The NoSleep Podcast - S17 Ep5: NoSleep Podcast S17E05

Episode Date: December 5, 2021

It’s Episode 05 of Season 17. Our spells grant you online treats.“My Online Girlfriend” written by Mr. Michael Squid (Story starts around 00:05:10)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Matthew – Atticus Jackson, Carla – Nichole Goodnight“Delivery Notification” written by John Krane (Story starts around 00:23:10)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Amy – Sarah Ruth Thomas“When Mother Comes to Check on Me at Night” written by Jake Brannan (Story starts around 00:40:10)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – Matthew Bradford, Mom – Mary Murphy, Dad – Jesse Cornett“A High Price” written by Charlie Davenport (Story starts around 00:54:05)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Dan Zappulla, Officer Amizade – Mike DelGaudio, Grandpa – Graham Rowat“Jagged Janice” written by J. G. Martin (Story starts around 01:13:35)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin, Dorian – Jeff Clement, Emily – Kristen DiMercurioThis episode is sponsored by:HelloFresh – With HelloFresh, you get fresh, pre-measured ingredients and mouthwatering seasonal recipes delivered right to your door. Skip trips to the grocery store and count on HelloFresh to make home cooking easy, fun, and affordable ñ and that’s why it’s America’s #1 meal kit!. Go to HelloFresh.com/nosleep14 and use code nosleep14 for up to 14 free meals AND 3 free gifts.Quip – Quip is the good habits company for oral health. Save up to 40% on their holiday bundles featuring their leading-edge electric smart toothbrush, brush heads, toothpaste, floss, chewing gum, and mouthwash. Quip makes oral care easy and affordable. And if you go to getquip.com/nosleep right now you’ll get your first refill FREEClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about John KraneClick here to learn more about J. G. MartinExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Delivery Notification” illustration courtesy of Krys HookuhAudio program ©2021 – 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 December, but that doesn't mean the horror stops. We've got plenty coming right up for you. I've got plenty coming up as well. Plenty of meals to cook over the holidays. Well, when it comes to easy and healthy meal prep, you know what I always recommend. Hello Fresh. Look, I love Hello Fresh, too.

The way they offer 50 menu and market items to choose from every week, including vegetarian, calorie smart, and gourmet options, it's amazing. But it's December. You mean those meals don't count in December? I mean, holiday meals require that special festive flair when you have guests over. And what about all the times when I need snacks and horse stewvers? It's pronounced hors d'oeuvres.

Whatever. Look, let's consider how hello-fresh meals are ready in around 30 minutes or less. Plus, with their quick and easy meals, 20-minute recipes, or low-prep and easy cleanup options, You can get food on the table quicker so you can spend more holiday time with loved ones. That's a good start. Now let's get holiday-specific with recipes like balsamic and fig beef tenderloin or pecan-crusted salmon.

They'll make holiday meals feel special without the high cost of dining out or delivery. Or go for cozy comfort food choices like chicken and sausage and sweet potato soup for a cold winter night. That sounds perfect. And the Hello Fresh Market has this season's end. entertaining covered with options like their holiday cheese and charcutory board and skinny-dipped dark chocolate peppermint almonds. Now you're talking. And don't forget dessert. Satisfy your sweet tooth with seasonal limited time goodies like ginger spice cake truffles and cherry cheesecake

swirl bars. I'm starting to believe in how Hello Fresh can make my holidays merry and bright. You'll be even merrier when you realize how you can save, on average, over $65 per month when you order Hello Fresh instead of grocery shopping. That's more money to spend on presents and activities. I love activities! Listen, as someone who has cooked with Hello Fresh, I can assure you it makes meals a deliciously enjoyable experience. And with family around for the holidays, it can be a treat to cook with others.

Fast, festive family fun. Let me hear that great offer for No Sleep listeners. Sure. Just go to Hellofresh.com slash no sleep 14 and use Code No Sleep 14 for up to 14 free meals and three free gifts. You're saying I go to Hellofresh.com slash no sleep 14 and use code no sleep 14 for up to 14 free meals and three free gifts? It's as easy as that to enjoy America's number one meal kit. You've just reduced my holiday horrors. Well, I can't stand for that.

Let's increase the horror by starting the show. In times long gone, in days of yore, there are legends and tales of dark folklore. Round candlelight and fireside, the tales are shared. Enchanting dark secrets in hushed tones 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.

This episode is dedicated to the memory of Daniel Becker, also known to the community as Banjacks, who passed away earlier this month. He was an active supporter of the podcast. and friend to many of us. We're grateful to have been able to run his story, still beating in Sleepless Decompositions, Volume 6. Daniel will be sorely missed.

We hope to honor him as we begin this week's show. In our first tale, we find ourselves in a fantasy world, populated by horrifying monsters, adorable fairies, and was that a giant yellow chicken I just saw running by? Too late to tell, because now we're back in the real world.

But that's the benefit of video games, isn't it? Escapism. And in this tale, shared with us by author Mr. Michael Squid, we meet a guy whose solace in video games leads to the promise of offline elation. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson and Nicole Goodnight. So forget the daily grind of real life. log in, level up, and meet my online girlfriend. It started six months ago when I joined a fairly popular MMO RPG.

It's a massive multiplayer online role-playing game for the less nerdy folks. I'll just hint to which one to avoid any backlash, since they had nothing to do with what happened to me. It's a fantasy game, pretty cute and funny. And the players can join in on other players' battles and help. help out, which I found charming. When I began playing, I was a noob without any idea as to what I was doing. I was running around in circles and struggling to figure out the map. After running around the same area clueless for half an hour one day, another player with a very attractive avatar made a gesture to follow, and she led me to a plateau I was struggling to find. I expressed my

gratitude, and instead of leaving, she stuck around. She then helped me. me with the battles in my upcoming quests and offered me to join her party. I was thrilled to have a helping hand in the company of another. I'm Carla, nice to meet you. The chat box displayed. It was exciting to have the attention of an actual person, especially a female one. In the real world, people look right past me. They see through me as if my features don't qualify to be worth registering. I've never had a girlfriend. And after being rejected a few times, I'm, and after being rejected a few times, I realized I'd rather not attempt to give any unwanted attention, let alone humiliate myself.

It's nice to meet you, Carla. Thanks for getting me unstuck. The map is hard to figure out. I pressed send and waited, feeling my heart speed up. Saying the map was hard to figure out made me sound like I was stupid. I was in the midst of typing JK when I received another message. The deaf is a pain in the butt. They should have added an icon to show if it's on a higher or lower level.

Say la V. I then watched her character perform a silly dance that had been cracking up. I can help you with some of the quests if you'd like. It's nice to actually be useful. I smiled and typed, that would be great, thank you, Carla. My real name's Matthew, by the way. I like the name Matthew. She's sent back with a winking emoji.

That was enough to send my imagination running wild. Her in-game character was extremely attractive, but literally every single character in the game was, even wearing silly hats or outfits. Still, something within me stirred, something that would continue as our online relationship grew. After a few days of playing online with Carla, helping me level up and get some great equipment, we continued to chat. I was thrilled when she told me she lived in Delaware just to stay away from me. She lived in a tiny studio apartment with her cat's smoke, and she worked retail at a clothing shop but was saving up for nursing school. She was 22 years old and into a lot of the same films and shows as me. I couldn't believe it when she made a Jojo reference or quoted Evil Dead.

I was smitten. I told her my consolidated life story and described my mundane life in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. She seemed genuinely interested in my attraction to someone. I had never met slowly but surely grew every time I logged on. I began playing every day just to spend time with Carla. In the day she was absent from the server, I missed her dearly. About two months into our online friendship, Carla logged on to my joy. But the mood shifted when she messaged me.

I'm in a dark place. Can I maybe call you? The chat window read. My throat closed up at the request. I hate my voice. I stumbled and trip over words when I'm nervous. I tugged at my hair in frustration and paced around my bedroom, lit by the glow of the screen. Finally, I sighed, realizing there was no point hiding behind my chiseled-jawed, in-game character forever.

Sure, okay? I replied. She asked for my number, and I gave it to her. My heart raced as the phone vibrated on the desk. Hello? I hated the way it came out. Oh, Matthew, thank you for letting me call. I just need to actually talk to someone.

Her voice was lovely and soothing. Of course. Is everything all right? I was harassed by a customer at work. He kept asking me out, and I politely declined, but he kept persisting until I threatened to call the police. I get that sometimes, but when I got home, I could have sworn I saw someone in the bushes staring at me. I'm just so shaken up.

I'm so sorry to hear that. Nobody deserves that. Most men are like that. They see you as an object they want. Not a person. Not you. You're different, Matthew. You see me for who I am. It's really drawing me to you. We spent the evening talking about our hopes and dreams, our philosophies and politics. Carla told me she had an abusive mother who would beat her as a kid, a father who left before she was born. I told her of my life as an awkward kid who was just not attractive to women. She cooed into my ear through the receiver in response.

You're so much more attractive than you know. I honestly can't stop thinking about you the past few weeks. Eventually, the sky began to light up from the rising sun, and I needed to get some sleep. We set our goodbyes, but ended up texting each other back and forth. She kept flattering me and expressing interest. And then a few days later, she sent me a photo. A stunning woman blowing a kiss at the camera. She was so beautiful.

If I sent my photo, she'd lose interest. I responded with compliments and emojis, but... Eventually, she asked to see me. I typed some long-winded response about how I'm unfotogenic and not attractive to begin with, but she kept pressing. I took a photo of my awkward smile and pressed and, You're cute, came the reply. And I was beyond relieved.

Over the next weeks, we became friends on Facebook, and I was driven wild by how attractive she looked in the photos she'd shared on. online. I saw her tiny apartment and her adorable little gray cat smoke. It was all very much real, and I was falling for her. Then, out of the blue, I received a text from Carla that shook my core. I need to see you. I stared at those five words with anguish. This surely would be the moment the magic died. All I could envision was meeting up with her and her looking at me from head to toe before saying, Oh, allowed. I couldn't take it. My heart was so fragile, it felt like it would shatter into a million pieces at any given moment. Still, I had no choice but to accept or risk ending it all. Okay,

I texted, swallowing a large lump in my tightening throat. A few weeks earlier, Carla had sent me a pin drop on maps of her address, and she had more recently asked me to share mine. I'd previously expressed my displeasure of having a roommate, Pete and his mid-20s who never cleaned up after himself. So I thought it had seemed clear that she wanted me to go to her place when I got the message reading, See you soon.

I flossed and brushed my teeth after a second shower. After a spritz of cologne and a dollop of hair gel, I dressed in my best pair of jeans and a nice shirt. My heart was pounding. I sat in the car for a few minutes after putting Carla's address into the GPS, and then I shifted to drive. I kept wiping the sweat from my face as I drove. My hands were shaky on the wheel.

I felt like the world was about to implode the second she laid eyes on me, yet I drove on. The scenery was a blur. I couldn't see beyond my own impending rejection. The half-hour drive felt like a lifetime. But finally, I pulled into a small apartment complex off the highway as your destination has arrived was relayed via the GPS. I part and built up my courage to get out.

I approached the door March 5B, her door. I knocked and waited. But there was no answer. Carla? It's Matthew. Nothing. I imagined she'd seen me through the window and realized her mistake. She'd likely changed her mind after seeing my face or my waist.

I was about to turn around and drive back. Then I saw movement in the dark room from behind the curtain. There was a figure. More just a shadow in the unlit room. They looked to be. convulsing in the corner, twitching in the throes of what appeared to be a seizure. My heart pounded, and I thought of the prospect that Carla was having a medical emergency. She could be in danger. I tried the door, but it was locked.

This was my one chance to be a hero, I thought. I stepped back from the building and took a few short, deep breaths, then charged into the door with my shoulder. White-hot pain burned in my arm as the loud bang sounded. I stepped back and charged again. Then again, trying the best I could to ignore the increasing ache. On the fifth attempt, the lock gave out and the door burst open. The smell hit me like a tidal wave. I coughed and choked, covering my mouth and nose with my hands as I looked at the quivering

slumped form in the corner. It was a long-haired woman, but they were pulsating, shifting in some strange manner that the darkness concealed the nature of. I reached my splayed hand over the wall, locating a light switch, and flicked it on. I let out an involuntary yell. In the corner was an emaciated woman covered with thousands of feeding flies. Her skin was sagging, loosely draped over the armature of a skeleton, as if all the meat had been removed from her body.

I recognized the hair, which had fallen off in patches where the skin had begun to rot. I recognized the crystal earrings dangling from her ears as well. It was Carla, but she had been dead and rotting for weeks, maybe even months. I jumped at a buzz emanating from my own pocket. It was a text notification on my phone. Carla, I'm like five minutes away. Look forward to seeing you. A little heart emoji was at the end.

I gagged from the terrible stench in the horror of the hollowed-out body, listening to the din of a thousand buzzing flies. An incoming text buzzed again. and I read the new message from Carla. Hey, I'm here. Let me in? I then realized the mix-up. She intended to go to my place.

Not her, though. Not Carla. Something else. My heart beat rapidly in my chest. This woman, whose photos I'd seen and shared messages, was clearly long. dead and rotting away in this dark room. Who was texting me? And who was at my apartment?

My skin iced over as I thought about my roommate Pete. It was 6.30. He was likely home from work. I called him, listening for a few rings before his voicemail picked up. I sent a text, urging him to get out of the apartment. That withered corpse in the corner wasn't skin and bones from decay. Something had sucked out every ounce of muscle. I was about to call again when another message appeared, quickly followed by another.

Where are you? Where are you, Matthew? I ignored it, dialing the authorities instead. I sat in my car, conveying my worries about Pete, nearly pleading with him to check out our apartment. I didn't dare risk going home before then. All I could do was wait. The police called me back a couple hours later, and I listened with horror to their grim discovery.

They had found my roommate Pete dead by the front door. His lifeless body was emaciated beyond logical explanation, as if he'd slowly starved to death over the period of years. His shriveled skin draped over his bony frame. The cause of death was unknown, but I was cleared from any suspicion due to lack of physical evidence. There was no sign of forced entry, only a set of strange scratch marks on the floor and on Pete's draping skin. Carla's body was discovered after I relayed the information to the police. Though the bizarre nature of her wasted away body made the time of death hard to determine,

I was informed she had to have been deceased for at least a month. I never received any more texts from Carla's phone. I think whatever I'd been communicating with was far too intelligent to get traced and tracked that way. I stopped playing that online video game altogether and tried to get over my heartbreak. How many of those messages were from the real Carla? How many were just bait laid out by whatever that thing that had taken her way? from me was. I moved on with my life and moved apartments as well for my own safety. I focused on work and even joined a gym to try and improve my body, as well as my self-confidence. Though the

passing weeks turned into months, part of me missed that true connection I'd made with another human. It was part curiosity and part nostalgia, but I eventually logged into that online game one last time. I entered the virtual world and only a few minutes after logging in. That familiar, gorgeous avatar ran towards my own. It was Carla's character, clear as day. My heart pounded until it ached. I tried to fabricate a scenario where Carla was truly alive and well, that there had been some strange mix-up. But then the message window popped up. My stomach churned as I read the messages that kept popping up on my screen over and over again. Where are you, Matthew? Where are you, Matthew? Where are you, Matthew? For all its apocalyptic downsides, the present day can be remarkable at times.

If you told me, just over 300 years ago, that in 2021 you'd be able to buy junk food from a tiny hand-out computer and receive it in less than half an hour, I'd have accused you of Dali-Ey with a demon. But in this tale, shared with us by author John Crane, we're reminded just how easy it is to be alerted to an incoming order over and over and over. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres and Sarah Thomas. So it might be less convenient, but maybe consider going out to eat or cooking what you have at home. Otherwise, you might receive a delivery notification. Delivery notifications are convenient, but they're disturbing when you receive them by mistake. Carl is on the way.

That was the message I received at 1233 a.m. yesterday. I was playing PlayStation while my girlfriend cooked bacon in the kitchen. Yes, we were eating bacon in the middle of the night. Amy was singing a song about it, set to the tune of deaf leopards, pour some sugar on me. The lyrics, Come on fire it up. Late night, bacon party. You gotta flip it up.

Bacon's hot, sticky sweet. Oh, my pig, my piggy meat, yeah. She was always writing mundane parody songs that ended at one verse or one chorus, sometimes after one line. A common one was set to the tune of a single lyric in Nellie Furtado's I'm Like a Bird. I don't know where my phone is. Stupid, I know, but it always cracked me up. My stomach was already rumbling when my phone ding.

We have a really small house out in a St. Louis suburb, and we have no oven fan, so the smell of bacon was everywhere. My mouth was watering. I looked back down at the message. Carl is on the way. I was confused for a moment, but I came to the logical conclusion. Amy, you ordered pizza, too? Are you trying to make me fat so I can't cheat on you? She poked her head into the living room.

Like you could ever get a little? another woman. But no, no pizza, just bacon. Why do you ask? I just got a text from some pizza place or something. Carl is on the way. Well, Carl is going to have to bring a pizza if he's hungry, because we only have like five pieces of bacon, and I'm eating at least four. She turned back into the kitchen. I was confused, but part of that was due to the copious amounts of cannabis I'd smoked while waiting for my game to download. I knew that the message was a simple mistake. I knew that things like this happened all the time, probably. But something was off.

I order a lot of delivery food. Hey, I smoke a lot of pot, and most corporations send texts from a five-digit number. This was eight digits long. 8-5-4-3-2-6-8, and then a final digit that I didn't recognize. It was a nine, but with a vertical line through it, the sort of digit you'd see in one of those online creepy text generators. You could chalk that up to an issue with the restaurant's delivery system, I guess, but that wasn't doing anything for my anxiety. All right. Bacon's done. You want toast? Eggs? I'm already cooking. Let me know.

I turn to respond. Yeah, I'll... Carl is in your neighborhood and will arrive shortly. Now I was annoyed. Oh, for Christ's sake. I'm going to be getting these notifications until Carl drops off that damn pizza. Now I want pizza. Well, no pizza, only bacon. And you'll only get like two more messages at most. Settle down, dude. You're not really appreciating the late night bacon party experience.

Yeah. Well, you're right, but you're also annoying. So... Carl is at your door. Man, Carl's fast. What delivery place texts you when the guy's there? Wouldn't he just knock? Probably a COVID.

thing. The knocking started as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Three hard, almost mechanical knocks. Hey, you got your wish. There's pizza too. Just don't let it ruin your bacon appetite. Oh, maybe the pizza will have bacon on it. Again, I was quite stoned, and I am the type of person who gets paranoid easily,

but something in me wanted to lock the door, barricade myself in the bedroom, and keep the lights on until morning. Granted, part of me always feels that way, but something was not right. I shook off that feeling. I wish I hadn't. I got up, dusting crumbs off my shirt, and prepared to interact with another human being, something I definitely didn't want to do that night. I looked through the window expecting to see a middle-aged, underpaid man in a domino's shirt.

There's no one here. Yes, there is, Pothead. The fucker just knocked. Amy walked over from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a number. old apron she used to wear when she cooked. It didn't matter whether she was cooking something it actually required an apron. Bacon isn't rocket science. She always wore it and never washed it.

That always drove me crazy. She tried to peer through the window at the top of the door where I was looking out at our empty porch, but she was too short. Oh, come on! He's probably standing right up against the door. The poor bastard is working at midnight. Don't make him stand around. Her hand reached towards the doorknob.

No, don't. But the door was already open. Nobody was there. Huh. I guess you're not a lying, idiot. You're still a regular idiot, though. Do you think he realized that? Another ding from my phone.

I didn't look right away. Instead, I slammed the door and turned to my girlfriend. You shouldn't have done that. She crossed her arms. Why? Is there a gang of satanic domino rapists I don't know about? Or are you just worried about talking to a woman? a stranger?

Well, the second one, but this isn't right. The number in the phone, it's just not normal. And the messages are too frequent. And why would a delivery driver with the wrong phone number go to the right address? Amy rolled her eyes. Okay. No more medical grade pot for you. You're going back to ditchweed with me.

Look at the numbers. I thrust my phone towards her, feeling like some sort of conspiracy theorist. She rolled her eyes again as she unlocked my my phone, and then her face dropped. Oh, okay. Now that is freaky. The number's all wrong. Like, where do you enter a nine with a line through it on a normal phone?

I've never seen that character before. It's like bad mojo number. I hate that number. I don't give a shit about that. Look. She handed back the phone. Carl is in your house and will arrive shortly. My stomach dropped.

but Amy was starting to laugh. Man, someone is getting fired for this shit. I've worked in databases before. It's a database error or a text entry error or... You didn't work with databases? I worked at that floor shop and they had spreadsheets, which are a type of database. Anyway, dude, Carl is not in the house right now.

This is just what happens when big, baseless corporations try to interact with real humans. They buck up, scare us, and disappoint us by not bringing us surprise pizzas. So, chill. Eat bacon, drink a beer, play your game. You are freaking out way too hard right now. Carl is in the kitchen and will arrive shortly. Amy grabbed the phone out of my hand, the veneer of her calmness disappearing instantaneously. Her eyes darted over the text, then to the kitchen, then back to the phone.

She definitely wasn't laughing now. We slowly walked to the kitchen together. I didn't feel great about that. I really wanted to do the whole hide-in-the-bedroom thing, but I knew that it would be a hard sell. And I definitely didn't want to leave Amy alone. As we turned into the room, I felt a wave of relief. And then panic.

There was nothing in the kitchen. I don't mean nobody was in the kitchen. I mean nothing was in the kitchen. The bacon, bread, and eggs that Amy had laid out for the late-night bacon party had vanished. No sign of them whatsoever. No crumbs. Nothing.

Amy looked at me with wide eyes. I swear, if this is one of your fucking friends trying to... I slowly looked around the room. It's not. I have no idea what the hell is happening right now. This time, I didn't look at my phone. I had a pretty good idea of what the text said. Carl is in your refrigerator.

If not Carl, something was in there. We heard a screeching sound, slightly muddled and contained by the fridge. than frenetic clawing, like a raccoon going through trash, but much, much faster. It was angry, violent. Then, almost as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Before I could grab her, Amy ran to the fridge and threw open the door. Nothing there. No food.

No food wrappers. Not even a three-year-old box of baking soda we kept in the side door. We're getting the fuck out of here. She didn't wait for me to respond. She didn't have to. I grabbed my keys from the kitchen table as we ran to the front door. As we made our way to my car, I noted how cold it was. I can't say for sure whether or not it was unseasonably cold.

I rarely go outdoors at midnight in November, but it felt like I was breathing broken glass. And maybe I was focusing too much on my breath because I didn't notice what had happened to my keys until I tried to put them in the ignition. The key was bent at a right angle, not snapped off, which would have made more sense. It was playing with us. I held up the key to Amy. What's plan B? Okay, let me think.

But there wasn't time for that. Carl has arrived. I read it. My hands were shaking and I imagine my face was pale. Amy knew immediately that the message meant bad news. Then, and this happened so, so quickly, she doubled over, letting out an anguished shriek. She felt it before I saw it.

Her stomach. Something in her stomach was moving. Her face was pure fear, but she contorted the edges of her lips to attempt to calm smile. That was Amy. She was always a strong one. And then she was screaming. The tearing sounds were animal yet mechanical, vicious and sadistic. Blood covered my face, the dashboard, the roof, organs and viscera.

And panic set in. ramped up, kept ramping up until I screamed with a crack inhuman voice. I kept screaming as her screams stopped as she slumped over in the seat, as it crawled out of her, jet black skin glistening and wet, black teeth, sharp hands. It moved quickly jutting out a long purple tongue to lift the blood off its razor fingers. I didn't see any eyes, but it turned its head towards me, and I knew it saw me. It sneered a wide smile, the macab mockery of Amy's last moments. The panic became all-encompassing until mercifully.

Everything stopped. I woke in the morning. Well, not woke. I was suddenly there. In my car. My eyes wide open and my muscles tense. The seat next to me was ripped to shreds, but there wasn't a drop of blood anywhere. Not even on me.

Later, I wondered whether the thing had crawled on me during the night, sucking each drop out of my clothes and licking my skin. I walked inside in a daze, hoping to see Amy standing there with bed hair and sleep in her eyes, ready to lecture me about the dangers of medical cannabis. She wasn't there, of course. But I looked everywhere, under the bed and in every closet, hoping dumbly for anything concrete that would stop the snarling sense of dread

that was slowly spreading through my body like a warm cancer. And that was yesterday. Amy is not here. I know where she is, or at least where she was. And I am out of food. I need to eat and then call the police and then call her family. Then probably go to prison. I don't care much about any of that.

Whatever happens now is unimportant. I may have gone insane and killed my girlfriend. Or maybe everything happened exactly as I remembered it, but either way, I simply cannot live here anymore. In fact, I probably can't live anywhere. I know it'll come back. I hope that it comes back for me. It's already taken everything I have.

But I suspect it'll wait until it sees an opportunity to twist the knife further. It likes to play with its food. I've kept my phone off until today. I knew I couldn't put off the things I had to do forever. I powered it on to call the police and read the single unread text message. How did Carl do? Give feedback and get free deliveries for friends and family. Now that the eating's done, we'll take a break to look after our teeth.

Oral health? Around the holidays? You're crazy. What do you mean? How can you look after your teeth when you have to inflict them with things like fruitcake, enjoying one too many candy canes, and especially when making out under the mistletoe? You're right. It's a dental disaster in the making. That's why I'm glad I've got quip on my side. Can Quip protect us from the sugar, booze, and other mouth unfriendly concerns the holiday brings?

You bet they can. When you're thinking about gifts this year, why not give your mouth the gift of better oral care with Quip? Makers of the award-winning electric toothbrush. And when you save up to 40% on holiday bundles, it's also a gift for your wallet. You mean we can get or give Quip's products in bundles this season? Absolutely. Beyond just their amazing smart electric toothbrush, Quip has a whole line of stuff. shocking stuffers for everyone on your list.

Two ways to floss. Floss Straying that expands to clean, or the reusable floss pick that replaces over 180 disposable picks with every refill. Then there's the refillable gum that sugar-free has long-lasting mint flavor and comes with a dispenser. And of course, their refillable mouthwash

that's a four-times concentrate. And it's good for you and the planet. And we all know that Quip delivers their great products every three months from $5. Plus, shipping is free so you can save money and skip the hustle and bustle of shopping in stores during the holidays and into the new year. 100% correct, Nicole. Here's even more good news.

Quip is running their best deals of the year, which means you won't be paying through the teeth when you gift better oral health this year. If I could talk to my teeth, and I often do, I'd tell them to feel safe this holiday season because Quip will keep them healthy. Preach, sister. How can we protect our teeth with quip? If you go to get quipp.com slash no sleep right now. On top of their holiday savings, you'll get your first refill free.

That's your first refill free and up to 40% off bundles at G-E-T-Q-U-I-P.com slash no sleep. Quip, the Good Habits Company. Now, my dear, it's past your bedtime, so let's get back to the horror. When you're a kid, you likely don't have many arch enemies yet. But there's a very good chance you have won, a mandatory bedtime. Especially if it was earlier than your peers. That feeling of lying awake in the summer. Still daylight outside.

Other younger kids hooting and guffawing with exuberant glee. Oh, it's enough to make your blood boil. But in this tale, shared with us by author Jake Brannan, we meet a guy whose parents forced him to hit the hay at 9 p.m. clearly unreasonably strict, right? Performing this tale are Matthew Bradford, Mary Murphy, and Jesse Cornett. So remember, sometimes the rules growing up might seem unfair, but they're often in your best interests,

something you'll find out if you're still awake when mother comes to check on me at night. Bedtime feels like a word meant for a child. I mean, nothing cements a kid more in the reality. of their youth and powerlessness is when they hear the words, it's time for bed, or it's past your bedtime, come from their parents' mouths. I was accustomed to the former more than the latter statement. I mean, I never stayed up past my bedtime.

Well, that's a lie. I did stay up past it once, but after that I made sure never to do so again. As embarrassing as it is to say now, I must admit that I had a bedtime up until I was 17, which was the age I left home for the military. As long as I lived under my mom and dad's roof, it was understood that I was to be in bed by nine and asleep by no later than 10 o'clock.

The only exceptions came when I would spend the night at a friend's house, which is something I tried to do as much as possible in my middle school and high school years. From my infancy to the age of 10, I was to be in bed and asleep by 9. But as I began to enter my teen years, I was granted a little leniency. As I said, I had to be physically in bed by nine,

but I had an hour to do what I wanted well there, just as long as I was asleep, or at least close to being asleep, by 10 o'clock. Usually in that hour I would just, you know, read. TV wasn't an option because we didn't have cable, and the only DVD player in the house was in the living room. For the longest time, I believe that my strict sleep schedule was just a result of my parents simply wanting me to get a good night's sleep.

You know, where I'd wake up well-rested and refreshed in the morning, ready for the day ahead. But into my teen years, when a little rebellion was to be expected from a child, I became frustrated with my parents and their in bed and asleep by 10 rule. I should be allowed to decide when I go to pet at night. I'm not a little kid anymore. And that was just one of the many arguments I had with my parents over their rules. No matter what I said, the response was always the same. Whether it came from my mom, dead. You live under our roof. We make the rules. You follow them. And that usually ended any discussion. One time, though, I think when I was 12, my mother added one last thing to the conversation. And it was this last thing that stuck with me. She said,

Hmm, boy, there are two certainties in this household. Certainty one is that you will be in bed and asleep by 10. And certainty two is that I will check on you every night to make a certain thing. sure you're sleeping. That moment stuck with me for a number of reasons. It just seemed like an odd thing to point out for one. I imagine that all parents check on their children at night just to make sure everything is all right with them. And I suppose it made sense for my parents to do the same, especially when I was younger. I forgot to mention, but throughout my early childhood, well, according to my father, I was prone to extreme night terrors. Apparently, they were so bad that my body would shake uncontrollably, and I would unleash the most blood-curdling scream

imaginable, and all the while I was asleep through it all. So yeah, it made sense that my mother would check on me every once in a while, but every night, was it that necessary? But the main reason my mother's statement stood out was the look on my dad's face when she said it. And he looked her, his eyes wide and concerned. It was as if my mom had said something dangerous or something to be fearful of. Dad looked at me and saw that I had seen its reaction and he moved quickly to change the conversation. There were, of course, other arguments after that, all with the same rhetoric, but never again did my mom mention how she'd always check on me every night to make sure I was sleeping. When I turned 14, school was just getting out and my parents and I had another

her discussion about me wanting to stay up late. And I got the same, under our house, our rules, response from them. Then I remembered what my mom had said that one time about her checking on me every night. And again, I found myself wondering why that was. And then I remembered my dad's look of fear and concern

when that statement came out of her mouth. It was then that I decided I had to know what the deal was. That night, I'd stay up, past 10 o'clock. My plan was simply just to fame sleeping. The night would start off just like all the others before it. I'd be in bed by 9, read a little, and then lights off around 9.30.

After that is when I'd usually be falling asleep, and though I wouldn't know how, like clockwork, I was always asleep by 10 o'clock. This night was going to be different, and when the lights went off at 9.30, it became a waiting game. I laid there in the dark with my eyes open. I knew if I closed them for too long, I'd surely fall asleep, and I was determined to not let that happen. Not until I knew why my mom felt the need to check on me every night. I had to know what the reason was, if there was one at all. I mean, for all I knew, it could have just been something my mom did out of habit. Looking back, I don't know what I expected, and it seems pretty dumb now. But I see, I see.

certainly wasn't expecting what actually happened. For half an hour, I laid there staring at the red numbers of my alarm clock. It felt like an eternity had passed when 10 o'clock finally arrived. After that, I didn't know what was going to happen. I was in uncharted territory. Before that, I couldn't ever remember seeing the clock go past 10 p.m. I didn't know how long it would take for my mom to come in, and again, I didn't know what to expect with that either. I just kept laying there and staring at the clock. I guess I started to doze a little bit,

and as much as I tried to keep from falling asleep, it was a challenge. I remember the clock reading 1031, and then I lost time for a few minutes, because when I saw the numbers next, they read 1042. I began to wonder if anything had happened in those 11 minutes. But then I heard a noise from out in the living room. A door had opened and closed. I laid still and recognized it as the sound the door to my parents' roommate. At that moment, everything got awfully quiet. Any noise that was produced would surely be amplified just by how silent it was. Then I heard what sounded like feet, dragging against the floor, all the way down the hall. The sound stopped. The sound. up in front of my door and I knew that someone was standing outside it.

This had to be my mother, doing what she said she always did. Why was she dragging her feet, though? And why was she just standing outside the door? I laid there, not moving, and aside from breathing, I wasn't making any noise. I kept readying myself to close my eyes and carry out my ruse once the door opened. But the door didn't open. and I wondered if my mom just went back to her and dad's room. Then I heard the faintest sound of someone murmuring,

almost whispering, but not as loud and not at all intelligible. This went on for three minutes before I heard the quiet creak of my door slightly opening. I quickly shut my eyes and pretended to sleep, relying fully on my hearing to tell me what was happening. The door didn't open any further, but the murmuring continued. and it was somewhat louder now. I knew from the voice that it was my mother, but any comfort I may have gotten from that quickly left.

The door suddenly opened all the way, and I again heard the sound of feet dragging across the ground as my mother came into my room. The dragging stopped, and I felt that she was standing at the foot of my bed. The murmuring from before ceased, and now she was whispering, but it was not her voice that was whispering.

This was a deeper, breathy voice and an all-round one that sounded menacing. I became frozen. With all my might, I kept my eyes shut and tried not to make a sound. My breathing was already becoming quicker, and then, when the whispering became understandable to my ears, I didn't know how I was able to control myself.

We see us, but one day, he will. He'll see us and he'll fear what he sees. He'll see us grin and laugh. And then the boy will die. The boy will die just like the man. I was in shock. And then I suddenly realized I was shaking. I tried to stop myself. And that's when I heard feet dragging the floor again. much quicker than before. The voice spoke once more. This time it sounded right on top of me. My mother, and whatever the thing was behind the voice,

they were leaning over me. Oh, we think the boy will tear the skin from your body, and then we will check on the young once again. We'll be there to check on the next boy, and the next... I see you. All my strength. I held my eyes shut and demanded my body to stay still.

Besides the sound of this thing's voice, the only other thing I heard was my heart beating as fast as it ever'd gone. I heard feet dragging the floor again. Now it was going back out of my room, and I heard the door quickly shut behind it. I remained still, as still as I could muster. Then I heard the sound of my parents' bedroom door open and close, and I allowed my breathing to become a little louder and less controlled. I was breathing hard, and I felt warm streaks run down my face.

I was crying. I couldn't help it. What just happened? I asked myself. And what was that thing? The thing using my mother as a way to speak. These thoughts ran through my mind, and truthfully, I can't remember falling asleep that night, though I saw. suppose I did.

All right, son. Time to get up. When my dad woke me up at 7.30, the door opened and my body jumped. I sat up in bed and, according to him, I was as white as a ghost and stared at him with wide bloodshot eyes. I gave him the same look I'd seen on his face years before. I stared at him, and he looked back at me and he knew. I just know he did.

We held each other's gaze for maybe a minute or so when he and I, but he and I, but he knew. Both heard the same someone calling from the kitchen. It was mom, asking my dad if he'd got me up yet. He was quiet for a few seconds, and then shouted back that he had, and that we'd be in for breakfast in a minute. Son? Yeah. I can't say anything.

I can't explain it to you, so please don't ask, say. And I didn't. Somehow I went out and faced my mind. mother and held myself together. There wasn't much conversation at the breakfast table that morning, or the mornings after that. I was 14 then, and I lived under my parents' roof for two and a half more years. In that time, I was allowed to go out with friends more, and more I'd spend nights at their houses.

Still, though, most nights I was home, and I always made sure I was asleep by 10. I knew my mother would still be there every night to check on me. Even well asleep, in my dreams she was there. I was 17 when I graduated school, two months shy of my 18th birthday. I was ready to leave. I wanted out and my dad knew it. I mean, I was out of that house, out from under their roof a week after graduation. My dad understood my wanting to leave and my mother was sad to see.

me go. I suppose I was sad leaving her too, but that night had changed things. I loved my mother. I have no doubt about that, but things weren't the same and never could be again. I knew what she became at night. I didn't understand it, and I sure as hell don't want to, but I knew it nonetheless. What nags me is whether or not she knew, and if that thing speaking from her was telling the truth, I'm older now in my early 40s and I have kids of my own, a son and daughter. My wife and I are happily married and have been for 11 years now. I hadn't talked to my parents in quite a while when I received a call from the police informing me of an incident that involved them.

It chills me to the bone now just thinking about it. The officer told me that a neighbor heard screaming emanating from my parents' house. A man's screaming. my father. The neighbor paid it no mine because apparently my dad had been suffering from some severe nightmares as of recently, the kind that would cause him to scream wildly and fearfully in the dead of night. The next morning, however, the neighbor went out and discovered the front door to the house open. He went to it and knocked, announced his presence, and asked if anyone was home. He then went inside and saw red footprints on the carpet floor, leading to the front door.

door. The footprints were coming from the master bedroom, and when he walked in there, he saw the flayed corpse of my father laying on the bed. The sheets were almost entirely blood-soaked. He screamed and ran out and called the police. They arrived and carried out an investigation, but didn't find much in the way of evidence pointing to a killer, other than the bloody footprints which they determined belonged to my mother. They also reported that my mother was nowhere to be found, and I hung up the phone after hearing that. I got that call a week ago, and I don't think I've gotten a full night's sleep since, maybe only an hour or two per night. Oh, except for last night. Last night I slipped straight through. I don't know how, but I did. I woke up this morning feeling well rested.

My wife woke up at the same time. She said good morning and then said that I had been talking in my sleep last night. When I asked what I had been saying, she said that she didn't know. But that it sounded like I was having a bad dream. 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 being under our spell. This audio production is copyright 2021 and 2022 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved.

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