The NoSleep Podcast - S16: NoSleep Podcast S16 - Halloween Hiatus Vol. 1

Episode Date: October 3, 2021

We’re in between Season 16 and 17. Celebrate the Halloween Month of Horror with two previously featured Season Pass stories.“The Diver’s Door” written by Brenden Wysocki (Story starts around 00:04:06)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: David – Graham Rowat, Kim – Jessica McEvoy, Woman – Mary Murphy“Cul-de-Sac Virus” written by Evan Dicken (Story starts around 00:19:52)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Darryl – Eddie Cooper, Lemanski – Graham Rowat, Jo – Wafiyyah White, Greg – Jeff Clement, Woman – Mary Murphy, Police Officer – Kyle AkersThis episode is sponsored by:Quip – Quip introduces their new Smart Electric Toothbrush, which connects to the Quip app via Bluetooth. With Quipís Smart Electric Toothbrush, good habits can earn you great perks ó like free products, gift cards, and more. Start getting rewards for brushing your teeth today by going to getquip.com/nosleep to save $10 on a quip Smart Electric Toothbrush.Upstart – Upstart believes people are more than their credit score. We take a holistic view of an applicant, rather than write them off because of their credit score. We want to empower people to take control of their debt and financial future. Get started by going to Upstart.com/nosleepClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here for tickets to the Sleepless Spectacular show on Oct 17th in Brooklyn Click here to learn more about Eddie Cooper Click here to learn more about Evan Dicken Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Halloween Hiatus Vol. 1” illustration courtesy of Alexandra CruzAudio program ©2021 – 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

We're in between season 16 and 17, but we're kicking off the Halloween month of horror with a Halloween hiatus bonus episode. It's like our free gift to you. A free gift? I love getting those from the rewards cards I have for stores, theaters, and even gas stations. Well, that's all well and good, but did you know you can get rewards for looking after your teeth? Say what? How does that work? Easy.

with the new Quip's Smart Brush. With Quip's smart electric toothbrush, good habits can earn you great perks, like free products, gift cards, and more. You mean Quip made their electric toothbrush even smarter? Do tell. The Quip Smart Brush, for adults and kids, connects to the Quip app with Bluetooth.

It can track when and how well you brush, along with giving you tips and coaching to improve your habits. You can earn points for daily brushing, and bonus points for completing challenges. like streaks. Then you can redeem your points for rewards, like free products, gift cards, and discounts from Quip and their partners. So I can improve my brushing habits and have fun while doing so? That's what I call a win-win. It can be a win-win-win-win if you redeem your points for stuff like Quip refill credits and Target e-gift cards. You'll be smiling brighter with all those free rewards.

I already love how Quip delivers brushheads, fresh floss, toothpaste, mouthwash and gum refills every three months from $5. And now they've made brushing even better. Plus, with Quip, shipping is free so you can save money and skip the hustle and bustle of in-store shopping. That's why we recommend you join over 5 million mouths who use Quip and save hundreds compared to other Bluetooth brushes when you get a Quip Smartbrush for just $45. I'm going to be smart and get myself a Quip Smart Brunch.

Start getting rewards for brushing your teeth today. Go to get quip.com slash no sleep right now to save $10 on a quip smart electric toothbrush. That's $10 off a smart electric toothbrush at g-et-Q-u-I-P dot com slash no sleep. There's no doubt about it. Quip is the good habits company. You know, doing these ads with you is kind of like its own reward. Oh, does that mean I don't? don't have to pay you.

Oh, well, I, uh, I didn't say that. Thanks for being so generous. And now, let's get ready to generously provide you with some sleepless horror. For the no sleep podcast. Welcome, sleepless listeners. I'm your host, David Cummings. We're excited to begin our Halloween month of horror this week. I hope everyone has their pumpkins ready for carving and apple cider donuts.

ready for eating. I'd suggest skipping bobbing for apples this year. Unless you use hand sanitizer instead of water. But no, that's not good for your eyes. Yeah, yeah, no bobbing for apples this year, please. But we have two stories for you on this episode,

along with the suddenly shocking bonus episode for Season Past 16 members. And don't forget, in two weeks we'll be performing at the sleepless spectacular, horrifying Halloween variety show on October 17th at the Bellhapes. in Brooklyn, New York. Check the show notes for a link to tickets. They're going fast,

so don't delay. And so, let's get into the spirit of the month with tales that, shall we say, hits close to home. In our first tale, we meet a couple who have been together a long time. And when you're together a long time, things can start to get frayed. Problems go unsaid that should probably be spoken lest they fester, corrupt, come up when you, least want them to. And in this tale, shared with us by author Brendan Wysaki, this couple has many unspoken things hanging between them, but at least they share a love of carrots. Performing this tale are Graham Rowett, Jessica McAvoy, and Mary Murphy. So it's up to you whether you want to answer the knock in the middle of the night. Maybe it would be better to ignore it and let things be, or maybe you should

open the diver's door. David, can't you hear that? Not curious. Get curious. Kim, if we get out of bed for every sound. If we got up for every sound, what? What? If we got up for every sound, what would that mean? Finish the statement, David. Statement. It's an expression. Go out there. See what the noises. Let's shoot to see who leaves the bed. You can have odds I'll take evens. It's 3 a.m. It's too late at night for numbers and counting. Exactly. It's late and there's nothing out there. Those are breaking in sounds. We'll do rock, paper, scissors. Fine, but one and done, no best of three. There's danger on the other side of that wall, and you think we have time for a tournament? There's no danger. Come on, let's get this over with.

On three. You want scissors? Never go paper. I couldn't risk losing. I need to stay under this comforter. It's freezing out there. Just because I'm from California doesn't mean I can't handle cold. Let's set the temp to 64 each night.

Think of all the money we'll save. You're really going to let me go out there. By myself? You don't have to get out of this bed, Kim. It's a nothing sound. It's not nothing. Something. Someone is meddling with our lock. Something happens to me. It's on my conscience.

It's a girl. I'd call her a woman, but she's not acting like an adult. Like in her 30s, early 30s. Quite the attractive, yuppie. But she's really trying to get in here. A woman? Look who got out of bed. What? I'm interested now. It's not a nothing sound anymore. Let me get a look through that peephole. Might as well turn on the lights. She might see.

I think we'll be fine, except for me. I'm hungry. Why is she trying to put a key into our luck? She's quite determined. She's doing an awful job if she's trying to break in. She thinks she lives here. Determined indeed. Wants to open this door, Pat.

I haven't seen her in the building before. Late night carrot craving? It's not a crueving. craving. I'm hungry. The refrigerator is empty except for your smelly protein shakes. Break your rule. We don't need to go grocery shopping together. Maybe she knows she doesn't live here. Maybe she's an ex-girlfriend of the previous owner. Never returned her key. Here for revenge. She probably wants to trash our place. David, her key doesn't work. The key she's using doesn't work. Wait until she soberes up and she'll find the correct key on the chain. Little

surprised she hasn't yelled. You changed the locks. Yelled at who? Her ex-boyfriend, ex-girlfriend, ex-partner. It's not revenge. She'd be hollering up and down the hallway at this point. Yelling the name, decrying all the wrongs, a prelude to condo destruction. Maybe she's trying to get back with her ex. She wants to get in bed with them, surprise them. She thinks she lives here. I don't think I've seen her around here before. She just seemed nice. can she seem nice. She's trying to barge into our home. She's moving to the other side of the hallway.

She's dropping to the floor. She's just staring straight ahead. Shh, quiet. She'll hear you. And then she'll ask us to let her in, and you will. If she hasn't heard us yet, she's not going to. When can we put the shades down again? Scratchy might come back. You should have never given that dog a name. What do you mean? It was a stray, and it kept barking all the time. You act as if Scratchy won't come back. Keeping the shades open 24-7 isn't going to bring the dog back.

This way, when he comes back, we'll get to see him sooner. Make sure Scratchy gets a bowl of water and food. Now that, you'd get out of bed four at three in the morning. Obviously, Scratchy wouldn't be in nothing sound. Another carrot? The barking at all hours was terrible. It wasn't that bad. You should have never named that.

dog. It's like naming the lobster at the grocery store before you buy it. It's simply going home with you only to end up in boiling water. Kim, that's not even an appropriate comparison. Yes, it is. You should have known better than to get attached to a stray dog. We weren't going to eat scratchy. You're taking this comparison too literally and way too seriously. Do you remember what the vet said about Sadie? The vet said a lot of things. Never mind. She's taking out her name. She's taking out her name. mobile. Mobile? You're British now. She's calling someone. She's saying, fucking voicemail. Yeah, I'm calling about the locks you changed. Yeah, why were our locks

changed? You put in a new carpet, a new color of paint in the hallway, so you have to change our locks? Why was this done on a Saturday? In fact, why did the hallway even need to be remodeled? This is a gross abuse of power. Negligence with our money. Unnecessary expenditure. The old hallway was fine. Are the association news going to need another crucial raise? How does remodeling our hallway give you the right to change the lock on our doors?

I don't think you have the authority to do this. How am I going to get into my home? Every floor looks the same. She must not even live in this building. Man, does she really think she lives here? Let's slip a note under the door. And say what? Let her know she's in the wrong building.

Maybe we invite her in. Big grown-ups. You would like that, wouldn't you? Come on. You're a little fetish. What? You think I'm devising a plan to seduce her? Who even let her into the building at this hour?

We should have bought a place with a doorman. We can't afford a place with a doorman. Pretty soon. All that money we're saving at 64 degrees. She's crying. Oh, no. If she starts wailing, I'm calling the police. No sobbing. Simple tears. Just dropping from her face.

Give it a sec. The sobs will come. We should let her in. Let her in? Why not? Did you forget that your threesome fantasies almost ruined this marriage? You can't be serious. Why wouldn't I be? You fixed me before we got our license.

See it over there? The paper your mother had to have framed? And Kim, where's this coming from? It's been years. Fine. We will politely and calmly say through the door, this isn't your home. You need to go away. It's very late. Something bad could happen to her if we send her away. We're not her life babysitter. These are her Saturdays. I'm going to open the door. Maybe something bad should happen to her.

You don't mean that. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean something horrible won't happen to us if we let her into our home. You don't mean that. She could be a scam artist. This is all an act, a ruse. She weasels her way into our home and then robs us. Or murders us.

She could be a serial killer. This is her theme, her niche. There are no women serial killers. What? Women don't kill? Yes, they kill, but not in droves. Name one woman's serial killer. Let me get my cell phone and I will tell you.

That's not how it's supposed to go. I ask, name one off the top of your head, and you name one. Fine, let's say she's a con artist. Fine, she's a slice and dice her. She can create little pieces of us. We should still do something. Yeah, we keep the door locked and go back to bed. That girl will be passed out soon.

Let her stay in the hallway. It's warmer out there anyway. I just want to get inside. Let me inside. She heard you. She didn't. She's not right. Listen to that tone.

She's drunk mumbling. We can't let her stay out there. This isn't a drunk person. Thirty seconds ago, you said... Can't you hear it in her voice? Hear what? She's just sitting there still, back against the wall, still in that thick winter jacket.

I don't want to be in the hallway anymore. Does she still have her hands calmly on her lap? Yes. Leave her out there. It might mean she's not drunk anymore. I don't think she was ever drunk. Let me inside. I should call the police.

That's crazy. We should open the door. We are not opening the door. What are you hearing? She's not right. This isn't right. She's drunk and pleading to no one. David, take your hand off the dead bolt. David, stop.

Don't unlock the second handle. Stop! I called Animal Control. What? I informed animal control where they could find a stray dog. The dog wasn't harming you. You were going to let that dog stay here. And that would be terrible because...

Just because I didn't get all strange. Believe a dog outside my window was a reincarnation. Doesn't mean my feelings for Sadie are any different. The reincarnation was a theory. Why did you call? Why? I don't know, because it was a stray and should be looked after. they might be able to find its owners.

Why? I don't know, because the dog kept barking and I needed sleep. We can't let strays into our home. Our home. What happens if they don't find the owners? That's not our concern. You know what happens. You're overreacting.

So you think I want to open the door for this woman to make up for not letting in Scratchy? Something is not right about this. That woman is not dangerous. And Scratchy wasn't dangerous. Don't confuse the two. You didn't have to call animal control. We could have discussed Scratchy. When? Between you staring at the dog from the window

or when you were playing in the gross alley with it. Are you glad Sadie's gone? Give me that carrot back. Don't dry the carrot with a paper towel. It's wasteful. Don't use up all the carrots. It's not true. What?

How can you think that about me? I want to be inside. please. Well, I never thought you'd call animal control. I want to be inside, please. You're welcome to use my phone, Kim. Go ahead and call the police. I'm going back to bed.

Or look through the people. Your wife should have called the police, David. We'll get right back to the horror. But first, I want to talk to you about my aching bunions. Do you suffer from foot pain? Cece your drivel, cummings. I'm here to extort your fortune from you. What's all this then?

How do you plan to do that? Unless you give me a sizable sum of money, I shall release those photos. No, you wouldn't. I would. The photos showing you clearly, undeniably sleeping. You fiendish devil, you know I'm Mr. No Sleep. If people know I actually sleep, be ruined. How much money do you want? I demand the tidy sum of $1,000. Wait, that's it? Listen,

instead of resorting to blackmail, why not turn to Upstart? What can Upstart do for me? Upstart knows how debt can feel crippling, but they can help you on your path to financial freedom. Upstart is the fast and easy way to pay off your debt with a personal loan, all online. Ah, I see. You consolidate. You, you consolidate. all your existing debt, like credit cards and bills, into one lower interest personal loan, one fixed rate monthly payment at a lower rate. Makes sense? Indeed. Upstart knows you're more than just your credit score and is expanding access to affordable credit. Unlike other lenders, Upstart considers your income and current employment to find you a smarter rate for your loan. With a five-minute online rate check, you can see your rate up front for loans between $1,000 to

$50,000. Does it take long to get my money? Not at all. You can receive funds as fast as one business day after accepting your loan. Sounds like they don't sleep either. They're fast and friendly. Upstart can help you regain your footing

and get things back on track. How do we get started? You can find out how Upstart can lower your monthly payments today when you go to upstart.com slash no sleep. That's upstart.com slash no sleep. sleep and don't forget to use our URL to let them know we sent you.

Loan amounts will be determined based on your credits, income, and certain other information provided in your loan application. Go to upstart.com slash no sleep. So does this mean you'll no longer post those photos of me sleeping? Oh, right, I promise not to post them. I'll post those nudes of you instead. Oh, that's fine. They clearly fall in the horror category.

And speaking of horror, let's get back to the sleepless tales. In our final tale, we join a man as he observes newcomers moving into the neighborhood. It's always exciting and concerning at the same time. Future great friends or looming worst enemies. Or maybe they'll just keep to themselves, like some of the others in the area do, and nothing will change. But in this tale, shared with us by author Evan Dickon, Any hope of things remaining the same are quickly dashed.

Performing this tale are Eddie Cooper, Graham Rowett, Wafia White, Jeff Clement, Mary Murphy, and Kyle Akers. So keep an open mind. Don't judge people by first impressions. It's always worth digging a little deeper. It's better to have a healthy community than a cul-de-sac virus. I was finishing up Molly's fire pit when are you, pulled into the driveway across the street.

Like most houses around the development, the modest asphalt shingled Cape Cod had been empty since I moved into the neighborhood about a year ago. So it was something of a relief to see it sold. The street just didn't look right with so many darkened homes, like a smile with missing teeth.

I stacked the last of the bricks around the pit, then pressed my hands into my armpit, hoping the warmth would tease some of the ache for my swollen joints. The pain had never come this early before. Usually I stiffened with the ground, winter's chill rhyming my bones like ice on a window pain. But this year had been different in so many ways. I stood with a sigh, half expecting my breath to fog the air.

It didn't. The afternoon was crisp but not cold, barely jacket weather. Mollyworth loved it. I regarded the ragged circle of bricks, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat. Another one down. Wind hissed through the leaves overhead, and for a moment it was like being underwater. The late afternoon light shining coral red through a canopy of oak and maple leaves. Above, shoals of starlings circled beneath a flat cloudless sky.

A truck door slammed, followed by an explosion of furious barking. Lamansky's dog was loose again. I stomped across the yard every step kicking up little puffs of newly fallen leaves. Rufus, a hulking German shepherd with a torn ear, stood next to the curb, paws pounding the pavement with each angry bellow. A youngish woman stood by the truck, her expression calm. almost curious. A moment later, she was joined by a man who mirrored her flat gaze,

then took a step toward Rufus, hand outstretched. The effect on the dog was instantaneous. Rufus' barks changed to whines, and he backed away, head low, and ears flat. I grabbed Rufus' collar, wincing as the leather bit into my palm. Sorry, not my dog. The man and woman only stood watching. They were deeply tanned, with dark eyes and black hair. His parted on one side, hers, and a loose ponytail.

The woman turned back to the truck as if she hadn't even noticed the dog in me, the man, pausing to give us a slight half-smile before joining his partner. I shook my head as they got back to unpacking. Not a great first impression. Rufus twisted, lips drawn back from teeth the color of old newspaper. I considered giving the dog a good smack, then thought better of it. It wasn't Rufus's fault. He had a shitty owner. That was Molly talking.

She'd always had a city girl's sensibility when it came to animals, even ones that needed to be put down. The pain in my hands wedded my temper, and I dragged Rufus back across. the street and up the cracked pavers that led to Lamansky's porch. Like mine, the house had been built only a few years ago, but Lemanski's refusal to perform even the most basic upkeep had left it looking decades older. Get off my property, Jackson. Lemanski sat in a rusted-out rocker, almost invisible against the cracked siding in his ratty flannel jacket and John Deere cap. His face was weather-beaten cardboard.

lined in hairless but for a wispy beard stained yellow by smoke. Eyes like potholes stared from under heavy brows, almost lost in the shadow of his nose. A big, ugly thing spotted with burst veins. Your goddamn dog was out again. Letting your house go to shit is one thing, but Rufus could have really hurt someone. He's a good boy.

What? Did you just see... Rufus? All the coiled tension went out of the dog. Cautiously, I let go, then crossed my arms to hide the fact my fingers were still crooked into arthritic claws. The little barking is good. Lamansky turned to regard the Cape Cod, spat, then looked back at me, an ugly smile deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. Just what did you mean by that?

I mean what I mean. Lemansky edged past me to open the door. At his nod, Rufus followed. Listen, you have to restrain Rufus before something bad. Sorry to hear about your wife. Lamansky shut the door. Next time your dog gets out, I'm calling the goddamn cops. I spoke to the locked door, breathing through my nose as I made my way down the stairs,

pointedly not kicking over Lamansky's ash can like I really, really wanted to. Joe's tan SUV was parked in front of the garage when I got. got home. She'd been making a point to drop by every couple of days. The little thrill I got at the sight of my daughter's car faded when I recognized Greg's silhouette in the family room's wide picture window. It wasn't that I didn't like Joe's husband. It was just, well, there wasn't much to him. We let ourselves in. Joe gave me a hug that didn't last nearly long enough. Hello, Mr. Jackson. I thought I told you to call me Daryl.

I shared a quick look with Joe who shrugged. I wanted to stop by before we headed up to Cleveland. She frowned. The dishes are pulling up again. I was going to do them after I finished the fire pit. A glance at the refrigerator. Molly's list pinned to it with a magnet in the shape of a cartoon octopus. Joe gave a little twitch of her head.

Then a soft sigh. The same gesture Molly used when she was working up to say something hard. Dad, can we talk? I found myself tensing out of habit. Greg began rolling up his sleeves. Go on. I'll do the dishes. I shook my head. You don't need to.

It's fine, Mr. Jackson. I don't mind. Joe took my arm and guided me into the family room, waiting until the... Greg turned on the water before settling onto the big blue couch. She patted the cushion beside her and I sat. I ran a hand over the threadbare armrest. Remember the USS Princess Explorer? She gave an absent smile. How could I forget?

We must have sailed this couch around the world a dozen times. The story's mom used to tell... I closed my eyes. Joe laid her hand on mine. I worry about you. All alone in this house? I'm fine. There's plenty to keep me busy.

She waved in the direction of the list on the fridge. That's just it. This is not healthy. If you were closer, I could drop by more often. I don't need babying. Long Pines is right down the street from my house. You'd be around people your own age. They have a pool and AIDS to help when the arthritis gets bad.

Joe slipped a glossy brochure from her purse. The cover showed a group of grinning mummies flanked by men and women in hospital scrubs. I said no. I want you close. Why? It's not like you need help with any kids. All the feeling went out of Joe's face. I'm sorry. I didn't mean... Take a look at the brochure.

We'll be back in a couple of dates. She stood stiffly. Joanna, stop. You're walking on lava. She looked down at the carpet, picked up her purse, then went into the kitchen. After a few moments of hushed conversation, Greg went outside to start the car. Before leaving, Joe paused in the doorway.

Not worried about mom's list, Dad. Worried about what happens when you finish it. The SUV's headlights stabbed through the front window, bright enough to bring tears to my eyes. I sat until the engine rumbled faded into the background hiss of I-70, then pushed myself to my feet and went into the kitchen. The pain in my hands was bad enough I couldn't wrap my fingers around the pen. So I settled for holding it between my palms and smearing the tip of the tip of it. across one of the lines of looping cursive. Only a few chores remained unmarked.

Enough to fill an afternoon. Maybe to. The empty house did not respond. Truth be told, it worried me, too. Joe would have had me carted away if she'd seen me wobble up the old step-ladder to scoop fistfuls of cold, wet leaves from the gutters. It had to be done, though.

Home ownership was a study. and entropy. I'd saved this chore for last, not because it was murder on my hands, but because it was something my wife wouldn't do. Molly never had a problem with hard work, but there were a few jobs scrubbing the toilet, fishing hair out of the sink trap, cleaning their gutters that made her gag. Those had always been my favorites, mostly because of the look on Molly's face when I finished, like I'd spared her from something terrible. From the roof I could see Lamansky out in the drive, elbow deep in the guts of his Ford pickup. Across the street, the U-Haul had been replaced by a beige Prius,

but I could see another moving truck down near the brick-fronted ranch at the corner. I'd heard the housing market was bouncing back, but it was nice to see the real proof. Soon the development would be a proper neighborhood. A light went on in the big bay window across the street, and I realized I ought to head over and introduce myself. I could finish the gutters tomorrow, or the day after. I went inside to wash up and grab a dusty bottle of wine from the rack. Then crossed the cul-de-sac to ring my new neighbor's doorbell. The woman who answered looked almost identical to the one from yesterday, but with blonde hair, and skin several shades lighter.

Hi, I'm Darryl Jackson. I live across the street. You have to talk. Yes. I mean, no, it's not mine. Lamansky, he lives over there. He's kind of a... Was that you yesterday? We were moving in. I smiled, thinking she was joking. But she only stared.

Okay, I thought I could come welcome you to the neighborhood. We're still unpacking. maybe some other time. All right, sure. At least take a housewoman gift. I held out the wine. She looked at my hands. You don't need to.

Please, it's just Chardonnay. My wife loved the stuff, but it gives me heartburn. I pressed the bottle into her hands. Thank you. She shut the door. It wasn't until a breeze pricked the skin on my face that I noticed I was sweating. I shook my head, then started for home.

Getting halfway up my driveway before realizing I hadn't gotten the woman's name, Lamansky leaned against his truck, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. I kept walking. That slowed me down for a moment. My eyes weren't what they used to be, but I was sure the woman had looked different yesterday. She could have dyed her hair, but... Her skin? No. I must be remembering wrong. Lamansky was just screwing with me. As I hurried into the house, he called out.

Takes him a little while to get settled. I'll buy again tonight, see if Blondie's still around. I slammed the front door, cutting off the flow of bullshit. It was just a walk. Out to Baffin Road, cut through the woods, down along the single strip of sidewalk, then a quick loop around the cul-de-sac. I used to stop by the office, too, but all the people I remembered were either retired or dead. The new faces seemed to change too quickly for me to keep track of.

I walked every evening, weather-permitting. There was nothing strange about it. This time, though, I felt like I was 12 again, taking the old gravel road on my way home from school and the hope Milo Redding's older sister would forget to shut her curtains when she changed. Lomansky's needling had stuck with me all day, festering until I found myself peeking through the blinds of the house across the street.

Unfortunately, while I had a good view of the Cape Cod's driveway, the crabapple tree in their front yard still had enough leaves to block most of the bay window. Usually the walk took around a half an hour. This time I was back in 20 minutes. Most of the houses were dark and empty, and those few that were lit looked like ships on a midnight sea. I turned off the sidewalk and consciously slowed my nervous hustle. Light from the Cape Cod's window cast checkerboard shadows on the front yard. Inside, the new couple was eating dinner, watching TV at the far side of the room.

Their faces were the same, but their hair was black again. and their skin was as dark as mine. As they turned to regard me, I realized I was staring. The woman raised her hand and waved. A moment later, the man joined her. Neither smiled. I eyed the row of empty bourbon bottles on Lamansky's windowsill, wrinkling my nose as smells of ash and stale liquor overpowered the scent of wet leaves.

My forearm made a muffled thump against Lamansky's door, not nearly as loud as a knock, but all I could manage with hands that felt like someone had filled them with crushed glass. It had taken me a while to digest what I'd seen on the walk. I had spent most of the night alternately sneaking looks at the house across the street and trying to come up with a rational explanation for the couple's change. Sleep must have crept up on me because I woke to the construction site deep of a truck backing into the driveway of the house opposite lemurs. Lomanskys. This, more than anything, had driven me to brave the morning chill. When another thud for my forearm produced no response, I settled for giving the door a very satisfying

kick. Curses joined the torrent of barking as a bleary-eyed Lomanski cracked the door. The old man's beard was matted to one side of his face, and he traded his jacket for a stained bathrobe and dirty gray socks pulled almost to his knees. What do you want? I glanced across the street, relaxing a bit when I saw the Prius was gone. The new neighbors, they're black now. Come on in. Lock the door behind you.

I don't touch anything. I stepped inside, grimacing at the musty, spoiled milk smell of the place. Shutting the door was easy enough, but the dead boat was one of the old key and latch models and defeated my clumsy attempts. After a few embarrassing moments, Lamansky reached over and twisted it shut. I held up a claw. Sorry. It's bad today.

Lamansky grimaced, then turned to thread his way through the stacks of old magazines that filled the foyer. His kitchen was a riot of peeling linoleum bathed in the light of a single fly-specked bulb. The Formica table at which Lamansky sat was stained a patchwork brown. The circles left by the bottoms of dozens of coffee mugs like rings of an old oak. I selected the sturdiest-looking chair and carefully sat across from the old man. What the hell's going on? Don't really know.

Lomansky selected two filmy jam jars from the counter and slopped a liberal measure of bourbon into each. He slid one across the table, then glanced at my hands. You want a straw? What are they? Some kind of monster. Lamansky talks his drink better, then poured another. Better if they were,

then someone might be able to do something about it. Bastard's turned me out of two neighborhoods, but I ain't going easy this time. Don't even care if they come for me. We're ready, Rufus and I. What? Come for you? You ever driven down a highway, Jack?

and all those other cars, houses as far as the eye can see. You ever wonder who lives in them? I mean, they can't all be full of people, right? Folks with lives, all their own dreams, families, things they hate, like you and me. You know, real people? Lemansky pointed a long-nailed finger at me. Well, they ain't. Not like you and me anyway.

It's them. it's out there, in the cars, in the houses, everywhere, chewing their way through the world. Bullshit. If you say so. Lamansky sipped at his bourbon. That's the thing about it. They act just like us. Driving around, paying taxes, buying houses. But they're not. It's not just a shifting. Even after they settle in, there's all sorts of little tells. cutouts of people, you know?

Just going through the motions of being alive. I can't believe... Don't take my word for it. Ever been inside one of their houses? Like termites. Unnatural is what it is. Lamansky was obviously drunk and maybe crazy as well, but after what I had seen last night,

I couldn't just discount the old man. I chewed my lip. What do I do? You. Ain't nothing you can do except leave or wait for them to get around to you. They've been moving in since last month. I can understand how you missed it with Molly, Diane, and all. Frankly, I thought you knew what with Joe marrying one.

That's bullshit. Greg is boring, but he's not a... I pushed up from the table. Lamansky had to be lying. Greg had never said or done anything suspicious. Come to think of it, he'd never really said or done much of anything. I knew this was a mistake. I need to go.

Lamansky waved his glass at the front door. I fumbled with the door latch, face burning as Lamansky shuffled over, checked the window, then open the door. Think about what I said, Jackson. I all but ran out of the house, not stopping until I passed the fence that separated my house from Lomanski's lot. There I paused. one hand on the rough wood, my breath coming in short, tight gasps. This was crazy.

Molly's death must have shaken something loose in my head. I'd heard about things like that, one spouse coming unhinged after the other passes. Yes, that had to be hit. I was just going insane. Or senile, the sun was high overhead. The sky empty but full. for a few wispy jet contrails. Faint scents of dry leaves and wood smoke threaded the air,

the brisk morning chill mellowing into a perfect autumn afternoon. A few deep breaths were enough to stop my hands from shaking, although not enough to ease the anxious tightness in my chest. The steady wish of I-70 traffic was like waves on a distant beach, and yet as I watched the cars blur by, I couldn't help but wonder what was in them. Flushing lights dragged me from the warmth of uninterrupted dream. Blue and red.

They skipped across the family photos and bookshelves, carnival bright in the darkness. I slipped from my too big bed and over to the window. An ambulance sat in Lomanski's driveway and a police car on the street out front. By the time I winced my way into shoes and a jacket, Two uniformed men had emerged from the house with a blanket-covered stretcher. The fabric tented in a way familiar to anyone who had ever seen a cop drama. Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step back.

A policeman stepped from the shadows as I shuffled up. Is he? Heart attack. I ran a trembling hand across my stubble. Shit. We couldn't find any next-of-kin or contact info. Did you know Mr. Lamanski-Long? We both moved in with the development open, maybe a year ago.

For a while, we were alone. Well, not alone. I was married. My wife had a stroke, and I grimaced, embarrassed that nerves had set me babbling. I peered past the man into Lamansky's house. None of the precarious columns of newspaper remained standing, and the floor was littered with trampled refuse. Was there a struggle?

The officer glanced over his shoulder. We think he was trying to get to the phone when it happened. Most of it was the paramedics trying to get the stretcher in. He had a dog. Did you see Rufus? No, no dog. Did Mr. Lomanski have any family? Anyone we can call?

Not that I know of. Would any of your other neighbors know? I looked around the cul-de-sign. Soft porch lights illuminated brick, wood, and vinyl facades, but the windows remained dark and empty as the moonless night overhead. No, I don't think so. The policeman watched the ambulance back onto the street, then handed a card to me.

Here's contact information for the High Street morgue in case someone remember something. Wait, the officer paused on the act of ducking back into his car. Who called you? What? You said Le Mansky was trying to get to the phone if he didn't call you who did. Dispatch didn't give us a name. Probably a neighbor. It almost always is. The cruiser's lights flipped off as it pulled away, leaving me alone in the driveway.

I darted a wary look around the cul-de-sac, half expecting to see silhouettes in the darkened windows. Nothing moved in the dim moonlight. but for the porch lights the houses might have been unoccupied. At home, I made sure everything was locked up tight, propping chairs against the front and back doors for good measure. When that was done, I tried Joselle, but got no answer. Late as it was, she might already be asleep, or maybe she was still angry with me. Either way, I had to get her here. Had to know she was safe. She didn't answer, so I left a voice man.

Joe, I'm sorry. I'll go anywhere you want. Just please, please come home right away. I love you. On the desk by the phone, there was a framed photo of the three of us at Buckeye Lake. Molly in her floppy sun hat and Joe, 10 or 11, grimacing in the bright orange life vest we'd forced her into. I didn't remember the exact day, but it must have been early in the season because the water wasn't crowded with boats and swimmers.

Outside Lomansky's house had gone dark but for the porch light. Shadows moved just beyond the glow, arms full of empty bottles and crumpled newspaper, a procession of shapes passed in and out of the house, hollowing it out. Joe would never believe me. Hell, I hardly believe me. Lomansky had mentioned looking inside their houses, but not what I would find. Still, I needed something to show my daughter. I took the picture from its frame, folded it, and slipped it into my pocket.

Then I went into a family room and settled down on the big blue couch to wait. It didn't take long to finish the gutters, but I stayed up there anyway, picking bits of leaves and maple seeds. from the downspouts. The latter gave me a good view of the neighborhood, and it seemed a shame to leave things unfinished before heading out. I'd stayed awake all night, watching the world bleed from black to gray to the muted colors of dawn. The husband left early,

coffee mug in hand as he steered the Prius out onto Baffin Road. It would be a little while before the woman left, more than enough time for me to finish Molly's last chore. I wasn't sure what to expect when I'd finished. There was no sense of release, and any lingering grief was overshadowed by worry for Joe, an anxiety over what I planned to do. So I dithered, hoping something would change. But nothing did.

At last, the Cape Cod's garage door grumbled open, and the woman drove away. If she knew I was watching, she gave no sign. Not even glancing up as she thumbed the right blinker and eased on to baffin. The aluminum rungs of the ladder were cold, even through my gloves, and I hissed as I climbed down. A breeze kicked up as I crossed the cul-de-sac. The insect skitter of leaves on asphalt strangely loud in my ears. I expected to have to search for a window they'd forgotten to latch, but the door wasn't even locked. The front room looked normal enough.

A table and chairs near the bay window, a couch across from the TV. I patted across the carpet looking for something, anything, to show I wasn't just breaking into somebody's house. The kitchen was the same. Appliances updated and cabinets freshly varnished. A white plastic phone in its cradle by the door. The door to the study was closed, as was the basement door across from it. It was almost a relief to find nothing. out of the ordinary. I was just about to slip back across the street and chalked the whole thing up to creeping senility when a muffled thud sounded from inside the study. I froze. I hadn't

seen anyone come or go from the house other than the couple, but that didn't mean anything. The place could be crawling with whatever they were. Still, I didn't have a lot of time. If Joe had gotten my message, she would be on her way and I needed something to show her. door. Carefully, I pushed open the study door. There was nothing beyond. No ceiling, no floors, no walls, just an opaque blackness that seemed to press outward with almost tangible force.

I stretched out a hand, half expecting the darkness to ripple like water, but my fingers encountered only air. cold and slightly humid. Although the morning sun was shining full through the kitchen windows, I couldn't see the other side of the room. The darkness didn't absorb the light so much as ignore it, giving the impression of a vast, cavernous space deep underground. I backed away from the study, more confused and frightened. Then jolted as the basement doorknob dug into the the small of my back. Numbly, I opened that door as well and found myself facing the same terrible darkness. The sight broke something in me, then I hurried through the house, throwing open

closets, bathrooms, cabinets, every closed door I could find. Behind each was more nothing. Soon, I found myself surrounded by holes, as if the house itself was nothing more than a blanket get draped over the night. Everywhere that couldn't be seen from outside had been hollowed out. I ran a hand through my hair, ignoring the stab of pain in my fingers. What had Lamansky called them?

Turmites. A growl sounded behind me, low and threatening. It raised the hair on the back of my arms. I'd half turned when something wretched the arm of my jacket, dragging me down. Points of painful light flared in my vision as my head glanced off the kitchen counter.

I felt teeth through the quilted fabric of my jacket, but managed to slip my arm from the sleeve before they closed on flesh. Although the effort of forcing my crooked fingers the clothes on the edge of the counter were to scream from me, I managed to pull myself to my feet. Blinking back tears, I turned to see what had attacked me. Rufus? The German shepherd whipped his head back and forth. My jacket flocking with the broken neck. Here!

Rufus dropped the jacket. What the hell are you doing here? The dog's ears perked up. He looked past me and gave a short, sharp bark. The darkness made a sound, Arrhythmic but insistent Book pages rustled by the wind The scurling hiss of the wings of low-flying birds

It came from all around Accompanied by a smell like wet leaves gone to mold A hand slipped from the cabinet in front of me Its fingers long and boneless They brushed across the countertop Closed upon the edge of the cabinet And pulled I backed away, only to see another arm emerged from the basement door, in the study,

and the rows of cupboards lining the wall above the stove. They moved in perfect synchronicity, shadows cast by the same maker. As one, the thing slipped from the darkness, singular in its multiplicity, alone but somehow everywhere. The creature was vaguely humanoid, with skinned the inky kaleidoscope of spilled oil. Its outline seemed to pulse, and as it passed through a shaft of sunlight, I caught a glimpse of slick, boneless bodies squirming in the darkness. They... It stood before me, surrounded me.

I moaned as the thing reached out. Close, too, but not quite touching my face. I heard a soft click. The hand withdrew, holding something square and white. Dully, I realized it had picked up the phone. Yes, please. The voice that came from the creature's misshapen lump of a head was that of the woman I had spoken to yesterday.

I'm at 4129 Oak Court. There's someone in my house. Please, hurry. Something warm and wet trickled down my forehead, and I knuckled it away to see my hand had come away red. My vision swam. What the hell are you? Like a swimmer rising through murky water, the creature took on form and substance. You hit your head, Mr. Jackson.

How do you know my name? I wobbled. Tried to steady myself, but my hand slipped on the counter. She caught me with her arms, human arms, and lowered me to the ground. You told me yesterday when we talked. I turned my head to see Rufus watching from the door of the study. Now a carpeted room with a desk and a small wall of half-filled bookshelves. Rufus cocked his head, tail thumping.

There was a flash of pain when the woman pressed a dish towel to the wound on my forehead. Then a cold numbness. The world seemed to pull away as I slipped back into unconsciousness. Dully, I realized that for the first time in a very long time, my hands didn't hurt. Room was dark. At first I thought the woman had dragged me into one of the holes. But as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I recognized the familiar contours of my bedroom. room. I thumbed the switch on the lamp, then turned it down when I saw Joe curled up on one of the chairs.

Someone had set the Buckeye Lake picture back on the nightstand. You're awake. Greg stepped from the darkness of the hallway with a blanket. He spread it over Joe, then put a finger to his lips. She's had a long day. Just what the hell just... I quieted as Greg sat on the bed. Although there was no threat in the younger man's posture, I couldn't help but realize how little I could do if matters turned violent.

Greg leaned close as if to share a secret. Paramedics bandaged the cut on your head. The cullins aren't pressing charges and... Is that what they're calling themselves? Of course, it's their name. So, what happens now? Are you going to kill me like Lamansky? I might not have been able to do anything about Greg,

but I wasn't just going to sit there and pretend like none of it had happened. We didn't kill anyone, Daryl. Call me Mr. Jackson. We're not what you think we are. I've seen what you are. Termites, gnawing away at the world, leaving nothing. That's where you're wrong. There has always been nothing.

Most of everything is nothing. Grade nodded at the window. The blinds have been drawn back to show the shadowed bulk of trees in the night sky beyond. Why are you here? Why are you here? I responded with sullen silence. Let me explain. Do you remember this day?

Greg picked up the picture from the nightstand and handed it to me. I nodded. My lips pressed into a tight line. What about the day after it? Or the day after that. Or the day after that? Of course not. If you don't remember them, how do you know you were there?

I know. Greg gave a little twitch of his head. We live day by day. But when we look back, Most of our lives are filled with... I don't believe you. Greg stood, offering me his hand. I want to show you something.

I tried to keep up a glare, but my gaze kept sliding over Greg's shoulder to where Joe lay. Just don't hurt my daughter. Greg followed my gaze. I would never hurt Joe. I love her. I slid my legs over the edge of the bed and let Greg help me help me. up. Although Greg's hands felt human enough, I still grimaced at his touch. The two of us

patted from the room, but not before I stole one last look over my shoulder. Light from the street beyond filtered through the hallway windows, turning family photos into dark blocks on the wall. Greg led me through the family room and into the kitchen, shutting the door before turning on the overhead light. Someone had placed Molly's list on the counter along with a black pen. The gutters were clean. All that remained was to cross out the last thing my wife had ever written. It's important you finish. Why do you want me to? It's not important to me. The paper felt strange in my hand. Brittle as fallen leaves. I took up the pen and found to my surprise I could grip it without pain.

Slowly, I marked a line through the last chore. Then look to Greg. What now? Greg turned to open the door. The family room was gone. What did you do? Greg stepped into the liquid dark, tendrils of glistening shadow writhing up and around his body. It was always like this.

You were always like this. Some fight it, some accept it, most ignore it. But that doesn't mean it isn't there before the first. Greg's features shifted, even as they remained the same. Faces overlaid his. The woman across the street. Lomansky. Joe, Molly, I gave a soft moan.

I took a step toward the door, hand raised, and paused as I saw my flesh and turned the same rainbow black as the creature I'd seen across the street. In my other hand, the list cracked and crumbled, sifting through my fingers like fine ash. At last I understood, we're everything. Some of the time, at least. Greg shrugged. now human again. Behind him the darkness faded. Replaced by the familiar shadows of the family room.

A light went on. Joe stood in the hall. The blanket wrapped around her like a saw. He had to go to the bathroom. I was helping him. She bit her lip. I was worried. I thought maybe you were wandering again.

And after your call and what happened with the Collins? I gathered her into. a hug. This time she didn't pull away. It's okay. It's okay. Dad, I know you don't want to go to Long Pines, but... I'll go. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. I stroked her hair, trying to recall our days together. So few, but all I had left. I looked up to see Greg watching us. His expression blank. The big picture window behind him opening onto the cul-de-sac. The autumn shadows dark but for the scattered pinpricks of porch lamps. Above, the sky was the same. We place the letters back in their envelopes. It's time to take our leave.

The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our creative content manager is Olivia White. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings. If you would like to find out how you can hear the extended editions of our audio program, please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season pass program. 25 episodes, each over two hours long and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only $25. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening and for being ever curious.

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