact. You're a clam.

Excuse me? It's all the same to a clam. Shell Silverstein wrote that. Would you call a clam stupid because it doesn't notice when prodded by a fish or stepped on by a human? Maybe. The clam functions well enough. But I'm not a clam. And this wasn't whiskey.

I shook my head. I had guessed that it wasn't whiskey. I had no idea that it was actually brandy. The psychologist must have realized this. I wish he did. You don't think my problem is a problem? It's not. It's a peculiarity.

Nothing more. Your mother's been missing for. for six years and you never noticed. It's unobservant, but not abnormal. Your father has accused you of her murder. I've seen families more dysfunctional. You took the bus here, all on your own. You are completely normal.

Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. The fact that you can't naturally observe is just a peculiarity and nothing more. I looked around and scratched the cuticles. on my thumbs with my pointer fingers. Did you switch my room? Something looks different. It was a bad habit, the cuticle scratching. All of my habits were, I suppose.

My cuticles were red and raw with hints of blood. I rested two fingers against my lips every once in a while. A habit reminiscent of my time as a moment. smoker. My fingers felt yellow, like the old glow from a night spent binge smoking until four in the morning, except my smoking had never been from going out with friends. No, I spent hours at night staring at a certain spot, the coffee shop by the bridge, the park with the lights on the trees, even my own home, wondering what looked different. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing felt different.

That was the problem. Nothing ever felt different. Not only did we not switch your room, but every room here is exactly the same. So even if we had switched you to a new room, still, nothing would look different. The orderly wore white. He had brass skin and his forearm muscles twitched when he spoke. The hair on his forearms was thick and blonde and looked like a man. memory of wheat. He had dark eyelashes and a heavy nose that seemed to melt from his face.

His baggy white pants looked comfortable. It seemed a shame that wearing them out in a social setting would be abnormal. The orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages. Did the orderly ever wear different pants? When I was eight or so, while at school my parents switched my bed for a bunk bed and moved all my older brother's things into my room. Or maybe I switched into his room. He had a lot of things, clothes and furniture, but also posters like that Captain Marvel poster, the one where he looked like he was about to dive back down to earth from the clouds. He had a lot of stuffed animals and action figures as well, mostly Captain Marvel stuff. He had a few Wonder Woman toys, but he kept to the...

those hidden. I used to tease him and call them Barbies. He would punch me for saying that. I didn't notice when he went off to college. I didn't notice when he came back. I didn't notice that while he was gone, father made the empty bedroom his office. I didn't notice mother was missing. I didn't notice any of those things. Who knows why a butcher? her needs an office. Either way, I didn't notice. My brother asked where mother was. I hadn't thought about it until he asked. He and I found out at the same time that she had been missing for six years. My brother and father had gotten into a fight. He came back all of a sudden. My brother, It all makes me feel stupid. So much happened, and I tell it as it was told to me.

Not as I experienced it. You're not stupid. That's kind of you to say, orderly. So, anyway, my brother insisted I see a psychologist. Father would grimace at me. He would say, even the orangutans are skeptical of changes in their. cage is. He would give me steak every day because I don't like change. That line is from a Simon and Garfunkel song. I tried to be skeptical then. I knew I'd always have steak for dinner.

I was always skeptical. Am I the only skeptical orangutan around here? Yes, there has been no change in your cage. Not that a change would be easy to notice. I wiggled my toes. I was barefoot because walking the hallways without shoes allowed me to feel the cool tile on my feet. There was something relaxing in pacing a small room barefoot. I shifted my weight and began picking at my eyebrows as I looked around the room. The walls were beige with a horizontal line of blue. The floor, tan tile.

Details. My psychologist thinks I don't have a problem. You guys think I do. I feel like a caged orangutan. Private, you father, look depressed, confined orangutan. The orderly didn't reply. So, when can I leave here? After the trial, maybe.

No, I mean, when will I be, be fixed. I keep having the feeling you guys are gonna test me by making a change in my room and seeing if I notice. We don't do that. We're here to help you,

not play tricks on you. You know that, don't you? My psychologist tests me. I tapped my forehead, imagining a conversation where the orderly told me to take control. Unshakeable habits. beget unfavorable function. Something like that. That's what the psychologist said. I scratched

my cuticles and looked at the orderly's pants. Are those dickies? My pants? Yeah, they look comfortable. Is that an elastic waistband? You have the same pants except yours are blue. I felt my waist. I hadn't given my pants a thought. If someone had blindfolded me, I'd haven't the slightest idea what pants I was wearing. Is that normal? Yeah. Everyone here wears the same pants. Sorry, not bad.

I was thinking that it's strange that I'd have no idea what I'm wearing is different than normal. Isn't that odd? That's not for me to decide. I'd like to be able to notice change. The orderly scratched his head. The doctor has diagnosed you with neophobia. You know what that is? A fear of change.

Exactly. But I'm not afraid of change. I just wish I'd notice it naturally. The orderly shook his head as he left the room. I don't know what to tell you. But I believe you. I don't think you murdered your mother. I looked at me with an eyebrow raised,

but also with his nose crinkled a little. So you never noticed your mother's absence? I shook my head. No, father never mentioned it. I know this is my second day in court, but I'm not sure if you're the same lawyer I spoke to yesterday. The courtroom didn't look like a courtroom. It looked like a room.

Yes, the judge sat on a rink. based platform, but everyone else sat on folding chairs. Yes, the jury sat behind a wooden bar, but the room was carpeted. And there were only three people in the audience who all looked vaguely familiar. Everyone looked vaguely familiar when out of context. The lawyer turned to the jury. Why is that something that would need mentioning if you all already knew. I didn't know. Are you the same lawyer as last time?

The lawyer raised an eyebrow and turned back to me. I'm not your lawyer. I work for the DA. How did you not know? I thought I already answered this to the other lawyer. Isn't that why the judge sent me to the facility? Don't you already understand? I'm not an orangutan.

There was a second lawyer. He nodded at me, a reassuring nod. The district attorney looked confused. I'm sure I looked confused, too. The orderly leaned against the frame of the doorway. Tough day in court. I'm just glad to be back. It's comforting here.

I like the padded floor and walls. I don't like. out there, I can never shake the feeling that everyone's playing a big trick on me, moving things around and laughing because I don't notice. I hate it when people laugh at me. The orderly had brass skin and thick blonde hair on his arms. He had a heavy nose and dark eyelashes. His forearms were Thick like an apes. He looked familiar, but you could never be too certain. Everyone looked vaguely familiar to me. Are you... Yep, same as always. Is this the same room?

The orderly looked at me curiously. You really don't remember. You even mentioned it to me yesterday? The tan walls with the blue horizontal stripe? Now, today, padded walls. So this is a different room. I began scratching my cuticles. I don't like being surprised by change. I don't have a fear of change. No one likes surprises.

Yes, this is a different room. So you don't hurt yourself. Your lawyer's request, actually, says bad news is coming. None of you. Understand me. Father understands me. He gives me steak every day for dinner and for breakfast. I hate change because I don't notice it, but Father understood. He'd tell me all day that we'd be having steak, then we'd have steak, and I knew nothing had changed. The orangutans have which to be skeptical. I knew I'd be having steak. I wouldn't have noticed if one day I didn't,

but it was more comforting not having to worry about not noticing a change. Stake every day? I envy you, man. I love steak. Well, after a while, he would switch to hamburgers, probably because it was too expensive to give me steak every day. But then we'd be go back to steak, we alternated. I didn't like the burgers as much, though. That's understandable. The burgers made me

sick sometimes. I wouldn't notice that he'd switch to burgers. They made me sick sometimes with their crunch. That's why I started seeing the psychologist. Why would you see

a psychologist for a crunchy hamburger? Oh, not a that. Sorry, I mean, mother missing for six years and I never noticed. That's what I was thinking. That's crazy. I love her. That's why I began seeing the psychologist. When I found out, she'd been missing for six years and I never noticed here in this psychiatric facility, perhaps this is where I was. long. I scratched my cuticles with my pointer fingers. Wherever I was, I'd always been there. Whomever I met, I'd always known. Whatever I ate, I'd always eaten. Whatever I'd think,

I'd always thought. Noticing change meant never getting excited, never pleasantly surprised, never owning, never having, just seeing, never observing. I recognized this, but unless I made a conscious effort to observe, everything passed by me, unnoticed. That's crazy, but I'm certain you'll be out of your soon. You'll continue seeing your psychologist, and you'll slowly get better. You don't deserve to be here. That much is obvious.

Imagine two boxes of chocolate, if you will. One is uncovered. One is covered. Both are yours. But you would notice immediately if the uncovered had missing chocolate. Missing chocolates from the covered, however, could only be noticed once the cover was removed. This is how the butcher's son lives his life. Every uncovered box in his world is covered.

while you or I would notice missing chocolates immediately by just glancing at the box, he wouldn't notice unless he actively wanted a piece of chocolate and it wasn't there. A favorite sofa, even if it were the only piece of furniture in his otherwise empty home would only be noticed as missing once he intended to sit on it. And not a moment before. The rest of us would notice the second we sat foot inside the home. and his father kept feeding him steak. He pointed out the front door of the courtroom for some reason, instead of at me in the witness stand.

I guess father was here too somewhere. I hadn't seen him since this case began. The DA stood. Objection, move to strike. The other lawyer turned to the judge. It's all about the evidence. Your Honor. The judge looked at both clients. Overruled. I want to see where this goes. Same couch. The psychologist looked at me like I'd covered myself in shit. He didn't reply to my question.

He really did not like me. It was the exact same look father always gave me. I'd been released from the psychiatric facility. I wasn't guilty. I did not murder mother. Now, both father and mother were missing. I just needed to see my psychologist. The orderly looked apologetic as I'd left. I'd taken the bus straight here. The psychologist always made himself available to me. He felt sorry for me, I think. Yes, this is the same couch. He took a swig from his bottle of Jim Beam. Do you understand what happened in court today?

Pity was common. People always felt sorry for me because of my debilitating stupidity. The orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages. They are especially skeptical of the clam. Yes, apparently father is now the alleged murderer of my mother. I only get to see bits and pieces of the trial when I'm on the stand, but I'm not stupid. I could figure that much out. I still can't believe it.

The psychologist stood from his chair and walked to the window. He stared at the parking lot down below. I watched him wondering, what I missed. That's why I hated change. I obviously missed something, but I had no idea what. I missed something. The psychologist's complexion became slightly pale, but also a tinge green, as if he suffered from food poisoning. He turned, grabbed his keys from the desk, and coat from the hook by the door. This will all be over soon. We're going out for lunch.

Lunch? The psychologist held the door open for me. Yes, let's go. I wrapped my fingernails on the table. Why were we out to lunch at Outback Steakhouse? The waiter approached. What will we be having today? One steak, for the young man across from me.

You're not eating? No, not right now, no. That's all, thanks. The waiter nodded and left. I looked around the restaurant. A giant boomerang hung from the wall. Do Australians actually use that? The psychologist cleared his throat.

Do you understand what happened in court? I nodded. Father is wanted for the alleged murder of mother. They think he did it. I didn't do it. Mother's body was never found, so I'm not sure why they think there's a murder to be solved. Maybe she just left. That's what I've been saying.

No, she didn't just leave. She was murdered. Your father is guilty. I grimaced. I don't think so. But either way, he's... been missing since the verdict. I'm sure he's off trying to find her now. The psychologist spoke slowly. Your father, the butcher, cooked you steak every day. Yes, he understood how I didn't like

change. I don't notice it, and it makes me nervous and uncomfortable. He'd tell me we'd have steak, and that I always be having steak, and I always did. If he never repeated himself, then one day gave me fish or chicken or something. I never notice. I know it doesn't sound like a big deal, but I hate not realizing that something is different. I'm smart enough to realize how brain-dead this all makes me. I wish so badly that I could notice change, because then I'd be completely normal, but I can't, and I hate that so much. Most messed up people like me can't imagine what they're missing. I can. I can imagine it. I see normal, and no, I'll never be that.

but I've accepted that. The waiter returned and placed the steak in front of me. Is this definitely steak? The waiter looked at the psychologist and then back at me with a slight grin. He thought I was joking. I wasn't. It's definitely steak. Okay.

The psychologist frowned at me. Try it. A strange bubbling grew in my stomach. I began to feel nauseous. I really did not want the steak. It didn't look good at all. It looked weird. I scratched my cuticles.

I'm not really hungry. Eat the steak. I really don't want it. I scratched my cuticles harder. The scabs made way for fresh blood. I'm not going to ask again. Eat the steak now. I stared at the psychologist.

He glared back at me. I really did not want the steak. Now. I begrudgingly stabbed the beef with my fork, cut off a chunk, and placed it in my mouth. Notice anything? I felt nauseous, but forced it down. I placed the fork down and took a large sip of water. I did not want to be here, and I did not want to eat this steak.

Nothing? Take another bite now. What you have there is a T-Bone steak. That's an expensive cut from the short loin, and, if the butcher did it right, a tiny piece of the tenderloin. That's my favorite part of the T-Bone steak. Take another bite. I forced myself to pick up the fork, cut off another piece, and chew.

It doesn't taste different to you? The nausea subsided. I chewed slower. I suppose I'm enjoying this taste more than I remember enjoying the taste of Father's steak. So you notice a difference. I suppose I do, yeah. So I'll just tell you exactly what someone without your condition would notice. He would have immediately noticed that the steak he's eating now tastes far better from the steak. His father fed him.

He would have noticed it looked way different, smelled way different, and even felt way different. He would? Immediately. You never liked your father's steak. That's true, but you like this steak? I kept on eating. Yeah, I guess I do. The psychologist pressed on, his hands clenched on the table.

A weird grin on his face. Your mother's body was never found. We can't even be sure that she was murdered. I already told you she was murdered. You never had steak for dinner. He looked excited. He was smiling. Yes, I did.

I had steak for dinner and for breakfast. The psychologist shook his head, smirking. No, you didn't. You had steak before your mother died, but after she died. After she died, father cooked steak every day. No, no, no, no! The psychologist's smile broadened by the second. He looked deranged now.

You never had steak for dinner because you wouldn't know the difference. The orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages. The clams swell. It's all the same to the clam. Your father killed your mother. Your father killed a lot of people. You had meat for breakfast and dinner. But it wasn't beef.

No, it was never beef. Your father had a room, your brother's old room. The room became your mother's. Your father prepared you every meal, every day. But it was never steak. I dropped my fork. It clanged on the table. I dropped the knife, too. It was hard to breathe now. I missed something. The psychologist began laughing hysterically. He grabbed his mustache and pulled. It came right off. He took off his glasses. I missed something. It was hard to breathe. He was laughing so hard.

You still don't recognize me. You're so stupid. This disguise cost $2. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed tears from his eyes. The handkerchief was stained heavily. You never had... For dinner. You had your psychologist.

psychologist and for breakfast you had your... Our final tale, we meet university students taking part in an experiment, one which seeks to prove that sleep is simply not needed in our evolved condition. But author Jared Roberts presents a case to the contrary as we learn how a lack of sleep in a strange environment can be deeply unsettling. Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Peter Lewis, Atticus Jackson. and Mick Wingert. So let's learn the harrowing results of the Arkansas sleep experiment.

To those who sleep. This happened a few years ago. You may have heard rumors if you're on campus. Some even circulated online. Nobody knew what really happened. Because I'm the only one who knows, and I kept quiet for a multitude of reasons. None of the matter now. But here's what really happened.

The four of us were handpicked for this experiment by Professor Richardson because we'd all studied under him, worked under him, and as much as anyone can, earned his confidence. He said this one was different. We had to keep it quiet. He wanted to keep details to a minimum. All he would tell us before going in was that he required a month of our lives, and that if he succeeded, sleep would never again be a necessity. Think of it. Six to eight additional hours every day. Your month will be paid back before the year is out. If he was right, he'd have a Nobel Prize for sure. It would change the world. We believed in him. Sleep would become a hobby. Imagine that. We felt lucky to be a part of it. We went in with the highest of hopes. We were so excited for a new future for humanity and for ourselves. I was the only only one to leave that place. Week 1. Professor Richardson brought us out to the location in his van,

explaining along the way what we were to do. For the purposes of the study, we were asked to remain in the compound, as he called it. We would be locked in, in fact, deprived of windows and Wi-Fi. Other than endure patiently, we didn't have to do much of anything. My machine does all the work. It uses a complex melange of sound waves. to disrupt the processes of sleep, evolutionary appendices from the days before civilization. The most immediate side effect you'll notice is that you won't dream.

Any other effects we noticed we were to catalog. We were, as he said, in uncharted territory, so we had to map out the dangers. The immensity of the project was inspiring enough. Then we saw the compound, the octagon, as it was known. A concrete octagonal structure built at the end of a labyrinth of dirt roads somewhere in the backwards of Searcy, Arkansas. I've never been able to find it again. The professor said it was

originally intended as a jail for terrorists, but it was abandoned and never used. It's virtually impenetrable, invisible to satellites. But for us, it had been stocked with all the comforts we'd require for a month of dedication. I don't know if any of us expected to really conquer sleep. We thought perhaps a reduction in sleep requirements could be possible. We spent a fair amount of the first two days speculating on how the machine works with its complex melange of sound waves, and whether sleep really is an evolutionary appendix, as the professor had claimed. By the third day of only getting three to four hours of sleep, contrary to feeling groggy,

we were more awake and full of energy than ever. We were alert and ready to debate these ideas. That's when the excitement really hit us. He really did it. J.T. was a big ginger-bearded guy. You know the sort of guy who still has a healthy collection of magic cards. We don't know that. James was always the skeptic.

He came from Australia just to study under Richardson, actually. The machine could be stimulating the adrenal glands to mildly doses with adrenaline all throughout the day. Even were that so? wouldn't change the fact that he beat sleep. With our extra time, we were getting in tons of reading, playing a stupid amount of call of duty, and still had plenty of time to sit around and debate. I guess I have to admit it's fucking amazing.

We all felt it. It was almost euphoric. The excitement we felt for being possibly the first humans to live without the need for sleep. Technically, we still needed a few hours each night still, but we decided that it was more out of habit than the same. necessity. Then, on the fourth day, there's something wrong. Don was a serious one, super serious. He used to be a Franciscan I'd heard. It showed. He didn't talk much, and when he did,

it was usually worth listening to. This time, he put into words something I'd been feeling, but I guess I just kind of buried it under the excitement. With the experiment, or... I don't know. It's a... feeling this constant uneasiness like this isn't going the way it's supposed to be going, or that we're in the wrong place. No, no, I think that's it. It's this place. We all knew it was weird when we first saw it.

This concrete octagon, but living in it. I think there's something wrong with this place. Like something terrible happened here. I understood it was never used. Governments always say that about torture. prisons. It's more than that. I feel it too. I thought it was just from lacking windows at first, but that's not it. I think it's the angles. It's like the angles in this building don't add up to what they should. What if everyone's dead outside? James jumped up so fast his chair clattered to the ground.

Cut that shit out, Don. Why would you even see that? Well, what are you saying? This is a haunted octagon? Yeah, James. Was it built on an octagonal Indian? burial ground. Okay, you want to play like that? I can play. Look, the space around us transforms based on how we perceive it. Take a church. The people who go there perceive it as holy. So they do things like leave their crutches behind when they force themselves to walk or light their candles or whatever. These changes to the space only enhance the perception of holiness and influence future visitors to perceive it in the same way and change it in the same way. Horn. Horns. Haunted places are the same.

For one reason or another, they begin to be perceived as haunted. The more they're perceived that way, the more they're imbued with hauntedness. Even if you've never seen the place before, you pick up on the subtle clues if you're at all sensitive. In a way, it's true to say it's a haunted space. It's true to say the church is holy. Our interaction with a space has made it something more than just wooden sheetrock or whatever. So what I'm saying is maybe some things happen here and we're picking up on it. Some bloody awful things.

And in that sense, yes, it is a haunted octagon. No, no, no. Places are considered wholly because an authority telegraphs it to whoever will listen. Just like haunted places make a lot of money off dumb tourists. Whatever it is, we all agree something isn't feeling right about our citizens. situation. Maybe it's the machine. I say, write it down as a side effect. On that point, at least, we were all able to agree. It didn't put any of our uneasiness arrest, but we wrote it down. We somehow agreed upon the phrasing right away, too. Acute sensations that we've entered into something

where we aren't welcome. Week 2. We tried our best to ignore these feelings and carry on like we had been. Those first few days had been some of the best in our adult lives. but we never got back to those happy times. I realized around then how short-sighted of Richardson it had been to leave us there without any means of contacting the outside world. When I voiced that opinion... That's just what I've been thinking. Richardson isn't a dumb guy.

You get me? I think he did this on purpose. Why would he do that? For science, of course. It's one of those meta-studies where we're told it's about one thing, but it's actually about how we react to the experiment. like the Milgram experiments. Or it's not his choice.

The government's making him do it. And that machine is designed to control us. Or some sort of cult, Scientologists. This is a government-built installation. That actually makes sense. Not the Scientology part, though. Think about it. Okay, okay.

Let's just come back down to Earth for a second. Best case scenario, Richardson is just a jerk who doesn't care about our personal well-being, right? Give it arrest. Stop trying to act like the most rational guy in the room. You don't know what Richardson's into. He's into other things, things he'll never talk about publicly. What are you talking about?

I've heard a little about this, actually. Here's some fringe ideas. Let's just say he's not the respected academic he presents himself to be. I've read some of the content he doesn't publish. He thinks and very seriously believes that there is something else, something besides this. He knocked on the table. Something more than material stuff. That's not completely strange.

I was expecting worse. He put it this way. Think back to the beginning of existence. There had to be conditions such that the universe. existence was possible. If the universe wasn't possible, then it couldn't have come to exist. Does that stand to reason? We nodded.

Okay, and those conditions cannot be material, nor laws of matter, since those came into being with the existence of the universe. So, whatever those conditions are, they have to be something other than the basic substance of the universe. Does that make sense? I guess. This isn't turning into an argument for God, is it? No, it's an argument for something that continues to exist.

Except we can't even say that, because ideas like something and exist are developed by, for and within physical reality. This is something pre-physical, something pre-existence. Whatever it is allowed the universe to spontaneously be. Who knows what else it's been doing these billions of years? Just asking that question is already violating the stipulations. Yes, yes, but he believes he thinks it's the source of free will. Our brains touch it. somehow, and so he believes he can reach it, study it, use it. I didn't get to read much more than that.

And if this experiment is something he's not putting on the books, it might have to do with his more peculiar interests. So, instead of eliminating sleep, he's trying to make us see God? I don't know, brother. I'm just saying if he thinks the brain touches another reality, this is just the kind of experiment he'd want to try to prove his theory. You think he has this room bugged? I think he might be in here somewhere. I said it without even thinking of what I was saying. They looked to me waiting for an explanation and with what looked like fear in their eyes.

Strange, we should be so afraid of this man we admired less than two weeks ago. I sometimes feel someone watching me sleep. I figured it was one of you. at first. I especially feel it when we're not quite awake, but not quite asleep. You know, those moments when you wake up for a few seconds to adjust your pillow, I could feel and see and hear someone standing over me, just breathing and watching. And I was too close to unconscious to do anything about it. Then I just fell back to sleep. I could see the terror filling the other's eyes while I spoke.

Losing it. Me too. Someone else is in here. We drew closer together, our eyes darting nervously around the gray concrete room. We were all feeling the same thing, I'm sure, that we were trapped, trapped inside this horrible building with someone or something else. Would this person be eating? We don't see our food disappearing.

There's no way out. There isn't anywhere to hide. We got to start being sensitive. I let out a sigh of relief, because he was right. Okay, let's think about this. Let's say this is another effect of the machine. Phase two, paranoia. Phase two, paranoia.

Don gave a consenting nod. We wrote it down. The next day, when we all gathered for breakfast, have you all had any dreams? We all shook our heads. Richardson was right on the money with that one. Mm-hmm. Do you know feral children don't dream?

How do we know that? They tell us, the few that get socialized. They say dreaming is something that starts only after, when they have language, object permanence, and all that shit. What about dogs? Like chasing rabbits in their sleep? Autonomic responses. Maybe language and object permanence impacts only the ability to remember dreams.

Both are consistent with the superficial debtor. The oneness is on you to prove otherwise. What's your point, anyway? The point is, being dreamless. Do you think it's healthy? I don't think it's healthy. I think the machine isn't making us not need sleep. It's making us not feel tired.

I think all this might be happening because we aren't dreaming. We can't really answer, can we? Dreams naturally accompany REM sleep. So we don't have any studies that differentiate between the effects of not dreaming and not sleeping. Maybe we are dreaming, and the dreams are just going somewhere else. I didn't know what he meant by that. Nobody did. But we all stopped talking then and dispersed. Something about it felt too true. Week 3. Our gatherings for theoretical discussions became rarer and rarer. We tended to isolate

ourselves and eyed each other with suspicion. I still had those feelings of uneasiness and unwelcomeness every day. and each night the figure standing over me. I was sleeping even less now, about an hour, tops, so little sleep that I'd started to catch it running away. The last time I was awake enough to see where it was going. It's this one particular corner of my room that's always struck me as peculiar. I caught myself staring at it even when I didn't want to.

It's a point where the angles are strange. My eyes had trouble focusing on it. The figure sculpted straight to that point and disappeared into it. When I woke up fully, I questioned whether I'd hallucinated the whole thing. Perhaps phase three hallucinations. I went over to that corner and looked at it closely. It smelled strange, like turpentine. The more I stared at it, the more I forced my eyes to focus,

I was sure, sure something was moving inside. And it was watching me. I heard this awful hate-filled sound come from deep in the corner then. I didn't wait around to understand what made that noise. I left that room for good. I took all my short naps in the library from then on. While lying in the library, I overheard J.T. talking to someone in the corridor. He was telling them about the angles again.

He said there are more degrees in the building than can possibly be in a standard enclosed shape, 2.7488 degrees more, he said. Just enough to drive you nuts, but not enough to be obvious. The voice was distorted somehow, so I can't be sure. What I was sure of was, I didn't recognize that voice at all. Whoever J.T. was talking to wasn't one of us. It may be silly, but I was scared. I stayed there, pretending to be asleep,

while J.T. walked by, and as he did, I felt someone or something come into the room and stand over me. Then it went away. After a minute or two of telling myself I was being foolish, I went following after J.T. I didn't see him anywhere. I bumped into James, and he said he also hadn't seen J.T. Have you seen or heard anyone who shouldn't be in here? James looked at me with a mixture of surprise and terror. How do you know? About what? He told me he heard his mother calling to him,

not a faint sound that he confused for his mother, but her voice, clear as mine, calling out to him. He almost answered her, he said. Almost. Then he stopped himself. She's been dead for a year, mate. Whatever was calling me was not my mother. I saw he was shaking and his hands were clenched.

I told him to hang in there. It might be oral hallucinations. I'd been hearing things too, a crying child. So low at first I thought it was the plumbing. We should call them meaning? I thought about J.T. and what I'd heard moments ago. Let's just tell Don. Side effect of the machine, it makes sense.

The sounds are not supposed to be audible, yet somehow our brains must be picking up their random patterns and interpreting them as something. The brain assigns a memory to make the pattern meaningful. Do you believe that? Not for a second. But we had a shortage of rational explanations, and that was a pretty good one. I hoped he was right. A few days later, I found James at the gym, hounding away at the punching bag. I asked him if he was okay.

He ignored me, so I went back to the reading room. A few minutes later, he was behind me. That voice I've been hearing is not my mind. Of course not. We'd already decided that after all. No, I mean, it's just my mother was a kind person. Even if this voice is trying to sound like her, it's not like her at all. It's not kind. It's not human. I put down my book and looked him full on to see if you were serious.

It was. Very much so. She's been telling me about all kinds of things. She asked me, do you remember the shed? I couldn't say anything to that. I was speechless. I never talked about that, for good reason. It took me years to come to terms with what happened.

It was a long time ago. I was out playing behind our house in the woods, as I often did. I liked to construct shitty tree houses. I went a little off property and came to the shed. I'd never seen it before. It looked old, though. I remember that. I heard a kid crying inside. Thinking I might have a friend to make treehouses with, I looked through the window. The kid was all chained up and there was a dog bowl on the floor.

I wanted to help, but I knew I was trespassing. I looked around and that's when I saw this man off about 20 feet into the woods. He was dressed in all black, old-fashioned clothes, like 19th century clothes. He had to have been watching me the whole. whole time, expressionless. I went running all the way home. I was so scared I didn't tell my parents about it until I was supposed to go to bed, and I had to explain why I was terrified to go to sleep. They had the cops out right away. They found the shed. I heard they found the chains and bowl, but the kid was gone. I've always blamed myself for not helping that kid right away. Do you? Yes.

Okay, well, she's been telling me how to get out. I looked at him without a word because he sounded so manic. She said there's a secret exit inside J.T. That would just have to cut him open to get to it. James. Oh, I know, I know it's not true. I just had to tell someone. I don't know what's going on in this place.

I'm just scared, mate. So was I. We had to get out of that octagon. Week four. James and I started looking for ways out after that. Since we weren't sleeping at all now, we had plenty of time to do it. Every time we thought we'd found something, it was a dead end. It was while we were doing this that we saw Don standing alone in the corridor with his back to us.

What's going on? Something about it just seemed strange. Don? You okay? He turned around with a smile and gave us a big wave. He walked around the corner. I looked at James to see if he was thinking the same thing as me, that something bad was about to happen, and he was already looking back at me. We took running after him.

He was at the end of the next corridor already, getting in the elevator. Don, no! The doors closed before we got there. He went up. The thing is, the octagon is a one-floor building. There is no elevator. Never before or after. I don't know where Don went or.

if what I think I saw really happened. But I do know I never saw Don again. I don't understand. What's happening? Before we could take time to think about it, a group of people rounded the corner and were walking toward us. I think we should go. Who are they?

James, let's go. Why are they blurry? I don't know, but we're going. I grabbed his arm and pulled him with me. Then I ran. I ran until I got to the kitchen and hid myself between, the wall in the fridge. I was sure James was right behind me. I could hear his footfall the whole way. But when I looked, he was gone. I stayed there until my body really couldn't take it anymore,

probably a few hours. When I slipped out, I saw someone peering at me from around the doorway. I was so startled, I backed up against the wall. It was a little boy. Hello? Then I heard screams. The boy was gone. More screams. I couldn't just leave someone in distress, not again. So I ran towards the screams, scared of what might be happening to James. I heard a scream again, but this one was choked out. It was coming from J.T.'s room. I wished then, and I still wish, that I hadn't opened that door.

James was in there. He'd sliced J.T. open and was feeling around in his guts. The shocked, agonized expression was frozen on James. J.T.'s face. What did you do? I have to get out. James dug through J.T.'s intestines. I backed out of the room.

I didn't know what else to do. I just had to find somewhere to hide until Richardson could get us out of there. Once I was out of the room, I heard James. Mom? Oh, no. And then he screamed. I ran back in, but James was gone. The doorway to the room hadn't left myself.

sight, there's no way he got out. But he was gone. And noxious black smoke was coming from JT's abdomen. It smelled like burning tires. I went back to the kitchen. I found a supply of candles, melted wax onto some paper towels, and I stuffed my ears with it. And I just curled up in the corner with my eyes closed and waited for sleep to come. I waited a long time. But it eventually came. When I woke up, Professor Richardson was shaking me. He'd already pulled the paper towels out of my ears. I thought he'd come early. I found out later that I'd been asleep for several days.

He asked me where the others went. I told him everything, as much as I understood. I tried to take him to J.T.'s body, but it was gone. Not a trace of blood. He took me to a hospital after that to make sure I was okay. I'll foot the bill. Also, you can forget about your student loans. Is that how it is?

I put you in danger, so yes, you've earned it, if you keep quiet. I told him I couldn't keep quiet because of what happened to the others. You don't think those things really happen, do you? Would all the laws of the physical universe suspend themselves just for you for? No, those were waking dreams. You weren't supposed to dream at all. I thought I'd compensated for it. The machine needs tweaking.

That's science. The others are fine. They'll be laying low for a while until I publish the results. Please, do the same. I wanted to believe him. I've always considered myself a rational person. I just didn't believe him. Yes, it all could have been a dream.

That would be the simplest explanation. But it was no dream. I tried to find the others. I never could. I don't think they're fine at all. I tried to tell the police about it, but they wanted evidence. I couldn't even show them the octagon. I think Professor Richardson was right about one thing. Sleep really is something we evolved to protect us, except not from the creatures that roam the forests at night. It protects us from something much worse, something all around us. Sleep is not obsolete at all.

Think whatever you believe in that you have sleep and you dream. 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 envelop 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.