The NoSleep Podcast - S18 Ep17: NoSleep Podcast S18E17

Episode Date: October 23, 2022

Tune in to Episode 17 of Season 18 for terrified teenagers.“The Endless Man” written by A.C. McAnelly (Story starts around 00:00:00)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Sarah Thomas“Devilry” written by Seth Borgen (Story starts around 00:07:20)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Esther – Mary Murphy, Jules – Danielle McRae, Jack – Matthew Bradford, Third Bag – Mary Murphy“Jerry’s Run” written by Matthew K. Leman (Story starts around 00:32:35)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Melissa Carver – Linsay Rousseau, Kendra Reese – Katabelle Ansari, Travis – Kyle Akers, Sandi – Tanja Milojevic, Mr. Albright – Mick Wingert"This Book Will Kill You - Part 7" written by Alexander Gordon Smith (Story starts around 01:07:00)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Jessica McEvoy as Tommi Bright, Ash Millman as the unknown author, Nikolle Doolin as Caraís Mom, and Erika Sanderson as the witch.“Thunderstorms” written by Cody Baggerly (Story starts around 01:05:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Graham Rowat“Devil’s Night” written by Chris Allinotte (Story starts around 01:13:10)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Derek – Dan Zappulla, Jason – Atticus Jackson, Police Officer – Erin Lillis, Mr. Reynolds – David Cummings, Derek’s Dad – Mike DelGaudio, Trick-or-Treater – Matthew BradfordThis 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 youíll get your first refill FREEClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here for The NoSleep Podcast Twitch channelClick here to learn more about T.J. Lea’s new book, “Beneath the Static”Click here to learn more about the new podcast, “The Rapscallion Agency”Click here to learn more about Seth BorgenClick here to learn more about Matthew K. LemanExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Devilry” illustration courtesy of Mark PelhamAudio 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

On a windless night, there will be a breath that looks in your hair for a threat of death. Don't open your eyes. There's nothing to see. But if you do and there is, then you're dead to me. Carly and I were the only ones who hadn't tried it yet. Graduation night seemed as good as any to do it. We made the trek down to Hawksbill Crag at dusk. By the time we made it down there, the mountains blotted out the rays of the setting sun.

Carly and I stood, holding hands, palms sweaty but afraid to let go. We said the words we knew would conjure him, the endless man, the man that would grant you a long, healthy life, or end you right there on the edge of the bluff. The mountains were beautiful around us until the darkness stole our sight. The wind died down to nothing, and even the mockingbirds and whippoor whales quieted. I didn't close my eyes until I felt his presence. that sickly sweet breath like fresh honey wafting warmer than the summer night into my face. Carly squeezed my hand more tightly and gasped when she realized he was there, but I wasn't afraid.

I knew what to do. Oh my God, Carly, look! I knew what Bade awaited her if she listened to me, but she never really believed. The breath swept around us like a howling wind, so loud that I almost couldn't hear her scream. It was when the wind died down and her hand loosened its grip that told me I was blessed to have a long, healthy life. I finally opened my eyes. Her hand was the only thing left. You dare not close your eyes.

It was of horror to frighten and disturb. What's that sound you hear from beneath your bed? Venus has the sleepless hours ticked back. Praise yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Beautiful friendship. Doing anything for your bestie, or at least making them do anything for you. Well, that's what we learned from author A.C. McAnally.

From the tale which was this episode's Cold Open, The Endless Man, performed by Sarah Thomas. Halloween is so gosh darn close. Are you sleeplessly excited? Well, what if I told you there are some, delightfully dark new experiences waiting for you. Let's start with a new book to read. Sleepless Sanctuary Publishing presents a new novel written by T.J. Lee.

It's called Beneath the Static. In a port town known as Mantis Bay, a group of friends gather in a basement in a bid to film the next internet viral hit. Reaction content is on fire right now. They just need to find something to react to. That's how they discover, the static and its disturbing presenter, J.J. Watson. What follows is a series of broadcasts that begin to unravel their collective truths.

The sages must overcome emotional and physical trauma, past sins, and nightmares to confront J.J. Watson. But can they survive their secrets being dragged into the light? Can they survive what lurks beneath the static? Check the link in the show notes to get your copy of this dark and deep. engaging new book. And if you're home on Halloween night, why not spend it with some of the no sleep team on our Twitch

channel? We'll be streaming some interactive games and hanging out, all while copious amounts of fun size candy is forced into our gullets. A link is in the show notes to our Twitch channel. Come float with us, or sink with us, if you dare.

And finally, what if you want to listen to something other than our fiendish tales? Well, you've heard me before mentioned the excellent fiction podcast Leviathan Chronicles and some of its familiar voices. On November 1st, the new spin-off series called The Rapscallion Agency premieres. Here's a teaser trailer for you. The bridge between men and machine. What kind of change?

One that changes everything. The organic and the digital. His head. It's metal. Your friend Alvind the chipmucks. Non-stop recording hard drive. The ability to record every human sense. Sight, sound, even thought. Everything anyone could ever see or hear gets recorded.

Any human being could be a spy. This chip will allow us to know everything. As we're the people we sell it to. They'll see all the data. Don't you get it? There is no one that can stop us. Hey, Rockstar. The Rapscallion Agency, a new audio drama from the creation.

of the Leviathan Chronicles follows two of its youngest characters, Lizette and Claracan, who move to Paris. Oh, Claricon is in Paris. Welcome to Paris. And find themselves entangled in a sinister plot to control the world's most sensitive information. I can take them out. I think there were three of them. Now there's two. We've got to get out of here.

No one is going anywhere. Leviathan Audio presents the Ratskalian Agency, available November 1, November 1st. Subscribe now on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. So there you have it. New things to read, watch, and hear. All I can say is, you're welcome. And now, check under the bed and pull the sheets up tight. The darkness is here, but you'll be sleepless tonight.

In our first tale, we meet some kids getting ready to go trick-or-treating. But are they kids, or are they too? teenagers, that transitional age when you're not sure if you're too old to trek for candy. But in this tale, shared with us by author Seth Borgon, the gang decides that maybe this Halloween calls for something more grown up, like a visit to that one old abandoned house. Performing this tale are Mary Murphy, Danielle McCray, and Matthew Bradford. So whether you're in search of candy-filled fun or something,

darker, be careful where you decide to do your devilry. This Halloween caught Jules Jack in me at a weird point in our lives. Last Halloween, all we wanted was all we ever wanted. To wear costumes, knock on doors, and fill our bags with free candy. Next Halloween, it's safe to say costumes and candy will have given way to mischief and low-key devilry. Saving cream, trespassing, maybe trying our hands at a local urban legend or two. This Halloween, however, who were we? This was decided at some point in that wordless way,

things are often decided between three best friends. While we still had a little bit of who we've always been left inside us, we owed it to ourselves to have one last real Halloween. to really do it, feel it, and tuck those feelings someplace permanent right before an old friend became a stranger in a crowd. Thinking this is what we decided, I put on my black and white skeleton body suit and skull mask and headed out. The sun had just disappeared behind the trees, marking the unofficial start to our neighborhoods tricking or treating. The October air was cool and electric. and jackal lanterns glowed in the fresh darkness like branding irons.

Kids and costumes were already making the rounds, some in small groups, some with chaperones. As I made my way down the street, the recorded sounds of creaking doors and rattling chains and anguished moans from beyond the veil drifted into and out of earshot. Cutting through the occasional yard, I wound my way around plywood tombstones and plastic skeletal hands grasping for moonlight and ankles.

It was glorious. At least I thought so. But when I finally found Jules and Jack, they seemed to be thinking something else. They were sitting on the curb under the yield sign where a three streets came together. Their bags plopped down beside them, with their elbows on their knees and their chest. chins on their hands. They looked deflated. Jules was a ghost, literally a sheet with two eye holes, but with a sheet pulled up and piled on her head, it looked more like a nun's habit. Jack was dressed as a cartoon devil with a red cape, cow, horns, and a black pencil-thin mustache painted over his lip. His plastic trident lay flat in the grass behind him, like a thwart. Aftainte-theworthand Like a thing discarded.

I stood over them. Their eyes barely acknowledged my arrival. Don't worry. I lifted my skull mask and popped it on my head like a hat. It's just me. Of course it's you. You're too tall to be anyone else. We're the same height, Jules.

All three of us are too tall? There's taller. I said that. but it's true that we were on the older side of anyone I could see right then. Yeah, yes, they're called parents. Their voices were flat, bored almost. Not at all the Jack who wore a second costume under his costume last year, so he could loop the neighborhood twice.

Or the jewels who, earlier this very day, said she was going to head out a half hour early so she could scope out which houses were handing out. whole candy bars, and which houses were handing out fruit. That was less than three hours ago. Forget all that. You're still you. I'm still me.

You're still you, that's for sure. Across the street from us was Mr. Honeycutt's house. For trick-or-treat every year, Mr. Honeycutt's front porch consisted of three objects, a coffin, a bowl of candy, and a sign that, read, take one if you dare. If you do, in fact, dare, the coffin flies open and Mr. Honeycutt, wearing a movie-quality wolfman costume,

snarls and growls and lunges at you with two hairy paws. The age of three, Jules Jack and I first became friends right there in Mr. Honeycutt's yard, huddled together, colds with terror, trying to muster the courage to approach the bull, knowing what would happen if we did. Our parents snickering at us from the sidewalk.

Ultimately, we didn't find the courage that year, but we'd found each other. The following year, Jules braved alone the wolfman, while Jack and I watched from the safety of the street. The year after that, Jack found his courage as well. And the year after, we braved the porch together until Mr. Honeycutt sent us lying into the night, laughing and shrieking at the same time. Exactly six years later, Mr. Honeycutt's coffin popped open with a heavy thud, followed by the familiar growls, snarls, and lunges, sending a couple of first graders running for their lives with vivid smiles on their

faces. In triumph, Mr. Honeycutt unleashed an enthusiastic howl. I was smiling, too. But when I turned back to Jules and Jack, they were watching the scene unfold with a blankness that made me feel more alone than I'd ever felt in my life. More alone than watching them take on Mr. Honeycutt's porch without me seven years ago. Lambs to the slaughter or cowering in fear. Everything is better with friends. Come on, guys. I nudged Jules' foot with my foot. Then Jax.

Come on, get in the spirit. Jules scrounged around in her bag, pop something into her mouth, and held it in her cheek. It's too early. Too early for what? This time of night, adults are still preserving their candy stoppiles.

These amateurs? She gestured to the little vampires and witches and princesses fluttering around us. Looking at one, maybe two pieces per stop. Yeah, the first hour is for kitties and bedwetters. The last hour, that's where it's at. Once the crowd start thinning out and the adults start realizing they're going to be stuck with four unopened bags of Reese's pieces, one or two becomes four or five real quick. And when it comes right down to the wire, four or five becomes all you can carry.

They'd really thought about this. I didn't know why they hadn't mentioned it before, but it did make a sort of sense. All right, well, what are we supposed to do until then? Using only their eyes, Jules and Jack looked at each other. Then at me. Yeah, about that. Go on. The ruin house.

I mentioned earlier the possibility of one of us one day trying our hands at some of the local urban legends. Well, in our town, none loomed larger or cast a heavier shadow than the ruin house. Deep in the woods surrounding our neighborhood, there's an old house. Who built it when? Who lived there? Who first called it the ruin house once upon a time? no one knew. There it was, what's left of it at least. The roof and two of the walls were clean gone, leaving a moldering foundation and two partial walls that came together to make a single

corner. In one of the partial walls, a wooden door miraculously still on its hinges. In the other, a fireplace and chimney miraculously intact. Finding it is easy. walking up to it is easy. The legend itself is common knowledge. No, it's the next part that put my stomach into freefall and turn my blood into ice water. According to legend, there's one night of the year where if you go to the ruin house alone

and knock on the door in just the right way, the door will open by itself. And what you see on the other side, well, no one knows for sure. Whatever it is, you're different afterwards. And it goes without saying, I think, that the one night of the year is Halloween. Rumor has that a high school girl named D.D. Cooper, went to the ruin house last Halloween and did the knock.

Two light knocks followed by the words trick or treat. These steps repeated two more times. Though she said nothing happened, her friends and family noticed an immediate change in her demeanor. She didn't quite look like herself, they said. She didn't quite sound like herself. She started acting out. Her grades bottomed out. Her laugh became a high-pitched cackle, and sometimes everything was funny,

and sometimes nothing was funny for days. In December, her eyes, hair, and skin began to be able to. to lose their color. Say towards the end, she looked like a popsicle with the flavor sucked out. New stories about D.T. Cooper ended with her getting caught

trying to burn her family's house down and laughing that new, insane laugh of hers all the way into a police car. She got pulled out of school. The Cooper's put a for-sale sign in their yard, and as far as information trickling down to the middle school ranks goes,

That was that. We can't just go to the ruin house. It doesn't work unless you're alone. We already did it. You what? Yeah, I came early like I said I was going to and got bored. When Jack showed up, I told him what I'd done, and he did it too. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Yesterday, geez, earlier. today, going to the ruin house on Halloween night, would have been like us deciding to steal a car and drive it off a bridge. And now, here they were talking about it like it was a trip to the gas station. Well, what happened? What do you mean? What happened? Nothing happened. It's not real, Esther. Jack was chewing on something crunchy, a peanut M&M maybe. It's just a story. Though none of us ever mentioned it,

the Halloween Jules and Jack braved Mr. Honeycutt's porch, while I watched from the street, left an indefinable distance between us. The fact that it was never spoken of, and maybe couldn't be spoken of, made it worse. For that whole year, they were together and I was apart. Just like right now, The only difference

This year there was still time Doing my best imitation of casual Okay, so if I go knock on that stupid door When I get back We can finally start hitting some houses Duh I mean it's not like we got all dressed up for nothing Where our neighborhood ends

A trail picks up and bends into the woods That's where Jules and Jack stopped walking. A ghost and a devil watched a skeleton vanish into the night like I'd been dropped in lake water. As I walked, the sounds of a Halloween in full swing faded into cheering crickets and leaves crunching beneath my tennis shoes. At first, everything was darkness. After a minute or two, my eyes began to adjust,

the moon washing the trail in trees and deep shades of blue. Up above, a slight breeze swayed tree branches back and forth, like the woods were breathing. I was a manageable amount of nervous. More than anything, every footstep felt like it was bringing me closer to Jules and Jack, not closer to danger, even in the mostly dark. I knew these woods like the back of my head, I know that's not the saying, but I always thought it should be.

The real saying is, like the back of my hand. But if I was in a room full of people, and if I saw myself from behind, of course I'd know it was me. Who else could it be? That's how well I know myself. Anyway, that's how I knew I was getting close. That's how I knew where to leave the trail. Soon, the familiar silhouette of the ruin house rose up in front of me.

Two jagged walls and a leaning chimney made from smooth river stones. The door was right where it was supposed to be, fastened tight, and seemingly immovable on its rusted out hinges. Because I knew there was nothing worse in heaven and hell than being alone and afraid. I knocked. Two quick knocks that sounded more like a heartbeat than knuckles on wood. Trick-or-treat. Trick-or-treat. Tricker-treat. Under no circumstances should that door have been capable of moving. But it did. The impossible unspooling right before my eyes. Adrenaline going off inside me like fireworks. The door opened inward with a light. long, screeching metal-on-metal creek, revealing a room that had no earthly business being there.

Four walls and a ceiling, instead of cool night air, sky and stars, clean floorboards, instead of a layer of dead leaves over top a hundred years of wet, rotting leaves. From every other angle, the ruin house was unchanged. Impossible. But what did that matter? The room that should not have been was empty, except for three large burlap bags in the middle of the floor. The bags were stood on end and tied off with leather cords.

A snapping fire in the fireplace cast the room in a warm orange glow, the three bags throwing long shadows across the floor and against the far wall. I must have been breathing. The blood thrumming through my neck and ears must have been put there by a beating heart. I must have entered the room. I don't really remember doing any of those things. But there I was, standing over the first bag,

pulling on the leather cord. I didn't want to see what was inside, but I also had to. The cord came free. Inside the bag was what used to be. be Jack, identifiable mostly by his devil costume. There were two bloody holes where his eyes had been. His nose, lips, and ears were severed.

The wounds so knew they glistened in the firelight. His fingers and toes were gone. Leaning against his shoulder was his plastic trident. When the bag unloosened a little more, the trident fell to the floor with a hollow thwack. I pulled the leather cord on the next bag. It opened. Inside, a white sheet with two eye holes. At least a sheet used to be white.

Like all butcher paper used to be white. Like the mutilated body underneath used to belong to jewels. I didn't need to lift the sheet to know that. The head slumped forward and blood oozed from the eye holes like syrup. The third bag twitched, like whatever was inside had been startled awake. I jump back, terror pulling at my skin from the inside. My entire body having ceased, the word barely escaped my throat. Nothing.

The room was still. The bag was still. The fire crackled. Then, muffled, barely audible, a voice came from inside the bag. followed by more movement. Fingers wriggled through the opening and tugged at the leather cord. The bags fluffed away.

Someone wearing a black and white skeleton body suit and skull mask rose up out of the opening. We stared at each other. Hello? The voice was shaky and thin, like mine had been, except more like an imitation. Like it was amused by how afraid I was.

I ran for the door, but it was gone. I turned and pressed my back against the brick wall where the door should have been. The skeleton costume was coming towards me. My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor. The skeleton stopped, cocked its head, then took another step. The fire twindled. The room drew Tim. than dark. Inside that darkness, the bones and skull mask burnt a faint orange, catching the last

traces of guttering flames. They were right on top of me. The fire went out. If Jules and Jack hadn't been to any houses yet, what were they eating? Why didn't I wonder that then? That was my last thought. Hello? were waiting for me at the edge of the woods. Well? Jack was twirling his trident. What happened? Nothing happened.

I shrugged. It's just a story. Just a story. We stood shoulder to shoulder. The neighborhood spread out before us like a segmented sheetcake. The moon glowing bright as midday. son. Trick-or-treaters buzzed and flitted in and out of shadows, while adults looked on, smug, so sure of what was child and what was mask. Down the street, Mr. Honeycutt let out a melodic

cow. Remember when we all met for the first time? I smiled. You mean just now? She smiled. Yeah. Jack looked into his bag. I'm almost empty. How's yours? Same. Esther? I bit into an ear and pult. Came apart like old fruit leather. Could be fuller. And so we hoisted our bags over our shoulders and ran,

disappearing into that cool, night air, lit by candles and flowers. Torchlight, tinged with rotting crab apples, burning leaves, and the sound of our new laughter together. You see how great Halloween can be? A little devilish fun can help you feel like a brand new person. That's a healthy attitude. Now let's take a quick break while I tell you about a great way to keep those teeth of yours healthy. 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. health. The quip electric toothbrush is loved by over 7 million mouths, and it comes with a multi-use travel cover that doubles as a mirror mount for less clutter. And the reusable handles come in a range of sleek metal hues, including best-selling all-black and all pink, as well

as bright plastic colors sure to make a pop to your bathroom counter. And to get even more benefits from your brushing, you can upgrade your quip with a new smart motor to track your brushing with the free Quip app. Earn amazing rewards like free refills, products, Target, gift cards, and more. Lots of treats with no tricks. Beyond the brush, Quip has everything you need to build a complete routine. Anti-cavity toothpaste in mint or watermelon that helps prevent cavities. And I love Quip's refillable mouthwash that's a four-time concentrate. So it's good for you and the planet. In addition to brushheads, Quip also delivers fresh floss, toothpaste, mouthwash and gum refills every three months from $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 getquip.com slash no sleep right now, you'll get your first refill free. That's your first refill free at g-et-k-u-y-p.com. slash no sleep. Quip, the Good Habits Company. Now let's talk healthy horror, as in the horror of running in the school gym. High school can be an awkward time, even more awkward when you just move to town and you're the new girl. There's a lot to learn about the place. But in this tale, shared with us by author Matthew K. Lehman, Melissa not only has to juggle new teachers and friends, but also the

rumors about the school and it's dark and out-of-bounds gymnasium. Performing this tale are Lindsay Rousseau, Catabelle Ansari, Kyle Akers, Tanya Milosovich, and Mick Wingert. So take those urban legends seriously. There's good reasons why you must never attempt to make Jerry's Run. I'm not afraid of ghosts. Not to say, I don't believe in them, but while I consider myself reasonably skeptical, I've always been more curious than scared of the idea of the supernatural. Honestly, I wish I was scared of them. Maybe that would have been enough to avoid the incident that has haunted me ever since. It started with Kendra Reese.

I was a new student at the high school of a small town in Pennsylvania, and she'd been assigned as my guide to show me around. She carried a sort of bored edginess I associated with angsty loners. Her hair looked messy in a deliberate way, like she styled it to make. an ironic statement against styling your hair. The front desk secretary introduced us and gave Kendra a copy of my schedule, and then she was out the door without another word. I caught up just in time to see her toss the paper into a garbage bin. We walked down a wide hall lined with lockers, bulletins, and school posters.

Occasionally we passed a classroom where teachers could be heard droning their lectures. The school had a dismal atmosphere and seemed darker than it should, like faulty wiring plagued the whole building. So, where's your first class? Ignoring the fact that she just trashed her copy of my schedule, I held up mine and said, Room C3, Mr. Boxley. Cool, so I guess I'll catch you after. She then took off in another direction.

Shocked, I asked, where is it? I don't know. Just ask the teacher. The teacher who's in the room that I don't know where to find? She rushed off and left me alone in the hallway. Great. I spent the next few minutes studying the map in the school pamphlet, heading off at a brisk pace as soon as I spotted my first class

way on the other side of the building. The school was eerily quiet, aside from the occasional voice of a teacher or student in a classroom, the only noise was the buzzing of the lights. Something about the place gave me the creeps. Between the dull lights and the empty hallways, I kept expecting to see someone watching me from around a corner, or maybe some old janitor.

walking by muttering cryptically. The place felt like the setting to a horror movie. My face was buried in the map when I looked up and saw the entrance to the gym. While waiting for Kendra in the office, I'd been flipping through the pamphlet out of sheer boredom when I came upon the school rules and policies. At the top of that page in big, bold letters were the words, the gymnasium is strictly off limits.

Below that, it listed several consequences for breaking that rule, including suspension and even possible expulsion. But no reason was given for that peculiar order. I'd skimmed over it at the time, but that warning came right back to me as I stared at the entrance. It was a pair of double doors with a heavy padlocked chain wrapped several times around the handles. As if that weren't enough, multiple signs saying things like,

keep out and off limits were plastered all over the doors. Settle, I thought. That morbid curiosity of mine drew me right up to the doors. There was just enough of a crack between them to peer inside. But her blackness greeted me, and despite my better judgment, I actually considered pulling on the doors to try and widen the crack. Excuse me! I jumped and turned to see Principal Albright approaching.

Although I hadn't met him yet, his face was plastered on the home page of the school website. I could tell by his expression and his almost menacing walk that he was not happy to see me here. Things weren't shaping up for a good first impression. What do you think you're doing? He loomed over me, cocking an eyebrow at the gym doors. I... Sorry, I was looking for my first class, and... I trailed off, unable to think up an excuse.

You must be the new student, Melissa Carver. I nodded. Where's your new student died? Even though she'd abandoned me in the middle of an unfamiliar school, I didn't want to rot her out and make an immediate enemy. So I just painted my face with an oblivious look and shrug dumbly. Fine. Let's get you to class. He led me to the classroom where I met Mr. Boxley and took my assigned seat.

Throughout class, a couple of the students cast curious and even suspicious glances my way. Afterward, I wandered towards my next class, still feeling out of sorts. Even among the students, the atmosphere at this place was so different from my last school. Everyone seemed reserved and melancholy. Like something here had drained the energy from them. Along the way, I bumped into Kendra. Hey, find your way? A thick haze of perfume she hadn't been wearing before assaulted me,

only vaguely disguising the hint of cigarette smoke. This must be why she volunteered to be a student guide in the first place. Easy way to sneak out for a quick puff. Before I could decide whether or not to give her grief for ditching me, both of us were startled by Mr. Albright suddenly appearing through the crowd. Ms. Reese, can you explain to me why you were neglecting your duty as a new student guide? She stammered for a second, but I cut in. I'm sorry, Principal Albright, it's my fault.

I figured I didn't need a guide and just tried to find my own way before she got to the office. He studied us both, and I hoped he wouldn't notice the poorly hidden smell around Kendra. Just get to class. Don't let me catch you lollygagging again, either of you. I gave a stiff nod and tried to walk away, hoping Kendra would follow. Mr. Albright stopped me mid-step. And Miss Carver, I would ask you to observe all the school rules here. He gave me a cautionary look, and I knew without having to ask what he was referring to.

With that, he turned and disappeared down the hall. Hey, uh, thanks for having my back there. I shrugged. It's nothing. We stood in awkward silence for a few seconds. Want to hang out with me and my friends for lunch? Thankfully, she didn't abandon me this time, and we shared the following two classes before lunch. After getting our food, she led me to a couple of benches near a basketball court behind the school. Two other students sat chatting there, one of them a tall, lanky boy,

the other is skinny girl with frizzy hair and thick-bramed glasses. Hey guys, this is Melissa. They both gave cautious waves. This is Travis and Sandy. Kendra then gestured at me. She's cool. Didn't even rot me out to the principal. You almost got caught smoking again?

Shut up. She punched Travis in the arms as I took a seat. So, where are you from? Ohio. My parents and I just moved here. Oh, well, welcome to our little town of Penny. Hope you like small towns in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, this place sucks.

You have to drive like 30 miles to the city. closest Walmart. I shrugged. Yeah, that's kind of why we moved here. My parents wanted somewhere quiet and out of the way. It didn't take long for me to relax around them. Most of the questions came from Sandy, who seemed sheltered and had a lot to ask about life beyond this town. Travis, mostly just badmouthed different parts of the town, often followed by a punch in the arm from Kendra. I thought that was excessive, but figured that was just the kind of friendship they had. At some point I realized we were sitting right outside the forbidden gym. Like the interior entrance, the double doors here were chained, padlocked, and plastered with keep-out signs.

Someone even bothered to board up all of the windows. What's the deal with the gym? The shift in the mood was immediate and palpable. Each of them threw a cautious glance at the doors before facing me with tense expressions. We're not supposed to talk about it. Don't be a pussy. I noticed the way Sandy seemed to shrug. ring back looking down.

Kendra then looked at me. It's haunted. I wasn't sure whether to roll my eyes or ask for more details, so I kept quiet. Back in the 80s, there was a basketball player named Jerry Harmon, who was found dead in the locker room right before a big game. His body was near the showers and covered in blood. That part's a myth. My uncle was on the basketball team.

He said there weren't any injuries. It was like he just laid down and died. Kendra punched him in the arm. Shush. The way she kept doing that was starting to get on my nerves. She resumed the creepy cadence and went on. After that, where things started happening at the school, especially in the gym.

Students and staff reported hearing sneakers running inside when the lights were out and nobody was in there. Some even said they saw Jerry's ghost watching through the windows. So they closed off the gym? Not exactly. At first, the staff tried to ignore it, but then it turned into sort of a game for the students. When the gym was empty and the lights were off, kids would dare each other to run from one end to the other. As the story goes, if it's dark enough, Jerry might come out and you can hear his sneakers running behind you.

People started calling it Jerry's run. It wasn't a big deal at first until students started dying. That caught my attention. The first one happened about a year after Jerry's death. A new student took the dare, but he didn't make it to the other side. His friends looked inside and found his body just feet away from the door. Police couldn't figure out what happened, and the news reported it as a heart attack, a heart attack, and a 16-year-old kid. Then it happened again in the early 90s.

Three debts in the same place are more than a coincidence. So the school locked up the gym and banned anyone from going in. Since then, gym class and sporting events were all held outside. I had to admit, at some point I'd become enraptured by her delivery, and tingles started crawling. rolling along my skin, but I tried to play it off as nothing. Why not just tear it down? They considered it, but no one wanted to take the job, where it got around fast and no one wanted to take the risk. This part of the country is kind of a hot spot for the supernatural. The adults don't like to talk about it, but you can tell they believe. Lots of hauntings here

and in the surrounding towns. There was a big stir a couple years ago, this really creepy, haunted museum. They'd just hired a new security guard and he died mysteriously on his first shift. So yeah, people don't always dismiss the supernatural around here. Have any of you made Jerry's run? Sandy and Travis both looked at Kendra. I did. Sort of. Sort of? I made it halfway. Before she bitched out.

Kendra slugged him in the arm. Dick, you bitched out before you even opened the doors. So did you, you know, hear the footsteps? Yep. I heard them running at me from the direction of the lockers, and I no doubt. I couldn't decide whether to be captivated or to blow it off as small-town rumor. It was one thing for a town to have its own urban legends surrounding an off-limits gym. It was another to say you actually had a close encounter with the ghost itself.

But someone could have just been pranking, Kendra. The conversation died as the bell rang, but my eyes were drawn back to the gym doors. I wondered if that history was the reason behind the bleak atmosphere of the school. Could the simple awareness of the dark past have that kind of effect on the people around it? That stuck with me for weeks after. The logical side of my mind battled with the more curious part that wanted to believe in things beyond human understanding. I tried to play it safe like everyone else and keep my distance from the gym. but then it happened.

It was a month after I first came to the school. By now, Kendra and her friends had fully accepted me into their circle. I made a few other acquaintances and quickly learned that everyone seemed to know everyone here, and everyone seemed to have some connection, whether a distant relative or a friend of a friend, to the alleged ghost haunting the gym. We sat and chatted in the same spot behind the school during lunch. Kendra and Travis were laughing over a video on her phone.

Apparently, the star athlete of the school took the dare to make Jerry's run, and his friends posted a video of him entering the gym and immediately running back out, literally crying. I couldn't help feeling pity for the guy and how this would affect as a reputation. I noticed how Sandy actively avoided watching the video with them. She seemed to go quiet whenever the gym was brought up. Has anyone ever made it all the way through? Not since the 90s. Last one to make it was some student named...

I think Tammy Hawkins or Halsey or something like that. How badass would it be if Melissa here was the first one to make the run in like 30 years? I don't know what possessed me at that moment. Maybe I wanted to prove myself to my new peers. Maybe I wanted to face the fears that everyone else shied away from. Maybe I wasn't even thinking at all. Whatever the reason, I looked at them and simply said, Okay.

It took them a moment to register that. What? I'll do it. The others glanced uncertainly between each other and me. You mean... I'll do Jerry's run. Stunned silence followed for a minute. I could tell by his expression that Travis was trying to pass it off as a joke before he realized a minute.

Sandy looked uneasy. I don't think that's... Kendra shushed her and leaned forward, meeting my eyes with an intensity I'd never seen in her before. Are you sure? Others have done it. I said with a forcing shrug, you did it. Not really. That earned him another punch in the arm.

Kendra's gaze never left mine. If you do this, you'll officially be the most badass person I've ever met. We could get in huge trouble. Don't be a pussy. I felt a twinge of anger, though I kept it to myself. Surprisingly, Sandy didn't back down like normal. We can't even get in. The doors are padlocked.

I'll handle it. that. I didn't bother to ask what she meant by that. I'm serious. I'll do it. And that was it. We agreed to meet at eight when the school would be empty. I told my parents I was going out with some friends and they didn't seem concerned at all. I think they were just happy to see me socializing and didn't even question why I was going out in my running shoes and shorts. Sandy was already there when I drove up and parked my car. Despite the rules, apparently these guys weren't too concerned about security. This place didn't even have a fence. As I stepped up. As I stepped up, I started Hept out, Sandy shuffled nervously up to me.

Hey. Hey. Um, so you're really serious about this? Fainting confidence, I shrugged like it was no big deal. Why? I could tell from the look in her eyes that she was genuinely concerned, maybe even distressed, and my heart melted a little. Honestly, it's kind of stupid.

In Ohio, I took a dare to prank one of my teachers and it went south. I chigined out and ended up getting my friends and me caught. We got in trouble, and they always held that again. against me. I guess I just wanted to redeem myself. You don't have to prove anything here, though. You've only been here a month. It's a fresh start. Nobody dared you to make the run. Yeah, but it's not like there's actually a ghost in there, right? She fidgeted with her fingers. The last student who died? My mom was dating him at the time. That kind of surprised me. Had she ever shared this with anyone? I felt like it would have come up if

Kendra and Travis knew. What happened? She gave him the dare when they were just students here. It was just a stupid joke, but he did it. She waited on the other side and heard footsteps running up to the door, but then they stopped. She opened the door after a minute, and she said that she saw a ghost standing there. I stared at her in shock. Was it Jerry? She shook her head. She doesn't know. She was so scared that she ran away screaming. The next day, her boyfriend's body was discovered in the gym, and that's when they closed it. She's never really gotten over the guilt. I studied Sandy, trying to tell if this was an act for the hype. The look in her eyes was one of genuine worry, and in the time I'd gotten to know her, I never figured her to be a liar or a good actor.

I wished I could give her some compelling reason why I wanted to do this, but I didn't have any personal stake in it or some dark secret in my past is motivation. Kendra doesn't understand how serious this is. It's a lot more real for me because of my mom. She's always drilled it into my head to stay away from that gym. So I guess I'm just trying to figure out why you're suddenly so interested. Honestly, I don't really know what to tell you. I've always been kind of fascinated by the supernatural, so I can,

guess I genuinely just want to know. That answer still didn't seem to satisfy her. Ultimately, I just offered her a reassuring smile. It'll be okay. I can run pretty fast. Melissa, I really don't think that... Before she could finish, Kendra and Travis finally arrived, and Sandy immediately went quiet and shied away.

Over the past month, I'd become increasingly aware of the way Kendra always seemed to overshadow her. Okay, we're ready. Kendra jangled a set of keys in front of me. Do I even want to know how you got those? A magician never reveals her secrets. She was weirdly animated in a way I'd never seen before. Like this was the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.

She offered the janitor a few packs of her dead cigarettes. Dick! Kendra gave him a sarcastic punch in the arm. Whatever, let's hurry up and do this before we're caught. Travis headed off around the side of the building, followed by Sandy after she gave me one more apprehensive look. Kendra and I entered the school through a side door and went right for the gem. It was extremely dark inside, only dimly lit by the streetlights seeping through the windows,

and we had to use our phones to guide our way. If I thought the school looked like a horror movie during the day, then this was definitely the part where the killer lurked nearby ready for his ambush. The absolute silence was deafening, and I debated more than ever whether to turn back. We arrived at the gym doors, and Kendra wasted no time. removing the padlock and chains. We'll lock it back up when we leave.

Give me a couple of minutes to get outside so I can record it. Record it? Are you planning on posting this? Hell yeah. Don't worry. You do this? No one's ever going to doubt you. You'll be an official badass.

Aren't you worried about getting us expelled? She waved me off. They just say that to scare students away. It's total bullshit. You got this. I took a deep breath, jogging a little in place to work out the jetters. All right, see you on the other side. Then, for the second time since we'd met,

she left me alone in the middle of the school. At this point, I know what you're probably thinking. This is the kind of decision idiots make in horror films right before getting killed. But this was real life. I wasn't afraid of ghosts, remember? I pulled open the doors and met a yawning darkness. A musty odor greeted me.

Even standing in the entrance, I could tell that something was off. It felt as though it wasn't just an absence of light, the dark itself was a physical thing. It felt heavy, almost humid, like I was literally walking into the jaws of the beast. Taking a deep breath, I stepped in and closed the doors behind me. As soon as the blackness engulfed me, every cell in my body wanted to bail.

But I knew if I backed out now, I'd have this hanging over me for the rest of high school and maybe beyond. I'd lose the respect of the only, friends I'd made here, and I did not want to go through that again. I started running, virtually blind. I could make out the hint of dim light barely peeking underneath the exit opposite from me, and I made a beeline for that light. It shouldn't have been that far, but somehow it felt miles away. Every echo of my footsteps sent a jolt up my spine, like the darkness itself was a living thing, and I was disturbing its peace. I thought the air would be dry and dusty and thick with the smell of rat crap.

Instead, it almost seemed moist but cold, like the chill after rain. And the smell. I hadn't noticed it at first, but the further I ran, the more I became aware of a stench that reminded me of sewage and something else, some sort of sickly rotting odor. I had to be at least halfway at this point. I allowed myself a sense of anticipation knowing I was almost there. And that's when I tripped. Yes, I know.

walking horror cliche. But the thing is, I didn't just randomly stumble over my own feet. As I slammed into the ground and lost all the air in my lungs, it only just registered in my mind that it felt like something had reached out and tripped me. Did I imagine that? Seconds later, I heard a sound like something wet dragging itself along the floor. The smell had become nauseating, and I distinctly felt something cold and moist brush against my calf. I tried to scream. But all I could manage was a choked gas. as I scrambled to my feet, sprinting for the tiny light on the other side of the gym. That's when I heard it.

I didn't immediately register it as it started off quiet, but it quickly picked up both volume and pace, footsteps running behind me. In my panic, I only barely realized that it was not a pair of sneakers, but what sounded like wet, bare feet slapping against the floor, I became hysterical as I pushed my body beyond its limits. I know that I said I'm not afraid of ghosts. But if you were running blindly in the dark and heard that sound, you'd freak out too.

I collided with the doors, which thankfully burst open at my assault. With everything else that happened, I honestly hadn't expected them to, and I did not hesitate to push my way through and slam them shut. A sudden uproar of whooping and hollering startled me. I spun around as Kendra and the others surrounded me cheering. She was holding her phone up to record the whole thing, and she put her arm around my shoulders and turned the phone for a selfie shot with me. You saw here first, ladies and gentlemen, Melissa Carver just made Jerry's run and is officially a total badass.

More cheering from her and Travis followed, and even Sandy threw her arms around me, though I wasn't sure if it was in congratulations or relief. All right, losers, let's get out of here. As we walked away from the gym, I took one last look behind, almost expecting someone or something to burst through those doors. But they remained closed, and I heard no other sound. While Travis hurried to lock up the doors on both sides, Kendra and Sandy escorted me back to my car, clearly seeing how shaken I was.

That wet, slapping sound of feet continued to echo in my mind, and at some point I remembered that feeling of something touching my leg. I checked my calf and was shocked to find a dark, wet smear there. I wiped out it with my sleeve and sniffed it, wincing at the same stench of sewage and decay from the gym. A day later I sat on my bed, my unfinished homework in front of me. I couldn't stop thinking about the gym.

My friends and I had celebrated by going out and getting some ice cream and watching the recording several times over, but we didn't talk much about it beyond that. They asked me if I heard Jerry's footsteps, but after I answered in a daze that I had, they seemed to know not to question me further. Since then, I'd been trying to get it off my mind, but it lingered there constantly.

A chime from my phone brought me back to my thoughts. It was a text from Kendra with a video attached, Holy shit. Did you see this? I opened the video and wasn't surprised to see the recording of my panicked emergence from the gym. Confused, I texted her back. What am I supposed to see? A moment later she replied, look inside the door right before you close it. A mix of foreboding and irritation crept into my chest. Why couldn't she just tell me? I turned up the screen's brightness and played the clip at a slower speed. My heart dropped when I saw it.

I was so dumbstruck that I had to play it back just to make sure it wasn't some glitch in the recording. In the instant before I shut the door, a figure appeared in the opening. It was so dark and happened so fast that I wasn't surprised. None of us had noticed it before. But the more I watched,

the more clearly I could see it. There was another person in there with me, reaching from the dark right behind me before I shut the door on them. I paused the video and zoomed in trying to get a clearer look. Through the heavy pixelation, I was able to make out a few details. It wasn't what or who I expected. It was not some student from the 80s in a basketball jersey

or any student at all that may have died in that gym. It was a woman. Not a young woman that could pass as a teenager, but a lady probably in her 40s or 50s, though it was hard to tell. She wore a frilly red blouse that was torn and soggy, with matching smeared lipstick contrasting against her ghostly gray skin. Her dark hair looked like it had been curled before turning into a wet, disheveled mess.

She might have been beautiful if not for the way her mouth stretched into an unnaturally wide, silent wail. My skin crawled, and I found myself looking around my room as if expecting to find something waiting to pounce on me. Another text from Kendr startled me. Did you see it? My mind tried to rationalize it. I doubted my friends would have pulled this off as a prank, but maybe someone else.

The only other person I could think of was the janitor. I doubted he would have had enough time or interest to put something together like this. I texted Kendra. Oh my God, this is a joke, right? No, I swear we didn't set this up. While I debated with myself whether I could trust her, I kept watching the video. It didn't look like the woman was after me. Her arms were outstretched.

but it wasn't me that she was reaching for. If anything, she seemed to be reaching for the exit as I slammed the door on her face. Who is that? I texted. I have no idea. Who cares? This makes it so much more legit. With a frown, I asked her not to post it on social media. This, of course, spurred her into a fit of pleas, but I stayed firm, even when she told me not to be a pussy. As much as she wanted to share proof that I had made it all the way through Jerry's run, I didn't want to draw attention to this new discovery.

Besides, I was still worried about the trouble we'd get in with the school. In the end, Kendra begrudgingly agreed not to share the video. I obsessed about it for days. My friendship with Kendra, and by extension, Travis, began to fizzle out at that point. But Sandy and I actually grew closer. With her help, I did a lot of research on past victims of Jerry's run and their relatives, but I couldn't find anything. I still hadn't let go of the possibility that someone was fooling with us.

The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that this was genuine. There was no way that someone would just be lying in wait, made up to look like a shrieking ghost. I questioned if Kendra would have tried to pull this off to make it look more genuine. But Sandy said she knew Kendra well enough to know she would never have put that much effort into something like this. It was purely by accident that I finally found my mystery woman weakly. later, a news article randomly popped up in my search engine feed. Local woman's death continues to baffle investigators. The instant I saw the image of the victim, I knew that it was her. Her name was Tamara Hawthorne, age 46. The photo was taken at a work party earlier on the day that she was found

dead. And there were obvious differences. She was alive, smiling, and vibrant. But she had that same blouse, red lipstick, and curly hair. The last time anyone saw her alive was when she left the party a little after 7 p.m. Police later received a call about a crashed car off the freeway, and they found her body somewhere in the woods several dozen meters away from the car. They found no obvious injuries or cause of death, and they never figured out exactly what killed her. One thing forensics did note was her scraped up bare feet. Her high heels were found abandoned closer to the car, like she'd been running from something and had kicked them off. Bare feet.

Somehow that was the detail that struck me above the rest, and I knew I had found my ghost. But something else frightened me more than this discovery. According to the article, her body was found around 8 p.m. outside of a town, approximately 130 miles away from here, around the time that I made Jerry's run. So why did the ghost of a woman who had died near a town two hours away suddenly, here in the supposedly haunted gym. What was the connection? I did eventually find it. In her obituary, it mentioned that Tamara grew up in the same town where I now live. Something in my head clicked in place. And with a growing dread, I called Sandy. What was the name of the last student

to finish Jerry's run? I can't remember exactly. Um, started with a T, Tara or something. Tamara Hawthorne? Yeah, that sounds right. Why? Is everything okay? I hung up too stunned to say anything a reply when she started sending me texts. There it was. Tamara Hawthorne made it all the way through Jerry's run as a student here and had now turned up dead 30 years later. But it wasn't that specifically that horrified me at the moment.

It was the last thing I discovered in the video right before making that connection. On probably my hundredth viewing, something occurred to me. As I observed before, it looked like she was reaching, almost leaping. Not for me, but for the exit. As I looked closer, I realized with a shrinking dread that just as I turned to push the doors closed, she was suddenly jerked back into the darkness. Not like she stopped or retreated, but like something yanked her back. When I looked even closer, I could just barely make out what looked like a black, wet, twisted appendage,

like something between a tentacle and a spider lake with too many joints, lashing out and ripping her back into the dark. Everyone who'd heard the legend of Jerry operated under the assumption that the haunting was limited strictly to the gym. But after what I saw, I realized the truth. Something lived in there that had a much greater reach than just the gym or even the school. How many other unexplained deaths around here were tied to this thing? How long before I would be counted among them?

Tamara made it for 30 years, but it still got her in the end. I couldn't help but feel it had specifically chosen that night to take her and allow me to see her, like it was warning me or taunting me. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to the faint smell of sewage and rot, and I think I can see twisted limbs in the shadows from my window. But when I look, it's just the branches of the tree outside, and the smell is gone. I don't know if it's real or if I'm just imagining it, but I make sure to never be alone anywhere in town,

especially when it's dark. And I absolutely keep my distance from the gym and tell anyone who will listen to never make Jerry's run. I'm not afraid of ghosts. Monsters are a different story. The No Sleep Podcast presents the exclusive 10-part audio adaptation of Alexander Gordon Smith's epic.

tale, this book will kill you. This book will kill you is the story of Tommy Bright, a young woman who dreamt about a witch, a room, and a table full of meat. This is her story. This is about what happens when the witch comes back to finish what she started. But be warned because this book just might kill you. The cafe is empty, thankfully. and I take the seat furthest from the window. The waitress is a little annoyed I only order a water, but she must be able to sense the waves of fear pouring off me because she doesn't say anything, doesn't even look me in the eye.

She can sense the danger the way an animal senses an earthquake or a tsunami. She can feel the witch through my skin. She can hear her through my breath. She can see her watching in the darkness where my shadow hits the wall. She places the glass beside me, and vanishes behind the counter, through a door into the kitchen. I know I won't see her again, the same way I know nobody else will walk in through the door while I'm here.

I'm only half right. I lay the folder before me like it's a holy book, opening it. These are Kara's printouts, so her notes are there as well, scrawled on every page. I'll come to them later, but the first thing I do is find the story I haven't read yet, placing it on top of the others. I'm surprised at how short it is, just a page and a half, printed in the same font as the other stories on creepy.com.

I see straight away it's one of those instructional creepypastas, the ones that make you play a game or follow a set of rules. The elevator game is the one that springs to mind, but there are dozens of them. I say to it, the tube game, added by Unknown on 1130, 2003. Instructions. Start at the northernmost station. For me, it's Chesham, but it doesn't matter because every city is the same. Jeeves it if you don't know. You can get on by yourself or with another person. I don't think it matters, but know this.

If you get on with a person you know, then what happens next is worse. Take the train to the first interchange. You have to get off here and take the line that goes east or south. Stay on this train for three stops, get out on the force. Get on the same train, but going back the way you've just come. Go past the original interchange and travel three more stops. Get out on the fourth. Get on the same train again, going back.

You will notice that this time, the carriage will be empty. There might be people on other carriages, but the one you are in will be empty. If it's not, you've done something wrong. If you get on this train, it is too late to turn back. When the doors close, sit down somewhere in the middle, next to a window. Look forward. When the train starts moving, you will hear a woman sit down behind you. Do not turn and look at her.

Do not acknowledge her in any way. She is looking for you. The train will stop. Nobody will get on. The woman is still sitting behind you. She won't be doing anything, but she is there. You may hear her talking, but do not reply. She is blind.

but she is looking for you. The train will stop two more times. It will stay empty apart from you and the woman in the seat behind you. After the third stop, you will feel her stand up and walk away. Do not follow her. Do not look.

When you arrive back at the interchange, everything will seem normal. But it is not. You have found a way beneath the skin of her world. You are in. You must get a way. off the train here. If you do not, you will be forever lost. Always leave a seat behind you. If you do not, she will sit beside you instead. You cannot survive this. This will work anywhere there's an

underground railway. This is not a joke. This is not a game. Do not look at her. If you see her, she sees you too. Once upon a time, it would have given me a pleasant shiver. and I would have moved on to the next one and never thought twice about it. But this story obviously meant something to Kara, so it means something to me too. She's written notes in the margins, and I scan over them. Gateway, she's hiding. This is her drawbridge.

Holler 241? To Grand, east or south. Why does she want us to find her? Did she even leave this? Maybe somebody else did, and she's trying to distinguish. destroy it? It's been deleted. She deleted it. Don't know about this one, though, do you? Bitch. I realize I haven't really taken her words and I'm just thinking about Cyrus, about the expression on his wife's face, about those dancing people, the sound of their bodies

thumping into each other as they whirled and whirled and world and world. How can anything have the power to make people do that? What does it take? to crack open somebody's skull and take control of their strengths. The same kind of power that lets you create a perfect copy of somebody, scoop out the contents of their head, their face, and have them walk around in your clothes. The same kind of power that lets you take a girl who's running out of a door and transport her back in time, back in space, to a restaurant restroom,

I think that the word doesn't make any sense. It's just David Blaine and card tricks and rabbits and hats. This is something so much more, so much older. Even thinking about it makes my skull crack, makes my thoughts feel like they're about to slop out. An ambulance barrels past the window, fast enough to make the glass shake. It's heading for the mall.

I turned back to the papers, going through the stories I've already read, but this time checking Kara's notes. They sound insane, or at least they would if I didn't know what she'd been going through when she wrote them, if I couldn't smell her life rotting even from here, even from now. The building doesn't exist. You can't find it, not without a map.

It is her domain, hers alone. Not a building, but a mind. Not horrors, but dreams. Why pinch? Why tubby? What is she trying to tell us? Who are they? It's like a virus.

It spreads from you to your family, your friends. friends, it seeps into the fabric of your world. How to stop it? Can she be killed? Can I kill her? Can I kill myself? Or will that make her win? The trains, it's the only way.

Then attest, the statues, then what? You're going to die, Kara. You're going to die, Kara. You're going to die, Kara. George Ackerman died, right? The cross girl? Oh, fuck. Fuck, I say, putting the papers down, straightening the edges.

When I look to the window, I see that the sun is nestling in the chimneys of the buildings across the road, which doesn't make any sense because where has the day gone? It hasn't even had a chance to begin yet. I'm taking a swig of water when I feel the air thicken and heat. It's subtle, but I'm ready for it, whatever it is. At least, I think I'm ready. But when the bell rings above the cafe door and I turn to look, I still feel the tears boiling behind my eyes.

I still feel like I'm going to black out, fall into an abyss, fall forever and ever and ever and ever. It's Flint. At least it would be if it had a face. Instead, beneath the shaven crown of its head, stretching from ear to ear all the way from its forehead to its chin, there's an empty space, a hollow nest. It doesn't stop her from shutting the door behind her, from tiptoeing her way around the tables. Her legs look broken, disjointed, but something else is carrying her weight, lugging her like a sack of meat, throwing her down on the chair opposite mine. The knot flint rests her elbows on the table

and the bowl of her marionette's head on her interlaced fingers. The inside of her is lined with scraps of meat, freshly cut and glistening. The smell coming out of it is the very worst thing I have ever breathed in. It's a corpse smell, a trash can left to rot smell, so consuming that I almost can't think past it. I almost can't think that this is my best friend, that the witch scooped her out and filled her with something else.

Something new. My cell buzzes in my pocket, but I don't look at it. I don't dare take my eyes off the knot flint opposite me. It nods, taking one hand and pointing a long, ring-heavy finger at my pants. Why? Why would I look? It doesn't reply. It just sits there.

It's finger trembling until I pull the phone from my pocket. I already know what I'm about to see. New message, Flint. Why? Why would you look? New message. You don't understand. I don't understand, I say.

New message, Flint. Please, I say, even though I don't want to say it. Flint cocks her head, studying me. And even though she has no eyes, I know that's what she's doing. I can feel it, and I'm suddenly aware that it's not Flint at all. It's her. It's as if the fear has run dry. There's no more left.

I can't remember how to be afraid. The only thing inside me is anger. What do you want? New message. Flint. I see you. Where is she? Where's Flint?

New message. Flint, in me. Forever? This time, Flint's eggshell head nods up and down, up and down. There's a pain in my free hand, and I realize I've clenched it into a fist. I wonder what will happen if I throw it, if I punch a hole clean through the back of not Flint's head, if you'll just keep on nodding at me.

That's where Kara is? Up and down, up. And now, is that where I will go when all this is done? The head stops moving, tilts to the side again. There's a smile there, even if I can't see it. New message. Flint. Kara was too slow. I'm too slow, too?

I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I just know that if I sit here for too long without saying anything, then I'm going to start screaming and never stop. The head doesn't respond. It just stares at me. There's something almost mechanical about its stillness. Something robotic. Something infuriating.

You don't scare me anymore. You know that? I'm not scared of you. New message. Flint. No? No. You don't.

I'm falling. The ground has given way beneath me. Sucked me down so fast I can't even find the air. scream with and I'm accelerating down, down to the darkness and wrenched up again with such force I think my neck has broken up, up, out of the ground, over the streets, over cars and buses and people down into the darkest parts of the city to the building where she lives. And I see it. I see her window.

As crooked as a mouth getting closer and closer and closer and there's nothing I can do but be pulled through it into a room. The floor bare wood, the walls plaster, nothing in here except dirt and it's dark. And there's another door right in front of me and through it I could see an old kitchen, the stove on, a saucepan bubbling. All of it cut into harsh lines by a single bright bulb hanging over the table, and there's meat on that table, butcher shop's worth. And I know she's here too, because I can hear her.

I can hear her moving toward the door. She's coming. Her bare feet scuffing the floor, the lump of her hand, knocking against the wall. She's grinning. I can't see her, but I know she's grinning. I can feel it through the wall as bright as the boat. She's grinning because she knows I'm not going anywhere, and she's right. I might as well be wrapped in duct tape.

I cannot move. I cannot breathe. I just stare at the door. Seeing her shadow flood the floor like dirty water, see the eclipse of her head push itself around the sill, twisted and bent her face buried in clumps of matted hair, but one eye sliding up in its socket, one clustered, boiling eye,

and beneath it one arm too long and broomstick thin, sliding out to touch me. Crack bone fingers, crack bone fingers, crack bone fingers, and I fight it. I fight it like there is somebody on top of me, pinning me down. I fight it like there is a hand over my mouth and nose, and I'm out of air. I kicked against the broken shell of my body.

I punch. I open my mouth and scream, and scream, and scream. Until suddenly my body responds and I'm kicking, I'm hitting. And that same force sweeps me up like a pair of arms around my middle and pulls me back up the window and back through the city. And I can still see that shadowed body grunt and slide through the doorway. I can still see her eye watching me go. I can hear her laughing as I hurdle through the ceiling of the cafe and land in my chair,

hard enough to shunt it back, to knock it over as I escape onto my feet. I'm making a noise that doesn't even sound human. A deep, awful, groaning cry that rattles up from the very middle of me. The blood is pounding in my skull, roaring. But Flint is just sitting there, watching me with that fractured eggshell of a head. I can hear sobbing from the back of the cafe, from behind the closed door. The waitress. Blind to what's happening here, but not stupid.

It's a sound that the knot Flint seems to lap up. to purr over. But I won't cry. I won't give her the satisfaction. I'm going to find you. I'm not going to let you have me. Not like Kara. Not like, like Flint.

I'm going to find you. I'm going to kill you. Nothing. My phone buzzes, but I ignore it. If you could hurt me, you would have done it by now. You've had years to hurt me. All those dreams, I had when I was a kid. You had every chance to kill me, but you didn't. You can't. You can't hurt me.

The knot, Flint sits mannequins still. My phone buzzes and again. I don't know what you are. I don't care. But listen to me. Listen to me, which. I have to stop for breath because my voice is shaking so much. Listen to me. This is the last time. I'm the last person. I will find you. So go fuck yourself. I grabbed the folder with Kara's stories, but the knot flint moves fast,

slamming her hand down on top of it hard enough to crack the table to actually split the wood. The head doesn't move, locked in place. I tug at the folder, but it doesn't budge. You can't hurt me. and I have no idea if I'm right or wrong when I say, I don't think you can hurt anyone. The knot flint lifts its hand and the folder comes free. I grab the bag too and march for the door,

hearing the creature's chair scrape back, hearing the tiptoe of its feet as it follows. But I don't look back, I won't look back, not even when I'm opening the door, not even when I step onto the street. It's only when the door closes behind me that I stare through the glass into the dark heart of the cafe. The knot Flint has walked to the back.

It's opening the door into the kitchen. My cell buzzes again, and this time I look. Six messages, all from Flint, of course. New messages. Flint. I can hurt. I can hurt. I can hurt.

I can hurt. I can hurt. I can hurt. Even here, even past the closed door of the cafe, past the traffic and the rumble of a helicopter, I hear the waitress scream. But I don't wait to see what walks out of that back room, what it carries in its bloody fists. You still there? Are you still reading? I know some of you won't be. Some of you will have put this book down or given it away or burned it or deleted it, thinking that it's not true. true, or thinking that if you don't read to the end, then she won't find you. But not you, right? You know the truth, or you suspect it enough not to risk it. Maybe you've felt her in the quiet

of the night, sitting at the foot of your bed, or maybe she's behind you right now, reaching. Listen for a moment. Listen past the noise of whatever is around you. Listen. Listen. past the murmur of the day or the dead sound of the night. Listen into the quiet that lies just beyond everything else. It's always there, and she's in it right now. She's watching you through it. Look back, turn your head quick enough and you might catch a glimpse, but only if she wants you to.

She'll reveal herself soon enough. It doesn't matter if you read the whole of this book or the first page. It doesn't even matter if somebody mentioned the title to you, or if you walked past it in the street. You only have to hear it. You only have to know it exists for her to see you. And then it's just a matter of time. But I'm glad you're still here. I'm glad you're still with me.

At least if you read to the end, you'll have some idea of what to do. Don't get me wrong. This book will still kill you. It has already killed you, but there's always a chance you'll see something I didn't. Maybe you already have, or maybe you're making the same mistakes I did, because what I did next was a big mistake. What I did next changed everything. Kara's address was right there in the folder that Cyrus gave me,

stapled to the back of one of the stories along with a summary of her case. I read as much as I could bear about the way her short, sad life ended. Then I started to walk. Took me close to four hours in the end, even with Apple Maps to guide me. I think I would have found my way without it. Three times I decided to leave, to wait until the morning. Three times I tried to walk away to find the nearest subway and ride home. Three times I ended up back on the same route.

locked in and weeping. Kara's apartment is in a block of 12, a happy part of the city, trees on the sidewalks diffusing the streetlights. There's still a line of police tape hanging from one lamp post, flapping in a wind I can't feel, beckoning me like a finger. I'm not sure how I'm going to get in, but I shouldn't have worried. The lobby door is wide open. The glass shattered, chunks of it covering the floor.

floor like spilled teeth. The block doesn't look old from the outside, but inside it might have been underwater for a century. The paper is peeling, the plaster work wet and mushy underneath. The floor is filthy, stained with things it's too dark to identify. The elevator is out of order, so I take the stairs, heading for the fourth floor. Teeth crunch beneath my sneakers. Nails, too. nails. Hair has been woven around a handrail like bunting. I have to keep pulling it from between my fingers. The door to Caras place is open as well. The lights are on inside. I don't think anyone is home, but I knock anyway. Hello? Only silence meets me, the kind of silence that's utterly empty, utterly dead. I hover in the door, but the witch has shown. The witch has shown.

me her hand. She's shown me what she's capable of. I don't think there will be anything new in here. So, in I walk, clutching the bag to my chest, moving down a short hallway into an open-planned kitchen and living room. It stinks, because there are dirty plates piled in the sink, the fridge wide open. There should be flies, but the air is clear. Even insects know that some places are pure poison. The bedrooms are off to the right, and it doesn't take me long to find Caras. I recognize it from the photo online. The duvet is still piled on the bed, and opposite that is a wardrobe and a desk. Her laptop is sitting there, newer and fancier than mine. Sitting there, and it's on. I try not to notice the stains on the wall, more rust than blood.

It was like somebody had taken a bat to her. I'm walking through the door when I hear the sound of bed springs from the room across the hall. My heart implodes, squeezing blood into my ears. I swear, ducking into Kara's room as the door opposite crashes open and a woman walks out. She's pale, emaciated, and I can see Kara in her, even though she's rubbing her eyes with the balls of her fists. I told you to turn it off. That's enough. She walks right up to me, fast, furious, then stops when she sees me. She covers the shock with a hand.

How are you? I shake my head, but nothing falls out of my mouth. Kara's mom leans past me into Kara's empty room. It's too late to have people over. Turn it off now. It's a school night. It's so convincing I half expect to see the laptop lid snap closed. It doesn't, and when I look back to the woman, she's not there anymore.

Her door slammed shut, and I hear the squeak of the springs. A long, loud sigh. I'm close to throwing up my heart to vomiting it all over Kara's pale blue carpet. This is her squeaking bathtub, I understand. stand, her footsteps thundering down the stairs toward a knocked door. It's where everything in her life started to rot, the loop that began when the witch first saw her. Wherever Kara is now, her mom's still here, in this house. She's going to be here forever.

My mom, too, climbing out of that bath. Donnie, too, screaming at his Xbox. Flint, too, with the meat of her head scooped away. No, I say, as if that might make a difference. Everything's been taken down from Kara's walls, scraps of blue tack ghosting the paint, but there's a sheet of paper next to her computer, folded over so I can't see what it is.

I don't think I want to. Not yet, anyway, because there is writing scrawled along the top that says, read and be damned. I sit down on the chair instead, tapping the trackpad, looking at the webcam. I glanced back at the bed,

at that mound of linen. I don't like it being there, so I'm up again, pulling it off the bed onto the floor, stamping on it to chase away its demons. I sit down, run the cursor over the scattered files on Kara's desktop. Most are stories.

I click a few to open them, but when they do, they seem corrupted. No letters there, just symbols and spaces. I open up a browser instead, clicking on the link for creepy.com. She's still logged in, which feels weird. It feels like I'm suddenly sitting here in her skin. I click the messages tab,

but there's nothing there and nothing else on her account that can tell me anything. I know I shouldn't, but I click settings and hover the screen. the cursor over the delete account option. Kara's nightmare started when she found a story here. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I'm sure that's it. She read the story and the witch opened her eyes and saw her.

Maybe, I think, just maybe, if I disconnect the link between her and the witch, if I free Kara from the sight, then whatever is left of her will find freedom. It still takes me another minute to find the strength to push down with my finger. There's a pop in my ear, as painful as swimming too deep. I click yes, and the account vanishes. Across the hall, bedsprings squeak. The door opens. I hear footsteps thundering toward me, but nothing appears in the doorway.

I'm starting to get used to it. I'm starting to get used to the way she does things. And I'm right. I know I am. She can't hurt me. She can only wait for me to hurt myself. I'm not going to do that. I'm back on the creepy.com homepage,

and I've logged in with my information before I'm even aware of what I'm doing. It's almost like being back in my room. I almost feel safe. But that doesn't stop me from clicking the delete button on my account too. Do you wish to delete your account? All published material.

will be lost. Yes. No. I never want to read them again. And if I delete them, then maybe the witch won't be able to see me anymore either. Yes. And I feel like it's the first time I've taken a breath since I walked through Kara's bedroom door. I sit back, click the browser window closed, seeing a face beneath it. It belongs to a boy, maybe a couple years older than me. He looks younger though, because he's terrified. I wonder if it's another webcam shot, but it turns out to be a news article. Local man missing, presumed dead.

I scanned the copy. George Ackerman, 18, Waldorf Heights, last seen leaving his home at four in the morning. Avid writer. This bit makes me shudder, hard. I copy his name, paste it into Google. Most of what comes back are news articles from 2013, loud at first, but fading into quiet sobs, then falling silent. There's a link to his Twitter, and when I scroll through it, I see another link to creepy.com.

It's not exactly a surprise, but it feels like one. It feels like a punch to the solar plexus, followed by another one when I click through and see the story he last read. tubby I click the history tab and scroll through until I see another familiar name Lydia Cross It's a newer article dated 2016

But the subject matter is similar A girl missing from her father's apartment Last seen with suspicious bruises There's a photo of her And it's one I've seen before Girl's Death linked to Facebook Witch I'm too exor

lost it to put the pieces together, and I click the window closed. There's yet another one underneath, and I flinch when I see myself in it, captured by the webcam. I hadn't even realized it was on. I look even thinner than this morning. You can almost see through me. And I'm so preoccupied by my own waning that it takes me a moment to notice the duvet is back on the bed. The computer clicks, the fake shutter sound of a photo, taken. I'm already turning, though, looking at that pile of linen, at the way it bulges like

there's something beneath it. I'm upon my feet, backing away, glancing at the screen again to see myself still there, trapped in a box. My lips pulled back in a grin, but it's a corpse's grin. It's too big. My teeth clamped tight. It's a witch's grin. And my eyes, they're huge. They look like they're about to roll right out of their sockets. They're huge and wet, and they are drenched in something unspeakable. Right into my ear. Kara's mom's running through the door, and she looks furious. Go to bed!

She shoves her hands into my chest and pushes me back. So hard I hit the bed and fall into it. The duvet wumps over my head, pulls as tight as a noose, mummifies me. There's something else. here with me, something broomstick thin, something whose crack-boned body knuckles around my own. I can hurt. I scream as pain crunches down from the tip of my right middle finger, filling my whole hand, my whole arm. I try to pull it away, but there are teeth locked around it, biting, grinding, sawing until my fingertip gives up, and I claw and shriek my way free. I fight my way out of the duvet like I'm

drowning, clutching my hand to my chest. I can feel the blood as hot as boiling water, but my arm is ice cold. I won't look at it. I just stumble away, never turning my back on her. The duvet is rising as something beneath it stands up. I can see darkness in the creases, two thin limbs, an eye that blisters with fury and its hoarse wheezing laughter follows me out the door. That and and those words again hurled after me like rocks. I'm halfway out the apartment door before I stop, before I turn. My head's a chaos of white noise. It feels like my thoughts are screaming at me.

I'm still too scared to look at my hand, but I can feel the piece of me that's missing. Could she chew away? My shirt is drenched with the blood she's let, and the fear is big, but my anger is bigger. My rage is big enough to fill the, the world. I move to the kitchen, to the big block of big knives. I slide one loose with my left hand, but it's so slick that I drop it. I scrub my palm down my pants and take another, holding it

psycho style as I walk back towards the bedrooms. I can hurt you too, I'm saying. I can hurt you too, I can hurt you too, I can hurt you too. And I have no idea what I'm doing, but I know I'm right. I have to be. I'm going to hurt her. The duvet's still standing there, standing like somebody's dressed up in it for Halloween. The fury boils in me so hard I can barely even see what I'm doing. But I'm slamming the blade into the linen, tugging it free again and again and again. I grab the duvet and throw it to the floor, but she's gone.

Of course she's gone. The worst thing is she's taken my fingertip with her. There's a piece of me choking down her throat, settling in the rotting mess of her stomach, and I can't bear it. I just can't bear it. Bed springs squeaking, and I'm running into Kara's mom's room, but the bed is empty. I grunt in frustration, almost passing out as I head back to the kitchen. I run the faucet, gritting my teeth before holding my finger under it. It's the worst pain I've ever felt. the whole right side of my body burn.

But it's a good pain because it blasts some of the panic away. It sharpens me. The witch has taken the top joint of my middle finger. Blood's still pouring out of it, and past that I can see the bone, as yellow as tooth. I can see the indentations where she bit me, the strips of flesh torn loose and just hanging there. I have to take my finger out after a minute or so where I'm going to lose my heart. But even when the water stops running, there's blood in the sink.

And suddenly I see Mom, my Mom, running her finger around the plug hole. I remember that lump of flesh there, the dirty nail. There's a dish towel hanging by the sink. It's greasy to the touch, but it's cleaner than anything else here. I use the knife to tear off a strip, winding it tight around my finger, seeing it turn red almost immediately. I cut off another one and, nodded on top. Then I lift up my hand, once left of my middle finger upright and shaking.

Still works, you bitch. It still works. Still work. Takes me almost five minutes to find where Kara's mom hit her whiskey, and I swig deeply from the bottle, spraying half of it back out. The rest scalds its way down my throat, setting fire to my belly. I pour some in a glass and hold my finger in it until the world starts to fizz like pop rocks. Then I grab my knife, stagger to the apartment door. And I stop again. I stop because I don't want to prove to her that I'm weak. If she's watching me now, and I have no doubt that she is, then I don't want her to see me scuttling away like a roach. She's right. She can hurt me. She has hurt me, but she can do that anywhere, right? She's as likely to attack me in the stairwell or the street or back at my house.

And I don't think she wants to kill me. Wouldn't she have done it already? Maybe she wants me to kill myself, like Kara, but I'm not going to do that. No, I'm staying right here. I'm not even sure I have a choice. I'm so drained, I won't make it out of the building without passing out. I take a deep breath. Then I turn around and walk back to the bedroom. The duvet is upright again, defying gravity like it's hanging from the ceiling. I ignore it, take the folder and the papers Kara left, aiming for the sofa back in the living room. I fall into it so hard that for a few seconds part of me thinks I'm still falling,

the room tumbling like an acrobat. My arms actually lash out to the side to steady myself, papers flying from the folder I'm struggling to hold. From here, I can see the opening to the bedrooms. I can hear Kara's mom turning over in bed. The witch could stagger out of that door any moment. Could come and chew off another piece of me, but I'll see her coming. The important thing is there's a solid wall behind my head and a knife in my hand.

And a story on my lap. It's another story that wants to be read, I know. Cyrus told me he couldn't take it out of the apartment. that it wouldn't let him. I think maybe it wanted me to find it, and I did. Read and be damned. The story that started at all, Cyrus said. My fingers throbbing, and I prod the paper with it, leaving a bloody smudge.

I do it again and again, marking my territory. I'm not sure if it's the madness or the fatigue or the blood loss or that single shot of whiskey, but I can't stop giggling, especially when I fumble the paper open and see what's there, see what's written on that first page. I'm howling with laughter now, so much that my chest hurts, that I'm coughing with it,

so hard I can barely breathe, screaming with it, laughing, screaming, I can't even tell the difference anymore, laughing, screaming, at the all-too-familiar first line that stares back at me. You were six years old when you first saw the witch. This book will kill you.

Written by Alexander Gordon Smith. Adapted for audio by Jessica McAvoy. Produced for the No Sleep podcast by Phil Mikulski. Musical score composed by Brandon Boone. This book will kill you. The seventh part. Stard Jessica McAvoy as Tommy Bright. Ash Milman as the unknown author,

Nicole Doolin as Kara's mom, and Erica Sanderson as the witch. Join us next week, for this book will kill you. The Aceh Bart. Hills have ended. Are you feeling all right? We did our best to give you a fright. You may feel safe in the bright sunlight,

but soon, once again, you'll be sleepless to take. Night. 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. If you would like to find out how you can hear the extended editions of our program, please visit the the no sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season pass program, 25 episodes each over two hours long, and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only $25. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for joining us and for being sleepless tonight.

This program is Copyright 2022 by Creative Reason Media Inc. All Rights reserved. The Copyright for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.