The NoSleep Podcast - S18 Ep24: NoSleep Podcast S18E24

Episode Date: December 11, 2022

Tune in to Episode 24 of Season 18 for fateful fates. “The Shutdown Protocol” written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 00:00:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Wafiyyah White “The Day the Music Died” written by Linden Schneider (Story starts around 00:05:00) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Tanja Milojevic, Emily – Katabelle Ansari, Lily – Mary Murphy, Emily’s Mom – Nikolle Doolin “A Psalm in the Night” written by Jacob D’Amour (Story starts around 00:31:15) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Peter Lewis “The Final Broadcast” written by Olivier Zangao (Story starts around 00:51:40) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – David Ault, Broadcaster – Jesse Cornett “Godsond” written by Gloomara (Story starts around 00:55:55) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Prophet – Jesse Cornett “The Baby’s Coffin” written by Doug Prochnow (Story starts around 01:11:10) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Narrator – Linsay Rousseau, Chris Morgan – Mike DelGaudio, Roger Grimley – Jesse Cornett, Julie Thayer – Nikolle Doolin, Amy Leonhardt – Erin Lillis, Jamison Murray – David Cummings, Caleb Rotter – Dan Zappulla, Dr. Redd – Elie Hirschman, Camon – Atticus Jackson “The Grant/Marty Events” written by Alex Woodroe (Story starts around 01:53:20) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Kristen DiMercurio, Grant – Graham Rowat, Marty – Jeff Clement, Kyle – Matthew Bradford – Nichole Goodnight, Singer #2 – Dan Zappulla This episode is sponsored by: Betterhelp - This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at betterhelp.com/nosleep and get on your way to being your best self. Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset Click here to learn more about Linden Schneider Click here to learn more about Jacob D’Amour Click here to learn more about Doug Prochnow Click here to learn more about Alex Woodroe Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone “The Baby’s Coffin” illustration courtesy of Jen Tracy Audio 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

We knew the flares were coming, almost a week before they did. Telemetry from the solar orbiter had given us ample warning that a gigantic cornal mass ejection was imminent. Left unchecked, the result would have had devastating consequences to all electrical equipment in the northern hemisphere. Damage that could take upwards of a decade to repair. Powerless to stop the flares, the government. decided to be proactive and enact what they called the shutdown protocol. It was a mass mandatory shutdown of all electrical grids for a period of 72 hours during the peak of the solar storm. It was the only hope of protecting our electrical infrastructure.

At first, it wasn't so bad. Basic supplies like water and MREs were dropped at every house. in the hopes of discouraging looting. Communities band together, handing out blankets and holding communal cookouts on gas grills. We were as ready as we could be. It was beautiful that first night. When the sky was clear for the first time since the Industrial Revolution, unobstured by light pollution, we could see the Milky Way hanging overhead like a streamer running through the sky. There were more stars than we could count, filling our minds with wonder and amazement. It was magical. And then, the screaming began. That first night, most incidents were reported in towns bordering national parks.

People were dragged out of their homes by gnarled, shadowy creatures. Things that normally hide in the woods and caverns and only grab you when you encroach on their territory. They were no longer kept at bay by their instinctual fear of light and electricity. By the second night, they spread to larger cities. By the third, we had become a buffet. We long to be frightened. We desire a glimpse into the darkness. We conjure creatures and monsters all the while knowing.

Deep in our souls. The terror is out there. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It can be helpful to power off for a little while, but if you do, just make sure you know how to protect yourself. That's what we learned from author Man in Lyset, from the tale which was this episode's cold open. The Shutdown Protocol, performed by Wafia White. With this being the last episode of season 18 before next week's season finale, I want to take a moment to thank you for being part of our tribute to old-time television.

It's been fun to journey through the decades with you. A big thanks to Brandon and the production team for creating versions of our theme song in the style of the decades. And a rousing round of applause to Jessica McAvoy and our editorial team for crafting the episodes around the wonderful stories submitted this year. We're looking forward to new adventures in 2023 when season 19 kicks off. But we're not quite done yet. In fact, our stories are starting.

You'd better not leave. Our tales are quite true if you want to believe. In our first tale, we get noisy. Not just any noise, but that soothing white noise that many of us use to relax or fall asleep. But in this tale, Shared with us by author Lyndon Schneider, we meet a woman who loves white noise because she can hear music within it.

If only she knew where the music was coming from. Performing this tale are Tanya Milosovich, Catabal Ansari, Mary Murphy, and Nicole Doolin. So listen within the noise, but do it soon, before we reach the day the music died. Hi, everyone. My name is Madison, but the only person who calls me that is my little sister, when she wants to piss me off. I usually go by Maddie or Mads.

I'm 19 years old and trying to get used to returning home after being away this past year from my first year of university. Parents, am I right? The last thing I wrote was a research paper where I had to get to a really high word count, so I apologize if I get wordy. That's not why I'm here, though. I'll get to that. But to understand everything, I think you need to hear this from the beginning. Otherwise, I'm just some teenager overreacting, and I promise you, this is real.

My entire life, I've had a pretty kick-ass, if-finine, superpower. When I was tiny, my parents noticed that I was intensely drawn to white noise, especially when they ran my bath, or when it rained heavily. I could sit where I could hear it and wordlessly hum along to music only I could hear. They thought it was pretty adorable at first. That was until I started sneaking into the bathroom and turning on the bathwater to let it run. That was an expensive water bill. Not knowing what else to do, they put a latch on the bathroom door that I couldn't reach

and figured that was that. Except, of course, it wasn't. I don't remember this part, although it has become family lore as only this kind of story can. It gets told regularly at family gatherings as an amusing anecdote, as an example of how precocious I was at such a young age, usually accompanied by a joke about my strong personality. Anyway, when I was around three years old, I was at the grocery store with my mom when an intense thunderstorm swept through our

town. The rain was so intense you could hear it inside the store, over the music, and the sounds of people shopping. I was standing next to my mom one moment, and the next, I was gone. Of course, she freaked out, started calling my name, looking for me everywhere. Concerned shoppers and employees began to look for me until somebody told my mom that they thought they saw this kid outside the store. Why they just walked by me, I'll never know. My mom found me. humming and dancing outside the store's doors as the rain crashed down in sheets across the parking lot, perfectly happy in my musical little world. If it hasn't quite become clear, I hear music in white noise. As I've gotten older, I've learned much more about my superpower. It's not all

white noise. The clearest, loudest signal I get is when I'm around white noise coming from a natural source. Think rain, waterfalls, that kind of thing. Household noises like water running, I get a much fainter signal. But enough to be aware of and enjoy the music, an extra perk is I've never had to put music on while I'm showering. Completely artificial white noise, I get nothing from. So white noise machines, televisions, or radio static are just white noise. I don't have any control over what music I hear,

and I don't hear it clearly, mostly just the melody, If there's somebody singing, I can tell that they are there, but not what they're saying. It wasn't until I was 10 years old that I kept it primarily to myself. My family kind of knew, but we had never explicitly discussed it. My family is pretty artsy, with my mom teaching piano and violin, and my dad being a high school art teacher. So it's no surprise that with the music around me all the time from different sources, I was a pretty musical kid myself.

I was in grade five when the incident happened. The incident shaped my life through middle school and to some extent, high school as well. Although by then, it had mainly become an urban legend. Although I went to a public school, the community itself was very religious, and most social events that happened outside of school usually revolved around the church.

We were already on the outs with most of our neighbors, as we didn't regularly attend church, only attending around holidays or significant events like the summer jubilee. And that was so we could pitch in to help, not for religious reasons. But I digress. Let's get to the incident. It was mid-October and unseasonably hot. The beginning of October had been cool and rainy, and the leaves were blowing off the trees and sticking to things. But now, the sun shone and the driest. dry leaves collected in low-lying areas perfect for us kids to run through, kicking them up and

laughing like maniacs. We all hoped it would stay this warm for Halloween, so we wouldn't have to wear long pants and jackets under our costumes. Spoiler alert, it did not, and we did. I sat at the top of the playground watching the younger kids run around. I was in grade five, the oldest grade in the school, and consider myself. above such childish antick. I hummed a song to myself, something I'd heard in the shower, and wasn't 100% sure I liked, but it was stuck in my head. Another girl from my class, Emily,

climbed up beside me. Emily wasn't the most popular girl in grade five, but she wanted to be. She tried very hard to be cool, convincing her parents to buy her clothes and shoes that the cool kids wore, which only caused them to ridicule and ostracize her more, accusing her of being a poser. One day, near the beginning of the school year, Emily had worn makeup, which did not go over well with the kids she so badly wanted to befriend. She had washed it off before first recess, blaming her red-rimmed, puffy eyes on rubbing them too hard when she was washing her makeup off. I felt terrible for her. We were kind of friends, maybe more like frenemies.

What's that song? I heard you humming it earlier, too. I shrugged at her. I don't know. She looked at me, brow furrowed. What do you mean you don't know? Did you make it up? No.

I hesitated. I didn't want her to ask more questions. The little voice in my head told me that Emily was not. someone, I should be telling my secrets too. She was definitely not Guyin and chair material. So where did you hear it? It's weird. Her lip was curling up and with a slight sneer. I knew I had to do something, or I would become a target. I don't know. Honestly, Emily, but how about I teach it to you? It was the only thing I could come up with. I had been around my mom teaching music enough to know how to help her learn the notes.

She was a pretty good singer. We spent the rest of the recess practicing and then humming the song together or using nonsensical sounds in place of words. It was fun. And Emily was being friendly. The bell rang and we went inside and I forgot all about teaching Emily the song. Lunchtime came and I was accosted by girls who wanted me to teach them the song. I was absolutely flabbergasted.

I did not want this attention, especially regarding my music. It had always been my thing, my little escape. Now it felt like everyone wanted a piece of something that felt private. But what could I do? If you've ever been a preteen girl, you know that in a situation, you either go along with everyone or become the new number one person to hate. I told myself that it was just one song. What could it hurt?

And so, over the next couple of days, I taught pretty much all of the grade five girls and even a couple of boys this song. Everyone was humming it, dancing around. Kids that age can create a unique kind of hysteria over the strangest things. Anyway, it started to feel nice with all the attention. Kids who never even knew my name,

name wanted to sit beside me. Friends constantly surrounded me. I started listening to the music I heard for the next song I could teach my new friends. The following week, I got invited to my first ever sleepover. Emily had been riding the wave of popularity with me because she had been the first person to learn the song. So she invited me and several of the popular girls over. Being so close to Halloween, we were going to watch scary movies and gorge ourselves on junk food. Emily hinted it would be extra cool if I had a new song to teach them. I was so excited. I didn't even care we were going to watch scary movies,

which was something I'd never really done. I had no idea how I would react, but I didn't care. I packed my bag with my happy bunny pajamas, fresh from a trip to hot topic, and my sleeping bag. and was all set? I didn't notice then, but my parents were a little worried. It was my first sleepover after all.

My little sister was jealous and excited, practically running circles around me. This was going to be the best night ever. My mom dropped me off at 5.30 p.m. at Emily's house. I was the first one there. My mom walked me to the door so that she could introduce herself to Emily's parents. I was so embarrassed that I just waved quickly at her and scampered off with Emily so she could show me the rec room in the basement, where we'd be sleeping. I couldn't help but notice the multiple crosses and cross stitches with Bible quotes throughout the house. Emily's family was very religious, and it showed.

But downstairs, the rec room was huge, with a big TV and DVD player that also played Blu-ray. This was going to be epic. I know, all this buildup. I bet you're just waiting for my bubble to burst. Well, burst it did. With a sense of anger and self-righteousness that only the devout can muster. Emily was telling me about the movies we were going to watch.

I could feel the apprehension growing, but I kept telling myself I would be okay. The phone rang upstairs, and we could hear the muffled voice of Emily's mom. She didn't sound happy at all. Then she called Emily upstairs. Be right back! Emily scampered up the stairs.

I sat there in silence, trying not to eavesdrop. There was nothing really for me to do other than look around the room. At the couch, TV unit, and computer desk. I could hear Emily whine, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. Her mother sounded angry. Then it went quiet. A few minutes later, Emily came downstairs, looking pale. She plopped down beside me.

Nobody else is coming. She wouldn't look at me. I was stunned. Was this all a setup to make us feel bad? Were the cool kids playing a mean joke? What happened? She looked at me from behind her bangs, eyes wide. Maddie, where did you hear that song?

My heart dropped. I suddenly realized that the failed slumber party was somehow my fault. I swallowed hard. Why? Kelly's mom called my mom. She said that the song you taught us as a song she heard on the radio. But... She hesitated.

Her breath's coming quickly as she told me that the outside world had discovered my secret. She said that there's no way that you could have known that song last week. She said that... She said that it was only released on the 23rd. You taught us before that on the 16th. Maddie, that's six whole days before it was released. How? How did you know a song that well before it came out?

I realized now that her behavior wasn't because she was upset. She was afraid. She was scared of me. I stared at her. I didn't know how to respond. I thought about lying and saying something about a relative in the music industry, but I didn't feel right lying. And besides, I knew the truth would come out eventually.

But I didn't want to tell her, so I stayed silent. You're a freak. It was like a slap to the face. I recoiled, looking at Emily in shock. Still, a part of me searched her face hoping to see a trace of humor, hoping that it was all just a terrible joke, that the other girls were coming, and we would just laugh this off.

Get out of my house. My mom called yours. She's coming to get you. You can wait outside. I fought the tears as I packed up my sleeping bag in silence. I would not cry in front of Emily. I knew that as soon as I left, she would be on the phone telling everyone what a freak I was.

And if I cried, It would just be that much worse. As soon as I was done, I trudged up the stairs. Emily's mom stood at the top of the stairs. Cross clutched in her hand. Cursed child, Satan's spawn. I went to their front door as quickly as possible. I got my shoes on, and the second it was out the door,

Emily's mom slammed it behind me. I could hear the deadbolt slide into place, and the chain too, for good measure. I don't know I do what to do. This was my first real experience with rejection, and it was genuinely bitter. I was heartbroken and terrified. My mom pulled up and I forced myself to walk to the car, incredibly aware that there were at least two sets of eyes burning holes into the back of my head.

I slipped into the passenger seat and as soon as we were out of the driveway, I burst into tears. I was so confused, so afraid, so alone. See, the thing was, at that point, I hadn't admitted to myself the true nature of my gift. The music I heard was sometimes music that hadn't been released yet. Well, more than sometimes. And I wasn't hearing just music. Sometimes there were voices between the music. Sometimes it was even just voices.

The odd time, it was a voice speaking in a bizarre rhythm. I was hearing radio broadcasts from the future. And now, everyone knew to some extent. I could never make out what anyone was saying, but there it was. I was a freak. No doubt about it. As a 10-year-old girl, I was crushed. When I got home, my dad gave me one of his giant bear hugs,

and I lost it. I sobbed my entire body shaking, snot and tears smearing his shirt, and he just held me. I felt relieved that I could admit what I was, that it wasn't a self-imposed secret anymore. And I felt guilty for being relieved. I felt guilty that I hadn't been open with my family about it,

but I hadn't been honest with myself either. I was ashamed of who I was. I knew what I'd lost socially. I'd yet to realize that the repercussions would affect more than just me, that my entire family would be targeted, ostracized, bullied, and excluded. To my parents' credit, they didn't push me. I knew they were there to talk to as I hid away in my room that weekend. I came out for meals, shoveling food into my mouth as quickly as possible,

and then slinking back to my room. After lunch on Sunday, there was a quiet knock on my door. I didn't open it, but I didn't stop it from opening either. I expected my mom or dad to be standing there, coming to tell me that two days was enough and that I needed to pull myself together.

Instead, my little sister Lily slowly opened the door and peeked in. She was seven at the time, but wise beyond her years. Her superpower is being empathetic and kind to an immeasurable degree. Matt, can I come in? Yeah, okay. I was secretly glad for the company. I brought you something.

I hope that's okay. She held out a piece of paper. I took it, and tears welded my eyes. It was a picture Lily had drawn of the, two of us. A bright yellow sun shone on our smiling faces as we held hands, multicolored flowers surrounding us. In her best seven-year-old printing, she had written, I love you, Maddie, with a big, red heart. When she saw the tears, she looked so alarmed, she scampered over to where I was lying on the bed. Oh, you'll better. Don't cry. You did cheer me up, little bug. A lot.

I love you too. Her small, sweet face broke into a smile, and I could feel some of the sadness fading away, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth. Is your art stuff still out? Mm-hmm. I sighed. Two days was quite enough.

Want to go draw together? Lily's already big eyes grew huge and hopeful. She smiled and nodded with such enthusiasm that she almost fell over. I slid off my bed and we went downstairs together. After that, things were rough for my entire family. We were no longer welcome at the church, unless my parents agreed to send me away to a camp that helped me get the demon out. My parents were dead set against that.

Luckily, my dad taught in the high school in the next town over, but my mom's students all canceled. We got glares and even sometimes called names when we were out shopping. Lily was teased in class. It was a giant, awful mess, and it was all my fault. I felt awful. Shortly after the incident, we had a family meeting. We discussed what was going on and how we were being treated.

We talked about moving, but ultimately decided to table the decision for a few months, to see if things would calm down. But the more critical part of that meeting was me finally talking to my family about my superpower. I call it my superpower now, thanks to my parents and Lily, as they were the ones who started calling at that right away. At first, it made me feel silly.

But eventually, I grew to think of my ability that way. They listened to me and didn't judge me or forced me to tell them anything I wasn't comfortable. with. They didn't call me a liar or question anything I said. This conversation set the stage and made it so much easier when I came out later in my teens. But that's a story for another time. Since then, I figured out some nuances of what I hear. There are the usual music stations where they play a few songs and then somebody talks for a bit. Occasionally, there are commercials. There are news channels, the kind that has traffic and weather, on the one.

and has a pretty consistent cycle of news. There's talk radio, which has its own calming rhythm of how people speak, and then there's the one that took me forever to identify. Number stations. I don't get them often, but when I do, I always feel weird and creeped out. It seems like I get radio broadcasts from all over the world, and each language has its own rhythm and cadence. I don't have any control over what I hear,

but when it's something I don't like, number stations, country music, I can usually reset by getting away from the white noise for 10 minutes or so, and then going back. So it all sounds hunky-dory, happily ever after, right? Well, it was up until about a week ago, and that's why I'm here. About a week ago, the radio stations I heard

started to have much more talking in barely any music. The voices, at first, were serious, measured, and constant. The rhythm felt like they were giving instructions. This was happening across the board, in several different languages. The only thing that seemed unaffected were the number stations. I was hearing many more broadcast because I was worried, so I ran water a lot more often just to check. A day or so later, the voices changed.

filled with a feeling of deep sorrow I could hear even though I couldn't hear the words. Some stations had just gone to playing music with nobody talking at all. At this point, I was checking things even more regularly because it was all just so weird. It was clear something terrible was happening. I wasn't prepared for what came next. Soon, every station played what sounded like an emergency broadcast on repeat. I tried so hard to hear the words, straining and pushing myself to exhaustion, but it felt like the harder I listened, the further away and more muffled the words became.

These excruciating broadcasts became the norm for two days straight. Now there's nothing. Silence. I've checked in in what feels like a million times. I've tried different sources of white noise. My whole life has been consumed by trying. trying to find something, anything, to indicate that there is some radio broadcast out there somewhere. Lily has been helping, trying to think of new sources or driving with me to different waterfalls in our area.

But I haven't heard a single thing. There was never any exact time frame for when I heard a song the first time to when it came out. That's another thing Lily's been helping me with. We have tried to pin down the timeline for when I first hear a song to when it comes out. We've spent hours trying to remember details, and my parents have pitched in where they can. We have figured that a lot of it is odds, as in, what are the odds that a new song is playing while I happen to be near a waterfall? Or taking a shower? Sometimes it stays. Sometimes it's months. Between when I hear it in the white noise and when it gets released, we've concluded that there

is no way of knowing, but we figured out that the longest I remember, is three months. Still, all I hear is white noise. I think I heard the end of the world. And there's no way to tell when it's going to happen. Just that it's coming. So hug your loved ones and prepare yourself. Because whatever it is, it's looming. I'm so sorry. This time of year, depending on where you live, you might hear music outside your door. Singers carolling the the songs of Christmas cheer. But in this tale, shared with us by author Jacob D'Amour, we meet a man who hears singers near his house, but it's not Christmas time,

and the singers are getting closer. Performing this tale is Peter Lewis. So enjoy the festive carols, if you hear them. Just pray you don't hear a psalm in the night. And a sense of tranquility in the soundscape. of my suburban neighborhood after dark. The busy noise of the day dies down, leaving not but a bed chirping crickets and the whirl of a crisp wind brushing through the leaves of the trees. Even the hum of traffic passing by my bedroom window brings a comforting rhythm as I lie in bed,

awaiting sleep. My bedroom rests at the front of my single-story house, bordering a large window that looks onto the street. It's not what most would consider the ideal location for a bedroom, I'm not exactly spoiled for choice. There are only a handful of rooms throughout the whole house, and when I moved in, my options were the room I'm in now, or the small windowless alcove across the hall that barely fits my work desk, never mind trying to shove a queen-sized mattress in there. Needless to say, the first thing I did when I moved in

was by a nice set of heavy blackout curtains for my bedroom window, which I keep drawn around the clock. My bedroom is my private sanctuary, I'm not fond of the feeling that a nosy neighbor may be peering in at me from afar. Even so, sometimes, as I lay in bed, I can't shake the feeling that there's someone standing on the other side of those curtains, that if I were to pull them back, I would be met with a pair of watchful eyes beaming down on me. Most of the time, when this feeling crops up, I'm able to shake it away as an irrational

thought. Recently, however, things have changed, and I've begun to wonder. just how irrational those thoughts really were. I'm no longer certain of when it all began, but if I had to pinpoint a specific moment, it would be four weeks ago, the first time I heard their song. It was around quarter to ten. I had resigned myself to bed over an hour before, as I had an early morning the next day, yet sleep eluded me. As I lay restless in bed, I started to get that creeping feeling again that there was something outside my window. As usual, I shook it off, thinking it was just my brain playing a cruel trick on me,

knowing full well that I needed a good night's rest. But then I heard it. Out in the street, someone was singing, and not just someone, a whole group. Difficult to tell without seeing them, but there seemed to be at least half a dozen different voices. I couldn't make out what they were singing. The song sounded like gospel, but the lyrics were in a language I couldn't comprehend. and it didn't sound like any language I was familiar with. Looking back now, it's strange.

I don't remember feeling scared at all that night. Perhaps it was due to my confusion. My attempts to rationalize why these people would be out singing so late at night distracted me from fear. I remember thinking that it was probably a group of drunk college kids messing around. After all, I live in a college town and not too far from the campus, so it seemed plausible. They likely got a bit lost on their way back to the dorms after a night out

and lacked the inhibition not to bother my neighbors and I as we tried to sleep. I rolled over, placing my back towards the window and trying in vain to ignore the noise outside. It would be over soon, I told myself. Perhaps even someone with less patience and more confidence than I would go outside and yell at them to knock it off. No such luck. I continued to listen to the strange song, tracking the voices as they combed up and down the street. It felt longer, but after ten minutes or so, the street finally fell back into silence.

I found comfort once again in my familiar soundscape of cricket chirps and eventually drifted off into sleep. It wasn't until a few days later that I finally managed to bring up the strange event with one of my neighbors. Mrs. Everley was a twig of a woman. The top of her head only rose to my chest, and in her old age, she was hardly anything but skin and bones. I happened to run into her doing some yard work as I returned from my evening jog. After a bit of friendly small talk, I finally asked her about the singing the other night. She pursed her lips and her brow furled as she tried to determine what I was talking about. I clarified, even though I didn't think it was necessary, how often does a group of carolers show up at night in the middle of

spring. But even as I explained further, it was clear Mrs. Everley had no clue what I was talking about. She must have been asleep already, we reasoned, and left it at that. After our conversation, I was ready to let the whole thing fade from my memory. Let it go as a strange one-time occurrence, one of those memories that pops back into your head every few years as a funny, unsolved little mystery, except, as it turned out, it was not a one-time occurrence. Two nights after my conversation with Mrs. Everley, I woke up in the dead of night, my throat dry and in need of a drink. I noted the time on the digital clock that rested on my nightstand. Only 11.15, just a couple of hours since I had gone to bed. As I reached for the glass of water,

I kept beside the clock. I heard it again. That same song. Were there more voices this time? My hand hovered over the cup, frozen in place as I listened to the song. I could hear it more clearly this time, but that didn't help me understand it any better. The unfamiliar language in which they sang grated against my ears. Whatever it was, it was an ugly language, filled with harsh, grinding consonants and eerily stretched vowels. This time I wasn't content just to roll.

roll over and ignore it. I wanted to see who was out there. I reached for the curtain and took hold of the corner. I would just pull back the slightest amount just enough to see outside without drawing any attention to myself. I couldn't shake this feeling that whoever was out there, I did not want them to see me. I inched the curtain back, peering out into the night. My suburban street didn't come equipped with street lamps, but the moon was bright that night. Once my eyes adjusted, I could see clearly to the other side of the road. There they were, a group of eight people walking up and down the street singing their bizarre chant. From their voices, I could tell that there was a mix of men and women, but I couldn't tell how many of which,

nor could I gauge how old they were. They were covered head to toe in blue robes, which made them difficult to spot in the dark, and they wore wide-brimmed pointed hats that looked like they were pulled from a witch's costume, out of a spirit Halloween store, only they had long veils hanging from the brim which fell far past their shoulders. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was like a cult was passing through my neighborhood. Just when I decided I had seen enough, one of the singers turned and looked straight at my bedroom window. I told myself there was no way he could have seen me. My room was completely dark and I had barely made a crack in the curtain. But then, the rest of them turned and looked

my way. I could feel their stairs burning into me. I let go of the curtain and ran for the front door making sure it was locked. I did the same with every door and window in the house before I found my phone and dialed 911. In those brief moments that I was waiting for the call to go through, I noticed a sudden absence of sound. The singing had stopped. The chirping of the crickets had returned. As expected, the police were no help. With there being no trace of the cloaked figures in the street by the time they arrived, there was little they could do aside from file or a port. The flashing blue lights of the squad car that sat outside my house,

as I answered the dispatched officer's questions, did seem to draw the attention of some of my neighbors, though, as I would learn later, not a single one of them had awoken the singing. After the officer had finally left, I returned to bed for the night, even though I knew there wouldn't be any sleep to be had. Every time I felt my eyes begin to grow heavy and drowsiness start to overtake me, my mind pulsed with the sensation that there was something just beyond my curtains. I never checked. I no longer wanted to find out if the sensation was irrational or not. I opted instead to lay still, anxiously waiting for the sun to rise.

I took the following day off from work. I would have been too exhausted, too distracted, to get any real work done anyway. I spent most of the day napping on the sofa and catching up on chores around the house. As I was stacking a load of clean dishes in my cabinets, I realized that the song from last night had begun to echo inside my head. Not like an earworm, but like a seed that had been planted and was slowly coming to bloom. I froze, nearly dropping the plate I had pulled from the dishwasher. I tried to clear my mind, but the song was pervasive.

I could feel it stretching into every corner of my mind as if it were a parasite, siphoning away all other thoughts until it was all that remained. Before it could overtake me completely, I did the only thing I could think to do. I ran into the living room and found my earbuds, plunging them into my ears and cranking the music on my phone up to a volume that would have been painful in any other circumstance, but now brought only relief as the unwanted song faded from my head. I caught the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding when I pulled the earbuds out and met with the silence in my head. The song was gone, but a creeping sense of dread told me that it would be back. I wondered how long I had until then, and what would happen when it did return. As sundown approached, I could feel my stomach growing cold.

I wanted to cling on to those last precious rays of light like a child to his mother. But soon the last of the day's light faded away, and I was left with the familiar sounds of the night. It wasn't until nearly one o'clock in the morning that I relented and retired in my bedroom. I considered that I might be safe for the night. Both times the singers had woken me had been before midnight. Perhaps the threat of police intervention had actually managed to scare them off. As I apprehensively tucked myself into bed, I fixed my eyes on the curtains beside me, praying that no one would come, that I would have a quiet, restful night. My prayers went unanswered.

I awoke to the song only an hour later. Every muscle in my body tensed as soon as I heard it. For a moment I had to wonder if it had simply crept its way back into my head, but no, I could hear it emanating from outside, from the street. I couldn't bring myself to touch the curtains this time. I didn't want the singers to catch me spying on them again, so I laid still, hoping they would simply go away like they had the first night. As I waited, I listened intently. There was something different this time. Normally I could hear their voices rise and fade as they paraded up and down the street, but this time their volume was static. They were standing completely still as they sung.

From the way it sounded, I guessed they were located on the sidewalk. just at the end of my driveway. Why? Why were they so focused on me? I felt a sudden urge to peel back the curtain, curiosity tugging at my arm. Fear held me back. Suddenly, I realized the voices had drawn closer. They were approaching my house.

The police, I reached for my phone scrambling to find it in the dark. When I finally did, I pressed the power button only to be greeted with a screen instructing me to charge my phone. It was dead. I had used up more battery than normal trying to keep myself awake, and in my drowsiness I'd forgotten to plug it in when I went to bed. Isolation crept over me as I realized there was no one to turn to. The song was getting louder. The singers coming closer to the window. I could feel it in my head again to weaving itself throughout my mind. I was backed into a corner. My animal instincts were screaming at me. Fight or flight. Reason told me to run, but there was something else there telling me otherwise, and its voice was louder. I took hold of the curtains and threw them open. A chill coursed

through my body as I stared at the sight just beyond the thin glass of my window. The singers were right there, any closer and they would have been pressed up against the glass. At first, I couldn't make out any of their features through their veils, but as I focused harder, I began to see. Their skin was red and crusted like land in a drought. Strands of skin had begun to peel away around the creases on their faces. They were hairless down to even their eyelashes, but their eyes, they were the most inhuman trait of all. There was no white in them. Instead, they were encompassed by black tissue like smoldering coals.

They continued to sing their twisted chorus with mouths so dry I wondered how, they possibly could, and as they did I could feel the song burrowing deeper into me. As its words reached the deepest depths of my mind, I suddenly realized that I could understand them. Those words which had previously alluded me now resonated deep within my mind, and I realized that their song was beautiful. Their song told a story, but not of the past. They sang of days to come, days when the night will leave us and there will only be day. The sun then will take its rightful place as God. The clouds will vanish and its rays will shine down on us with renewed intensity.

Those who refuse to accept our new savior will be judged, enveloped by a tornado of heat, burned away a layer at a time until all that remains is ash. With the clouds gone, there will be no rain. The plants will die as the earth will die as the earth. Earth dries up and we who remain will be left in a haze of dust that cuts away at the skin when the wind blows. Life on this planet will be hell. But for those that can endure the suffering, that can prove themselves worthy, it will be brief. When the time comes, the fires of the sun will stretch down to the earth in slithering, tenderal form. One by one, those of us that remain

will be wrapped in its embrace and pulled away from this dying planet. It is nothing to fear. We are simply being chosen. We will become part of the sun, fueling it as it grows to consume more and more of our solar system. In a way, we will live on in its flaming belly as it swallows worlds. I snapped out of my trance, and I realized the singing at stop. The cloaked figures outside my window were gone. I looked out into the street.

The night was peaceful. The crickets were chirping. A strange sense of longing seeped into my heart, and I realized there were tears streaming down my cheeks. Their song had granted me such a wondrous vision, and without it I was starved for more. I wanted them to come back to sing to me once again, But then I realized that the song was not gone.

I could still hear it lingering in the recesses of my mind, playing on a loop. I breathed a sigh of relief as a smile slithered its way onto my face. I lay back against the pillow, closing my eyes and letting the sweet lullaby guide me into sleep. I wondered how long it would be until the future the song foretold would come to fruition. It's been about a month since then. The singers haven't come back since that night. That's okay. I don't need them to come back.

The song hasn't left me. In fact, it's getting louder. I think that means that the sun's awakening his drawing nearer. The days are getting longer, and when I look up the sky, I swear I can see the sun's rays beginning to stretch like tendrils, the way they wave in the air. It's almost like they're dancing to the song inside my head.

A singing. They say when you feel down and out, sing a song. It'll make your day. And this show is sponsored by Better Help, so that's another great thing when you're feeling down and out. Yes, music can be very therapeutic. And since life doesn't come with an instruction manual, it can be important to find other forms of therapy.

Listen, I get it. Sometimes life feels like it's not working for you. You feel stuck. Navigating any of life's challenges can make you feel unsure. Whether it's a big life change or even a small one, you can feel like you're off balance. For me, I started to notice that my life was slowly sort of tipping in the wrong direction, if that makes sense. It wasn't like there was a huge issue to deal with, just a sense that things could be better, that I could cope with life better. That's when I sought out a therapist. Therapists are trained to help you figure out the cause of challenging emotions and learn productive coping skills.

That's why I love to recommend BetterHelp. As the world's largest therapy service, BetterHelp has matched 3 million people with professionally licensed and vetted therapists. Available 100% online. Plus, it's affordable. Just fill out a brief questionnaire to match with a therapist. If things aren't clicking,

you can easily switch to a new therapist any time. It couldn't be simpler. No waiting rooms, no traffic, no endless searching for the right therapist. Learn more and save 10% off your first month at BetterHelp.com slash no sleep. That's betterhelp.com slash no sleep. Thanks to BetterHelp for sponsoring this episode. Now it's back to the horror. And remember, keep your feet on the ground and keep your eyes on the stars. For many years now, we've had astronomers searching the cosmos for signs of life. That includes listening for signals from distant galaxies.

And in this tale, shared with us by author Olivier Zhang Gau, we learn of an observatory which has picked up some strange signals from the darkness of space. Performing this tale are David Alt and Jesse Cornett. So understand this. Sometimes it's better to remain in the dark. That way you'll avoid hearing the final broadcast. The notion of life other than ours, somewhere in the vast expanse of the universe has been pondered on for centuries. Surely we can't be the only life forms or be unique in possessing the abilities of rational and intelligent thought. Somewhere out there there must be another form of existence, right? You might be familiar with the Voyager Golden records. Back in 1977, when they launched the Voyager spacecraft, they included two phonograph

records containing sounds and images selected to portray the diversity of life and culture on Earth. Until now, nothing has come of that, but that doesn't mean we haven't been trying to make contact anymore. Since then, we've sent countless radio and other types of signals into the depths of space, hoping maybe one day, for a reply. The signals were received on May 23, 2025 at the Keck Observatory based on the Hawaiian Islands. John had been stationed there for a while now and wasn't startled when he noticed unfamiliar radio wave signals being received by a few of the radio telescopes. Now, it's nothing new to receive an unknown signal. Radio waves are created constantly by objects whose magnetic fields can change.

For example, a solar flare being casted off the sun. After checking the directions that the signals had come from, he noticed their source wasn't anywhere near the sun. They had originated from somewhere about the region of our neighboring galaxy Andromeda. John let his boss know that they had received two unidentified signals, and after a short discussion was told to analyze and find out what they were. They figured it could be a new star forming or even one exploding. seemed the likeliest of possibilities as they had registered some change in the electromagnetic field

in that direction in the last couple of months. The data that came out of the analysis, however, made absolutely no sense at all. No signal they had ever received had ever looked like that before. The characteristic patterns to expect from dying stars or other bodies just weren't there. John didn't think too much into it and was more excited at maybe discovering something unknown to mankind. He decided not to tell his boss right away and had just gotten another idea. It's still a slow process, but over the years we've been able to develop software that takes various signals, radio, infrared or similar, and turns them into audio that humans can hear.

You could say it's a way for us to hear the infinite symphony that is our universe. John put his headset on and got to work. The signals which were captured were short, but he was sure it would work. Not thinking too much about it, he fed it into the software and waited with eagerness on the results. It took some time, but when the audio file from the first signal was ready, he queued it up and pressed play. His heart nearly stopped. He had expected absolutely everything else than what he had just heard. It couldn't be possible. No, no, there was no way. There had to have been a mistake in the program. His heart pounding so hard he thought he would pass out from John got the original file and fed it to the program again.

There was no mistake. The result was the exact same the second time. It wasn't from here, not our world, that he knew instinctively. The voice repeated the same words again. He shakily opened the audio file from the second signal, which was now also done processing, closed his eyes as if to brace himself for the impact he knew must be coming, and let it play.

John stood slowly from his chair and laid his headset gently on his desk. He walked across the room quietly, keeping his head sunk and not looking at anyone. He stepped outside to the small patio where the perfect sunny day was slowly fading to night. The second audio file had only been six words to finish the first message. John looked across the ocean. Just above the darkening horizon, a large cluster of new, never before seen lights, slowly came into view. 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 no-sleeppodcast.com to learn more about our season past program, 25 episodes each over two hours long, and three exclusive bonus episodes all for only $25. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for joining us at The No Sleep Files.

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