The NoSleep Podcast - S17 Ep18: NoSleep Podcast S17E18

Episode Date: April 3, 2022

It's Episode 18 of Season 17. Our spells send us to the dark void of space. “Stars Falling on a Sunny Day” written by Amanda Knapp (Story starts around 00:05:50) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Peter Lewis, Samson – Elie Hirschman, Being #1 – Nikolle Doolin, Being #2 – Erin Lillis, Man – Mike DelGaudio, Father – Jeff Clement “Ecstatic Birth” written by Georgina Jeffery (Story starts around 00:19:55) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Mandy – Jessica McEvoy, You – Dan Zappulla, Midwife – Wafiyyah White, Nurse – Kristen DiMercurio “Tomb, Adrift in the Stars” written by Nicholas Hughes (Story starts around 00:36:15) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Sarah – Erika Sanderson, Captain Cox – David Cummings, Clay – Mike DelGaudio, Luke – Jake Benson, Dawson – David Ault, Zach – Atticus Jackson “Goat Valley Campgrounds – Chapter 5” written by Bonnie Quinn (Story starts around 01:06:45) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Kate – Linsay Rousseau, Man with the Skull Cup – Mick Wingert, Bryan – Kyle Akers, Sheriff – David Cummings “Joey’s Meteorite” written by Mr. Michael Squid (Story starts around 01:00:40) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Matthew Bradford, Joey – Jeff Clement, Billy – Graham Rowat, Dad – Atticus Jackson “Keep the Door Shut” written by Rowan Hill (Story starts around 01:15:00) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Jason – Atticus Jackson, Jessica – Nichole Goodnight, June – Mary Murphy, John – Mick Wingert, Mary Jones – Sarah Ruth Thomas “The Hatchlings” written by Darius Jones (Story starts around 01:27:00) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Pharos – Andy Cresswell, Mudarak – Graham Rowat This 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/nosleep Betterhelp – Betterhelp’s mission is making professional counseling accessible, affordable, convenient – so anyone who struggles with life’s challenges can get help, anytime, anywhere. Get started today and get 10% off your first month by going to betterhelp.com/nosleep Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Georgina Jeffery Click here to learn more about Rowan Hill Click here to learn more about Darius Jones Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone “Stars Falling on a Sunny Day” illustration courtesy of Mark Pelham Audio 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

She blinded me with science, science fiction and horror, a devilish duo coming your way in mere moments. Did someone say devilish? Oh, no, let me guess. You're a demon from the pits of hell come to torment me and drag my soul to the torturous depths from whence you came. What? No, I'm not from hell, I'm from the bank. Hmm, possibly the same thing. So, why the visit, Mr. B. L's a banker? I'm here to doom you to, I mean, to deny your loan application.

What a shock. But you have no power over me, my fiendish fiscal foe, for you see I applied to and got accepted for a loan by Upstart. Upstart! No, that name is like holy water to my ears. Ha, ha, ha, yes. No longer will I be carrying a credit balance month after month. Gone is the never-ending cycle of debt. Upstart helped me, and it can help our listeners make that final payment so they can get ahead.

But surely they do what we do and use your credit score to slam the proverbial door in the face of your loan application. Nuh. Unlike you and other lenders, Upstart considers your income and current employment to find you a smarter rate for your loan. Upstart is the fast and easy way to pay off your debt with a personal loan, all online. 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. But that robs us of the power of your infernal credit score! Upstart knows you're more than just your credit score, and is expanding access to affordable credit.

With a five-minute online rate check, you can see your rate up front for loans between $1,000 to $50,000. That's a lot of red-hot cash. Probably takes you weeks to access the money. You can receive your funds as fast as one business day after accepting your loans, Sparky. I refuse to let you tell people how they can use Upstart. You have no power here, Diablo. Find out how Upstart can lower your monthly payments today. When you go to Upstart.com slash no sleep, that's upstart.com slash no sleep.

Don't forget to use our URL to let them know we sent you. At least let me mention the fine print. Loan amounts will be determined based on your credit, income, and such another information provided in your loan application. Hmm, not bad. So go to upstart.com slash no sleep. I'm going back to my vault, but I'll be back. And we'll be here listening to the horror, which is starting right now. 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 past. We beseech you now to brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Let the sleepless tales commence, fellow travelers. I'm your guide, David Cummings. I have some wonderful news.

I've won the gold medal lottery. No, no, it's not a monetary lottery. I wish. But remember I said I was waiting to say, see if I'd secured a place at this new vacation spot? Well, I received an email this week confirming that I'm one of the lucky 30 who's got a place booked. So that's me off on vacation on Friday, May 20th.

Oh, wait, that's the weekend our season finale airs now that I think about it. Ah, well, I'm sure there's no connection. No connection whatsoever. And Joanna's fallen out of touch. She checked herself out of the health clinic and didn't leave a forwarding address. And I guess that means she's doing better, which is great for her and bad news for us, probably. If she's back to full strength, who knows what witchcraft she'll be engaging in to screw with us? Ah, well, I'll deal with that if and when it comes.

The best thing for me to do right now would be to host a podcast, the no-sleep podcast, in fact. And so, let the horror begin. In our first tale, we joined Samson as something unwanted comes to his small town. Unwanted, but not entirely unexpected. After all, they've learned about it in church. But in this tale, shared with us by author Amanda Knapp, the details of the apocalypse don't quite match up with Samson's Bible teachings. Performing this tale are Peter Lewis, Ellie Hirschman, Nicole Doolin, Aaron Lillis, Mike Delgadoo, and Jeff Clement.

So let's make our way around Grey Pass and experience the end times. That is, if that's what's actually going on. But either way, it sure feels like stars falling on a sunny day. The apocalypse was not an unfamiliar concept to the people of the Puritan colony known as Grey Pass. An average resident would hear sermons detailing how a tri-headed whore of Babylon emerged from the blood-tainted sea, and the sky would burth a storm so vicious that the stars would fall to earth. Young Samson had imagined this day vividly. The part of the story that plagued the boy's thoughts was the line about the sea turning to human blood. He pictured himself out on the

coast with his father pulling the net into the boat only to have the stench of iron replace the salt air. Of course, then he'd have to face the sky-shattering storm, but there was no tempest and no blood. And yet, the world was ending. A black sky would be more favorable than the glaring sun. At least gray skies rolling clouds and bolts of heavenly fire would be emotionally relevant. The perfect blue sky turned into a grotesque contradiction behind.

of foreground of unmitigated carnage. A storm would be a display of sympathy from above. Perhaps rain and thunder were away for nature or God to let the people of Grey pass know that someone could hear their cries. But there was no storm. There was no blood, not a drop in the sea nor on the ground. Samson sprinted through the town under siege. The boy cupped his mouth to stifle a cry when he caught sight of the remains of his neighbor, Mr. Oswin, blackened tissue framed where the man's body parts once connected. His face rested on the ground in two halves, his eyes dripping from their sockets. Once Samson saw Oswin's pitiful form, his mind refused to conjure anything else. The burns, the eyes, the many wounds, but no blood. The boy felt his

weight being forced to the ground. Samson rolled down a slope and landed in the stream, then crawled on his belly. He found himself under cover of a small bridge. Samson caught his breaths and then upheaved his breakfast. The shade of the bridge gave him reprieve from exposure to the vulgar sunlight. He saw a couple running frantically down the same hill he just had. Bright lines of red light appeared across their bodies. A burst of white fire followed by black smoke revealed the scattered and burned piles of the couple lying in the ditch. Tears rolled down Samson's cheeks, for he could not find his family. His father had taken the boat out into the bay. His mother and sister had been at the market. I just wish I could see my mom and dad. I could ask them why all this

is happening. Is this my fault? Did my mind? Did my fault? Did my mind? My sins set the apocalypse in motion. I could ask them why there's so much death and no blood. Samson could not understand why the remains didn't bleed, because he did not know the concept of cauterizing wound. Samson didn't understand a lot of things. He was only eight years old. He just wanted anything to make sense.

Samson clutched his knees and tried to make himself as compact as possible. Footsteps thundered on the bridge above him. A man's voice roared. Fire at the beast! Before the men could squeeze their triggers, a burst of light erupted from above the bridge. A burnt head landed at Samson's feet. He cried out and abandoned the cover of the bridge.

Samson ran and splashed without balance or grace down the stream. He knew he was doomed when he felt the heat of lights on his back. They could see him. and they would show no mercy. Samson dove forward into the mud. The beams of light shot over his head onto the bank. The white fire left a crosshatch pattern singed into the grass. Perhaps this is what happens when stars fall.

Samson kept running, now with a burst of hope, knowing that he had just survived an attempt on his life. His legs carried him to the stone chapel. He slammed the door behind him, started pushing a pew in front of it. He could barely move at an inch. He then opted to knock a wardrobe over. Satisfied with the barricade, Samson ran down the aisle and slid under the pews. He stared up at the eaves and sobbed. Just moments ago, the animal instinct of self-preservation prevented him from feeling anything. Now the weight of his situation caved in on him.

Faintly, Samson could hear the cries and prayers of other members of his town, who also took shelter in the chapel. He wanted to comfort them, and in turn, be comforted, but he couldn't even summon the courage to move. Something he could not even begin to comprehend was butchering his friends and neighbors before his very eyes. None of the residents of Grey Pass could understand the threat they faced. Was this a falling star, an angel, or not? maybe the Antichrist? Like the word Apocalypse, he'd heard Antichrist so many times in this very room, but he never really knew what that meant. Two weeks ago, he thought he might have found the Antichrist in the surf, a small creature with a form hard to comprehend. It had a sheen to it.

It was iridescent. Samson had yet to include the word iridescent in his vocabulary. The creature was the same hue as the inside of a seashell. He had described it to his father as the seashell baby. His father poked the thing with a long stick and turned it over. It had no eyes, but a small circular mouth. Hands like a human child, but no legs. The lower half of its body just faded into nothing. His father's countenance was one of confusion and shock. Let us spill to fire, Samson. Together they had burned the creature on the beach and covered its ashes with sand. Samson's father told him that it was just an ugly fish, but the verse about the beast

emerging from the sea reverberated in his mind. It's my fault. Samson felt responsible for all of this because he was the one who discovered that ugly fish. Like water passing through silk, a being of sea. similar iridescent quality passed through the church's ceiling. It had the same features as the smaller creature, however, it was incredibly refined and complex. It hovered in the air like a wisp of smoke, but was vaguely humanoid in form. Invisible bands moved down the creature's arms and legs. The bands pinched and cleaved the flesh of the beast. When the band reached a joint,

it would tighten and separate the limb from the rest of the body, yet it maintained its shape. This process repeated over and over, pulsating like a heart. The creature's face had six eyes, three on each side, boasting a beautiful symmetry. The eyes were a light gray, and though there were six, only two appeared at a time. The first set would emerge, and then they would be absorbed by the creature's face. The next row and the next. Its mouth was permanently in a perfect circle, so it always appeared surprised or curious.

It looked Samson directly in the eye. Samson thought the being might be an angel. What's an angel? Samson, whose utter terror and shock, could hear the beast answer his thoughts. How are you doing that? What am I doing that confuses you? Her voice perplexed, Samson.

It was feminine in its tone, but it was not a woman. It was not even a human. Still, it felt wrong to continue calling her a beast. Speaking, without sound, I can hear you, but only in my head. Who? What are you? Shh. Silence your thoughts.

I don't want the other. others to hear you. The creature lowered herself to where the boy hid and picked him up. She absorbed him into her body. You are safe now, little one. Samson floated inside the creature as one may float in the sea. He would have had so many thoughts, but being in the fluid sedated his mind. Resting within the being gave Samson an unnatural state of peace. He knew he should be afraid, but the fear could not be felt. The other iridescent beings poured through the ceiling. They plucked the survivors from the pews and left them in the center aisle.

The creatures hovered in a circular formation around the five people. And then the red lights appeared where the cuts would soon be. The beasts reduced the terrified group to an assortment of burnt, heads, torsosos, hands. They carried no weapons. The beasts never even laid their hands on their prey. They simply looked in their victim's direction, and carnage ensued. Samson was safe, still hidden within the creature. He was unable to process the events around him, and so he just uncritically observed. The creatures floated upwards through the roof, carrying the burnt remains. When outside, they started arranging the parts in a large circle.

The heads formed the innermost circle, then the chest in the middle, the limbs making up the outermost circle. Their creation mimicked the shape of the sun. One creature floated forward and solemnly expelled ash from its mouth into the inside of the human sun. The beings bowed their heads and lowered themselves to the ground. The creature that spat up the ash spoke. The remains of our beloved child. Burned and scattered in the sand. We know little of the humans,

but we know they use fire to destroy. We offer this great bounty of justice. as to you. Oh, great darkness. Let our sweet child return to us in another life. The creatures did not know that their little one died of an illness, not by human hands. Grief demanded blood, even if their victims didn't bleed at all. The ceremony had concluded and gray pass was decimated.

The beings joined hands and gracefully ascended to the stars. Don't worry, little one. I'm going to show you everything. You are going to be the first of your kind to fly through the great darkness. You'll get to experience the divine power. No longer will you be a heathen. The flock of creatures escaped the earth. atmosphere. Everyone below called them shooting stars. Samson, I'm going to take you out now.

She did not know that there was a reason Samson would be the first human to sail through the sky. She did not know that humans cannot survive in the vacuum of space. How could she have known? Ah, the joy of having a baby. Yes, it can be a bit painful. Well, they say extremely painful. risky sometimes, but there's no denying that it can also be a rapturous experience. And in this tale, shared with us by author Georgina Jeffrey, Mother Mandy feels the divinity of delivery. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Dan Zepula, Wafia White, and Kristen DeMcCurio. So call the midwife and get ready to wrap the newborn in swaddling clothes, because we're about to experience an ecstatic birth.

There is a cold drip in my spine. I turn to you and smile the lopsided smirk of a stroke victim. My lazy muscles grant you just half the effort you are so adamant you deserve, despite having put so little effort into this endeavour yourself. Do you think it's a boy? The beeping heart monitor makes patterns in the air alongside my voice. Shut up. I start to giggle.

Can't help it. Don't want to help it. Mandy, seriously. Shut the fuck up. The midwife gives you a sharp look, even funnier. She counts down to a contraction, and I burst into hysterics. I see your teeth grinding. Can we make her stop laughing?

No, it's a common side effect. Survival reflex, we think. They both hold me down as my body nearly shakes itself off the bed in a fit of humor. Did you know that some women, some women, say that giving birth is like, is like having an orgasm. It's too hilarious. I sink deep into the pleasure of its absurdity. Ecstatic birth, they call it, the bliss of expelling a whole life form from your core. It must be the body's joyous reaction, a celebration, to finally be relieved of the parasite sucking on its juices. My body is preparing for this celebration.

My nerve endings are tingling. You look at me with disgust as I start to writhe, as moans escape my throat and mingle with the other sounds dancing about the ceiling lights. We need to get it the fuck out of her. The doctor is on her way. We need more than a fucking doctor. There is panic in your voice, and it is, It is delicious.

It lends a mottled hue to the other colors in the air. The monitor blinks in and out with a prickly pink noise. My pleasure sounds are the rich undercurrent, and we are all swimming in its waters. The midwife is arguing with you. She is fed up with your language. You are fed up with the entire awful situation. fever dances in you. You're so close to the edge.

We're both so close to the edge. I just want my wife back! The midwife hisses under her breath, a silky dissonance. This is it! Shivers of ecstasy run through me with every contraction. I feel that my scream is red and bloody, And though my mind says bliss, my body says agony. I'm still laughing, wheezing, straining,

as my flesh tears and I am split open in a throbbing symphony of joy and terror. And my swollen uterus finally ejects its horrid passenger. Behind thick walls of glass, a crowd of figures in white coats bend their heads and scribble on clipboard. I see the quiet sound of their pens screeching. It claws at the glass like a nervous animal. You have backed into a corner, face too pale, staring in stiff dread at the thing the midwife is wrapping in fabric. I don't want to see it.

I shout, except my voice has ground down to a hoarse, pebbly whisper. It falls from my mouth like little stones. Take it away. Take it away. Is it over? You know it isn't. The midwife is expressing some information to the bodies in white coats. Her words patter in matter-of-fact data droplets onto the glass.

She turns to you, still holding the parcel of infant life form. We'll need to run more tests. You said we just had to get through this. we just had to get it out of her. Other bodies are spilling into the room. They have noticed me that I am still spilling too. I thought the flow of red might have been the sound of my own breathing, but it appears to be tangible to them,

and they begin mopping and prying and stitching. Someone presses the button on my drip, and coldness floods into my back. Is it a boy? I ask and fade from consciousness. There is a whole ward dedicated to us, practically the entire hospital. Only three women currently in its care. You have been staring at me for a long time.

Your voice is so hollow. It has the same weight as an echo as it bounces in and out of the empty beds. You won't give it up then? You have been asking for days. A nurse hovers at the edge of the ward. Military personnel swap shifts on the doors. We're just fine. I blow the sound towards my daughter like a kiss.

Mandy, it's not real. You understood what it was before. Before it was here. You touched my arm. The sensation is flimsy, insubstantial. Please tell me, you understand. This is not your baby. I gave birth, didn't I?

I break from my humming to answer you. I am always humming now. It keeps her warm and calm. She loves the feel of my voice. You, on the other hand, are a black hole for my sounds. They distort and twist as they near your event horizon, then briefly flare before being sucked irretrievably into your silence.

I give them freely as gifts. I don't mind that you waste them, these miracles. You'll have miracles of your own soon. Eventually you speak, little heart. flashes of energy at the frayed edges of your tired soul. Do you even remember how it arrived? We were walking. Then what?

There was music. The memory may be vague, but the warm flush of English is unquestionable. It tinges my cheeks with longing. It was beautiful. You bury your head in your hands. This is a nightmare. Isn't it funny? No.

I hum a laugh, tickled by the old thought that has suddenly resurface. Isn't it funny that pain is so necessary? The look you give me, it tips me fully into giggles, so I cannot finish the thought to completion. But you would know it, if only you could pause to taste the words. We've had the conversation before. Giving birth is the one acceptable trauma we agreed. Necessary trauma for the propagation of species, for the flighty thing we call family.

No matter how many chemicals we siphon into our bodies, we can't escape the aftermath, the broken flesh. And perhaps worse, The result of our efforts remains to cling to us in its fragile newborn skin. A whole lifetime cradled in our palms. Unaware of the horrors we shall have brought upon it purely by being in the world. My daughter pleases me beyond all comprehension. They say you forget the pain and it shall all be worth it in the end.

You pull me from reverie. Mandy, look at yourself. Your hand trembles as you touch my stomach. I know you are afraid to lift the dressings, to see how much of me is really left. The bandage sinks a little, falling into a depression under your fingers. You jerk away, choking back a cry. The noise attracts the nurse, who arrives swiftly at your shoulder, indicates visiting time. is drawing to an end.

You become ghosts on the edge of my vision. Is she going to live? We're doing everything we can. I promise she's comfortable, but she won't be going home. What are you going to do with her? She'll be looked after, studied but well looked after. And the thing? She glances nervously at the guards on the door.

I wouldn't know about that. She escorts you into the corridor. You hold a near inaudible conversation, which gently floats back to me over the rest of the day. I thought you could help her. They said it was just an infection. It's not. Listen, you need to let her go. They'll stop allowing you in here soon. They can't. She's my wife. Maybe. What's that supposed to?

You'll disappear. Do you understand if you don't let this go? She'll be safe. They just want to study her and keep other people safe. I can't leave her like this. I pluck the speck the speckled sound of your fear out of the air and plate it into my daughter's pretty gurgling. It weaves into a dappled blanket that curls around the room and drapes around the heads of the soldiers. I send it to keep them warm.

Soon they are muttering. Their skin itches. A heavy bass note thuds along their arteries. There is emptiness in them, a hollow well of silence aching to be filled. I send them gifts all throughout the night until they can feel it dancing inside their swollen stomachs. They drop their weapons and clutch at their bodies, contorting, crying. What miracles they are blessed with! All life is a miracle. as improbable as pleasure and the forming of stars, as implausible as music born from errant sounds,

we shall all be miracle-bearers. I continue to hum with my daughter, while their screams blend into our beautiful, blissful melody. Wow, the miracle of childbirth, am I right? I knew it could be stressful, but not that much stress. That's why I'm glad you've joined me again as I walk around the lovely grounds of Goat Valley and the campgrounds therein. Decidedly far less stress out here, even if I do occasionally spot that creepy little girl skulking around. I just steer clear of her. And speaking of stress and steering clear of things, that's why I like my outdoor walks.

It's a great way to alleviate stress. People don't always realize that physical symptoms like headaches, teeth grinding, and even digestive issues can be indicators of stress. And let's not forget about doom scrolling, sleeping too little, sleeping too much, under eating, and overeating. For me, stress is usually caused by work. Yes, yes, as much as I love being a part of creating the show you're listening to right now, it can be stressful. financial stress, deadlines, making sure we're putting out the best horror entertainment we possibly can, well, the pressure adds up. In fact, it builds up. Stress shows up in all kinds of ways, and in a world that's telling you to do more,

sleep less, and grind all the time, here's your reminder to take care of yourself, do less, and maybe try some therapy. One thing that therapy has helped me with is identifying the little, insidious things in life which caused me stress. Things I wouldn't normally think of as stress triggers. That's why professional therapists can help. And that's why I recommend and suggest you try Better Help. Better Help is customized online therapy that offers video, phone, and even live chat sessions with your therapist. So you don't have to see anyone on camera if you don't want to. It's much more affordable than in-person therapy. So look, give it.

a try and see if online therapy can help lower your stress. You know, this podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp, and No Sleep listeners get 10% off their first month at BetterHelp.com slash no sleep. That's B-E-T-T-E-R-H-E-L-P dot com slash no sleep. So, look after yourself. Take a walk in the woods if you can and talk about your stress with a professional. And as we return to the horror, I think you'll agree that the woods are a better place to be than the cold, dark void of outer space.

Imagine what it will be like many years in the future, after humans have spread throughout the galaxy and beyond. Who knows what's out there? Well, for one thing, there's probably a lot of garbage floating around in space. And in this tale, shared with us by author Nicholas Hughes, we meet Sarah and, her team, a group whose job is to scavenge these remnants. I join Erica Sanderson, Mike Delgadoio, Jake Benson, David Alt, and Atticus Jackson in performing this tale. So let's see what effect our species has on the galaxy at large in the 27th century, and how what's out there might affect us. Let's raid, a tomb, adrift in the stars. Many people are in the world. Many people are

assume that the human race will eventually know everything. That could be true, but personally I don't think so. The only trend we have found so far is as follows. The more we discover, the more mystery there seems to be, which in turn only leads to more questions. By the year 2500, humanity discovered evidence of life on other worlds. By 2580, we discovered we're still alone. A great galactic empire referred to as the precursors once spanned thousands of planets and solar systems, its inhabitants human by all appearances. In our journeys through the planets once inhabited by the precursors, not one living creature was found. In addition, there was no evidence of what may have happened to them or what could have possibly killed what appears to be all life in the universe other than Earth.

I'm an engineer on a mid-27th century salvage ship, and all of that may have just changed. Our task is to salvage tech from the remaining precursor fleets of ghost ships caught in endless orbit around alien planets. Most of the ship is often unsalvageable, but the few pieces of functioning tech we do find are often worth fortunes and can lead to massive scientific breakthroughs. It's because of this found technology that Earth humans have been able to catapult through technological advancements, which probably took the precursors millennia. Beyond light speed travel, weapons that can destroy an entire planet, and biotech that allows people to live for safety. centuries, to name a few, are all within our reach, thanks to salvaged tech. When we came upon our last salvage mission, it seemed like every other mission I'd run over the past few years, which is to say it was fucking creepy.

I'll never get used to the sight of thousands of metal beaumoth sitting in a debris field like a space ghost town lost to time, their black hulls speckled with asteroid scars, and the many gun turrets pointing drunkenly in different directions. I can't help but remember the cockpit of one reminding me of a leering human skull, daring us to uncover its millennia old secrets. Captain Cox shook me out of my daydream by bringing the headset in my suit to life. No, Charles, you know I hate this shit. Good. I'll bring us down on the center mass of the big ship up ahead. You and the boys go in there and make us rich.

He brought our scrappy scavenger ship down in the middle of the ancient Leviathan like a mosquito landing on a whale carcass. The away team consisted of myself, Dawson, our resident technological historian, Luke, our safety expert, and a small security detail in case we encountered other scrappers or pirates. We stepped out of the airlock and onto the surface of the giant ship. Clay, our chief of security, took out a replicated precursor photon beam cutter to help us through the thick alloy hull. It was recently discovered technology and could reduce the time necessary to crack one of these ships open from a few hours to a few minutes because of the sheer cutting power it produced with essentially just a beam of light.

He pressed the tool to the hull and began to cut when suddenly shrapnel from the explosion found out from the cutter, larger pieces nearly removing several heads and causing me to duck reflexively as a gas wave felt like a miniature hurricane blew past us. I inspected the hole as looked at a second safety check on everyone's suit. The escaping air had torn a two-foot diameter hole in the alloy armour of the ancient ship, rendering any additional cutting unnecessary.

This was fortunate, as the photon cutter. had taken the brunt of the initial explosion and looked the worse for wear. We were able to walk pretty comfortably on the surface of these ships due to an artificial gravity we had little understanding of. The lowest part of the ship was many times more massive than it had any right to be, as if it contained an artificial black hole. The mystery was compounded by the fact that they were clearly able to move vast distances at great speed while carrying the mass of a mid-sized moon.

How this gravity field didn't consume the ship or deteriorate with everything else on board was beyond our current. scientific understanding, but it was certainly convenient for the purpose of exploration. Luke finished the safety check, and Captain Cox gave the all-clear. We descended through the hole one by one. The chamber we landed in seemed to be sleeping quarters, as evidenced by the military-style bunks. Even though I was prepared for it, I let out a slight gasp as I entered the chamber. There were bodies on most of the ships we scavenged from, which made them feel more like tombs than vessels. It had taken me a while to get used to looking at the mummified remains of their

previous occupants, but this was different. The people in this cabin looked like their last moments were agony. Several of the bodies were on the ground in the fetal position. Others were frozen in time, clutching at their throats. One was even reaching towards the hermetically sealed door, an expression of pain on his mummified features, and I soon saw why. The air ducts in the small chamber were welded shut. I shivered as I realised that people in this chamber must have suffocated in the sealed room without any fresh air coming in through the ducts. But why would anyone do that? Dawson observed the sealed air ducts as well. Poor bastards didn't stand a chance.

Zach, our second security officer, drew his standard issue laser weapon and pointed it at the door. He fired four quick bursts where he knew the hinges were typically located on precursor ships and was rewarded with four red-hot glowing holes in the door's alloy frame. We dislodged the door and relocated the surprisingly light piece of metal to a corner of the room, careful not to disturb any of the bodies out of respect. There's an unspoken rule in the business that bodies are left alone, except when absolutely necessary. We don't have the means to give everyone a proper burial, so the next best thing is to just leave them undisturbed. The condition of the hallway outside the crew quarters did nothing to ease my growing anxiety.

As with all ancient ships, the few elements space had to offer had slowly. slowly worn away at the interior, but over many millennia it added up to total destruction. Repeated cycles of freezing cold and blistering heat from being either in direct sunlight or facing empty blackness had cracked the metal floors, leaving fissures up to a foot wide in places where I could see through to the floor below. Black scars from asteroid impacts, large and small, left scars and sometimes holes in the walls and floor. The roof was the worst, as it had borne the brunt of asteroid impacts, and there were many holes and fissures through which I could see the vastness of space in its galactic magnificence.

None of this was what worried me, though. What I found to be truly concerning were the deep gouges in the walls where it looked like someone had repeatedly driven a pickaxe into them within human strength. If I didn't know better, I would have thought they were caused by some enormous beast thrashing in the hall like an enraged rhino. What the fuck? I've heard it be a mother planet. on their ships for as such.

We forged ahead, carefully avoiding the fishes in the floor as the gravity of a ship this large could cause injury if you fell from a high enough place. As we moved closer to the center of the ship, the hallway that had started out relatively narrow expanded quickly to the size of a city street and then eventually to the size of a small canyon. The ship also expanded above us in the form of more floors.

I noticed I could no longer see the stars through the holes in the roof and the structural damage decreased because of the added production. protection. Seeing the ruin of this once magnificent marvel of engineering gave me a pang of sorrow for its loss. The undamaged sections of wall shone bright with metallic luster, and the doors and panelling had clearly once been sleek. For a second, I could picture the hubbub of everyday life on the ship, crew bustling here and there, carrying messages from place to place, or meeting friends in a dining hall, all aboard a top-of-the-line battleship seeking new horizons. The light sources embedded in our suits abruptly encountered a vast emptiness, too big to

illuminate even with the powerful precursor tech. The ragged edges where the hallway ended and the space began indicated that this was not an original feature of the ship. It had most likely been left by the impact of a large asteroid. The hole gave me a true sense of the ship's mass. As we stepped towards the edge, our lights illuminated many levels descending into a deep black crater with no visible bottom. The top of the crater reminded me of the rim of a football stadium, although I could barely see the opposite side. It looked jagged and messy, like a hole punched in aluminium foil. I gulped. I was far from afraid of heights, but the thought of descending into the pitch black more gave me the willies. I'd done some pretty daring stunts in the exploration of these ships before,

but something about this mission made me uneasy. There was a darkness to this ship that reminded me of an old earth story I once read about the curse of King Tut's tomb. Archaeologists had discovered and ransacked a sacred place meant only for the dead and had paid the price with their lives. I didn't believe in walking mummies or curses or all that nonsense, but I did believe that the dead deserve respect. Given the horrors we'd already seen, I wasn't sure I wanted to see what was hidden in the bowels of the ship.

Nonetheless, I voiced no objection as security set up the belaying apparatus and began to descend into darkness. It was almost surreal how quickly they disappeared after beginning their descent and reminded me of two ants dropped down a whirl. Before long, it was my turn. I was clipped into a harness and dangling over the void

along with Luke and Dawson. We hung there together for a moment, all three trembling, and one by one fell into shadow. The floor zipped by at a speed that approached that of falling on earth, although it was somewhat arrested by the ropes and the lesser mass of the ship.

The light from our suits glanced off floor after floor as we fell, the edges of the crater jagged and torn. More than once I saw the outlines of prone, mummified human remains, propped against the walls of the halls or lying on the floor, and I got the sense we were headed towards the more populated centre of the ship. Many of the bodies were clutching at their throats, tell-tale sign of asphyxiation, and the main corridors were more crowded than I had ever seen on one of these ghost ships. I could tell we were all thinking the same thing, though Dawson was the first to voice it aloud. I shivered, picturing the crew stuck in that fateful chamber

waiting for a rescue that never came, slowly feeling the oxygen in the room grow thin as they breathe their most precious resource. After descending for what seemed like a very long time to fall, Clay told us to slow our descent because we were reaching the bottom. We complied and was soon on solid ground again. The surface we were standing on was a mess of burnt pieces of asteroid and shredded bits of ship that had been carried to the bottom of the crater.

It was pop-marked with dents and dimples where fragments of ship or asteroid had dug themselves into the metal. Aha! Dawson walked around for a bit, then found a place where the metal seemed thin enough. He drew his sidearm and fired, but to little effect. Probably the only person who's seen inside one of these things before. While Dawson dissected the alien contraption,

I had some time to inspect the vast area we now inhabited. The impact left by the asteroid's disastrous descent had opened the bottom of the crater into a space much, larger than in the upper sections of the ship. The lights in my suit could only illuminate so much, but I got the sense that the encircling blackness had room to hold our own ship several times over. So deep was the blackness, if I faced away from the nearest side of the chasm and tilted my head up, it was almost like I wasn't shining a light at all. This only deepened the unease I was feeling, and I quickly turned back to the crew. Dawson was still tinkering away at the cutter,

which now looked even more a mess than when he started. The two security officers and Luke were tormenting him with unsolicited suggestions. They were surrounded by wreckage from the upper layers of the ship. Most of the pieces were just fragments, barely the size of your hand, but some were the size of houses. Each was sitting in its own crater where it had careened into the ground from above. Then I noticed something odd. One of the craters seemed out of place.

It was missing the tell-tale piece of shrapnel that would have made it, but also there was something else. The sides looked too high for the size of the crater, almost as if it had been made from the other side. Come look at this, guys! They followed me inquisitively. Dawson reluctantly put down the pieces of the now totally shredded cutter and followed me over to the crater.

Once we were all looking down at it, three things became clear. First of all, this crater was indeed from the other side. Secondly, unlike the other craters, this one went all the way through. Most puzzling of all, it was not made by an asteroid. The thick layers of imperial alloy looked like they had been peeled away like an aluminium can. There were deep scratches and furrows in the surface of the metal around the hole,

almost as if they had been clawed into the surface. Dawson, do you know anything capable of this? No. What are you talking about? This empire, the ancients were experimenting with some dark biotechnology. We have evidence that. genome manipulation did occur. In hard evidence until now, but there are writings from the end of the precursors that include

references to genetic abominations, creatures that never should have been created. With the thousand worlds under their dominion, they had access to an almost unlimited genetic bank, including creatures with bizarre adaptations to hostile environments on the edge of the galaxy. Rumor has it, they gave human intelligence to some of these monsters in an effort to create biological weapons of war. But with their sentience came, a test realized what they were and resented their creators.

There were massacres in the genetic labs. These manufactured monsters used their enhanced abilities to do terrible things. Some fringe scientists even believe this was what brought about the end of the precursors. A great war between them and their abominable progeny.

Although, since the existence of the creatures themselves is itself in questus, and are generally not taken seriously. Are you sure it's a good idea to go down there? Survive thousands of years on a blown apart ship with no oxygen? You're sure there's no gene for holding your breath for 10,000 years? I smiled, realizing how ridiculous I sounded. In that case, you go first. The cargo bay was smaller than I'd imagined, compared to the vastness of the rest of the ship. We landed in a small compartment full of what may have been food that had long turned to dust. It was part of a honeycomb network of similar-sized

compartments full of similarly useless junk. Many compartments were ransacked and covered with furrows dug into the metal like a furious bear had been searching for honey. Clay, who had been scouting ahead, spoke urgently into our headsets. We ran to his location and found him standing in front of a foot-thick reinforced door that had been thrown clean off its hinges. If I hadn't seen other evidence of the creature's strength, I would have thought this was the work of a high-velocity explosive. The hinges and the locking mechanism had deep furrows in the frame where they blasted through it, and the door had flown through the air a few feet before landing in the centre of the room where it now rested. He pointed to a plaque that rested next to the door.

Death will come on swift wings to ye who so much as enter my tomb. What was that, sir? Nothing. Just something that's been on my mind ever since we boarded. It's an old warning that was imprinted on a burial ground. This place reminded me. Ah, ancient Egypt, seven wonders of Earth. I could tell Dawson was about to give us another history lesson. You know, it was thought that the Egyptians had help from precursor remnants to... plenty of time to learn more about this so fascinating topic

when we're not standing around on the frigid space coffin looking under frozen corpses for space gold. See yourself. The next drum was an absolute gold mine of imperial tech. Dawson fawned over some unidentifiable cylinders, while Luke looked over a pile of fossilized suits with apparent ore. The security detail handled some small handguns, their batteries corroded with age. I saw nothing that looked particularly up my alley in this room, so I moved on to the next. This one had bare walls, an empty ceiling, and no shelving or storage of any kind.

The only thing occupying the floor was a large metal structure that looked like a coffin. I instantly recognised it as an ancient hyper-sleep apparatus. I was cautiously optimistic about this discovery. as no one had quite perfected the hypersleep technology the ancients possessed, and if this chamber was intact, it could revolutionise the way people travel through space, not to mention making our crew a ton of money. I approached the vessel and inspected the outside. It seemed like a simple enough chamber, but it was surprisingly intact given the condition of the rest of the ship.

The lid looked like it was melted shut, and the buttons on the outside were unrecognisable, but it seemed free of any holes, which meant that maybe the insides were intact. I brushed debris off the plexiglass viewing window to confirm my good fortune and shone my suit light inside. I jumped. There was a face staring back at me from inside the hyperchamber, a fleshy, fully intact, almost human face. I was just contemplating how maybe the environment inside the hypersleep chamber had prevented the body from decomposing or fully mummifying when the unthinkable happened. The ancient thousands of years old face twitched briefly. Then its eyes opened.

Run! I tore through the chamber where the rest of the away team were still inspecting their booty. Drop it and fucking run! Everyone looked up, confused at my sudden outburst. Dawson reluctantly pocketed a few of the strange cylinders he'd been handling and reluctantly followed me. Luke and the security detail looked a little more hesitant to leave their marvelings. The two noises happened in such quick succession they almost seemed to occur simultaneously. The first was presumably the top of the life support chamber,

crashing into the roof of the chamber that contained it. The second was the sound of the sharp, fleshy tentacle-like thing that had come from the darkness of the next room, quick as lightning, forcing itself through the back of Zach's head and the front of his face. This is probably what had caused him to stop talking mid-sentence. Dragged by the tentacle thing, he disappeared into the darkness and there was a sloppy, wet, ripping noise that made my stomach turn. Clay managed to pull a plasma grenade from his belt

and activate it before meeting a similar messy bait. This probably saved our lives, as the resulting explosion collapsed the chamber. It was at this point that the remaining members of the team saw the wisdom in my initial advice and high-tailed it from the accurseded chamber as fast as we could. Charles, wake your ass up and get us the fuck out of here. What's going on down there?

We're fucked. We have two men down than some sort of thousand-year-old pissed-off mutant chasing us. Roger that. Can you make it to the entry point? Negative. I have an idea, but you're not going to like it. And that idea is... Do you see the massive crater in the middle of the middle of the... of the ship. We continued our mad dash through the bowels of the ship, closing doors as we could to hinder the progress of the creature. Even so, it wasn't long before we heard our crashing,

scraping pursuer gaining on us through the network of tunnels. Luke tossed a drone turret onto the ground and said it to kill before pumping his legs to catch up with the rest of us. I had told him carrying that thing around was a waste of pack space since we already had a security detail, but this time I was grateful for Luke's love of his toys. A few seconds later we heard a brief volley of blastfire and an inhuman roar of pain as the plasma found its mark. There was no time for a second volley, as the next thing we heard was a brief metallic clang and the sound of drone pieces ricocheting off metal walls. By this time, we were approaching the hole through which we had come. Luke boosted Dawson and I up through the hole, and we hauled him

up by his arms. Where the fuck are you, Captain? You know, flying an intercollactic cruiser into a crater is not as easy as it look. Forward and back there. Get here soon or you'll be looking for an entirely new cruise. Like clockwork, the scraping, tearing sounds of our pursuer were once again audible. We scrambled out onto the chasm floor we had initially repelled onto and across the darkness in the hopes of putting enough space between us and the creature we'd unleashed until we could be rescued. I made the mistake of looking back just in time to see a vaguely human form emerge from the hole we had just come out of.

The illusion of humanity was quickly shattered, though, as it was surrounded by oscillating tentacles that it used to propel itself forward like some sort of nightmare jellyfish. I might be able to buy... Dawson pulled one of the cylinders from his pocket. I think these are crystalline engine caused from a prototype ship the engines were working on. If we could get one to burst,

the explosion should be massive. Dawson threw the cylinder at the creature and fired his blaster wildly. Remembering our explosives training, we crouched in the fetal position and covered our heads. Even through the protective layers of my suit, the explosion was catastrophic.

I thought I would be cooked alive. I was thrown a great distance from the blast in the diminished gravity and landed temporarily blind and deaf on the reinforced metal floor. I sat up as my senses slowly returned and saw Dawson and Luke line close to me, equally disheveled by the landing.

As my hearing returned, I became aware of a loud hissing sound and saw Dawson suddenly clutched the side of his suit. Just then, we heard a stirring from the direction of the explosion. The sound was like the slithering of thousands of snakes on sandpaper. I could barely make out tentacles and humanoid pieces making their way towards where the blast originated, as if drawn by some

terrible gravity. I wondered how simple genetic manipulation could possibly create such an indestructible beast. Get out of here! I tried to protest, but Luke grabbed my arm, dragging me away, and we were soon limping across the chasm for our lives. Above us, I began to see the lights of our ship, awkwardly descending back and forth across the vast darkness, our firefly rescuer. We pointed our lights up as we ran, a beacon to lead the ship to extract us. As the ship descended to our location, we heard an explosion, and I knew it was Dawson making his final stand. As silently wet as we boarded the ship, Luke's face was wet as well.

Go! Just fucking go! The cruiser took off with a shudder. Cox may have been one of the best space pilots around, but the microgravity really seemed to be affecting his ability. We sped up, then jerked to a halt, then hit the thrusters again like he was testing the brakes. I'm not getting enough juice. The control panel was a mosaic of flashing warning lights. Our fuel indicator rose, then fell flashing.

It seemed there were gas leaks in four of the ship's five main compartments. Our fluid system had stopped providing coolant to the propulsion coils. According to the board, we were about a minute and a half away from total combustion. It almost seems like there's an electrical field around the ship. Luke pulled out a small grey box from his suit's largest pocket. It had a single flashing blue light, a set of. of metallic prongs and was adorned in symbols only somebody like Dawson could understand. Dawson, I couldn't believe he was gone. It all happened so fast. What was I going to tell his wife

back on earth? What is it? I found it right before that thing attacked us. Get rid of it. I was in disbelief that there was any room for discussion. Blast it out the airlock. That thing has got to be right behind us. Wait, is there any way to make it stop? Captain, don't do this. It's not worth it. We've already You lost too many. I think I can turn it off. Luke fumbled with the device. The innocuous blue light flipped off, and just like that, the indicator's all normalized. Just you two?

The captain hovered his hand over the hatch lever. We silently nodded and began the process of ascending to the safety of space. I looked down from my position near the window, but all I saw was cold blackness. I could almost feel an ancient hostility lurking down there, and I wondered what our enemy truly was. What type of monstrous science could create such a powerful, hating thing whose only purpose was to destroy? It has been years since that fateful voyage, and I haven't been outside Earth's atmosphere since.

I got a nice planet-side job, and I'm able to live off that, combined with the small amount of precursor tech we were able to scalp from our final mission. But my comfortable lifestyle doesn't stop the dreams. I have dreams of sharp, lightning-fast tentacles and my friends dying, and that terrible human face on a creature so far from humanity or current human understanding. But the dreams aren't what worry me. What worries me is the current pace of technology.

One day, soon, we may go down a path that leads to genetic modification, or similar dark science we cannot stop once it's been started. I worry our current civilization is destined for the same doom that ended the precursors. And now I know there is nothing that can save us when it comes. 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 5. The campground exists in a bubble. It's an ecosystem of its own,

removed from the surrounding area. Even the quality of the air is different. It feels pure, pristine. The sunlight makes the tree leaves glow like emeralds, and the distant sounds of the roads melt away as soon as you step foot in the forest. It's like the outside world doesn't exist anymore. I think this is why campers keep coming back, despite the dangers. It's why I love my land.

In some ways, the campground is also like a community of its own. The people come and go, but we have many of the staples of civilization right here on site. We have a campground mailing address for use by the campers and run a mail drop-off and delivery point. There's the camp grocery, stocked with treats, fresh produce, and camping necessities. We have laundry machines. We even have an internet cafe.

We don't have hot water, though. The showers are solar showers, and when the hot water runs out, it's out. And don't even get me started on cloudy days. I still resent the one-star review someone left complaining about that. I wonder if I've not done myself any favors by separating the town so thoroughly from the campground.

While the campground brings on a lot of revenue for the local businesses, the campers are still interlopers when they make their excursions to the hardware store or the liquor store. The locals are polite and friendly, but not familiar. They smile and take their money and then whisper to each other that Kate is collecting more fodder for the monster she harbors. Or perhaps I'm reading too much into it, and the locals keep their distance for the same reason they don't name their chickens. It's easier that way when they die. I'm Kate, and this is Goat Valley Campgrounds. The town's best kept secret is the annual fair.

It starts on Friday and lasts the whole week. All the local businesses close up early so that they can prepare their stalls on the town green. Individual residents have stalls as well for their handicrafts and farmers bring in produce or other goods. There's games, raffles, food, music, and even a handful of carnival rides paid for out of the Fair Fund. I contribute to the Fair Fund every year. It builds goodwill, or at least that's my hope. I closed my campground that weekend so as to give my staff time off to attend. The vehicle barn is locked up, and I finish checking the roadside fences.

I think we're set. Great. Make sure to lock the gate when you leave. Are you coming to the fair? I'll be there later. I thought I saw a fire off in the woods, and I want to make sure it's just the dancers before I leave. Okay. But don't be too late, or you'll miss the pie-eating competition. I'm pretty good at pie-eating competition.

I took my four-wheeler out and made a quick loop of the campground. The distant firelight was indeed the dancers, and I slowed only long enough to confirm they hadn't made off with any of my staff. It's happened before. They return unharmed the next morning, but extremely hung over. Then, my fears assaged, I returned to my house. There was a figure on the road near the edge of the forest. His appearance differed for each person, but to me he always wore a charcoal hoodie with the hood pulled up. The man with the skull cup and mentally cursed my bad luck and stepped on the gas urging the four-wheeler up the steep hill. He couldn't offer me a drink if we didn't make eye contact, I reasoned. I didn't want to be unable to eat food right before the town fair,

not when there were funnel cakes in a pie-eating competition. No such luck. We stepped sideways into the middle of the road as I maneuvered past him. I slammed on the brakes on instinct, belatedly realizing that I might have been able to just swerve and escape this confrontation. It was too late now. The four-wheeler shuddered to a stop, engine rumbling, and before me stood the man with the skull cup. He regarded me with a calm and mild interest, as if I were an interestingly colored insect to be considered for a moment, but nothing more.

His myriad of facial piercings glinted dully in the fading sunlight, as did the assortment of rings on his fingers as he cradled his cup. My gaze settled first on its empty eye sockets and the oily liquid inside before I reluctantly tore them away to meet his stare. Can I help you? You can, act. Are you offering me a drink? He gave me a faintly amused smile.

Don't you have a pie-eating competition to win? What, how do you? No, never mind. All your staff have left. Why do you still circle the campground? Are you not confident in your control over this land? I'm never confident. I live in constant fear that I'm not doing enough.

He walked over and turned, putting one foot up on the edge of the four-wheeler. Then he swung himself up and sat down beside me. I stiffened, my knuckles going white as I clutched at the handlebars of the vehicle. Too close. He was way too close for my liking. I don't particularly care to have anyone in my personal space, much less something that wasn't even human. See, that's the problem. You never relax.

It's the town fair. You should enjoy it. He patted my shoulder as if we were friends, but his fingers tightened, digging his nails into my muscle until I flinched. Let's go together. Nothing like this had happened on our campground before, to my knowledge, certainly not with the man with the skull cup. It was a simple transaction. He offered a drink, the victim accepted, and then everyone went their own ways.

I couldn't fathom what his motivation was, and all the gentle prodding I attempted was met with stony silence. I stopped by the house, at least to get my car. There was no way I was driving the four-wheeler all the way to the town green, not with the man with the skull hanging onto the back with his breath, on the back of my neck. He didn't protest the switch. But at the campground gate,

he got out of the backseat as I went to unlock it. Will you open the gate for me? I turned to stare at him. His expression was unreadable. There was something in what he said. I was going to open the gate. So why would he make this request of me? I rested one hand on the lock.

I'm not obligated to. No, you aren't. I could refuse. I could open it for myself, but refuse you, and there's nothing you could do about it. Am I right? Boundaries are important to human things. From boulder-strewn stone walls in New England

to white-pick fences, we construct barriers. They serve as markers for humans, but act as much, much more for everything else. Most creatures can't enter a house unless invited, but I hadn't expected for there to be similar limitations around my campground gate. The man with the skull cup couldn't leave unless I permitted it. I could stop him right there, easily. He stepped closer to me.

I tensed, readying myself to fight or flee, but he gave no sign of aggression. He only lowered his voice. I'll owe you a favor. I barely hesitated. I unlocked the gate and swung it open. You have my permission to leave. Favors from inhuman things are both rare and valuable.

They aren't like bargains, which are slanted to favor the inhuman thing. A favor will always be repaid at a time it is desperately needed and will greatly exceed the value of the deed that earned it. It's a priceless thing, the sort of debt that could someday save my life or even more. It was worth any risk. Thank you. You are most kind. And then he got back in the car, and I drove us to the town fair.

I found parking at the edge of town where houses sat side by side for a few blocks. Old houses with wooden shingles and gnarled trees in their yards. The streets were silent and the windows of the houses dark. The noise from the town green, music and voices, faintly wafted through the old trees. The town green was a long stretch of grass that divided. the main street at the center of town. The road was closed for the fair, giving people room to spread out. At one corner were a handful of carnival rides, where most of the children gathered. I resolved to try to keep the man with the skull cup away from there. I didn't think he'd bother children, but I didn't

want to find out otherwise. I'm not sure what I was hoping for when we arrived, that the man with the skull cup was merely curious as to our traditions, perhaps, and would quietly let me lead him around as if I were a tour guide, introducing him to quaint human traditions. Sadly, this was not the case. As soon as we reached the main street, he briskly started off in a different direction than me, head high and walking with intent. He had a reason for being here. My heart sunk, and I reluctantly followed after him.

Might as well see what the damage of this excursion was going to be. I was quickly joined by Brian. I was dismayed to see he was alone. You left the dogs at home? Well, everyone else brings their dogs. And after last year when that Yorkie got scared of them and peed on their owner's leg, I thought it was best to just not. Is that the man with a skull cup? Yeah.

Oh, no. Is he offering someone a drink? Yeah. I jogged over and stood a pace behind the man with the skull cup, frantically pantomiming to the hapless local to take a sip. They did. Their eyes wide and fixed on me the whole time. Then the man with the skull cup walked away and I followed him, casting nervous glances backwards to the person that'd just been poisoned. Did you get bored of poisoning campers? I have my reasons.

The town is going to be in an uproar over this. He stopped abruptly and whirled to face me. His mouth was thin with unexpected anger and my own indignation faltered. replaced by a sudden cold jolt of fear. They aren't on your side. Then he turned away and began walking again, seeking out yet another victim. I continued to follow, heart pounding.

I was starting to sweat. Drops of perspiration beat it up on the back of my neck, and I was flushed with anxiety, watching all this unfold. No shit they are. There was a trend in who he was targeting. Within the town is a small but, noisy contingent that would rather the campground not exist. Some of it is generational grudges,

built up over the years between our respective families. My parents were the first generation to really try diplomacy, so there's plenty of bad blood to go around. There's also a growing number of people that feel the campground's lax management has been tolerated for too long, and that my family should be removed from our position. They can't force us to sell it, but they can make it hard enough to operate that I'd have to concede to their demands. So far, their efforts had been defeated by the sheer amount of economic impact our campground has on the local economy. But this would surely give them a boost. I gritted my teeth and swore that the favor had better be worth it. After about 30 minutes of this, it was clear that word that an inhuman thing was present and had

thoroughly circulated. People were keeping clear of us, but not everyone was leaving the area. there were covert glances and overt stares. The locals are used to the inhuman, but it's still rare to have one walking around so openly. And since it's the man with the skull cup, well, they all know the rules. He's not that dangerous, so long as you accept his offer. The people who had to drink from the cup

looked far less happy about the situation. No funnel cakes for them. Finally, he turned around to address both Brian and I. It is tradition. to present a guest with a gift. An old tradition, perhaps, but still honored today in other forms. After all, who hasn't told a friend, my treat?

Do you want a funnel cake? He ignored me and turned to Brian. He held out his cup with one hand and with the other, produced a knife from somewhere, back pocket, perhaps. I saw a comprehension draw in Brian's eyes, an offering of blood. Also an old tradition. Brian nervously took the knife from him and put the point to his palm.

He seemed surprised at how easily it cut through his skin. The man with the skull cup's knife is very sharp. Then Brian turned his palm over and let the blood trip freely into the bowl of his cup. Thank you. Brian withheld his palm, clutching his fingers into a fist as blood slipped between his clenched fingers. Old blood from what was in the cup before, New blood freely given. I only need one more ingredient to refill my cup.

Wait, refill? You have to refill it? You haven't noticed. The bodies with their throats cut open. I didn't realize that was you. Then the last ingredient is... Blood forcibly taken. And look, there's the person I was hoping for.

Enough is enough, Kate. Sheriff Sabota was breathing heavily through his mouth. His gait, taller, and menace was behind his eyes. This was justifiable anger that I was not prepared to deal with. Sheriff, listen, I... No, no, you need to listen. People are scared of you in your goddamn campground. They're scared of what will happen anytime you or your ancestors step foot out of its boundaries.

And right now, right now, we can see exactly why. He gestured to the ambulance, speeding in the opposite direction, towards the hapless local, the man with the skull cup had encouraged to take a drink. I have barely tolerated your existence for so long, Kate. But I am not covering this one up. People go missing or worse. No-go areas, vanishing houses.

He pinched his nose and took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself unsuccessfully. I don't care that your campground brings in tourism and money to keep us thriving. We'll find another way to survive. This needs to end. And when they find out what you did... He paused as he realized that the man with the skull cup was intently focused on him. Inhuman things are often uninterested in human disagreements, which meant that this creature was interested in the sheriff for an entirely different reason.

So you finally arrive? that energy exerted in hot blood pumping, do you feel vindicated? Sabota froze, his lips pressed together and his face pale. He twitched slightly, mentally gauging whether it was better to fight or flee. I stood frozen between the two, heart hammering. Blood forcibly taken. You'll do just fine. A nuisance to the campground and a lonely man with just a voice whispering in his ear for comfort,

pulling at his strings to make him dance to the darkness's tomb. Saboda's eyes grew wide at that, and he took a step back, instinctively reaching for his gun. The man with the skull cup only smiled at that in amusement. He stepped forwards, deliberately closing the gap between the two. I acted before my mind thought through the consequences. As much as I hated the sheriff, I couldn't let this happen. No, you can't! The moment I stopped an entity of this magnitude from his hunt,

I knew that I had just dug my own grave. I grabbed the man with the skull cup's arm, trying to drag him back, trying to twist the knife out of his grip. It was like trying to bend an iron cable. The muscle's solid and his flesh cooler than any human should be underneath the fabric of his hoodie. But he stopped. He turned his head sideways to stare down at me.

He looked at me in a way I'd never seen. before. I see. Blood forcibly taken does not need to be from the good sheriff. Blood is blood after all. It doesn't need to be this way. Oh, I think it does. All things have a purpose. He ripped his arm out of my grasp. I threw myself backwards and there was a flash of metal and sunlight, the knife passing just across the surface of my neck. And I jerked my body around to run. I felt a brief tug of my hair, his fingers closing on the ends, but I kept going, my momentum throwing myself forwards and tearing myself out of his grasp. I left behind a clump of my hair, but I was free and running down the road. The line across my neck burning as it bled freely

into my shirt, but it was intact. My artery was intact. I was heading away from town by necessity. I had to lead him away from the town center and from Sheriff Sabota. I'd cut across the field, I thought desperately, and circle back towards town. I'm in shape from all the work I do on the campground, but I'm not a runner. That's a different kind of athleticism. I quickly exhausted my stamina and was reduced to a fast walk, clutching a hand against the stitch in my side. My next stung where his knife had broken skin, but the blood flow was slowing. I angled my direction more towards the beckoning safety of the town. I was quickly running out of field. There were trees ahead. I couldn't tell if it was merely a windbreak or a stretch of forest.

Then I saw, somewhat behind me and to my right, the man with the skull cup. He walked at an even pace, cutting a straight line between me and my destination, so that even if I sprinted, I'd run the risk of being intercepted, even if I could sprint. So I changed tactics. I headed back towards the campground. That was a straight line, and if I could reach the gate, I could get my hands on the bundle that guarded it,

and whatever it was that he feared inside. Have you heard of persistence hunting? You walk an animal to death. You keep pace with it so that every time it slows, you're right there threatening it, spurring it to keep moving, keep going, step after weary step until it finally collapses of exhaustion. I didn't have my cell phone on me

because it'd fallen out of my pocket and my struggle to break free of his grip. This was why women need real pockets on our clothing. my pants barely fit my cell phone in the best of circumstances. Worse, with everyone at the town fair, the road was deserted. Without any hope of rescue, I had no choice but to keep going. And each time I looked back, the man with a skull cup was there. I collapsed long before I reached the campground.

My thoughts were hazy at that point, worn thin by exhaustion. And I remember thinking that all this was futile, that I was dealing with creatures far more powerful than I. and my time was simply up. That it'd be easier to give in than to keep going for a minute longer. And that resignation broke as soon as I heard gravel crunch under his feet

as he approached. I struggled to stand, my legs burning with pain, and I stumbled blindly forwards, driven only by an instinct to survive, pushed well beyond the limits of my endurance. His hand closed on my hair, right at the roots,

and he jerked backwards, I stumbled, fell, and then was straddling my legs, pinning them in place, and he twisted his wrist to force my head back and expose my throat. His body felt cool against my back, not cold, just not as warm as a human should feel. No, don't! I clawed at his wrist as he raised the knife, and surprised at how clear my thoughts were, that I was going to die, and wondered if this was how my my father felt as he walked out to meet the beast, like floating. Like the world didn't exist anymore and it was just myself, alone with the beat of my own heart. The knife point slipped along the line of my throat, and there was no pain, and I waited for my body to catch up,

waited for the hot blood to soak my shirt, and then his wrist shifted again, and there was a flash of pain along my jaw. He dropped the knife and picked up the cup. holding it just below my chin, and now I felt the heat of blood trickling along my neck, saw it dripping into the cup and mixing with the blood and water already present inside. Then he released me and took the cup away. I pressed a shaking hand against the cut on my jaw, and watched blood run down my wrist and soak into the sleeve of my shirt. It was a long time before I could speak.

There. That's all. Blood forcibly taken. I thought you were... You were going to kill me. Perhaps I was. Would it have been forcibly taken if you'd known you weren't going to die?

Would you have simply acquiesced, knowing it was easier to submit than to fight the inevitable? But why me? Why Sheriff Subota? You could have convinced anyone in town that you were going to kill them. A selfish question, perhaps.

But I've grown accustomed to others being the ones that die, and I, the one that lives. It's my gift to you. A reminder of the dangers of your campground. After all, familiarity breeds complacency. Think of how your mother died. I'd prefer you lasted a little while longer yet.

And Sheriff's about it. Well, I dislike. The company he keeps. He walked away. I watched him go, dizzy with pain, shaking with exhaustion. When he was no longer within eye shot, I simply lay down there on the shoulder of the road, and I remained there until Brian came along looking for me.

He pulled his car over and rolled down the window. I brought you a funnel cake. I heaved myself up and struggled into the passenger side seat. Sure enough, there is a funnel cake sitting on a plate. on the dash. I picked at it as he drove me back to the campground. I take it I should stay away from the fair. That'd be smart.

Sabota is trying to stir up trouble. He's in a minority, but he's loud, and no one dares to speak up against him. I really wish someone else had gotten elected. Kind of hard when he ran unopposed. You could run. Have you considered a career in politics? That had never happened.

Too many people are still nervous. about my dogs. It was a joke. I need your dogs on the campground. Just my dogs. After I went through the trouble of bringing you a funnel cake? Ryan dropped me off at the gate. As I locked it behind me, I happened to glance in the direction of the woods. There was a man walking into the trees. I could only see the back of his gray hoodie, the man with the skull cup, letting me see him as he vanished into the forest so that I knew he'd returned to the campground. I wish I could say that my ordeal was the only consequence of this incident. See, I have a tenuous relationship with the town at times.

Not everyone feels the benefits of the campground outweigh the dangers. And with Sheriff Sabota leading the charge, they've decided to reopen the issue. I spent much of my time preoccupied with the unnatural, with things that have their own rules and customs, and I suppose I'd ignored other threats, the human threats, and our tendency towards blind, rash panic when threatened. I think I forgot myself inside my helpless anger and insulted the wrong person. I wished the town fair had been uneventful.

I wished my problems were not of my own making this time. At least the man with the skull cup was in my debt in exchange for opening the gate. I didn't know then how much I would need that favor. 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, Mick Wingert as The Man with the Skull Cup, Kyle Akers as Brian, and David Cummings as Sheriff Sabota.

Join us next week for Chapter 6 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 Micolsky, 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.

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