The NoSleep Podcast - S17 Ep21: NoSleep Podcast S17E21

Episode Date: April 24, 2022

It's Episode 21 of Season 17. Our spells are kidding around with us. “Jay Didn’t Drown” written by Zachary Joseph (Story starts around 00:06:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Barry – Mike DelGaudio, Jay – Graham Rowat, Mr. Moore – David Cummings “How to Deal with Werewolves When You’re an Insomniac” written by Vincent Paiement Désilets (Story starts around 00:21:55) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Matthew Bradford, Sister – Danielle McRae “Tag in the Dark” written by Nick Creighton (Story starts around 00:37:50) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Atticus Jackson, Crystal – Nichole Goodnight, Eric – Jeff Clement, Leah – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Mom – Erin Lillis “Goat Valley Campgrounds – Chapter 8” written by Bonnie Quinn (Story starts around 01:10:30) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Kate – Linsay Rousseau, Man With Skull Cup – Mick Wingert, Perchta – Erika Sanderson, Sheriff Sabotta – David Cummings, Tortured Man – Mark Anzalone “Green Waffles” written by Manen Lyset and J.J. Cheesman (Story starts around 01:05:20) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Daniel – Kyle Akers, Mikey – Elie Hirschman, Louis – Jeff Clement “Swing” written by J. J. Smith (Story starts around 01:30:00) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: John – Dan Zappulla, Mom – Jessica McEvoy, Bill – Graham Rowat, Dad – Jesse Cornett 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 Zachary Joseph Click here to learn more about Vincent Paiement Désilets Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset Click here to learn more about J.J. Cheesman Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone “Jay Didn’t Drown” illustration courtesy of Naomi Ronke 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

The No Sleep podcast is ready to begin. Let's venture down the dark tunnel of terror. Dark tunnel of terror? Can't we be more positive? What happened to the light at the end of the tunnel? There's enough darkness out there, war, disease, the economy. I know, I know. Money issues are especially rough. It can be hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you have high interest debt. And sometimes it can be even harder to ask for help. That's where Upstart comes. comes in. Upstart certainly can help bring some balance to difficult financial situations. Upstart powered personal loans can help you pay down high interest debt, all online, with simple and easy to understand payment terms. Did you know Upstart has helped over 1.8 million customers

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You can check your rate in minutes for loans between 1,000, to $50,000 without impacting your credit score. You can even receive funds as fast as one business day after accepting your loan. How can our listeners get started today? Don't wait and check your rate today at upstart.com slash no sleep. That's upstart.com slash no sleep to check your rate today. Don't forget to use our URL to let them know we sent you. It's worth mentioning that loan amounts will be determined based on your credit, income,

and certain other information provided in your loan application. So don't be slow. Go to upstart.com slash no sleep. There, that's not too dark now, is it? Thanks for bringing a bit of positive light to all this. You're welcome. But, alas, the dark disturbing horror is starting right now. The time's long gone.

In days of yore. There are legends and tales of 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. Things are getting uncanny in the valley, eh? Last week's foray into Goat Valley Camp Grounds took a decidedly vicious turn. Oh, no, no, don't worry. Don't worry, I won't drop any spoilers for you folks who are saving up to binge the series. That's what I've been thinking about this week, actually.

Holding on to information, keeping it close to your... chest until you're good and ready to get it all out there. Sometimes I wonder how long our mysterious benefactor from last season, Boston Coleridge, had been sitting on all those documents. We know it was many years, well, according to Joanna, at least. But I don't know, I think she was telling the truth there. So I just wonder, what led him to decide how long to wait? What made him think I was the perfect person to send them to? I asked partly because, as you know, I still have the documents he bequeathed me, of which I've released, uh, maybe 2%, there's way too many to put on the podcast. Not all of them are suitable to be presented as audio fiction either.

But hey, I guess we have sleepless sanctuary publishing now. Maybe more of Coleridge's documents will see the light of day. Or maybe they already have. So sorry if I don't have that much to say today. I'm caught between a lodge and a gold place. I've got the Stanley on the left of me, Gold Meadow to the right, and here I am stuck in the middle with suitcases. Packing for the Stanley Hotel live show is easier. I know what to take. Change of clothes, toothbrush, parabolic microphone, Brandon, script printouts, but my vacation to the Gold Meadow Resorts, who knows? They mentioned scuba diving. Should I bring my own oxygen tank, or will they have some on site? I guess I should call them up.

They did say that if I had any questions, I could speak to one of their friendly advisors. Maybe I'll do just that in the coming weeks. Ah, but for now, I've got a podcast to host. In our first tale, we joined Barry and his best friend as they head out on their final scouting trip before they graduate. It's a main event, and they're going canoeing. But in this tale, shared with us by author Zachary, Joseph, none of the lads boy scout training can prepare them for what's waiting out on the river. I join Mike Delgadoo and Graham Rowett in performing this tale.

So let's row out and gaze upon the beautiful blue water. Just be wary because Jay didn't drown. If you've checked the news lately, you'll know that the Boy Scouts are screwed. It's hard to recruit new members when sex abuse is the first result when you look us up. Maybe that's for the best. To let the damn thing die, considering how many people have been hurt. If I'd quit sooner, then maybe Jay would have quit too. And we never would have gone on that damned main trip.

But I didn't. I clung on, even as Troop 17 steadily bled out at scouts. Until finally, Jay and I were the only ones left. It was the summer before our senior year, our last chance to do something big before college. With the last of the troops' funds we set out north, canoes secured to the top of our scoutmaster's pickup. Hey, Barry. Jay twists in the front seat to peer back at me, a mischievous grin worn under his Bruins cap. We must be pretty special, huh? I mean, how many troops do you think can fit in a single car? Less special than you think.

How many troops are left, period? I sigh and set my head against the window, feeling the tremors in the road as the car totters along. Hey, nah, don't get all melancholic on me. You're pissing all over the mood. Language. Really, Dad? I'm going to be an adult in two months, and I can't say piss in front of you? Your dad doesn't mind one bit, but your scoutmaster, that's a different story entirely. Mr. Moore takes one hand off the wheel to slip under his son's car. cap, ruffling Jay's short brown hair. I smile, turn back to the window and stare. A glistening river

runs parallel to the rocky street, hidden behind a shroud of dense forest. It seems as if the trunks are inching closer and closer as we drive further from home. And somewhere not so far ahead, the trees will stand in a single file as one impenetrable wall. It's evening when the car finally slows to a halt. The dirt lot is empty. The three of us hop out of the car and start to unpack the gear in the back. We make quick work of the tent, staking its corners into the earth in a grassy clearing by the river. When camp is finally set, sweat shines on each of our foreheads in the molten glow of the sun. With the scoutmasters go ahead, Jay and I slip out out of our clothes and wade into the shimmering water. In spite of the thick summer heat, the river

is cool, and the hairs on my arm stand erect as an aquatic wind brushes past my legs. Jay and I stare on as the river stretches infinitely towards the horizon, mesmerized by the pastel pinks and reds of the watercolor sky. First thing tomorrow, you and me, out there, alone. Think of Jay. I remember him as he was then. Lean, with long legs and thin shoulders, half submerged, naked except for his underwear, grinning at me. Jay and I sit nestled together, drying by the flickering embers of the fire. We listen as Jay's father tells stories of his previous trips, the starving wanderer who had begged to take refuge in his camp one night, when Mr. Moore had

finally obliged and invited the man inside, the stranger simply shook his head and walked away, disappearing into the forest. I shouldn't have offered, but he seemed so, so scared. And then there was the story of the procession of empty canoes that one by one had floated down the river. There must have been four of them, one after the other. When Jay and I are finally dry, the river is as black as ink, as deep as the midnight sky. I give it one final look before retiring for the night.

First thing tomorrow. Its gentle humming lulls me into a blissful sleep. I awake to a fine mist draped over the camp. The gleam of the sun barely pierces through the gray of the horizon. Jay rumbles excitedly as he stuffs his father's pancakes down his throat. And before I can finish, he's taken my hand, and we've set off to the car, taking down the canoe and heaving its deep green hull to the shore. Hmm, shouldn't you two wait for the haze to clear?

Mr. Moore scrapes the last of his plate syrup into his mouth. Oh, Dad, Mr. Scoutmaster, we're not amateurs, it's just a little mist. Fine, just be smart. You know where the flare gun is? In the tin box behind the front seat, along with the bandage, gauze, compass. All right, all right. Mr. Moore grins. Go on then. Have fun on your date. And so Jay and I shoved the canoe out onto the river and climb aboard.

Our oars glide through the smoky water, mirror to the sky. We propel ourselves away from the shore until it seems that we are totally alone, stranded in the clouds. The river is still, and the canoe settles as our hands let go of the oars. Barry. Jay's whisper echoes in the clouds. quiet. We sit with our knees pressed together, facing each other in the cramped boat. Then suddenly his hands wrap around the back of my head, and his lips are on mine, and we laugh, laugh, laugh. I fall back and his chest lands on mine. We lay there, kissing, grinning. Say what you will

about the Boy Scouts. It has certainly been an enlightening experience for me. Is this the last time we'll get to do this? Jay frowns. We're staying here for two weeks. Of course it's not the last time. That is, unless you decide to run off like the lunatic from Dad's story. I peck him on the cheek. No, idiot. I mean, after this trip, when we're off to college, are we going to... I don't know, what are we going to different colleges? If we're hours and hours apart, are we out of time? Jay shakes his head. This isn't a very romantic conversation. It's like I said, you just love pissing on the mood. It's my second favorite thing. Jay's lips find mine once more, but a blinding light suddenly glares in my eye and I motion for him to move away. What's wrong?

I think the fog's clearing. Time to start rowing if we want some privacy. Really? Still looks pretty thick to me. I sit up. He's right. The fog is even denser than before. I stretch my arm over the water. My hand is swallowed from sight as it plunges into the mist. I pull back and my fingers are damp from the moist air. Jesus! I dry my hand against my thigh. I scan the horizon for the glint of the sun circling all around me. Nothing but mist. Nothing until I look straight upwards. The sun shines brilliantly over. head, a beacon of gold in the foggy sky. So bright.

I shield my eyes. Take a look at this, Jay. He's kneeling over the edge of the boat, swiping again and again at the haze. His arm blinks in and out of sight. Jay? What? Look up.

And he does. The light seems to sneak past the brim of his Bruinscap and smother the whole of his face. Something about Jay, his face staring straight up into the sky, clicks. And I realized that something is terribly, violently wrong. Why is it there? In the sky? No, Jay.

Listen to me. We set off at, what, 8 a.m.? It shouldn't be that high for hours. Time flies when you... Jay, either four hours have passed or more, or... That isn't the sun. The words are swallowed by the wall of smoke surrounding the canoe. A puzzled frown worms its way onto Jay's face.

What else could it be? We look to the sky, burning our retinas as the light beams down at us. Is it? Getting bigger? I raised my hand to hold my thumb over the golden light, snuffing it out. One, two, three, four, five seconds pass. and then it eclipses my thumb. My hand drops to my lap awestruck. Why the hell would be getting bigger?

Jay's hand rockets towards mine, snapping shut around my fingers like a mousetrap. It's not getting bigger. It's getting closer. The molten blur fades as the sun descends from the sky. What had appeared as beams of light, slowly take shape as spindly threads of translucent flesh, spiraling down like the legs of a spider.

The legs pointed at the ends like needles extend from a great, glowing bulb, expanding in the sky as it edges towards the canoe. I loose my hand from Jays. Rowe! Our oars sighed through the murky water, speeding forward, pressing through the heavy, damp mist. We row and row and row far past where the shore should be.

But there is only water. There's only fog. And the creature descends all the same, positioned perfectly over the canoe, no matter how fast we cut through the water. It takes up a third of the sky now, blessing the fog with its pleasant light and warmth. Defeated, I dropped the oar. Oh, fuck! I hide my hands in my face, hiding from that damned light. Jay reaches out for me, shaking my shoulder urgently.

Harry! Harry! I can only sob louder, and so Jay pulls me into his chest and holds me there. We're scouts, right? We can figure this out. I take a few sharp breaths through my nose, and then I push Jay away, somehow managing a smile through my burning cheeks, through the oppressive glow of the creature so close now. Its legs spin like ribbon in the air, twisting and turning with graceful flourish as it approaches.

I duck beneath Jay's seat, my trembling finger. find the latch to the tin box and I swing the thing open. Gauze, sprays, ointments. Jay kneels down to me and reaches for the compass. The needle's just spinning wildly. More rummaging. Then something dull and orange. Here!

I take the flare gun in my hands. I look once more to the sky, now almost wholly filled by the creature. Its skin ripples like the river at dusk. The legs, there must be ten of them. More! Are mere feet from the creature. the canoe, I take aim at the golden heart of the creature and pull the trigger. It clicks. The flare

sputters out of the barrel, barely flickering, and it moves so slowly through the air as if the air itself was as thick as water. What? I look at Jay, the brown tufts hanging out from under his cap, his Bruins cap, and then I see it. The bee, it's facing the wrong direction. I snatch up the compass, here too, all of the letters are mirrored, as if the whole world were a reflection. I grabbed Jay's hand, and just as the golden legs is stabbed through the air, I roll off the canoe and crash into the river. I break out onto the surface panting. The canoe is overturned in front of me. The fog is starting to clear and the morning sun hangs towards the east. As I clamber onto the underside of the boat, Jay pops out of the water. I sigh, relieved. Jay, I run. I run. I run. I

really thought we were. Bury. Bury my leg. I look down in the water. One of the golden needles is pierced straight through his calf. The ray of light turns around and speeds towards the foe's sun, and it starts to tug to pull Jay out of my grasp, to take him away from me. I anchor my stomach around the edge of the canoe and pull screaming, watching as one by one the needles pierced Jay's lower half. He screams, rides, refuses to let go until he finally goes limp, and the creature wrenches him from my grasp, dragging him under. I dive down into the water, thrashing towards him. But he's not there. The river is cold and black. I return to the surface, and I could only watch through the water's reflection as Jay is lifted towards the creature's bulb. Finally,

absorbed into its glimmering skin. Out of time, I tread water. Out, when my legs start to ache and I can float for no longer, I flipped the canoe over and climb in, wondering if, had I not escaped the creature's grasp, the boat would have floated down the river. Unmanned. Che didn't drown, but no one listened.

At least no one. No one listened until the dried corpse finally appeared down river, melted beyond recognition. Only then did Mr. Moore take me into his arms. The two of us sobbing, shaking. Only then did he believe me. Every town has a unique quirk. In some, you can't use the sidewalks on a Sunday. In others, anyone over the age of 16 must hum a tune when leaving the town limits.

Weird quirks like that. And similarly, in this tale, shared with us by author Vincent Pemone Deselaide, we visit a burgue where lichensropes run wild at night. Like I said, weird quirks. Performing this tale are Matthew Bradford and Danielle McCray. So living under the light of the full moon might be a pain, but you just have to grin and bear it. Or you could look up some tips on,

How to deal with werewolves when you're an insomniac. The routine started 30 minutes before sunset. Close all curtains. Turn off all lights. Make sure there's no meat left out of the fridge. Take a shower to wash away your body smell. And, shut up. Not a sound.

Tiptoe on your way to the toilet. Never, ever flush. People who had money could afford bars on their windows. They could buy silver bullets or spray can of werewolves. repelain. My father said there was no way that could work, that it was a scam, but I'd feel safer with a can of it anyway. I'd put it next to my bed. You feel safer when you have something to grab, something to hold in your hand, even if it won't do you any good. For most of the night, I couldn't sleep. My eyes stayed stretched open, aimed at the window as howling outside bit

my eardrums. In the dark, if you stare at a point long enough, it starts moving. Like, a spider. Your mind does that. I tried to think about the beautiful things to make the fear go away, so I wouldn't sweat, so I wouldn't smell, and so maybe I could sleep. But the image of a werewolf jumping through my window flashed to my head like a sick light bulb. Peace and dread fought each other through imagery, a gentle stream flowing through the woods, jaws closing with big white teeth snapping, a rabbit jumping in the ground. ass, furry creatures creeping through the night and badly lit street, and my dog Caney licking my ice cream cone. My dog Caney torn open on her front porch in a pool of guts and blood.

She had run away one day. I'll never know why. We looked everywhere in the neighborhood and didn't find her. We had to get back home and prepare for the night no matter how much I beg my father to keep searching. She'll come back, he said. And she did. in the middle of the night, scratching on the front door. I headed toward it, terrified to let her in. My father heard her too and stopped me right before I could turn the doorknob. Then came the growls, with a rumble. Caney's screeching as fangs and claws tore her to pieces. An hour or two, or maybe even three, went by. I shifted position again and again. Sometimes I'd focus on a sound, the creaking of the house, the wind blowing outside, or the occasional howl.

It got quieter as the night progressed. Sometimes I'd put my hands to my ears trying not to hear anything. Sobs snuck through the walls. My sister was in the room next to mine. She cried every night. I stayed in my bed too tired to move. She had to learn a deal with the night on her own. All she had to do was build the bunker like I'd shown her.

But that night, we were alone. Our parents were at a friend's house. They had got held up, and then it had been too late to go outside. Darkness came sooner that time of year. They had called. Did I remember the routine? Would we be all right? Would I take care of my sister?

We would stay in bed and keep quiet, right? Well, of course we would. I got up, slowly, careful to make the bed squeak as little as possible. My sister could learn to deal with the werewolves on our own. own another time, when our parents would be here. Her room was completely dark, as it should be. I whispered her name and got no answer. I tapped on the bed, felt the sheet. Nothing. She wasn't under the bed, either. Noises, like quick footsteps. I rushed to the kitchen and then froze. The front door was wide open, cold air invaded the house. A wave of panic rose in me,

but I swallowed it down. I ran to close the door and lock it. My heart was battering my rib cage. Why on earth would she leave the house? I forced myself to breathe, to stay in control like a big brother should. I put on my glasses and a sweater. I peeked behind the curtain. There was no one in the street, as expected. The town had a curfew, a useless one since nobody dared to go out at night anyway.

Beastial shapes lurked in the darker spots. Maybe my imagination. When you're scared, everything's. threat. Nobody knew how many were wolves were roaming out there. 10, 20, 30? Sometimes it sounded like a hundred, sometimes it was complete silence. And their numbers increased. A bite could turn you into one of them. If you survived it, that was rarely the case. With my hand on the doorknob, I took a deep breath. I had to act. She was alone out there. I went out. The street, the streets were dark, the lampposts rare. I looked left and right countless times before I dared

stepping off the front porch. Should I call my sister's name? Bad idea. They would hear it before she did. She couldn't have gone very far. She must have been hiding somewhere. She'd been walking around the odds that she was... Tried not to think about that. I walked on lawns, avoided the streets, tried to look in every direction at once. It was cold. Breathful. Logged my glasses, and the wind acted against me, lessening my hearing of whatever could be coming my way, carrying my smell to whatever was roaming around. Seemed pretty close. I hid behind a bush, looked around.

Nothing in sight. The howl came again, closer. Then I saw it. On the opposite side of the street, perched on a rooftop, it lifted its snout in the air, trying to pick up on some smell. Mine. I slowly moved away from the bush and walked along the wall of the house until I reached the backyard. A small doghouse rested under a tree.

The kind of place my sister would hide in. I approached, using a stealthy ninja walk I had learned at my karate summer camp, heel side soul. I kneeled in front of the doghouse. As I leaned closer, a growl came out, followed by a furry head. I jumped back. A dog, as scared as I was. It barked, so I ran away as fast as I could. The barks would turn into squeals very soon. In a narrow street, I stopped to catch my breath and wipe my runny nose. Then a werewolf came running and stopped in the middle of the intersection. I rushed behind a car and crawled under it. Think quickly, what to do next? Better run if it saw me, but how can I know before it was too late? From underneath the car, I peeked out. The werewolf was gone. I glanced around. Heavy paws on the sidewalk.

I inch sideways to get a glimpse. The werewolf was walking on all fours, its long, messy hair almost touching the ground. Its head scanned left and right. It sniffed with its noisy snout, mouth half open with the fangs overflowing out of it. It was coming my way. The fear I felt must have been the same feeling my sister had.

But damn her for going outside. Since when was she so dumb, how could she do something like that? I should have been a better big brother. Should have gone to her room when I heard her cry. Should have been nicer. Should have done something like I did on the first night when I'd heard her sobbing. I'm scared, she had said in a trembling whisper, pointing to the window. There's one right outside.

I heard it too, rubbing against the house, growling. We went under the bed and I made her a bunker with the blankets. The werewolf jumped on a car and led out a bone-wrecking howl. The others from all over town answered. I had to cover my smell. Even with a sweater and a shirt on, it wasn't enough. I tried rubbing some dirt on my skin, but the ground was too stiff. The werewolf jumped off the car and landed in the street.

It was getting closer. I could hear its breath. Something else moved in the corner of my eye. Another one? I stayed still, forced myself not to look. The werewolf sprinted towards something and I closed my eyes, helpless against what was coming. But the wolf was running away from me. Then came the screams, the painful screams of a cat or cat.

But it saved my life. After I'd heard nothing for a while, I crawled out from under the car. Time to go home. I wouldn't find her. I'd only get killed in the process. At that point, there were three scenarios. She was already dead. A chill of dread and guilt passed through my body.

Or she had found a good hiding spot and she'd stay there until dawn. Or she'd be going back home. And if she did, I'd better be there for her. So I made my way back toward the house, glancing behind me all the time. The closer I got to home, the stronger I wanted to run. And I resisted the temptation until a growl convinced me otherwise. Then I ran. I ran as if I could take off in the air, sprinted until all of my weight bumped into my front door.

I was bent in two, panting when the closet door swung open. My sister rushed into my arms, in tears, talking so fast I barely understand. I got up to get the picture of Mom and Dad at the Shalai, and I thought I heard their voices outside. So I opened the door. and there was no one on the porch but I saw something moving on in the street so I closed the door

hidden closet I think I closed the door badly in an open I'm so sorry I was too scared to come out until I knew it was you I tried my best to comfort her and we got her to her bedroom I pulled a blanket over her

and swore I wouldn't leave the room. A loud noise came from above us, followed by quick and heavy steps. My sister sprang up from her bed and stared at me with two large white circles of her eyes. One of the werewolves had tracked me to the house. It was on the roof, seeking a way in. I grabbed my sister by the arm and dragged her out of the room. The window shattered. We ran into the bathroom shut and walked the door.

The werewolf crashed into it. The wood cracked. My sister screamed and sank her nails in my hand. Don't let again! I looked around. Nothing helpful. I grabbed the hairdryer and broke the mirror with it. I picked up the largest piece of glass with a towel around my hand, and I waited.

The werewolf rush the door again. The latches threatened a break. And then, like a miracle, it all stopped. Not a sound. The half-broken door stayed motionless. And so did we. until my sister pulled on my sleeve and pointed at the small window above the toilet. Thin rays of light sneaked through the closed curtains.

I opened them like heavy rain after months of drought. I slowly walked toward the door, holding the piece of glass so tightly that it went through the cloth and cut my hand. I peaked through one of the holes. A naked man was lying on the floor, passed out. Our father. Oh, great. It's a full moon, and I'm out here walking in the woods. It's bad enough I'm basically in Goat Valley Campgrounds.

Now I have werewolves to look out for. Creepy dancers, men with skull cups, weird little girls, and now werewolves. These walks are becoming rather stressful. And stress is definitely something to avoid, something my wilderness walks were meant to alleviate, at least a little bit. So I try to watch out for signs of stress. For me, stress usually means disrupted sleep. Yes, yes, yes, I know.

I'm Mr. sleepless, the guy who never sleeps. But when work stress and other concerns plague me, I find myself awake during the dark hours when you dare not close your eyes. Literally. And it's not just about lack of sleep when dealing with stress. people don't always realize that some physical symptoms are indicators of stress. Teeth grinding, for instance, headaches, even digestive issues can be indicators of stress. And let's not forget about lack of appetite, or in my case, overeating.

Stress shows up in all kinds of ways. So, as I like to do during these walks, here is your reminder to take care of yourself. watch out for stress indicators and maybe try some therapy. Like BetterHelp, professional therapists can help, and that's why I recommend you try BetterHelp. 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. Give it a try and see if you have to. 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 be good to yourself. Wait for a nice sunny day to hit the trails and walk in the forest and consider. Consider talking with a professional therapist. You'll be glad you did.

Okay, now let's get back to the horror. I think I hear someone coming, and I don't want to get caught in this rather intense game of tag. At its roots, it's an ancient game. Some say it hails from before the dawn of time. Some claim they saw dinosaurs playing it. It has many names in its many forms. Manhunt.

hide and go seek, catch. But in this tale, shared with us by author Nick Creighton, one thing we can call it is terrifying. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, Nicole Goodnight, Jeff Clement, Sarah Thomas, and Aaron Lillis. So the sun's beginning to set. Night is falling. Let the games begin. It's the perfect time to play.

tag in the dark. Currently sitting in my childhood bedroom, waiting for my mom to get back from work. I've been perusing R-slash-no-sleep in similar subreddits a lot lately. And being in this house reminded me of a story I can actually share. Since mom picked me up, I have nothing to do and know where to go until she gets back. So I figured I'll try my hand at writing one of these. I haven't lived here for a couple years now.

I moved to the city to attend university after graduating high school and haven't been back much, aside from the holidays. In truth, university was just an excuse. I really just wanted to get the hell out of the sticks. I grew up in this town, which is less than 12,000 people, a few elementary schools, and only one high school. I know lots of you probably grew up in much smaller places, but I think we're cut from the same cloth. I mean, going to Walmart as a kid was practically the same as a vacation in my mind, or at least would be the closest I'd come to one. That being said, I might lose a lot of you when I say that our roads were paved, mostly,

and the town's hub garnered a lot of tourism, so it's not like we're smack dab in the middle of nowhere. My mom's house, on the other hand, is a different story. It sits out by the lonely creek on the island. outskirts of town, about a 20-minute drive to the closest grocery store. You wouldn't find street lamps or sidewalks out here, but you would find me, my mom, and my older sister Leah. While we have neighbors, our homes aren't packed and tight like the suburbs. Even if you knew they were there, they're hidden from view by large stretches of thickets and trees. As far as we

were concerned, we were living in total isolation. My friends in town loved coming over and playing out in the woods when we were kids. Compared to their little tuna can communes, it was the equivalent of trailblazing through uncharted territories. It may sound exciting, but there's not much going on at my house. No paved pathways, dainty gardens, inset pools, or fancy decks. Instead, there's extremely long fences on either side of our property, lined by ditches on both sides. which end abruptly. Where you'd expect a right angle, there was nothing.

No corners or turns boxing us in. No frames around the land. I think it's just there to drain water and show where the property ended between us and our neighbors. While it walls us off on the sides, the gap of the back lays open to the vast forest, which sprawls all the way to the coast. Accessible to anyone brave enough to venture there.

The house is a small, modest building, even after someone had added an extension to the weathered rustic cottage before we moved in. I say extension, but in truth it was clearly an afterthought. It was essentially an unsightly trailer that had latched onto the home like a leech. Its tail extended out into the yard and trees while its ma opened up into our living room. At the tail end of this ugly L-shaped concoction was my bedroom, where I'm sitting now. I used to love it, having windows on both sides of my room. They were low enough that I could climb in and out during games of tag if I stacked up some cinder blocks. It pissed my friends off when I'd stow away here, but I always thought it was pretty funny when I'd finally pop up.

The only other building on our property was a garage-like shed which sat at the end of a long, muddy, road, somehow outlasted the seemingly endless fences. I always found it strange that it was erected so far away, until my mom relayed some hearsay that it was there before the house was built, so they weren't actually sure if it was part of the property at all. It was so far, in fact, that there was a large swath of old trees and bushes which covered the space between the structures. It was dense, but you could see the garage peeking through the brush.

at night since the last owners installed some automatic lights on the outside. It wasn't exactly convenient, so we never really bothered to use it. It always was, and still is, just an empty building with stained concrete floors. Despite this, the automatic lights came on all the time at night. I guess it was just small animals or my neighbor's dog running by. I imagine the sensors must have a ludicrously wide range. With the property so small in the inside and unfathomably large on the outside, it was difficult to sit still indoors. There was always new stuff to find.

After starting school, I would regularly have a number of my friends come over, and we'd spend all day and nearly all night, outside. I remember we'd often pretend to be Jedi's, chopping each other's limbs off with saber-like sticks while force-jumping on the trampoline. I was more of a decapitation kind of guy. I was always amused by the number of friends who tried to convince me humans could survive without a head, and even more often, deeply frustrated by those claiming it was just a scratch. Another favorite was hide-and-seek tag under the dark of night. Regular tag just didn't seem to satisfy us back then, so my sister and I would have friends over, only to send them off the hide in the pitch black.

A seeker would look for the hiders around the property, who would have to run to the safe point after they had been spotted. If they were tagged, they joined the seeker in rooting out the rest of the players. There wasn't really any winning or losing, just a lot of running, hiding, and stretched out shirt collars. Anyway, the real story starts on one particular summer night. Probably about eight years ago. I would have been 12 at the time. It was late at night, and my mom was working the night shift like usual. The creatures of the day had gone to sleep, and their nocturnal neighbors began to fill the air with chirps, croaks, and howls.

It wasn't uncommon to hear a branch or two break under the weight of a deer's hooves as they passed by deep in the woods. The sky was clear, but the porch light on the house made it difficult to see any of the would-be stars above us. It was a new moon, too, so the sky was a new moon. so the sky manifested as an absolute void. Typically, the darker it was, the more interesting the game was. In retrospect, I'm extremely relieved there wasn't any additional moonlight back then. There was six of us at the beginning, but as it grew dark, I had to say goodbye to two of my friends when their parents came by. It was getting quite late after all.

There were four of us remaining. Leah, her friend Crystal, my friend Eric, and me. Everyone was about ready to go inside, panting and out of breath when I suggested one more round of tag. Nobody was really interested at this point, but I enticed them by suggesting that the first one tagged would buy pizza. It sounded like a good idea at the time. A few games of rock-paper scissors decided that Crystal would be the seeker this time around. She wasn't very fast. So I, being a cheeky little shit, wasn't going to bother hiding.

Instead, I was just going to run circles around her until she gave up. Meanwhile, she'd have to cough up the pizza by default. Not literally, of course. That would be gross. I wasn't the nicest kid back then. But I like to think I've changed. At least a little bit. In a previous game of tag, we had to be a little bit.

an issue where people wouldn't shout the numbers loudly enough, intentionally or not, allowing them to sneak up on people who weren't ready. We found an interesting fix for this by making the seeker count out the seconds on the back of a metal pot. Rapping their knuckles against the material, holding it high in the air while facing the house, it carried the sound nicely and prevented the aforementioned head starts. Thankfully, our neighbors were too far away to hear the racket and complain. Crystal's knuckles began knocking, counting quicker than normal to avoid giving us too much of an advantage.

I slipped around the corner of the house, waiting for my chance, not paying any mind to Leah and Eric as they faded into the night. When Crystal finally reached the 50 knocks we had agreed upon many moons ago, the ringing began to subside. Everything went quiet. Even the crickets seemed to silence themselves under the suspense. I hadn't even started running yet and my heart was pounding in my chest. My hair was damp with sweat from earlier. I kept listening for her footsteps or to see her run by so the game of cat and mouse could begin.

Yet she never came. Several minutes had passed and nothing seemed to change. I thought she might have just given up or went in an entirely different direction. Either way, the anticipation was killing me. My impatient curiosity got the better of me as I peaked around the aluminum siding. A face swaddled in hair stood right around the corner. Its fingers already stretched out towards me. I panicked.

Before I could turn to run, my sneakers slipped on the grass and I fell backwards onto my ass as it approached. I tried using my hands to push myself backwards, but I couldn't move fast enough. I looked up as the disheveled being's fingers moved quickly and jabbed into my shoulder. Got you? It was Crystal.

She pushed her dark brown hair out of her face and reached down to help me up. Unfortunately, my pubescent ego and wounded pride rejected her off her. Instead, I opted to awkwardly roll over and push myself back. back onto my feet. My panic had turned to shame. I was regretting the pizza thing now. Crystal crossed her arms, rightfully offended at my childishness. All right, well, I guess we just have to find the others, unless you don't want my help

with that either, Pizza Boy. Thankfully, I didn't have a snotty comeback that I'd have to repeat to you now. The excitement I felt earlier at a free pizza had become a distant memory. I was just eager to end the game and pretend the whole thing just never happened. To make this go faster, I asked Crystal where she'd already looked. With a hint of embarrassment, she declared that she was actually waiting around that corner for an uncomfortably long time. I felt a little better knowing that we were both being pretty dumb. As we stealthily walked around the property and searched for the others, we whispered back and

forth about the likelihood that they were hiding together. It began to seem like the only option. With each spot we checked, the number of possibilities dwindled until there was nowhere left to hide. Nowhere, except the forest. There was never any rule against hiding out in the dark woods. It just happened that it was too creepy for most people to hide out there alone, waiting to be found. However, after searching the entire property, the pieces started lining up in my mind. What if they really were hiding together? Crystal was

fast to agree with my theory. Oh, totally. I bet they're just tucked away behind a bush back there. Oh, maybe they want to be alone. I playfully wretched at the thought of Eric being into my sister, but who knows? Maybe Crystal was right. Either way, they were definitely crouched down together, somewhere in the dense undergrowth between my house and that old shed. I could just sense it. Yet even though Crystal and I were working as a pair, I could tell neither of us had any intention of walking through those gnarled roots and thick trunks in the dead of night. We stood at the edge of the woods for a while, examining the sight line,

when Crystal seemed to notice something. She swiftly walked several paces to my right, leaned slightly, and brought her arm to a point. Hey, the light on that building turned on. I sidestepped until we were shoulder to shoulder. My eyes followed her outstretched finger, the same finger that had probably left a bruise on my shoulder. The garage light was on, cutting through the dark and allowing us to better examine the lush green space in front of us. I attempted to remediate my earlier cowardice by taking a few steps into the bushes. But I stopped as a swift breeze rustled the greenery in front of me,

and a snapping twig broke the forest's vow of. silence. Butterflies began to fill my stomach, pushing outward and making my insides turn. The sweat on my brow and back went cold in the evening air, and a chill ran down my body. Even though I knew it was probably Eric and Leah, I couldn't ask my legs to move any further. In my head, we had found them. The light was enough confirmation for me. That would have to be good enough for my ego. I shouted out into the thicket, hoping my surrender would warrant feedback ending the game. All right, you guys. We give up. Seriously. We know you're back there. Crystal echoed my sentiments, cupping her hands around her mouth to carry her voice deep into the ancient woodland.

Come on, lovebirds, game's over. Maybe a minute passed as we returned to absolute silence. The crickets and frogs from earlier still seem to suppress their natural urge to speak up. Then, another twig snapped. Two dark silhouettes stood up in the distance. They looked about equal in size, but shapeless and blurred against the faint light that broke up the dark miasma. I followed Crystal's example, encircling my hands around my lips as I commanded the shadows.

Hey, we see you. Come on out now. After a moment, they began walking toward us. They were standing real close together. It sort of looked like they were holding something. Maybe each other's hands? I remember being shocked that Crystal might have been right about Eric. It was dark and hard to tell, but I rolled my eyes anyway, just in case.

Crystal and I both gave each other a knowing smile mixed with the look of exasperation, finally glad to be done with the seemingly endless hunt. From a distance, there was a call. Man, why'd you guys give up so easily? It was definitely Eric. Crystal's smile melted away. Her lips ran parallel as her jaw dropped slightly. Her relief turned into concern, slowly.

spreading across the entirety of her face as she gazed into the light, slatted by black trees. Yeah, seriously. You two walked past us three times. It was definitely Leah. I knew that Crystal realized it just after I did. To a bystander, it must have looked like she was trying to mimic my face, mirroring the primal fear that crept up my spine and out my eyes. The silhouettes continued to approach us. My heart was pounding, but again, it wasn't from running. Eric and Leo were definitely together, just like we thought. But their voices weren't coming from the forest in front of us.

They were definitely coming from behind us. I looked towards the house, but Eric and Leo weren't necessarily. view yet. When I turned back to confirm where the silhouettes once stood, I only found a deep, hungry blackness. The garage light had turned off. As Crystal continued to stare into the encroaching shadows of the woods, I instinctively grabbed her wrist and began pulling her in the direction of our friend's voices. It was the one time of my life where I knew being a coward was the right choice. Eric and Leah came out near the road from the other side of the fence. They began explaining how they were lying in the ditch on the other side, but I didn't care.

It didn't matter where they were hiding unless they somehow figured out how to be in two places at once. I tried to hide my anxiety under hushed tones, but spoke with urgency. Guys, don't freak out. There's people out in the woods. They both looked at me blankly before casting skeptical looks at each other. I didn't bother to watch the reactions as I continued to pull crystal inside. Branches continued to crack in the woods behind my house, just like they always did. But now each snap that came nearer brought me closer to tears. These weren't dear.

We all piled into the living room, and I immediately began locking all the doors while Eric closed the windows and drew the blinds. My bedroom was the largest room with the lock, so Leah ushered a near catatonic crystal inside and onto my bed. I closed and latched the door behind us after grabbing a couple knives from the kitchen. I kept the lights off and joined everyone else, kneeling in the dark next to my bed. Crystal and Leo were pressed up against the back wall facing the door, while Eric sat on the edge of the bed beside me. We waited in silence as I pulled out my cell phone. Looking at the time, I expected my mom to be home any minute.

So I sent her a text asking for an ETA. I get that it seemed silly to text my mom and not call the authorities, but I'd never dialed 911 before. And I was afraid I'd be in trouble. I don't know why. But I thought at the time that once my mom was home, everything would be okay. I clutched my phone as a looming sense of dread filled the room.

Footsteps could be heard approaching outside, slowly pacing around the entirety of my bedroom. A sharp sound surprised us, and Leah moved her hand over Crystal's mouth, trying to stifle her rising panic. It sounded like whoever was outside might have thrown something at the house. Two more staccato strikes came from behind my head. It was like they knew where we were. Another loud tap made me grip the knife tightly as I realized what was happening. They weren't throwing things at the house. They were outside my room, knocking on the walls.

They knew we were in that room. The knocks continued moving along both sides of the room. Large shadows filled the majority of the shuttered windows. I could hear a deep guttural breathing. outside, as though someone was trying to heave breaths in and out, but copious amounts of flim blocked the way. And I wondered what sort of being could make such a sound. But there was absolutely no way I was going to look.

Eric put his hands on my shoulder and whispered over the knocks, which grew in both number and intensity. How many people did you say there were? Two. I could tell my answer wasn't comforting as trimmers emerged from Eric's hand, yet it refused to let go. Instead, his grasp tightened as he continued with a quiet stutter. Then how are they knocking on every side of your room at once? My guts sank to the floor.

I hadn't realized. There were knocks coming from every direction on every wall of the room. All at the same time, Leah whispering in the corner. Seven. Crystal let out a muffled scream between Leah's fingers, as what I assumed was laughter erupted from outside. It sounded like a pack of ghoulish, cackling coyotes. Except coyotes don't know how to knock.

As the cacophony seemed to grow, I pulled out my phone to call for the police. Animal control, anyone. But my phone rang first. It was my mom. My hand wouldn't stop shaking as I answered the call. Hey, hon, what's... Are you almost home?

I must have nearly screamed it. I can hear her yelp on the other side of the line. I'm just about to pull down our road. Why? What's wrong? Leah was still going for some reason. I wasn't sure what to say to my mom. I could only think of one thing as the horrible sick laughter continued outside. Please.

Please, just lay into your horn as soon as you pull up. Please, Mom. Don't ask why. I was hoping the desperation would get through to her. She stuttered, clearly confused. I'm almost there. It'll be all right, okay? I think she's always assumed that there was some kind of wild animal outside that we wanted to scare away. God, I hope she was right. I looked at my friends and saw Leah covering her own mouth now too.

Tears dripping from the corner of her eyes as her head tilted back into the wall. She never explained to me what she figured out that night. The knocking had turned into a frenzied assault. The things outside began hammering against the aluminum siding, creating the most thunderous climax I'd ever heard. I slumped down and wept, having no idea what would happen when it was over. Then a sound, nearly as loud, pierced the night and rivaled the demonic clanging from outside. The horn from my mom's car.

The knocking stopped, immediately drowned out by the blaring siren coming from our short driveway. The shadows in front of the windows had moved away in the direction. of the woods. Crystal broke free from Leah's grip and shouted, pleading for our Savior to come and get us. I didn't know if these things outside were a bunch of demented bastards or some group of diseased animals. But the sound of the vehicle was loud enough to scare them away, at least for a minute or two. But I knew it would only be for a minute or two.

We've got to kill. Now. I took a quick look behind me to see that the others were already climbing to their feet, though Crystal took some coercion as she leaned into Leah. We ran down the hallway and out the door. My mom was standing in front of the vehicle's headlights, beckoning us to its open doors. I let everyone run past me towards her. I could hear her gasped lightly when she saw Eric run by wielding a chef's knife.

If I was going to get a look at these things that had been terrorized, us. I figured now would be my only chance. I grasped the edge of the extension, took a breath, and looked. For better or worse, peering around the trailer, yielded no results. Whatever had been there was gone. I remember hearing a symphony of branches and twigs, snapping in the dark, hidden just beyond the tree line. I held my gaze until my mom called. called for me. Then I immediately turned tail and ran to the car. As my mom backed up, I couldn't take my eyes off the woods. The headlights pointed directly into the blackness, and I caught a glimpse of something. It was fast, so I could have imagined it. In fact, I really hope I did. Yet the image

of it has been burned into my brain. A pair of eyes caught the light, reflect. collecting a haunting yellow back at us from within the shadows. The glowing retinas were embedded deep into the seemingly exposed skull of a frail, deer-like creature that was hunched over almost like a great ape. It lacked antlers, and its fur, or skin, was mostly black and patchy in some places, almost like its outermost layer was peeling back. It reared backwards as the car screeched into drive, lifting one of its elongated sinewy arms,

tipped with three distinct fingers to shield its body. This image on its own was the stuff of nightmares. But what made me tear up again was what I saw as we drove away. For only a couple seconds, as my mom turned to move to the road, the last bit of light revealed an ocean. of twinkling stars throughout the forest. Only, they weren't stars. It was an ocean of eyes.

My mom sped off, and I found myself at a loss for words. We took Eric and Crystal back to their homes. I could barely manage a goodbye. It didn't take much convincing for our mom to rent a room that night. Leah and I tried our best to explain what had transpired that night, and while I could tell that it was hard for, our mom to understand, I could see that she believed the unfiltered terror in our voices. I don't blame her, though.

I honestly still can't wrap my head around it either. Though the two of us were reluctant to return to the house in the morning, nothing seemed out of place when we arrived with a family friend, one who owned a rifle. Aside from some flattened grass and a strange musky odor, There wasn't much to look at. I couldn't really pin the smell either, but it was enough to make Leah plug her nose while we were looking around. I expected deciding to be bent out of shape because of the noises we heard, but it looked normal. I kept racking my brain over it.

An animal trying to reach its prey wouldn't have held back or cared about dinting the house. The more I thought, the more horrible my theory became. What if it or they knew what they were doing? What if they did it specifically to Scaris before? I don't know. I'd really prefer not to know. Our mom took us to get a dog that same afternoon. He's some kind of mixed lab, and we named him Cooper.

I don't know if having a dog actually changed anything. but having coop around really helped us during my mom's late shifts. We never played tag at night again, and whatever came out of the woods that night never seemed to come back. Or, at the very least, never came out from behind the trees from deep within the forest. It seriously gives me chills, just thinking about it now. While I've heard the strange laughter several times since, it was further away and much easier to blame on some animal.

I feel better, thinking it was just our overactive imaginations, rather than let that thing exist somewhere out there. I know it seems far-fetched, but it was real enough that Crystal never came back to our house. I don't have a good answer as to what happened that night. I'm hoping it was either some teenagers playing a bad joke or some sick animal that was displaced by a storm earlier that year. I guess we'll never know. I only feel comfortable thinking about this now because I know I'll be going back to the city tomorrow, and my mom will be moving into town at the end of the month.

I'll admit, writing this has made me feel a little uneasy, especially since I haven't seen Cooper since this afternoon. He normally stays outside during the day, but tends to come scratching at the door once it's dark. I'm going to go looking for him with my mom when she gets home, if he's not back by then. Speaking of, it's getting near that time. and I think my mom's knocking on the front door right now. She joked about forgetting her house key lately. Said she'd lose her head if it wasn't attached.

I guess she wasn't kidding. Hope to hear from you guys soon. 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 8. We sometimes have ancient things passed through town. This isn't unique to our area. These creatures, gods, former gods, the devil, and many more, aren't constrained to old land or the land from which they originated.

They roam the earth as they please. Their passage is marked by signs and omens, most of which are dismissed as meaningless. A storm with high winds, an unease among the birds, healthy plants dying abruptly or dying plants returning to full bloom, all things that are easy to ignore. Around here, the locals know to look for the signs. So when the temperature dropped unexpectedly and an unseasonal frost coated the ground in the morning,

people took notice. No one knew quite what had come to town. But we all know that there was an ancient thing among us. The locals were nervous. but there wasn't any indication we were in danger yet. Often these creatures pass through without any effects whatsoever, other than the omens for telling their arrival. But sometimes they don't.

Some of them offer bargains to the locals. They promise power in exchange for terrible deeds, for offerings of blood and suffering. The town is quick to deal with anyone that may be tempted into making such an agreement, and they deal with the interloper harshly. There are others that take the offerings they crave, be it grain or livestock or rarely a human life. And then there's the ones that come to judge the worth of the town and met out what each individual has earned, according to their actions through the years.

Whatever the reason, the town is anxious to be rid of these ancient things, or at the very least, know how to protect themselves from them. That's when they call on my family. name is Kate, and this is Goat Valley Campgrounds. I got the call a little bit before noon. It was, unfortunately, from Sheriff Subota. He called the Camp Line, which is a landline, so I didn't even get the benefit of caller ID. I just got the unpleasant experience of picking up and being confronted with his ugly voice. Goat Valley Campgrounds, this is Kate speaking. How can I help you? We've got a break in. Uh, on my land? No, someone in town. We think the ancient thing got them.

My relief almost outweighed the sudden rush of terror that came with his words. Almost. I've had people sneak onto my land before, and it never ends well. Because the only places without fencing are down in the deep woods, where the worst of the monstrosities live. But if the ancient thing had entered someone's house, then it meant we were dealing with something dangerous. There's really no good way to get rid of ancient things either.

My mother had done it when she was a teenager. She gouged out someone's eyes and offered the victim up as a sacrifice to appease the creature so that it would be satisfied and leave the rest of the town alone. There's never a tidy solution for ancient things.

Do you want me to take a look? You're the local expert, aren't you? Get your ass down here and tell us what we're dealing with. I broke the speed limit in my haste to get into town. I'm not talking about a measly five miles per hour either. I mean, really broke the limit. I figured the police wouldn't mind since I was coming on their behalf. When I arrived, I found the street blocked off by police cars.

The town doesn't have a large police force and every on-duty officer had turned out, which meant there were like two officers and Sheriff Sabota. Hey, has anyone gone inside yet? Hell no, just look at it. I looked. It was a small house, one story with white siding. probably only a handful of ruins and a kitchen barely large enough for one person. Sheriff Saboto was reciting what he knew of the person that lived there. A young man lived alone, moved here from out of town some years ago, kept to himself, had some kind of job that allowed him to work remotely, didn't really integrate into the community that well.

I wasn't really listening. My attention was focused on the garland hanging around the entrance to the house. We're going to need an ambulance. Tell them they're likely to be transporting a corpse. You think? That garland, it's intestine. And that's why I didn't want my officers to go inside. What kind of thing does that?

Lots of possibilities. These inhuman things are fond of removing organs and disembalment is particularly popular. I'm going to go take a look inside. You can stay here if you like. Like hell, I will. Of course, there were bystanders beyond the police cruisers.

He couldn't let the locals see me going inside while he stayed where it was safe. I would have preferred he stayed out of my way, but I consoled myself by thinking that if the ancient thing was still around, I could shove him at it and escape while he was being torn open. The interior of the house was sparse and remarkably dull when he entered, cheap furniture and a handful of generic art on the wall. It surprised me that someone could care so little about the space they lived in that they wouldn't make it their own.

And it made me wonder, what this person was doing in our town? Were we just a waypoint for him, a place to stay for a little bit in the timeline of his life? Did he not even know what he was doing here? I passed through the house, flipping the lights on as I went. Down a narrow hallway,

and paused at the bedroom door. It was half a jar, and there were blackout curtains on the windows, for the interior was dark. I could smell the stench of blood and, other bodily remnants. There was another scent that confused me.

Wet hay, like the interior of a dirty barn. I shoved the door open and ran my hand along the wall for a light switch. The man lay on his back, in bed, tangled and bloodstained sheets. An incision ran down the width of his abdomen, tied neatly up with white thread, stained crimson where it pierced his flesh. His eyes were wide open, fixed. on the ceiling in desperation, and his chest rose and fell rapidly in short, wheezing breaths. He was still alive.

We need the paramedics inside, right now. We don't know it's safe. Make it safe. He stormed out of the room to escort the paramedics in. I swore under my breath and hurried to the man's side. From the amount of blood standing the bed sheets and the intestines dangling over the doorway, I didn't think he'd survive even with medical intervention. I needed answers from him before he vanished into the hospital.

What did you see? I need to know. A woman. What did she look like? Were there any strange things about her? No, no. No, she was beautiful. Oh, God, it hurts.

It hurts. I know. Help is coming. I just need you to focus a bit more. She, she said, I'd been. I'd been... My list of possible entities was suddenly a lot narrower.

There was a whole host of entities that believed humanity shouldn't have to wait until after they died to be punished for their sins. Of course, their definition of evil sometimes varied widely from our generally accepted moral codes. And there was no telling what this young man had done to offend one. It could have truly been something evil, or maybe he ate the wrong food on the wrong food. day. I wouldn't know for certain until I had a better idea of what we were dealing with.

I'm going home to research. Call me if you find anything else. I want answers, Kate. You'll get them when I have them. You'd better be quick about it. I want to hear from you with a report in two hours. The town needs to know how to protect itself from this thing. Don't you lecture me on what this town needs? My family's been protecting this town long before you have. I don't report to you. I don't answer to you, and after your stunt at the town meeting, I sure as hell don't have any good will for you. If it weren't for the fact that I feel some sort of responsibility to uphold my family's legacy, I wouldn't be here at all. You'd be on your own. So you'll get what I give you and on my timeline. Which would be as soon as I figured anything out, but that part didn't need to be

said out loud. I stalked out of the room, leaving behind the sheriff, the paramedics, and the dying man on the blood-stained bed. One wall of my office is covered in bookshelves and filing cabinets. I have books on land management, plants, and other useful campground resources. The rest of the shelves are dedicated to folklore. I have everything from scholarly resources to books of fairy tales meant for children. Everything helps. These are old stories for old creatures that have haunted us since humanity first created words

and told other people about the things they saw moving about in the dark parts of the forest. In the filing cabinets are my family's notes. Those vary in usefulness. Some generations of campground managers were better at keeping a coherent record than others. I spent a considerable amount of time organizing them with various colors of sticker tabs to help identify useful information. As soon as I arrived home, I started pulling every file and book with a purple sticker that meant it contained information on ancient things.

I'd finished making a list of creatures that dealt out punishments and also manifested as a woman when I got a phone call. Did you expect otherwise? No, but they cut his stitches open and found that not only had his intestines been removed, but the abdomen was then packed with straw and stones before being sewn shut again. Oh, oh, hang on.

Perchta, it's percheda. Who? German goddess, or she was a goddess. Maybe she still is, but now she's kind of like St. Nicholas. As in Santa? Yeah, her feast day is around 12th night. That's the 12th night after Christmas and is the eve of Epiphany. Shows up in a lot of folklore, though we don't celebrate it over here.

Anyway, during the 12 days leading up to Epiphany, she roams around and mets out punishment to people who are wicked and break certain taboos, like spinning on holidays or not spending enough. And punishment involves killing? It does. She slits people's bellies, removes their guts, stuffs them with straw and stones, and sews them back up again.

For good children, she leaves a silver coin. So a little bit like Santa Claus, but with 100% more murder. Santa Claus doesn't murder anyone. So 100% more murder would still be zero. Okay, that's true. But my point is that St. Nicholas is one of the few benevolent Christmas visitors. The rest like to kill people.

It's not Christmas time. She's here out of season. I don't know why. So what do we do about it? Tell everyone to clean their house and maybe have fish and gruel for dinner just in case. Are you fucking kidding me? Look, these inhuman things aren't rational things like we are, okay? Percheda's domain is the home, and if you're not doing a good job of managing the home, then you're on her hit list.

I want something better than telling everyone to mop their floors. Sure, sure, I'll get right on that. Gotta go. I got a visitor. I'm not done with you. I made for the front door, idly considering the state of my own house as I did. It wasn't that bad, surely. Maybe the office was a little cluttered and I had some dishes I hadn't put away, but it should be fine.

Of course, I didn't know what perched as standards of clean were. The man she'd killed seemed to have an orderly house. Of course, I'd only seen two rooms. For all I knew, there were empty pizza boxes stacked to the kitchen ceiling. I'm coming! I'm coming! Geez, have some patience! What the? The door hung open, swaying gently on its hinges.

A gust of wind swirled through my entryway and into the living room, where I stood frozen as that primal instinct screamed in the back of my head that I needed to run. For framed in the doorway was a woman, beautiful, with pale skin like winter frost and hair like snow. Are you percheda? She wasn't inside yet. This was a good sign. All manners of creatures roam the world on the eve of the new year, but most of them can't enter the home without permission.

There are stories of even the devil itself being repulsed for lack of an invitation. I am indeed. Don't trouble yourself further. I'll see myself in. She stepped through the open doorway. Oh, shit. I made a special trip here just for you, Kate. Aren't you happy to see me?

And the man in town you killed? He happened to be on the way over. Did you see his kitchen? Oh, and mine? Your house is the least of my concerns. You've been wicked, haven't you? Your sheriff may be content to let you hang yourself, but I am not nearly so kind.

She raised her hands. In them, between the pinched fingers in one hand, was a needle. And her other was thread. I ran. I sprinted towards the kitchen, as that was the quickest way out of the house. There was a door leading to the garage. I could hear her footsteps crossing the living room

as I slammed the door. door behind me and shoved a shelf over to blockade it while the garage door opened. I could hear perched a calling for me inside the house. How many did you kill this year? Let's see. There was that man that died in the hospital, riding and vomiting blood. Only one so far. Not bad.

You've had worse years, though. He broke the rules. I had to protect the camp. I threw myself under the partially open garage as perched a slurbed. slammed into the door to the house. The shelves were violently thrown forwards and out of the way as the door was ripped off its hinges. After that, I didn't look back. I just ran out into the yard towards the field and the forest beyond.

I had no idea where I was going. I could only run. Poor, poor Kate. No one in town likes her. The sheriff is out to remove her from her position. Have you considered why this is so? I have. It's because Sabota is an asshole. You sit safe in your office and you let others do the dying.

You make everyone else pay for your own failings. Is that not wicked? I've been doing everything I can. Have you? I reached the end of the drive, and at first I thought to cut towards the road. I could try to reach Brian and his dogs. There was something standing on the asphalt. Multiple somethings.

Their heads hung sideways. at odd angles and their limbs swayed in the wind. I veered wide around them, confused, unsure of whether I should go around or go the other direction entirely. Then one raised its head and looked at me, and I realized what they were. Scarecrows, all their heads snapped up, still hanging sideways on loose necks,

but the empty spots where their eyes should go were fixed on where I stood, hesitating, keenly, aware of the woman with the white hair making her way steadily down the driveway at a confident, unhurried clip. The pace of a predator that knows it's only a matter of time. I began to back away and then, in the corner of my vision, I saw a large shape lunging at me. I dodged to the side, stumbling on the damp grass and almost falling. Its arms passed over my head and I smelled damp straw and a foul stench, the smell of rot. And then I was sprinting across the

the field and leaving the scarecrow's behind me. The tree line rose up before me. There was a sense of safety hidden inside the forest. I just had to reach it. And then what? Keep running until I collapsed? I didn't know. I couldn't think. My reprieve was short-lived. I heard a noise from behind my right shoulder and I risked a glance backwards. The scarecrows were racing across the field after me. All of them were. They ran in great, low. sloping strides on all fours like animals, and their limbs seemed elongated, thin, more like gangly canines than human forms now. They were rapidly gaining. I kept running, hitting the tree line, and the grass gave way to dead leaves. I knew it was hopeless, and I couldn't possibly

outrun them. I stumbled through the underbrush, and then one hit me, a bodily impact that took me off my feet, and I landed on my side, felt a weight all over top of me, pinning me to the ground. I struggled, kicking and punching, and my fingers clawed straw from the back of its head and my knee connected with something soft, something that came free with a sickly sound, like the last of jam releasing from the bottom of a jar, something like rope, but slick and wet, landing on my legs, and I gagged at the stench of bad meat. Now I know what Perchta does with the intestines of her victims. I seized the scarecrow's arms with both hands and wrenched and the straw parted and I tore it clean off. The scarecrow's body lifted, off balance, and one last blow to its side

knocked it off of me. I writhed on the ground trying to stand, more intestines spilling out of the hole in its midsection. I rolled and pushed myself up. Then another blow and this one took me off my feet and kept me off my feet, slamming my back against a tree trunk. My chest seized up at the impact, and for a moment, I could only feel the agony radiating from beneath my rib cage, and then that was buried under the ice of terror. Perched his hand was around my neck, and it was she that held me pinned, my feet straining to touch the ground. You know exactly why I have come for you. I've only done what's necessary. Necessary, perhaps, but no less wicked.

The twist of her wrist and her bone needle shone ivory in the sunlight. She pushed my shirt up and out of the way, and I felt the point of it against my skin, just above my belly button. The woman leaned in close to me, and her breath on my neck felt like frost. What else am I to do? I'm trying the best I can, but I can't save everyone. You can save them all. She released my neck and let my feet hit the ground, but I remained pinned with my back against the tree, the point of her needle digging deeper into my stomach.

I whimpered low in the back of my throat. She reached behind her languidly, the needle immobile against my skin, and her thin fingers plucked out of thin air one of my pamphlets. How to survive your camping experience. She held it up in front of my face. Is this truly enough? Is it just? Is it right? I don't know what else to do.

Figure it out. And the needle pierced my skin. I yelped with pain. But it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. And then it exited. Two bright points just above my belly button. And she was nodding the thread. And she snapped it with a jerk.

eliciting another brief moment of blinding agony as the stitch pulled tight against the wounds. She stepped back. I collapsed on the ground, staring at my stomach and the white thread that was rapidly turning scarlet with my blood. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. I felt dizzy and hot and wondered if I would just pass out right there. But that was all she'd done. My abdomen was intact. My insides were still inside. You keep a candle in your bedroom. Tell me about it. A candle?

Oh, the lady with extra ice gave it to me. As long as it's burning, that means the old sheriff is alive. Does it still burn? I was seized with sudden terror at where she was going with this. But I was compelled to answer her. She was an ancient thing. It does. How long have you had it?

Six years? And you've done nothing? My vision blurred with shameful tears. Yes, I'd done nothing because I was scared, because I didn't know what to do and was afraid to find out more. They were all acceptable casualties, so I'd told myself. There was the prick of a needle on my chin, forcing my head up. I stared up at the goddess, ethereally beautiful, glowing in the sun.

sunlight. Her expression was cold as she stared down at me. You are, wicket. You abandoned good people to their fate. You cling to your rules as justification for your inaction. The needle pressed harder into the skin of my neck. I didn't dare breathe. Around me, the scarecrows were crowding in around their mistress, and the stench of rotting meat made me want to gag. I'll go to the vanishing house if that's what you want. What I want to do is turn you into one of my little scarecrow friends. Did you know that for the evils of people, I use a plow and chain for my little surgery?

It seems you left that at home. It seems I did. But maybe you can convince me not to bring it with me when I next pass through. She leaned in close. I felt her cold breath on my cheek. If you ought to go to the vanishing house, you'll need three things.

I will leave you with one of them. Then she stabbed the knee. needle downwards into the soft skin of my stomach. I screamed in pain, squeezing my eyes shut tight. And when I was able to open them again, Perchta and her scarecrow's were gone. She'd left behind that single stitch in my skin and her needle buried in my flesh. I pulled it free, rolled to the side, and vomited. I broke the stitch once I was home and cleaned and bandaged the wound. Then I sat at my kitchen table and stared out the window as the sun crept across the sky, the vanishing house. I had to go to the vanishing house.

My heart raced just thinking about it, but wasn't that actually my best option right now? Sheriff Saboto was trying to sabotage my campground by withholding police support. If the old sheriff came back, well, his reputation was legendary around here. He could put a stop to this nonsense. And it'd be one thing. step in keeping percheda from disemboweling me someday. I stared at the needle before me, still threaded with a length of bloodied white thread. Three items. I needed three items. The needle was one. The second was the candle. It had to be. And the third, well, there's ways to get that kind of information. I waited until midnight. Then I took the sheriff's

candle and poured some of the wax into a spoon. Then I poured that into a cup of cold water and stared down at the resulting image. It's an old form of divination. Whatever form the wax takes will tell your future. For me, it coalesced into a blob with two empty spaces like eyes, a skull floating in a cup of water. I have the third item. I wandered the campsite for hours, and just before sunup, I found him. The man with the skull cup. I told him I was here to claim my favor, and he held very still while I spoke.

Then he smiled when I said what it was I wanted. I need to borrow your cup. To save the sheriff. He ran a finger along the rim of the cup contemptively. How do you know? Do you gossip with the dancers or something? His eyes flicked up to stare at me in unspoken reproach. The man with the cup merely tolerates my sarcasm.

The silence between us stretched on until my nerve broke and I coughed and awkwardly changed the subject. So what am I going to find inside that house? I cannot tell you. I have no more ability to read the future than you. I see patterns and possibilities and perhaps I see ones that you miss while you struggle in this web not of your own making.

but even I do not know what the house's master is. I'm getting tired of puzzles. What web? He sighed softly and shoved the cup into my hands. You continually disappoint me. Your adversary has you ensnared, and you focus on a single strand of his plans. My enemy?

The sheriff or someone else? The question. asked on impulse, born of a wild hope that the man with the skull cup would actually be forthcoming for once. His expression went carefully blank. And while he only displayed the emotions he chose to, disdain usually, this felt even more controlled than usual. This is all the help I will give you. Our agreement is concluded. You may have the cup until the next full moon. Take care not to spill it, for it will take a head. heavy cost to fill it once again.

The cup sits on my dresser, between the candle and the needle. As for finding the house? Well, I wasn't able to divine its next appearance, but maybe I don't need to. There's something on this campground that will lead me right to it. I'm going to follow the lights. 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, Erica Sanderson as Perchta, David Cummings, as Sheriff Sabota, and Mark Anzalone as the tortured man. Join us next week for Chapter 9 of Goat Valley Campgrounds. The fires wane and embers glow.

Our stories cease as shadows grow. The night is long and darkness deep. Remain with us. Embrace No Sleep. The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Korn. Our creative content manager is Olivia White.

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