The NoSleep Podcast - S16: NoSleep Podcast S16 - Halloween Hiatus Vol. 2

Episode Date: October 10, 2021

We're in between Season 16 and 17. Celebrate the Halloween Month of Horror with two previously featured Season Pass stories."The Farwood Phantom" written by Caroline Diorio (Story starts around 00:04:40)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - Nichole Goodnight, Nicolai - Atticus Jackson, Vince - Graham Rowat"The Black Silo" written by Blair Wolff (Story starts around 00:23:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Mason - Graham Rowat, Abby - Sarah Ruth Thomas, Mikey - Jeff Clement, Aunty Sweetpea - Erin Lillis, Uncle Landon - Jesse CornettThis episode is sponsored by:Betterhelp - Betterhelp's mission is making professional counseling accessible, affordable, convenient - so anyone who struggles with life's challenges can get help, anytime, anywhere. Get started today and get 10% off your first month by going to betterhelp.com/nosleepRaycon - Raycon's new Everyday earbuds look, feel, and sound better than ever. Small build, mighty sound. Raycon's most compact wireless earbuds deliver crisp and powerful beats for your everyday grind. NoSleep listeners can get 15% off their Raycon order at BuyRaycon.com/nosleep.Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here for Brandon Boone's "Night Fall" albumClick here for tickets to the Sleepless Spectacular show on Oct 17th in Brooklyn Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone"Halloween Hiatus Vol. 2" 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

It's the Halloween month of horror, a month full of scary stories, ghosts, hauntings, and things that go bump in the night, a time for the dark spirits to come out. But amidst the fun part of Halloween darkness, it can be tough to deal with the darkness you might be feeling inside. That's why we love BetterHelp, because they can help, even when all you need is someone to listen and guide you to a better way of thinking. Better Help is online therapy that assesses your needs. and matches you with your own licensed professional therapist. You can start communicating in under 48 hours. So when it's not about a life crisis or quick self-help fix,

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by BetterHelp and No Sleep listeners get 10% off their first month at BetterHelp.com slash no sleep. And now, let's haunt our way toward Halloween as we start the show. For the no sleep. Welcome, Sleepless Listeners. I'm your host, David Cummings. We hope you're fully stocked with Halloween supplies by now. Lots of candy, lots of spooky decorations, ghoulish costumes, and lots of creepy Halloween-inspired music to set the delightfully dark mood. What's that? You find yourself lacking good Halloween music? Then look no further than our very own macabre maestro, Brandon Boone. Brandon has just released his latest album

called Nightfall, featuring 12 instrumental tracks of music inspired by, and sure to inspire, the Halloween spirit. Perfect to put on while the trick-or-treaters come a-knocking, or while on long walks through dark woods. Check the show notes for a link to where you can

buy Nightfall, or listen on your favorite music streaming platform. Nightfall by Brandon Boone. Make it your Halloween soundtrack. And if you'd like to see Brandon perform live in concert, and you're near the Brooklyn area, you're in luck. Brandon will be performing at the Sleepless Spectacular Horrifying Halloween Variety Show on October 17th at the Bell House in Brooklyn, New York.

And yes, there will be actors like me, Mary Murphy, Mike Delgado, Graham Rowett and Sarah Olivia performing while Brandon plays his music, but that's okay. It will be a wonderfully entertaining live event. Check the show notes for a link for tickets right now. You don't want to miss out when the show sells out. And so, Halloween is fast approaching. Let's get the party started early and start the show.

In our first tale, it's time to put on our best costumes for a Halloween party. We join a young woman who's ready for some feelings. some festivities at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon Frat House for their annual Sawin Suarez. But in this tale, shared with us by author Caroline DiOrio, we discover that this party might have a rather strange gate-cratcher. Performing this tale are Nicole Goodnight, Atticus Jackson, and Graham Rowett. So when you're choosing a costume, maybe you'll want to dress as a Ghostbuster. At least that way you might stand a chance if you come up against the Farwood Phantom.

I wasn't sure Sigma Alpha Epsilon would be having their annual Halloween party after what happened last year. As I made my way through the throngs of costume students milling around campus, however, the throbbing bass echoing from the direction of the frat house answered my question for me. The party was already in full swing when I arrived. A girl dressed as Princess Leia collapsed in front of me as I made my way up the front steps, vomiting a bright green deluge onto the pavement. I stepped around her and went inside. The house was packed with coeds,

from the nod of dancers in the living area to the slightly quieter guests clustered around the snack table. There seemed to be even more people in attendance than there had been last Halloween, as hard as it was to believe. I hadn't been here in so long in what felt like a lifetime, but the place hadn't changed at all.

I was suddenly awash in memories, coming here with my roommate and her friend's freshman year, laughing and dancing until our feet ached. I'd been so happy then, so hopeful. So what are you supposed to be? The voice startled me out of my reverie, and I quickly turned around. There he was, all six feet in change of him, as handsome and hazel-eyed as the day I first laid eyes on him in Biology 101 last August. Nicolai Wilder. My hands flew reflexively to the burlap bag over my head, and she was.

ensuring that it still securely covered my face. I barely had time to poke holes in it from my eyes before coming here. He cocked his head and smiled. Hello? Anyone home? Sorry. I'm one of the undead from Necromancer Rise of the Nephilim. You know, that goofy old action movie from, like, 2001.

I didn't have time to paint my face up, so I'm a masked zombie tonight. I laughed and did a little spin so he could see all of my costume. My dull gray skin, my blackened nails, the dirt cover. covered rags from what used to be the blue dress I wore to church in high school. I'd gotten a couple of wide-eyed inquiries from a few visual arts majors about how I'd managed to do the special effects makeup on my arms and legs, but there hadn't been much to tell. It was an easy costume.

Very easy, in fact. You kidding? I love that movie. I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. Behind my mask, I smiled. To the best of my knowledge, there was no movie entitled Necromancer Rise of the Nephilim. And with yours? He glanced down at his crisp suit

At the little name tag on his lapel that read, I'm sorry. I'm a formal apology. I love it. Thanks. My name's Nikolai, by the way. Nice. I'm Sarah. Have we had a class together this semester?

Your voice sounds kind of familiar. I don't think so. I definitely would have remembered seeing you. Nicolai grinned, his gap-toothed smile glinting in the dim light. Well, maybe you could take your mask off. Let's see if you're as cute as you sound. Shit. Oh, I...

Hey, Nick, we're going over to Joey's. You in? I turned and saw a short, stocky guy and a red t-shirt. Except for the Jason Vorhe's mask perched top his egg-shaped head heap, didn't appear to be wearing a costume. You're leaving already, Vince? Vince rolled his eyes. Yeah, of course.

It's only 11, and this place has already boring me to tears. You coming or what? Nikolai looked at Vince, and then down at me. For a second, I thought he would leave with him, but then he shook his head. Actually, I think I'm going to stay a little longer. He winked at me then, and relief washed through me. I hadn't come for nothing after all. Vince shrugged and turned to leave.

Suit yourself. Don't let the Farwood Phantom get you. The Farwood Phantom? What's that? Nikolai waved his hand dismissively. That's just Vince's name for the ghost. He supposedly caught on camera last night outside our dorm. A ghost?

Nikolai laughed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He turned the screen towards me. Yeah, a big scary ghost. The video looked as if it had been filmed with a root vegetable. Through the gray fuzz on the screen, I could... just make out the outline of the shrubs outside Poteet, one of the main residence halls. Suddenly, the leaves rustled, as if disturbed by an animal moving around in the branches. And then...

Right there. Nikolai paused the video and pointed at something in the top right corner. There's the Farwood Phantom. I peered closely at the screen and suppressed a laugh. The ghost in question was a gray smear that looked quite a bit like just another clump of night video fuzz. It vaguely resembled the shape of a woman with long hair if you squinted and closed one eye while you were at it. That's terrifying. You should call BuzzFeed Unsolved.

I know, right? Nikolai laughed as he put his phone away. Scared the shit out of Vince, though. He's convinced it's the ghost of that, uh, freshman they found in the river last year. You know that one, right? I nodded. Oh, I knew about the girl in the river. Everyone in a 50-mile radius did.

She'd been found the morning after Halloween, half submerged in the woods five miles from Farwoods campus. Her throat had been slashed, but she'd been in the water too long for the police to recover any DNA evidence. Those who knew her said that hours before her death, she'd been seen here, at this house. The media firestorm had been swift and immediate, but it had died down eventually, as media firestorms do, and life soon went back to normal. Everyone agreed that it had been sad, of course, but the girl had been drinking, and she'd walked home alone. It was the kind of horrible tragedy that happened to nameless, faceless girls, friends of friends of friends who had been too naive and too careless for their own good. I doubt most of the students here even remembered her name. That's so sad what happened to her, don't you think?

Oh, yeah, of course. Speaking of which, did you come here alone? I don't want you to have to walk back to the dorms by yourself if you can avoid it. I did, yeah. I'm probably going to head out soon, but you don't have to come with me if you don't want to. Hey, it's no problem at all. Nikolai's eyes suddenly widened, and he smiled as if he'd just gotten a brilliant idea. How about this?

I'm actually getting kind of hungry, so if you want to come with me to Taco Bell, I can drop you off at your place afterwards. It'd be my treat. Really? Of course. Besides, I figured the car ride will give us some time to talk in peace and quiet. Not that the company here isn't stellar, of course. He glanced pointedly at two beefy fraternity members over near the coolers, both in football jerseys who were apparently locked into an Olympic caliber belching contest.

That sounds like a plan to me. Great. Let's get out of here. I started to follow him out the front door, but something made me pause. I turned around and saw two girls dancing together at the edge of the crowd, one dressed as Mortisha Adams, the other dressed as Ray from Star Wars. They were wildly offbeat, but they were clearly having the time of their lives, laughing and talking as they spun around each other. I didn't believe in any God. Not then, not now, but I prayed to whatever was listening that they would make it home safe and sound, along with every other girl in this house.

Hey, sir, you still coming? I closed the door behind me and stepped out into the night. For all his talk, of being able to chat in peace and quiet, Nikolai had been virtually silent from the moment I shut the passenger door. The Taco Bell we were supposedly going to was just a mile or two away from campus, but we'd been driving on a darkened black road for almost 20 minutes now.

Are you taking a shortcut? Nikolai looked at me then and smiled. His eyes looked so different than they had at the party, flat and round and hungry, like those of a shark. Yeah, a shortcut. I didn't talk to him after that. I just stared out the window up at the fat orange harvest moon that watched us like a voyeur. When the car finally came to a stop, we were in a small, wooded clearing.

Even in the dark, I knew the place. Nikolai turned off the car and smiled at me. Why did you bring me here? Nikolai reached over and stroked my arm. Through the thin material of my sleeve, his hand was feverishly warm. Like I said, I want to get to know you. His voice was soft, gentle, like a babysitter trying to get an obstinate four-year-old to eat her dinner. Why don't you take your mask off?

I just stared straight out the windshield. What if I don't want to? Nikolai reached over and locked the doors. Take your mask off? Or I will. I looked at him for a second, not saying anything. Then I leaned over towards him so that the edge of the burlap bag dangled a little. You can take it off for me.

if you'd like. Now was that so hard? He reached over and began to lift the bag off. Just relax, all right? As long as you don't freak out, I promise I'll... The words died in his throat when he saw my face. For a moment, he just stared at me, his face a pale mask of terror. Oh, what's the matter, Nikolai?

Am I not as pretty as I was last year? Nikolai frantically grabbed for the handle of his door, but fear made him clumsy. When he fumbled with the lock, I reached over and clamped my hand over his right kneecap. I was stronger in death than I had ever been in life.

And I felt the bones crunch beneath my fingertips, as delicate and fragile as eggshells. The scream that tore its way out of Nikolai's throat didn't even sound human. He finally managed to open the door and he fell out of the car, scrambling backwards with his hands

and one good leg. Someone helped me. Please! I smiled. We are far enough away from the town that there wouldn't be anyone to hear us for miles around. He'd made sure of that.

I opened the passenger door and walked calmly around the car. Nikolai had only managed to crawl a few yards away by now. He reached into his pocket and whipped out a pocket knife, the blade of which glinted in the dim light of the moon. Stay back.

I'm warning you. I slowly walked towards him. When we were less than an arm's length apart, I crouched down, laid my hand over the knife in his hands, and slowly pushed it down. For a moment, I just let him look at me, at my sunken cheeks, at my empty eye sockets, at the torn flesh of my throat, now brittle and curled as dead leaves. Nicolai, do I look like someone who bleeds to you? He began to cry then, so pathetically it almost made me feel sorry for him. Almost. It had been raining the night I was murdered.

I'd come to the party with my friends, but I'd stayed longer than them because I wasn't finished dancing yet. The light drizzle that had started when I had arrived had become a downpour by the time I'd left. And it was cold, so numbingly cold. When I was about halfway back to my dorm, Nikolai had pulled up beside me in his car and offered me a ride. I should have ignored him and kept walking. I see that now. I saw that then. But any apprehension was drawn out by the promise of getting out of the rain and into a warm, dry car with the guy I'd had a crush on since the beginning of the semester.

But maybe it wouldn't have been enough to refuse his offer. Maybe even if I had said no, he would have gotten out and dragged me into the car with him. Or maybe he would have just moved on to another girl. One more trusting. And that's why I came back, why I clawed my way out of the grave on the anniversary of my death. call it the power of Halloween call it a spirit who couldn't rest call it whatever the hell you want

all I knew was that I couldn't let Nikolai do to another girl what he had done to me when Nikolai's sobs had turned into dry, broken heaves I cupped his chin in my hand and forced him to meet my eyes why? I don't know okay I panicked

I knew you would tell if I let you go I'm sorry You have to know that I'm sorry I've thought about it every single night for the past year I can't eat I can't sleep I feel so guilty I can't breathe with it I do anything to go back and tie him and take it back

You have to believe me That was such a load of horseshit that I almost burst into laughter Guilty my half-decade ass If I really had been Sarah just another normal girl at a normal Halloween party, I'd probably already be gasping my last in the back of Nikolai's car. But I was tired of his blubbering. Oh, I believe you, but you understand why I can't let you go, don't you? Nicolai let out a deep, shuddering breath. Then finally he nodded. Just make it quick, okay? I know I don't deserve it. But please, Melisa, I'm begging

Elisha. My real name seemed so foreign coming from him. Until it had been splashed across the headlines, I doubt he'd even known what it was. I reached forward and rested my hand on his chest, felt his beating heart beneath my fingertips. You took your time. And so will I.

I was the only one around to hear him scream. We're going to ghost the horror for a short break. We need to pause. because there's a lot going on these days. Exciting stuff like Halloween, or stuff you'd rather not think about, like all those bills. Sorry, what was that?

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Okay, okay, you keep enjoying the Racons while we get back to more deliciously dark-sounding horror. In our final tale, we join a man as he recounts his teenage years growing up on a farm, meeting the love of his life and dealing with the regular trials and tribulations. of family life. But in this tale,

shared with us by author Blair Wolfe, we discover that life on this ranch is a little more dramatic than normal, thanks to a certain structure looming tall in the center of their lives. Performing this dark tale are Graham Rowett, Sarah Thomas, Jeff Clement,

Aaron Lillis, and Jesse Cornett. So think back fondly on your first kiss. Remember the delicious coolness of sweet ice tea on a hot day, but don't forget that haunted summer in the shadow of the Black Silo. A lot went down in the summer of 1995, but clear as crystal, I remember how I was falling hard for Miss Abbey Lacey Caskell, despite all the pain and heartache that occurred back then,

and which still returns to me as nightmares to this day. memories of her are still just as sweet as if they'd never been tainted by what was to come because that summer we did battle with evil I can recall one stiflingly muggy night in particular Blossom Alabama tended to feel just like it had been dunked in molasses during the warmer months Abby was sat cross-legged on my futon while I lay flat out on the floor trying to catch a breeze We were deep in debate regarding a particular poster I'd recently acquired and fixed to the slanted wall directly across from the futon where I slept.

Said poster featured blonde bombshell Miss Pamela Anderson, or rather her beloved and pleasantly bouncy Baywatch character C.J. Parker in her infamous little red swimsuit. She stood with her hands on hips, glaring saucily into camera, and to my 17-year-old brain it felt just to... as if Pam was directing those come-hither eyes my way. Now, Abigail was of the opinion that my treasured wall art represented what she called

an affront to natural femininity and standards of beauty, which pandered only to the male gaze and contributed to upholding the patriarchal regime. That was the summer she took to read in Camille Pollya. With typical Abby Sass, she'd also added, Besides, Mason, that swimsuit is so damn tight, I can just about see her religion. And you know I ain't the church going top. Oh.

My mental gymnastics were never any match for Abys. I could think of no convincing defense, save for I like to look at that poster, which Abby just argued proved her point and that I was objectifying old Pam with my male gaze. I wasn't sure how else I was supposed to gaze. But by the end of the night, Pam's golden curves had been rolled up tight and relegated to the back of my closet. Later that week, my auntie's sweet pea would walk in to fetch my laundry, and upon seeing the missing poster, would roll her eyes and ask if, that uppity Abigail Caskell had pitched one of her fits again,

and concluded that that girl could make the poke cuss. My auntie wasn't what you would call a feminist. The thing is, I couldn't have cared less. about what happened to my Pam poster, because that was the night Abby and I shared our first kiss. I'd been in love with her as long as I could remember,

and all through our childhood friendship, I'd known that one day I would ask Abbot to be my wife. There was no other like her. Abigail was a firecracker who seemed to know everything about everything, and would not be stopped for speaking her mind. I'd always melted in response

to the fearsome blaze that seemed to radiate from her. I'd fetched us a jug of sweet ice tea, jangling with ice cubes, and as we sat pressing our sweating glasses to our faces and necks to try and combat the swelter and heat of the summer night, a sudden and deafening boom of thunder startled us both so badly that only when it had completely faded to silence did we realize we'd grabbed each other's hands. We stayed that way for a while, uncharacteristically shy and awkward with each other all of a sudden. The mixtape I'd recorded from the only rock show, Blossom Radio received, finished out with Nirvana's about a girl, and after an almost imperceptible click, even flow by Pearl Jam started up.

We sat in silence for a further minute. Neither of us really hear in the dulcet tones of Eddie Vetter droning on about butterflies. Her hand in mind seemed to be radiating warmth, and after a while I began to feel self-conscious about my sweaty paw in closing her delicate It tanned fingers. I put my glass down on the side table, dropping it harder than intended, which seemed to snap us both back to reality somewhat. We giggled nervously, both looking away, and then began speaking at the same time. Look, Mason.

I started to laugh again, but stopped when I finally looked into her beautiful, green eyes and saw that she was serious. She took her hand from mine and pushed her long. long, dark, wild hair behind her ear and leaned forward. To this day, that kiss was the sweetest I ever had. I felt it all the way out to my ears, which I reckon had turned redder than the day I'd come down with a mighty case of heat stroke after too much swimming in the lake back in 92. As our lips parted, I felt just as if I might float up through the ceiling. Before my faculties had quite returned to me, the door burst open and Mikey, my out-of-breath little brother,

panted out. Annie Sweet Pease has to call you for dinner. God damn it, Mikey. You ever hear a knocking? But I was feeling too wrapped up in elation to really be annoyed at him. Oh, how are you, Abby? You staying for dinner? Before she could answer, Andy Sweet Pea screeched from the kitchen down the hall. I rolled my eyes, and we got up to leave. Abby ruffled Mikey's hair on her way out and told him to go steal himself a dinner roll to fight off the hunger pains. Abby and I didn't talk much as I drove her home in my uncle Landon's truck, but I distinctly recall we were both grinning like fools. As she hopped out of the truck at the bottom of the dusty driveway of her family's farm, she threw me a wink and a smile. I told me she'd holler at me. I felt like I'd never get to sleep that night. I replayed our

case over a hundred times, smiling in the darkness. I watched through my window as the storm whipped itself up into a frenzy, lightning making a monstrous silhouette of the massive black corn silo in the distance. But fall asleep, I did, and as consciousness departed, I heard the fat drops of rain, the thunder had promised, began to fall outside. The next day was sticky and overcast, with a sickly yellow hue to it, I didn't like one bed. I looked out my window, wiping my eyes and squinting at the strange light, and my gaze came to rest on the imposing monolith, standing impossibly tall and brooding over everything. The black silo. I tried to avoid looking at it if I could help it, as it gave me the shutters. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't a wasse of any particular order.

I was a farm boy born and raised, tough as I needed to be. The first eight years had been spent on my dad is farm one town over, and after the accident that took my parents, Mike and I had come here to live with my auntie Sweet Pea and Uncle Landon on their farm, the Sanderson Farm, as it was known around these parts. I loved farm living, truly. I loved everything about it, except for that damn monstrous pillar with its belly full of corn. It started when I was six years old. We'd been visiting with Auntie and Uncle one night, The grown-ups, haven't had a little too much of Uncle Landon's good cider,

had decided we'd better stay over. They'd put me to bed in the room that, unbeknownst to any of us back then, would later become my bedroom, and trusted in the way of adults who've forgotten what it's like to be a child that I would not off to sleep without any trouble. It was still early in the evening, however, and I wasn't ready to be gotten rid of quite so easily. I decided to spot it.

eye on them. Pretending they were a gang of supervillains led by Auntie Sweet Pea, who I figured had a silly enough name to be a comic book character already, I would be Batman, sticking to the shadows and creeping through the rickety house soundlessly. Although my ninja turtle gem is clashed somewhat with my new identity as the world's greatest detective, I was feeling confident in my stealth abilities. Besides, the criminals were all fairly slashed and unlikely to spot a tiny ninja turtle-clad Batman in their midst. As I left Mikey asleep behind me and creeped closer to the living room where they were gathered, their mumbling turned into real words, punctuated by shrieks of laughter.

I heard a lot that night. Some of it made me blush and feel an embarrassed kind of giggle rise up in my chest, which I had squashed down with force. There was talk of a young woman named Mary Lou, who my father proclaimed was probably drier than a popcorn fart. I'm still not entirely sure what he meant by this. All I know is the word fart is comedy gold to a six-year-old. Settled in my hiding spot under the dining room table with a good view of goings-on, I eventually began to gnawed off as the grown-up talk simmered down.

Having burned off their drunken energy, their lively conversation gave way to quieter talk of old memories. Mom teasing Uncle Landon about the grief he used to cause their poor mother, and Dad mostly backing her up and adding details to stories of skipping school and drinking beer out by the lake. Landon was Mom's big brother, and he and my pops had been friends since their school days, so there was a lot of old history to go over. I was disappointed that I hadn't uncovered any villainous plots to attack Gotham City or take over the world, and that there seemed to be no more forthcoming fart jokes from Dad and Uncle Landon, but I was too sleepy to make it back to bed.

They were silent for a time, but just as I was about to drift off, Uncle Landon started up again, his voice a little shaky and cautious, which immediately made me strain to listen. Uncle Landon was known to confidently shout the odds about all things. He was always booming, whether it was in a rage or doubled over laughing. And Mama used to say he thought the sun came up just to hear him crow. But that night, he was different. Born soon in the black silo. And Jets says it looks like moisture got in and it's sticking to the sides.

Now walking the corn can be dangerous Grain can stick together and build up inside the silo And sometimes it takes a man to get up inside and unstick it What you want to watch out for is what's called a bridge Where it seems like the corn you're standing on is steady But it's actually just packed together on top with a gap underneath If you break through a bridge You can be sucked down into the corn in no time

Submerged in three seconds or less Apparently, the pressure is so intense Feels like their whole body is being squeezed By one of those blood pressure cuffs they put on your arm at the doctor Corn poking into every inch of you Until your skin resembles a golf ball Most brain deaths are as a result of suffocation The pressure can force so much corn into a person's mouth and nose

That their jaw unhinges and their lungs feel to burst in Even at six years old, I knew this I'd had the fear of God put into me to stop me playing anywhere near the silos. But I also knew Uncle Landon had walked the corn a hundred times. It wasn't fear of golf ball skin and unhinged jaws that made his voice shake that night. I listened intently.

I swear, sometimes I can still hear his screams coming from inside that damn thing. And I know, Lorraine. After what he did to you and you were just so little. He took my mom's hand, and she smiled sadly at her big brother. A fat teardrop rolling out of the corner of her eye. That bastard didn't deserve no better if I don't still wake up in a sweat some nights. Remembered how he was when we pulled him out?

Jake, you remember? He looked to my dad, wiping at his face. My dad looked down to the carpet, stayed silent. Your goddamn ragdoll. Every one of his bones broken, and one of his legs it was just twisted round and round like that corn, got a hold of it, and thought it was a wind-up toy. All the blood forced upwards so it looked like his damn thigh might burst, like someone had overfilled a purple fucking balloon. fucking balloon. His eye holes stuffed with corn. I remember thinking, my God, his eyes got teeth. Oh Lord, Landy. Now enough of that.

At his sweet pea tried to maintain her usual no-nonsense tone, but I saw her neck and chest had gone a deep red and her hands were shaken. I'll tease what we need. Now I'll go on and try and check if we got any sugar cookies left. And then we best get to bed and sleep off your damn cider. She fussed and fretted around the room a minute, collecting up empty bottles and bustled towards the kitchen. She walked right by my hiding spot, and I heard her let out a shutter and breath as her stocking feet hurried by. My parents and Uncle Landon were silent, each staring down at the floor, lost in their memories. I almost screamed when Mikey let out a peat.

piercing howl from my room down the hall. I'd been in an awful kind of paralyzed trance, my little kid brain reeling in shocked horror as I pictured the man inside the black silo that Uncle Linden had described. Crushed by corn into no more than a bloody sack of bones, broken into little bits and eyes full of grinning corn teeth. I scrambled backwards into the darkness

as quickly and quietly as I could. and was back into bed with the covers pulled over me just seconds before mom entered. She picked up Mikey. It was still just a baby then, and took him out into the hallway to gently bounce him and sing sweetly into his ear until he calmed. My heart was pounding so hard I was scared she'd hear it. The curtain blew in the breeze, and as it fluttered I caught sight of the black silo. And I swear I heard it. far off and distant but undeniable, a tortured screaming, and the animal guttural noise of a man

drowning in corn. During that summer in 95, which I'd later come to associate with my first and most potent taste of true love and my greatest heartbreak in equal measures, Abby and I spent every spare second together. Sometimes I wonder if I hadn't been so blinded by happiness, so absorbed in Abigail's sweetness, but I've paid more attention to what was going on with Mikey. At twelve years old, my little brother wasn't your usual prepubescent, obnoxious little hangar-on, like other boys his age. He was happy to entertain himself for hours on end. Once I caught him reenacting an entire Elvis show in front of the mirror, his hair quaffed into an exact likeness of the Kings with the aid of Auntie's extra hold of hairspray.

When he spotted me, doubled over and just about crying with silent laughter, the kid just grinned and broke into an enthusiastic rendition of can't help falling in love with renewed vigor. Just enjoying the fact that he'd made me laugh. That was Mikey. He didn't get embarrassed. He was never self-conscious. He was just happy to make other people happy. But things changed that summer.

Things changed, and I should have been paying attention. When we sat down to breakfast, which always consisted of bacon, fresh-laid eggs and pancakes, Maki wasn't piling his plate high like usual, where before he'd failed every silence, making Uncle Landon roar with laughter as he regaled us with tales of stories he planned to write, hilarious observations about the kids and teachers from school, or a funny dream he'd had. Now, Mackey would barely meet our eyes. After a few days of this, Annie Sweet Pea asked if he was feeling all right, if he wanted to stay in bed and skip his chores a while.

Mackie, you okay, honey? He replied that he was fine. He just hadn't been sleeping too well. The dark rings around his eyes seemed to support this theory. I remember making a crack about him looking like a raccoon, which he responded to with a tepid smile that, didn't reach his eyes. I think I even asked him if a vampire had been at him, as pale and drawn as he was.

We'd recently watched a rerun of the Salem's Lot miniseries on TV, and I remember thinking he was taking on an unhealthy resemblance to Ralphie Glick, the little vampire boy. I shuddered as I pictured Mikey floating and tapping outside my window. That scene had made us both hide behind the comforter we dragged onto the sofa with us. I didn't pay much mind, and as Annie Sweet Pea looked on worriedly, her already pinched face tightening up another notch as he excused himself from the table after barely a few mouthfuls again. Excuse me. I just shrugged as I wolfed out my pancakes.

Cuberty? I swallowed a syrupy mouthful before hurrying off to meet Abby. Milk and the cows was one of my jobs, which I remember I found particularly enjoyable that day. as Abby, now officially my girlfriend, sat on a bench nearby and kept me entertained. Due to Uncle Landon's eccentricities and a powerful desire to never be boring, there wasn't a daisy or buttercup to be had in his barn. All his cows were named for Greek goddesses. I was working on Calliope and about to move on to Hera,

try not to laugh too hard at Abby's silliness and startle the ladies, as Uncle called them. Today is hotter than a halopinios kucci. Hotter than a goat's butt in a pepper patch? Boy, Mason, I tell you, I know they say just a handful will do. But how on earth am I supposed to feel good about myself when you're so expertly handling these utter lovel-upyuous babes all day? I mean, you literally get to fondle Aphrodite, the goddess of love, on a daily basis.

I just can't compete. Oh. Abby sighed, keeping a straight face. That hearing her name, the biggest Holstein, Aphrodite, turned to look over at us, giving an unimpressed bray through a mouthful of feet, and we fell apart with laughter. After a few ridiculous minutes of trying to regain control of ourselves, Abby wiped her eyes and said she'd grab us a couple of coax from inside. Be careful. Today's hotter than two hamsters farting in a wool sock.

I stroked Kaloply up his side as the cow stopped her feet, demanding I stop this damn foolery and get back to milking her, and wiped the sweat and laughter-induced tears from my eyes as I watched Abbey skip off. It really was unbearably hot that year. I remember it constantly feeling humid and suffocating, like just before a storm breaks. A few minutes later, Abby rushed back into the barn. Her hair stuck down with sweat to her forehead, and the laughter gone from her eyes, replaced with the gleam of panic. Mason, it's Mikey. Over by the silo!

I shot up, almost knocking over the milking pail and putting quite a fright up poor Peliope, whose eyes rolled as she stomped and braided. Horrible frenzied images flashed through my mind. God, his eyes got teeth, as I stumbled, tripping, towards the brightness outside and my little brother. Abby took my arm, and we ran. As we rounded the corner of the barn and the silo loomed into view, I could make out Mackie's little frame clinging to the steel ladder that ran up its side, about halfway up to the cylindrical hatched door that opened into the dark interior. His head was bowed and his mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear him.

His eyes were blank, greasy hair hanging in his face, right ear almost resting against the silo wall, and he appeared to be listening intently. I tried to get him to come on down, but it was like he couldn't hear me, Mason, like he was in another world or in a trans or something. Abby's eyes were fixed on Mikey and shining with concern. I squeezed her hand and took a few cautious steps towards the silo. Mikey Mikey you know we ain't supposed to play near the sallow

It's not safe Although what I meant What I truly felt was that it wasn't good It wasn't clean Even before that fateful night When I'd heard Uncle Landon's mysterious tale Of the bad man in the corn I felt a sort of corruption

emanating from the black pillar My mouth was completely dry and I was struggling to get the words out to coax my little brother to the ground. Mikey? Mike? I just about whispered. I was scared.

More scared than the situation called for, I suppose. He didn't appear to be in any desperate danger, but I was gripped by a sort of primordial fear right then, fear from my baby brother's life. And I could see in Abby's eyes, she could feel it too. Mikey blinked a few times, cocked his head the other direction, and whispered something low as in response. He looked down at me, and for a split second I saw something like hatred in his gaze. It took me a while to understand that, so unaccustomed to see in such a foreign emotion on Mikey's always open and loving little face,

and those sparkling blue eyes which were usually brimming with nothing but affection for me. It stung worse than a slap across my cheek. He started down the ladder, his face blank once more, and as he reached the bottom, he managed a curdled smile in my direction. Don't tell, Auntie, I was playing here, okay, Mason? I didn't know if it was a request or an order. He walked off towards the house, whistling an odd tune. Abby and I stood where we were, staring after him for a time.

neither of us quite understanding what had just happened. Goose bumps broke out across my arms despite the heat, and I started to feel something so alien I wouldn't really land on what it was until long afterwards. But it began to brew and bubble from that day on. I was afraid of Mikey. For him, yes, but mostly of him. A few nights later, I woke, sweating,

from a terrible dream. In it, I'd seen our farm in a state of rot. The grass turned gray and diseased. Every inch of land, dead and unyielding. I walked over the blackening earth to the barn, terrified but unable to turn back, as is the way in dreams. Knowing that only dread and madness awaited,

the barn lay in darkness, but I could make out the humped shapes of uncle's prized holsteins. These cow goddesses now silent and unmoving. Amid the heavy death, I felt the presence of something putrid and wrong, watching me, and smiling in the darkness. Against my will, my feet moved me deeper into the barn,

deeper into the fecund atmosphere of whatever crouched there. I could make out the sound of something snuffling and gulping. And the hideous sound drew me on. Stepping over the bodies of the cows, which lay ripped open and leaking awful, I found myself in the furthest corner of the large building, staring down at Aphrodite, my favorite cow. I remembered stroking her soft nose

and patting her strong back as she was milked. Now she convulsed on the dirt ground, her eyes rolling wildly and seeming to beg for the dead. death her sisters had been granted. Something was crouched over her, greedily suckling at her now tumorous utter, glutting itself on the curdled, sour-smelling black sludge that poured from her.

It quivered with pleasure and gulped, its belly now distended with virgining putrescence. It was staring at me as it drank, grinning around the poisonous-looking teats. And although my mind tried to force it way. Deny it. I stared back into the blue eyes of my baby brother. Mikey. No! Abby came over early the next morning, and I told her about my nightmare. The rotten stickiness of that terrible dreamscape still clinging to me, still making me feel unclean.

Her serious green eyes never left mine as I unburdened myself, and her usually tanned face turned pale as mine felt. When I was done, she stayed silent a while, and turned to look out my window, instinctively looking towards the black silo. Something ain't right here anymore, Abby. I know it was just a dream, but it's like I can feel something wrong coming,

like it's been coming this whole summer, and Mikey. Mikey doesn't feel like Mikey anymore. Abby didn't tell me it was no big deal, or that I was imagining things. She could feel it too, and I loved her all the more for taking me seriously. We both sat on my futon, staring silently at the silo.

It looked taller and more imposing than ever, seeming to block out the sun, and I noticed nothing grew around its base. We were disturbed from our contemplation by Auntie Sweet Peague calling us to breakfast, As we entered the kitchen, she was bustling about, laying the table with the usual stacks of pancakes and eggs. Uncle Landon was already out and about, busy attending to the farm with his farmhand Jed. Mikey was seated, eyes downcast and humming to himself quietly. How are you, Mikey?

I poured out some coffee for Abby and me. Mikey looked up from the eggs on his plate he'd been poking at. His ice-blue eyes shining out from behind greasy strands of hair. He continued humming as a grin spread across his face. He just sat there, staring at me with that awful toothy smirk, as syrup and runny eggs drip from the corner of his mouth, glopping down onto his chest and the table. Sitting there like that, he looked just as he had in my dream.

A crouching nightmare with putrid juices dripping from his chin. And as crazy as it sounds, I think he knew exactly what he was doing. Auntie turned towards us and just about dropped the platter of bacon she was carrying. This minute, failing us from heaven as we speak, and what do you think she's making of this indecent behavior? Invoking our mama in heaven had always been her favorite way to encourage immediate shame and subsequent good behavior from us boys. Mikey wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

and wrinkled his brow as if deep in thought or straining to hear something far away he looked directly at ante and said matter-of-factly mama was a little whore and she got what was common to her i'd never seen my auntie speechless before her face paled and one delicate hand fluttered up to her face and covered her mouth in shock to say terrible thing to say i saw it then in her eyes. The very same fear that had overtaken me. Maki had become foreign to us. No longer the messy little kid who always made us smile. Who everyone instinctively loved on sight. He was more akin to a rabid dog or coiled snake now.

Something you knew to stay well away from. Auntie left the table quietly as her eyes filled with tears. and Abby and I glanced at each other and also backed away. I looked back at Mikey. He was still grinning, blue eyes flashing. And I watched as he snatched up fistfuls of uneaten breakfast from the platters and shoved them into his mouth gorally. Now, I don't know if it was my mind playing tricks or some slant of the light,

but where his dainty little boy's hands should have been, I saw the huge, scarred, hairy hands of a grown man. Seeing those freakish paws that didn't belong at the ends of my skinny brother's little wrists scared me badly. And I grabbed Abby's hand and ran. In the days following the incident at breakfast, Uncle Landon and Auntie drove Mikey into town to see the doctor. She was convinced he'd come down with some malady or other.

I hope she was right. But deep down, I knew better. The doc didn't find anything wrong. In fact, he walked out of his office, ruffling Mackie's hair, the two of them having a fine old laugh. He told my aunt and uncle that Mackey was healthy as an ox and a sweet kid to boot. It should have been a relief. I made several attempts to talk to my little brother,

to get him to come play catch-out back like we used to, or go for walks with me and Abbey, but he always wriggled out of it by claiming he was. tired or that he needed to go do something. Or he'd just stare at me with his frightening, blank eyes until I let him be. There were no more incidents of him being outright cruel or vicious, and seemed as if he was just fading away, which was somehow even more frightening. I started to realize that Mikey might be lost to me forever.

What had started as the best summer of my life was curdling into a sour, sticky nightmare, that not even Abby's sweetness could drag me out of. One sweaty night, I awoke to a pressure near my feet. Something more sense than actually felt. Grogly emerging from a fitful sleep, my sweat turned cold on me as I realized someone was there with me, whispering. I stayed still and tried to keep my breathing even,

so whatever it was would think I was still asleep. And as my eyes adjusted, I made out Mackie. his slight silhouette sitting on the end of my bed. His little feet were curled under him, and he was propped up with his face against my window, facing out towards the silo. I strained to make out what he was whispering, but I couldn't catch it.

I sat up slowly, trying not to startle him. Mikey? He stopped his murmuring and snapped his head towards me. In the faint light from the window, I saw something like pleading in his wide eyes, and his mouth hung open as, if he'd just seen something to make your blood turn cold. He looked at me like that for a moment.

Neither of us saying a word. When he broke the silence, his voice came out cracked and louder than I'd expected. Soon, soon, Mason. He fainted, falling backwards off my futon, and I lurched forward to cradle his head before it hit the floor. One blisternly hot Sunday towards the end

that fateful summer, Abby and I were returning to the farm following a day of swimming and sunning ourselves at the lake. The day had been full of laughter and sweet kisses, and it lifted my spirits to soaring. I'd begun to feel like maybe Mikey had just been feeling a little off, like maybe it really was just puberty hitting them like the freight train it was, and we could put this awful business behind us. I planned on sitting them down that night and summoning all. my older brother wisdom for a real heart to heart. I was a stupid fool in love. My common sense clouded over by the glow in my heart

that I thought could somehow radiate out of me and into everything I touched. We were laughing and swinging our clasped together hands as we rounded the bend and pushed through the shrubs that would bring us onto a path leading off from the barn. As we passed the barn and the silo came into view, our laughter dried up. Both Abbey and I shivering a little despite the ungodly heat.

We squeezed each other's hands a little tighter. It seemed somehow larger that day, towering over everything, radiating blackness. A foul smell emanated from it, hitting us suddenly and forcefully. I pulled back from Abbey, gagging, and as I was turned away, I heard her let out a scream that wrapped my spine in prickling ice. She grabbed my arm and spun me around. Pointing upwards. I dropped the picnic basket and towels I'd been carrying and ran. I saw my little brother's bare left foot disappearing into the hatch door at the top of the black silo as he heaved himself inside.

My mind was spinning. His eyes got teeth. I launched myself up the first rungs on the side of the silo. I'm called back to Abbey to get my uncle landed. Each step up felt like moving through swamp water. The air here felt thick. and breathing felt like swallowing lumps of something that needed chewing. The smell engulfed me, the smell of rotten innards, but I pushed through. I reached the top and stepped inside carefully, standing on the jutting ledge that stuck out over the corn.

The inside of the silo was hotter than I could have imagined, and fresh sweat immediately popped on my brow. It was so quiet, all I could hear was my heart booming like a jackhammer. I let out a rush of breath in relief as I saw Mikey, standing at the far end of the skinny ledge. I took a shallow breath of the rotten air and began to move towards him. Slowly, I reached him and said his name quietly, putting my hands on his shoulders. Mikey! Mikey looked around at me, tears running down his face. But for the first time in a long time, he was my Mikey, my sweet baby brother.

tears poured from my eyes too and I smiled down at him let's go Mike I tried to gently steer him towards the hatch I'm sorry Mason I can't it's too late now he's here he's here to take me to mom and dad I didn't know the corn started moving we both heard the low rumble begin as it started shifting, as if some monstrous snake was ascending from the bowels of a silo, slipping and sliding over itself. The smell grew overpowering. I stood frozen in terror, gripping Maki's shoulders like a vice, and caught glimpses of something gray and slippery as the corn tumbled and swelled.

The corn suddenly seemed alive, like a vat or riding maggots, or like the scurrying of thousands of woodlice, exposed to the light. I pulled at Mikey desperately, but he took a step forward, seemingly hypnotized by the rustling and swelling below. He tugged, and his arm broke free of my sweaty holes as if we were greased. I watched my little brother fall forward and screamed again, lurching to grab him and almost going over myself. I reached him just in time, holding on to his hand with both of mine. I lay on my belly, stretched as far as I could over the ledge where he hung. As I looked down into his face, tears falling freely and blurring my vision.

I saw his eyes finally clear. I saw as the reality of what was happening finally reached him, and his blue eyes widened. His mouth contorted into an old of true terror. I pulled with every ounce of strength. in me, but as he started to rise towards the ledge, something in the corn exploded upwards, latched onto his dangling legs. Maki's scream was blood-curdling. It sucked him down away from me, but I couldn't let go, bellowing with the effort until I felt an intense gripping along my shoulder that made my vision flash red. Leaning even further over the edge, I saw a pair of huge, hairy hands

crushing into my brother's ankles, tugging him towards the sea of corn. I saw filthy gray hair and a grinning face, hawk-marked and bleeding where it had been lacerated and crushed by Jocelyn Colonels. A mouth stretched impossibly wide, and I saw eye sockets packed up bursting with white yellow corn, eyes that looked like they had teeth.

My grip slipped momentarily. And suddenly my hands were empty. I screamed until it felt like my chest would rip apart, and my screams mingled with Miki's, echoing off the cylindrical walls and bouncing back at me in a way that felt like mocking. I watched as Miki was pulled under, saw his legs twist as the corn grabbed at them like a solid tornado.

His face turned purple as blood was forced upwards, and his beautiful blue eyes filled with red as blood vessels burst. I saw corn dig and cut into every inch of his face and neck, forcing its way into his ears. And finally, cutting off his screams as it rushed into his nose and mouth, cracking his jaw open wide, and then he was gone. The rest of what happened that day is kind of a blur.

I think a piece of my mind broke so completely that it'll never fully recover. What I do remember comes to me in flashes, as though a strobe light was flickering around me. I remember being pulled out of the hatch by emergency responders. My arm broken in several places. Tendons torn around my right shoulder. I remember Abby, red-faced and crying, telling me she was there. She was with me. I remember Auntie Sweetby, crumbled in the dirt outside the silo, inconsolable.

And Uncle Landon, white-faced, and looking like he might faint dead away. And I remember being taken away to the hospital in a helicopter, rising in a swirl of dirt and dust and impossible noise. The paramedic with me told me to look down, perhaps to give me something to focus on besides my grief. When I did, I saw my family and Abby looking up with me. My shattered family. I saw some type of machine hooked up to the silo to empty out the corn

so Maki's crushed little body could be recovered, I learned later. And I saw a man standing next to the silo, impossibly huge, gray-haired and grinning. He waved at me with one enormous hand. I watched until he was the size of an ant, staring, willing him to disappear, until I lost consciousness. 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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