The NoSleep Podcast - S17 Ep15: NoSleep Podcast S17E15

Episode Date: March 13, 2022

It's Episode 15 of Season 17. Our spells will drive you into darkness."The Supermarket in the Woods" written by Mr. Michael Squid (Story starts around 00:05:50)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - Matthew Bradford"A Coastal Town" written by Davis Walden (Story starts around 00:16:35)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator - Kyle Akers, Rory - Jeff Clement"Night Driving" written by Mark Towse (Story starts around 00:36:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - David Ault, Pitbull - Andy Cresswell, Bartender - James Cleveland, Horse Mask Woman - Erika Sanderson, Cat Mask Women - Penny Scott-Andrews, Bunny Mask Women - Erika Sanderson"Goat Valley Campgrounds - Chapter 2" written by Bonnie Quinn (Story starts around 01:06:50)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Kate - Linsay Rousseau, Bryan - Kyle Akers, The Dancer - Mary Murphy, Sheriff Sabotta - David Cummings"The Butternut Bakery Does Not Serve Human Flesh" written by Samuel Singer (Story starts around 01:01:35)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Sam Singer - Jesse Cornett, Heather - Wafiyyah White, Phil - David Cummings"Places Not Meant for People" written by James Maddox Kennedy (Story starts around 01:18:35)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Mark - Dan Zappulla, Beau DeSalle - Atticus Jackson, The Surgeon - Graham Rowat, Man - Elie HirschmanThis episode is sponsored by:Upstart - Upstart believes people are more than their credit score. We take a holistic view of an applicant, rather than write them off because of their credit score. We want to empower people to take control of their debt and financial future. Get started by going to Upstart.com/nosleepCaliper CBD - Caliper CBD is a fast, easy way to use CBD. With precise 20 mg doses of dissolvable powder which mix quickly and flavorlessly into any food or drink, you'll experience all the benefits of CBD without the hassles of oils or tinctures. Get 20% off your first order when you use promo code NOSLEEP at trycaliper.com/nosleepClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Mr. Michael SquidClick here to learn more about James Maddox KennedyClick here to learn more about Bonnie Quinn Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone"The Supermarket in the Woods" illustration courtesy of Jen TracyAudio 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

Horror, chilling and thrilling, frightening and disturbing, starting right up. Hold on, boss. Can I ask a favor of you? Sure, Atticus Jackson, famed voice actor. What is it? Can I borrow a couple thousand bucks from you? A couple thousand? Wow, that's a lot. What do you need it for? Gotta fill up your car with gas? Because gas is so expensive right now, right? Well, actually, yeah. It's to cover a bunch of things.

of expenses. This inflation is getting out of hand. Yeah, you got that right. But seriously, I understand how helpful it can be to get your finances in order. You should consolidate your debt into one affordable monthly payment instead of all the high-interest loans. That's what I'm hoping for. Well, you don't need my help. You need Upstart. Of course. How could I forget about Upstart? The fast and easy way to pay off your debt with a personal loan. All online. That's right. Listen, many people are experiencing. financial hardship these days. Getting through the pandemic, now there's crazy inflation, job uncertainty, ugh, it's nuts. But Upstart can help you regain your footing and get things back on track.

I like how Upstart knows up more than just my credit score and is expanding access to affordable credit. Right, whether it's paying off credit cards, consolidating high interest debt, or funding personal expenses. Over half a million people have used Upstart to get one fixed monthly payment. And unlike other lenders, Upstart considers your income and current employment to find you a smarter rate for your loan. With a five-minute online rate check, you can see your rate up front for loans between $1,000 to $50,000. You can receive funds as fast as one business day after accepting your loan. That's what I'm going to do. Remind me how to get started with Upstart?

You want to find out how Upstart can lower your monthly payments today? Well, you go to upstart.com slash no sleep. Right. That's upstart.com slash no sleep. And I won't forget to use our URL to let them know No Sleep sent me. And I don't need to tell you that loan amounts will be determined based on your credit, income, and certain other information provided in your loan application. So go to Upstart.com slash no sleep. I'll do that. And get the money for my new tricked out gaming computer with the new Gigablast TRX-6900 GPU. You, so many terraflops. Wait a sec.

I thought you said you had a bunch of expenses. Uh, well, a gaming computer is sort of like an expense. Oh, Atticus. Well, let's terraflop our way into horror and start the show. It's 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 toes declared. And from those days, both present and past, we beseech you now to brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. Sleepless tales commence, fellow travelers. I'm your guide, David Cummings. Some of you may know that disgraced former time witch Joanna showed up at my house last week. She stayed for a few days until her condition worsened

and we had to check her into a private health clinic, the location of which I cannot divulge. She's definitely been stripped of her power and all I can glean is that some kind of cap-rine monstrosity is the culprit. When I tried to play her chapter one of our new audio drama, Goat Valley Campgrounds, she reacted by screaming an abject horror. Now, Goat Valley Campgrounds is pretty scary, but we hadn't even got past the first paragraph. Oh, and speaking of Goat Valley Campgrounds, Chapter 2 drops today.

Be sure to check that out, but listen to the first chapter if you haven't already. Last night, I received a call from her clinic. They asked me if I knew anything about it. the stricken orchard. Apparently, Joanna keeps yelling about it. Now, does that ring a bell to any of you? Nothing springing to mind. She's also been yelling about the town of gilded fields, though. And something about that sounds familiar, and I don't think it has anything to do with the goat valley campgrounds. Ah, well, mysteries stack upon mysteries. I shall dwell on them in due time. But now, on with our latest episode. In our first tale, we join our main character fleeing through the forest. Dad's being a

drunken dickhead again, and who wants to put up with that? So a midnight flight through the dark woods is in the cards. But in this tale, shared with us by author Mr. Michael Squid, is that a light we can spy through the trees? Is there solace to be found in the middle of nowhere? Performing this tale is Matthew Bradford. So whether your preference is a 7-Eleven, a Tesco, or a Wawa, let's hope you find your favorite when you encounter the supermarket in the woods. When I was 10 years old, I tried to run away from home. My father had come home drunk,

yelling about my messy room before stomping on my game console. My rage bubbled up, watching through tear-blurred eyes as plastic fragments scattered about with each violent to blow. I ran off that night into the woods with no destination. I just wanted to get as far away from him as possible. It was mid-September, and the nights had started to get a little cooler. I was wearing a hoodie and jeans as well as a ratty pair of sneakers. I had no idea where I was headed, but I was determined to keep running. My anger clouded my judgment, and soon I was deep in the woods. and after heading towards where I thought a road should have been for far too long with no luck,

I realized I was lost. The woods were dense and dark, and aside from the chirps of crickets, it was dead quiet. The moonlight barely illuminated the pillars of tree trunks that obscured the view in every direction. I looked at the GPS on my phone only to find there is no service. The pinpoint placed me at the wood's edge near my parents' home, and I'd been walking for over half an hour. I spun around as panic set in. Thoughts of being killed by some bobcat or bear

kept my heart beating fast in my chest. I also knew that people went missing every year. I'd see their faces on flyers at the post office or staple to telephone poles. I decided to keep walking, knowing it should only be a matter of time before I reached a road. Soon, I saw a light far ahead of me,

hazy and distant. I walked towards it, watching the light source glow from deep in the woods. It was a large building of sorts, and every step closer provided more details. Eventually, I could see it clearly. It was a supermarket, seemingly ripped from its previous location and dropped smack down in the midst of the trees. There wasn't a single road or even footpath leading to the rectangular building, and the greenish tint of fluorescent lights on the sides cast an eerie glow on the surrounding trees. I walked closer and, I walk closer and

utter confusion, trying to figure out why on earth it was there with absolutely no practical way to access it. It was so surreal that a giddy sense of wonder compelled me to check it out. Double sliding glass doors give a view to the interior. There are aisles of boxes and canned goods and even meat products in the refrigerated sections at the market's edges. I walked closer, and to my surprise, the sliding glass doors parted, opening for me. It was after midnight. yet the market appeared to be open. I stepped inside, eager to pick up a soda to quench my thirst. See, I'd run away in such a hurry I'd forgotten to grab the essentials, including water.

This mysterious market was a godsend, I thought. So I walked down the aisles, observing strange packaging and products I'd never seen before in my life. The first thing I noticed was the writing on the boxes lining one of the shelves. I walked closer to one and couldn't read a single word. It was like no font or language I'd ever seen. The image on the box was of a baby, so my mind went to baby formula, until I leaned in closer to make out the details. The illustrated baby in the image was reminiscent of a 50-style watercolor,

Rockwellian in the cheerful color palette. It held a knife and a fork, and its pink tongue was at the side in hungry anticipation. The baby stared at the side in a hot. down hungrily over a bowl of what first appeared to be sausages, but on closer inspection, I felt a wave of nausea hit me. It was a bowl full of intestines, ropey, bloody pink innards that were spilling out of the illustrated infant's own stomach, trickling red lines from the open wound on its midsection. I gasped and took a step back, looking at a few other bizarre and macabre illustrations. Another box had a completely different font I also didn't recognize,

strange looping characters that spiraled out from a central circle in different ways. The image was of a human bowl of noses and lips, and an illustrated puff of steam rose from the bowl to show the appetizing nature of the hideous gore within. I stepped back in revulsion. I turned to the deli meats in the refrigerated display cases lining the walls and led out an involuntary yelp. Shrink-wrapped human hands and feet lay displayed on styrofoam trays like normal cuts of beef. segments of human skulls with hair on the circumference and brains bisected in the middle. Eyeballs, ears, and tongues, all they perfectly packaged, plastic wrapped and stacked in the display.

Each butcher appendage or gouged out fleshy part had a sickly green hue from the fluorescent overhead lights. I backed up as my mind went into a panic. I briskly walked over to the automatic sliding glass doors but froze in my tracks as the clatter of my foot caught a stack of cans in the aisle. With the tens, decorated with photographs of neatly stacked fingers, toppled down to the linoleum floor that seemed to belong to some bygone time in Americana decor. The rattle they made was deafeningly loud in the supermarket, which had previously been silent but for the buzz of the greenish overhead lighting. A wet grunt and clicking sounded from an aisle over. I saw a long, strange shadow grow as whatever was in the aisle approached. The shadow looked off, like whatever was casting it had too many appendages,

and a gurgling sound erupted that set my heartbeat into overdrive. I ran to the sliding glass doors and pressed my small hands against the plexiglass pane, but they weren't opening. My heart thudded against my rib cage and my hands shook as they struggled to pry apart the doors. In the dark window panes leading out to the wilderness, I saw the reflection of what was behind me, slowly emerging from the aisle next to where I'd had my unfortunate trip. Something was fast approaching, and it was unlike anything I'd ever seen.

Long, segmented limbs, flesh-colored but far from human. A hideous head reminiscent of a skinned sheep's head but with a wide open jaw, cobbled with filthy, pointed teeth. It was the single most horrifying thing I had ever seen, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears as the thing scrambled on the smooth flooring towards me. I pushed with all the strength in my small arms and felt the door slide open, The cool breeze hit my face and I ran, stumbling forward into the woods. The lights from the bizarre supermarket dimmed with each bounding stride as I sprinted deeper into the darkness, away from that terrible, impossible place.

I ran far and fast and only stopped when my breaths were an exhausted wheezing and I was surrounded by darkness. I looked back. There was no source of light, no sign of anything in pursuit. I was safe, at least for the time being. I returned back home to an angry father. His face only got redder once I mentioned the strange supermarket in the woods. He sent me to my room and told me I was grounded, but he didn't lay a finger on me. And that was the end of it. It wasn't until last week, nearly 20 years later, that I thought about it again.

I'd booked a flight home from LAX for my father's funeral. We kept in touch here and there as I grew older, and I forgave him, knowing he wasn't long for this world. He'd apologized profusely in the rare times we talked, more so after the divorce. My mother took me out west with her to start a new life. She remarried and he got sucked deeper into that bottle. I hadn't been back in rural New Jersey in over a decade, and cheap flights meant taking whatever abysmal flight time they had left to fill. Mine was a red eye leaving Cali at 10 p.m., arriving in Newark at 4.30 a.m. due to the time zone change, the dead of night. I had convinced myself over the years that the details I'd witnessed were just products of a terrified child's mind,

an overactive imagination, a distorted memory, perhaps. But once our plane began its descent over the seemingly endless woods near my childhood home, I saw the glowing green leaves from a light source just beneath the canopy, something you'd likely not notice at all, or perhaps chalk up to the perimeter lighting of a woodland home or something. some log cabin retreat. But there is no home nestled beneath those tree tops. There are no roads or even footpaths to the patch of glowing forest illuminated by fluorescent lights under the dense cover of the trees. There are, however, missing persons' posters on telephone poles that, in retrospect,

seem to have been far too abundant in our town when I was a child, as did the sheer number of pleas in the newspaper offering reward money for information about, missing children. I looked out the plane's window, no longer able to deny the connection. There is a night supermarket deep in those dense woods, a supermarket that, just like any other, occasionally needs to restock. Sailing, they are sailing, drifting together on the wide, sea. Everything is peace, everything is tranquility, everything is beautiful. But, in this tale, shared with us by author Davis Walden, a terrifying realization dawns.

One of our heroes has an exam in the morning. But when they dock back up, things seem different. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres and Jeff Clement. So let's explore this place, familiar yet eerily different. Let's see what we can discover as we make our way through a coastal town. Waves shlopped up against the hole of the boat, prodding us back and forth, back and forth. Off somewhere, I don't even know how far, maybe 14 kilometers.

The cresting whites of waves slapped and crashed against Iris Islands rocky shores. The percussive thalum, thalump, soared up and all around us. It was colder out than before, much colder. and starting to rain. I pulled the edge of the comforter and wrapped it underneath myself. I clenched the crook of my arm and pulled myself tied up against the skin of Rory's back.

I took one last breath of salty air before diving into the smell of his hair. Rory sighed and nestled up closer to me. He tangled his fingers into mine and tugged my arm around himself. My fingers traced figure eights across his skin. I shuffled up closer to him. Why? I asked, knowing exactly what he meant.

I felt a twitch of warmth in the air, just like how you know someone's close to you when your eyes are closed. I knew the edges of his lips were curling into a smile. Because you're being distracting. I grin. Oh, am I? Rory looked down and grabbed me. What are you going to do about it? I did as I was told.

He wrapped his arms around me and let out a relief sigh. Just one more hour of sleepy time. And what if I can't sleep? You all? And I always can't. Besides, we're on a boat. Not exactly the peak of comfy sleeping. I nestled up against the arch of his body.

What if you tell me a story? Wasn't there some local legend you were going to tell me about? I mean, there was. Meridian's a college town, so. There were more than enough of those to go around. Like, for example, everyone used to dare each other to break into this one abandoned mansion. The story goes that a massive fire killed dozens of people at a Halloween party and that their ghosts haunt the place to this day.

So, of course, you'd go check the place out on Halloween and wander around. I'm surprised none of us ever fell straight through the floor half the time. But unlike that, what happened on Iris Island is a documented fact and not just some silly urban legend. Back before TikTok and YouTube, all it took to find out if the story was true was a trip to the library. Now, every dark historian and urban legend lover can't wait to get their hands on the story for a couple views. I mean, most people I know in town have heard the story at least once. Back in, like, 1986, three lighthouse workers were on the island over Christmas Eve in the old lighthouse. The guy who ran the place, a high schooler who was supposed to take over for him,

and a guy who was delivering supplies and staying for the weekend. All three of them disappeared without a trace. When people went to investigate, the place was a total mess. The windows in the house were shattered, supplies and clothes were scattered out across the lawn, and they found evidence of salt water, having breached the second floor of the building. That means there'd have to have been a wave of some sort

to have towered over 30 feet to even get there. And all that was left from the three guys there were these scribbled wild notes about a storm having hit the island. But on the mainland, there was nothing but crystal clear skies, my eyes. What time is it? I have no clue. I unwrapped myself out of Rory's clutches and checked my phone. I flicked it open and got blasted with a jet with a white light.

I winced and swiped it down to a lower brightness. Shit, it's 2.30. Rory got up. Seriously? He shuffled across the deck and gathered up his clothes. I have an exam in like, like five hours. I thought your class was at eight. Rory bent over and slipped on his underwear.

It is, but I have to print out an essay that's due today. Your professor scheduled an essay and an exam on the same day? No, no, no. I have back-to-back classes, and I need one for the other. I stood up and the comforter slipped off of me. We could still try for another hour. Roy let out the heaviest groan I've ever heard and threw my clothes at me. After I got dressed, I leaned up against the wheel and stared out at the horizon.

Meridian's waterfront was almost completely dark. Iris Island's new lighthouse, the one they've had since 1987, built on the other side of the island, swept its light over us. I felt weird looking at it and I couldn't figure out why. Maybe I was more tired than I thought. Roy rested his chin on my shoulder. Here, there was power outage back home? I leaned my head against his.

Maybe. We'll have to go real slow just in case. We pulled up into the dock. I looked over at Rory. He was sitting down on the edge of the boat and looking out at all of the buildings. Rory, help me out with the knots. Roy bit his lip. These aren't the kind of knots that I'm used to.

I twisted around. I'm sorry? Oh, you should have seen the look on your face. I hopped up out of the boat and twisted the line into a knot. I kept this up until the boat was locked tight into place. Rory wasn't smiling as much anymore. He went a little gray. What's up?

You think it's weird that there's no lights at all? I looked at all of the buildings behind us. Rory was right. There weren't any. No candles, no phones, no random flashlights, and no people out. It's 2.30. It's Monday morning. Not like anyone's going to be out right now. Yeah. And to sleep.

Yeah? I don't know. You know how weird it is on the way back home after a night out? You hardly ever see anyone. I gripped Rory's hand and pulled him onto the dock. He tripped and stumbled up closer against my chest. Did you do that on purpose? I'm clumsy enough as is. I doubt I could plan this.

I slipped my fingers into the loops of his shorts and pulled him closer to me. I pressed my lips against his and sighed into him. Rory's hands traveled across my waist, the tips of his fingers grazing my side. I gave him a gentle push. Okay, okay, we need to get home. Roy nodded. Yeah, yep, you're right. Because you have an exam in, well, sorry to inform you, four hours.

And I'd hate to be a distraction. Rory gasped. Don't use my words against me. A trash can got knocked over somewhere. The night was so dead it sounded like the only sound for miles. Shit. You don't think someone saw us, do you? Shame trickled up my spine and into my gut.

He was still embarrassed about any kind of. of PDA, even in places like a gay bar. No, we're fine. Besides, Meridians, not like that. No one's going to be a problem because, because two guys kissed. Rory looked like he wasn't sure. If you say so.

I do say so. That got him to crack a smile, but it still wasn't enough. All of the romance we had was sucked out of the air. You want to grab a bite to eat? We started walking down the pier. Jesus, a burger and fries would be amazing right now. Too bad everything's fucking closed.

You're forgetting about that one place. That one place was the biggest college dive in town. Ricks was a sprawling Frankenstein's monster of two properties stitched gruesomely together to form a single bar. Four stories of drunken antics, piss troughs, and floors covered in who knows what. But you know what Ricks was amazing at? Food. Doubt they'd even be open with his power out. I groaned and my stomach curled thinking about their three-tiered bacon cheeseburger.

Rory drifted a little ways away from me to the side, like he didn't want to be seen within a foot of me. Maybe because he knew this center of gravity would pull me in closer and closer until I tried to lean against him or hold his hand. A cold breeze cut between us. He smiled at me and my heart fluttered. But you didn't know they have a generator, did you? How the heck did you know they have a generator?

I pulled out my phone. I hardly knew how to find the place from here, and I highly doubted Rory did. You never read the pamphlets they have by the door? I turned on my data. No bars. Weird. No, I haven't. Like, ever.

Back in some northeaster... Nor'easter. I kept thumbing my data on and off, on and off. It didn't make sense. That should have been working. There was no way that the data on my phone wasn't running. We should have been able to pull up a map. Nor Easter.

Everyone ran out of power and they... Shit. Does your phone work? Roy pulled it out of his pocket. Out of power. Why? Data's not fucking working for some reason. Rory looked at a spot behind me and raised his hand.

Hey! I turned around. There was a man wearing a... baseball cap standing some distance away, maybe like 40 feet from us, in the middle of the road. He looked about 40-something, maybe. It was hard to tell in the dark. He wasn't facing us, and he didn't turn around. Hey, do you know how to get to Ricks? The man didn't answer. I grabbed Rory's finger. Hey, I don't think we need help. We'll find it. Rory brushed me off.

Hey, not here. I shut my hands back into my pockets. The man still didn't turn around. He was just standing there with his head a little cocked to the side. Except... When did he move? What? He's closer now.

What? No, he's not. I blinked. He was closer again. Maybe like five feet. I snatch Roy's hand. Come on. Dude, stop doing that.

I told you, not here. I looked back at the man. He was 20 feet from us now. We have to go. I don't like this. I looked behind me and there was another man there. And another. One of them was wearing a heavy yellow oil skin coat and boots.

And the other was someone maybe our age wearing a flannel and ripped jeans. Neither of them were staring in our direction. Rory, keep staring at the guy ahead of us. Rory snapped his head at me. What? I looked in the other direction. The man in the baseball cap was 15 feet away from us now. Rory, look at the man ahead of us now.

Rory did and paled. How did he do that? I looked at the other two men. They were 30 feet away. Let's get back to the boat. We should go to Ricks. No. No, something's wrong.

Something caught my eye in the window of an apartment building. It was a woman facing away from the room. street. Rory grabbed my arm. We're going to run on the count of three. What? No. One? Rory, don't. Two. Three. Rory sprinted past me and left me on the sidewalk.

I stumbled into gear and started chasing after him. Don't look back! I couldn't help it, though. There were so many of them now. Women, men, children, all of them facing away from us. We veered onto the portside street and spotted the docks up ahead. I stared down both ends of the road and saw dozens of people moving closer and closer to us. The tide was higher than I'd ever seen before.

Waves crested up and over the railing, sending liters of seawater under the road. We got to the dock and it was almost fully submerged. We started waiting through the calf deep water to get to the boat. The lines of rope and my knots were beginning to loosen up, and I could see the boat shifting back and forth as if it wanted to float away. The wave pummeled into me and dragged me off the dock and into the water. Rory! Rory stopped and started waiting his way over to me.

All of the people were staring at us from the road, the whole crowd of them. But this time, they were turned around. They didn't have faces, or bodies. Their clothes were being suspended in the air by almost solid shadows. They had eyes, though. And their eyes were burning with a searing light line. I swam my way over to Rory as much. currents tugged in my body, beckoning me further out into the water. A wave pushed me forward and

up into Rory's arms. We looked for the boat again. The knot that kept it down were fully loose and slipping. We're almost there. Rory and I half swam, half walked through waste-deep seawater, and fought against the waves and hurrieds. We used the wave's momentum to pull us closer to the boat and leapt in at the right moment so that not get tossed back by the white crest. I stumbled onto the boats rail and pulled myself up, making sure Rory tumbled in with me. Our boat wobbled out of the port and passed all of the other floating boats into the open ocean. Meridian looked like it was beginning to sink. Wave after wave after wave made the roads disappear, and the first floors of the buildings submerged.

The shadow people, whoever they were, had moved up to higher ground. As the waves shot past those that remained, the rest stood by on roofs and in which were. windows. Their white, starry eyes glared out towards us as our boat shuffled through the waves and passed abandoned boats loosed from their moorings. I laughed and hugged Rory as tight as I could. I never wanted to let go. The lighthouse's light passed over us, and it was then that I realized why it had looked so off to me before. In 1987, a new lighthouse was built on the east end of Iris Island to replace the old and outdated one. The lighthouse that was shining over the, both of us the entire time, sat on the west side of the island, where the original lighthouse

had stood. We need to get back to our own reality and take a quick break. I'm getting hungry. Me too. And my sinus issue is cleared up so I can finally taste food again. I guess that's a good thing. You guess? Listen, for a few weeks there, I couldn't taste delicious things like medium rare hamburger, a creamy cappuccino, or even some heavenly dilatio. Oh, I love tasting great food. But sometimes no flavor is the best thing of all.

Oh, for example? Like when you're taking Caliper CBD powder. Caliper's dissolvable CBD powder has absolutely no flavor. And it's more effective than CBD oils because it's clinically proven to deliver 30 times more CBD in the first 30 minutes than CBD oil. When the alternative feels like you're eating a handful of grass, flavorless is a no-brainer. Well, you know, you're right. No flavor. super easy to use. Caliper CBD powder packets are carefully measured to contain exactly 20 milligrams,

so you can put zero effort into figuring out your dosage, because not stressing is the whole point. We both love taking Caliper CBD powder. We've used it more at night lately, haven't we? That's true. I love how it allows us to relax and wind down after a busy day. And we both sleep much better after taking Caliper CBD powder. And Caliper CBD is always THC-free, because we want to feel better without any trippy side effects. How can the listeners show good taste and get Caliper CBD of their own? Everyone can get flavorless with Caliper CBD. Get 20% off your first order with promo code No Sleep at tricaliper.com slash no sleep.

Try it risk free for 30 days. If you don't love it, they'll give you a full refund. That's trycaliper.com slash no sleep. Don't forget promo code no sleep for 20% off. your first order. Okay, let's get in the car and go get some tasty food. Okay, but first it's time to get back to the show and buckle up because we're driving deep into the night. Imagine the vibe. You're cruising down midnight boulevards, the hum of your engine aloe per. Music drifts from nearby bars, but it's passe. You've seen it all before. You want something

exciting. And in this tale, shared with us by author Mark Tows, there's an alley just visible in the darkness that you've never been down before. Somehow you know that it promises wonders, but as with all wonders, there's a cost. Performing this tale are David Alt, Andy Cresswell, James Cleveland, Erica Sanderson, and Penny Scott Andrews. So let's slip behind the wheel and go explore the neon-drenched world of night driving. Life feels too claustrophobic during the day, too busy, stuffed with familiarity. It's why I like night driving. There's a velvety softness to the darkness that takes me back to being a kid. Endless journeys wrapped in blankets on the back seat of my parents' car,

full of wonder and hardly a care in the world, following the moon through towering canopies. It's six minutes past two. I figure I'll turn right at Wallington Road and make my way back. An hour or two is all I need. My fix, if you like. I'm not sure Beck would ever understand, but it's a conversation I'd prefer not to have. Besides, I'm always tucked up beneath the covers well before she begins to stir.

Soft red light brings me to a halt, and it feels as though time stands still, no movement at all. I wind the window down, breathing in the down, camp air and enjoying the untainted petricor. The moon hangs seductively low and full, but my eyes are getting tired and I must resist its pull. We're off again. It's more than just tranquility. Darkness brings an underlying feeling that anything could happen, as though magic hides behind its black cloak. Almost palpable energy carries a hum, putting the body in a different mode from when the sun's up. At least that's what it feels like to me.

Escapism, you could call it, I guess, from a life that has become far too predictable, far too tedious. Wait, I've not seen that before. More of an alley than a road, the surface is cobbled, basking in white light and framed by an archway that looks out of place, extending from one abandoned warehouse to another. It resembles a staged scene from a... movie. As I habitually flick on the indicator, the subsequent clicking impossibly loud against the dampened soundtrack of night, my skin begins to prickle, and the hum becomes a thrum. Carefully and slowly I roll over the first of the cobblestones, heart rate elevating further as

stage lights begin to bask the ground ahead. I arch my neck looking for the source, but find nothing. The car rumbles and I lean forward, chin almost on the, the wheel, making sure I'm straight and searching for whatever awaits. The thrum becomes a buzz. The tap on the passenger window forces a jolt and sends my heart almost through my chest. I snap my head around to find a man's round and lined face framed by massive, even rounder shoulders. I'm going to get mugged. He's going to fucking do me in. I swallow hard, not a drop of saliva in my mouth. He taps on the window again, gesturing me to wind the window down. I freeze, mind racing mainly with thoughts of ending up in a bin bag.

Fuck! I press the button, but leave my finger lingering just in case. As the cold night begins to seep in, I wait for Pitbull to pull a gun or to wave a knife in my face. Instead, he offers a smile, exposing impossibly white teeth, all bar the gold one. You can leave your car here, sir. One by one, the mysterious lights go out. Shit. Oh shit.

Is it a threat? Is he telling me to leave my car here? I don't really want to. Relax, sir. I've got what you're looking for. Pitbull's voice is gruff, but far from aggressive, friendly, even. Is he talking about drugs? Maybe he's an undercover cop.

You won't. Don't believe your eyes, sir. It's so cold, but my palms are sweating against the wheel. I think I might have made a mistake. Oh, no, sir. You're in exactly the right place at the right time. He straightens and begins walking away the sound of his footsteps on the cobbles echoing down the alley.

Never to be repeated. I consider reversing driving back home. my comfortable life and comfortable wife. I convinced myself that's what I'm going to do. The alternative is stepping into a dark alley with a stranger built like a brick shithouse for company. Surely that would be the worst idea of my life to date. Never to be repeated, the guy had said. His words rattle around my head, right place at the right time.

Wait! All this time, night driving on the off chance, something exciting, something exhilarated, might be waiting around the next corner, never to be repeated. I step out of the car feeling the full chill of the night, but the involuntary shudder is more about what the night might have in store. We walk in silence until we reach the iron door, our breath clouds peppering the air. Finally, he turns to face me, smiling that smile again.

This will be the best night of your life, sir. My skin crawls, More with excitement than fear. Never to be repeated. I nod and reach for the handle, but he snaps his fingers around my wrist, still smiling. Just a matter of the entrance fee, sir. Here we go.

How much? A day. What? Just 24 hours, sir. Not much in the grand scheme of things. Not with life being so mundane and all. That's why you. you're out of here, isn't it, sir?

He still has my wrist. There's no pressure, but it feels intimidating. Sorry, sir. He releases me as though reading my thoughts. Old Abbott. You're telling me, I need to give you 24 hours of my life just to get in. You've got it, sir. But trust me, it's more than worth it. This is crazy shit. A dream? Maybe. No, no way. I can feel the wind, the chill in my bones, everything is too well-defined, down to the damp moss between

the cobblestones. Fuck it, let's do this. The man's smile stretches wider. It's a deal then. He pushes the door inwards. The warmth and soft neon glow enticed me in without time for a second thought. In contrast to the rundown and crumbling brickwork on the outside, the foyer screams decadence, marble floors, mirrored walls, Steinway piano, spiral staircase leading to a series of rooms upstairs and a huge bar full of enticing liquor. A woman, the upper half of her face covered with a jewel-encrusted masquerade mask of a horse, steps forward, silver sequined gown shimmering under the exorbitant chandelier. She smiles and extends an arm, offering a silver tray with an array of vibrantly colourful drinks.

Welcome, sir. I reach for the cocktail glass half full of cyan-coloured liquid. The door closes behind me. That will be six hours, sir. I offer a bewildered smile hand hovering over the tray. She nods, her expression unchanged. The scent of her perfume lands at the back of my throat, exotic and spicy, irritating and at the same time moorish,

like an itch I cannot scratch. Just another enigma in a bizarre evening. Six hours for one drink seems expensive. This is a very exclusive club, sir. I know, never to be repeated. She nods. I can ask Frank to escort you back to your car if you'd prefer. Six hours.

Six hours of my life for one drink. It seems like a lot, but at the same time, doesn't. Breaking it down, six more hours of mundaneity, six more hours of waiting for something to happen. It's so cold out there, sir. Her smile widens. Plenty of flesh inside to keep you warm. In that case, cheers. I hold up the glass. The blue liquid begins to slip down, cool and syrupy, flavor exploding at the back of my throat into a perfect blend of bitter, sweet and sour. This is good. The main bar's upstairs.

We'll run a tab. Here, let me take your jacket. She elegantly glides in behind me and expertly slips it off, her maddening perfume and touch sending my heart racing. She takes it to the coat rack behind the counter, dominated by a huge and out-of-place-looking old-fashioned cash register returning with a musk. Club rules, sir. A wolf? Full moon after all, sir.

Howl. My howl is instinctive and croaky, but gets a laugh. I can feel the drink already taking effect and the chill, leaving my bones. Hairs bristle at the back of my neck with anxious excitement of what awaits upstairs. This way, sir. I feel a pang of guilt as I follow the horse lady into the unknown, watching her. shapely hips as she confidently leads me towards the spiral staircase. Beck, asleep at home, nestled under the sheets, trusting that each night I'm there by her side.

But as has been pointed out, this is a one-off experience, never to be repeated. As I grab the banister, I note the rusty metal door on the far side of the wall, another incongruous choice for an otherwise outrageously lavish establishment. A sign fizzes to its right, the letters E, X and T spasmodically illuminating. Laughter and moans from above grab my attention, and I quicken my pace in case there's a chance the entire scene will begin to melt away. The woman glances over her shoulder and smiles, flawlessly making her way up the final three steps, long fingers coiled around the railing, sporting nails deep red in color.

This is where I leave you, sir. She tilts her face and draws her lips to within an inch of mine. I hope you have the most wonderful of evening, sir. It's an exciting standoff, the two of us so close breathing in each other. I'm not sure how much time passes before our lips finally connect. Our tongues find each others quickly and she draws me in further my body aching with desire, her taste, scent, and feel awakens something dormant within. Finally, she breaks and I let rip with another howl. She smiles, and I'm moving again, but she raises a finger to my lips.

That one was on the house, sir. I just licked a gift horse in the mouth. How much for another? I realize how desperate and unrefined my word sounds. I'm sorry, it's just... I understand, sir. Plenty of time for that. Through here, sir, and once again, have a wonderful evening. The light is subdued and inviting. Soft piano music and the clink of ice cubes

win me over quickly as I head towards the bar in search of more warmth. Good evening, sir. What's your tipple? The bartender is wearing a joker's mask, even has little bells that tinkle at each move of his head. surprise me. This causes three young women to my left, all wearing cat masks and silky black dresses to break into a group snigger. Indeed, sir.

He nods and smiles going to work, mixing and shaking like a pro. The room is small and busy, but not excessively noisy, the low hum of conversation occasionally overlaid by the crackle of laughter, or exaggerated moans from behind the four purple doors in the far wall. This one's a 12-hour cocktail, sir, but it's our best. I nod and smile at the group of three, bringing the liquid to my lips. It feels like I'm drinking fire at first, but the sting fades quickly, leaving an extraordinary palette of botanical essence and fruits. Summer in my mouth.

Another, please. My leg starts tapping to the piano music as I soak up the ambiance. I'm comfortably warm. refreshed, and the liquor is giving me a second wind. I've no idea when this strange fantasy will end, but I'll be here to see it through. Never to be repeated. I toast the barman and knock back the liquid lava. The first of the doors open. Three smartly dressed men and a woman in a cocktail dress emerge and make their way towards the bar, flawless, apart from disheveled hair and slightly off-kilter masks. I offer the barman,

a wink. To my left, the three ladies finish their drinks and make their way towards the open door. They all turn in unison and in almost perfect synchronization utter... Are you coming, sir? My mouth hangs agape, causing another outbreak of giggles. Yes. I finally managed to croak. The middle one offers a wink of her own. Bring some champagne. The barman places the bottle in four glasses on a silver tray.

They have expensive tastes. How much is that? Do you really want to know? I grab the neck of the bottle and ease myself from the stool. No. As soon as I close the door and place the tray down, their hands are on me, caressing, stroking. My knees feel weak, and I let out a garbled moan of submission to more giggles. One of them uncorks the bottle to tremendous applause, and we raise our glasses towards the soft purple ceiling light.

They're on me, leading me towards a chair in the centre of the room. Working at my buttons, they slide against each other like serpents, making me think that snake masks would be more suitable. Each of them lets their straps fall across their shoulders, the one on the right wags a finger at me. No touching. Well, for you anyway. A nagging voice in my head screams at me to ask how much this will all cost, but how could I be so crude in a moment like this? Never to be repeated.

The show begins and their dresses fall to the ground. Beck and I make love once a week. Every Friday without fail, it's beginning to feel more like a task to be ticked off rather than something to be enjoyed. This level of desire and craving is not. new to me and it's at once embarrassing but completely freeing. Another pang of guilt twists my chest, but arousal quickly overrides it as they put me under their spell. The way they're moving, the incoherent whispers to each other, the searching of their hands and tongues it feels

almost like witchcraft. I've always thought strip shows and lap dances to be tacky, reserved for alpha males with no self-respect, but they make it look. look like art. I ache for them. I just want more, more, more. Flesh on flesh, they arch and sprawl across me, dining on each other and not letting me even feed on the scraps. My body moves and writhes with them,

but it's an itch I cannot scratch. As the show ends and they shake into their dresses once more, I'm left with a savage appetite. Don't worry, sir. The night is just beginning. They escort me back to the bar where a surprise awaits me. This time the drink is yellow, almost fluorescent. I sip it down, knee-tapping frantically waiting for room number two.

Can I interest you in something from under the counter, sir? What have you got for me, Lloyd? I see what you did there, sir. He places his hands. beneath the bar and brings out a gold tray with a selection of glossy tablets. How would you like to feel, sir? Not sure about this, Lloyd. Did a bit of weed in college like most, but I'm no junkie. I can assure you, sir, these are top of the range.

Clean. One hundred percent fun. What's the black one? Ah, well, that one you might not be ready for, sir. How about the green one? You've got me curious now, Lloyd. It will hit you like a train at first, sir. But I can assure you it's first-class travel after that. I'll be back in bed soon.

Under the covers, the sun will come up and this will be nothing but a memory, never to be repeated. Let's do it. Very well, sir. He pinches the black tablet between his fingers, and I open my mouth and gesture him to drop it in. As soon as I swallow it, the room fills with fire. An explosion of green to my right sends me jolting off the chair, tumbling and falling us first into never-ending red velvet. Finally, I rise to the surface and begin to float suspended in warmth, shoulders bobbing, weightlessly drifting away from the barman's voice. Sir, are you okay?

Never better, Lloyd. As laughter and conversation fade to oblivion, a feeling of utter calm begins to. wash over me, but just as I let my head fall back and close my eyes, hands wrap around my wrist and pull me back into the bar. Like a train, sir. And what do we have behind door number two, Lloyd? Only one way to find out, sir. A woman greets me and guides me to a chair, and it's another case of sit and watch, this time with a dozen men and women fornicating masks on all, some even wearing tails, some strap-ons. Glass, after glass of champagne goes down, but I still feel the disconnect, and I long for more. Each of the moans

in their specified animal noise all the time a kaleidoscope of fleshy tones spinning around me. Thrusting, gyrating, cupping, squeezing, but it all ends with familiar disappointment as the animals begin to dress, and I'm escorted back to the bar. Just wait until room number four, sir. Lloyd pours deep red liquid into the glass. Another show. Of the interactive kind, sir. Room number three is a small casino, a large roulette wheel taking centre stage.

Six women surround it all wearing bunny masks and the same sleek black dresses. Please, sir. They gesture to the small table to my right, more champagne and an assortment of mouth-watering canapes. Your chip, sir. The centre woman pushes the multicoloured stage. back towards me. I begin to wonder how much time each chip represents, but such thoughts fade as their lips find my neck and their hands find my chest and crotch. We drink, we eat, we throw my life on the table and cackle about it until tears fill my eyes never to be repeated. Yet, as they

escort me back to the bar, a glass full of warmth waiting for me, the itch still evades. Room number four is ready when you are, sir. I was born ready, Lloyd. Very good, sir. He walks me over and opens the door. I peer inside, but only darkness awaits. What have we here, Lloyd? Ecstasy, sir.

As I step into blackness, a hand wraps around my waist and draws me in. Lips are on mine, hands claw at my shirt ripping it open, Nails run across my nipples, sending ripples of pleasure vibrating through my body. While someone works at my belt, I'm lowered into softness, tongues run across my skin, and teeth sink into my flesh. My pants are off, a hand gripping around my length, and now warmth envelops it. Flesh in my mouth, hot, breath everywhere this is. Someone guides my fingers into their moistness and moans with pleasure, writhing, squirming, Jerking with pure delight, I begin to howl, but the noises that emerge are more animalistic than before.

More join in the chorus, and I know I'm in the company of wolves. Flesh melts together a rhythm of synchronized pleasure that heads towards a long, awaited crescendo. This is raw, sweaty, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced before. My breathing is heavy and erratic, and my heart pounds so hard against my chest, it feels like it might explode through. With a final hell, my long-awaited orgasm comes body twitching with ecstasy until I fall into the now damp blankets. One by one, my pack leaves until I'm left on my own

with only the darkness for company once more. Lloyd speaks from the open doorway. I trust everything was to your satisfaction, sir. No complaints from me, Lloyd. That's away, sir. Can I prepare you another drink? I think it might be time to fly. As you wish, sir.

Oh, Lloyd, can you flick the light on, please? Sure, sir. Let me know if you change your mind about the drink. Grateful for the soft red glow, I scoop up my clothes from the floor and begin to dress. The room slowly spins as I wrestle with my sock and I eventually nosedive into the sheets of the gigantic bed, breaking into childish laugh.

after, what a night, what a truly extraordinary night. Never to be repeated. Thanks for your hospitality, I utter to Lloyd on the way out. He nods and offers a smile continuing to dry the glass. The three young women give me nothing as I wave my goodbye. Using the handrail to stop the staircase from moving, I guide myself down, eyeing pit bull below with his arm around an elderly man, head lolloped to one side and tongue hanging out.

Pitbull catches my glance and nods, leading the guy towards the rusty door. They spent a bit too much time here, sir. I smile politely and negotiate the rest of the stairs, chandelier fizzing on and off above. Hello again, sir. Lloyd, how the hell did you... I get around, sir. Your jacket, sir. Thanks, Lloyd.

You're welcome, sir. Just a matter of your bill, sir. He begins tapping at the keys of the gigantic cash... register the now rusty bells going like the clappers. Horse lady is hunched over the bar drumming her fingers on the counter. Two of her nails have already fallen off. Her sequins no longer sparkle. As a seemingly endless roll of paper curls out from the top of the register, Lloyd begins to hum. It's the familiar hum I hear when night driving. He looks up and smiles waiting for the machine to catch up, finally tearing off the piece of paper and handing it over. An explosion.

Explosion surges across my chest. Lloyd, this can't be right. It says I owe 36 years, 42 weeks, 16 days and three hours? That's right, sir. I'm struggling to breathe, but at least the pain is settling a little. This must... The cough I never knew I had doubles me over into a series of hacks toward the checkered marble floor.

This must be some kind of joke. It's all there, sir. Itemized, I can assure you everything is in order. This is a very exclusive club. The woman does not look over. I run my eyes over the bill. Bottle of Dom Perignon, 216 hours. It says here I spent over six years on roulette,

and over 28 years on women. I'm struggling to get enough air in, a wheeze accompanying every word I managed to crows. This is a very exclusive club, sir. There is a single nail left on the woman's hand. I heard you the first fucking time. I slapped the bill onto the counter. Lloyd, come on, this is...

My hand. Puckered, skin, veins, age spots sprinkled just above the wrist. The bill is already settled, sir. I hold my hand up, inspecting the alien skin that confronts me. Don't forget your mask, sir. The wall-length mirror reflects my posture, shoulders hunched. I step in towards it, observing the skin hanging from my Adam's apple and the errant hairs protruding from my ears. A stranger awaits as I remove the mask, yellow and watery eyes, sagging skin, rapid breath fogging the glass.

No, no, no, this is wrong. I step closer to the glass, inspecting the bag of bones that stares back. You never said anything about aging. How did you think this worked, sir? I thought it was just... The cough doubles me over once more, and my chest screams in pain. I thought it would come off the end. More hacking, more pain.

Lung cancer, sir. I'd give you three months, tops. I've never... I've ever smoked. Just bad luck, sir. I watch the path of the tear down my cheek. I want more than anything in the world to sneak under the covers and nestle up to Beck. I'd be a good husband, a better man.

My legs buckle and I reach out to the glass for support. Can I get you that nightcap now, sir? I can't go home. Not like this. Three months tops. Lloyd's smile awaits as I turn. Why the hell not? I throw the jacket across the counter and perch on the stool.

What will three months get me, Lloyd? How special, sir. We'll be with you in a jiffy. Cigarette? The woman leans across offering the box. No, thanks. Can't afford it. Besides, smoking kills. She smiles, shaking her head. The last of her nails join the other four on the counter.

A thunderous slam snaps my head around to where Pitbull stands by the rusty door, rubbing his hands together. Still cold? No where you're going, sir. Hmm. A snigger escapes my lips. Hell of a joint you've got here, Lloyd. I just manage it, sir. Here's your drink.

It's black and bubbling like hot tar in a glass. As I hold the drink up towards Horse Lady in Pitbull, Lloyd brings out an old. fashioned phone from under the counter. I watch his finger work at the dial. Six, six, six. Cheers, Lloyd, I say, offering a final toast. As blackness begins working its way through my veins, I hear him say into the receiver.

Got another one for you, boss. Welcome to Goat Valley Campgrounds. Looking for a place to escape your busy life and reconnect with nature. Goat Valley Campgrounds features 300 acres of quiet forest and peaceful scenery for you to enjoy.

Come meet Kate. She runs the place, like her parents before her. We know you'll enjoy your stay as long as you behave yourself and follow the rules. Your survival depends on it.

The No Sleep Podcast presents Goat Valley Campgrounds by Bonnie Quinn. Chapter 2 Have you ever heard of those stories where someone encounters a bear while hiking through the woods? Usually has the same pointers throughout. They're traipsing along, feet thudding through the underbrush, not a care in the world, and maybe even a song on their lips. But then they hear a snap a little bit too loud.

The sound of low breathing that comes right before that most terrifying gruff noise, that comes from a hungry, agitated 600-pound bear that has just seen you and is making a beeline for its next meal. These people often tout how they make themselves bigger than they appear. Maybe the braver ones use bear mace before they get their shit kicked in, and very, very few walk away with no major damage to remind them of their unfortunate brush with the great outdoors. I hate those stories.

It gives the false sense of confidence to wayward travelers that they'll always have a way out if they just use their heads and follow the rules. Sometimes the rules don't care what you want. Sometimes things just happen. You know what other stories I hate? Disappearances. You know, the kind where a real outdoorsman goes hiking with some buddies.

Maybe veers off just a tad, but has his gun strewn across his shoulder like a badge of honor. A sound cuts through the forest that none of them can place. And then, gone. No clothes. no boots, no weapon, just vanished. Stranger still, when they turn up six miles later with barely any clothing and a foot missing, right?

It's the lack of answers that scares us. The way we'll never know what happened. Why the bear let the victim live when it could have easily clamped on their skull but didn't. Why the seasoned outdoorsman vanished with no trace or threat. Why people still decide, after all this time, to risk the dancers.

and what the dancers do to them when they make that grave air. My name is Kate. This is Goat Valley Campgrounds. Every morning I take a four-wheeler out and circle the grounds before most people are awake. There are some benefits to being an early riser. Solitude. Seeing the sunrise. Finding the human torso lying in the middle of the road before anyone else.

Yes, the torso. Just the torso. While this isn't a regular occurrence, it certainly isn't an unusual one either. I took out the large black trash bags from the back of the four-wheeler and edged the body in. I tied it shut, put another bag around it and tied it again. Then I dragged it off the road and parked the four-wheeler so that it blocked the ditch and hopefully obscured the fact there was a body, just lying there to anyone that happened to pass by.

The blood was fresh enough that I could wash it off into the dirt with a couple gallons of water I carried for this specific purpose. Now, I understand that some of you may be astonished that I would clean up the scene of a violent death without first contacting the police. However, my family has an understanding with the police. The campground is important around here. Brings a lot of people in, and during the peak of summer, we double the county's population.

They spend a lot of money on local businesses. A lot of money. See, this is a small town. There's a bit of farmland, a general store, a restaurant, and not much else. During the big events, the population of the campground dwarfs the population of the town. We've become its economic lifeblood.

I took over managing the site when I was 21. I'd been in my last year of college, finishing up a business degree with a minor in horticulture. The campground was staffed in part by my extended family, but its ownership passed only to direct descendants. My life was planned out from birth, and so my degree choice was deliberate. I believe my parents'clock.

parents would have supported whatever I chose to major in, so long as I took ownership of the campground. But I've loved this place my whole life and wanted to prepare myself to be the best steward I could. I never finished college. I regret that some days. I don't need a degree to do my job, but I think it would have been nice to have.

There's an empty spot on my office wall. My parents had cleared it before they died so they could hang my diploma there in preparation for when I took over management. I can't bring myself to put anything else up in its place. Everyone that manages the campground dies badly, including my parents. It was the start of the spring semester

when my mother forgot to close a window. My father woke in the middle of the night to find the little girl sitting in the mangled ruins of my mom's abdomen. Enraged, he seized the girl by her hair and dragged her out the back door and into the yard. She shrieked, she pleaded, but he couldn't be swayed.

He threw her to her to her, the beast and after it was finished with her, it turned on him. The police found his hand. That was all they found of my dad. There were no witnesses, but I know what happened that night because I dreamed of it. It was a true dream. If you've ever had a true dream, you know they feel different, and you know you can trust them. I trust them as much as I trust the body in front of me as most assuredly dead and was the victim of the dancers. Rule number four. If you see a group of people dancing in a circle around a fire. You may join them. If they welcome you in, dance with them until the music ends. Do not look at the musicians. If they do not welcome you in,

but instead stop and stare, back away slowly and then leave. If they follow you, you can try to run, but it's likely already too late. Pray that death comes swiftly. Even with our understanding with the police, I still need to notify them when there's been a death on our property. They help with the paperwork, and paperwork helps stave off any larger investigation into missing people. I called them up and then radiated my staff. I'd only found the torso, after all. That meant there were two legs, two arms, and a head yet to be found. And I had no idea how many pieces those parts were in.

The dancers have a vicious sense of humor. While my staff scoured the woods for the remaining bits, I could deal with the police. The camp roads are barely wide enough for vehicles. We encourage people not to drive on them other than to load or unload camping gear. I heard it coming slowly along the gravel road, and my heart sank as soon as it slid into view. It was Sheriff Sabota.

He swung himself out of the car in one fluid movement, sunlight flashing off his belt buckle. He's not a particularly tall man, only has a few inches of height on me, which I feel annoys him deeply when he's trying to look intimidating. He wears his gun prominently on his hip and his hand often rests close to the grip.

He's never without the tight-fitting cowboy hat that's popular around here among law enforcement and people that drive pickup trucks. We don't do cowboy boots, though. We're not that far south. Got a body for you. This campground never produces anything else. I feel that's rather unfair,

considering we produce a significant amount of the town's revenue, but my relationship with the sheriff has never been a fair one. He's hated me since the day he took office. ran on a platform of cooperation and went back on that the instant they handed him the badge. Not much can be done about it, though. No one wants to run against him.

Not after the old sheriff vanished the way he did. Anyone else see the body? Nah, still early in the camping season. Not many campers down here in the deep woods. Then how did this person die? I know you've never had fun in your life, but sometimes my campers like to wander around the campground looking for parties to crash. and sometimes I see a bonfire and go to investigate,

and that takes them down into the deep woods. Don't be condescending, Kate. I can't help it. It's my default nature. Anyway, there's these people that are down in the deep woods. We call them the dancers. They've always got a party going. There's beer, there's dancing, there's music. And we get campers that'll try to join them,

and sometimes they get away with it. And the dancers let them join in, and they share their alcohol. Or sometimes they dismember the poor soul and leave. leave them strewn across my campground. So it's something unnatural, then? It usually is. Your family has produced its own share of bodies around here, you know? Unfortunately, I can't disagree.

Grandpa wasn't the most pleasant person, and my parents had their share of victims as well. Sometimes people do dangerous, stupid things where these inhuman things are concerned and have to be dealt with. We don't make bargains with evil things around here. That's the unspoken rule, and taking care of those that do usually falls to me. my family. We don't dismember people. And yet, you're still responsible for this mess.

I forced a polite smile. Saboto was part of a vocal minority of townsfolk that believed the campground was responsible for the presence of these inhuman things, rather than just being the place where they resided. I don't know what they expect from us. We're human dealing with literal monsters. There's not a lot I can actually do other than give everyone a copy of. the rules and hope people follow them. Sheriff Sabota untied the trash bags and took a quick look at the body inside. Mercifully, the corpse was still fresh that it hadn't started to smell of decay, just the sour, meaty smell of early death.

Limbs were severed methodically. Gonna make it hard to look like an animal attack. All right, where's the rest of it? We're still looking. Well, find it then before someone else does. We carried the body to the trunk of his car for transport to the funeral home that doubles as our morgue. He asked that we bring the other parts by once we found them, and they'd start trying to identify the victim.

I would also check in with the other campers to find out if someone was missing and perhaps any information about what they'd done or where they'd gone. Then Sabota would come back with some paperwork about a wild animal attack and that'd be it. If I did this right, none of the other campers would even know something had happened. We found most of the body parts by midday. They'd been left deliberately, placed so that someone actively searching for them could find them. But the casual passerby was unlikely to notice. The head was all that was left.

Unfortunately, the head was found while Sheriff Sabota was in my office. He'd returned to drop off some paperwork and check up on the status of the missing limbs. The walkie-talkie on my desk crackled and we both stared at it as Brian's voice came across the radio. He sounded unnerved, even beneath the static. Great, bag it and bring it up with the rest of the parts. Sheriff Sabota is here, and he can take it with them. I gave the sheriff a thin smile as he glowered at me. Is something wrong?

Okay, keep the campers away from the area. I'll be there soon. It wasn't like Brian to be rattled about anything. He'd been on the campground for a long time. I eyed the radio and then stood abruptly. Excuse me, I need to deal with this. How about I go with you? Sure, why not?

It's about time you got some firsthand experience with what my family has to protect the town from. Considering someone is dead, I'd say you're not doing a very good job at it. My campground doesn't just provide for the town economically. Without us, these inhuman creatures would scatter in search of shelter, seeking out other parcels of land that could sustain them. They would prey on the town's folk. It's happened before. I'm not the only person around here orphaned by these creatures.

We met Brian on the road. Here. Over here. It's just up the slope a bit. He moved closer to me as I got off the four-wheeler. Did you have to bring the sheriff? He insisted. I don't think it's a good idea if he sees what's up here. Too late for that now. Hey, maybe we'll get lucky and it'll scare him off for a while.

Are we going? Brian grimaced at the sheriff's. impatient call. He took us into the woods, up a small slope to where a thin strip of undergrowth protected a clear patch in the woods, hardly large enough to call a clearing, just a hollow where the earth sunk into a shallow bowl. The ground was still spongy from last week's rain. In the middle of this area was the head, resting at the top of a stake. Four more stakes were stabbed into the earth in a circle around it. Well, this isn't so bad after all. It's a head on a stake, Kate. I think that's quite bad. Relatively speaking, though there's something that looks odd about this. Hang on, let me check something. I pulled out my compass and checked their orientation. They sat askew from the cardinal directions. I frowned. This was a deliberate perversion. I edged closer, peering at the head. My skin crawled and I felt goosebumps break out on my arms as I crossed the perimeter of the circle.

A middle-aged man, perhaps in his 40s, his jaw was missing, leaving behind the upper row of teeth, and his eyes were wide with silent suffering. He blinked. I swore and stumbled backwards. Something wrong? He's still alive. I heard the sheriff on Holster's gun behind me. That won't help. Besides, a gunshot will panic the campers. Well, we wouldn't want that. Don't want to endanger your income, but... putting some poor soul out of their misery.

I ignored him and took a slow, deep breath to steady my nerves. Perhaps watching my parents die, a silent observer in a dream that felt like reality, had prepared me to withstand this sort of whore. I confess that it angers me to see someone die in a manner that no one should have to endure, but I've long since accepted that this is life. My world no longer has room for the blissful illusion that humanity has no predetermined.

"'Hey, hey, it's going to be okay. I'll figure this out.' The man on the stake couldn't reply, but his eyes tracked on my face as I spoke. A couple tears ran down his cheeks, and I saw relief in his eyes. I wish you could tell me why they did this. I've never been able to figure out why some people they invite in and others they murder. Maybe if I knew more, I could keep people safe better. I frowned. This was clearly a ritual. but altered to be just a little bit off from typical symbolism.

I wondered what would happen if I corrected it. It was honestly just a guess, but a lot of what I do was guessing. I went to the stakes and pulled them free from the ground. After I wrenched the last from the earth, I got my compass out again and found north. Then I went around in a circle, repositioning the stakes so that they stood according to the cardinal directions.

When it was done, I returned to the victim's head. I stood and watched his face. His eyes remained open, long past when he should have blinked, and I was satisfied that whatever ritual bound him here had been disrupted. The air felt different as well, lighter, and no longer pressed on me. That's it? Symbolism is important. The stakes were arranged so that they were slightly off from the natural order,

and so the natural order was disrupted within them. I set it right, and death returned to functioning as normal. And my office are file cabinets filled with the notes and journals of prior generations. They aren't as complete as I'd like, but I've learned a lot from them about how this land and the creatures on it function. A lot of it's just theory,

but I certainly wasn't going to let the sheriff know I was guessing. It's a shame all your know-how seems to only be useful after someone is dead. Well, maybe if people would read the pamphlet, that wouldn't be the case and we wouldn't be here talking right now. Wouldn't that be nice? the not talking to you part especially.

He stepped past me and saw to the gruesome task of removing the head. It'd been on the stake long enough that the blood had drained out, so there at least wasn't a mess. Then the sheriff turned back to me. The head tucked under his arm like a football, and his brow was furrowed in anger. Just the sight of him, spoiling for a fight, was enough to make my own temper flare.

I squared my shoulders and stared him dead in the eye. My father was the diplomatic one. I take after my mother. Now look here. Maybe you've done the numbers and think it's fine to lose a camper or two every year. But I've had quite enough. I'm sick of cleaning up your messes. I can't help it if people do something stupid.

There are rules. If this person had just followed the rules and listened to my warning, everything would have been fine. That seems to be working out real well. Maybe you need to stop sitting comfortably in your office and get out here and dealing with these things. Humans don't kill monsters. They're predators, and we're the prey.

Can't be done. Then what good is the campground, other than as a feeding grounds? Fine. Propose we shut the campground down. See how well that goes over. Don't think we need to do that. Just think maybe, well, maybe we need a new manager. I felt my blood run cold and then hot again,

boiling. I clenched my hands into fists. This is my campground. It belonged to my parents and my grandparents before them and on and on. I've been entrusted with it. I was raised to do this. Do you have any idea what it takes to do this job? Of course you don't. You just stay out there where it's safe, sleeping soundly night after night, because all these creatures that prey in us are here instead of out there. So don't come sauntering out here telling me how to run my land. I don't care what you do, so long as the death stop. It's the start of the camping season. If I get called out here again for another body, I'm going to stop covering up for you.

I'll instruct the officers to do the same. It'll be tough to run the campground when you're in jail. The town won't support that. The police won't go along. I'm willing to call a town meeting to discuss this. I don't think it'll go as well as you'd like. A lot of people around here. don't like you, Kate. A lot of people don't like your family. It took all my self-restraint to not

retort. I watched him go, seething. As dismissive as my words had been, there wasn't a lot of weight behind them. The town didn't like my family. We had a history there. They resented us for the influence we had over the area, and there were quieter whispers that our proximity to these evil things had infected us, that we tolerated them, permitted them to prey on our campers. I did not doubt that the sheriff was listening to those whispers. I had to do something to stave this off. Before he had a reason he needed to call a town meeting. I had to figure out how to drive off the dancers.

I first learned about the dancers shortly after I took over management of the campground. I was 21. My family was vaguely aware of their existence, but hadn't had any close encounters with them, at least none that they wrote about in the family records. I was freshly armed with three quarters of a business degree and determined to do things differently. So I was looking for information on these things on my land, how to avoid them, and how to survive them. When the dancers first showed up, my uncle went to drive them off, thinking they were just a group of rowdy partygoers trespassing during our closed season. Mercifully, they didn't kill him. But he's always been reluctant to speak of

what happened. Don't look at the musicians, he'll just say, shaking his head. Don't look at the musicians. Considering my uncle loves to tell stories, it's highly unusual for him to be so concise with his warning. I went to them myself when I first began to write the rules of how to survive camping. I needed more information, and if they were willing to spare my uncle, then perhaps they'd be willing to talk to me. Sometimes these creatures just want to be left alone, and if I knew what anger them, then I could warn people about it. I drove about on my four-wheeler searching for campfires. There were many, but the later it got, the fewer remained a check. Finally, after midnight, I found the dancers. They moved in a slow, sinuous circle. Their movements were languid. The music's

slow. Their shadows stretching out into the darkness beyond the orange glow of the campfire. It killed the engine and walked down through the thin line of trees to the claspire. It killed the engine and walked down through the thin line of trees to the clearing. The music stopped as I approached. The dancers turned to stare at me, and while I couldn't see their faces, I felt their hostility. A woman stepped out to meet me.

She was short, I noticed, not even my height. She stood out from among the other dancers who were tall and lean, and I wondered if there was a reason for that, or if it was mere coincidence. You should go. You aren't welcome. I figured as long as well.

much. I'm not ready to leave yet, though. Her hands snapped up. She grabbed me by the neck, raising her arm up, her fingers digging into my tendons. What are you trying to do here? I stood on tiptoes, trying to ease the pressure on my throat. Finding out what prompts you to kill people. Her eyes went wide. She stared at me incredulously for a moment, then let go of my neck. I stumbled backwards, coughing. She laughed, a high, delicately. sound like the chime of a bell. You take advantage of your position as camp manager. I like your boldness.

I will tell you. We welcome people in. Those who we do not permit to join us, we may kill for disturbing us. Even if they leave? Depends on whether there's someone we want to kill or not. And what makes you want to kill someone? When we feel like it.

Well, that's helpful. The other offense that merit someone's death. Well, I believe you've already been told about it. She smiled as she said this, and my stomach nodded with fear. Involuntarily, my eyes slid over to the dark forms hunched at the edge of the fire, hoods drawn up over their heads to hide their faces in shadow. My heart hammered in my chest, and I hastily ripped my eyes away and stared resolutely at the ground. Very good.

I'm glad you understand. Thank you for your time. I'll make sure to relay all of this to my campers so you aren't needlessly disturbed. Go ahead. See if it helps. Knowing what displeases us won't be enough to keep people

from resisting the temptation of joining in our dance. She turned and walked away and I hastily left, not wanting to push my luck any further. Unfortunately, she was right. A warning was never enough. After I started sending out the pamphlets, I had a camper that survived an encounter with them

stopped by my office to tell me what happened to him. I try not to interact with our campers much. Too many petty complaints about the solar showers being cold on cloudy days or the flushable toilets being too far of a walk. This person, however, was happy to tell me about how he'd gone up to the dancers, hoping to join the party, and they'd welcomed him in. He danced and drank with them all night, and it was the happiest he was the happiest he remembered being in a long time. He felt renewed. His words triggered a memory of something I'd read.

Dancing is used as a cure for supernatural afflictions in some cultures. The sick individual is sat down in the middle of a circle and the dancers move in a circle around them, thereby banishing their illness. Yet something felt wrong about their rituals. From the off-center placement of the stakes to my Uncle's dire warning about the musicians. Were they a group of dancers that have been cursed? Were they demons enacting their own abhorrent version of the same ritual? Without being certain, I didn't dare try to drive them off. I wrote them into my rules.

We already spray-painted the poison ivy patches fluorescent pink. Telling people to stay away from the dancers wouldn't be too dissimilar in theory. Clearly it hadn't worked. And now Sheriff Saboto was using it as a reason to cause problems. for me. I don't understand his vendetta. Did I beat him up in middle school? I can't recall. I decided to try a couple things to ward off the dancers. I didn't have a firm idea of what they were, even with my knowledge about dancing as a cure for illnesses. Folklore isn't a tidy thing. Monsters and creatures of power don't fall neatly into categories. It's not so different from

the natural world in this regard. We can look at a bird and know it's a bird. But what kind of bird is it? Bird of prey or waterbird or woodpecker or pigeon or any of the many, many other types? It takes close observation to understand what a creature is and what its habits are. But doing so within human things can be deadly. I had some ideas. The use of ritual made me suspect fairies, but the perversion of it also made me think spirits.

I gathered up some deterrence from the shed, iron stakes, Hawthorne branches, stones with holes in them, that sort of thing. Then I went about the campsite and left them in strategic areas, mostly at crossroads and along the edge of the designated camping areas. As I returned to my house, I noticed a camper standing at the edge of the forest and staring at me. She was nowhere near the road, and she was dressed improperly for the weather. It was early spring and still cool, but she wore shorts, a crop top, and no shoes. She carried a branch in one hand, and while I wasn't close enough to tell, it might have been Hawthorne.

When she realized I was looking at her, she turned and slipped back into the woods. A shiver ran down my back. I felt like I'd just made a horrible mistake. That night, I was woken by the sound of someone's voice outside my bedroom window. I didn't catch the words, for I came to awareness at the end of the conversation. Someone was talking to the little girl that cries outside my window. That made me sit up straight in my bed. Who or what would talk to the little girl?

Her weeping stopped. There was the sound of her feet running in the grass, away from the house. Someone or something had sent the girl away. My heart began to hammer in my chest, and I quietly slipped out of bed, thinking of the shotgun I keep in the bedroom, wondering if I'd do anything at all. Then my house shook as something slammed against my front door

and my back door in unison. A pause. Another impact that rattled the doors in their frames. A third, final impact in the crack and crash of both doors being torn off their hinges. I stumbled out of bed, blind with fear, thinking of how my father died, how he'd clawed with his bare hands at the beast's face

as if he could fight it off even as its teeth. severed his body into two. My hand closed over the shotgun's stock as footsteps echoed down the hallway. I stood, turn, and there was a hand against the shotgun's barrel, pushing it up and away, and then another palm against my cheek. That's enough. How about you go for a walk with us? I don't remember much after that.

I left the house, and I think I told them I couldn't. Not without the beast coming for me, and she'd laugh. and said they'd sent it away. I'm not sure how many others were with us. Only the woman spoke to me. We walked out into the forest, and I'm not certain of the route we took, for it comes and goes as if I were slipping in and out of sleep.

When my awareness returned, I found myself standing beside a lit campfire in among a ring of people around it. The ground around me was packed earth. The woman moved from person to person, a ceramic pitcher in her arms. She slipped a cupped hand inside and came up with a handful of water, which she dribbled on the brow of the person before her.

Something felt wrong about this ritual, unsettling. I tried to move or speak, but I found my body was slow to respond to my desires. Finally, she stopped in front of me. Why don't you join us? She poured the water on my brow. It ran down my face and neck and into the neckline of my nightgown. It felt gritty, and I tasted salt when a drop touched the edge of my lip. They began to dance, and I was compelled to join them.

Step, turn. Stretch our hands to the night's sky, spines arched, twist and bend, touch the ground. Then up, a hop, and then the music quickened. I saw as we spun that the music came from a hunched group at the edge of the light, a violin, a hand drum. Something that reminded me of a fast. flute. I duly remembered my uncle's warning and tore my gaze away. We danced. My legs began to ache. My breathing grew labored. Bright pains stabbed through my feet and ankles, and I thought madly

that I felt liquid against my bare feet with every step. Still, the dancers continued. Their movements growing more aggressive, more frenzied, and I wept and pleaded and broken, panicked fragments for them to release me. They did not. I collapsed before the music stop. My chest heaved in spastic gasps, racking my entire body with convulsions as it instinctively tried to bring in more oxygen to my battered body. My feet burned, pain shooting up my legs with every beat of my heart. I lay there, writhing in the dirt, whimpering and openly weeping. The dancers clustered around my prone form. One of them crouched, and I felt fingers in my hair, close to the roots. And she lifted my head from the ground so that I was forced to look up at her.

The firelight was to her back, and I could only see her chin and lips in the flickering light. The little girl and the beast have laid claim to your life. None of us will contest their right. However, there is still so much we can do to you before you succumb. She smiled, and her smile. her teeth shone like pearls in the firelight. She leaned in close, and I felt her breath against my ear. Her body smelled of earth and plants. Don't try to dry this off again. She grabbed hold of my hair. Every muscle in me trembled. My mind rebelled at what was happening, but I was helpless to stop

her. She forced me to look at the musicians. They raised their heads and looked back at me. My next memories of being prone on my stomach, my fingernails stained with blood, the skin around my eyes and down my cheeks burning from where I'd clawed it raw. The dancers were gone, and mercifully they'd taken the musicians as well. I'm not sure how long I lay there shuddering on the ground. It was one of my staff members that found me. I heard his footsteps approaching at a run, and then he hit the ground next to me, turning me over onto my back. A flashlight shone in my face and I squeezed my eyes shut tight. I hate this job sometimes, almost as much as I hate the sheriff.

I told you earlier about the bear in the woods, the moments of regret immediately afterwards. I hate those stories. I hate the false confidence and I hate the way the world doesn't care about what you do or what precautions you take. I can't stop people from risking the dancers. And sometimes it works out. Sometimes the bear lumbers off after easier prey. Or sometimes it doesn't. And the dancers decide that even if you leave, that isn't enough.

The ones that regret their decision never get to tell their story. It's just me telling you about what remains. Goat Valley Campgrounds was written and adapted for audio by Bonnie Quinn. Produced for the No Sleep Podcast by Phil Mikulski, musical score composed by Brandon Boone. Starring Lindsay Russo as Kate, Kyle Akers as Brian, Mary Murphy as The Dancer,

and David Cummings as Sheriff Sabota. Join us next week for Chapter 3 of Goat Valley Campgrounds 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, 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 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.

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