The NoSleep Podcast - S17 Ep19: NoSleep Podcast S17E19

Episode Date: April 10, 2022

It's Episode 19 of Season 17. Our spells doom us to the horrors of the outdoors.“The Grove” written by Travis Liebert (Story starts around 00:04:25)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Eric – Kyle Akers, Amanda – Sarah Ruth Thomas“Abandon” written by Alex Woodroe (Story starts around 00:28:00)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Codrin – Graham Rowat, Josh – Atticus Jackson, Ashley – Nichole Goodnight“Goat Valley Campgrounds – Chapter 6” written by Bonnie Quinn (Story starts around 00:59:25)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Kate – Linsay Rousseau, Kate’s Dad – Mike DelGaudio, Kate’s Mom – Nikolle Doolin, Kate’s Great Aunt – Erin Lillis, Harvester – Sarah Thomas, Shepherd – David Ault“The Dreamgiver” written by Johann Thorsson (Story starts around 00:56:40)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Dan Zappulla, Dreamgiver – Jeff Clement, Greta – Nikolle Doolin“Coal Tattoo” written by Ajax Nicholson (Story starts around 01:10:40)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Kristen DiMercurio, Ava – Erin Lillis, John – Jesse Cornett, Messenger – Elie Hirschman, Sue-Ellen – Mary Murphy“The Tree by the Well” written by Simon Bleaken (Story starts around 01:29:55)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Dan – David Ault, Nathan – Andy CresswellThis episode is sponsored by:Caliper 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 “Spirited Giving” at the Stanley Hotel on May 10thClick here to learn more about Travis LiebertClick here to learn more about Alex WoodroeExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“The Dreamgiver” illustration courtesy of Audrey McEvoyAudio program ©2022 – Creative Reason Media Inc. – All Rights Reserved – No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In times long gone, in days of yore, there are legends and tales of dark folklore. Round candlelight and fireside, the tales are shared. Enchanting dark secrets in hushed toads declared. And from those days, both present and present and past. We beseech you now to brace yourself for the no-sleep podcast. The sleepless tales commence fellow travelers. I'm your guide, David Cummings. I have to begin with a dire warning. Yes, the end is near. You see, if you were planning on making your way into the mountains to visit the horrifyingly haunted Stanley Hotel to attend the event known as Spirited Giving on May 10th.

Well, let's just say you'd better have your tickets already. Yes, the event featuring a lineup of acclaimed horror writers in an intimate setting, along with a live performance by your beloved No Sleep podcast, is nearly sold out. So delay further at your peril, lest you miss the chance to see and meet people like Jessica McAvoy, Nicole Goodnight, Sarah Thomas, Brandon Boone, Graham Rowett, and the delightfully superb David Cummings. Oh, I should have been a bit more humble there. Oh, well. Yes, we'll be there, along with fan favorite author, Gemma Amor, and many others. Check the link in the show notes, but be quick about it. Speaking of exciting things, we're at the halfway point of our trip to Goat Valley Campgrounds.

It's episode six this week, and things are really starting to heat up for camping. Kate, as she reflects back on the ways her family have been affected by the connection to the campground. And that's got me thinking about inherited curses and responsibilities. For those of you who listened to our previous season, 16, you'll know that I came into possession of a storage unit filled with documents and books, many of which hold immense power. I still own the contents of that unit. Well, I still own the unit itself also, but I move the books elsewhere, just in case certain untoward fiends taken upon themselves to get up to any more funny business. But since hiding those documents, I've done nothing with them.

I haven't shared any more tales from their archives. I haven't allowed certain occult experts I know to check out the collection. And I wonder if I have a responsibility to do more than just hold on to them. I don't know, maybe I'm just overthinking it. It's just been a combination of Goat Valley and the fact that the place I'm going on vacation to soon has its own strange history, which has never been revealed. I was reading up about it online. One guy even called it, quote, the hippie version of Area 51, end quote.

Which made me chuckle, although it's not very accurate, I hope. I don't think my new vacation spot is the site of alien technology, anyway. Hmm, but I guess I'll see when I get there. And now, let's get to our latest episode. In our first tale, we join couple Eric and Amanda as they spend their honeymoon camping. Oh, but don't worry. Thankfully, they're deep in the woods rather than chilling in Goat Valley. But in this tale, shared with us by author Travis Liebert,

we're introduced to another variety of tent-based horror. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres. and Sarah Thomas. So look carefully past the safety of your campfire. Make sure you can see the forest for the trees. You don't want your vacation to suck when you're in the grove. Everything turned to darkness as we drove beneath the dense canopy of the black forest. I glanced over at Amanda in the passenger seat.

She seemed entranced by the beauty of the trees. I didn't blame her. We'd been driving through the woods for days, but by then we'd, reached the densest part of the forest. We hadn't seen any civilization for miles. We were completely alone, surrounded by trees that stood like dark giants in a fantastical world. Amanda noticed me watching her and grinned before returning her gaze to the forest. My smile widened. Our honeymoon trip had been amazing so far. It was nice to just get out and explore. Both she and I had spent the past several years burdened by the workload of graduate school, but we were finally done.

her with a master's degree in literature and me with a corresponding degree in philosophy. It makes a lot of sense. What does? I maneuvered the van around a large branch that had fallen into the road. All the local legends that eventually became the works of the Brothers Grimm. When you look at this dark landscape, you can't help but think there's something more out there. I nodded. The forest truly was a strange place.

It seemed as if it existed outside the normal bounds of our world. Something on the fringes, where anything might stumble through the swirls of fog and rows of looming trees. One felt very small in a place like this. Hell, everything felt small here, where something greater than our world seemed to weigh down upon the forest like a black sun. I heard a man to gasp and surprise beside me. My foot instinctively tapped the brakes, but I didn't come to a complete stop. What's wrong? She sighed and held her hands to her chest, shaking her head.

Nothing. I could have sworn I saw something giant walking through the forest. She rubbed her eyes. I must be going crazy. Maybe you really did see something. If monsters did exist, then this would be a perfect place for them to reside. Oh, shut up, Eric. She punched me in the shoulder.

I chuckled and continued driving. About 20 minutes later, we came upon a clearing that seemed fit for camping. I parked off the side of the road and got out to examine the area. I was surprised to see that there were no signs of anyone having camped here before. The ground was completely untouched. We had taken a lot of strange winding side roads, but I hadn't expected to get this far off the main path. I shrugged. The whole point of this trip was to get away from people, so I supposed this was ideal.

We took the bare necessities out of the van, but decided to set things up later. Amanda wanted to relax and read for a while, so I chose to wander off and explore the forest. She sat curled up in the trunk of the van with a dense tome in her lap and waved as I left the clearing. Don't get lost! I won't! As soon as I left the clearing, I was assaulted on all sides by dense foliage and uneven terrain. I couldn't find any paths nearby. I was right about how far we'd gotten from the main path.

No one had been here in ages. I paced with my hands thrust deep in my pockets, casually observing the beauty of the dark forest. I noticed a strange number of large fallen branches on the ground. Normally this would have been nothing worth noting, but they were all massive and seemed fresh. Many of the branches seemed to come from young, healthy trees. It didn't look as if they could have fallen in a storm. I shrugged it off and continued my walk.

After about 30 minutes, I decided to head back and begin setting up camp. I found Amanda curled up in the trunk fast asleep. I considered leaving her there and just sleeping in a van rather than the tent, but the ground seemed soft and I wanted to stretch out in an open space. I gently woke her and we began setting up camp. It wasn't long before the tent was set up and we had a small fire burning. We sat around it, eating dinner in contented silence. A man arrested her head on my shoulder as I finished my meal. By then the fire had burned low and I was feeling drowsy. We curled up in the tent and were soon fast asleep. I woke to the sound of something moving through the forest. It sounded

massive, not bare massive, but even bigger, something gargantuan. I thought I heard one of those giant branches snap as whatever was out there stepped on it. I could hear it moving closer and closer to the clearing. I strained my ears and could have sworn I heard whispering. It was just barely audible, but it sounded as if dozens of voices were muttering to one another just out of earshot. I struggled to keep my breathing under control. Amanda was still asleep beside me. She had always been an incredibly heavy sleeper. I considered waking her but decided not to until I knew it was absolutely necessary. Suddenly there was a deafening crack followed by a crash in the sound of broken glass.

The lumbering footsteps stomped around for a while, then retreated back into the forest. I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, holding my breath until the forest returned to its typical nocturnal state. The noise had woken Amanda, and she asked what was going on. her voice groggy and confused. I grabbed my flashlight and stumbled out of the tent. My terror increased when I couldn't get the damn thing to turn on, but it finally flickered to life. An enormous tree had fallen on the car. I rolled around frantically looking for what had caused those footsteps.

I turned my flashlight back to the tree and observed the damage. The van was almost certainly totaled. The tree had fallen in such a way that the engine was definitely crushed. Amanda came out still bleary-eyed to see what was going on. She gasped when she saw the crushed van. What happened? I was still searching the depths of the forest for the thing I had heard. Something pushed a tree on it.

I bounced my light from one spot to another, hoping it would happen upon the creature that did this. What? A fucking monster or something? I heard it walking around and then it pushed the tree down. My hands shook and it felt as if I was breathing through a thin straw. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pull enough air into my lungs. Eric.

Amanda put her hands on my shoulders. There's no monster, atregeus bell, that's all. I couldn't control my breathing, and everything suddenly became too much. The sounds of crickets were too loud, and the sensation of Amanda's hands on me felt wrong. It felt like I was suffocating. Hey, you're having a panic attack. I was focused on fidgeting with my hands, but nodded to show I had heard her. Everything was too stimulating.

I simultaneously wanted to move and to lie down and feel nothing. Remember your breathing techniques. Amanda started to breathe loudly enough for me to hear. Stay in sync with me. I breathed with her and tried to relax. After a few minutes, I'd successfully calmed down. That was the first time I'd had a panic attack in years. They used to be constant.

Anytime I was under even the slightest amount of stress, I would lose all control. My throat would feel like it was closing up, and suddenly everything became too much to bear. I'd gotten better about it with time. I was a little ashamed that I'd let myself lose control like that again, though. I was thankful Amanda was there to help me. Are you okay? I'm fine.

I guess I just got a little freaked out. I was still sure I'd heard something outside the tent just before the tree fell, but I knew there was no point in arguing. If I had handled myself better, then perhaps I would have had some credibility, but having a panic attack right after claiming a monster destroyed our car didn't exactly help. We ended up staying awake all night, hoping against all hope that once the sun arose maybe our van was salvageable. But to no one's surprise, the morning sun only revealed more damage. The massive tree had fallen across the length of the vehicle, bisecting it and crushing it from end to end.

I examined the base of the tree. It hadn't snapped like an old or sick tree would. Rather, it had been uprooted, torn from the ground. I pointed it out to Amanda and she said the soil must have been too loose for such a large tree. I doubted her appraisal, but said nothing. What now? I shrugged. There's no cell phone service out here.

We'll either have to find help or walk until we get somewhere with service. One of us should stay here with the stuff. Someone might come by on the road. I thought back to the thing I'd heard the night before and shook my head. I think we should stick together. If someone drives by and sees the crush, van they'll probably call in a search party anyway. We can leave a note saying that we went looking for help. Amanda nodded her agreement we began to pack. She decided to bring only the bare necessities,

as we might have to walk for a long time. I recalled that we hadn't seen any signs of civilization for miles while driving here, so we decided to follow the road in the opposite direction, in the hopes that we would come across another town. We packed as much food as we could carry in addition to sleeping bags, the tent, and other miscellaneous supplies. With more than a few spare glances back at the wreckage of our van, we set off in search of help. We walked along the road for several hours. I began to notice more large branches blocking the path, as well as countless fallen trees. I realized that if anyone lived nearby, they'd have already cleared the road, but hope kept us moving forward.

The last town we'd passed was too far behind us to reasonably walk there. Eventually the sun dipped low in the sky and our legs began to tire. I observed that the road seemed even worse than before. The sensation that we were moving further from the civilization sat like a cold block of ice in my gut. Amanda didn't seem to be as affected. She was just as observant in me and had surely noticed the road's condition, but she'd always been more inclined toward optimistic thought. She probably still believed that we would stumble upon some village tucked away in the hills. We moved to the side of the road at the next clearing we passed and began to set up camp.

The sun hung just above the horizon as I struggled to assemble the tent. one of the pieces had snapped when we took it down earlier and I had to improvise. As I was doing so, I heard a noise in the forest to my left. It sounded like a large creature running through the underbrush. The thing sounded huge. My heart began to pound as it drew closer. I couldn't help but recall the creature I had heard the night before. I grabbed one of the tents plastic rods and wielded it like a weapon.

The thing bounded closer and closer until a large deer sprang from the shrubbery and ran past. It nearly barreled over Amanda as it disappeared into the forest on the other side of the clearing. Holy shit. Were you planning on killing it with that? She gestured to the thin, flexible rod I held. Better than nothing. I shrugged and returned to assembling the tent. Eventually I managed to get it together and began to help Amanda build a fire.

We tried to make it as big as possible in hopes the smoke would alert people to our location. We sat around the roaring blaze until the moon was high over. above us, our hopes dying with every passing moment. After a couple of hours, we decided to douse the flames. We were both exhausted, and Amanda fell asleep almost as soon as she laid down. However, I tossed and turned for much of the night. I couldn't tear my thoughts away from that enormous thing I'd heard the night before, or the strange whispering that accompanied it. However, I managed to drift into a fitful sleep after several hours. Suddenly, Amanda was rousing me, and a high-pitched sound filled the air.

She urged me to get up over and over her voice frantic. It was still dark outside. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up only to realize that the high-pitched screaming was the sound of a baby crying in the forest. Do you hear that? I nodded. The sound was unmistakable. A baby was crying somewhere out there in the darkness.

We both moved at the same time to grow our flashlights and stood outside listening intently. The noise came from the forest to her right. Amanda started in that direction. but I grabbed her arm and held her back. What are you doing? What if it's a trap? A trap? Are you insane?

There's a fucking baby out there that might need our help, and you think it's a trap? She jerked her arm away and glared at me. Look, it's just... Something isn't right here. And I... She began running toward the source of the sound before I had a chance to finish. I chased after her as the beam of my flashlight bounced around haphazardly. We entered the dense underbrush,

and for a moment I thought I'd lost her. But I caught a glimpse of her red shirt and a tangle of trees and veered in that direction. The baby's cries grew louder as I approached. I burst through a wall of shrubbery to find Amanda standing before a massive twisted tree. She looked up at it in a daze. The crying sounds came from where she stood, and I briefly thought she held the baby in her arms, but then I saw the terrible truth. A child's face pressed out of the tree's wood.

its expression contorted in agony and its mouth thrown open in a scream of torment the face strained at the wooden prison that entrapped it as if it was trying to tear itself free the wood flexed around it like rubber both Amanda and I stood frozen before the monstrous sight what the fuck was going on before I could say anything a great wooden limb swooped down

and impaled Amanda it snatched her limp form from the earth and she disappeared in the tangled darkness of the canopy. I watched it all happen as if it were in slow motion. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt something between a scream and a sob began to rise in my chest. Before I could react, a countless number of faces sprouted from the wood of the tree. They all sighed and rived in tumultuous expression of ecstasy. Their tongues reached out from the wood, and I watched as thick red fluid ran down the bark. The whole tree seemed to shiver with pleasures as the blood entered its eager,

waiting mouths. The faces now satisfied, silently retreated back into the monstrous tree. I stood there in stunned silence, frozen by a horrible concoction of terror, panic, grief, and confusion. The spell broke when a horrible creaking, tearing sound filled the air. The trunk of the tree before me split in half. One of the halves raised itself, its roots only loosely connected to the ground, and stepped toward me. Holy fuck the thing was walking I stared in awe for a moment But then it took another lumbering step and I was struck with terror

I immediately turned and ran the other direction As if reacting to my movement The trees sped up and its tendril'd legs began a steady march behind me Whispers filled the air And I spared a glance over my shoulder to see that innumerable faces Had once again sprouted from the trees bark I nearly tripped and turned back to watch my footing. One wrong move and it would be over.

That thing would get me and I would meet the same fate as Amanda. That thought almost stopped me dead in my tracks. Amanda was dead. My wife was dead. What point was there anymore? But something kept me running. Despite my grief, I still had a sense of self-preservation and nothing terrified me more than the thought of those twisted limbs carrying me into the darkness.

Branches crashed down around me. as the sprawling limbs of the creature tore through the tops of other trees. Nothing seemed to slow it down, and it maintained a steady pace as it hunted me. Suddenly a voice rang out from behind. Eric! It was soothing, and completely at odds with the current situation.

I turned to see a lone face peering down at me. It was Amanda's. Her features were largely obscured by the tree's bark, but I knew it was her. A gentle smile spread across her face. I slowed down at the sight of my wife. But the looming presence of the tree from which she protruded brought me back to reality. I faced forward and tried to ignore her cries behind me.

I veered into a dense thicket of trees, which seemed to momentarily slow the enormous creature. Defening cracks filled the air as it tore through the forest. Briefly out of sight, I dove behind a white oak and shrouded myself in foliage. Now free, the thing slowed and began to look for me. Nothing about its movement was quiet. and I heard her circling me, growing ever closer. Come on out, honey. It's okay.

We like it here. And you will too. I tried to control my breathing, but it became difficult. I could feel another panic attack rising. My breath came in short spurts, and it felt like the underbrush was suffocating me. It took every ounce of my willpower to not burst out into the open air. I remembered the breathing techniques I had always done with Amanda and tried to focus.

A few moments later I was under control, though only barely, and listening intently for the creature. I hadn't heard it move in a while. I heard a whipping sound and a great branch swooped down and tore at the foliage above me. It just barely missed me, shredding the plants that had previously concealed my form. I was completely out in the open. I dashed forward, just barely dodging another limb. The thing came crashing through the underbrush, wildly swinging for me, each time missing me by mere inches. I just want to hold you in my arms.

Don't you love me? It pained me to ignore her, but I knew Amanda was gone. That voice belonged to the tree, and I wouldn't fall for its tricks. I ran on endlessly until it felt like I would collapse at any moment. I could feel the ground shaking beneath my feet as the thing pounded after me. It was tireless, never stopping or slowing. I knew it would catch me eventually. Just then I saw that the forest thinned up.

out ahead. I thought I had come across another clearing when I burst forth into open air. I stood in a massive field that led up a steep hill. The forest was behind me and I saw nothing but planes stretching endlessly ahead. I glanced back to see the towering tree-like creature, standing motionless at the edge of the forest. It had stopped and only watched as I ran across the grass. Perhaps it couldn't leave. It made sense. After all, the forest was its domain. Maybe that's why no one had ever reported seeing them. They only exist in a limited and unexplored area. Regardless of why, I had won.

I began laughing maniacally and threw my hands up in victory. The terrible events of the past 48 hours still weighed heavily upon me, but for the moment, I was triumphant, and I relished it. I kept running my veins pumping with adrenaline. As I climbed the hill before me, a great chorus filled the air, The voice of hundreds of people rose from the other side. It sounded like some kind of festival or something. I realized there must be a village nearby.

That must have been why the trees stopped chasing me. It was avoiding civilization. A sense of relief filled me, and I eagerly crested the hill. I looked down to see hundreds of those trees. Each one riddled with faces that chattered and whispered and rived amongst themselves. I froze at the grotesque sight. Suddenly the voices stopped, and the thousands of the thousands of them. of faces turned towards me in silence.

Then, with bellows of ecstasy and excitement, they tore their roots from the earth and began to hunt. Wow, I guess you could say that's not the best way for someone to get wood. Am I right? Dude, that's a tasteless joke, you know? Oh, gosh, you're right. I can only apologize. I really should make my jokes more tasteful.

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Don't forget promo code no sleep for 20% off your first order. Now, shouldn't we return to the horror? Of course, the last thing we do to our listeners is leave them feeling abandoned. It's always cool when you're given a chance to show your pals where you grew up, especially when you're bringing them all the way from the U.S. to somewhere cool like Romania. But in this tale, shared with us by author Alex Woodrow, things have changed in the decades since Codron left home. Performing this tale are Graham Rowett, Atticus Jackson, and Nicole Goodnight.

So when you go back to your roots, you'd better hope that things are well, Otherwise, you'll have to toss aside any hope you might have and simply abandon. We spent a long time driving through the heat looking for that damned village. The last stretch of road was all potholes and cornstalks, growing out of arm-sized cracks in the concrete. Battered and dusty, we ditched the rental in a shaded spot by an ancient-looking city hall with a crumbly, complex moon dial above the front door. Codran, my man. Where to? Josh did his best to pronounce my name, but Codran wasn't exactly corn-fed American.

Every time he said it, I felt a bit like a cowardly fish. We can probably make it halfway up before nightfall. I'd rather have gone back to a cozy hotel instead. Put my feet up, have a beer, but my overly enthusiastic internet friends had been adamant. so damned adamant We're not going to be in like any sort of trouble or anything, right?

Ashley leaned over a chain divider to take pictures of the moon dial from a better angle unsatisfied she stepped over it and into the carefully planted flower bed I shook my head I know a place up the hill we can crash

even if I didn't it's all free camping I could just pitch no but like you know No. I raised my fingers to my mouth and mimed long canines, putting on my most exaggerated Russian-Romanian accent. You want to know whether the children of the night are going to come after us. She giggled, like that wasn't exactly what she'd been asking.

Well, isn't this their homeland? Hollywood's their homeland, and they can stay there. You're here for the real deal, so put that garbage behind you. Josh grabbed Ashley around the waist and hoisted her back over the chain fence Don't worry baby Nothing's gonna happen to team Joshley I gagged a little and turned away before I could take back all the nice things I'd ever said about them Josh shouted down to us from way ahead on the path

This place is the coolest Sweaty and gasping I waved back What's this place called again? I want to make a place Post. Honestly, Ashley had her phone spot-welded to her hand. I'd really rather we didn't infest the countryside with tourists. How about an abandoned village in rural Transylvania?

That's too many words. Josh walked backward up the path and beamed at her. How about? Spooksville, Transylvania, babe. Perfect. I groaned. Well, it was either that or... bringing droves of Americans down on my childhood home.

They meant well, but the place wasn't safe for tourists. It wasn't even safe for me. Stone walls and carved beams nestled between hedgerows and plum trees, barely recognizable as the ghosts of houses they'd once been. I knew them well, though. People had lived there. As far as my brain was concerned, on some level, they still lived there because I had no idea where they were now, if anywhere.

Nowhere, maybe. Is that a beer marquee? Josh stood before a squat-gray building surrounded by crumbling, faded houses and overgrown fields. I laughed at his frown. Silva, that's the village pub and where we'll be sleeping tonight. I figured we'd find it in one piece. A poured cement stoop in front of the little white door

was home to three square plastic tables, once red, but now faded by the sun to pastel pink. Cloth umbrellas stacked against the wall, housed spiders and little lizards hiding from the midday sun. The village was abandoned a decade or so ago, not the Middle Ages. Even before that, people were poor. If it was cheap and it worked, we used it.

You should have seen how many car doors were held together with wire. No wire on this one. Josh pulled with all his strength, and the front door budged. But years and rain had made it swell, and it dragged, growling across the concrete. At least that meant once we shut it behind us for the night, nobody would be able to open it without waking us up. I wasn't sure why that gave me comfort, considering we hadn't seen people in ours.

It was cool inside. The smell of musty old dust that got damp and dry over and over filled my nose. all the way to the back. As familiar as if it were family. More plastic tables, these ones bright red, sat to one side. There was a bar and a small wood-burning stove on the other side,

and behind the bar, newspaper-lined shelves held dusty bottles. Josh looked around. Quaint, is the booze still drinkable, do you think? I'll get us the good stuff. He stalked out, and within moments, sound of plastic, dragging across concrete, reached me.

This is not what I signed up for. I was fine with her complaining. It was part of the package deal, and she didn't mean most of it. She was the one who couldn't wait to get out there and document everything. The shelves were stocked with the regular low-income culprits. Quervo, Jack, and martini bottles stood proudly on the top shelves, even though they were crap compared to the local brew. people thought everything foreign was better.

They were clueless. I grabbed one of the rounded bottles at the bottom, dusted it off, and went out to find my friends lounging in the sun. What'd you get us? I showed it to Josh and enjoyed his confused frown for a moment. Ashley wrinkled her nose. Is that some sort of mold in there? Look more closely.

Josh figured it out first. Whoa. Dude, how'd they get a whole pair in there? Is the bottle like welded together or something? I turned it every way in the light to show him the seamless glass. Nope, local trick. I'm surprised nobody outside has ever heard of it. They take the empty bottle and tie it in place over the young fruit just as it starts to form.

It grows like it would in a greenhouse. When it's fully grown, they just snap the whole thing off, pour alcohol over it. and there you go. A perfectly preserved pear that's probably older than I am. Will it taste like pear? Taste. I giggled and uncorked a bottle, almost losing my knees to the hauntingly lovely embrace of the smell of home.

This is clear Tuica, my friend, not some sugary cocktail. Don't worry, you won't taste a thing. As soon as the light went, so did the heat. Licking orange Cheeto dust off his fingers, Josh leaned back by the cheerfully crackling stove. We haven't gotten drunk together since that time in group chat when we set this trip up. I may or may not vaguely recall that. You told us about the vampires.

If you don't stop calling them that, I'm going to personally dig up that stoker guy and make his every bone pay for it. Yeesh, all right. Tell us your sight, then, Spookmaster. Ashley stood to attention. Hang on, if you're going to tell us the story, I want to get it from my channel. I groaned, but let her get on with it. I'd known them for years.

We were online gaming together before they ever hooked up, and one thing was for sure telling Ashley, no, wasn't worth the drama and pouting that would extend, in all likelihood, well, into the next day. After a few minutes of fiddling, she propped the phone up to her liking. I'm getting the fire, too, and you're just a shady silhouette. Couldn't be better if I'd planned it. Ask you some questions, okay?

I nodded. And three, two. We're here in Spooksville, Transylvania, with our terror tour guide, sea. He's about to take us on a trip through an abandoned village. How did that happen? It's hard to be sure. People grow old and die. The younger ones leave.

This place isn't unique. There are hundreds of abandoned villages throughout Romania. But this one's special, isn't it? You grew up here. I did. Ever see anything strange? I hesitated for a moment, wondering which story to tell them first. Some of them were too good to break out right away.

Some of them, I never wanted to tell. When I was a kid, my cousin Mechna had trouble. He was ten years older than me, 16 at the time and engaged to a village girl. Engaged at 16? That wasn't unusual. They weren't going to be married for a few years anyway, but they'd been engaged forever. Anyway, the girl died.

I can't remember what of, but take your pick of diseases that are probably curable today in a civilized town. That's awful. One evening, he showed up at our house, just as the light turned gray. He'd been walking the cow. down the hill, he said, and felt this sudden urge to stop and look to the graveyard. He took a few steps toward it, and suddenly all the cowbells went silent. That never happens. You hear them for miles in every direction.

He said it was darker, too, like he'd fallen asleep and woke up hours later. And right in front of him stood a young woman, all dressed in white, a white veil on her head. A bride? When women die unwed here, they're buried in bride's clothes. They married death, see? His fiancé? There she was, rushing right past him like a gust of freezing air, smelling like the grave. Then she was gone.

What happened then? He went home and found all the cows in the yard, lying in the grass, dead. Then he came to us for shelter. He said the specter of death looked for him around every... corner. He looked so pale. The next day, his parents took him to a hospital in town for some sort of treatment. My grandmother made all kinds of blessings and spells for him for about a month. I'm not sure what happened after that. I looked after I moved away, but I couldn't find him. Did people here practice a lot of occult stuff? We didn't think of it like that. It was just normal

life, as real as science. It happens all over the country even now. It's not like we're talking about ancient history. No longer than 12 years ago or so, a friend of my grandmothers. She always went on about how they exchanged stitching patterns was widowed. She came to my grandmother one night to complain about her dead husband. Ashley let out a dramatic whistle, but beneath her exaggerated act, there was real terror. And I enjoyed every drop of it. The poor woman couldn't sleep, couldn't eat.

Her dead husband was making noises in the attic at night. Poisoning the food, turning the earth sour, drinking the well dry. The dead are always thirsty. She just wanted to move on after losing a loved one, and this foul thing touched every aspect of her life. But you keep telling us these aren't vampires? We call them Strogoy, and they're closer to a troubled spirit than anything else. They don't drink blood, fall in love, or throw mad parties.

They don't live. They only haunt and harrow. Is there any way to stop them? The villagers went to the graveyard with a horse, as per custom. You lead the horse to the grave you suspect holds the Strogoy. If it jumps over the grave, that means everything is fine. But this one, it stomped and foamed and bucked and refused to jump. That's how they knew.

Did you see it? My grandmother wouldn't let me, said it had touched me. She went, though. They dug him up, and my grandmother said he was as fresh as a lily. He jerked and spat at one of the boys by the graveside, who fainted right away. They had a big fire going nearby, with long carpentry nails glowing red-hot in it. The smith took one of the nails and placed it inside the ear of the corpse, then hammered it out the other side.

They were wrapped, and it fed me in ways I couldn't even understand. Maybe because nobody ever listened to our real stories. maybe because I knew how much more I had to show them. The Strogoy shrieked and hissed, then settled down. They stuffed his mouth with garlic for good measure, then shut the casket and put him back in his grave. That night, it was quiet. And then?

I don't know. I didn't believe half this stuff. Crap. Ashley fumbled at her phone. Battery died. It's cool, babe. He brought a power bank. Josh was already elbow-deep in his backpack.

Within moments, lights from her phone screen flashed across her face. The neon yellow, magenta, and blue only served to highlight how unearthly dark it was now that the fire was dying down. I stepped out for a moment to get some air and stretch. There were more stars than even I'd remembered. And more silence. It felt like I'd started something by two. telling them our history, but I suddenly felt unsure. I searched the horizon for a light, a house, a car, a fire on a hillside, anything, but there was nothing there. I slunk back inside,

and the little room felt like a tomb that no horse would jump over. I woke with a start, my heart loud inside my head. It was pitch black and nothing stirred, and yet something had woken me. As soon as I heard it again, I knew what it was. There was a cuckoovea singing somewhere above the house. Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo! Little owls, or nocturnal Athena, they were a native here. I hadn't heard one in decades, but I'd never forget the sound. They said when a cuckoovea cried over a house at night, somebody in it was going to die. Somehow, even in the indigo depths of sleep. Your mind never let you forget alarms like that. Ever since I was little, their cries would wake me. A funny thought crossed my mind. At some point before memory,

someone would have had to point their song out to me and tell me the meaning. Otherwise, how would five-year-old me even know it? But they only sing at three in the morning. I wondered who it might have been. And why? I woke up again. This time with White light flooding through the grimy windows and deep pain in every bone of my body. Rise and shine, guys. Long day ahead. Ashley groaned and turned over. Josh raised his head. What time is it? Go time. Well, pass me the water. I reached for the full bottle that we'd left on the counter and almost macked myself in the mouth when I lifted it. It was much lighter than I'd expected.

Empty. Josh shuffled slowly into a seated position. Water? We're out, I think. I turned the bottle in the light and saw it covered in dozens of fingerprints. Quickly, before he could wake all the way, I wiped them off. I didn't know why I did that. Why I didn't want Josh to see them.

One of them must have been up at night, thirsty. That was all. Out? Pale and tired. he shaded his eyes against the morning light. I refused to worry. Whatever, we passed a cattle trough not far back, and the water's clean there.

Let's just get out. The higher up we got, the more I succumbed to random memories. Stories told while shucking corn, going out to harvest potatoes, at one time by the fountain. Not a house or tree or pillar passed by without greeting me in some way.

My friends were both quiet and pensive. For once, I seemed to have the most energy. What's up, you guys? Didn't sleep well? Ashley looked at me through half-closed lashes. Shut up. I feel like I haven't slept in years. I want coffee.

I want a bed. I don't know what's up, man. It feels like I got anti-sleep. My limbs feel hollow. He did look so very pale. If you'd rather turn back, I half hoped he would. Was it too late now?

No, it's fine. Let's keep going. Maybe we can make good time and be back in town tonight. The schoolhouse passed us on the right. Roof caved in and yard filled with nettles. There were no memories waiting for me behind dark windows there. But I sort of remembered hurtling down that same road in a red, Dacha 1300 that my uncle drove, the seatbelt digging into his sweat-stained white shirt.

That must have been the night they sent me away for good. Do you guys remember when I told you about this village? Sort of. We were all pretty wasted that night. Ashley nodded, quiet, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Won't let the growling fool you, wear all ears. Today's sort of the ten-year anniversary of when I left. That's why I was making such a fuss about coming here when you guys decided to come along.

Anyway, I don't remember how it started, but I know for sure something was up. My grandmother was upset and frantic. She talked about things going badly for a while. Lambs born wrong and crops failing. Odd noises and almonds. Water run dry. Cattle stopped giving milk, that sort of thing. I paused to catch my breath.

In the distance, I could just... make out the massive carved wooden gateway that marked the entrance to my family's yard. One day, a Romanian woman came to our house. That wasn't odd. We traded with her all the time. Eggs for herbs and that sort of thing. I remember greeting her at our gate. Her skirt was the most colorful thing I'd ever seen in my life. I pointed to the wolfhead carved pillars standing on either side of a gate, wide enough to let a horse-drawn cart pass through. That one there. That was ours. Oh, holding up pretty well, huh?

It was. The fence and gate stood as it should, fighting plank and nail against age and rot and the weather. The house beyond it, on the other hand, was a wreck. My heart shattered audibly. I pushed the gate open and stepped into the weed-choked yard. See back there? That was a barn.

That's where the Romanian woman went. She and my grandmother scoured every inch of the place, looking for something. I don't know what. Eventually they found the right spot. Only wooden beam stuck out where the barn used to be, but I still recognized the corner in question. It was in my every dream. They sent me to bring back a bucket of water.

I asked why, and my grandmother said a very old spirit woke up and was hurting the village, and the Romanian woman would help us. get rid of it. She said it had been sent by the devil because the village was doing too well, and only we could stop it. Do you believe she was telling the truth? It was the first time they'd directly come out and asked me anything like that, but I couldn't bring myself to lie. I think so. We stood in silence for a moment, watching the barn with suspicious eyes. I brought the bucket in a hurry. I was terrified. They'd dug a hole in one corner. She sloshed some of the water around to draw it there.

Evo was always thirsty, she said. Then she put the bucket in the hole and covered it with a handkerchief and handfuls of hay. Sounds like a trap. Exactly like a trap. She told us not to go near it, and she'd be back in seven days. Josh stood in the doorway, fidgeting like a startled foal. That's kind of creepy, man. I shrugged.

Come on, let's keep going up to the well, and I'll tell you the rest of it. Who put a well on top of a hill anyway? Josh panted, heavy with last night's unknown toils. Who puts a well? On top of a hill? I've no idea. It's probably the weirdest thing about this place. I never understood why or how.

Nobody ever used this one. but there it is and always has been. And there's the graveyard. Can we sob for a sec? Sure. I need to finish the story anyway. Wild plum trees near the well gave us shade. Ashley leaned against the mossy gray wellstones,

heaved a big sigh, and polished off the last of our water. So what happened with the bucket trap? The Romanian woman came back seven days later. We all went into the barn And you could feel there was something weird in the air They lifted the hay and the Romanian woman shouted We got it

And started singing an unsong A sort of counter-curs, I guess She tied the handkerchief over the mouth of the bucket tightly When she lifted it out I could swear something twitched inside It looked like there was a hand in there Tapping at the bottom of the white fabric Poking it

My grandmother saw it, screamed about the devil, and leaned onto a bale of hay in a half faint. I didn't know what to do. They stared at me, speechless. The Romani woman handed me the bucket and told me to throw it out somewhere. She said, hurry, get rid of it, get it out of here before it escapes again. I was terrified and didn't understand she wanted me to dump it outside of the village. What did you do? I took the bucket and got rid of it in the...

only place I could think of. I looked at the well, chewing my lip. Ashley put it together first and jumped off the edge, gasping. Wait, did something move in there? Probably just frogs. Dude, you dumped it in the village well? Seriously? I was a kid, man.

Barely ten. No parents, nobody but my grandmother to take care of me. She was unconscious. Give me a break. Did it? Do anything? I don't know. You do understand that all of this might just be complete nonsense, right?

A grifter trying to fleece my family from money? Someone who slipped a frog into a bucket, it could be nothing. I sounded desperate and ridiculous, even to myself. But they sent you away? That very same night I was in a car with my uncle. He dropped me with some relatives and left me there. Never came back. Ashley sidestepped slowly.

until she was pressed up against Josh, looking for comfort. I don't even know if I should be taking pictures of any of this. I don't think they could ever do this place justice. How would I even explain it so that an outsider could understand? Yeah, tell me about it. There's no way. I tried to tell you guys. There's no way at all.

So, what? They thought you said something loose? Is that the real reason why everyone left? That's one theory. Yeah. Josh nodded like he got it, but I could tell he just wanted to get the hell out. Ashley couldn't decide whether to keep her eyes glued to the well or to the graveyard beyond it. Guys, I know this is going to sound crazy because it's like broad daylight, but I swear I keep seeing something weird. Like something's moving, but when I look at it, it's gone.

Babe, take it easy. It's probably just the heat, okay? We'll head back down now. I think we've had enough fun. Right, Cod? I wanted to say yes, so badly. I'd wanted to turn back the whole trip. And maybe we could have. Maybe before we got there, I could have, in good conscience,

said it was all a bunch of hogwash and left it alone. But now, I knew better. My grandmother had two. She'd written me after I left, telling me it was going to get a lot worse before it got better and how I shouldn't blame myself. I called her senile. But was she?

The whole damned village, wiped out, wiped to hell off the face of the earth. Abandoned, we told ourselves. But who abandoned it? Had anyone actually walked out? They watched me with pained expressions. I realized I'd been biting my nails hard enough to do. draw blood at the corner of my thumb. I'm so sorry, guys.

Behind them, the well bubbled up, roiling mud and shadows. I hadn't, for a moment, believed what was about to happen, and at the same time, I'd known it every step of the way. The kind of countryside knowledge of how life and death live right next to each other that makes a joke out of human intentions. I caught a glimpse of a bridal veil. but turned away, for fear I'd recognize the next faces that came out.

I never showed anyone the letter she'd sent me. I told myself it was because she was addled and talking nonsense in her old age, even though her handwriting was clear as always. She ranted and raved about how the villagers were all going into the ground, and soon she'd go with them. How a meal that big would keep it sleeping for a very long time, but not forever. how it'd be my turn someday.

I spent a whole year trying to track the villagers down with no luck, hoping to prove her wrong beyond a doubt. I didn't find a single one. Still, even with that niggle of suspicion, I was going to come alone. I figure either I'd find nothing and feel stupid or something would happen to me, and I'd deserve that for starting it. But then, if I were gone too,

What would stop it from getting worse? What would stop it from reaching out to the next village, looking to feed? And then the one after that, would it ever stop? The last words she wrote were these. The dead never sleep. They rest. The road back went by in a haze,

shadows moving down the hedgerows beside me. It was dark and raining by the time I walked past our abandoned rental. Josh's rental in his name. Their tickets, their hotel rooms. I hadn't even taken leave from work, scheduling all my uploads for the weekend instead. Except for the plans we made in our chat logs, I was never there.

And those kinds of digital footprints were my playground. Funny how that worked out. Soaking wet, cold and tired to the bone, I found myself by the highway, headlights zipping past. I stuck my thumb out. This time, it had all worked out. I'd have to be a lot more careful next time.

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 your 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 6. Rules of the inhuman world are usually simple. Many of them overlap with human rules. making them easier to understand. Don't take what isn't yours. Don't be rude. Even the ones that are antiquated can often be deduced if you realize

you're dealing with an inhuman thing. Don't refuse a gift. Be generous with your hospitality. Obviously, there are exceptions. Some creatures require you to do the exact opposite of these rules, which makes me wonder if it's an adaption to humanity's growing defenses

against the inhuman. And even if they're simple, that doesn't mean they're easy. to follow. This is why I try to document all the rules I know for my campground. There's no doubt when they're spelled out like this. There's no second guessing, no hesitation that perhaps this isn't what it seems that inhuman creatures can't possibly exist, right? And this way, they know of the consequences if they fail. Rule number eight, if you find yourself surrounded by a group of people whose faces you can't see, give them whatever they request.

They'll ask for an insignificant part of your body, such as a piece of your earlobe or a finger. Do not refuse or try to escape. They'll take far more from you if they must obtain it by force. It's a monstrous thing to ask of people that they willingly submit to being maimed. This is how you survive them. And around here, survival is all that matters. My name is Kate, and this is Goat Valley Campgrounds. I learned about the people with no faces from my mother.

She told me a lie when I asked her why I only have nine toes. And it was a beautiful lie. You gave your toe away when you were little. You came across a fairy in the woods who had no nose. She was crying. And when she told you why she was sad, you said she could have your nose if it would make her happy again. And the fairy refused because it was too great a gift.

So you offered the fairy a finger and that could become her nose instead. Because you had ten fingers. and again the fairy refused. Then you offered her a toe, and the fairy thought and thought about it, and finally said that she supposed a toe wouldn't be missed that much, and she took the smallest of your toes, and it became a cute button nose. But not as cute as your nose. But be careful.

The wicked fairies that stole the crying fairy's nose are still out there. That way I can't go into the woods. by myself? That's right. Someday you'll be able to go alone, I promise. When you know how to protect yourself from the evil fairies, I'll teach you everything. This is how my parents introduced me to the dangers and wonders of an old land. They told me stories of heroes and monsters. And one day, I saw my uncle carrying the remains of something that looked almost human out of the forest. And I realized the stories were meant to be warnings. I think that was my first step. out of childhood. It wasn't until I was in high school, helping my father bury the remains of a

camper who was divested of their liver, that I thought to ask my mother for what really happened to my missing toe. I'm not sure why I waited so long. It just didn't occur to me to ask, because it was such a trivial thing, something I'd grown up with and was as natural to me as my hair color. There's creatures in the forest that don't have faces. They travel in a group. We're not sure what they are. Demons, perhaps. But there's no way to know for certain unless you encounter one directly and use specific countermeasures. Of course, if you're wrong, all you've done is make them mad. That's not really an option, is it? No. Guess and check is a good way to die around here. You can avoid them if you just leave the area if you see them coming. The four-wheelers,

They help with that. He spoke absently in short phrases here and theirs. He stabbed the shovel into the earth. It was the middle of summer and the earth was parched, packed hard and brittle. His face was flush with exertion and sweat shone in his brow. Not sure why your mom went into the woods on foot, especially not so close to her due date. He stabbed the shovel into the ground and stared at it dully for a moment. Old frustration etched into the corner of his eyes.

eyes. I thought about the fights I'd overheard when they yelled at each other and hushed voices, their anger simmering low, as if that could keep from waking me or my brother up. I wondered if this was what they fought about. Maybe she really didn't know herself. Anyway, she was approached by the people with no faces. They wear raincoats, thin, dull, gray ones. But the hood raised, and no matter how you look at them, the memory of what their faces look like slip away. as soon as you look somewhere else. They each carry a scalpel. I've seen them out in the forest before.

They just smile at me and nod. They smile at you? Well, I mean, I can't see their smiles, but I know they're there. What happened next? They said they needed something from your mother. She said she'd grant it to them if it were in her power. If you're confronted with creatures so much more powerful than yourself,

the best strategy? Simply go along with what they ask and hope for mercy. My parents taught me how to survive. They taught me how to fight, but mostly they taught me to survive. They asked for a toe, but not hers, yours. And they called you by name, the one your mother had picked out but hadn't told anyone yet. Not even me. They took the smallest of your toes.

Wait, while I was still in mom's womb? Yes. They made a very small incision. I rushed her to the hospital and the doctor went ahead and did a C-section. You were only four days early. We worked for a bit longer until the hole was deep enough that the body wouldn't be disturbed by wild animals. Then we heaved it in and covered it up. Dad had some bushes to plant over the gravesite to help hide the disturbed soil.

We weren't trying to hide it from the police. They already knew. We were trying to hide it from the other campers. You said you've seen them out in the forest? Yeah. They've never asked me for anything. Maybe you're safe from them. Maybe since they've already taken your toe, they won't take anything else.

He sounded hopeful. I think he's right. I never worry about them approaching me in the woods. Not everyone in my family has been so lucky. In one of my office desk drawers is a knife. The handle is bone, the blade is bone. The binding is sinew. It was a gift, and I keep it because it was a gift,

and I was obligated. I never wanted to use it. It was given to me because of how my great-aunt died. I'm not certain if it was meant as a mockery or as some obscene token of respect. For despite the circumstances, I must reluctantly admit that my great-aunt chose her time to die and took her fury with her all the way to the grave. It started with my second cousin, her grandson. He went into the woods by himself.

I remember his father coming out of the woods. carrying him in his arms. His face set and grim. My second cousin was screaming, a blind terror that froze my limbs, and I stood there, shocked and senseless, until my father appeared. Kate, go inside the house and stay there.

The bite of his words snapped me back to myself, and I turned and ran. But not before I saw how my second cousin's legs moved. They flopped limply from the knee down, swaying back and forth with every step my uncle took. Like noodles, I remember thinking. Like noodles. And the next time my mom made spaghetti, weeks later,

I only took three bites before I thought of my second cousin's legs and threw up on my plate. That evening, after the hospital had gotten him sorted out, my mother sat my brother and I down and told us what happened. We were both in high school now, and they didn't tell us lies about our campground. Your cousin had a run-in with the people with no faces, the ones that wear raincoats. They asked him for the tip of one of his fingers, and instead of giving it to them, he tried to escape.

You said we should never do that with them. Right. But he thought he could reach the four-wheeler if he just ran fast enough. So they'd taken the tibia and fibula from both his legs. Is he going to be okay? Yes, but the doctor had to amputate just below the knee. After that, my great-aunt became a fixture on her campground. I remember thinking it odd that she'd be here constantly,

sitting in the rocking chair on our porch with her knitting in her lap. The campground had belonged to her until it became clear that she wasn't going to marry, I suppose I take after her. And ownership passed to her brother's line, my grandfather. My great-aunt didn't have much to do with the campground once she relinquished control, however. She felt it would be crass to hover, and instead let it go and let the next generation make of it what they wished.

I remember my father saying that she hadn't even said anything about the horses. Grandpa certainly had, and my father was bitter about that. He was bitter about everything to do with the horses, though. I liked having my great on around. I did my homework out on the front porch, sitting on the floor with my back against the house, and sometimes she'd tell me things about the campground. It's changed.

Sure, even back. when I owned, the trees had that thick quality to them. You know, how they seem to close in around you and tuck you away from the world? I know. The campers say that's why they like visiting here. Right. But it didn't feel as dangerous as it does now. I guess that's just what happens when you pass land from generation to generation.

someday it'll be too dangerous to own, perhaps. I hope not. I really want to someday own this place and run it like my parents do. I'm sure you'll get your chance. But just remember that the forest doesn't belong to humans. Never did. That's why we cut it down and build our houses in its place. Is that why the creatures of the forest try to kill us?

I don't think so. The world has always been a dangerous place. When humanity first peered out of our caves and into the dark and thought we saw monsters, we became prey. Mom said she'll teach me how to fight the monsters. Or did she also tell you that most people who fight monsters die? No? Well, they do.

It's a last resort. or you go into the fight knowing you likely won't walk out of it. There's so many things she told me, but this is the one I remember the clearest, for it was the last story she told before she died. She kept one of our radio units nearby, and it crackled, as one of the staff reported that they'd seen a small group of people

moving through the woods and raincoats. They seemed to be looking for people, and the staff should be careful. Great aunt set her knitting aside. Well, can't be. Kate, I guess it's time for me to go. I thought she might go home, so I didn't think much of it. Okay, bye. I'll see you tomorrow.

Then, after a small amount of time, I realized that I hadn't heard her car engine start. When I looked, it was still in the driveway. There'd been a finality to the way she said it was her time to go. The pieces started to fall into place. I grabbed the radio. and great-aunt went into the forest? I think something's wrong. I took one of the four-wheelers. I didn't have a plan. I just wanted to find her before she found the people with no faces. This is something I've had to learn. You can't save people, especially when they don't want to be saved. I caught up with

my great-aunt as the last of the people with no faces encircled her. I killed the engine and tumbled off the four-wheeler, running the rest of the way on foot. I hit one of them, grabbing its arm and trying to use my momentum to knock it out of the way, to give me room to get through to my great aunt. It was like striking a stone. The person didn't even flinch, merely shook their arm and broke my grip as if I weren't even there. I tried again, grabbing at their jacket,

and then at the hood trying to yank it back. They turned at that, seized my wrist and took a step towards me, forcing me back and away from the circle. I think the fact they'd already taken one of my teeth, toes before I was even born was the only reason they didn't harm me, even as I screamed and kicked at the one that held me at arm's length. Stop!

This doesn't concern you. You have nothing we want. Leave. Go home. Through all this, my great aunt remained stoic. She never even looked in my direction. Just stood there. gray hair like silver in the filtered sunlight, back straight, shoulder set.

Graynought was in her mid-90s, but there was a strength in her, like all her frailty had been tossed aside for this one last task. You must forgive my grandniece. She is of no concern to us. Because you already took one of her toes? You took my grandson's legs, too. We had need of them. I'm sure you did. And what do you want from me?

Would you be so kind as to give us the tip of your ear? It's a small thing, quickly taken, easily forgotten. Of course, I will happily grant such a simple request. You are most generous. It raised its scalpel, positioning it near the tip of her ear. Her hand moved so fast, shot up and seized its fingers, twisted. And then she had the scalpel and the person with no face was stepping backwards. I sensed its surprise.

My great aunt stabbed it in the face. It screamed a high, shrill tone, and the birds exploded from the nearby trees with shrieks of their own. I screamed covering my ears, and the person holding me back released me and turned towards my great-aunt. Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, come on then. You think you can maim my grandson without consequences? You think I'm afraid of you? They converged on her, brandishing their scalples, and she lunged at another with her stolen weapon. Behind her, the one she'd stabbed first had collapsed to the ground and was convulsing.

Then it went still and limp. The body was flattening into the earth. My great-aunt fought like a wild beast. I don't know how many of them she stabbed. Their screams were deafening. She was outnumbered, and they overwhelmed her and forced her to the ground. And then they began removing her organs. Kate, run. Get out of here.

So I ran. I'm not sure how far I went. I was running blind, not even on the trail, barely able to see through my tears. I don't know who or what grabbed me. There was just a hand suddenly on the back of my shirt, jerking me to a halt. And then before I could even rationalize what had happened, they had spun me around and was holding me close,

burying my face against their shoulder. It's okay. It's going to be okay. You don't need to grieve so much. Your great aunt has chosen her time to die. So many don't get to choose. It's okay. That's all I could make out.

Their words and the press of their fingers against my back. I don't remember what they look like. To this day, I don't know who they were. The next thing I remember was walking out of the forest, across the grass, back towards the house. I didn't cry at my great aunt's funeral. And I remember wondering if something was wrong with me. I understand now that we all grieve differently, and I had already mourned her out in the forest with that stranger that I'm now convinced was not human.

Our relationship with the people with no faces remained unchanged, despite the attack. I suppose they recognized that this was a personal thing between them and her, vengeance for what they'd done to her grandson. I didn't encounter them again until the day I took possession of the campsite. I'd returned from the lawyer's office to finish up the paperwork involved and was exhausted from a day of working through my parents' will. The people with no faces were waiting for me when I pulled up to the house. I stopped the car in the driveway and got out, walking to where they were clustered at the base of the patio's steps.

The hell are you doing here? You aren't invited. I don't know if they followed the rules of property or not. They seemed like the kind that would, however. When a creature has rules to their interactions with humans, they generally follow the rules of property as well. I acknowledge our trespass, but we have come to deliver a gift. Will you accept? I... Yes, I will. It's dangerous to accept a gift from an inhuman thing, but far more dangerous to refuse.

The harvesters stepped forward and handed me. a knife. It was made of bone. The hand from your second cousin's fibula. The blade is a sharpened rib from your gray on, and the sinew binding it together is from the muscle of her heart. May it serve you well. Great. Thanks. Now get the hell away from my house. I grew up with these rules. I saw the consequences. I saw the consequences.

his firsthand. I kept the knife, even though the sight of it filled me with helpless anger. It was a reminder of how powerless we ultimately are in the face of these creatures. I think the rules were some small way to keep the horrors I'm surrounded by from stretching out their hands to claim new victims. I hate that they existed, because like the knife, they were a reminder of how powerless I really was. All I could do was was more. born people and hope they heated me. Because even if I were to take that knife from my desk and go out there and confront those monsters head on, it wouldn't be enough to save everyone.

Perhaps my great-aunt felt the same. And when she was old and ready to die, she released all that rage and hate inside her and chose the manner of her death. Goat Valley Campgrounds was written and adapted for audio by Bonnie Quinn. Produced for the No Sleep Podcast by Phil Michalski. Musical score composed by Brandon Boone. Starring Lindsay Russo as Kate, Mike Delgado as Kate's dad,

Nicole Doolin as Kate's mom, Aaron Lillis as Kate's great-ant, Sarah Thomas as The Harvester, and David Alt as the Shepherd. Join us next week for Chapter 7 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. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.