The NoSleep Podcast - S17: NoSleep Podcast Achin' for 18 Vol. 2

Episode Date: June 5, 2022

We're feverishly working on Season 18 so we're offering up two previously featured Season Pass stories.“A Trick of the Light” written by Jeff Wood (Story starts around 00:03:10)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Peter Lewis“When the Fair Came to Town” written by Jack Thackwell (Story starts around 00:21:00)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator – David Ault, Neil – James Cleveland, Mel – Penny Scott-Andrews, Mr. Pickman – Andy Cresswell, Creature – Erika SandersonThis episode is sponsored by:Upstart – Upstart believes people are more than their credit score. We take a holistic view of an applicant, rather than write them off because of their credit score. We want to empower people to take control of their debt and financial future. Get started by going to Upstart.com/nosleepQuip – Quip is the good habits company for oral health. With their leading-edge electric smart toothbrush combined with dentist-recommend scheduled replacement plans for 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 youíll get your first refill FREEClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to pre-order Season Pass 18Click here to learn more about Jack ThackwellExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Achin’ for 18 Vol. 2” illustration courtesy of Alexandra CruzAudio 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

As season 18 gets closer and closer, we're still aching for it. But before we stroll into this episode, I want to mention a way to deal with another kind of pain. The pain of debt. Debt is crippling and can be very tough to talk about, but over 40% of Americans are stuck in a cycle of debt due to high interest rates. That's why we recommend Upstart. Upstart has helped over 1.8 million customers on their path to financial freedom. Upstart powered personal loans can help you pay down high interest debt, all online, with simple and easy to understand payment terms.

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Don't forget to use our URL to let them know we sent you. And of course, loan amounts will be determined based on your credit, income, and certain other information provided in your loan application. So go to upstart.com slash no sleep. And now that we've talked Upstart, let's start up and begin this week's Aiken for 18 episode. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It's the No Sleep podcast, Aiken for 18, Volume 2. I'm your host, David Cummings.

As the AIC continues for season 18, we have a couple of stories for you this week. They were released to our Season Pass 17 members, but now you get to enjoy their dark delights. And speaking of season passes, the pre-orders for Season Pass 18 are now online. All you have to do is go to seasonpass.com and sign up for SeasonPass 18. You get access to season 18's 25 upcoming full-length episodes, each over two hours long, along with three exclusive bonus episodes. It's well over 66.6 hours of audio content for only $25. Season 18 premieres on June 26, and the next two weeks will feature sleepless decompositions episodes

in the lead-up to the new season. Sounds like everyone had better be fully braced. Just like you need to brace yourself now as we dive into this episode. In our first tale, we go for a walk. Going for regular walks can really help one's mood. Let's say you've recently experienced a major life change. Maybe you've let yourself get trapped in your own head. Going out and getting some fresh air can be one helpful step to break out of that cycle.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Jeff Wood, We discover that taking a pleasant stroll can soon take a dark turn if you notice that you're casting two shadows. Performing this tale is Peter Lewis. But, hey, maybe it's nothing. It only happens outside this one specific house, after all. Don't worry about the other you and ignore that glint in the window. Surely, it's just a trick of the light. You're a heart attack waiting to happen, my doctor,

told me. After my wife died, my health began to suffer. My doctor told me if I didn't start getting some exercise, I was going to have some kind of coronary event. He's right. I'm in my early 40s. I'm pretty overweight. So I tried jogging at first. I couldn't even make it a block. Five or six houses down the street and I was bent over hands on my knees wheezing. These pains shot through my lower legs like my muscles were tearing off my bones. Later, the doctor told me it was shin splints. I started walking. The neighborhood I live in is an upper-middle-class subdivision in the suburbs of Denver.

The streets are wide and well-maintained. Few cars are parked on the street, most of them tucked away in the two-car garages and expansive driveways of their respective houses. Several schools are spread out through the area, all with nice green campuses, modern playgrounds, footballs. fields, tennis courts, we have two firehouses and five churches. The neighborhoods are all patrolled by tasteful HOAs. 5.30 every weekday afternoon, like clockwork, I come home from work, change into jogging pants, and a tea slip on my running shoes, grab my phone and a bottle of water, and head out the front door. I expected to be alone in my walks. Most people would be inside their homes or inside their cars, I assumed. I was wrong. It turns out lots of people are walkers and joggers,

and a lot of them at that hour of the day, right after work and school. I've been lonely since my wife died. The human interaction helps, even at a distance. My route varies. The streets are not laid out on a grid, but weave through the landscape in curves and circles, streets unexpectedly ending in cul-de-sacs and roundabouts. As a result, getting from one place to another rarely involves taking a straight path. Nearly every day I walk, I walk by the shadow house. I don't try to. The geometry of the streets must somehow lead me there. I approach it from the same direction every time I pass. West to east. Since I walk at around the same time every day, the sun is always behind me, casting long shadows in front of me. Whenever I pass, I pass.

the house. Why do I call it the shadow house? Because of the shadow that walks beside me whenever I pass. When I turn the corner to enter the block, my shadow swings around in front of me, keeping me company as I walk, lengthening as the sun lowers into the sunset. As I pass the property line of the house, the place where the well-tended lawn of the house next door morphs into the weed-choked soil of the shadow house, another shadow joins my own. One moment, my own shadow is stretched out before me, the shadow of my head bobbing along with the rhythm of my walk. The next moment, two shadows loom in front of me. Two heads glide along the surface of the concrete in step to my gate. After I pass the property line on the far side

of the house, the shadow disappears. The first few times this happened, I stopped immediately in front of the house and turned around to look behind me. No one was there. I saw no object that could have taken the space between the sun and the sidewalk. I assumed those first few times that it was the exercise. My body, unused to the exertion, was creating sights in my mind that did not exist in real life. I don't think that anymore. I came home wanting to tell my wife.

She wasn't home, of course. She's been gone for nearly a year. It took me several moments to realize it. I started talking and then cut myself off, remembering. I keep forgetting she's not here anymore. Anyway, what is this shadow standing next to my own, showing itself only within the boundaries of this one house? Is the shadow there all the time?

only shows itself when I pass this house, or is the shadow specific to this house, this place? Is the shadow specific to me? I began to examine the house as I passed. Someone lived there, mail sat in the mailbox, but not an unusually large amount. The lawn was encamped, all weeds and cracked soil, but the weeds had been recently cut back. Drapes covered the windows, lights could sometimes be seen in the rooms inside. No toll. There are always scattered on the lawn, no basketball hoops in the driveway. I've never seen anyone on the property, inside or outside. There may have been a car inside the garage, but never one parked outside.

Something hung in the attic window. I couldn't tell what it was. Sunlight reflected off it. It could have been a prism or maybe a small pane of etched glass. It reminded me of these earrings my wife used to wear. Someone gave them to her for Christmas two years ago. A friend, she told me. She used to wear them often.

Which friend, I'd ask her? She never told me. I think I know who gave them to her, but I never asked. I kept my hypothesis to myself. After the earrings, I began serving her a glass of wine every night before supper. She never said no. In fact, she greeted it. She seemed flattered by the gesture.

She drank the entire glass. of wine I provided her every night until the end. I tried to avoid the house after I first noticed the shadow and realized it was something more than a trick of the light. I found that even when I tried to avoid the house, I couldn't. The house was always there along my path. I was certain nothing supernatural was to blame. It was just one of those abstractions I thought about as I walked, how the street plan

within a subdivision could funnel foot traffic so that it required to pass a particular spot in order to travel from point A to point B. It's like a math problem, a mapping and geometry problem, a problem whose solution could be found through careful application of science and logic. So no, I never actually thought the house found me or even sought me. The vagaries of mathematics, civil engineering, and random chance colluded to put this house on my path every day I walked. I accepted it

as an unavoidable daily occurrence. The shadow bounced to the same rhythm as my footsteps. Every time I took a step, and the shadow from my own body leaped forward. The other shadow leapt forward as well. We were like two friends

whose gates have synchronized. My wife and I used to walk together back in the good old days before the earrings. Back, when, I loved her, and she loved me, and we lived together in our perfect little house. After we ate supper, after we put away the dishes, her washing, me drying, we'd walk the

neighborhood together, hand in hand as the sun set. We even passed this house, more than once. I remember her pace slowing as we neared it the first time. I remember her head turning to look in the windows as we passed. I asked her what she was looking for, but she didn't respond. It was as if she'd been there before. I accepted the shadow as part of the landscape of my daily walks, no different than the ceramic gnomes in the garden a few doors down from my house, the flags and political signs on the lawn across the street. I gave up trying to control my route and accepted that my path would always take me

to the shadow house at some point during my walk. The shadow house rewarded me for my acceptance. Shadowhouse showed me my wife's earrings again, shining through the attic window every day as I took my walk. My wife was wearing them. My wife, who had been dead and buried for almost a year, I simply looked up at the attic window and saw her. The sunlight bouncing off the earrings caught my eye and drew it to the window. She stood there and watched me pass. She made it clear with the intensity of her gaze that she was focused on me.

no one but me. I slowed, but did not stop. She held a glass of wine. She took a step closer to the window. She smiled thinly. Her head turned to track me as I passed. She watched as I walked past her for several weeks after that. Always her thin smile followed me as her earrings danced in the sunlight. Always she held the glass of wine I'd given her. Always. the shadow walked beside me as I passed. Sometimes glare from the sunlight prevented me from seeing her, but most days she waited on me as I waited on the sight of her, wearing the earrings, holding the wine. I knew why she held the wine glass. I wondered why she wore the earrings. She was not, buried with them. The funeral home had dressed her in the earrings when they prepared the body, but

I insisted the earrings be taken off her ears. I took them, put them in my pocket. I was sure I'd thrown them away later that night. Clearly, I'd forgotten to. I didn't quit my walks after I spied my dead wife in the attic window. In fact, the sight made me more resolute to continue my exercises. One day, while passing the house, my eyes dropped from the empty window frame to the door below. The door was open. The door had never been open before. Twin shadows slung to my left as I turned and walked up the crooked path of stepping stones that led to the porch. I stepped up to the threshold of the door, shielded my eyes with the palm of my hand, and looked inside. The shadowed rooms beyond the doorway was sparsely filled with furniture, a couch hulking in the center of a room, a chair hiding in the corner. No paintings or posters adorned the walls, no carpet or rugs protected the hardwood floor. Candlelight flickered from distant rooms. I entered the house blinking with the change of light.

A staircase to my right led to the next floor, and I instinctively took it. Chalk drawings faded with time tattooed the steps of the stairs. Crude drawings I could not decipher, scribbled characters that seemed like letters. of a foreign alphabet. As I stepped off the stairway and onto the landing, the figures trailed off down a hallway and toward a smaller door tucked modestly into an alcove in the wall. I followed the figures walking past cracked hallway walls to a door that opened onto a set of boxy workman-like stairs. I knew before I mounted them where they led. I walked up the steps to an unfinished attic. Rafters leapt from timber to timber overhead. Simple two-by-fours framed the walls. A tumble of boxes sat hunched together in the dust of the corners. Sunlight spilled in from the window at the far end of the attic. My wife had watched me from that window. She was not there now. I walked towards the window. My feet stamped prints into the dust on the floor. I reached the glass and noticed my late wife's earrings sitting on the dusty,

Sil, I recalled immediately the gentle manner in which she had set them down on her bedside table every night. I think she left them to keep me company. I hope so. I miss her. I looked out the glass of the window. My motionless body lay on the sidewalk below. Blood soaking into the concrete beneath my head. Three neighbors approached my body.

One had a cell phone and was dialing 911. The other two discussed seeing me clutch my hands to my chest, falling forward so abruptly it looked as though I'd been pushed. It looked like a heart attack. They were telling each other. My doctor was right. I was a heart attack waiting to happen. The police came, an ambulance came,

and then the coroner. I don't know where my wife went. She's not at the window. She's not in the house anymore. It's some sort of trick, you know. She must have cast some sort of spell. Because I am in the house now. I live here.

I've tried to leave. I can't. I watch the people as they pass, walking or jogging or biking or driving by, and I trace their paths with greedy eyes and a thin smile. I wonder where they go when they leave my eyesight. I'll look for you to walk past me. Look for me?

A trick of the light from the attic window, a silhouette cast on the sidewalk. When you see me, you'll know I am the shadow that walks beside you. shadows, they can cause so many problems. I think it was Sophocles who said, A human being is only breath and shadow. That's pretty much what he sounded like. And I hope your shadow is singular. But what about your breath?

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After all, it's only fair. In our final tale, we meet a man going through one of life's toughest challenges. His friend Neil has a new girlfriend, and it's severely reducing their number of boys' nights out. Thankfully, a traveling attraction has rolled up which all three of them can attend together. But in this tale, shared with us by author Jack Thackwell, this potential third-wheel situation might just drive their friends to their doom. Performing this tale are David Alt, James Cleveland, Penny Scott Andrews, Andy Cresswell, and Erica Sanderson. So enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells, let loose and have fun.

But don't do anything that might leave you with regrets if you reflect on that one time when the fair came to town. It was Friday when they started to set up the carnival. It was open the next night. That seems odd to me now. All those tents and rides, it should have taken them days, not ours. Nothing that big takes just hours to prepare. But at the time I thought, maybe they were just that good. We went that Saturday.

Me, Neil, and his girlfriend Mel. It was a big thing for me. It was rare that I could get Neil out since he's hooked up with Mel. They were a clingy in your face. base pair ever since they'd met. The fun fair, though, that had tempted him, even if I did have to do a bit of cajoling over the phone. Come on, we always used to go to these things.

Oh, we're just watching a film. Like you did last Friday, you mean? Was it fair to use that against him? Maybe. Most likely not. You can tell me, oh, it's different when you have someone, and maybe it is, but you have to remember where you came from and who got you there.

I'd heard him breathe out a heavy sigh that crackled down the line. I knew I'd got him. Oh, go on. You can winner a teddy at the air rifles and be a hero. That was the tipping point. There'd been one more moment of silence and then... I'll make you there. When we arrived, it all seemed standard.

Hooker duck stalls, ring-tossed pavilions, familiar old roller coasters smelling of sawdusted vomit. The way Neil kept all his attention on Mel, leaving me to walk behind them, made me face the sudden realization that this would probably be the last time we would meet up. It made me sad to think of that, but right there in the warm night breeze, surrounded by the glow of the rides, it felt bittersweet. One final go-around. The interesting thing about this fair was the less-than-standard attract.

Those really were amazing and out of place. The freak show in its red velvet tent, the fortune teller who beckoned us on with a crooked finger as she sat in her glass box that smelled of rot. The giant boa constrictor in its cage cordoned off by thick steel chains. This part of the fair was older, like something from a Victorian nightmare. One of the exhibits must have caught Neil's eye

because he gasped and pried his hand away from Mel's grip before darting off, leaving me and her alone. I shot her a forced smile. She pursed her lips and looked away. Soon we saw Neil's waving arms. He was standing outside a large plywood shack. It was squat and rectangular with flaking black and red paint. It looked like it had been worn away over many years.

It had two doors set into the wood, one marked in, One marked out. In stark, golden letters above the doors were the words, Pickman's House of Horrors. This looks great. Does it? Mel frowned. I'm not getting that vibe.

It smells like seawater. Yeah, she's right. The good horror attractions always have some decoration on the outside. You know, a severed head here. a clown mask there and a rubber bat or two. I mean, this one's pretty plain. Neil just doubled down. That's what makes this one so unique.

They don't put anything on the outside because all the best bits are on the inside. He grinned. Seriously, look at the rest of the shit around here. This is pre-political correctness. Fuck knows what's in there. Or how far they take it. I was about to question his logic when a small man appeared from around the corner of the building. He was dressed in a red velvet jacket fraying at the cuffs and hem and a straw boater.

He seemed to carry with him the long-dead smell of fried food and faintly something metallic. When he grinned, he grinned wide. That is a fine observation, my good man, a very fine observation. observation indeed. Are you, Mr. Pickman? In the flesh. The small man took a bow, nearly sending his boater tumbling to the ground. And as your handsome friend there said, the very best of what is in store for you is kept within these walls.

Evil, I dare not name, awaits you in Pickman's House of Horrors. He had a face like a goblin out of a storybook. I wasn't sure if there was something wrong with him or he was just old, but I couldn't help but feel uneasy. Well, I'm sold already. Neil beamed. Mel frowned and tugged on his hand. Thought we'd go to one of the stalls and see if you could win me a prize?

We will. Let's just do this first. After that, I'll play till I win you one of those big bears. That seemed to pacify her. I was less easily convinced. Something didn't feel right about Mr. Pickman or his house of horrors. It was like he was in the wrong place in some way. Like he wasn't a carny, like he wasn't faking. All the other scares around there were modern, fluorescent masks and dayglow plastic.

Not him. How much is it? I thought the cost might put Neil off. For the price of but one pound you will gain entry to this marvellous attraction, a remnant of a bygone era when carnivals were the pride of this great land-devours. It sounded like he'd rehearsed this in a mirror and long since lost enthusiasm for what he was saying. Neil was already fishing around in his pocket for a pound coin. He looked pointedly at Mel and she rolled her eyes before doing the same.

I groaned and pulled a five-pound note from my pocket. Can you make change for this? Certainly, sir. Pickman's eyes grew wide as he saw the note. He smiled before clicking out four pound coins from a coin dispenser on his belt. We waited expectantly as Mr. Pickman unlocked the door marked in, revealing nothing but darkness. Off you go. That was the last thing Mel and Neil heard from him.

I was bringing up the rear and caught some quieter words. Just watch your fucking step. It was a flash of truth behind the mask. Pickman, the not so jolly, Pickman was happy to have got our money so he could go and buy himself a drink, that sort of thing. Oddly, it reassured me. He was just a huckster after all,

nothing more sinister than that. We stepped inside and he shut the door and tombing us in darkness. A second later, dim electric bulbs flickered into life, and we were in a narrow corridor plastered with old-fashioned floral wallpaper, a sickly shade of arsenic green. Well, this isn't very scary. We'll give it a chance, Mel. We've only just got in.

Neil slipped his hand into hers. I saw Mel's fingers squeeze around his and assumed the atmosphere was getting to her more than she was letting on. We started to walk. Delights, yellowed with dust and the gunk accrued through years of being in one place, did little to brighten the corridor, and we could see no more than three feet in front of us. I began to feel a little claustrophobic. I imagined the ugly floral wallpaper pressing in on me as I walked, the plywood walls grinding and splintering against each other as they moved.

At the end of the passage was a flight of spider, We were all stairs. We stopped just before them and stared down into the stairwell. This thing goes down? How could it possibly go down? Army base here in the war. Maybe this is an old bomb shelter. It's got to be. Mel didn't know any more about it than I did, but it's good to agree with your boyfriend and she clung on tighter to him. No, it didn't make sense. This was a pop-up attraction meant to be taken down, moved on to a new area and put back up. Maybe they got lucky with an old base this time, but that couldn't happen everywhere. Did they dig out new

foundations each time? How could they? Neil grinned. See, I knew this would be interesting. So, who's going to go first? The three of us had a short moment of silence where we each expected one of the others to volunteer. Fine, I'll do it. Neil began to descend the staircase, placing his hands against the wall to balance himself. I distinctly heard him mutter something mean-spirited under his breath. We followed him down and the three of us came to another door. It looked like the way into a study. It was heavy and made of dark wood.

Mel pushed it open and we stepped into the room that lay beyond. It was very odd. All the surfaces were covered in deep. dark black foam, and it was cut in half by a criss-cross design of what looked like wire. On the far wall opposite us was a clock face, and underneath that, a second door. Well, that looks like where we need to get to. Neil walked across to the wire and made to pluck it like you would a guitar string. It moved down a centimeter or two before twanging back into place and slicing off the tip of his finger.

Shit. Blood welled up and dripped down between his knuckles. It's like bloody razor wire. There was a chime from somewhere I couldn't see, and the door behind us slammed shut and locked. I could see the clock on the wall in front of us, and I watched the minute hand begin to move. The wires across the room were,

and a diamond-shaped gap appeared in the middle. It was big enough for a person to fit through, but only just, And even that was shrinking. I then understood where I'd seen the phone before and why the wires were moving closer together. It was soundproofing, like the kind used in recording studios.

It was there to stop our movements making a sound, that some mechanism in the room was picking up on our voices and it was our words that were making the gap small. What the hell is happening? The wires started to vibrate, and the gap shrunk by an inch. The big hand on the clock kept moving. I put my finger to my lips to try and shush the other two,

but they didn't seem to understand. This isn't right. Mel was starting to jitter. The wires closed in again. In despair, I dropped my finger from my lips. With you, shut up! She looked at me in surprise, and I gestured to the wires as they moved easy.

even closer together. The gap was now the size of an open window. I checked the clock. Six. I didn't want to know what would happen when it reached 12. I approached the wires. They seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the room. I guess they'd been coated in something to make them extra sharp, ground glass, perhaps.

I could see that they weren't so much vibrating as soaring backwards. and forwards, making little slicing noises as they did. I tentatively lifted my right leg and passed it through the gap. I waited for the sharp sting of wires cutting through my jeans, but it never came, only the firmness of foam under my shoe on the other side. This made me confident. I stooped down and ducked my head under the gap. I was safe.

I checked the clock. Eight. Only four ticks left to get Neil and Mel across before... Before what? I waved to the other two, and they hurried over to the gap. Mel was the first to try and cross. She stuck her head through and offered me her arms while Neil lifted her legs and shoved her through the remaining space. Her feet hit the foam with a soft thud before she picked herself up. Neil's turn. His finger was still bleeding and he sucked on it as he eyed up the space. in the wire. My eyes caught the clock again. Nine. When I looked back to my friend, I saw that he was preparing to try and launch himself

through the hole. I moved my hands up to my chest and waved to show him that I thought that was a very bad idea. Of course, he didn't listen to me. He never fucking listened to me. And jumped anyway. He launched himself through the air, and to his credit, his torso did clear the gap. For a moment, it seemed like the gamble would pay off. off. That is, until the toe of his converse got caught on the wire. There was a gristily sawing sound, and Neil came unstuck. He dropped to the foam when was followed a moment later by the last part of his foot. Neil's hand sprung to the clean cut of flesh that used to be the end of his foot. Blood pulsed out from under his fingers and soaked into the floor. I pulled off my jumper

and ripped a sleeve from it. I tied that tightly around his foot, trying to stem the flow of blood. The clock struck 12, and the room boomed with the sound of chimes. As the sound was hungrily absorbed by the foam coverings, the wires shot across the other side of the room.

Anyone who had been standing on the wrong side would have been minced finer than Wagyu beef. It didn't just go to where we'd been standing. It sort of danced around in it, making sure it got every inch. pieces. We would have been sliced to pieces. Then the trap stopped soaring and came back to its original grid pattern, which we could now see had been made of two different lads. The silence was deafening. I reached out and gingerly touched the wire. Nothing happened, no gap formed again.

What the hell just happened? Neil grimaced. He was still clutching his foot, but the The blood seemed to have stopped for the moment. Mel wiped sweat from her face. Uh, he did kill me. We've got to get out of here. He tugged his phone from his back pocket. I'm calling the police. Mel did the same while I started to look around the room.

Shit, no service. It became obvious that it wasn't just his network, but that we were trapped in some kind of dead space. Neither phone worked no matter how hard they jabbed the buttons or how loudly they yelled abuse. It won't work. See that phone? Yeah? It's soundproofing, like in a recording studio.

No one will be able to hear us no matter how loud you scream. Mel was starting to get panicky. I couldn't blame her, but I spoke as calmly as I could. If Pickman put one of these traps into his house of horrors, I'm sure it won't be the only one. He's like that crazy guy, H.H. Holmes and his murder castle. Mel looked blank. I turned to Neil. He was glassy-eyed with pain, but he might remember the conversation we'd once had in the library

about famous and fucked up murders. You know, the guy at the Chicago's World Fair, America's first serial killer, he used a bunch of contractors to build a block-sized hotel full of traps and shoots. Neil shook his head. The fuck is wrong with you. The shit you bring up.

Mel pulled us back to the situation at hand. Couldn't this be the only one? The only trap? Maybe Mr. Pickman saw this one would kill us. Are you sure there'll be more? Not a chance. If Pickman's anything like Holmes, he'd have had gas in here as well. A fail safe, something to make sure we didn't make it.

So this is all some kind of sick game? No. Well, sort of. This is something important to Pickman. He needs this, but it has to be a certain way. You'll have specific rules. We just have to learn them and follow them. Neil was hobbling to his feet.

There's only one way out of this place. That's it mean we can get out to all that is. And that means we have to keep going. Mel helped Neil to stay upright and pulled his arms around her shoulder for support. He wasn't going to be much good at walking now. and there was a worrying paintbrush trail of blood behind us. Seemed my sleeve hadn't been as useful as I thought. I cautiously pushed the door open and waited.

Nothing. I poked my head around the frame, another corridor, the same as before, the same yellowing electric lights and ancient wallpaper, but this time it was shorter, and I could see all the way to the end where there was an old-fashioned elevator, the kind with the metal-caged door and brass handles. I waved the other two on and shut the door behind us. Watch where you step.

You don't want any more nasty surprises. We hobbled towards the elevator, staring at our feet, trying to spot any traps, but in the end we made it. No deadfalls, no pungi sticks, no falling candelabras. We heaved kneel into the lift and lent him against the wall while we examined the buttons.

At first they gave me hope. Maybe I had been wrong when I said these wouldn't. take us up to the outdoor. But then I took a second glance at the buttons. There were two floors, minus one and minus two. The only way out was down. Mel looked at me. She knew. I shrugged by way of apology before pressing the dark button. The elevator jarred into life and the door shut. It was from a time before Muzak, so we were left with the grinding. of gears as we descended further into the earth. I leant back against the door and rubbed my face with my hands. Soon the lift shuddered and the sound of gears stopped. The door creaked open and we

stepped through. Once again we found ourselves in a corridor but this time there was no illumination. We pulled kneel upright and began to haul him through the darkness, the only light being cast by a dingy bulb in the elevator, throwing slender mockeries of our shadows ahead of us, along the walls. We hadn't taken more than five paces before the door to the elevator slid shut and ascended, leaving us in total darkness. There's only one thing we can do.

Keep going and hope there's a door at the end of this hallway. We started walking again, dragging Neil under his arms. I had the feeling that he wanted to say something, but before he could, there was a noise from beside us, a loud slamming. It made all things. Three of us jump and we nearly dropped Neil. I heard a slight sniffing noise the kind of dog makes as it sensed the air.

Neil trembled over my shoulder. What was that? Just run. I began to power my feet into the floor, practically pulling the other two over in the process. That was when the noise started, a clacking like clawed feet on a hardwood floor. It was right behind as we ran. My heart nearly stopped when a harsh panting voice joined it. I turned my head for an instant, still running,

trying to catch a glimpse of the thing despite the dark. But I couldn't see anything apart from two flashes of red. The creature's eyes, which were full of joyous light as it chased us through the passageway. The thing babbled other words at us as we ran, but I couldn't hear them for the drumming in my ears. At last we crashed into something solid and unforgiving, knocking us over. I heard a cry from Neil as he landed badly on his leg. We waited in the darkness panting for the thing to begin its work, but it never did.

Puzzled, I got up, pulling the other two with me. I faced the corridor keeping an eye on those two bits of red light and walked backward, slowly my arm around Neil's waist. We moved until we found ourselves pressed against the solid surface we had run into. I wandered my free hand over its exterior. I could feel a grain and knew whatever it was it was made of wood. A few more moments of searching and my hand found something metal and round, a doorknob. I gripped it hard and turned. The door opened easily on greased hinges when pushed by our weight, flooding the hallway with light.

As the beam of light widened, it lit everything. in the corridor. The blank wooden walls, the scratched and stained floor. Even the creature standing no less than a foot from us. It was very small, its full height, making it no taller than my waist. Its skin was grey and dead-looking. It had a matted beard of dark black hair and yellowed eyes. Its hands were gnarled and looked as powerful as pneumatic vices.

Its fingers ended in long claw-like nails. The creature stared at us, standing in the doorway. It didn't move at first. It simply looked. It opened its mouth in a grin, giving us a good look at a set of yellow, gristle-flected teeth, each as sharp as a surgical knife. The thing flicked out a long red tongue and slid it over these canines. That gesture said all it needed. too. I'll be seeing you later. It darted to our right, disappearing through a wooden hatch.

We heard it skittering away through the wall. Mel jumped when she heard that and Neil almost fell. I stabilised my friend and he glared at Mel. I don't know and there's nothing we can do about it now. Come on, let's just get the fuck out of here. The three of us turned around and headed into the new room. It was different from the last one. This one was circular with yellow painted walls. There was a heavy screen of dust in the air and the current of the closing door sent it dancing through the beam of bright yellow bulbs fixed to the ceiling.

There was an exit on the opposite side. I didn't need to try the handle to know that it was locked. I propped Neil in a sitting position against the wall and told Mel to look after him while I looked around the room. What are we going to do? You are going to stay calm, keep your heartbeat down. You lost a lot of blood in that corridor, lose any more, and you'll end up looking like that shrivel old husk pickman.

I wagged a finger at him trying to keep chobial. Mel nodded. If you lose any more, you're going to start blacking out. Neil began to grumble, but I'd already turned my attention back to the room. There had to be some way to open the door. door. My heart skipped a beat when I caught sight of a large pull grip dangling from the wall. It was one of the old ones, like you see in lavatories, with the long wooden bars inside a metal U which was attached to a chain that vanished into the yellow plasterwork of the wall.

Guys, I've found something. They looked up and noticed the chain. Their eyes lit up with hope. What are you waiting for? Yeah. I reached out to pull the chain before taking my hand back. I remembered what had happened in the last room. We'd gotten lucky. The trap had been relatively easy and we'd gotten through more or less unharmed. What are we weren't so lucky this time?

Are you sure, guys? We don't know what'll happen. There might be another trap. We made it through the one before in one piece, didn't we? Mel hastily backtracked after a scowl from Neil. I mean, we... made it out alive? Like it or not, if this could open the door, it was our only option. I sighed and gave the chain a sharp tug.

It rattled and its links chanked as they slid from the wall before retracting and returning to its previous position. There was a sudden crunching and the walls of one half of the room slid down, revealing a giant steel bracket, all lined with sharp metal hook. We heard the scratch of a needle on a record, and the bright lights began to flash on and off. Chopin's Nocturne No. 2 flared into life, and there was a long series of audible clicks from the hooks, each as thin as a pencil but as long as a knitting needle. I stood stock still, trying not to laugh at the madness of the thing,

feeling the music swell and rise waiting for something to happen. Mel stared past me towards the chain. Maybe she was going to pull it once more, to be certain it worked or something. I had no idea. But before she could get halfway, one of the many hooks shot through the air and buried itself in her shoulder. Blood impacted away from the wound and splattered the wall behind her. The yellow paint now speckled with red. Mel screamed and dropped to her knees.

The hook was attached to a snaking iron chain that disappeared into a cave. cavity past the iron grid of the bracket. This chain began to slowly but purposefully retract. Her screams clashed with Chopin as she flailed at the hook with her arm. This only succeeded in sending another prong from the bracket into her forearm. This chain also promptly tightened itself. I heard a metallic clicking noise as link by link the tethers began to drag Mel towards the edge of the room.

I saw Neil try to get to his feet and shoved him back down, wham onto his ass. No, because she's moving, stay right where you are. But we have to help her. I knew he was right, but what could we do? Mel, you have to pull them out. Are you kidding me? You've got to.

Stop moving and pull them out. It's the only way. My throat was starting to hurt. hurt then. If I wasn't careful, I was going to tear my vocal cords. Her remaining arm moved to the hook in her shoulder. She wrapped her hand around it and gave a slight tug. She screamed and let it go. Tears dripped down her face. I've got to do something. I could see tears forming themselves in Neal's eyes as well. It must have been hell for him, seeing the girl he loved in that much pain and not being able to do anything about it. If I move, then those chains will come for me too. There is nothing we can do.

Mel remains screaming and sliding across the floor. Chopin remained bright and cheerful as Neil's girlfriend struggled with the hooks. Whatever mechanism was pulling on the chains was moving faster now, Mel was being dragged with increasing speed towards the row of hooks. Her legs scrabbled on the floor, trying to find more grip, trying to stop the grim, progress of the chains, but this only sent two more into her thighs, causing her to move all the faster. Soon her feet slipped in a track of blood, and she lost her hole altogether and went skidding across the ground. We watched in horror as again the chains sped up, and Mel was pulled upright

against the bracket. Neil buried his head in his hands. He didn't want to see what came next. I wanted to turn away too. I knew whatever was going to happen to Mel was not going to be pretty, but I couldn't. My eyes were glued to the scene in front of me. The horror of it wouldn't let me go. Mel had been annoying, but no one deserved to die like that. The spikes burst through her stomach and chest and out of her back in a shower of blood

before quickly retracting and pulling her hard against the metal frame. She screamed, and for what felt like an eternity, the sound of splintering bones not quite drowned out by the music as Mel was poked. by the immense force exerted by the chains. And then as the chunks of her ruined body were pulled through the gaps in the bracket, blood sluiced down the metal and the yellow wall slid back up. It crunched into place, the record screeched off,

and we were left in horrified silence. If it hadn't been for the blood stain smeared all over the floor, you would never know anything had happened. Blood, trails, finger paintings where you could see her handprints and desperate smeared toe streaks. Neil was still covering his eyes. Where is she? Where's Mel?

You really don't want to know. I shuddered. My sentence was followed by a metal slamming noise. I looked over to see the door swing open. Let's get out of here. I heaved Neil up by his armpits. I gripped him around the waist and pulled his arm around my shoulder. We approached the door.

beyond which was, as I had expected, another dimly lit hallway. Like the one after the wire room, this was short enough to see the end of the corridor. This time it wasn't an elevator or stairwell. This time it was simply a hole in the far wall. We hobbled through the door and began to move. I scanned the walls at about shin level, hoping against hope that I wouldn't find a small wooden hatch, praying for the first time in my life that we wouldn't hear running feet from behind us.

Of course we didn't. I reminded myself that the first time we had seen the creature we had been in the corridor just before the room of hooks. The hallway we were in now would only be the interlude before the next challenge. I dragged Neil to the end of the corridor into the hole. I could now see that someone had painted a large red heart around the gap, not one of those little love hearts you see on Val.

Valentine's Day, one of the proper ones, the anatomically correct ones. It gleamed in the light cast by the lamps, dark red streaks of oil paint roughly slapped into the woodwork. I stared at the heart for a while, examining all the veins and ventricles before Neil coughed. What the fuck are you waiting for? Let's get out of this fucking place. I took a closer look at the hole. It was pitch black and I couldn't make out any shapes or noises. I leant kneel against the wall and gingerly put my hand into the empty space, just waiting for something to bite down on my hand and drag me in. There was nothing in there.

All I could feel was smooth, round wall that went on for about a foot before the floor slid away. I think it's a slide. I laughed. A slide seemed oddly childish for a house of horace. There's got be a way out It's still going down Further into the fucking thing For all we know

There's a fucking bear trap down there That's covered in glass and piss I drew back my hand And smacked Neil Full force across the mouth His skin was wet and hot With sweat and tears Listen you stupid bastard

There is no other way to go We have to follow his fucking trail so it's either this slide and whatever's at the bottom, or we just give up and wait here to starve. A trail of blood dripped from a split in his lip. I just heard my girlfriend get torn apart. What the fuck do I care about getting out of here? You might not want to live, but...

I dug my fingers into his shoulders and started to heave. But I do! I pulled Neil forward and helped him into the mouth of the shoot. I watched him recede into the day. darkness, then drop away from my sight. I heard a slight whoosh and a short cry of surprise, then silence. I clambered into the hole and crawled on my hands and knees for a matter of seconds, before the floor fell from under me and I was tumbling into nothing.

I came to a sudden stop with such velocity that the wind was knocked from my lungs. I'd landed on something soft. I pushed my hand down to it and found that it was a layer of cushions, all made from different materials and designs. I felt patches of crust in some places of the covers, marks left by previous victims. I reached my hand out in front of me to feel for anything that I might stumble on, and it came down on what felt like denim.

I heard a small cry, and the denim thing jerked away, causing a bigger cry. I guessed that the denim thing was Neil. Bright lights snapped on and illuminated the hallway we were in. It was long, longer than the one before the room of hooks, but I could see all the way to the end of this one thanks to the lights. They were cold and bright, either new or more like stage lights? That light showed me something else,

something I should have been expecting but still made my heart drop. Neil, I think we're going to have to run. What? Why? I stretched out one finger and pointed out. to the shin, high wooden hatch in the wall. Wordlessly, Neil nodded, and I tugged into his feet to my back now aching from all the lifting I'd been doing. You ready? Because we are seriously going to have to leg it.

Neil grimaced. Yeah, let's get this over with. I got ready, stretched my muscles, limbering up like an Olympian preparing to go for gold, and started running. I propelled myself along the corridor, dragging Neal after me. My trainer slammed into the floor and my heart pounded against my ribs. I could taste hot saliva in my mouth and my tongue felt swollen and bloated.

When I heard a hatch opening, I nearly dropped Neal. The hound was loose. I heard those long nails on the floor behind us and I willed myself to move faster. My legs were burning now and I was muttering prayers to God, any God that could hear me deep under the earth and afraid. It was no use. I could hear the triumphant whoops from the thing behind us as it closed the distance. We were simply not fast enough, no matter how many breaths I took or how hard I powered my feet down, we weren't going to make it. Then a thought struck me. A bad one.

I was out of options. The dark recesses of my mind chortled with glee and clapped their hands together, applauding me for my sickness as I hungrily seized the idea, my lifeline out of that place of nightmares. I gripped Neil tighter and unhooked his arm from around my shoulder. I shoved him away from me. He screamed with surprise and shock as he fell to the ground. I rushed on as his screams filled the stale air. The creature was on him.

As I ran through the hall, that awful calcified, gnawing sound of teeth on bone, echoed off the walls and followed me. I crashed gratefully into the door and fumbled for the handle. I'd done it. I'd made it out, but maybe the least intact. I clutched the handle and turned to face down the corridor. I could see that thing crouched over Neal,

blood glinting in the light as it pulled around my friend. The creature paused and looked up at me. For a horrible moment, I thought it would charge, but it simply grinned its terrible snaggle-tooth grin and pointed at me. I thought it was marking me for its next meal that it was going to spring on me. Instead, it took Neil by the shoulders and pulled his still twitching form backwards into the shadows. I greedily gulped down air.

My legs ached. I just wanted this to be all over. I resigned myself to my fate, knowing that whatever was behind this door would end it. I turned the handle, shoved it open and stumbled through. I felt a cool night breeze on my face. I opened my eyes and saw the fairground. I wheeled around and saw the wooden facade of Mr. Pickman's House of Horror, the plywood outdoor, just shutting behind me. I fell to my knees, trampled grass soft beneath me.

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. Cheer up, son! Mr. Pickman strode into view. He seemed genuine need. pleased to see me. I just lay there. Nice going. I've been moving my little attraction

up and down the country for a long time now and let me tell you, you did very well, very well. He loomed closer for a second, exuding mock sympathy from that crumpled face. Just how old was this guy? Yes, very well indeed. And in the end, well, it was his.

him or you, wasn't it? He bent down and slid something onto my lapel. It was a bright red badge. I grabbed at my jacket and pulled it to look at the bottom. I survived Mr. Pickman's House of Horror, it read in dark

spidery lettering. He tapped it, his nail making a ticking noise. These things are rare, you know. Only a handful of people in all the worlds have one. So you

guard it well. He finished up with a wink, straightening his back with a series of dry pops. Why don't you come back next year, champ? Try your luck again. His face broke in a smile that pulled at his lips

like they've been dragged up by fishhooks. Maybe you won't lose so many friends the second time around. Pickman turned his back to me disappeared through a side door into his shack. I heard him chuckle as he started off into his labyrinth, and under that, is it the grinding of walls, the pathways and corridors reshaping themselves,

reconstructing the place, or just my imagination mixed with vibrations from the other rites? To this day, I haven't set foot in another carnival. I can't stand the smells of them. The oil on the machines, the popcorn and candy, floss. If I see the lights or hear the Calliope music playing late at night, I walk in the other direction. I don't know what I would do if I saw that old straw boater coming towards me through the crowd. 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. Please visit the no sleeppodcast.com for show notes and more details about the people who bring you this show.

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