The NoSleep Podcast - S17 Ep11: NoSleep Podcast S17E11

Episode Date: February 13, 2022

It's Episode 11 of Season 17. Our spells weave darkness into Valentines."Blackbird Lullaby" written by George Cotronis (Story starts around 00:05:15)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - Kyle Akers, Magdalene - Jessica McEvoy, Brennan - Mick Wingert"Shrieking Willow" written by Amanda Cecelia Lang (Story starts around 00:21:15)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Annalee - Nichole Goodnight, Adam - Dan Zappulla"A Pile of Purple Flowers on My Doorstep" written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 00:59:30)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - Matthew Bradford"The Candle Maker" written by Mark Towse (Story starts around 01:07:10)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator - David Ault, Seth - Andy Cresswell, Jody - Penny Scott-Andrews, Patricia - Erika Sanderson, Jodyís Mum - Linsay Rousseau"Jelly" written by P.D. Williams (Story starts around 01:50:25)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator - Jesse Cornett, Bertram - Graham Rowat, Emeline - Linsay RousseauThis episode is sponsored by:Green Chef - Green Chef makes eating well easy with plans to fit every lifestyle. Whether youíre Keto, Paleo, Vegan, Vegetarian, Gluten-Free, or just looking to eat more balanced meals, Green Chef offers a range of recipes to suit your preferences. Go to GreenChef dot com slash nosleep130 and use code nosleep130 to get $130 off, plus free shipping!Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Linsay RousseauClick here to learn more about George CotronisClick here to learn more about Amanda Cecelia LangClick here to learn more about Manen Lyset Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone"Blackbird Lullaby" illustration courtesy of JörnAudio program ©2022 - 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

In times long gone, in days of yore, there are legends and tales of dark folklore. Round candlelight and fireside, the tales are shared. Enchanting dark secrets in hushed toads declared. And from those days, both present and peasanting dark secrets. We beseech you now to brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. Let the sleepless tales commence, fellow lovers. I'm your guide, David Cummings. I am delighted to introduce a new voice actor joining the No Sleep crew.

Lindsay Russo is an award-winning L.A.-based actor, voiceover, and performance capture artist with over 20 years of theater, music, and improv experience. She's best known as the voice of Elita One in Transformers War for Cybertron on Netflix, and for her extensive work in video games, including Death Loop, Fallout 76, and Elder Scrolls Online, to name a few. A bona fide, geeky badass, as she puts it. She hosts the weekly geek talk show, The Rollout, on YouTube. She's also a U.S. Army Iraq War Combat Veteran and holds degrees from the University of California

Berkeley's Graduate School of Journalism and the College of William and Mary. We are so glad to have Lindsay joining our team. You'll hear her on this episode and much more from her in the weeks to come, he said with a wink, wink, hint, hint. Welcome to no sleep, Lindsay. And now it's time to get romantic. I'll just dim the lights and slip into something more sensual. 4Syth Mercer Tape 08-A Love Love

Do not speak to me of love I have seen the horror that love can conjure up The tragic deaths of the star-crossed lovers Romeo and Juliet The blinders that fell upon the eyes of the tumultuous Macbeth who was devoted to a woman of cruelty, the love for Desdemona that fested into jealousy caused by betrayal in the heart of Othello.

And off the stage we have cinematic classics such as the political pairing of Bogart and Bergman in Casablanca, the doomed desire between the great ape, Kong and the beauty and Dero. The ill-fated romance of Gosling and McCadams, both on and off the pages of the note, Or Optimus Prime and Elita won from Transformers, kept apart by a war that stretched for millennia

against the evil Decepticon hordes. Curse you, Megatron! Why can't the robots just be free to live and love in peace? Why? Anyway, as a former stage and screen actor, I was involved in a number of productions relating to the stories I just mentioned. So trust me when I say that I am an expert on matters of love.

And now in 2017, as many of you know, I work solely in documentary voiceovers. Nature documentaries, for the most part. And, good Lord, if you want to see nature at her absolute reddest in tooth and claw, then you should see the love lives of animals. Oh, it makes even humankind's torturous, horrendous attempt at romance seem pleasant. So, no, to answer your question, I've never held a very high opinion of love. I confess I don't know this one.

What is it you want me to say? In our first tale, ooh, how dramatic. In our first tale, we join a man attending a support group. Support for what, you ask? Well, for being cursed, of course. I remember one time I thought I was cursed while working on the set of the Milky Mausoleum back in 1973. It was a... Oh, yes, sorry, sorry, apologies.

In this tale shared with us by author, George. Coachotronus, this man's dire future starts to look a little brighter after he meets a new woman in said support group. Performing this tale are... Who? I don't recognize any of these kids. Oh, yes, I stay on topic. Yes, I know, I know. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres, Jessica McAvoy, and Mick Wingert. So don't be afraid to ask for help.

Find it wherever you can. Even with those in the same predicament as you, together you could listen to the Blackbird Lullaby. And he asked him, what is thy name? And he answered saying, my name is Legion. For we are many. The Gospel of Mark, chapter 5, verse 9. I'm lying in bed, alone.

My arm extends over the side of the bed. wrist resting on the night table. I move my fingers, and I can feel the tendons in my arm, pulling them like puppets on a string. My middle and last finger are stripped of flesh down to the second knuckle, leaving the bone visible. The blackbird makes two small jumps and comes closer, disturbed by my sudden movement.

I stop moving, and it starts to peck at my flesh again. I watch it for a while. There's no pain. When I get bored, I shoo it away, and it takes flight across the room to join its murder. His buddies are everywhere in the room, perched on furniture and lamps. They seem to be waiting for something. The bed is full of trash.

Pieces of fabric and twigs, plastic bottle caps and paper. The blackbirds have turned it into a nest. I get up and find myself bleeding from several different places on my body. They've been eating me in my sleep again. My clothes are stained with blood and full of holes. Most of the blood is old because I haven't changed in a week. All of my shirts have holes now. In the bathroom, I wrap my fingers with gauze, trying to make them look even as if there's

still meat underneath the white cloth. I consider using some antiseptic, but don't see the point. I throw the bottle in the trash bin. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Gaunt, tired, broken. There are black circles around my eyes. My lips are dried and split. My face swollen and puffy.

One of the blackbirds took out a small piece of flesh right under my eye. The blood runs down the side of my face like the streak of a red tear. I wash up and put on a clean shirt. I feel almost human again. I look at my watch. I'm going to be late. Out on the street people avoid me. Little girls clutch their father's hands and tried to hide their faces.

They cry. I guess the clean clothes didn't help. Head down, hood up. I try to look more like a thug. A guy you shouldn't mess with. instead of the monster that I really am. It seems to work better. In the subway, a blackbird finds its way to me.

It watches from the seat across from me like it's the most normal thing in the world. No one seems to notice or care. Me? I'm used to it. I look down my nose at it and hold its stare. Not that it gives a shit. It hops down to the floor and comes closer. It picks at my shoelaces.

I look at my face and the reflection in the window. I'm bleeding again. I feel no pain in my fingers or the myriad of small wounds I carry, but my head is killing me. I used to wonder how I can still be alive, but these days there's lots of things I don't think about. I just don't care. The extent to which I do not care would shock you. I get off at my stop and head for the old church up the hill. There was a fire a few years back, and they never repaired the building, but it still is in decent condition.

You just have to get creative about entering it. Around back, where the fence put up by the city has a human-sized hole in it, I enter the churchyard. One of the doors, the one closest to the fence, is unlocked. When it's not, the key is behind one of the loose bricks in the wall beside it. Inside, Meg and Jonathan are already waiting. Meg is a tall woman, thin, used to be pretty. She's wearing a summer dress that's two sizes larger than it should be. I suspect it used to fit her once.

One of her nipples is showing, but she's too, out of it to notice. Her dead eyes stare straight ahead. She doesn't see me. Jonathan is holding her hand. He turns his head to me when I come in, but then turns to her again. They met here two years ago. Meg is near the end now. Jonathan's still going strong. Two blackbirds fly in from the broken window and land on the rubbles strewn about in the church. Most of the roof is gone, but the little corner we have set up here keeps dry even when it rains. Winters are tough. Then again, we rarely meet like this. Usually it's just desperate phone calls in the middle of the night and unexpected visits.

A circle of pews stands in the middle of the trash and the junk. I take my seat across the couple and say nothing. Welcome to damned anonymous. Living with things that are killing you from the inside. Getting well. Not really. Just dying. Together. Our little support group.

When Meg first started growing tumors that got up and walked around in the night, she figured a support group for cancer survivors wasn't going to be that helpful. When Jonathan woke up to find himself chewing on his little daughter's arm, Alcoholics Anonymous just wasn't an option for him anymore. But they tried. And in those endless support group meetings, we found each other. Maybe it was the desperation that we saw in each other's eyes. The fear of something worse than death, which we recognize.

Meg found me in a depression support group. I was saying I feel empty, numb, dead inside. After the meeting over stale coffee and even staler donuts, she came over and said, You're not really afraid you're going to kill yourself, are you? You're here for something else. Maybe she saw the birds perching on the window cell. Maybe she noticed the blood stains. So we started our own group.

A few of us sometimes visit AA groups like that. We recruit the demonically possessed. Brennan walks in and takes me out of my little trip down memory lane. He's looking a bit better than last time. It probably means he fed again. One of those hookers downtown didn't wake up today. And right now she's floating in the river, face down in the water, bloated like a balloon. If she's lucky, some poor fisherman is going to snag her in his nets, and she'll get a burial.

He looks ashamed. But in this little crowd, no one gives a fuck. if he ate some girl's heart and dumped her over the bridge. We are too involved in our own misery. I wave to him and he sits down. The room slowly fills up with the rest of the monsters and the stench gets progressively worse. The blackbirds have flooded the church but they're quiet today.

So I'm not going to get in trouble with Jennifer, our group leader. Jennifer has a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, each filed to a point. When she cries, she cries blood. A Catholic, she tried to get an exorcism a year ago. It didn't work. I'm pretty sure she killed them, but she says she didn't. I think I read it in the papers, two priests missing around the same time.

She looks like she's been crying. Today there's a new girl. Short black dress, ripped in some places and dirty with what looks to be ashes. Heavy black makeup. Her eyes unblinking and taking in everything at once. She's gorgeous and deep within her. In me, I feel something slither, like Leviathan at the bottom of the ocean. Her name is Magdalene.

There's a rat gnawing at her ankle. I think my heart has stopped. We go around the circle, telling our story for the umpteenth time, pouring salt on our wounds again to try to center ourselves, get in touch with the reality of our situation, understand and accept what we can't change. When it's Brennan's turn, he confirms my suspicions. I fared again.

I couldn't help it. I was looking at my wife and thinking about eating her heart. I had to do something. He pauses and looks at the floor between his legs. Crocodile tears. I drove downtown and picked up the streetwalker. Young thing, you know, I just picked up the first one that came to my car. I held it off until he reached the hill.

and then I killed her. I ate her heart and buried her up there in the woods. He's almost gone. He just doesn't know it yet. He's talking about the girl and crying, but I can see he's also salivating. I can see him smile when he says the word heart. He breaks down, sobbing. I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry. Jennifer consoles him with a hug while I roll my eyes. Fucking poser. Meg is too out of it to share today. Jonathan says he's okay. He's controlling the cravings. I'm trying not to fall asleep. I'm waiting to hear her story.

I think I know what she's going to say, but I want to hear her voice. She will say, One day I saw them watching me on the street. I saw them again the very next day and the day after that. They watched me from the alleys and under cars And from the roofs of buildings They followed me around They came into my house

They watched me sleep No matter what I did they found a way in They killed themselves in their attempts to come at me And in the end they always found me There was no way to stop them No poison or weapon would keep them away So they became a part of me They live with me

They are everywhere always I have no friends because the last time I went for a cup of coffee, the little freaks attacked the waiter, and I had to run out of a place with them after me. Always after me. They are eating me alive. Me, blackbirds, her, rats. We have so much in common. After sharing, I walk up to her.

Nice dress. She turns around and gives me the once-over. She seems unimpressed. Nice scabs. She smirks but doesn't turn away. I smile. There's a rat trying to climb up your dress. She looks down and then catches herself.

Made you look. Funny. Do you want to go someplace? She motions with her head towards the two rats gnawing on the donuts on the table. I don't really go out in public. But you could come to my place. A black bird lands on my shoulder. Tries to pluck out my eye.

I slap it and it flies away back up to the rafters. Where do you live? Parkside. Too far. Too many birds out there. How about my place? She agrees to come to my apartment tomorrow, to see my record collection.

She's into the smiths, but who the fuck cares? We both know she doesn't give a shit about my records or anything else in my shitty apartment. Except me. She wants me. On the subway ride home, I almost feel human again. I'd celebrate, but I haven't eaten or had a drink in weeks. I go home and,

sleep on my bed made out of blood and black feathers. She's at my place exactly on time. I put on a relatively clean shirt. My skin itchy all over from the feathers and the bird shit that's been irritating it. I open the door. She's cute in her flower pattern dress, with little flesh wounds at the top of her breasts. A bit of her scalp is missing over her left ear,

and she uses a flower to hide it. Hey. Hey. She walks into my apartment, which is covered in black feathers and dirt. birds taking flight with every step she takes. I feel like a teenager. A teenager slowly turning into something else, but still, nervous.

I dropped the Smith's record on her lap. She pretends to be interested for a bit, but ultimately discards it on the coffee table. She pats the place beside her on the couch, and I obey. How are you doing with them? Okay. I think I'm getting close. I nod. I felt the same lately. There will be a tipping point, and then the transformation will be complete.

Our demons will consume us. Ew. She picks a scab on her knee. It's cute. I shrug and decide to lie. Who knows? I don't think about it. I get up and bring out the wine and the glasses.

She looks excited. We finish the bottle off in a half an hour flat, and when we're done with the boring chit-chat, we make out on the couch. Our wounds open and we bleed. into each other, feathers and coarse brown hair sticking to our bodies. It's painful and awkward and sometimes I feel like I'll faint from the blood loss, but there are moments when I forget that my body is rotting, and my heart is dead, and hell is waiting for me.

We stumbled to the bedroom and fuck in a drunken stupor, with the rats and the blackbirds watching. I wake up and I feel empty, hollow. I reach into my chest and I touch a blackbird nesting there. Its coat is slick with my blood, but it's not afraid. It feels safe inside of me. I feel safe too. She's still here, her arm resting on my chest. A rat is peeking out from under her dress.

I wake her with a kiss and her little rat teeth gnaw at my lips. She draws blood and immediately I'm hard. I climb on top of her and then we are one. And the blackbirds and the rats are clawing and biting. And we flow into one another. and as monsters, we are reborn. Ever since time began, young people have followed rituals to prove that their beloved is the one for them. Paper, craft, love calculators, magic spells.

In my day, one would throw an egg at their bow's forehead, and if it didn't break, then they were your true love. and in this tale, shared with us by author Amanda Cecilia Lang, we discover a particularly terrifying teenage superstition, one that might have lifetime consequences. Performing this tale are Nicole Goodnight and Dan Zepula. So let's go and find out just how much Anna Lee and Adam are in love. Let's hear it straight from the lips of Shrieking Willow. The legend of Shrieking Willow was old when my grandparents were young.

Grand says Willow was a girl like any girl who ever died from a broken heart. At night, she walks the mountains where she fell to her brutal end, searching for the moonlit lover who left her to die alone, and shrieking at young couples who dare to be in love. Sometimes she is the silver mist that blows through the forest where the trees grow crooked like spine-bent girls. Sometimes she appears as a gauzy, shadow-mouthed specter high atop the cliffs beside the falls,

or as a nude, fish-pail body shimmering on the surface of the water below. Some believe she was once a maiden of the native tribes, or the wayward daughter of colonial settlers, or even a nubile spirit of the Black Hills themselves. But no matter who tells her story, those lucky, happy couples who see Willow always agree on one thing. If she shrieks at you and yours, it means your love will last forever. I've waited my entire life to hear her scream.

Adam turns on to a slow dirt road. The desolate scent of pine breezes through the windows and filigree traces of moonlight glide across my blindfold. I don't know where he's taking me. And not just by the sweet, nervous way he lured me into the passenger seat or the inevitability of it all. It's the mountain's eerie roller coaster gravity. Not everyone feels it, but I always do.

It sweeps over me long before the road runs out. Heavy granite sinks into my bones and my stomach floats on eddies of vertigo. Up is down. Inside is out. Fantasy is reality. We're finally doing this. My senses buzz on overdrive by the time our tires crunch to a stop. Adam double-checked my blindfold, then guides me into the brisk open air.

My feet are dizzy, my first steps tangle on loose rock. Careful now. He studies my hips and walks me forward. His hands tremble, and I wonder if it's from the possibility of ghosts or our first full night alone together. Have you guessed where we are? I hope so. The blindfold lifts. A rocky dead end.

Darkness. trees. I've never been here after sunset. Up ahead, hanging from a split rail fence, a lantern burns against the evergreen night. Beyond that, a long white shadow floats between the branches, caught wide-eyed in the lamp glow. Bill, a shiver of terror thrills through me. I clutch Adam's arm and gasp with laughter. Gotcha. It's only cheesecloth hanging there, wavering in a slow breeze, cut in the shape of a bed sheet ghost. You put that there? My racing heart swells up. He must have driven here earlier just to do it.

He shrugs, so full of tiny gestures they're second nature. Just setting the mood, in case the real thing has the night off. Impossible. I stare into the murky, dark trees. She's out there, probably watching us right now. Don't you think? I think if anyone can make her jealous, it's us. He takes my hand concealing his skepticism.

like a gentleman. But really, it doesn't matter what he believes. The legend of Willow is in my blood. My grandparents saw her when they were our age, and they're the happiest couple I know. It's my favorite bedtime story. Grand says Willow appeared on the cliff above their campsite, a smudge of white wind shrieking at them to beat the choir. That's how she knew Grandad was her one and only. Adam sweeps my curls behind my shoulders and his grin turns ever serious. You're sure you're ready for this, Annalie? The lantern light carves his bookish features with fiery new angles. Usually he's so straight-laced, he stands before me defiant and daring and a little wild,

a hero for my own gothic romance. The cheesecloth willow flutters behind him like sweet surrender and I wonder what other surprises he has waiting. I glide my arms around his strong shoulders and kiss him until our heartbeats turn primal. Never been so ready. Me too. As he pulls our overnight packs from the truck, a nervous warmth blossoms inside my chest. We've whispered about this night since freshman year. All those candy-flavored kisses in the back row of the Rialto.

All those study dates with the bedroom door closed. So many sweet, scary moments where we climbed the edge of almost. Up ahead, the split rail fence stretches in both directions, and there's a sign. Danger. Forgotten falls. No trespassing. The wind holds its breath in the forbidden land beyond, and moonlight pulls in jagged spaces above the treetops, ethereal and swirling. Water crashes in the distance calling to us.

I take an unsteady step forward. You think we'll get in trouble? I think it's worth the risk. Adam pops the fence and offers his hand. For a guilty split second, the good girl inside me balks. My grandparents still think I'm spending the weekend marathoning rom-coms at my best friend's house, and I was until Adam appeared at her window, throwing pebbles and holding a blindfold out to me.

I never lie to them. I always follow the rules, but it's the summer before college, and this night is long overdue besides, I think Gran would understand. Adam and I exchange rebellious smiles, then I take his hand and cross over. Before we get started, he double-checks our gear

and trades the electric lantern for a heavy-duty flashlight. The beam cuts a hole through the dark and dark, forest and he chuckles. Sorry, not as romantic, but it gets tricky deeper in. We should watch our feet. There's no path, only the distant, watery murmur of the falls. Adam takes the lead and I trust every step. Even at the peak of spontaneity, he always has a plan.

His flashlight washes out the ponderosa's and quaking aspens as we pass. The branches seem to reach for us bright and wraith-like, Although the rocky ground has only the slightest incline, my equilibrium tilts and my stomach floats and giddy knots. That upside down gravity again. Whoa, you feel that? I study myself against him. Getting busy out here. Yeah, it's spooky.

He kisses my forehead. I think I'm love drunk. You goof. I grab his hand and hold my arms out, walking an invisible tightrope. rope. You know what I mean? This mountain is off balance. Over the years, everyone from physicists to geologists to paranormal investigators have studied this area in its mysterious gut-bending qualities. They all have their pet theories, optical illusions, electromagnetism, even vortexes. Of course, Grand says it's willows-forsaken heart that hangs heavy in the air here, wetting

the stones and twisting the trees. As we weave between branches, I try to sense invisible eyes on us. Has Willow noticed Adam's strong silhouette? Does she see how he sweeps me up like wings in a fairy tale? It's not just his Eagle Scout confidence, it's his purity, his earnest chivalry. Every day with him is a waking adventure, every small moment the next best moment of my life. Love drunk indeed. I yank Adam to a stop, silencing our footsteps, and turn an ear to the cool night, searching

for a jealous murmur. What? Do you hear something? The knight holds silent, fills with the pounding in my chest. I press his hand against the front of my jacket. Can you feel my heart? Always, forever? He bows like a knight and I giggle, exactly the kind of romantic cheese that makes our friends roll their eyes.

But I'll live for this. I'll never get enough. We continue on. Slowly the air turns heavy with the promise of wet earth. The tumbling thunder of the falls echoes around us louder and louder. We're close. Up ahead, Adam's light brushes the skeletal white arm of something crooked and abnormal. I gasp, delighted, and aim his hand in that direction.

One of her trees! The aspen stands bent at an extreme angle and the top branches skew sideways, the sparse leaves twitching like fingers. I fluttered my hand, teasing a wave. Why, hello, you sad, lonely thing. Just wait. We pass dozens more, each tree bent and bowing into the landscape at random angles. Aspins, ponderosa's, white spruce.

I've seen these same trees in the daylight, of course, but that doesn't stop the goose flesh from prickling the length of my neck. Not axe cracked or staked down, they grow like this on their own. To me, they've always seemed like tragic forgotten dolls leaning outwards, reaching for something that will never be theirs. Looking at them too long makes me feel as if I'm tumbling off the edge of the sky. This place is amazing in the dark. Feels like the entire forest is floating.

Adam presses his finger against my lips. Look. He clicks the flashlight off. The shadows are immediate. My eyes strain against the extending jagged darkness. Then I see it. Something glowing ahead. A pathway of lanterns.

They flicker inside a misty silver glow. leading the way like Willow the Whips. Adam? I don't have to glance sideways to feel him grinning. I grab his hand, or does he grab mine? We race each other forward, passing lantern after lantern, until we burst from the tree line into open air. My blood rushes like I'm falling,

even with the meadow firmly underfoot and forgotten falls rising above us. The waterfall reflects the moonlight and pulls my attention to the high cliffs, to the place where the river seems to pour from the sky. I brace myself against Adam, but Willow isn't up there. No lovy, dovey, wispy white shadow glaring down at us from the edge, not even an after image of all my daydreams. Not yet. Adam whispers in my ear reading my mind.

Night is young. I turn and take it all in. We stand knee-deep in wild grass and pink fireweed. The meadow reaches all the way to the murky shore. Nearby more lanterns illuminate a campsite with a stone fire, pit in a two-person tent. It's perfect. You did all this? Well, not all this. He admires the view. The power of the water swirls through me. This is it. This is where they say she died. Beneath the falls, down where the jagged boulders, wring the edge of the waterline like teeth and a jawbone. Willow and her lover

used to swim right here. They'd run naked and die from the cliffs, feel the gorgeous thrill of air and euphoria on their skin as they fell. No one knows if that long ago girl stumbled or was pushed or simply leapt that final time, only that a luckier fall would have landed her safely, deep in the reflecting pool. Come out, come out! Air feels playful but heavy. A ridiculously earnest part of me longs for this. Willow only unleashes her jealousy upon couples who outshine the love she lost.

Her voice is the inverse of a curse. I believe in her like I believe in heaven and happily ever after. I want her to be true. The full moon is bright enough to see by as we bring our little campsite to life. Adam ignites the kindling in the fire pit. Humming songs from old movies, I collect the electric lamps from the trees and arrange them around the meadow like set pieces in a dream. All the while, we trade soft kisses and keep our eyes on the cliffside. I catch myself smiling slyly, a little cruelly.

Are you watching, Willa? Is your envy turning you green? By the time our campfire burns hot and crackling, the suspense has me ready to burst. I grab the flashlight. What are we waiting for? What do you mean? Let's climb to the top. I aim the beam at the craggy edges that ladder up the cliffside.

I hear stories all the time about people climbing up there and living to tell about it. Looks easy. Don't you want to see what it's like where Willow fell? Annalie, no! Adam sounds genuinely horrified. Imagine the story we'd have. No way. I promised your granddad we wouldn't go up there.

Well, that stops me. I swing the light his way. You what? He shields his eyes and his smile turns bashful. I might have asked your grandparents' permission to take you up here. Laughter, sweet, nerdy relief bubbles from me. So much for a rebellious streak. You...

Asked for their blessing? Who do you think packed your sleeping bag? Your grandma called me an honorable young gentleman. Sounds like Grant all right, sappy and perfectly romantic. She and Grandad met in kindergarten, just like Adam and me. They started dating as freshmen in high school, just like Adam and me. They were accepted to the same university, just like Adam and me, and, of course, they only have eyes for each other.

Grand invites Adam to supper so often. I'm convinced she only wants to moon at us. over the pot roast and reminisce about young love. And who can blame her? Young love rocks. Makes you feel daring and electric and wild. I return my light to the cliff and trace the water to the bottom. People do it all the time.

Jump? The water's deep enough. It doesn't matter how deep it is if we break our next climbing rocks in the dark. Adam squeezes my hand. Besides, I might know another way up there, but not until morning. I promise. Have I ever let you down? That's enough for me.

As a back-up adventure, we slip off our hiking boots and tiptoe to the shore. The rippling water around my ankle is an icy, exhilarating shock. I shiver. I can't stop smiling. A shapeless silver mist hangs over the water where the pool catches the falls. Even in the shallow end, the spray caresses my face. It should be deafening, but it sinks into the background as if I've always heard it. I marvel at the tranquility, the floating.

stillness. Is this the breath before the scream? Now what? Adam wraps his arms around me and scans the rocky cliffside. I don't know. I bite my lip. It's funny, actually. I always imagined us being here would be enough. The way Grand tells it, Willow just suddenly appeared. And started shrieking to beat the choir. He's heard Grand's story nearly as many times as I have. Your Granddad thinks it was the wind howling down the cliffs. Grandad has no imagination. I stare out at the water, scanning the boulders for a smudge of ethereal white wind. Which rock do you think broke her back? Adam sucks in a breath. Christ, Anna Lee. That's grim. That's what they say happened. They also say her man

watched from the shore, then left her to die. You really don't believe it? He darkens. I don't believe anyone could abandon someone they love like that. Maybe he did. Maybe he did. didn't love her. Maybe he had someone better waiting at home or he just got bored with her. I lean over and search my moonlit reflection, hoping to find willows sunken, fish-pale face staring back, pining and abandon. It's only me there, cherub cheeks, loose blonde curls. I look eerily beautiful. Where is that ghost? I glare at the cliffs, then whirl on Adam and embrace him like he just slayed his first dragon. I drag my damsel finger through the ghost. his thick, wind-swept hair and exaggerate every slow, lesty kiss, putting on a show,

brandishing him like a weapon. All's fair, right? By the time we stop, our skin is on fire. You see that? I shout into the sky, liking the way my voice cracks and echoes against the cliffside. He's all mine. Be careful. A woman scorned.

I brace for icy fingers to reach from the water. and curl around my ankles, but after several minutes, my feet only turned numb. Willows, a no-show. Anna Lee, the campfire is getting low. A sudden shyness adds gravity to his voice, and I agree. It's time. We cross the meadow hand in hand. As we reach the campsite, a new kind of nervousness pulses through me, altogether achy and wonderful.

After Adam tends the fire, we sit together and warm our feet with our shoulders wrapped in oversized sleeping bag. We have a magical view of the falls, but all I see is Adam. Are you disappointed? Am I? Maybe. I was hoping we'd have a story to tell our grandkids one day, but I'm not here for a campfire tale.

I brush my lips against him, across his mouth, his jawline, his throat. He tastes like first kisses and dizzy mountain air. I don't need a ghost to tell me what I already know. I slide my hand down and undo his top button. He pulls back, holding me in a solemn, burning gaze. Are you sure? Feel my heartbeat. I press his open palm to my chest.

My entire ribcage thunders like the falls. I've never been so sure. By the light of the campfire beneath the sky of stars, this moment is inevitable. A rustle of clothing, then we're bare and warm and trembling inside the sleeping bag. We've never done this before, but it feels like we've been waiting all our lives. A gentle sting, then sweet. I gasp and Adam goes very still, concern, and firelight flickering across his face. I'm fine.

I fall into the sweetness. He moves slowly, shyly, hungrily, kissing me deeper as I tighten my arms around him. I never want to let go. I close my eyes and let his body unlock me, let my spirit loosen from my flesh until I am his. Completely, wholly, intertwine. I want to whimper. I want to cry out.

I want to exhale our love and hear it echo. The mountain tilts with us until we're floating, tumbling deliciously. The wind stirs, cool fingers in my hair. If I open my eyes while gravity is still spinning, I'm certain I'll catch something watching us from the trees. spine bent and misty and reaching. I smile wickedly, and for a quick, icy heartbeat,

I sense the piercing jealousy of a thousand shrieking ghosts. Then Adam whispers my name, and I'm back with him, and it's just the two of us. Always. Cool fingers snake across my shoulders, and I wake to darkness. My exposed skin prickles, but it's not just the cold. I sense immediately that I'm alone. Adam? I sit up. My head feels loose. My mind swoons. The darkness fills my eyes.

I press a hand to my temple and my fingertips brush a band of cotton. He blindfolded me? Slowly I pull the cloth from my eyes. Darkness still. Where are the stars, my spirit feels turned around, disconnected, unfelt wind rustles a thin nylon ceiling above my head. The ten? I wrap my arms across my naked chest. I remember Adam holding me inside the sleeping bag. my nude body tender and exhausted. We fall asleep next to the fire beneath the open sky. Sometime during the night, we must have crawled inside the tent, but I don't remember waking up. Adam?

I say it louder this time, and my fingers curl against the blindfold. Why isn't he answering me? I grop around the gritty, empty floor from my clothing. My hand brushes the scattered lumps of my boots and a jacket. I pull them on quickly, then unzip the door. In the chilly open air, my exonerated. exposed legs tremble and my body aches in delicate new ways. My footsteps sound unnatural, scraping, and dull. I approached the cold ashes in the fire pit. It's not like Adam to let the fire burn out.

Our sleeping bag sits nearby, a flattened, forgotten husk. I'm suddenly desperate for the light, but the lanterns I placed around the campsite are missing. This isn't funny, though I can't quite form the words. Something hollow starts happening inside me. Why would Adam do that? Why would Adam do this? Why would he leave me alone, naked and blindfolded, after everything we just gave to each other? The meadow is slow-moving shadows. Wild grass sways like seaweed at the murkiest depths. The stars have gone impossibly black and the moon hides behind the smoky gray arm of a cloud. Without the lunar reflection, the falls disappear into the cliffside like a phantom lover slipping back into the night. My eyes slide to the top where they say a heartbroken girl fell to her doom. I don't want to

look. There's no one up there. The emptiness is disorienting. It continues to gut me. Adam, please. I turn in a small circle, tightening my arms around myself. All color has abandoned the night. A soft breeze rattles the tent, creating the illusion of unseen hands groping for the exit. That's not Adam. I slink backward into the tall grass while gravity sucks at the meat in my chest. Where is he? The promise we made. to each other is still raw upon me. I can still feel him. This time I scream it. My voice ricochets off the cliffs. Answer me. Nothing. A branch snaps beneath me splitting the night. I turn to face the trees, and I see her in the light of a single lantern. Willow, I don't know how I missed her before.

She must have been floating there this whole time. A white shadow against the murky evergreens. A string of sweat relief bleeds through me. It's Adam's cheesecloth ghost. The gauzy spirit ripples like a flag waving to me from the trees. In the dim, I can just make out another light deeper in the forest and another beyond that. The message is clear. Follow me. Anywhere.

I race to the treeline the flashlight hangs beside the lantern with a growing smile I unhook it and aim the beam between the branches. Movement deeper in. A flash of Adam's naked chest blurs through my light. Is he crazy with the chill in the air? Of course all I'm wearing is boots and a jacket. I don't waste another second. I chase after him drunk on the memory of his touch and the tumbling gravity of the mountains.

My quick breath echoes the crunching rhythm of his footsteps. I catch washed out glimpses of him in my flashlight, pale shoulders and arms sleeping behind a white spruce. Adam! My voice ricochets. I can't tell if he calls back. I can barely tell the sky from the sky from the sky. ground. I reached the first lantern. It hangs from a crooked ponderosa. The malformed trunk bows at the

waist sinking deeper even as I watch. Trick of the light, but the drifting sight of it slows me. A twig snaps. Adam again, almost 20 trees ahead. A bright flash of eyes and grinning teeth, I bolt after him. My flashlight dances jagged lines across the forest. I follow the path of lanterns, each one suspended from trees with glowing skeletal branches. My legs beat with upside-down adrenaline. The balmy oils of my earlier unease turned into exhilaration. But he's too fast, dashing through the trees ahead. Will you wait?

The gap between us starts to shrink closer and closer until I pass the final lantern. Adam vanishes. I stop cold and sweep the forest with my light. Nothing moves ahead. The air is utter silence, I realize I've lost the sound of the falls. The woods can disorient fast.

I know that, but I should still be able to hear the water. I turn around, head spinning. The force behind me is featureless. The lanterns have gone dark. Adam? The branch cracks immediately behind me, loud as thunder and intimately close. It could be the sound of my own spine snapping.

It's so close. I lurch out of my flesh and pivot with my light. How did he sneak up so fast? You go. But the words wither on my lips. The trees are bent. Every last one. The massive trunks bow away from me at brutal, apparent angles.

Every tree top reaching, every branch stretching for a single distant point in the forest. Adam. There in the center of the tree fall, holding a lantern, waiting for me. The only boy I've known all my life. The only boy I'll ever love. Oh, Adam, the trees. I staggered towards him, but something slithers around his waist. I stop cold.

To my very marrow, I freeze. Hideous female hands stroke Adam's torso. Fingers like water-blooded worms crawl around his waist and his stomach. Muddy and slimy, they glide upward and fondle his naked chest. Adam tilts his head at me. His lips curve upward in slow, carnal pleasure, as the rest of the creature appears like mist behind him. Her ethereal malformed torso slumped sideways, boneless, and waterlog.

Jagged knobs of spinal cord protrude from her ragged flesh, and her endlessly murky hair hangs like a midnight waterfall. Her arms cling tighter around Adam, hideously, horribly long, branches bound in bruised flesh. They snap and pop like twigs underfoot. She doesn't let go, and he doesn't, struggle. He just stands there with that gruesome, sideways smile. The thing that is willow glars at me, and its rage, not jealousy, that gathers in those empty, fish-eaten eyes. Her mouth unhinges,

and she sucks the wind into her wheezing, rib-punctured lungs, inhaling the misty gloom deeper and deeper, preparing to shriek. And it's strange. All those starry-eyed years listening to ghost stories, it never occurred to me to be afraid. For a weightless second, my vision doubles, my spirit tumbles, and I see myself from her ankle. Me, a blood-drained husk with limp, blonde curls and horrified moon eyes, rooted in place by the deity I once worshipped. I never should have tempted her.

She caresses the top button of Adam's jeans. Get away from him! I stagger forward, but my vision tumbles again, and I collapse over my own tangled feet, slamming to the ground with my lungs. I gasp, try to breathe, try to see past the sudden trickling darkness. My hands fumble across pine needles, groping, grasping for the flashlight. If I'm the handle and aim the beam forward, nothing's there.

Nobody's there. The trees are normal, tall, and upright. Pushing up onto my knees, I want to laugh, but can barely breathe. I press a hand against my pounding head. Was that even real? A legend-induced hallucination? The slimy hands caressing Adam's chest, his savage euphoric grin,

the after-images sear into my vision. Shuddering to my feet, I try to blink them away. Adelaide's voice echoes from impossibly far away, sending a flock of sleeping birds full feather into the sky. I'm here! I pivot towards the sound with a sob of manic relief. I can't believe it. The lanterns are still there.

They line the woods showing the way, back to him. I can hear the falls again. My knees wobble, liquid bones, but I rush towards the lights and the sound of Adam calling. When I break through the trees, he's there waiting. He tilts his head, taking me in, scratched legs in pale, lingering horror. He holds a handout to me. Told you I knew another way to the top? As he says it, the mountain flips upside down. My stomach plunges, and I stagger backward with a gas. The falls are magnificent and nearby. But we're not at the bottom any longer. We're standing on the cliff high above the meadow in the place where the river leaves the sky. Two final lanterns mark the edge, lights on a runway. It's the second most

amazing thing I've seen all night. Adams, she's out there. I saw, I almost tell him everything. How Willow broke the trees, how she was horrible and muddy and had her hands all over him, and the insidiously enthusiastic way he led her. But the story withers on my lips. I breathe it back in. That wasn't Adam. Whatever hideous illusion that was back there between the trees, it won't be part of our legend. What's real is right in front of me, standing tall and cherished on the edge.

Flesh and blood and the other half of my soul. We haven't been this close since we fell asleep, skin to skin beside the campfire. We lock eyes and an ambrosial shyness overtakes me. We're different now, yet still the same. My body burned. with sweet, raw memories. And as I approach him,

my blood beats for our next adventure. We walk between the lanterns and peer down the welcoming arm of the river. We contemplate the drop into the moonlit pool below. It's going to be deep and cold. But this is Adam, after all. Even at the height of spontaneity, he has a plan.

What do you think, Annalie? His words whispered chills through me. I can't believe we're standing here even as I know it's inevitable. Are you ready? I take his hand. Or does he take mine? We back away from the edge, giving ourselves a running start.

Hand-in-hand, we rush and fly and soar over the sigh. Gravity returns and yanks us straight down. Falling, plummeting, loving. It all happens in a slow-motion heartbeat. The air rushes past us, lifting my hair, and I hear my voice on the wind, and I see the meadow in our campsite below. The campfire still burns. The lamps still dot the tall grass.

An atom's strong form is still there in the sleeping bag. Even as I feel his hand tightened around mine. Slymy and wormy and cold. I jerk sideways, but there's no time to scream. A bloated, muddy creature with whipping dark hair plummets beside me. She yanks me close, embraces me from behind. Her gangly fishpail arm squeeze my waist and we break against the rock. Our spine split with the crack of a thousand trees.

I crush her and she slams through me as my spirit tears loose from my fibers. In the dizzy black seconds that follow, my body slides limply off the rock. Blood and spirit, I seep into the water, dying as willow once die. My tragedy will twist the trees. With the last of myself, I turn my head towards the shore. I try to call for Adam, but my voice chokes on sorrow and mist. And yet someone shouts his name. Someone does.

Floating beneath the falls, I hear my voice echo against the cliffside. A heartbeat later, Adam's flashlight zigzags across my face and he splashes through the water. Annalie, are you insane? Did you jump? He waits closer and there is raw terror in his voice and, why not? I can feel the split-branched nightmare of my spine protruding from my bat. But Adam's expression softens. His sudden relief disorienting. me.

You're okay. Just breathe. I'm here. You knock the air from yourself. That's all. My God, where were you thinking, jumping alone like that? He guides me upright and walks me from the water, wet, glistening legs and sagging blonde curls only. Only the mountain is upside down and misty.

And I witness all this from outside myself. My body walks with Adam. Possessed, lovely, upright. Even as my spirit bobbs here on the water. No. No, no, no. I twist and writhe until my feet sink into the muddy shallows as I attempt to stand upright my torso slump sideways

and my arms stretch outward like the branches. I reach for Adam. He leads the girl that is not me from the shore and into the firelight. His voice is lush with concern as he traips her in his sleeping bag. Are you sure you're okay, Annalie? She smiles wickedly and presses his hand against her nude chest. Feel my heartbeat. As he leans into kissing.

her I reach and reach but cannot touch him. My mouth unhinges and the wind rushes from me, a gale force of hollow despair. I shriek. And far, far away, Adam breaks their kiss just long enough to gasp. Shh. Did you hear that? Oh, poor Anna Lee. I'm glad I didn't need to hear a scream to know that you are my true love, darling.

Aw, that's so sweet. I'm glad you're my Valentine. I am indeed, and I'm going to make you a delicious meal to celebrate. You're cooking for Valentine's? I suppose weaners and beans could be considered romantic. I'll have you know I'm making a delicious healthy meal from Green Chef. Green Chef? Don't we usually use Hello Fresh? Green Chef is now owned by Hello Fresh,

and with a wider array of meal plans to choose from, there's something for everyone. How is Green Chef different? Green Chef is America's number one meal kit for eating well, with dinners that work for you, not the other way around. Green Chef's options for every lifestyle include keto and paleo, vegan, vegetarian, fast and fit, Mediterranean, and gluten-free. I see. So we get the same easy follow recipes, pre-portioned ingredients, and quick prep time, but with even healthier meal choices?

Precisely. Whether you're looking for carb-conscious, gluten-free, plant-based, or californ. calorie conscious options, or you just want to have delicious balanced dishes, Green Chef has flavorful, good for you recipes that are sure to satisfy. We both do try to keep our carbs low and enjoy keto meals a lot. Does Green Chef offer meals like that? Of course, darling. As the first ever and only keto meal kit on the market,

Green Chef makes sticking to a carb-conscious lifestyle easy. Green Chef's keto and paleo options give you the premium proteins and vital veggies you need to conquer your day. Sounds like both Hello Fresh and Green Chef will work perfectly with our lifestyle. Agreed. I love switching between the brands, and now our listeners can enjoy both brands at a discount with us. See, here.

So the listeners just need to go to greenchef.com slash no sleep 130 and use code no sleep 130 to get $130 off, plus free shipping. It's that simple. Go to greenchef.com slash no sleep 13. and use code No Sleep 130 to get $130 off plus free shipping. I'm looking forward to this delicious healthy meal you're making me. You really should brace yourself. Ha ha ha.

Oh, I never get tired of that. Now let's get back to the horror while I run out to get you some flowers. Your favorite color is purple, right? Oh, yes, partners can be mischievous and fun. there's no denying that. When the man or woman that you love sets up a devious and exciting surprise for you, like a puzzle to figure out or a treasure to seek. Or, as is the case in this tale, shared with us by author Manen and I said,

a scavenger hunt to solve. But sometimes even the most welcome of surprises have an unwelcome ending. Performing this tale is Matthew Bradford. So let's hunt high and hunt low and try to answer the question as to why there is a pile of purple flowers on my doorstep. I found two things on my doorstep this morning. A pile of purple flowers and Tommy's eviscerated remains. At first I could explain neither.

but after the shock wore off and I looked back on yesterday's events, I think I understand what happened to Tommy. It was our anniversary, and I'd forgotten, as usual. He woke me up with breakfast in bed in a mysterious red envelope. It was a clue for some sort of scavenger hunt across town to all the places where we'd had our firsts. You know, the first day, first kiss. First time I'd drunkenly puked on his shoes. First time we held hands.

The usual sappy stuff. I fucking hate scavenger hunts, but I played along because it made him happy. And because I felt guilty for not getting him anything. So we have nasty raccoons in our backyard. I used to wake up to our garbage cans overturned and trash strewn all over the goddamn lawn. And I tried everything, including buying those tight rubber handle things that are supposedly raccoon-proof. but they were clearly not made by anyone who'd ever met a raccoon, because those suckers basically have opposable thumbs and claws and fangs.

If the rubber didn't get chewed through, the end of it would get torn and we'd find claw marks all over the garbage lane. I know we're not supposed to do this because it encourages the animals or whatever, but I took to leaving food out for them so they wouldn't be as tempted to get into the trash. And it worked really well. It's like we had an agreement. We both held up our ends of the... the bargain. I leave food out for you on the porch. You leave my trash alone. Yesterday I was

scrambling. Every moment Tommy's eyes weren't trying to lock onto mine, I'd be on my phone desperately looking for a proper anniversary gift. Sox wouldn't cut it this year, not after he'd planned such a big thing for me. Ties were out of the question. He didn't wear those. And well, fishing gear? No. Tommy was terrified of fish. Like, I don't know how you can be afraid of fish. It's It's not like they can come out on land and eat you, but whatever. My point is, my usual autopilot programming was disrupted, and I forgot to fulfill my end of the bargain with the raccoons. Tommy dragged me out and drove us to the first location on the rudimentary map.

The spot where we first laid eyes on one another. Well, sort of. See, we met on a dating app, so he took me to our local internet service providers HQ, were a box of chocolates that was waiting for me dangling from the branches of a tree. Then it was onto milkshakes at McKenzie's where I vaguely remember being awkward as fuck as we complained about our jobs on our first date. Tommy recounted it better than I remembered, and after that we went to the promenade where we went on our first walk as a couple.

He left little notes hidden in nooks and crannies telling me how much he loved me. A few had gone missing, and we searched for them longer than we should have. I kind of like the thought of some random stranger finding a rolled up piece of paper wrapped in pink twine, opening it up and reading, I love you more than the stars in the sky and getting a boost of serotonin, or alternatively, being hugely weirded out by it. My breaking point, and the point where I started heavily drinking, was when he whipped out his guitar and started singing me an original song,

in public. I mean, listen, I love this man. I sincerely do, but I was mortified. I couldn't help but thinking, please never, ever do anything like this again. I mean, the song wasn't the problem. It was lovely. He has a great singing voice. It was the whole publicness of it.

Like when servers at restaurants line up and clap and sing happy birthday. Thankfully, our last stop was the bar where we both got well and truly slashed. We took a cab home, and as we wobbled up the front steps, Tommy mumbled. something about forgetting his guitar in the car. I pressed on ahead while he circled back towards the driveway, evidently forgetting that the car was parked halfway across town. I was just past the threshold when I heard Tommy scream. I turned my head and saw him land face first into the gravel driveway.

And my reaction was laughter. This handsome drunk asshole had fallen over himself, I thought. I was too far gone to fully register the long, dark, clawed fingers. wrapped around his ankles. I sloppily closed the door and started to untress. Tommy was still screaming. He hadn't come inside yet. I kind of blacked in and out.

I don't know if it was the booze or the stress or fear, but thinking about it now, I see the scene in pieces, yet somehow feel the horror in full. It's like a movie with missing footage, where the sound doesn't stop. I tense and I hope. hold my breath, and even though I barely saw anything, I somehow both know and don't know what happened. I remember looking out the window and seeing a mass of bristled fur

standing over Tommy. I remember blood and screams of agony. I remember a ripping sound. I remember shakily typing 9-1 into my phone, then seeing a pair of reflective eyes leering back at me before I dropped the phone. I remember an inhuman shriek like a hyena yowling through the blades of a fan. And then it was morning, and I was sprawled out on the floor covered in puke. I cleaned myself up, ignoring the window and avoiding the door. I called to Tommy, even though something at the pit of my stomach told me he wouldn't reply. I could hear the faint echoes of cries for help scratching at the back of my mind. Coffee. Shower. More coffee. The front door was somehow always in the corner of my eye, no matter where I stood in the house. It begged to be open. My fragmented mind

wanted me not to. Every time I dared to approach, I felt myself teetering on the verge of a panic attack. Don't do it, that little voice inside my head said, you're not ready. I tried to convince myself I was only afraid of the sunlight worsening my hangover. Some things are hard to accept. Other things, you accept immediately, but you need time to process. I'm not sure which category I fell under. I did open the door eventually. I opened it, saw Tommy, and fell to my knees sobbing. He'd been torn open at the abdomen. His chest was so flat. Everything inside. was gone. It was less bloody than you think, probably because the blood had been lapped up. My hands were shaking as I reached for him, but I was too afraid to touch his body, for my skin's

last memory of his to be a clammy, cold sensation, rather than the soft, warm touch of his hand and mine in the back of the taxi. And you know the sick, demented thought I had as I kneeled there in shock? The thought that makes me feel like an absolute monster. The way his stomach was torn open, and pieces of him were strewn about the ground, it reminded me of a torn garbage bag and all the leftovers discarded by the raccoons. The fucking raccoons that I forgot to feed. The raccoons I'd never actually seen, but had always just assumed that's what they were. My eyes fell on the neat pile of flowers at the top of the stairs.

I still don't know what they mean. Are they a gift? An apology? Payment. Maybe I'll never know. Is that it? I still don't understand the purpose of these exercises. I have a vast and storied filmography ready and available. I'm unclear why these presentation intros are required. They have nothing to do with the contract, right? There's no connection to Goldmeadow here. Nothing about the disappearances. Right, right, I suppose you know best. It's just strange as all.

We leave for Gold Meadow tomorrow, and I'm not even packed. I'll have all the time in the world to do this when I get back. As the fires wane and embers glow, our stories cease as shadows grow. The night is long and darkness deep. Remain with us. Embrace No Sleep. The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. 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 past 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 under our spell. This audio production is copyright 2021 and 2022 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.