The NoSleep Podcast - S18 Ep10: NoSleep Podcast S18E10

Episode Date: August 28, 2022

Tune in to Episode 10 of Season 18 for intense Internet interludes!“The Laughing Rock” written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 00:00:00)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Atticus Jackson“Stop-115” written by Stephanie Scissom (Story starts around 00:05:30)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Liz – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Jake – Matthew Bradford, Female train attendant – Penny Scott-Andrews, Male train attendant – Jake Benson, Allie – Danielle McRae, Voice on loudspeaker – Ilana Charnelle, Mom – Linsay Rousseau“The Never-Ending Thread” written by C.T. Flaska (Story starts around 00:19:50)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Dee – Jessica McEvoy, Mom – Nikolle Doolin“The Staircase Game” written by Rona Vaselaar (Story starts around 00:39:55)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Dan Zappulla, Evan – Elie Hirschman, Kayleigh – Nichole Goodnight, Sam – Danielle McRae, Doctor – Mike DelGaudio“Welcome Home” written by Jenna Kimminau (Story starts around 01:08:10)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – Graham Rowat, Mother – Mary Murphy, Brother – Mick Wingert“A Real Likeness” written by Jacob Steven Mohr (Story starts around 01:29:40)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator – Peter Lewis, Male Student – Jeff Clement, Female Student – Kristen DiMercurioThis episode is sponsored by:Quip - 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 you'll get your first refill FREEClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Manen LysetClick here to learn more about Rona VaselaarExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“The Staircase Game” illustration courtesy of JornAudio 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

Between the east and west trading outposts lies a barren wasteland of sand and stone, where no animals roam and no plant life grows. It's a solid flat plain without dunes, pitfalls, or other such obstacles. Despite the terrain being easy to traverse, and although it only takes three days to walk, most avoided, opting instead for the two-week trek around the wasteland. Indeed, most choose to scale the mountain, with its rugged landscape, sharp bramble, and fierce nighttime predators. Why? Because of the laughter.

As soon as the border out of the wasteland disappears on the horizon, you'll begin to hear distant, incessant laughter coming from an unseen presence. The laughter will follow you, growing nearer and louder with every step. The sound will disorient you. And should you have a beast of burden as a travel companion, it will flee in fear. Sooner or later, you'll come across the source of the laughter. A massive rock. More of a boulder, really. It will look as old as the world itself, with striations marking the ages like the rings of a tree.

It won't seem capable of the laughter. it emits, lacking a mouth and having no holes for the wind to pass through to produce the sound. Impossible or not, the rock will laugh and laugh and laugh. Beneath the boulder are bones, half eaten by the sand. If that isn't enough to make you quiver and fear, then consider this. There's a single trail behind the rock stretching back for miles. as though it was slowly dragged along the sandy floor. But the rock is too heavy to be pushed. And the only footprints are your own.

They'll remain visible until your bones join the pile at the foot of the rock. And the wind sweeps them away. And through it all, the rock will continue to laugh. You're sleepless in an evening. Another dimension. A dimension of horror, cursed to be frightened and disturbed.

A journey into a terrifying land whose boundaries are inky darkness. Your next stop. The no-sleep zone. Now open the door. And brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. You're now in the middle ground between light and shadow. I'm David Cummings, and this is the No Sleep Zone. Getting stoned in the desert, there's a good way to do it, and then there's the worst way.

As we learned from author Manon Lyset, from the tale which was this episode's cold open. The Laughing Rock, performed by Atticus Jackson. Our time in the No Sleep Zone is in its twilight. We hope you've enjoyed our horror set in the 1960s. We have a long journey ahead as we make our way into the 1970s. A decade of disco, bell bottoms, corduroy pillows, and... What? You've never heard of corduroy pillows? Oh, they made a lot of headlines.

Strange. Anyway, it was a time known as the me decade. So get a hold of yourself. But in order for us and our sleepless listeners to be fully braced for the 70s, we're going to be presenting a sleepless decomposition episode next week. Volume 11 will feature a colorful story we think will be chilling and disturbing. So before we get back to school, it's sleepless decompositions on Labor Day weekend,

and season 18 enters the 70s on September 11th. Ah, the terrors we have in store for you. Now, that's the signpost up ahead. Your next stop awaits as the horror begins. In our first tale, we meet two friends taking the train. Riding the rails isn't usually something to find disturbing and disorienting. But as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author Stephanie Schism, the pair soon realized that this train ride is an ordeal

when they realize they have no idea how they got on the train. Performing this tale are Sarah Thomas, Matthew Bradford, Penny Scott Andrews, Jake Benson, Danielle McCray, Elena Charnel, and Lindsay Russo. So make sure you have your tickets, especially if you're going all the way to stop 115. I smelled the coal smoke before I opened my eyes. For a moment, I was eight again, in the shop where my grandfather repaired motors. I used to sit by his old stove and watch him work. Liz, what's the piston firing order of a small block Chevrolet?

He'd ask. One, eight, four, three, six, five, seven, two, I dutifully report back. He'd laugh and toss me one of the snack-sized Hershey bars he kept in his toolbox as a reward. But the lurching and pitching, where was I? Opening my eyes took more effort than it should have. My head felt leadened, leaning against something cool and smooth. Finally, I cracked my eyelids. Scenery whizzed by outside.

Lush green mountains, a clear blue sky? Where was I? I couldn't think. I struggled to raise my head, but it immediately fell back against my seat. Was I on a train? I managed to raise my head to look at the seat across from me. A girl of about four lay on it, sucking her thumb. She seemed as lethargic as I felt.

She also looked familiar. familiar, but I couldn't think. My head throbbed and I felt queasy. Someone moved swiftly down the aisle, a lady in a bright blue uniform. She knelt beside the girl. It's okay, sweetie. You'll see your mama soon. I coughed to get her attention. She whipped her head around and I cried out. Her eyes were black as coal. I blinked and it was gone. She looked at me with concern. She looked at me with concern in her sky-blue eyes. Are you okay? My...

Bad. Oh, it's probably the smoke from the train. She walked away. Someone groaned to my right. A dark-haired guy about my age slumped forward. He turned and squinted at me. Jake. I am, Jake.

I don't know. He closed his eyes. I remembered him, somehow. A number seven. on a black jersey. I pictured him at a locker, helping me open mine. And I knew without being able to see it, that the baseball cap he wore backwards had a red sock symbol on the front. Looking beyond him, out his window, I tried to recall where I'd been just before the train. Jake struggled to his beat.

I'm going to be sick. He made it halfway down the aisle before the lady in blue stopped him. Please return to your seat. Restroom, I'm sick. It will pass. She tried to pull him back, but he shook her hand off and lurched down the aisle. At the end, he disappeared through a doorway to his left. The Lady in Blue looked anxious.

She glanced at the other passengers, but no one else seemed strong enough to stand up. Lips pursed, she waited for him. Finally, the door opened and he staggered out, hail and red-eyed. He looked annoyed to see the Lady in Blue waiting. He turned as if to go through the door to another car, and she freaked out. Stop. You can't go in there. She almost shoved him down in her attempts to get between him and the door. He lifted his eyebrows and held up his hands and surrender.

Then he headed back down the aisle. Instead of taking his previous seat, he fell into the seat next to me. Please, return to your seat. Young man... Where are we? Where are we going? She strode to the first seat of the car. where a man in the same type of blue uniform sat. He turned to look at us, and they whispered behind their hands.

What's going on? I can't remember it. My head hurts. Mine too. Do you think we were trucked? He looked at me, then at the little girl in the seat in front of us. But why? The last thing I remember is Mr. Greeley yelling at me. He yelled at you for sleeping in homeroom. That's right. You're Liz. I have a bad feeling. We need to get off this train. The two employees still watched us.

These kids, they're from our school. And the younger ones. I think they're from the daycare next to our home room class. I looked at the girl, surprised. Mrs. Campbell's daughter, Allie! Approaching stop 105. All passengers remain seated unless a service member directs you otherwise. Only people with tickets for stop 105 will be allowed to disembark there.

Do you have a ticket? Before I could look, the two attendants in our car moved quickly down the aisle, closing the blinds over the windows. Jake tried to stop the man from closing ours. We'll leave ours open, please. The man closed it anyway. Jake reached for it, and the man grasped his wrist. Don't touch that. For a moment, his eyes flashed black.

There are things on this journey you do not want to see. Stop 105 holds many of these things. In fact, you do not. I do not wish to see any of the stops until we get to stop 110. Enjoy your ride. We watched him walk away. Did you see that? His eyes?

Yes, and hers were the same earlier. I thought I imagined it. The train lurched to a stop. No one from our car is disembarking at this stop. Perhaps you should close your eyes and nap. It will help time pass. She took a blanket from the overhead compartment. and tucked it around me.

Jake refused the one she offered him. Rest your eyes, dear. I'll wake you when we reach your stop. A nap. I still felt so groggy, and my head wouldn't stop pounding. Maybe if I closed my eyes for just a minute. Jake nudged me with his knee.

Stay awake. We can't go to sleep. I opened my eyes and noticed Allie was asleep, snoring softly, all over the car. Passengers slept. Some faces I knew, others were still hazy. Liz, do you hear that?

I did. It sounded like wolves howling, or... Moving quicker than I was capable of at the moment, Jake reached across me and opened the shade. What had been sunny and lush only moments ago was now dark and barren. People lurched into the darkness. Then, yellow lights appeared.

It took me a second to realize they were eyes. Something jumped at our window, and I screamed. I saw a flash of scraggly black fur and yellow eyes as it slammed against the glass. Then the man in blue was there, yanking on the shade. I told you not to touch that. What the hell was that? Where are we? Where are you taking us? To a nicer place than this, if you will listen to the rules.

He stood right beside us until the train chugged in motion again. Along with the howls, I imagined I heard screaming. Jake took my hand. His fingers felt icy around mine, and I looked down. His fingers were pale, the nail beds cherry red. So were mine. So were alleys. We have to get off this trait.

His reddened eyes and lips stood out against his pale skin. You don't look so good. I was sleepy. Every time my head dipped, Jake squeezed my fingers. I dozed somewhere between stops 106 and 107, but Jake kept bringing me back. The two employees in Blue still stared at us. Finally, the man came toward us. I need to see your tickets, please.

He didn't even try to hide the black flash of his eyes. Now. We searched through our pockets and found nothing. What can I tell you, man? If you tell me how I got on this damn train, I might know where my ticket is. The Lady in Blue approached. They don't belong here. I told you so. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped.

Impossible. The boy's too strong. He cannot stay on here. The woman frowned at us and pulled the man away. We watched them engage in an animated conversation. They're going to kick me off. I want to go with you. Please don't leave me. He squeezed my fingers. I won't. I don't know where we're going, but I don't trust them.

He glanced out the window. I used to like trains when I was a kid. This one seems kind of slow. I figure we're doing about 80 miles per hour. If we try to jump at this speed, we're probably dead. But have he noticed how much it slows when we're approaching a stop? We have to be close to stop 109 now. Maybe we should take our chances.

It's jump when we get close. But he said we don't need to look outside before we get to 110. What if those creatures are there? What will we do? Jake looked at the couple in blue who were still talking and looking at us. A third, a large man in blue, had joined them. I don't think we have much choice. I think they're about to kick me off.

Are you coming with me or staying here? My hand felt cold and clammy in his, but I squeezed his fingers. I'm going. Approaching stuff 109. The train began to slow. Jake moved fast. He jerked me up and half dragged me down the aisle. I glanced behind me and saw the people in blue running toward us,

but he caught them off guard. He reached the door in the back of the car and threw it open. Hand in hand, we jumped into nothingness. I awoke to the beeps and whir of machinery. Cold air and the smell of pine disinfectant. Something covered my nose. I fumbled at it, only to feel a warm hand covering mine. I expected the lady in blue, but it was a different face that hovered over mine.

My eyes burned when I recognized my mom. Liz, Grant, get the nurse. She's away. Honey, just be calm. Leave your oxygen mask on. You're okay. You're going to be fine. What happened?

The furnace at your school, there was a carbon monoxide leak. It hurt a lot of people before anyone realized what was happening, especially on the bottom level. Your classroom, the daycare. But you're going to be okay. They found you in a doorway with some boy. The two of you made it outside before you collapsed. That's why you're alive.

Jake, is he? he okay? He is, and he's been asking for you. She left the room and I lay there, trying to remember what happened, trying to piece together some crazy dream about a train and workers with black eyes. My mother wheeled Jake into the room. He smiled at me from under the bill of his Red Sox hat. Hey, you, he scared me. Mom smiled and parked his chair by my bedside. I'm going to go grab a sandwich with your father, let you two talk. What, what happened? I don't remember much. They said there was a carbon monoxide leak and we were the only ones from that classroom we made it out alive. I remember holding your hand, trying to get to a door, but that's about all.

I wanted to ask him about the train, but that would sound crazy, right? What's the last thing you remember? I remember Mr. Greeley yelling at you for, falling asleep. Yeah, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I guess the poison was already hitting me. I'm not sure how I even woke up enough to get out. He reached over and squeezed my hand. I looked down.

Our hands were pale and the nails were still red. I'd had a crush on him since sixth grade. I couldn't believe Jake Marlowe was here, holding my hand. I laughed. I dreamed about you. I dreamed we were on a train. You saved me from the... these weird, black-eyed train workers.

Jake's already pale face blanched. Train? He pulled his hand from mine and rubbed his hands over his face, accidentally dislodging his hat. He grabbed it before it hit the floor. What the hell? He extracted something from the inside ridge of his cap. He held it up, and we both stared at it.

It was a simple yellow ticket with the words, Stop 115, printed in black letters. The internet holds many secrets. I'm sure we've all heard rumors about mysterious places buried deep within the ones and zeros of the endless forums and message boards. And as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author C.T. Flasker, a young woman is desperately searching for a legendary message thread because she wants to join the others who are said to have found it and have died.

Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy and Nicole Doolin. So if you're searching for something you think you need, it might be better to get the right kind of help, not the help you'll get from, the never-ending thread. The rumors are that you can only find the thread when it's your time. You can miss it if you're not looking at the exact moment you're supposed to. No one accurately knows how to find it or where to start looking. My friends and I would type random combinations of numbers, letters, and symbols into the search bar,

hoping we would be the next to discover the thread. Sometimes phrases, random sentences, and any combination thereof, but we never found it. The search for the thread became something of a superstition, the next Bloody Mary or Creepypasta. Even the news got in on the hype and ran stories that further scared people. another person had come across the internet hoax and was found dead. The cause of death was usually cardiac arrest or suffocation, but there was never evidence found on the victim's computer that they were trying to find it at all. No history or logs showed any sign of them tracking down the unknown thread.

The victim would only be linked to it when a friend would come forward later and say that he or she was trying to find it. The death would be written off as natural causes. After years of speculation, the existence of the never-ending thread faded into digital history as just another internet hoax. People online will, of course, say they found it. They'll post about how they clicked on a certain image multiple times and the thread unveiled itself, or they were sent a secret message to accept an invite into the thread. Someone once reported that it was just there the moment they logged into Reddit. Most people would exit immediately or turn off the computer after realizing what might be in for them,

while others started scrolling. The thing about the ones who claimed they found it and didn't die, they write that it changed their lives forever. They were shown things that gave them answers that they did or didn't know they needed. Someone said it gave them the answers to a final exam, and another said it gave them a password to an unclaimed digital wallet holding a collection of Bitcoin. Someone once posted that it let them talk to their deceased little sister one last time. There was no consistent way of finding the thread. If you went looking for it, it would find you.

Everyone wants to expand on the lore, no matter how ridiculous their claims are. It's been years since the hype died, but I've decided to give it one last go. If, well, since, it's the last thing I'll do. The past years of my life have been filled with remorse. So many regrets, failures, and bad habits. Drugs, drinking, and wasted years sit on my shelf of accomplishments. I feel like I've been in a whole. trying to dig myself out, but it gets deeper with every day.

My friends and family looking down at me, trying to help, but they only get farther away with each day. It's been almost a year since I saw any of them, since I last talked to anyone even. They probably wouldn't want to see me anyway. They probably hate me. I've decided not to let these thoughts consume me anymore. I'll spend tonight trying to find this all-knowing thread, but at sunrise, I'll be taking everything in my medicine cabinet until I can't swallow anymore.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen if I find this thread? It kills me so I don't have to. I spent about three hours on Reddit searching combinations like before. I clicked links that were most likely virus traps. I clicked random shapes displayed throughout different pages, hitting the tab button. button to locate hidden spots to click. I even simply tried typing never-ending thread in the search box. A couple of hours passed, and I pushed myself away from the computer, slouching in my seat.

I stared at my keyboard, listening to my shallow breathing. My eyes welled, and I blinked, cutting a few loose tears down my face. My head pounded with empty thoughts, none of it coherent. Scribbles, anger, and distress clouded my mind. I was so hypnotized by the negative self-indulgence that I hadn't even noticed my screen turning black. All that remained was a browser and a single blinking cursor. Before I could grab my mouse, it started typing. 14522518-5149147-dash.

A number appeared in the browser. I assumed a virus finally ate away at my computer, but then the cursor began moving. The number repeated itself over and over. The cursor could hardly keep up. 14522518-5149147-14-1-147-14-1-8-5-4-9-147-14-1-4-9-147. As the numbers rolled across my screen and beyond the browser box, a thread began to unravel below.

The scroll tab shrunk so small it became non-existent. reaching for the mouse, I began turning its wheel. Hands shaking, breathing irregular. My tired eyes filled back with tears. I wasn't sad anymore. I wasn't happy. I was terrified. The thread contained a mix of comments by ineligible posters

with no frame of reference as to who or what they were. No avatars, pictures, or profiles. And the comments were... Strange. Most were just random numbers and assorted letters with no context whatsoever. Some were in all caps, screaming hateful words and slurs, while others described acts of violence in vivid detail. I stopped briefly here and there, but scrolled down as fast as I could. I always assumed that was the goal, but maybe there was a message for me hidden in this mess of random comments.

Was I supposed to know? Was it going to stop for me, or did I have to find it? Maybe I did have to find the bottom. Placing the mouse in one hand, I used the palm of my other to scroll the wheel faster. It was 1.30 in the morning when I took my first break. I'd spent two and a half hours diving into the Thread's abyss. I occasionally wrote down the comments that stood out in case they meant something later. Isn't wondering unsafe.

Cunning why, leave envelope. This is not there. I love you. Begret, regret, regret, re-fret, regret, regret, regret. Is easy. Give up. Behind you. I scanned the screen intensely, slowing down occasionally by keeping a steady pace.

The only sound in my empty apiece. apartment was the mouse wheel clicking sporadically with every turn. My PC was dead silent. The fan wasn't even running. I thought about texting my friend Matt to tell him what was happening, but I might lose the threat. I hadn't spoken to him in a while anyway, so it'd be a little strange to get a hold of him this late and convince him I found the never-ending threat. I mean, he told me to call him any time, but I would just disappoint. I scrolled back up until it appeared. The picture was of someone sitting in the corner of a dark room. They were at a desk, but I couldn't see what they were doing. She had... quickly, I turned around in my chair and noticed my closet door was slightly ajar. I looked back at my screen, back at the image, the image of

me sitting at my desk. The screen flicker. and the image was gone. A comment was highlighted just as the closet door shut behind me. Don't look. Keep going. My neck ached, urging me to look back at the closet. But just like the thread requested, I continued scrolling. The presence of something behind me was overwhelming. A heavy pressure fell over the room and the temperature dropped.

My fingers and face were as cold as ice. The posts in the thread were becoming more clear. Words were standing out, and I was stopping more often, becoming nervous to reach the end. And I had noticed something. Outside the window, to my left, a strange, disheveled figure standing in the brush. Its skin was flaking, like tree bark, and its limbs were cracked and splintered. My adrenaline spiked, but I focused on the screen. Stop, dare you.

Slashing, cut, mutilate. Slow down. Are you in your apartment? Timmid for your own sake. Some of these notes repeated themselves, taking up the entire screen. See you. I see you. I see you.

I see you. I see you. I see you. I was no longer seeing a canvas of scribbles and mismatched symbols or letters. One comment even had the name of its postings. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Dee, take your time, hosted by Cassandra Mills. I wrote it down.

That was my mother's name. She calls me Dee for short. It was her birthday a few days ago. I never called her. I'm a horrible daughter. She doesn't deserve a piece of shit like me. The negative thoughts began to brew. Comments started to fade into horrible remarks and accusations.

A comment pleaded that I go to the medicine cabinet, giving detailed instructions on how to get to it from my chair, describing my apartment perfectly. Other comments said I didn't deserve that kind of grace, that I needed a worse form of punishment, and I should just stab my eyes with a pen or try swallowing thumbtacks in a bleach. Slit your skin, free yourself. Call any time. No more running. Noises from inside my apartment made me jump. Things fell off the walls and heavy footsteps ran from one room to another. A cold touch wrapped on my shoulder, but I forced myself to look forward. I felt that if I turned around, I would be enveloped by the dark presence behind me and be forced to an unimaginable and terrible and bottomless.

page warped and mangled as I dug deeper. Images of mutilation and suffering flooded the screen at any point. My eyes winced and my brows furrowed. Noises in my apartment seemed to match what horrific displays I saw on the screen. Someone having their throat slit in one picture mimicked the sound of tearing skin and sawing bone from behind me. I ignored the cries for help and scrolled further. I never looked away from the screen, not. for a second. I couldn't trust myself not to look at whatever was inching towards my window for the last 40 minutes. The scroll tab was still invisible. The bottom end of the thread was something not to be found, nor was an answer. I knew what would find me in this thread if an answer didn't. I wondered if I

could even take my own life before something else got to me. I didn't think I could make it out of my chair. The hot breath of something looming behind me had moisture running down my back. My life was no longer in my hands upon entering this thread. Instead, I gave it away so it could do what it wanted with me. But I didn't want to die. I just wanted the awful thoughts to stop. I wanted the negative feelings to go away, wanted to be normal again. To be happy again, to see the people that I felt like I couldn't show my face to. The people I loved, who probably didn't even know I've been fighting this. Something no one else could see that no one knew about and how it made me feel.

Alone. I grabbed the notepad and pen, scratching out the comments that made me feel bad, feel alone, and to blame, I read what remained. See you. I see you. I see you. I see you. Dee, take your time.

Call any time. Are you okay? Slow down. I love you. I fell onto my keyboard and cried. I didn't lift my head until the sun rose. The thread had vanished. and the desktop was back to normal.

My apartment was quiet, and the sun flooded the room with light, extracting all darkness. All I could hear was the fan from the computer, softly humming beside me. I lifted myself off the desk and reached for my phone. I dialed my mom and waited. Honey? Dee, is that you? It's almost seven of the boarding. Is everything okay? No.

My voice escaped me. My chest convulsed as I held back another wave of sobbing. I never wanted her. I never wanted anyone to know about this. To know about the thoughts and tricks my mind plays. How I overwhelm myself with negative accusations. They'll be disappointed. Talk about me.

think I'm crazy. They'll think I'm crazy. No, I'm not. I fell back into crying. I couldn't hold the feeling anymore. From the other side of the phone, I heard movement, a soft tapping on the shoulder of my dad. She was waking him up. It's okay, honey, slow down. Are you in your apartment? The same one off Glen Street? We're on our way, okay? I tried to answer, but couldn't. I held the phone tight and let everything out. I felt silly, feeling embarrassed. I wasn't ready.

I wasn't ready to know that all my thoughts were just thoughts. I had spent so long relying on my intuition that I hadn't thought about the times that it might have been wrong. I was tired of running. I wanted my family back, my friends, and my life. I let out a breath of frustration, but could only cry. Dee, take your time. I love you.

If only it were that easy. To find the answers to things you didn't know you needed to learn. For me, the elusive answers would involve how important it is to look after your teeth. If you don't, you'll live to regret it. And regret how expensive it is to fix those choppers. So looking after your teeth is a good habit to get into. And when it comes to good habits, Quip leads the way for optimum oral health.

The Quip Electric Toothbrush is loved by over 7 million mouths and has timed sonic vibrations with 30-second pulses to guide a dentist-recommended two-minute clean. Plus, a lightweight and sleek design for adults and the kitties with no wires or bulky charger to weigh you down. And on top of your brushing, you can upgrade your quip with a new smart motor to track and improve your brushing with the free,

App. Earn amazing rewards like free refills, products, Target gift cards, and more. Rewards, just for being good to your teeth. Imagine that. Beyond the brush, Quip has everything you need to build a complete routine. Refillable gum that sugar-free has long-lasting mint flavor and comes with a dispenser. And two great ways to floss. Floss string that expands to clean and a reusable floss pick that replaces over 180 disposable picks with every refill. In addition to brushheads, Quip also delivers fresh floss, toothpaste, mouthwash, and gum refills every three months for $5. Shipping is free so you can save money and skip the hustle and bustle of in-store shopping. With stylish and affordable electric brushes starting at just $25, you won't be paying through the

teeth for better oral health. If you go to Get Quip, com slash no sleep right now. You'll get your first refill free. That's your first refill free at G-E-T-Q-U-I-P dot com slash no sleep. Quip, the good habits company. And now let's get back to the show. We've got some stairs to climb. Horror on the internet. Take it from me. There are some great ways to experience it, like say horror fiction podcasts, and some rather awful ways to frighten yourself. And as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author Rona Vassilar, one young man thinks he's found a creepy ritual online which is not only horrifying, but incredibly risky. Performing this tale are Dan Zapula, Ellie Hirschman, Nicole Goodnight,

Danielle McCrae, and Mike Delgado. So maybe it's best to just listen to horror stories. It's a lot safer than trying them yourself, especially when you try to play the staircase game. If you've been on the internet at all in the last year, you've almost certainly heard about the staircase game. If you've somehow managed to miss it, your days of blissful ignorance are over. The rules are pretty simple. To play, you must first find a staircase with just 13 steps. Not one more, not one less. Starting at the bottom, you step onto the first step and then back down. Then you walk up two steps and back down again.

Next, you walk up to three steps and back down. You repeat the pattern until you walk all the way up to the 13th step and back down again. For the game to work, it has to be done completely alone. If another living soul sees you while you're playing the game, you lose. If you lose, of course, nothing happens. That's how it always goes in games like this. If you win, they say that you can see things almost no one else in the world can see. Things that we're not supposed to see.

But with your victory comes a warning. If you can see them, They can see you too. This is the story of how my friend Evan won the staircase game. Evan's how I heard about the staircase game in the first place, actually. He'd always been into the weird internet stuff. He'd spend hours scrolling through Reddit, 4chan, YouTube, and whatever else. I've never been real big on internet culture,

so I may have never known about it if he hadn't told all of us in the cafeteria, after our 11 a.m. class one day. So what? You see ghosts? Is that it? Evan shrugged. Not ghosts necessarily. Just things.

Nobody knows what they are. Kaylee rolled her eyes. Ugh, lame. If nobody knows what they are, maybe it's because nobody's actually seen them because they don't exist, and this is just a stupid urban legend. It's not an urban legend.

It's a creepy, Costa. Kaley frowned at Sam. What's the difference? It's not a creepy pasta guys. It's real. You should read some of the experiences people have had. There's no way they're making this stuff up. Let's say for a minute that it's real. Because I have a bad habit of playing along with my friend's ridiculous shit even when I shouldn't.

Why would you do it anyway? I mean, so you see weird stuff that nobody's supposed to see and maybe those weird things are dangerous. What does that get you? What's the point? Evan looked at me with great exasperation. The point is that there's a world beyond our own, and you can be a part of it. I shrugged. Yeah, I don't know, man.

That sounds like a shit deal to me. I've got enough to deal with in the world as we know it. For a guy who likes Lord of the Rings so much, you'd think you'd have a better sense of adventure. Evan stood and snatched up his lunch tray and discussed. Well, I'm going to do it and prove it's real. He marched off to dispose of his tray and probably go back to our dorm room to play video games before his afternoon classes. Pretty much the moment he was out of sight, the rest of us forgot about the game and moved on to juicier topics. Like the professor who totally lost his shit during a Philosophy 101 lecture that morning.

It wasn't until a few days later, right around 3 a.m., when the door to my room, banged open, that the game came up again. I did it! I finally did it! His voice was ten times louder than it should have been. I borrowed deeper into my covers. I have a chemistry exam tomorrow. Fuck chemistry. Chemistry. Chemistry doesn't know shit. You know who knows shit? I know shit. I was definitely not awake enough for that level of incoherence.

But since Evan wouldn't stop blabbering, I heaved myself out of bed and shugged what remained a flat, lukewarm mountain dew I'd left on my bedside table. Whatever you did, it better have been nothing short of murder, or I'm going to kill you for waking me up. Dude, the staircase game. That's what I did. I won the staircase game. It took my brain a few seconds to connect the dots to our conversation a few days prior. Are you serious right now? He completely misread my tone. Yes. I made it through all 13.

I've been trying for like almost a week, but I kept getting interrupted or forgetting what number I was on halfway through, but I finally did it. And you woke me up at three in the goddamn morning. Okay, well, it's a little your fault for being asleep at three in the morning, you fucking loser. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, because if I didn't, I knew I would launch myself at Evan and throttle him. Once I had myself under control, I opened my eyes and sighed. Okay, so you won the game. What do you see? Evan hesitated for a moment.

Well, nothing yet, but I mean I just won. I probably have to give it a few hours or something. I think I was staring at him like he'd grown a second head, or maybe just like he was the biggest moron on campus, which is definitely how I felt in that moment. Seriously? Hey, maybe the things are asleep. I mean, it's three in the morning. Any normal person would be asleep right now. Why not them? I closed my eyes again as that homicidal urge rushed up. I'm going to bed. If you wake me up again, you won't have to worry about the unseen things

because you'll be joining them. Jeez, how many times do I have to tell you guys that they're not Ghosts. That was the end of our conversation that night. The next day, I passed my chem exam, seized get degrees, and met up with Evan at the cafeteria during lunch to find out if he'd seen anything. Nah, nothing yet. But hang on. I'm sure something will happen.

But I could tell he didn't really believe it. He had that glum look about him like someone had just run over his cat, if he'd had a cat, that is. I figured that I'd ask him a few more. times, just to be a dick, and then I'd leave it off and we'd eventually forget the whole business had ever happened. But then, later that afternoon, Evan called me and started practically shrieking in my ear. It happened.

I'm finally seeing something. What? Now come on, you're bullshitting me. No, I'm serious, dude. I'm at the library. You know the library? I rolled my eyes. Yes, Evan, I know the library.

Because unlike you, I have actually been there at least once. Right. Oh, okay. So get this. There's a shadow on the side of the building. A shadow. Yes, but like on the side of the building where the sun is shining. So it shouldn't be there, right?

Do you honestly think that you're seeing an impossible shadow? That's your proof that this game worked? Well, how would you explain it, ass face? Gee, I don't know. I would probably assume that it's just a normal shadow that you're projecting. all your hopes and dreams onto. Fuck you asshole. I'm going to sick my new shadow friends on you.

Then he hung up. For the remainder of the week, Eben carried on much the same. Everywhere he went, he saw weird shadows or a strange patch of grass or tree branches blowing in the wrong direction. He would relay these to me colorfully

at any given opportunity. I found it annoying. Our other friends thought it was sort of funny, interesting even. Sam in particular, asked a lot of questions about the strange things Evan was seeing. Eventually, they gave Evan the idea of writing down his experiences and not just in online forums. You know, you should keep like the nature journal. You can keep notes about the different things you see and their characteristics and stuff. Maybe even publish it as a book one day.

That really got Evans' attention. The very next day, he picked up a composition notebook and started scribbling in it all hours of the day and night. One night, I asked to see what was in Evans' notebook. By that point, it was starting to look tattered because he carried it everywhere, and it was over halfway full. No way. He clutched the notebook to his chest dramatically. You made fun of me, so now you don't get to see all the cool shit I'm seeing. I don't know why that irritated me so much.

To tell the truth, the whole thing was annoying me. His obsession with the story, his absolutely bullshit assertions that he was seeing things that weren't there. The thing that probably annoyed me the most, though, was how much attention Sam was giving him. I would have done anything to get Sam to be half as interested in me. Maybe that's why I did what I did next. Even so, it makes for a piss-poor excuse. It happened like this. One day during our 11 a.m. class,

Eben kept glancing across the room, a furrow between his eyebrows. I ignored him, mostly because I absolutely could not fail Econ if I expected to be a business major. But I couldn't help but notice. He stayed distracted all throughout class. Once we were out the door, Evan whispered to me. Did he see her? There was that spike of annoyance again. See who?

There was a new girl in class today, but I couldn't tell if she was actually a girl or, you know. Our Econ class was pretty small, only about 15 people, so a new person would definitely be noticed. And I hadn't seen anyone. Nope, must be one of your unseen things again. Evan frowned. You think? But she looked so normal, kind of cute even. Why don't you go talk to her?

Evan gave me an incredulous look. Talk to her? Are you nuts? I shrugged. Why not? What's the big deal? If she's one of those things, I could get hurt. They can be dangerous.

Says who? The people online who also coincidentally live long enough to write and post their stories? It can't be that dangerous then, can it? Besides, imagine the kind of things you can learn for your book. Evan still looked a little uncertain, but I could see he was warming up to the idea. Yeah, yeah, maybe you're right. If you asked me then what I thought would happen. I'd have said that I thought she was a normal person that I simply hadn't noticed in class that day. And that Evan would go up to her and absolutely humiliate himself by asking if she would be. If she would be she was some kind of supernatural freak.

Then, maybe he'd finally shut the fuck up about the stupid game. Evan strode off with purpose in the direction of the library, I assumed in pursuit of the mystery girl. As for me, I skipped lunch, suddenly feeling out of sorts, and went back to our dorm to chill and watch some TV. I didn't see Evan until that night, much later than he usually stopped back at the dorm. When he came in, he didn't look so good.

Troubled and a little pale. You okay, man? He sat down heavily on his bed and ran his hand through his hair. I talked to her. Then he was quiet for a minute. And? I don't know what happened exactly. I stopped her on the way to the library and said I was in class with her, told her my name.

And she looked at me and... And I can't really remember her first. face. What do you mean? I mean, she must have had one, right? But when I try to remember it now, it's all blurred in my mind. Like she's a drawing that got smudged. I thought that over for a second. You said she was pretty when you saw her in class. Yeah, I guess I did. But now... He shrugged. So what did she say when you talk to her? He shook his head. I don't know. I laughed a little trying to lighten the mood. Don't you know anything?

Evan didn't laugh. When she talked, it sounded like she was speaking underwater. I couldn't make heads or tails of what she was saying. Like, maybe it wasn't even English. I don't know. And then she reached out and touched my arm. And then she walked away. That's it?

That's it. Huh. That's weird. I hated to admit. admit it, but this story unsettled me in a way I didn't like. Maybe because Evan wasn't laughing and joking about it. I'd rarely ever seen him so serious. I knew without a doubt that he was telling the truth, which meant one of two things. Either he was going nuts, or there was a serious weirdo walking around campus. I didn't like the prospect of either. Obviously, it didn't

have anything to do with the staircase game. the game was all bullshit. Just a stupid thing made up by someone with way too much spare time on their hands. I didn't say that to Evan, though, mostly because I didn't get the chance. He told me pretty abruptly that he was going to bed, and that was that for the rest of the night. I didn't see Evan again until the next afternoon, and when I did, he looked worse. He had deep bags under his eyes, like he hadn't seen.

slept well, and his face looked sort of waxy. He was sweating something fierce, too. Hey, man, you don't look so good. We were at the cafeteria waiting for Sam and Kaylee to meet us for supper. He'd grabbed a slice of pizza, but was just poking at it without making real moves to eat. I don't feel so good. I frowned and inched away from him a little. Do you think you caught the flu?

I heard it's going around. He shook his head. absently he scratched at his arm. I don't think so. Doesn't feel like the flu. Well, what does it feel like? A deep shudder went through him. Awful.

Then he went quiet. When Sam and Kaylee got there, they realized immediately that something was up. Both of them tried to talk to Evan to see what was wrong, but he just got up, dumped his food, and left the cafeteria like someone was chasing him. What's with him? Something about a girl he talked to yesterday. I think maybe he's just coming down with something. Is this about that game?

I wasn't sure what to say to that. Eventually, I settled on... He certainly seems to think so. You should talk to him. I felt a stab of frustration at that. I tried. I spoke a little sharper than I had intended. Sam held up their hands in surrender.

Okay, geez, I'm sorry. Supper was awkward after that, which put me in a sour mood. Now Sam thought I was mad at them and or a shitty friend. Great. Just great. I planned to give Evan a peace of my mind when I got back to the dorm, or at least force him to go see the campus nurse and get checked for the flu. But he was already in bed by the time I got home.

Over the next few days, Evan got worse and worse. His eyes turned bloodshot. His hair started falling. out in big chunks on his pillow. His breathing got raspy and labored. He looked like he was losing weight at an alarming pace. Perhaps the most concerning, though, was the rash that had appeared on his arm and was quickly spreading.

It was an angry red and must have itched something terrible because he wouldn't stop scratching it. When he did, pus and blood burst over his fingers and ran down his arm. The smell was indescribable. Evan, you seriously need to go to the hospital. I am not joking. We were on day four of his illness, and I was starting to get scared. He looked like he was going to keel over where he stood.

They can't help me. It's her. She did this to me. Look, the rash. It started where she touched me. I felt a wild spike of guilt and fear hit my gut. like lightning. I did this to him, came the voice in my head. Even though he didn't say it, I was sure Evan was thinking it. I was the one who told him to talk to her. A surge of anger

pushed the guilt away. God damn it, Evan, for the last fucking time the staircase game isn't real. You are ignoring a serious medical issue because you've become obsessed with some urban legend, creepy pasta bullshit, and I'm sick of it. If you don't come with me to the hospital now, so help me, God, I am going to call an ambulance, see if I don't. Evan barely reacted to my yelling, which at that point was quite loud. He waited until I was done, and then said, Prove it. What? Prove it's not real. You go play the staircase game. If you play it and you don't see anything. Then we'll both know I'm just crazy. And I'll let you take me to the hospital. His eyes were fixed on me with a manic bloodshot stare. I felt a shiver go through me.

That's what it'll take? He nodded. I swore under my breath. We don't have time for this, Evan. I'm not going to go prowling around campus at two in the morning trying to find a 13-step staircase. You don't have to. Go to the church. It's got exactly 13 steps leading up to the front door. Since we went to a Catholic school, we had our own church near the center of campus, just next to the main administration building. That laid on a Tuesday night, or technically a Wednesday morning, I guess. It was sure to be deserted.

Fine, I'm going now. Put on your shoes in a coat, because we're leaving the second I get back. I felt Evans' eyes on me as I walked out the door and across campus, mumbling curses at him the whole time. I couldn't believe he was letting a stupid game get the better of him. I couldn't believe he was blaming me for getting him sick, never mind the fact that he'd never actually said that. A few minutes later, I was standing at the foot of the church steps,

not another soul in sight. It struck me then how eerie everything was. My surroundings were lit only by the glow of the moon. The air was still. and so was everything around me. There wasn't a sound to be heard, not even the rustling of a squirrel running through the grass. Despite knowing there were students all over campus

still awake and drinking, watching movies, pouring over their textbooks, I felt like I was completely and utterly alone in the world. I consider just walking back and telling Evan I'd done it. How would he know anyway? Besides, I wanted to get him to the hospital. hospital sooner rather than later. But no, as annoying as he'd been in the last few weeks, Evan was a good friend. I told him I'd do this for him, so I would, and I'd prove to him how ridiculous he was being. I started the game. First one step, then two, three, four,

five, all the way up to 13. It didn't take as long as I thought it would, and I was lucky enough to get it right on the first try. Nobody passed by to see me and interrupt the game. I started it alone, I finished it alone, and when I was done, I bolted back to my dorm alone. Evan was still sitting on the floor where I'd left him, curled in on himself, his eyes fixed on the door. His right hand was covered in blood and pus, scratching away at an arm that was starting to look like it had been through a meat grinder. Well... I did it, and nothing happened.

I saw the first hints of relief in Evan's eyes, coupled with plenty of disbelief. It took a few hours for me to start seeing things. Maybe... Evan. I knelt down next to him. I put a hand on his non-injured arm, wincing at the clans. to his skin. It's not real.

I didn't see anything because there's nothing to see. When you played the game, didn't you say you felt it right away that something was different? He hadn't said that, but he still nodded as he looked at me, the relief growing and his shoulders sagging as the tension ran out of them. Whatever's going on, it has nothing to do with the game. You're just sick, and that's making you think things that aren't true. Now, can we please go to the doctor and get you checked out? Yeah, I...

Yeah, Jesus, this is so... It just felt so real. My heart ached for my friend, sitting there in pain, unable to trust his own senses. I know it did. I can't believe I... I'm sorry. He laughed a little. It was low and rough, like he had a bad case of strep throat,

but it sounded so good. It was the first time he'd laughed since he'd seen that girl. I've been a real pain in the ass, huh? I smiled at him. Yeah, but you're my pain in the ass. Now let's go. True to his word, he let me take him to the hospital. I expected the doctors to take one look at him and admit him,

or at least show a little bit of concern over what I believed was a life or death illness. Instead, they ran a few blood tests, frowned at some computer screens, and then one of them gave the verdict. You've got a mild infection. I'll prescribe some antibiotics to clear it up. But you need to make sure you take the whole two-week course. Otherwise, it could come back worse than before. A mild infection?

Look at him! Does that look mild to you? It doesn't feel mild. The doctor sighed and spoke as if he'd had to explain the same thing to a hundred idiots before us. Maybe he had. I'm sure it doesn't feel mild. Any infection is bound to feel nasty, but I promise it's nothing serious. You'll feel rotten for a few more days, partly because of the antibiotics, but in two weeks you'll be right as rain.

Scouts honor. I wasn't convinced, but stayed quiet as the doctor bandaged his arm and wrote out the prescription. I had to admit that once we got back to the dorm room, Evan was already looking much better. I hadn't realized how much he'd been freaking out about the game. He took the first round of antibiotics and crawled into bed. It must have been all the stress. I'm feeling so much better now. I think I just need to sleep for a bit, and then who knows?

Maybe I'll be feeling up for class tomorrow. Nah, you should milk the bed rest for all that it's worth. Besides, what's there to look forward to about a miserable Econ lecture? You're right. Gotta save up my strength so we can hit the bars this weekend. Yeah, if you can find a fake ID that's worth half a fuck this time. He laughed. A few minutes later, he was snoring.

When I woke up the next morning, he was huddled in the corner of the room, already several hours dead. His eyes were clouded over. His mouth was hanging open in a scream. The bandage on his arm had been torn off, and he'd scratched clear down to the bone. In his arms, he clutched that notebook he'd taken to carrying a round. I don't remember exactly what happened next. My memory from that day is a little blurry.

But someone must have called the cops because I remember them bursting into our dorm room to find me just sitting there, staring at Evan's body. There was an investigation. There always is when things like that happen. I was a person of interest for a while. The police interviewed me and everything. I probably should have gotten a lawyer, but I didn't. I didn't think I deserved one. The moment they sat me down, I blabbed the whole messy story about the staircase game and how it had killed Evan, how I had killed Evan.

The cops didn't believe that, but they clearly thought that maybe there was something wrong with me. I probably would have ended up charged with murder if the autopsy hadn't shown that Evan had died of a heart attack. Sounds unbelievable. A 19-year-old kid has a heart. heart attack and drops dead? But it turned out that heart issues ran in Evans' family, and supposedly his great-grandfather died of a heart attack in his early 30s. The coroner determined that the infection, mild though it had been, could actually have triggered it. Just one of those freak things, he said. So that was the end of anyone's suspicions that I might have been involved.

The cops suggested I talked to someone, a therapist, I guess, about my misplaced sense of guilt. That was the end of that. The story about the staircase game never got out, and Evan's death didn't go further than the local newspapers. I asked for Evan's notebook back, so maybe I could publish what he'd found on the internet and try to get some answers. But the police told me to drop it. I never did find out what happened to that notebook. things haven't been so good since then. It's only been a few months since his death,

but no matter how much time goes by, I still feel responsible. I've stopped hanging out with Sam and Kaylee. It's not that I don't want to see them, but I'm afraid if they look at me too closely, they'll see what I've done. Like it's written all over my face or something. They tried reaching out for a while,

but everyone gives up eventually. At least that's been more. my experience. I'm just trying to take things day to day. I think about looking up the staircase game stories on the internet sometimes, just to see if I could get answers about any of this madness. I haven't done it, though, because what good would answers be now after Evans already died? The best thing I can do is just do my best to forget the whole thing. That's what I thought until this morning. When walking to class,

I happened to pass by the library and saw a shadow on the sunny side of the building. Exactly where it shouldn't be. The nightmares may be over, but the darkness will linger on, so long as you reside in the no-sleep zone. The No-Sleep podcast is presented

by Creative Reason Media, the musical score, was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikalski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our creative content manager is Olivia White. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy. If you would like to find out

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