The NoSleep Podcast - S17 Ep23: NoSleep Podcast S17E23

Episode Date: May 8, 2022

It’s Episode 23 of Season 17. Our spells are out of sight.“Astraphobia” written by D.D.Wikman (Story starts around 00:06:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Robbie - Graham, Doctor Henriksen - Tanja Milosevic“Through Her Eyes” written by Mark Towse (Story starts around 00:25:15)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Andy Cresswell, Fiona – Erika Sanderson“Nobody Remembers When the World Went Dark” written by Louisa Eckert (Story starts around 00:48:25)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Chris – Mary Murphy, Steven – Mike DelGaudio, Marcus – Mick Wingert, Tess – Danielle McRae, Claudia – Wafiyyah White, Wade – Atticus Jackson, Micah – Jesse Cornett, Josephine – Erin Lillis“Goat Valley Campgrounds – Chapter 10” written by Bonnie Quinn (Story starts around 01:08:00)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Kate – Linsay Rousseau, Bryan – Kyle Akers, Master – Atticus Jackson, Sheriff Sabotta – David Cummings, Former Sheriff – Jesse Cornett, Kate’s Mom – Nikolle Doolin“The Lighthouse of Eastern Kentucky” written by C. P. Riggs (Story starts around 01:03:00)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Tom – Peter Lewis, Receptionist – Jessica McEvoy“Stuck” written by Tim Gaydos (Story starts around 01:34:30)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Michelle – Nichole Goodnight, Cassie – Sarah ThomasThis episode is sponsored by:Birddogs – Birddogs are shorts and pants for men who want the best comfort and fit. With built-in premium liners, Birddogs will be your go-to shorts all summer long. Go to birddogs.com, enter promo code NOSLEEP and they’ll throw in a free Birddogs Dad Hat.Truebill – Truebill is the new app that helps you identify and stop paying for subscriptions you don’t need, want, or simply forgot about. Start cancelling today at Truebill.com/nosleep. It could save you THOUSANDS a year.Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Through Her Eyes” illustration courtesy of Thea ArnmanAudio 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

It's episode 23 of season 17. The time is short for this season. Shorts for the season? You mean we're doing the suddenly shocking short story episode? No, that comes later. But since we're talking about shorts for the season, let's talk about the best shorts for summer. Bird dogs. Are bird dogs suddenly shocking? Bird dogs are shockingly high-quality shorts with built-in premium liners. Super comfortable. I'm not sure how shorts can be scary. Well, consider this. Bird dogs are shorts for dudes who want a comfortable fit, stretchy fabric that looks as great as it feels, and the freedom to not wear restricting undies.

Oh, Lord, are you telling me you don't... I'm free-balling, baby! Okay, I'm literally terrified by that thought. That's right. Welcome to Comfort Kingdom. I love how bird dogs look and feel. They're perfect for summer fun. I was not fully braced for this. Bird dogs feature a four-pocket design so you can keep things out of sight, including a zippered pocket to keep important things like keys or a wallet safe.

I need something to wash this imagery out of my brain. That's another great thing about bird dogs. Some shorts with liners can't stand up to multiple washings. Before long, the liners wear out. But bird dogs hold up and stay strong and comfy wash after wash. I gotta admit, bird dogs sound like great chrots. shorts. They're perfect for guys or the guys in your life. Bird Dogs has a wide range of shorts for all your summer casual dress needs. Check out their khakis, gym shorts, Oxford shorts,

and bathing suits, with sizes from small to triple XL. How can we check out these comfy bird dogs? Go to birddogs.com. Enter promo code no sleep and they'll throw in a free bird dog's dad hat. That's birddogs.com. Promocode no sleep and boom! A free bird dog's dad hat with your pair of bird dogs. Who can resist a free dad hat? Not me. So get your downstairs ready for summer with bird dogs. You will not take these things off, I promise you.

Oh, you had to mention your downstairs again, didn't you? Listen, this is a horror podcast, and the horror has just begun. In times long gone. In days of your... There are legends and tales of dark folklore. Round candlelight and fireside, the tales are shared. Enchanting dark secrets in hushed tones declared. And from those days, both present and past,

we beseech you now to brace yourself for the no, Sleep Podcast. At the sleepless tales commence, fellow travelers. I'm your guide, David Cummings. This is it, dear listeners. This is the closing chapter. The final countdown, the end of the season. What in the wide, wide world of...

Cummings? I hear you yelling. It's only episode 23. Your seasons are 25 episodes, plus multiple. bonus episodes for season pass holders. You are screaming right now at me, and you're quite right. But, of course, I'm not talking about the No Sleep podcast, season 17. I'm talking about the camping season. For those of you who don't regularly venture into the great outdoors, you may not know that the camping season typically lasts around six to eight months, and then the site is typically

closed down for the off season. Of course, it's only May, which is usually around when the season begins, but I'm not talking about that either. Oh, you know what I mean. It's the Goat Valley Campgrounds season finale. And I'm torn about this one. On one hand, a finale is always exciting, filled with drama, intrigue, and goats. On the other, it means that the Goat Valley Campgrounds are closing down for the year. Does this mean our beloved hero, Kate, will get a break? Does Goat Valley even have an off-season? Well, maybe we'll find out about that down the line. That is, if we haven't been banned from the campsite for bad behavior. There was that one wild party that resulted in Brandon almost drowning in a lake, and the time we bought ice, and the time we got yelled at for

playing pet sounds at max volume on repeat. Ah, but who knows? Maybe if we ask author Bonnie Quinn nicely, we'll be given another year's worth of complimentary passes. For now, though, Before we bid a do to all things goat, it's time for episode 23 of the No Sleep Podcast. In our first tale, we join Robbie. After the loss of his mother during a thunderstorm as a child, he's always struggled with an acute fear of the violent weather pattern. Therapy helps, but not entirely. And in this tale, shared with us by author D.D. Wickman,

when Robbie becomes trapped in his car due to an unexpected, storm, he must confront the root of his fear. Performing this tale are Graham Rowett and Tanya Milosevic. So don't take shelter under trees, don't stand out in the open, and don't wave a large metal rod in the air. If you do, you might end up developing astrophobia. One of my earliest memories is walking hand in hand with my mom through an open field. It was raining so hard that it felt like God. had turned on a faucet.

We'd been picking mushrooms all day, and I sloshed around with a pair of boots that were way too big for my feet. Mom was holding my hand, when suddenly there was a lightning strike. Night turned a day. It felt like the crackling light hung in the air for minutes,

illuminating the entire world. I felt so small. The ground roared. I screamed and cried. I'd never seen anything like it before, and it felt like the world was coming to an end. For the first time in my life, my mom didn't pick me up. She didn't comfort me, and she didn't tell me things would be okay. She didn't do any of these things, because she was gone.

All that was left was a basket of mushrooms and a smell of ozone. I grew up with my dad in a small town called Tom Skog, Minnesota. We lived in a three-bedroom, single-story house just off the main road, a stone's throw from a nearby fishing lake. Dad tried his best to give me a normal childhood, but I was always the kid whose mom abandoned him. Every adult pitied me, and every kid teased me. Half bat, they used to call me, like I was half Batman or half an orphan.

I hated that nickname. But things change. My dad remarried when I was 10, and kids went from calling me half bat to more conventional slurs. Preschool became elementary school, which turned into high school. I did pretty well on the basketball team, and the nickname Half-Bat made a resurgence as a celebration.

I'm a pretty good jumper. But there was one thing that never changed. My fear of thunder. There was always that feeling that if I didn't look away from a lightning strike, I'd get stuck staring at it. I'd stay there forever, listening to the ground, tremble with power. Just thinking about it sends a shutter through me. I can imagine myself falling into that light.

Falling forever. My body vibrating until there's nothing but dust. My mom's hand just out of reach. That's how I feel. My therapist calls it astrophobia. A lot of people underestimate how bad it is. It isn't just being scared. It's being terrified to the point where it swallows my life.

I have three different weather apps, all on storm alert. I know at least a week in advance before there's even a chance of a storm hitting us. I have to work and sleep near windows so I can see if there are rain clouds gathering outside. If there's a storm coming, my nerves are just ruined for days in advance.

I can't eat or sleep. The very thought of that overwhelming power lurks around every conscious thought. You know that feeling where you're falling? That bump before you go to sleep? Imagine that. but you're stuck there. Falling, gasping for air.

That's my life. I've tried anxiety medication, therapy and various behavioral exercises. Things have gotten better, but I can never really live an ordinary life. Sure, I no longer panic at gusts of wind, but when those dark clouds start gathering, I don't know for sure what is going to happen to me.

I feel like there's something up there, ready to just reach down and grab me. But all that aside, I've done pretty well for myself. After high school, I got a job at a local logging company, payroll and administration mostly, but it's a good job. My dad had a similar job for an exotic imports company, but they moved to Kansas City. He made a difficult decision to move along with the job,

meaning I could keep the house. Living alone in a three-bedroom house might seem neat, but a lot of people underestimate just how much work there is to do. That place may be yours, and you may do what you want with it, but there's no one to blame but yourself when things go wrong. And things will go wrong. Ask anyone who's ever had to fix a washing machine. By now I've had that job for 12 years.

The nickname Half-Bat is, at best, mentioned in passing on Twitter. I've never managed to find anyone that could stand my company longer than a few months, so I still live in that house by myself. Sure, I have a pet frog, but that doesn't account for much. I love them, though. I call him buddy. Up until a year ago, life was simple. Over the years, I'd gotten an economics degree from a nearby community college,

and the pay raise that came with it really opened some doors. I got a job offer from an old high school buddy that was starting up a business. business in Indianapolis, but I turned it down. When you've worked at the same place for 12 years, it's no longer about loyalty. It turns into inertia. That's one way to sum up most of my life. Still, I can't complain. There are plenty of positives to being at peace with yourself, eating at your favorite restaurant every Friday, talking to the same people, going to the same cinema, listening to the same radio. There's comfort in it, but there's also a matter of feeling safe. When things stay the same, it gets easier to spot when something is about to go wrong.

And something went wrong last July. The tunnel I used to get to work, flooded. All traffic was rerouted to a tiny one-lane gravel road that snaked through a birch forest. In the morning, it was beautiful and green, but the foliage made it harder for me to keep track of clouds at night. Put me on edge. Not much, but a little. It was Friday. I'd had a long day at work. Summers are a busy time, and we were having some problems finding temp workers for replanting season. I stayed late to go through some job applications with our HR rep, and then stayed later still to get a head start on our tax deductibles.

By the time I was done, it was well past 8 p.m., and the sky was getting dark. I could feel my pulse rising as I walked to my car. The air was humid, and the sky was darker than usual. There were plenty of telltale signs of a sight of a sight. sudden rainstorm. As I locked myself in my car, I was on the edge of hyperventilating. None of my alerts had warned me. This thing came out of nowhere. I put on my headset and dialed my therapist, Dr. Henriksen. She'd talked to me for a few years after taking over for Dr. Michaels. We'd made some progress, but therapy is mostly about maintenance rather than miraculous

breakthroughs. I'd only called her emergency number once over the past four years. I once locked myself in my basement and couldn't make myself leave, not knowing if a storm outside was truly gone. Now I needed her help to get home. If I didn't leave soon, I could get stuck out there, and if I panicked while driving, I could get in a serious accident. I put the keys in the ignition as the first dial tone came through. It took three rings before she answered. A few raindrops spatered on the windshield. My heart skipped a beat.

Robbie, are you okay? I'm sorry, I... I was having trouble thinking. There'd been no alerts on my phone, no forecast warning me. July weather can shift rapidly, but this was ridiculous. I can't get home.

I don't know who I want to do. It's raining. You're doing fine, Robbie. Remember what we say about control? You're in control. I'm in control. It was a common mantra. To forget the illusion that our bodies control us and embrace the fact that we can steer our emotions.

By acknowledging how we're affected, we can control the way we respond. Comforting words aside, I was having trouble staying rational. Mind over matter seems reasonable on paper, but paper can't stop a lightning strike. Are you at home? Are you safe? No, I'm in my car. I'm going home. Are you in any condition to drive? I don't know. I think so?

Put both hands on the steering wheel. Can you do that? I could, and I did. There were more rain drops now. The wind was picking up. I could see my hands shake. I'm in control. All right.

I'll stay with you. Keep breathing. Feel your lungs. Things were going pretty well, all things considered. I stayed on the main room. road, turned on the windshield wipers, and tried to take long breaths. I forced myself to stay in control, to occupy my mind. Dr. Henrickson didn't say anything, but I could hear her stay on the line

with me. A single lane gravel road was nothing but mud. Tracks from the other cars were almost five inches deep, and I couldn't see a single piece of gravel. The tracks were filling up with rainwater. The road was slightly uphill, and I was starting to have down. I'd be stuck out there, in the woods, with a force of nature homing in on me. I felt the clouds reaching out to me. I was an ant under a magnifying glass. I stepped on the gas. Make or break, I was at least going to try.

The tires immediately spun, and I drifted backwards. I had to reverse back onto the main road. I hit the brakes and buried my face and my hands. I don't... I don't know what to do. What do I do? Can you go back? I could, but there was no shelter in the admin building.

I might as well just stay in the car. I'd considered this scenario before and talked extensively about it in previous therapy sessions. It doesn't matter. I'm screwed. Oh, my God. Look, Robbie, you always have a choice. If you can't go back, you have to try again.

So I did. I put the car in reverse again. Gained some distance, then stepped on the gas. I got further this time. When the tires once again started to spin, I was afraid I'd lose control completely. I slid in and out of the tracks until I finally got some traction. I cheered, and Dr. Henriksen cheered along with me.

I passed the hill and started crawling through the birch forest, inches at a time. I got to a small clearing, when the wind suddenly stopped. I could hear my heart, as I looked out to the passenger side. Something was coming. I felt it in the air. Robbie? Is everything... The call disconnected.

I held my breath. The car was stuck. Suddenly, there was no rain. Not a drop. I stared out at the open clearing, watching the dark clouds twist and swirl above. It was like staring down a wild animal. I couldn't turn my back on it.

I was frozen in place. Then, lightning struck. That same terrifying vein of light. It spread across the clouds and spiked into the clearing. I couldn't look away. I was lost in it, just like I'd been when I was a kid. I could feel my eyes burn and my body aching to run. Still, I stayed.

And I stared. Hands on the wheel. I realized I was conscious of it. enough to sink. I could count. Several seconds passed, and still the lightning hung in the sky. The world was still bursting with white light, but the sky hadn't begun to tremble with thunder yet. I was looking at the frozen bolt when I noticed something glittering in the air outside the car. The raindrops hung in mid-air, as if suspended from the clouds. Time stood still, and my eyes were fixed on the lightning.

My fear had reached a level beyond panic. My mind broke. I couldn't help but laugh as I felt the adrenaline tickle my nerves. Dr. Henrickson, I just gave up. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and I had to make sure I wasn't dreaming. My whole life I'd been told that lightning strikes were instant and deadly. Yet here it hung like a thin tree from a vast dark canopy. I stepped out of the car.

I forced myself through the deep mud and on to the grassy field. I could feel the hairs on my body standing up, my mouth tasting copper. The burning in my eyes was replaced by a gentle warmth, and my pounding heart settled into a steady, forceful beat. I was through the looking glass, finally confronting my fear. It was comforting, but I wasn't alone. Silhouettes. People coming out of every corner of the field.

At first a handful, then a dozen. In a few seconds, a hundred. People stepped out of seemingly nowhere, all to watch this deadly spectacle. Strangers walked past me, just a few feet away. Some young, some old, some dressed, some naked, all enraptured by the lightning. We were drawn in,

like moths to a flame. A surge was moving through the field, white tendrils whipping back and forth like snakes, sparks flying, stinking of ozone. As the strangers around me stepped closer to the center of the field, I could see them degenerating, hair sloughing off, skin rotting, clothes turning moldy and damp, falling off in chunks.

They were leaving trails of their own bodies behind them, like slugs, dragging themselves across sandpaper. Then, as the tendrils inched closer, they turned to dust, popping soundlessly, like balloons, quiet. I locked eyes with a young woman standing hand in hand of the little boy on the other side of the field. I couldn't stop myself from recognizing her. Her mushroom basket still held tight,

the boy with boots too big for his feet. Her eyes were turning to coal. Her lips drawn back in a skeleton smile. Her long hair curling up and burning. She was looking at me. Time didn't matter anymore. This was happening. Had already happened.

And it would happen again. Mom. The instant a tendril touched her leg. She let me go. She didn't take me along. Not then. Not now. Thunder.

I woke up in a hospital. Apparently I'd had a seizure, and Dr. Henrickson had called 911. My car had been towed, and I'd been out cold for close to 16 hours. Everything smelled like ozone, and my legs were shaking. My dad drove up from Kansas City to be there when I woke up. My stepmom brought me jelly beans. I want to say I haven't been scared of lightning since that night, but that'd be a lie. Now I know there's something waiting for me.

There's something happening that has already happened, and will one day happen again. That light will come for me someday. I know it. Those tendrils will reach for me. I took a job in Indianapolis. I figured a change of scenery would do me well, and that staying away from that open field was the sensible thing to do. I brought my pet frog with me. Buddy is adapting better than I am.

Still, it is nice to be half-bat again. High school friends have a way of clawing their way back into your life. But even here, even now, I can't shake the feeling that this isn't over. Lightning, the veins that pump the blood of forces beyond our control. If anything, I'm closer to that white tendril than ever before. I see things at night, translucent people walking through the street, searching for the next storm. Sometimes, just before the rain starts, I get the taste of copper in my mouth, and sometimes in my dreams I see my mom. Her eyes of coal looking past the comforts I've built in life.

Her strands of hair curling up like dying insects and evaporating. A pale, white skull revealing itself, inch by inch. It all seems so shallow. Next time she might bring that boy along. I might be an old man by then. We'll go beyond the storm together, to the sound of deafening thunder. Then quiet. A family bereavement is difficult.

So is the aftermath. When your child is struggling with a loss that you also feel, what do you do? Well, in this tale, shared with us by author Mark Tows, a road trip and a heartfelt chat might be in order. But maybe there's more than grief at play here. Performing this tale are Andy Cresswell and Erica Sanderson. So let's buckle up and go for a ride through the beautiful English countryside. At least that's what it looks like to us anyway.

You have to wonder how it appears through her eyes. Standing in the doorway, squinting into daylight that she rarely sees these days. My daughter, Fiona, watches me cleaning the car. She's probably judging, too. bin bag full of countless coffee cups and takeaway cartons, hardly a snapshot of a life to be proud of. Feeling the irony after insisting yesterday we take the drive together, I offer a smile. Ready, darling? Over recent days, she's become more sullen than usual. Today she looks especially withdrawn, exhausted, in fact, pallid skin emphasizing sunken eyes.

Sometimes I stand by her bedroom door, listening to her tossing and turning, crying, moaning, mumbling under her breath. It breaks my heart. Her mother's death hit her for six, and I feel like a helpless bystander, witnessing the echo of who she once was. Without a word, she sauntered us over to the car and slinks into the seat. Isn't time supposed to heal, not let things bleed out? out. Jenny's voice plays in my head. Look through her eyes, not yours. Judging. Always fucking judging. Emptying the box of rubbish into the already full recycle bin, only compounds self-discussed. It was all cuss-cust and fresh veg when Jenny was around. I'd tried for a while, I really did.

But just like with my marriage, it wasn't long before I started with the shortcuts. Always looking for the easy route was another of Jenny's favourites. We were seeing a counsellor when Jenny got the diagnosis. Umpdine sessions in, but we seem to be sinking further into each other's misery. If truth be told, I think news of the illness only made her resent me more, that she would be spending her last few weeks with someone she no longer respected. Feeling like giving up before even starting, I fall back into the driver's seat. Where are we going anyway?

No eye contact, staring straight ahead, wearing her face like a declaration of war. You might want to shut your door first. She refuses to move, lips pursed, not even a blink. I'll do it then. I thrust myself from the car, making a big deal of marching to her side. It happens even quicker these days. The accelerated heart rate, the bass playing in my ears, the feet. in my veins. By the time I get there, I'm ready to slam that door so fucking hard, she'll have

to give me something. Instead, I count to three and let the door go, declining her invitation. Damned if I'll fail before I begin. I get back into the driver's side. I don't know, love, away from all the distractions, just you and me. She crosses her arms and snaps her head to the left. Sounds like a riot. Seat belt, darling. Nothing. She recoils as I reach over and fasten her in, her face twisting into a scowl as cold as her aura.

Holding my tongue, I start the engine and slowly bring the car out of the weed-infested driveway, noting how morose the house looks these days. A shadow of its former self, too. How's school? Is this what we're going to talk about? I'm just interested. How's Tara? Who's Tara?

Your friend. Clara. You mean Clara? She offers a muted laugh and angles even further away. Clara's dead to me. What has got into you lately? All that's missing is a cigarette and a tumbler of whiskey. I try my best, biting my lip through her reticence. But the words bounce relentlessly and violently in my head.

I said what the hell has got into you. There you are, Daddy. I wondered where you'd gone. Streets are packed full of families enjoying the first day of the school holidays, or at least pretending to. Regardless, smiles and projected contentment take us further towards an inevitable crescendo. I'm doing my best, Fee.

It's weak, I know, and it gets the silence it deserves. As we leave the city behind, the smell of wildflowers and manure begins displacing some of the heaviness, and it's tempting to hope the air will just blow it all away. I guess the mere thought only lends weight to Jenny's case, still winning from six feet under. Weeks have passed since cancer finally finished the job, and so far, Fee and I have only gone through the motions. She won't talk, detests my touch. Even getting her to look at me as a battle.

The conversation is more than a little overdue. We need to talk about things. Sensing what is coming, she refolds her arms and directs her gaze to the line of trees. She would have wanted us to get on, Fee, talk things through. I feel my fingers tightening around the wheel as she mumbles something under a breath. Fee, I say... You haven't got a clue what she wanted. The base intensifies.

Fingers coiled so tightly they're beginning to ache. Through her eyes, I understand, Fee. I know how close you both were. You were never here. Always looking for an easy route. Now, that's not true, Fee. I was... Sleeping with the tart from work.

I open my mouth to speak, but shock ties my brain in knots. Only a garbled croak emerges. I feel her eyes on me. What's wrong, Daddy? She would have wanted us to talk things through. Blanned colors merge into each other as I try and focus on the thin strip of grey ahead. I knew it was never going to be easy. But this isn't something I rehearsed.

Mummy was hurting, Daddy. Hurting so bad. How could you do such a thing? Easy route. I told Jenny, I couldn't live with my... But I can't believe she would tell Fee, that she would leave us with this. Your mother and I talked about it. I made a big mistake, Fee, a colossal one.

I ended it as soon as Mum got sick. That's what you told Mum, but you didn't end it, did you? And Mummy knew. I was so tired, beside myself with grief and worry. And she listened. I did try and end it, but I got so lonely. so weak. She made me feel like I was more than just a carer and a father,

as though I was a whole person with needs and wants of my own. I swear, Fee, it... Mommy said you'd try and squirm from the truth. What kind of man cheats on his dying wife, Daddy? Guilt and discomposure twist my insides as I search for my next words. How did Jenny know that I saw her again? Did she have people watching me? We were careful. So careful.

She was surprised you told her in the first place. But I guess from her deathbed there wasn't a lot she could do. Fee, I... Don't you think that's weak, Daddy? Stop it, Fee. Stop what? We're just talking things through, aren't we, Daddy? That's what you wanted, isn't it, Daddy? Blood pounds in my head, and I can taste copper at the back of my mouth.

The heavy canopy above locks in the dimness, and I see no light ahead. Come on, Daddy, let's chew the fat, shoot the shit, spill the beans. The sequence throws me, but she's always been an avid reader, like her mum, picking up slang, throwing down lines. Jenny could disarm me any time she wanted with a quote from one of her self-help books that lit at the house. Okay, Fee, okay. I take in the heavy cologne of the surrounding woods, forcing myself into relative composure. The crows core impatiently, as if anxiously awaiting the show. Your mother and I had been struggling for a while.

We were... Young when you married. Mother said you'd try that bullshit. My teeth dig further into my lip, and my knuckles turned stark white against the black plastic. It sounds as if the crows are mocking me now. Sorry, Daddy, carry on. But I think you can do better.

I think you can do better. One of Jenny's favorites that used to drive me through the fucking roof. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Sometimes people change, and expectations can... The crackle of laughter surprises me. She puts one hand to her mouth and frantically waves the other towards me, as if I'm little more than hilarious.

My instinct is to scream at her to stop. But I've no control here. She has it all. God damn fucking crows. Finally, she wipes a tear from her right eye and recomposes. Oh, you're a hoot, Daddy. It's just like Mommy said it would be. I don't even know where we are anymore.

Ain't that the truth? What do you mean by that, like Mommy said it would be? Oh, she's been coming to see me. So she couldn't stand being apart. So she came back. My mind races with responses, but I resist. Through her eyes. Sweetheart, I know that's what you want more than anything in the world, but your mom is gone.

Deep down, you know she can't come back. The dead can't come back. I can't very well leave it like that. But I promise you'll get to see her again one day. Your promises mean as much to me as they did to her. Inhale, three, two, one, exhale. Fee, I'm not perfect. I'm flawed.

But your mum wasn't the... Don't you dare. We're no further on, possibly in a worse place than before. And now I have the conjuring of her mother to contend with... Fuck. The road is getting windier, hillyer, and the canopy above is thicker than ever. The abundance of dancing crows blocking out even further light. Don't try and fix it.

Just listen. I hated that she was right all the time. How long has she been coming back for? I relaxed my grip on the wheel. Fee lets out a deep sigh, but her body loosens. Only recently. I prayed every night, but last week she stepped out of the shadows for the first time. This could be it. The connection? What did she look like? I mean, was she...

Like an angel? What did she say? She said a lot. Like what? That you always resented having a child. My hope fades. No, that's simply not true. Absolutely... You wanted an abortion. My mind struggles to keep up. I'm out of my depth and sinking fast.

I was just young, but I swear I never regret having you. I love you. I swear, I swear. Do you swear you never had a drinking problem too? This fucking goddamn road is endless. And that you never stayed at work just to avoid us? Do you swear that you never refused to take the paid leave your boss offered? That you never cursed the day you ever met her.

Enough. That you wish you would just get on and die. The crows are deafening now, hopping from one foot to the next, an excitable audience watching the carnage unfold. I open my mouth to defend myself, but I have nothing. Don't you want to talk anymore, Daddy? With the back of my sleeve, I wiped the moisture from my eyes. This drive was supposed to fix things, heal wounds, bring us closer together. But I feel even first.

apart. It doesn't make sense. Differences aside, I can't imagine Jenny ever putting her daughter through this much pain. Feeding her with this bile, it just wasn't part of... Daddy? When did she tell you all this, Fee? I told you. She's been coming to see me. Came last night too. Feeling a sudden chill, I wind the window up, but it doesn't help. My skin crawls. and titans. I'm trembling. Can't think straight, can't focus. The crow's only slightly dampened cries continuing from gnarly branches. I don't know how to deal with any of this. She asked me if I wanted

to stay with her. I'm so fucking cold, yet I can feel beads of sweat rolling down my cheeks as violence erupts within. I want to roar, drown everything out. Hairs bristle on the back of my neck and blood pulses relentlessly across my forehead. Your mother's dead, Fee. To you, maybe. This can't be normal. How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this? Fee, we watched her wither away to nothing.

She's in a box underground and there's no coming back. She shakes her head. I've seen her. Felt her breath against me. I'm losing it. sinking into a quagmire of confused anger, and there's nothing I can do. Fee, she's as dead as dead can be, taking a dirt nap, a bag of bones and an ounce of gristle. My fist slams into the center of the steering wheel, sending the horn blaring and birds

flapping wildly from their branches into the road. Nothing but fucking worm food! Fee's sullen and pale face remains unchanged, much like her mother's used to after one of my childish outbursts. I said yes, Daddy. I'm going to stay with Mummy. It's unfair that I need to deal with this kind of fallout. Stop this nonsense, Fee! I snap my foot down hard on the accelerator to take us up the rise of a hill. She kissed me, Daddy. Stop it, Fee.

Breast me in. left just enough for today. Please stop talking like this, Fee. Just stop it. Insisted I came for the drive to say goodbye. I turned to her, noticing her skin even paler than before against the starkness of the seatbelt. For fuck's sake, Fee.

But I have to go now. Mommy said the veil is closing. Fee, will you please shut the fuck? Daddy! As I instinctively bring the wheel hard left, my mind takes a delayed snapshot of the bottom of the hill. Half a dozen crows, basking in a spotlight of sun, a grotesque and withered body at their centre. But the face, to the sound of twisting metal, the world becomes a furious

kaleidoscope of greens and browns. I'm weightless, surrounded by floating glass. Grimmassing for pain, I close my eyes, the soundtrack of violence bleeding into my ears. It feels like it will never end. Until it does. My head roars. My insides are on fire. Silence prevails, albeit the sound of spinning tires. I unscrew my eyes to see the bow of a branch protruding from the center of my chest,

like a deformed extra limb. Something's leaking inside. Fee. Nothing. Fee! Pain fires up my arm as I give her a gentle shove. Fee! Her head lollops to the side.

A string of saliva extends towards the floor. Fee, please. The wheels stop spinning. Even the crows are quiet now. And strangely, my pain is beginning to subside. I reach towards her colorless body and feel, for a pulse, not a mark on her, but she's gone. Breathed me in, left just enough for today, and in the rear-view mirror I see her amongst the crows, ethereally hovering over the carcass.

She reaches towards the body, and a frail, spindly arm lifts from the ground. Jenny's face, But that isn't her. Fee, no! As my little girl helps the thing to its feet, it coils its spindly fingers around one of her shoulders and brings her in close. It looks towards the car as if the gloat, covered in a cloak of spiraling dark fog.

It isn't her. Anyone could see it, perhaps aside from a grieving daughter. Through her eyes. Only a rasp up emerges as I scream after Fee. I feel nothing now, numb, and I know I'm on borrowed time as I watched the thing that stepped out from the shadows leading my daughter away. I can see the trees through Fee's midriff, only slightly distorted by the black wisps of cloud to begin surrounding her, courtesy of the darkness to her. courtesy of the darkness to her right, tugging at the spindly arm protruding from the blackness,

Fee turns to offer a solemn wave. It turns to, this vile incarnation that feeds on misery, grief, and death. All that poison it fed her, all that hate. What evil would do such a thing? And what a swan song. It offers a. final smile before they both disappear behind the veil of black fog. That was a dark tale for Mother's Day. Time for a quick break from this maternal mischief. Hey, so season 17 is almost at an end, right? Correct. Two more episodes, and soon, season 18 begins.

I'm a season past 17 holder. You're not going to automatically subscribe me to season 18, right? No way. We don't have auto-renewing membership. That practice isn't the way we like to do business. I'm glad to hear that. I just got dinged by another company that auto renewed a full year's subscription, and there wasn't even a warning. What a hassle. Well then, let me tell you about the True Bill app.

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Before you know it, the trial turns into a paid subscription, and bam, more money on your credit card. Knowing that if you got rid of all the subscriptions you don't need, or you forgot about, you could save hundreds is very different from going to all the trouble to actually remember, find, and cancel them. That's why you need True Bill. So remind me and our listeners how to sign up with True Bill. It's easy to ensure you don't have to fall for subscription scams. Start canceling today at Truebill.com slash no sleep. Wow, that is easy.

Truebill.com slash no sleep. It could save you thousands a year. I'm going to go right now. Truebill.com slash no sleep. Hey, thanks for showing me the light. I'm glad I could help. And speaking of light, Let's get back to the horror before we're swallowed in darkness.

Once, long ago, I was happily recording the podcast when all the lights in my recording booth went out. So I checked on it, and it was the whole no-sleep campus. The outage lasted for a whole week, the entire team working in the pitch blackness. And then none of us ever mentioned it again. And it's strange because now, years later, in this tale, shared with us by author Louisa and, We meet a group of people going through exactly the same horror. Performing this tale are Mary Murphy, Mike Delgado, Gaudio, Mick Wingerd, Danielle McCray, Wafia White, Atticus Jackson, Jesse Cornett, and Aaron Lillis.

So let's chase away the shadows and listen to this one in a well-lit room, because nobody remembers when the world went dark. I've never thought about any date more. The anniversary is coming up soon. I wonder if that will help anyone remember. I was on a bus then, crawling away from Savannah. I was 19, escaping the maze of concrete that was a city, a pilgrim on the roads leading to places yet discovered.

A story I'm sure was shared by so many before me. The bus had traveled just far enough that the vestiges of urbanization had dwindled to withered gas stations in cheap motels. which I couldn't appreciate enough. It was untamed wilderness. It was freedom. And soon, it would almost be the death of me. I checked my watch.

4.12 p.m. August 16, 2019. I looked up at the windows before all of a sudden, something strange happened. Everything was black. There was nothing. For a second, I thought that I had fainted, but I could still hear the low, endless hum of the bus. And not a moment later, the screams of everyone around me. The words, I can't see anything,

were a shared chorus that rose and fell when we all realized that our vision had simultaneously fled. The bus reached a swift halt. I could hear the doors swing open, releasing the stream of passengers onto the road. Last time I had looked out the window, there was nothing save the trees in straight endless road. I stood up, gripping the seat in front of me,

before moving to the aisle and pushing my way forward. I could feel hands grasped from either side, searching for something to hold on to. My feet bumped into something sprawled across the floor, but I found no hesitation to continue on. until I climbed out and onto the asphalt. The same commotion had continued on out there. Like so many others, I'd left my backpack on the bus.

So I turned around and tried to board. But the screams inside made me hesitate, and the flood of people never seemed to stop. I quickly wandered off to the grass by the bus, where the screams still reached, but gradually thinned out. I heard people talking about, leaving, finding a way back to Savannah or somewhere else nearby for help. When I found the courage again, I returned to the bus doors and was prepared to climb in before someone spoke to me.

Can you get my stuff? I flinched when he spoke. My food is in there, and I'm going to need it to leave. Where are you going? I couldn't fathom walking anywhere. I'm with a group of four other people. There's a military base about 20 miles out. We're going. We're going. I can't fathom walking anywhere. I'm with a group of four other people. There's a military base about 20 miles out. going to get help. I was able to grab the man's supplies, but the meager laptop bag didn't seem like it was carrying a lot. When I located him, he was with a group of other people, who I was promptly introduced to. The man who had approached me was Stephen, and he was a physician at the military base. Then there was Claudia, Tess, Marcus, and Wade. We briefly shared hypotheses about the situation. A gas leak was the only reasonable one that surfaced. We tried to find a way to call

the police from each other's cell phones, but either we couldn't find our phones, or none of them worked. But Stephen promised us that if we contacted the military, we would all be rescued, and they would help us regain our vision. Marcus was the one who created the roll-calling system. It was the only way to recognize who was nearby. Marcus would shout, roll-call, and we'd always. We'd I'll repeat our names like in a classroom. Claudia, Wade, Stephen, then me, Chris, and Tess. Once that was instituted, we turned to Stephen for any direction to the military base. We're on a road that goes straight there.

We just continue forward. So, we did just that. Most of the other bus-formed groups split off, wandering their own ways, branching off into the surrounding open woods. I never knew what they were looking for. Some followed us towards the base, but after a while we gained considerable ground against them until we never heard them again. Every so often, one member of our group would stop and place their hand on the ground, just to confirm that we were still on the road. Even in a situation like ours, things seemed to slip our mind, and the asphalt would seem to blend in with the rest

of our senses, despite the loss of one. We would talk to keep our minds off it, then she would through random topics of our lives, playing games, racing each other. A while passed before Marcus's voice escaped the front of the group. Wait, there's something wrong here. When I walked up to him, I could feel my feet fall off the road and into the grass. Does the road end? No, it splits. Marcus was right.

I moved to my left, then my right, and felt the asphalt continue. The realization set him for all of us as we wandered between the paths. There was a fork in the road. Which direction do we go, Stephen? The hesitation that followed Tess's question wasn't reassuring. I'm not sure. I've driven this road many times. If I could just see it.

You're not sure? I could hear Marcus move to Stephen. How can you not be sure? You have one job, Stephen. And if we go the wrong way to who knows where, completely fucked. You're no help either. The argument pumed,

fueled by exhaustion and delusion. I could hear them grab at each other in the darkness before Claudia left my side and started towards them. We can't act like children. There's only one way to the military base. So we have to choose a side. Stephen exhaled before picking a road. I think we go this way.

All right. Then let's go. The rest of the group followed Claudia forward. After a while, we started to slow to a leisurely pace. I don't think any of us were suited to walk for miles, as we had been plucked from our lives and thrown into an unfamiliar situation. I was only wearing everyday clothes inappropriate for long treks, and the only shoes I sported were a cheap pair of slip-ons.

After a few hours of walking, I felt like the only thing left on my feet was a thin sheet of rubber. Not long after, the group called for a break. We slowed to a halt before spilling off the road and migrating to the grass nearby. I let myself fall to the ground, resting my head against the cool dirt before Tess suddenly spoke. What time is it? I sat up. It was something that had slit my mind. mind. There was no indication of time now. The tiredness I would usually feel during the evening

had already consumed me after hours of walking. Everything stood stagnant in a haze of warmth and darkness. It was around four when it happened, and I think we've been walking for three hours. So it's probably seven. We seemed content to lie down and call it a night. We all formed a little circle. Watching over each other as best we could, before I fell asleep. The next morning, I was awoken by Claudia, who lifted me up and insisted on starting our walk early. There was nothing to wake up to, and my stomach growled. I wondered if we would ever find food out here. Roll call.

Claudia. Wade. Stephen. Chris. There was a pause. I repeated myself. But Tess's name never. followed. We searched for Tess in the grass. Our knees pushed in the ground, hands scouring

for any vestige of her. I'm sure I looked like Velma searching for her glasses, combing through the brush, but there was nothing left of her. She must have left in the middle of the night. We just have to move on. Why would she leave? We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. But a response was never given. And we quite, quieted down before continuing on. I wondered where she could have possibly left for. Did she go back to the bus? Did another group find her?

I tried to rake my brain for any possible explanation. There was nothing else said between us, the hot sun beating down as we sluggishly sauntered forward. There was only a small understanding of our goal, to make it to the military base, to see again, but everything else was left up for us to see. stumble upon.

Just before I was about to raise my voice to ask for a break, I heard the roar of engines project from far beyond. I was walking beside the road then, and as I heard the noises approach faster, I barely had enough time to yell. Everyone! Get off the road! I could feel people fall beside me, and the vehicles rushed past before continuing on out of earshot.

We all stood for a minute in silence, as the dust seemed to settle back into place. Was that the military? I considered it for a second. Maybe we had chosen the right path. Roll call. Claudia. The list abruptly stopped there. They waited for Wade's voice, but it never came.

Wade? The realization hit me. I found my way back onto the road and bent down it. again, using my hands and feet to feel around. I came upon it faster than I expected. All I could feel was a mess of clothing, pressed against the asphalt, and what I then presumed was the head. I jumped back when I felt the guts, mushy and hot. He's there. That's Wade. No one found the strength to move his body, or whatever remained of it. I could barely believe it. Even when he's there. Even we continued on and away from him.

Now there were two of us gone. I couldn't shape the thought of who would be next. But after Marcus insisted that we had to keep moving, a new thought consumed me. Who were they, the people in the vehicles? If we had screamed for them to stop, would they have? Were they military or someone else?

No one wanted to believe that the vehicles were anything else but soldiers, escaping into the city to rescue. Maybe they had found some sort of cure. The rest of the day wasn't very noteworthy. We seemed to grow tired quicker, and I could feel myself getting more and more dehydrated as the temperatures only seemed to rise. No one had food, nor water,

or anything else to construct any sort of hope. We only had the military to look forward to, but at the rate we were crawling at, it seemed like a dream that we would never reach. The following day was just as similar as the last. The morning roll call was thankfully standard, and we were able to start earlier than the day before. We slept that night, thirsty and starving.

At this rate, it wouldn't be long until one of us succumbed to malnutrition. But the next day brought a new hope. We were crawling along the road, our steps slow and small, until we could hear something from behind the tree line. It was voices, new and unfamiliar. Who's out there? Four! We're from a bus a few miles back.

Where are you? Can you see? Sticks cracked as a group of people seemingly emerged from the brush. I didn't know how many of them there were, but I already felt outnumbered. We're a family from a town nearby. We can't see anything either. My brother was hurt. Do you have a doctor?

I'm a physician. Stephen moved away from my side. The rest of our group instinctively followed. We ventured deep into the woods, far enough that I began wondering why they left someone this far out. But Marcus and Stephen were engaging in an ordinary conversation with the two people, whose names we learned to be Meika and Josephine. So I tried to unarm any doubt I had about them. After a while of walking, Mika finally told us to stop.

We're here. Let me go get him. He left us. I felt Claudia walk up beside me. How long we've been walking for? I tried to shrug off her suspicion, but it bit at me, and the darkness didn't help. We stood for a little while, before suddenly I felt arms behind me, pushing me forward. They threw me onto the dirt. Claudia and Stephen fell next to me, then Marcus. I heard something escape the trees,

and soon it felt like we were surrounded by people. Marcus tried to regain his ground and stand up, but he was only shoved down again, this time harder. Foreign hands wrapped tape about my wrist and ankles, preventing me from any sense of movement. To my right, I could hear Claudia and Stephen, struggle, as if something similar was restraining to them. If you stay that way, it won't hurt as bad.

What are you even doing? God has abandoned us. He has plunged our world into darkness and has left us to roam it blindly. But there is a way to see again. I know there is. We tried it on my brother, but it failed. I can't experiment on myself or Micah or any other. other family member anymore, we don't have anything left to test on. Think of yourselves as a

sacrifice for the cure. We'll just start down the line. Before I barely had a second to process the situation, Claudia's scream escaped near me. A scream so haunting that I can recall it years later. I heard someone carry her away so far that I couldn't hear her anymore. Then I heard Marcus lifted off the ground. He must have been only a person away from me because I could hear Stephen beside me, begging for Mika to stop, asking him where he was taking them.

The footsteps returned back to us and the next to me. Stephen was picked up and thrown forward towards some unknown place. Just as the footsteps began their path towards me, I found the sense to scoot backwards, out of the line and away from Mika and Josephine and their group.

I heard someone shouting, and as I continued to crawl away, the voices hushed, and silence consumed them. It only took me a second to realize that they were trying to hear me out, waiting for me to even so much as breathe. Close to me,

I could feel their boots rise and fall, searching the grass for any redmond. After the footsteps wandered off, I was able to peel the tape bindings from my ankles. I stood up. and moved in what I could only assume was forward. As I ran through the trees, I heard the sticks crack beneath my shoes,

but the sound only propelled me faster. I heard a sound rising from the distance, the sound of engines. But these engines blared differently. They were louder and more numerous. Suddenly, a voice boomed across the road, and I instantly moved backwards. I ran towards the road. But the vehicles had long passed when I reached it.

I collapsed on the ground. My mind and legs in a similar throbbing pain. I laid that way for what felt like hours, until I opened my eyes and... I was back on the bus. I lifted my watch up to my face, but I could barely comprehend the date. August 23rd, 2019.

Seven days after the world had gone dark, 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. The final chapter. I was in the vanishing house. There was water. It was rising so quickly and the consistency was thick. Like it was pulling me down and I was dragged under. It felt like falling.

Like I was tumbling in a current that was taking me deeper. into the morays. And I curled around the cup I still had clutched in my hands. I clamped my fingers over the improvised cover for it, layers of plastic wrap and rubber bands, because that was all I could think to do in my panic. I couldn't spill the cup. He would be so angry. I couldn't let it spill. Then I remember nothing else until I woke in a strange place wrapped in blankets and laying next to a fireplace. My name is Kate, and I think, this is Goat Valley Campgrounds. I woke in a room with wooden floors and beige-striped wallpaper. The fireplace was brick and a handful of logs burned heartily inside its mouth. An iron poker and shovel hung on a squat stand next to it. I sat up,

slowly, letting the faded quilt fall off my shoulders and onto the floor. The cup was still clutched in my hands. You were caught out in the rain. Do you remember? The voice felt familiar. I wasn't sure why that was. I do. It'd been raining. The campers had taken shelter on the front porch and I'd gone looking for them. You were out in the cold so long you were hypothermic. Just sit by the fire a bit. longer, I'm here for you. I'll always protect you. Something stirred in the back of my mind. Never in my life had anyone said they'd protect me. I remember my own mother, the strength of her arms, the lines of her muscles as she held something down against the ground. Her grip taught on a knife handle. We can't protect you. You'll have to learn to do this on your own.

and she'd slit the monster's throat and let it bleed out into the dirt. I wondered who this voice was then, that it would make such a promise to me. It no longer felt as familiar as it did, more like a voice I'd heard in a dream. I could feel the edges of my memories fraying the more I tried to examine them, trying to place who it was that was behind me. You were so cold and exhausted when I brought you inside. Its tone was soothing. I felt heavy, listening to it, and it was an effort to keep my eyes open.

Do you want to sleep some more? You can sleep as much as you want. You don't have to fight anymore. Not at my house. You can finally rest. I slumped to the ground, laying down on my side, and I stared at the fire. It blurred before my eyes, and I teetered there on the verge of sleep. But then I shifted, trying to get my head into a more comfortable angle,

and perched his needle pricked my collarbone. The voice was over me. I couldn't see it. It remained just out of my eye shot, but I felt its presence hovering over my body like a shroud. I felt it draw the blanket up and lay it against my shoulder. Its touch reminded me of dry leaves. Do you love me?

Something felt off. I fingered the edge of the needle I wore stuck through my shirt. It was bitter cold, I realized. There was no warmth from the fire in it. I stretched out my fingers towards the flames and felt no heat. You don't want my love. Everyone I love dies. A hiss and the presence recoiled.

I continued reaching out until my fingers touched. the flames, and then my entire hand was in the fire, and it licked at my skin, and I felt nothing but cold air. I felt the drowsiness slipping away, and I pushed myself up. Then I stood, taking the skull cup as I did. I turned. The room vanished into darkness beyond the edge of the firelight, and I heard a creaking noise, like a strained rope swaying back and forth, and ragged, uneven breathing. It paused. I heard the catch in the back of its throat, and it spoke again. If you will not love me.

I reached to the side and my hand closed on the handle of the iron poker. It felt real enough. I took it with me and stepped forwards to the edge of the light. I worship no God and no power. Worship demands obedience, and the only obligations I will carry is to my land and my family. I stepped into the darkness. I no longer heard the creak of the wooden floor as I pressed forwards, straining to place the movement of the rope and the ragged breathing.

Somewhere above me, I hefted my improvised weapon uneasily. Do you? The fire sputtered and died. I felt its breath stir the hair on the back of my head. I fear death. I whirled and swung and the poker passed through empty air. I backed up. I fear failure, but I don't fear you.

Show yourself, master of the vanishing house! The quality of the air changed. It thinned. It left a faint metallic taste on my lips, and then I could see. There was no light source, merely a lifting of the darkness, and before me hung the master of the house. A human torso with the legs and head of a deer, hanging limp from the rope bound tightly around.

its legs. The fur was stained with black blood from where its bonds cut through its flesh. Its eyes were empty, black hollows where they once were, and dead moss hung off its antlers. Its wrists were bound together, the arms dangling lifelessly before it. It rotated slowly on the rope that held it aloft. A line bisected its belly. Then it split open, the upper body tipping back to reveal the insides, a mouth with a black throat, and a tongue and white teeth slick with something like ink. The liquid dribbled down its torso as it spoke, ran along the grooves of its antlers, and dripped onto the floor. Do you...

Buddy, you are asking the wrong person. I have a dead girl knocking on my window every single night, and every morning I get to listen to her, be dragged off by a monstrous beast. and that's probably among the least of the horrific things I've witnessed. Now, where is the sheriff? I brandished my iron poker for effect. I'm not sure it made a difference. He didn't love me. He wouldn't worship me, certainly.

Didn't fear me. He's alive, though. The candle was still burning, up until the moment I set someone on fire with it. I didn't think that extinguishing the candle would actually kill him. It was a representation of his life, not his life itself. I kept him. For what? It told me, its words rolling out of its mouth like the toll of a bell. They echoed in my ears, sharp like needles, and I scratched futilely at my own skin to dislodge them. The inhuman things of this world can die, it said. We kill them, but there are always more

another river spirit to drown the unwary, another hunter to stalk the lonely caught out after sundown. They exist because at some point long ago, someone made them persist, so that they would not fade away when the sun rose and banished the terrors of the night like the morning fog. Someone loved them like the saints, or someone worship them like the gods, or someone feared them like the monsters. Its sorrow was like a wave. I might have wept if I hadn't come to kill it. The rope continued to twist until the mouth rotated to face me.

It stared at me with dead eyes in the deer's tattered skull. The rope stopped twisting. It hung there, immobile, until the belly split open again. The torso bobbing. with every word. It began to sway. The body jerked on the rope and the line curved

as it reached for me. Those bound hands suddenly full of life and it stretched its fingers out to where I stood. The mouth gaped, the tongue running across its oily teeth, and more liquids spilled forth to land in thick clots

on the ground like tar. The darkness closed in again, robbing me of my only advantage, mobility. I swung wildly into empty, the air, turned, swung again. Keep moving, I thought, because while I could no longer see the monster, perhaps I could keep it at bay if I just kept moving. I felt the brush of air touched my cheek. I swung and the iron poker continued its arc without ever meeting resistance. The creek of a rope

from somewhere to my right. I turned abruptly, swung again, stumbling because panic had not given me the presence of mind to catch my balance first. A hand. closed on my hair, a jerk, sudden bright agony, and I was suspended in mid-air. My feet kicked wildly at empty air. I clutched at the fingers holding me, gripped the ropes that were bound around its wrists, trying to get purchase enough to take the strain off the back of my head and give me leverage to fight. My fingers slipped off the ropes, wet with black blood, fastened so tight that it was like they were simply part of its skin. I felt liquid splatter on my fore. forehead and slide down past my eyebrows, and I closed my eyes tight, desperately hoping it wouldn't get

in my eyes. My skin was numb along the path it traced. More fell onto my shoulders, like rain on the t-shirt I wore. The needle stabbed into my collarbone. More black liquid splattered on my neck and face. I let go of its fingers and my hand closed on Perched his needle instead. It came loose at my touch. I stabbed the heavy metal needle into the creature's wrist. It shrieked. Its arms went slack, and I fell, landing hard on the ground. My left foot struck the iron poker, and I seized it and scrambled to my feet. From all around me came the frenzied shrieks of the creature

and the groan of the rope as it struggled to support its frantic writhing. The darkness lifted a fraction, enough that I could see its writhing silhouette, jerking like a fish on a line. It was weak. It admitted as much. The house was so much to maintain, and it wasn't getting the prey it needed. And while it suffered here in the darkness, starving and desperate, the sun continued to rise each morning and banished the terrors of the night once more.

I knew its end was near. Back when I decided to rescue the sheriff, I swore that I would bring him out, even if I had nothing but my own will to drag him free with. It seemed that the time had come. I am my mother's daughter after all. I said nothing. I felt nothing but cold, smoldering rage, an old anger that was kindled to life long ago.

Perhaps when I watched my aunt choose her death, or perhaps when I helped my father bury his horses, or perhaps when I came of age by strangling my childhood friend, I hefted the iron poker in one hand and walked up to the master of the vanishing house. I raised it, let it fall, throwing my shoulder and hip into its path to lend it the mass of my body. The meaty impact of each blow traveled up my arm, past my elbow and into my shoulder. I felt the resistance of bone, and then the softness of when they shattered the sickening crunch,

echoing through the chamber. The needle fell from its shattered arms and landed at my feet. Fear. This time, it sounded like it was begging. I continued to swing until my arms ached, and I was panting, covered in sweat. And still the monstrosity made its demands, even as its head caved in and its body split and splattered like overripe fruit. Its legs and pelvis dangled from the ropes, and the rest of it lay in a puddle of meat and bone and blood at my feet. And still it cried out, barely a wet gurgle, but a cry nonetheless.

us. And while it could no longer speak intelligibly, its words still echoed in my mind. I don't think that what I did next came from my own mind. I think I was guided. And considering the source, I'm okay with that. I knelt beside its broken form. I whispered to it gently, that it was okay, that this was the end and that it was time to go. I picked up, perched his needle. The white thread was still threaded through its eye, and when I touched it, it began to grow. The threads multiplied weaving together into a single strip of cloth, and the whole of it elongated into a thin white sheet, a shroud, a funeral shroud. It fell over the monster's body, black vials soaking into the cloth, and then it was still and silent. And the words I spoke

over it were not my own, but they were a blessing, a right, and then it was dead. The house shook around me. It went still a few seconds later, groaning ponderously, and then another tremor shook it. I glanced around me in panic. An attic. The roof was close by overhead, and the floors were roughly hewn wooden slats. In the corner lay the sheriff. I ran to him, dropping to my knees, He was breathing, but he didn't stir as I shook him. Around me the house creaked and moaned, and another shutter sent a shower of dust and wood splinters over my head and shoulders. The last item.

I hastily jerked off the covering and forced it up to his lips, tipped it and most of the liquid ran out and onto his chest. But some of it went into his mouth, and I saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed. I gave him all of it. I had to, just to get some inside him. Still, he didn't move, and behind me a beam collapsed, taking part of the floor with it as the house shook yet again. Come on, wake up, wake up! The liquid wasn't enough.

There had to be something else ingested before the poison activated. So I found a broken beam, easy enough, the house collapsing around us, and I cut my palm open on a jagged splinter of wood. I fed him my own blood. And he came to and vomited black liquid onto the wooden floor. I threw his arm under my shoulders and yelled that we had to go. We had to move. He was dazed, but my word stirred him into action and he stood, shakily, and staggered along with me even as his body continued to convulse

and bring up more and more of that sickly liquid, thick as tar. We made it outside, and we're halfway to Brian's car when the house collapsed behind us. I put the sheriff on the ground. by the road, and he continued to vomit into the grass. Kate? Kate! I'm here. We're okay. I was afraid you were still inside. What's happening to the house?

I killed the master. It's dead. But let's be certain. Get the gasoline. Let's burn this place. We put the old sheriff in the backseat of the car. Then Brian and I, we soaked the remains of the house and then burned it into ash. I confess, I'm a little disappointed that the current sheriff wasn't called out by someone reporting the blaze. The downside of the house appearing in remote areas, I suppose.

The old sheriff didn't remember much of the time that passed between when he entered the house and when I woke him. For him, he walked into that house only a few days ago. We took him to his wife first, and once they'd had their reunion, I told him I needed his help. The next morning, we went to meet with the current sheriff. Kate, fancy seeing you show up at my office. Heard there's been a murder on your campground. Oh, such a shame. Can't imagine what the family will think of it?

I guess that all depends on what you tell them, won't it? I think you know what I'll... Oh. Subota. Good to see you again. I'm sure it was a hell of a shock with the old sheriff walking in the door behind me. One minute, Sabota is wearing a shitting grin, thinking that I was here to concede and talk about selling the land,

and the next minute, he's white as a sheet, thinking he's seeing a ghost, which is a reasonable thing to think. But no, the old sheriff was back, and he sat himself down in the only chair opposite the sheriff's desk, and I stood at his shoulder. I know you're new at this job, Sabota, and you didn't get the benefit of having me around to guide you through learning the road. And I'm sure you take your position very seriously.

But around here, sometimes certain things need to slide. You see, the campground brings in a lot of money for a lot of people around here. The locals are behind me, and I... They are at the moment. But once they start feeling that pinch in their wallet, then start wondering how the mortgage is going to get paid, well, your support will dry up real fast. And I think you know how the locals deal with folks that endanger our town. Are you threatening me? Just laying out the facts. Now, Kate's family here has a bit of a reputation. I know. I'm sure you've been listening to

the troublemakers, but you listen hard enough, and you'll find. that there's far more people who feel that they're an asset to the community and put their necks on the line to keep people safe. You're doing them a real disservice by bad-mouthing their name. That campground is dangerous. Of course it is. But at least it's contained. And your job around here is to make their lives a bit easier by lending your assistance. Sometimes that is mere paperwork, sometimes it's cleaning up a body or two, and sometimes it means a little more, like risking your life to drag someone out of a vanishing house. The sheriff squirmed uncomfortably at that.

We all know that he wasn't the type to risk his life. Then the old sheriff leaned forwards and got to the most important part of his talk, the threats. You're going to be up for re-election at some point. You know, if I run against you, you're going to be. gonna lose. So if you want to keep your job, you keep your head down and stop stirring up the town. And if you want to keep your life, you stay the hell away from Kate. My life? You think the campground is bad. Wait until those things are on your doorstep. Wait until they're lurking in the woods and the

fields and the barns. You've grown complacent because you're safe. I'm here to remedy that? The sheriff continued on just as he had before. No smile, no change in tone. Just that matter-of-fact way of talking that impressed upon the recipient that he was a man that said what he meant and wasn't here to impress or intimidate. Just here to state how things were going to be. You set foot on that campsite ever again to do anything but your damn job, and I'll show up at

your office and blow your brain. brains out. And I'll just tell the town that you were working with some nasty evil thing. And maybe you are or maybe you aren't. But the town isn't going to question it. Not if I'm the one saying it. Then he leaned back, glanced up at me and asked if I was happy with this arrangement. I'm not satisfied yet. I walked around the desk to where the sheriff sat. He recoiled for me. I slammed the skull cup down on the desk in front of him. Blood from what was already there. Blood freely given and blood taken by force.

He didn't have much time to react. I knew what I was going to do and I moved quick, jabbing a thin pocket knife blade into his neck. I jerked it sideways and then blood gushed forth and I yanked it free, grabbing his hair and held his head over the cup. I didn't get much. Not before the old sheriff grabbed the back of my shirt and threw me off. slamming me into the wall of the office.

Kate, what the hell? Take the damn cup and get out. So I did. The sheriff didn't die. Amazingly, the ambulance arrived in time, and they were helped by the fact that the old sheriff managed to reach inside the man's neck and pinch the artery shut

and hold it shut until they arrived. It's incredible he didn't bleed to death. I'm a little disappointed. I'd intended for him to die as the man with a skull cup had said that it would take a high cost to refill it. The lifeblood of my enemy seemed like it would suffice. The old sheriff is a better person than I am. Sadly, they expect Sabota to recover.

He took a couple transfusions, but apparently you can survive with only one carotid artery intact. I didn't know that. The old sheriff updated me on his condition a few hours ago, along with a lecture on how I didn't need to solve everything with violence, and I was too much like my mother. There's not going to be any further backlash for what I did. The old sheriff knows he owes me his life,

and Sabota knows I'm now untouchable by him. I keep thinking of the master of the vanishing house. I deal with a lot of old beings, but not all of them come out of humanity's history. Some are younger, crawling out of our collective cultural mores, slinking out of our shared subconscious and into our world. I guess that thing in there was just trying to hold on long enough to become a fixture in our world.

I wonder how many others are trying to do the same, and how many fail every day and vanish back into the night mist from which they were formed. I wonder if they keep trying, dragging themselves back time and time again, like the ocean surf on the shore. Perhaps the vanishing house was like this, appearing again and again in a desperate bid to remain in this world, to be loved, worshipped, feared. But I'm certain of what I did. It is dead and nothing can bring it back. The Goat Valley Campground series was written and adapted for audio by Bonnie Quinn and co-written with T.J. Lee. Produced for the No Sleep podcast by Phil Mikulski. Musical score composed by Brandon Boone.

Starring Lindsay Russo as Kate, Kyle Akers as Brian, Atticus, Jackson as the master, David Cummings as Sheriff Sabota, Jesse Cornett as the former sheriff, and Nicole Doolin as Kate's mom. This concludes the No Sleep podcast production of Goat Valley Campgrounds. As the fires wane and embers glow, our stories cease as shadows grow. The night is long and darkness deep. Remain with us. Embrace No Sleep. The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media.

The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, 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 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.