The NoSleep Podcast - S18 Ep3: NoSleep Podcast S18E03

Episode Date: July 10, 2022

Tune in to Episode 3 of Season 18 for fiendishly frightening games!“Hide and Seek” written by A.A. de Levine (Story starts around 00:02:50)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Linsay Rousseau“The Game of” written by R.T. Greene (Story starts around 00:06:30)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Peter Lewis“Frosted Glass” written by Chris Allinotte (Story starts around 00:14:10)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Mary Murphy“Bubblehead Road” written by M.J. Pack (Story starts around 00:24:20)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Pam – Nichole Goodnight, Barbara – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Mark – Graham Rowat, Dennis – Dan Zappulla, Woman – Erin Lillis“The Shatter Box” written by Paul O’Neill (Story starts around 01:03:45)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Dan – Andy Cresswell, Diana – Penny Scott-Andrews, Pauline – Erika Sanderson, Tam – David Ault, Craig – James Cleveland“Trivia Night” written by Lindsay Moore (Story starts around 01:35:50)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Janine – Jessica McEvoy, Dean – Matthew Bradford, Cindy – Kristen DiMercurio, Rashida – Wafiyyah White, Martin – David Cummings, Suzanne – Nikolle DoolinThis episode is sponsored by:Green Chef – Green Chef makes eating well easy with plans to fit every lifestyle. Whether you’re Keto, Paleo, Vegan, Vegetarian, Gluten-Free, or just looking to eat more balanced meals, Green Chef offers a range of recipes to suit your preferences. Go to GreenChef dot com slash nosleep135 and use code nosleep135 to get $135 off, plus free shipping on your first box!Betterhelp – Betterhelp’s mission is making professional counseling accessible, affordable, convenient – so anyone who struggles with life’s challenges can get help, anytime, anywhere. Get started today and get 10% off your first month by going to betterhelp.com/nosleepClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about the novel, “The Archaic Chest” by Kristina OrleaClick here to learn more about A.A. de LevineClick here to learn more about Lucius R.T. GreeneExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Frosted Glass” illustration courtesy of Jen TracyAudio 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

The workday is over and you're settling in to listen to the No Sleep podcast. But you realize you're hungry. Nothing to do but go to the grocery store and pick up one of those newfangled TV dinners. By the time you get to the store and back and heat it up, you'll be eating in a couple of hours. Yummy! Yes, back in the 50s, TV dinners were considered a convenience. All the mystery meat, powdered potatoes, and salt you could stomach. Thankfully these days, convenient food can be much healthier, like when you use Green Chef.

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As someone who knows how well a keto diet works for me, I love that Green Chef is the only keto meal kit. Green Chef makes sticking to a carb-conscious lifestyle easy. Some of my favorite Green Chef meals include beef tenderloin with savory mushroom sauce and broccoli groton. And then there's smoky pork patties with caramelized onions, roasted cauliflower, cabbage, slaw, queso cotea. Oh, Lordy, I'm practically drooling. Time-saving recipes packed with fresh produce and vibrant flavors help you make the most out of those long summer days and creepy dark nights. Green Chef saves you time by cutting down on weekly meals.

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off your first five boxes with free shipping on your first box at greenchef.com slash no sleep one three five green chef the number one meal kit for eating well now it's ton for the horror there's no use hiding ready or not i call out here i come one last game of hide and seek before bed he's not crouched giggling behind the couch he's not behind the dress he's not behind the or hiding beneath the stairs. I think I hear him upstairs. The muffled sound of feet and onesie pajamas. He's so bad at hiding, but I'm good at feigning surprise. I have to be. It's upsetting when I find him too fast. He gets angry, and I can't get him angry. I see his long shadow through the open door now, spilling out into the hall. I pretend not to see it. I pretend to seek. One last game before bedtime

and then maybe he'll let me go. I don't know how he gets in every night. Windows locked and doors shut tight. I don't know how he always finds me. WNSP presents the No Sleep Podcast Hour, starring David Cummings and the No Sleep Players. Lights of Darkness, Fear creeping through your soul, pounding heartbeat.

Join us for tales of horror during the dark hours when you dare not close your eyes. And we're warning you. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Good evening. I'm David Cummings. Thank you for daring to be with us at the No Sleep Podcast Hour. Games people play. Night or day, they're just so... Magic, especially the game conjured by author A.A. DeLavine, which was this episode's Cold Open,

Hide and Seek, performed by Lindsay Russo. I'm delighted to announce the latest book from Sleepless Sanctuary Publishing. It's by author Christina Orley. You've heard her tales on the podcast before, and now she has a new book titled The Archaic Chest. Welcome to the archaic chest Where the objects of your dreams quickly turn into the instruments of nightmares From vengeful reflections,

At Home Clinical Trials Gone Wrong, and quirky party guests To urban legends with a twist These 12 stories are sure to keep you guessing About what might be lurking in the shadows Check the show notes to find out How you can buy the e-book or paperback copy of these delightfully dark short stories

you'll discover that the allure of old things might just be your demise. And once you're done with the book, why not consider watching some television from all the way back in the 1950s? So now, adjust the antenna, tune in our signal, and settle in front of the TV to watch this week's nightmares. In our first tale, we delve into the world of gaming. And if thoughts of consoles, joysticks, and graphics cards come to mind, I'll remind you that we're set in the 1950s. As such, we're talking about board games.

And as we learn from author Lucius R.T. Green, board games have been popular for decades and still have avid fans. Like the man in this tale, a very avid fan indeed. Performing this tale is Peter Lewis. So roll the dice if you dare. But if you're cut short, you'll know you're playing.

The game of... Oh, hello? Thank you so much for coming at such short notice. Can I take your coats? No? Well, I don't know how long will be. It's a long game. Maybe not quite as long as risk, but certainly not Scrapple length.

I'm so very excited to share it with you. Oh, don't worry, dear. It's not boring. And the rules are simple. You'll pick them up as you go. In fact, that's part of the fun. This game... No, I didn't tell you what it was called, did I? No matter. Everyone has different names for it. I was going to call it, sorry, but that name was taken.

Also, there's no apologizing. No apologizing. No apologizing. No taking back a move once your hand has touched the piece. No... What do you call it? Intermissions. The game doesn't stop, is my point. Once it begins, there is no laying it aside for a week and picking it up next week and...

We'd come back to an empty board, and then where would we be? No, no, no, no, no, I told you. It's simple. Easy to learn. Well, you know the saying that comes with that, don't you? A master and all. Okay, just take a seat around this board. No, don't touch that.

Sorry, I shuffled the deck perfectly. Wouldn't want to mix up the cards. Take a seat. Take a seat. There we are, everyone comfortable. I think we are written. to begin. Now, to start, everyone chooses their pieces. Yes, it is just like monopoly. Only none of these pieces are top hats or motor cars. Now be careful when picking them up. Oh, yes, that's why.

Sorry, they do bite you when you manhandle them. They aren't conscious yet, but they will be. And when they are, guiding them will require more. Finesse. First, I roll the dye. This serves a double purpose, firstly to wake my piece to the path before him. Secondly, to show him how far he will go with each passing turn. Now, once I have rolled, I move him. Notice how I do this? How gently I guide him. If you do this right, he will never feel your hands upon his shoulders, upon the small of his back beneath his feet. He doesn't want to go. this way, but don't worry. He'll eventually realize he has no other option. I have the board and the dice, I have the bower. All he has are his legs and some feeble ideas that I could pinch out between thumb and forefinger if I wished to. Right now I don't wish to, but if he becomes too difficult, I may snap him in two. That carries a significant strategic risk. I'd have to start to start. all over again, you see. So if you feel something is going poorly early on in the game, best to break the piece, start afresh. Don't worry, I always have more in the box. Now, as you guide your pieces through their lives, you'll see them change, multiply even. They'll develop their own notions about where they are headed, even if the destination was set long before we picked them from their box.

I think it's a good strategy to preserve hope, guide them to enough material success that they keep going, keep pushing on to greater pains just over the horizon. Do they? Cry? Well, of course they do every now and then. It shouldn't make much difference to your overall strategy. Sometimes they sit down and refuse to progress at all, thinking that this stubborn refusal means they have some power over how the game is played. This was a real drag on my beta version. I don't mind telling you. Now, don't worry too much about that, though. Most of them know it's best to cooperate and progress the number of spaces that I commands. There is pain ahead of them. But he's a lot of them. But he's a lot of them. But he's a lot of

Even this pain is better than being swept from the board entirely. So, how do you win? Hmm? I'm glad you ask. This final part of the board is the end game, the retirement village in life, if you will. When they get closer and closer to this final stage, I need you to listen closely to them, hearken to their words,

and if you've played your cards right, they will be looking back on their own progression through this game and trying to discern some meaning from it. None of them will guess that it was you guiding them along. But that's not the point. The point is in their justification, in the words they use, to make themselves and their family think that the game was,

well, just more than it was. A saga and adventure, a story. Once you have their interpret, rotation, write it down, then kill them and start with a new piece. By the time the game ends, we'll all have amassed a number of these final statements. We'll compare them, and the player with the best collection wins. It's as simple as that. What was that?

Wind is the game end? I thought that was obvious. It ends when the pieces tear the board apart. We've all heard about people who decide to have some fun with their friends as they try to delve into the dark arts with things like seances and Ouija boards. Just innocent fun, right? Well, don't tell that to author Chris Allenott. You see, in this tale, we meet a woman who has decided to bring a somewhat unique item

to their Aresaute's Seance, a crystal ball. Performing this tale is Mary Murphy. So look deep inside if you want to plumb the depths of the darkness. Just make sure you're not looking into frosted glass. Helped the glass ball up to the light again, as if this time it would reveal its secrets. Light penetrated and made it glow, but I couldn't make out the thing inside.

There was a crescent-shaped spot that looked like brown fluff, but it was like trying to see through a steamed up shower door. I sighed and put it down. Maybe one of my friends would figure it out later. When I purchased the glass globe earlier in the day, I'd been on the hunt for a real crystal ball to bring to girls' night. We'd all agreed that holding a seance sounded like a lot of fun, and a crystal ball had seemed so much more original

than showing up with a Walmart Ouija board. The globe I'd selected was on a high shelf near the front of the occult shop. It had been hard to make out. The light from the front window was mostly obscured by the for sale sign. On top of that, the teenager at the till seemed to loathed apart with it, saying, I don't know if that's actually for sale. There's something about that thing. I'd better call my grandma and ask. I kept adding 20s to the counter until the ball was mine. A real crystal ball from a real occult store with a real mystery to it. Amazing.

But what the hell was that weird patch? I folded up my jacket and placed the ball gently on top. The swatch of brown was still pressed close against the glass. I rotated the ball and the patch rotated with it. I leaned in closer and realized that it was definitely fur of some kind. What are you? I ran my fingers across the glass. It had a pleasant, matte feeling, and I kept stroking it.

At the touch of my hand, the ball shimmered in the reflected light from the chandelier, and the bog seemed to retreat, forming a thick, swirling cloud within. The patch of fur resolved into something that looked a little like an ape, except that it stood erect. It wasn't a man or a monkey, but something, in between. There was a tiny thump as the monkey thing pressed its hands to glass. I woke it up. I leaned in to take a closer look. It pressed its own face close to mine. I could make out ruddy, taut skin, hollow eyes, and a leering grin. It saw me. The hands disappeared from the

glass and the figure began to dance a bizarre, manic little chig. I picked a part of a little chig. I picked The ball transfixed. The thing reacted to my touch by increasing its pace, hopping and spinning like a top until it ended up in a vaudevillian, ta-da, flourish. I smiled. Forget the seance. This would blow the girl's minds. Its performance done, the creature vanished backwards into the cloudy murk. When it returned, another figure had joined it. This one was hairless and seen. from the riot of different-colored blobs on its body, that it was meant to be a clown. From its movements, though, it didn't seem to have the same good humor as its furry companion. Sitting at the dining-room table now, I watched as the first little monster prodded the second with its foot.

Eventually, the second little man, or whatever it was, began to dance. It was a pathetic imitation of the former performance. slow, jerky, full of something like pathos. I blinked and felt tears at the corners of my eyes. I brought the ball up closer, cradling it in my hands, trying to see more, more, more. The clown staggered slightly as the ball moved, but quickly regained its balance and stood still, watching me. It raised its arms in supplication, silently pleading, shoulder, hitching up and down, crying. Why is it crying? The monkey man suddenly re-emerged behind the clown. It was an indistinct brown blob in the mist, but it looked like it had something in its hands,

a stick maybe, or with a sickening thud. The clown's head was thrown forward and smacked hard into the glass. It staggered to the side, holding its face and leaving a red stain on the side. The clowns' on the inside of the globe. The monkey thing went berserk. It swung the club again and again. Blood spattered the inside of the glass with each hit. The sounds were too loud. They seemed to echo inside my head.

After a dozen savage blows, the little monster finally stopped. It kicked the ruined clown in the face, then stepped up on top of it. It gave another flourishing bow. Tadda! A. An instant later, the entire surface of the glass was filled up with the demonic black eye of the beast. It was staring directly at me, seeing me, hating me.

I screamed. I dropped the ball to the floor, where it broke with a dull crack. The ball became completely clear as its contents flooded out. The dining room began to fill with white choking fog. It became harder to see. It became harder to sea and harder to breathe. Where was the creature? I cast my gaze around, desperate to locate the fucking thing in a sea of fog. Nothing. The fog seemed to be inside my head then, and the world swam out of focus before going dark. When I woke, the world was white. I was alone, resting on a cold, hard floor, surrounded by the same choking my asthma that had knocked me out.

I tried to get up, but stumbled and fell face-first back to the ground. I rolled over and sat up, noticing the blood-red clown shoes on my feet. Somewhere behind me, music began. Earlier it hadn't traveled through the glass, but here, there was the unmistakable rise in front. ball of calliope. Behind that I heard movement, accompanied by breathy, chattering monkey sounds, and knew it was coming closer, coming to say hello, coming to dance. There's a lesson for you. Never monkey around with crystal balls. Come to think of it, I've never been to a crystal ball.

Get it? You're right. Thinking that joke is funny shows that I need to take care of my mind. better. And that's why now we have a word from our sponsor, Better Help. Yes, these days especially, we really have to make sure we're looking after our minds. There's so many things out there which can affect us negatively. Think about it. How well would you take care of your car if you had to keep the same one your entire life? Well, that's how our brains work, so why don't we treat them that way? How we care for our minds affects how we experience life. So it's important to invest time and care into keeping them healthy. There are plenty of ways to support a healthy brain, like learning a new language, taking power naps, listening to horror podcasts. Well, and there's also better help

online therapy. For me, therapy has given me ways to see things from a different perspective. I often struggle with my goofy little mind telling me things that aren't true about myself. Negative thoughts, defeating attitudes, a sense of hopelessness born from depression. Therapy has helped me to flush out a lot of that negativity and allowed me to see things more realistically. Not in a pie in the sky sort of way, but in a way that helps me acknowledge the positive things worth focusing on. And speaking with a BetterHelp therapist can help you in similar ways. BetterHelp is online therapy that offers video, phone, and even live chat-only therapy sessions, so you don't have to see anyone on camera if you don't want to. It's much more affordable than

in-person therapy. You can be matched with a therapist in under 48 hours. Our listeners get 10% off their first month at betterhelp.com slash no sleep. That's betterhelp.com slash no sleep. And now let's get back to the horror. Hop in the car with me and I'll drive us there. In the 1950s, when kids weren't home watching TV, they often engaged in that most wholesome of entertaining pastimes,

a double date at the movies. And in this tale from author M.J. Pack, we meet two couples in present day who are doing just that. At least that's what it seems, until the guys decide to switch things up and investigate a local urban legend. Performing this tale are Nicole Goodnight, Sarah Thomas, Graham Rowett, Dan Zapula, and Aaron Lillis.

So make sure your double dates involve pop, corn, soda, and cuddling in front of the big screen. It's far safer than making your way to Bubblehead Road. I got the first idea something was wrong when Mark wouldn't tell us what movie we were going to see. We're seeing Manhattan, right, babe? Barbara flipped down the passenger side mirror to check her hair. I love that Woody Allen. He just seems so smart.

You wouldn't know smart if it bit you in the ass. I hated it when he talked to her like that, but Barb just gave him a baby girl pouty face. Don't you mean, babe? It's not like I want smart to bite you in the ass. Mark chuckled a little at his own cleverness. I like your ass just the way it is. Cute and dumb. Barb wasn't dumb.

Not really, but she went back to checking her hair as if he hadn't said anything at all. I turned from my spot in the back seat of Mark's car to check the position of the sun on the horizon. It was getting dark. Nearly past dusk, and I didn't really recognize where we were. Mark was Dennis's friend, not mine, and kind of slimy, so you can see why I'd be a little worried. Where are we going? I asked Dennis. He shot me a grin and put a hand on my knee, jiggling it back and forth in a way that was meant to loosen me up. The movies, hon. No, I know that. I know that. I was making a real effort not to sound scared or naggy, but Mark was driving down this dark road I didn't know.

Way too many trees around for us to be going to the movie theater in town. Maybe we were going to a drive-in I didn't know about. To see Manhattan. Right, babe? What movie are we seeing? I asked Dennis, ignoring her. Don't get your panties in a twist, Pammy. Dan, tell your chick to chill.

I didn't trust Mark as far as I could have thrown him, but I trusted Dennis. So I put my hand over the one on my knee and made earnest eye contact with my boyfriend. Dennis, we're going to the movies, right? We'd been dating since sophomore year. We'd lost it to each other at prom. I knew him more than I knew any other person on the planet. And that's why I was able to see in that moment that he didn't want to lie to me anymore. He started too, I think, but...

But I gave his hand a little squeeze, and he cracked. Mark, we can tell him now, can't we? I pushed his hand off my knee. Tell us what? We made a left onto a road going into the woods, leaving behind the main road. And I twisted in my seat to sneak another look at the sun as it sat. We better not be seeing that movie The Dark. Barbara was reapplying her lipstick now.

It's like alien horror bullshit. Plus, I hate scary stuff. You're not going to be too happy with me then, babe. Mark snickered as he flipped on his headlights. Dennis told me what the hell we're doing. It was darker in here now that the thick-leaved trees were blotting out the last rays of the dying sun, and I was starting to get nervous. Barbara flipped up the mirror, tucking her lipstick back into her purse,

and looked around as though she'd only just noticed where we were. Hey, you fucker, if you think I'm going to do it in a creepy old place like this, You're crazy. She turned around to see me. Where are we, Pam? Dumbass boyfriend. He's the one driving. Pam. Dennis reached for me again, but I shrunk away from him against the car door.

I had no interest in his hand on my knee at that moment. All I wanted to do was go home. Mark, tell us where we're going, or I swear to God, I won't put out until after graduation. Barb emphasized this by crossing both her arms. arms and her legs. Mark sighed and slowed the car to a stop, leaving the ignition running. Okay. Jesus Christ, woman.

He turned to face both Barb and the two of us in the back seat. We're going to Bubblehead Road. It won't be that long, and then we'll go see a fucking movie. Any fucking movie you ladies want. Okay? How's that sound? Take me home. If we hadn't already driven a mile or two deep in the woods,

I would have gotten out right then and there. Pam, it's not going to be anything bad, I promise. You know what they say about that place. It's fucking haunted. Or worse. Oh, it's way worse than that. Barb picked her purse up off the floor and hit him half-heartedly in the shoulder with it. I told you, I hate scary shit.

You heard, Pam, take us home. So you're seeing you. You don't know the legend of Bubblehead Road? Mark raised his eyebrows at us. I don't care about any legend of anything. I want to go see Manhattan. Dennis put a tentative arm around me. I didn't move out of it.

Mostly because I was preoccupied by the fact we were in the woods where the light was quickly fading, and I just wanted to go somewhere else. And listen, some of the guys on the football team, they gave us this stupid dare, and we needed you to see us do it. They won't believe us if we said we did. We'll be in and out, I promise. I would have just lied for you. Yeah, but you're a terrible liar.

He smiled at me. That smile that still made my stomach do acrobatics and wiggled a playful finger in my sign. I laughed despite myself. What stupid shit did you two get yourselves into? It's easy, Pee. Easy, baby. Mark reached towards her so he could play with her long brown hair.

We go to the house at the end of Bubblehead Road, touch the front door, and leave. That's it. You two sexy ladies use this. He picked up a Polaroid camera from the floor near his feet and dumped it unceremoniously in Barb's lap. Snap a pick for proof, and all the guys owe us beer on graduation night. Let's get this overweight. I tried to lean towards her and Dennis pulled me back into his arms. What? Let them do their stupid thing and then we can go to the movies. Like Mark said. She tossed her hair back. Pick up the camera.

But you're buying me popcorn and soda and any candy I want. Sure thing, babe. Grinning, Mark put the car into gear and we continued along the road. Bubblehead Road. I didn't agree to this. You're a real jerk for making me go along, you know, and not even telling me. I heard this place is dangerous. But Mark's eyes were on me in the rearview mirror.

What exactly did you hear, Pammy? I fucking hated it when he called me Pammy. I heard they took drugs. Everybody in the family. They didn't have much money, so the government made them guinea pigs for cash, and their heads got huge. Barb demonstrated this by miming an explosion over her skull. When it went wrong, they got dropped out here so they couldn't tell anyone else. Government paid them off, right, babe?

You're stupid, babe. I heard they were just inbred hillbillies. They settled out here when they were pioneers and only married each other for years and years and years, and now they're all. Dennis searched for the word, didn't find it, and shrugged. Fucked up, I guess. Big heads, right? Barb twisted in her seat again to look at us. I could see the dying light of the day reflected in her shiny lipstick.

Yeah, big heads. Bubble heads is what they call them. I heard they eat people. Oh, Jesus, Mark, that's disgusting. She swatted his shoulder lightly. I wanted to sock him in the mouth. It doesn't matter what I heard. It's getting dark and we're driving down the shitty road and it's...

We don't know what's out there, Dennis. All this for a few beers? There's probably nothing, Penn. Dennis assured me with a little squeeze of my shoulders. Then what's with these signs, huh? Mark pointed out a crooked sign we were passing that read in big black letters. No trespassing. Probably to keep out idiots like you.

Your chick, Dan. Beyond him, I could see the snaking stretch of road disappearing as it bent first one way, then another. The trees were getting thicker, and it was getting darker, and I couldn't believe my normally sweet, smart boyfriend was making me do this. Hey, he's right. There's another one. And another. And another. The four of us lapsed into silence as we passed sign after sign

bearing the same threatening message over and over. No trespassing. Private property. Notice, trespassing absolutely forbidden. Keep out. No trespassing. I counted nine of them. Yeah, that means someone definitely doesn't fucking want us out here, so please turn around and let's go home.

We're almost there, Pammy. Jesus. Mark's eyes met mine again in the rearview mirror. I wanted to rile you girls up a little bit, but come on. You know there's nothing out here. It's just a bunch of made-up bullshit. We'll be in a... The car lurched as Mark slammed on the brakes. I grabbed a screen.

Dennis threw a protective arm across my chest to stop me from flying forward. A moment of silence went by until Mark turned on Barbara. What the fuck, Barb? Are you trying to get us killed? Roach, you stupid fuck! Something ran in front of the car. You almost hit it! What was it?

I looked out my window but didn't see anything. Just trees, and I'd be damned if I was going to roll it down to look harder. I... I don't know. It moved so fast. It was just this dark shape. A pretty face began to twist like she was about to cry. I changed my mind, Mark.

I want to go home. Look, we're already here. Mark pointed at a white house just beyond the Little Stone Bridge we were stalled at. It looked like a two-story farmhouse, but small. Neat. Kind of like a dollhouse I once had when I was a kid. A large double-level deck jutted from one side, a garage from another. White slats?

Blue shutters? Pokey little spiked fence. There wasn't anything wrong about it, nothing inherently creepy, but I still wanted to turn around and make the winding trip right back out of the forest before we lost the light completely. See. Dennis gave my leg a comforting squeeze. We'll be able to make the nine o'clock movie. Promise.

We were already there. I couldn't say no. I couldn't make them stop. Okay. Just go. Mark stepped on the gas again and we crossed the bridge. His headlights flooding the front yard and bringing everything to a brilliant contrast. Mark did, then turned around.

Are you ready, Den? Yeah. Dennis glanced at me and smiled. It was supposed to be a smile that said, Hey, everything's fine, but he looked nervous. You girls stay in the car. Just take the picture when we get to the door and we'll be right back. I tried to return a smile.

I get the feeling mine didn't look too good either. The guys hopped out of the car, shutting their doors quietly behind them. They left the engine running. Boys are so stupid. She watched Mark approach the house with nervous eyes. She was chewing on her lip, and I don't think she knew it. The camera was poised ready to snap the photo. Yeah, I agreed.

I turned my own nervous eyes to Dennis, who was further ahead than Mark. They were almost to the door ready to touch it when it swung open. Barb was getting out of the car. Barb was getting out of the car. out of the car. What are you doing? But she was already gone, camera forgotten, running like an idiot towards her equally idiotic boyfriend who'd gotten us in this mess. For a moment, my lizard brain insisted I get in the front and drive away.

Sometimes your lizard brain knows what it's doing. I hesitated, then got out of the car too, hoping I'd see all three of them just standing there, safe and sound. And there they were. They were actually just standing. there together at the front door of the little white house talking to a very normal looking woman. I blinked a few times to be sure this was what I was seeing before walking towards the house, the car rumbling its engine behind me. We're really sorry. Your kids! The woman wiped her hands on her apron. She was plain-faced, but smiling, and that was good. Kids get up to all sorts of

shenanigans, especially right before summer. Like something gets inside of them and makes them crazy. She turned her smile on me as I approached. I am. When I was by his side, I grabbed Dennis's hand, hard, relieved everything was okay and furious with him all at once. I never had no girls. You girls keeping these boys in line?

Apparently not very well. We're so sorry. We didn't mean to trespass. We were just... Oh, they already told me. She put her hand on her hips in a way that reminded me of my own mother when she had reached the end of her patients. Silly stories. Aren't you too old for stories?

Yes, ma'am. The woman turned her smile on him and it grew warmer. Parents like Dennis. And we'll be going now. Get out of your hair. Yeah, sorry. No worry She waved a hand at us Oh, you didn't cause any trouble

At least had your music down Can't tell you how often I come out here To god-awful noise Devil rock music and screeching tires You all had a sense to be quiet about it We won't bother you again I tugged on Dennis's arm to show him We should get the hell out of there

While the getting was good It's getting dark, but it was nice meeting you. Just tell those other kids that you didn't find nothing. Bless of you out here, the better. You got it. Barb was also pulling on Mark, trying to make him move, but he was still standing there like he had missed something. Now.

Finally, he turned away from the Little White House. When we were all in the car, I started laughing. Not quite hysterically, but in that scary way when you're not sure you can stop. Just a nice lady. A nice lady in an apron. You guys had me scared shitless. When the door opened, I thought you were going to die.

Barb's eyes were wide and serious. She's watching us. We looked at the house, a good distance away now that we were in the car and saw Mark was right. The woman was standing in the doorway, not much more than a silhouette from where we sat. but definitely watching. She wants to make sure we're leaving, asshole. Let's go. Dennis was embarrassed. I could tell. I rubbed my palm over his back in soothing little circles.

We didn't touch the door. Mark was trying to turn the car around with what little room he had on the stone bridge. I didn't get a picture. You left the camera here. Gives the shit! Barbara guarded him for a moment with obvious distaste before folding her arms and looking out the window. Forget the movie. Just take me home. If you're going to be a bitch about it,

just take her home, Mark. Guys, please. I have a headache, let's just... Then we heard it. A high warbling sound piercing through our argument. It sounded like a mix between a cat's yowl and a child crying owl. Plaintiff. Keening.

otherworldly. We sat in stunned silence. What the fuck was... Mark turned to look at Dennis, eyes wild. I told you there was something out here, ma'am. Look, she went inside. Let's just go back and see what it is. Why the fuck would I want to see what it is?

Okay, screw you then. I'll go do it. Mark opened his car door and hopped out. Barb made a strangled little sound of protest but didn't move. Take the picture, Barb. It's too dark The howl came again It was nothing I'd ever heard before Terrible and yet somehow melodic

Like the way the sirens must have sounded to Greek sailors Dennis I know He craned his neck trying to catch a glimpse of Mark Through the rear window as he walked back towards the White House Shit The three of us waited Mark's car idling beneath us as we held our breath

After what seemed like an eternity I heard Mark scream. Dennis was out of the car in a flash running toward the sound of his friend's cry for hell. Barbara started weeping. He's fine. I was trying to see where they both were. Dennis was a vague, blurry form in the quickly darkening dusk.

Mark was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, unexplainably, I heard Mark laughing. Barb and I looked at each other, made equals in our confusion. His laughing went on and on and for a manic moment. I thought he'd gone mad, but then I heard him yell. I got out of the car, moving quickly towards where I saw them hunched over, about 15 feet away from the house. Going on! Mark kicked a bird.

As I got closer, I saw it. The things brought out on the ground near Mark's feet. It looked like a turkey until I saw that it wasn't a turkey. Not at all. It was something far grander than that. Something shimmering with iridescent colors and thick, luxurious feathers. It's long, elegant neck was stretched out in an expression of delicate surrender, as though it were saying, yes, you've won, lay your weapons down. I stared at it, those little flourishes on its head and the larger one on its room.

You kill a peacock! No way! Dennis crept closer and squinted in the dusk's low light. She's right, man, it's a fucking peacock. He turned back to us, a baffled expression on his face. Where did this thing come from? Almost as if on cue we heard a more subdued version of the alien howl that had startled us in the car. A gentle you, you, you sound.

Like they knew one of their own had been murdered in cold blood. Is this a peacock farm? A chorus of strange coups seemed to answer my question. Maybe that's what ran in front of the car. Dennis looked around, squinting, trying to see the other peacocks in the fast waning light. You didn't have to kill it, man. So what? It attacked me.

What the fuck was I supposed to? And above the killing, the plaintive mourning of birds in a foreign tongue, another sound interrupted him. A soft, hiccuping sort of cry. It was quiet but powerful. The kind of crying you do alone in your bedroom when you know someone's just outside and you can't break quite yet. Is that Barb? Mark was already backing away. I think so.

I felt stuck to the earth where I stood. To move, I thought, would mean my certain death. From beneath the steps of the little white farmhouse, a figure emerged, creeping on all fours towards us. It was small but gangling, limbs hanging limply as it crawled along the grass. Its head was huge. Around where the jaw must have been was normal, sure, but from there it ballooned up, swollen like a ripe harvest pumpkin. It was weeping.

Mark kept backing away. I could hear sticks snapping beneath his feet as he went. I didn't need the suggestion. I couldn't have moved if I'd been ordered to. I was paralyzed with fright. Surely I'd read that summer before and thought it's some kind of flowery metaphor, but it was true. You could be so scared that fear froze you in position like a fast-acting toxin. The shadow crept closer, nearly to us now, and in the last strides of the days that,

Byte, I could see it was a boy, little boy. Maybe only ten or eleven. His head was grotesquely formed, yes, but his face was just a boy's face streaked with tears. I noticed with dull fascination that he was wearing a little button-up sweater over corduroys. A snappy little ensemble to say the least. His knees were grass-stained. The three of us stared at him as he tenderly lifted the limp peacock from the ground. He sat on his haunches, rocking slay.

back and forth and began to cry harder. He pulled the dead bird to his chest and wailed helplessly. Who killed his pet, Mark? I swallowed back my own tears. It attacked me. Mark was coming closer now. I could hear him as he approached me from behind. I turned on him furiously, the panic lifting at last.

Tell him you're sorry. It attacked me. But he wasn't really hearing me. He was staring at the little boy as he rocked on his heels and wept for his lost friend. I couldn't stand it anymore, watching him cry like that. Very slowly, I approached the boy, carefully as if he were a butterfly that could be startled and flutter away. When I was close enough, I dropped to a knee.

We're very sorry about your bird. He didn't look at me, but I saw his hands seek deeper into the iridescent blue-green feathers as he hugged it. Hard. Do you want us to talk to your mom? I looked at Denison shrugged, hoping I was right and the plain-faced woman we met earlier was the boy's mother. I can talk to her if you want. Fuck that. I'm getting out of here. Then Mark snapped his fingers.

A camera! Oh shit, I'm getting a picture of this freak. Mark? I snapped my head up to look at him, but he was already gone, running back to the car for his Polaroid. This was enough, more than enough, and I wouldn't let it happen. I'd let too much happen already. Dennis do not let him take a picture. I am so goddamn serious. Dennis nodded and headed off in Mark's direction.

I looked back and found the little boy watching me with wet brown eyes. His cries had tapered to sad sniffles, but he was still rocking back and forth. On impulse, I placed my hand gently on his little sweatered shoulder. I'm sure he was a good bird. He gave a shuddering sigh and nodded. I tried to smile. There's a hot lump in my throat, and I forced it down. It was like swallowing a rock.

All this, for a few beers? For a moment, I didn't say anything. I just let him sit there, my hand on his shoulder, his dead peacock in his lap, trying to make sense of what this loss meant. But it could possibly mean that the bird wasn't moving, it would never move again. Never make its alien, you, you, you sound that was probably music to this little boy. ears. Then I heard footsteps. Mark was coming back, Dennis on his heels. I said no way. Shut the fuck up. This is ten times better than a stupid picture of us touching the door. Mark trotted up and

towered over me, the Polaroid camera in his hands. Move, Pammy. I'm going to snap a pick of the bubblehead. I let go of the boy's shoulder who was staring up at Mark with an expression of fear and confusion to turn and block him from the view. You are not taking a picture of him so you could show it off to your locker room buddies. You already killed his pet, Mark. Just leave him alone. Pammy, I've about had it with your smart mouth tonight. If Dennis won't shut you up, then I will.

Move your ass! I began to straighten with the intent of taking the camera away from him when he shot a hand out and shoved me. Horth. Caught off guard and off balance, I went tumbling backwards into the little boy and his bird. It all happened very fast. Dennis grabbed Mark by the collar of his shirt and began to wrestle with him, trying to get Mark's head into a choke hole. Mark dropped the camera. It went off with a flash and a mechanical wearing noise. For an instant, we were all painted in a brilliant white light, a terrible portrait of grimaced, ugly faces.

I yelled a wordless sound as I hit the ground. The little boy began to really sob now heavy piercing cries that bordered on screen. I turned on my hands and knees to make sure he was all right. He looked okay. The bird looked okay, although still... very dead, but before I could say something to make him calm down, a cracking report sliced through everything else. Ears ringing, I whipped around to see the woman. The same plain-faced woman who turned us away with a smile and a kind admonition, standing on the steps of her house, double-barreled shotgun in hand. She wasn't smiling now. Her eyes were wild, the eyes of a mad grizzly bear protecting

its cub. She cocked the shotgun, sending the spent shells flying, and leveled it at her shoulder. It all came together at once in that terrifying way when your brain works faster than you thought possible or perhaps you have your lizard brain to thank this was the boy's mother she was not as she seemed and we only got one warning shot

run I struggled to my feet Dennis released Mark and bolted towards the car I could hear Barb inside screaming I lost my footing briefly but soon I was on my way too I looked over my shoulder to see Mark on his hands and knees. I wasn't sure if Dennis had left him that way until I saw that Mark was grabbing for the camera.

I was halfway to the car. Mark heard me and looked up. Maybe that's what did it. Maybe that's all it took that one second of hesitation. The woman took aim and fired the shotgun again. Mark screamed in agony, crumpling over the Polaroid on the lawn in front of the small white house. It was getting smaller as I ran.

He was clutching his legs still screaming when I heard the woman bellow. I didn't know what that meant, and I had no intention of sticking around to find out. We scrambled to the car, Dennis in the driver's seat, me in the back, Barb still wailing in the passenger seat. Drive, Dennis! I twisted in my seat to look through the back window. Mark was still in the ground, grabbing his buck's shut legs, screaming either in pain or for us to come back. I was still watching him, my heart hammering in my ears, face hot with a rush of panic blood when I saw them come out of the woods. Some of them had no legs and dragged themselves along the grass with thick, muscular forearms.

Some had uneven limbs that swung back and forth as they lumbered across the lawn. Some had the same huge head I'd seen on the little boy, swollen to near impossible sizes. They descended upon Mark and the screaming evolved into something beyond screams. A strangled, tangled noise of pure animal panic and pain. Barb heard this, did not see it, and began making the same shrill cry over and over, like a dog that's been kicked. Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, for the love of fucking God, Dennis, just drive. Dennis stomped on the gas.

We were mostly turned back around towards the road, but he had to do some maneuvering to get us pointed the right way on that little stone bridge. While he did, Barb screamed, and I pounded the passenger side window, urging him to hurry, hurry, please fucking hurry. Gravels spat out from under our tires when he finally got us straight. There was the squeal of burning rubber, and then we were off barreling down the narrow winding road at break-nuck-swain. We were going fast. His turn was nearly amiss, the car threatening to spin off the road or flip end over end.

I kept looking through the back window to see if they'd followed us. I was sobbing uncontrollably, but lizard brain was in charge by then, and it was almost like I was out of my body, regarding the situation with a sort of cool detachment. If we could get out the woods, if they didn't follow us, everything would be okay. We were nearly there. The trees were beginning to clear. I think we left them. Just then I heard the sound of crunching metal and Dennis screaming. I rolled around to see one of them on the hood of the car. He looked like the boy's big brother with an enormous, grotesque head of his own. And I had only time to see two things before he began to bash the windshield with both fists. He was grinning, and he was wearing quarterlies.

Dennis turned the wheel wildly from side to side, trying to shake the man off the hood, but it was no use. He was incredibly strong and well-planted, using his ropey, muscled arms to smash again and again, causing the glass to splinter and crack beneath him. Suddenly, I felt my whole body cease forward. The bolt of pain went through my neck like nothing I'd ever felt before him. In the midst of Dennis and Barb screams, everything went black. I don't know how long I was out. When I woke up, it was still dark.

my entire body ached unbearably when I could force myself to sit forward wiping the dried blood from my eyes I saw what had happened I remembered everything all at once bubblehead rode the dead peacock the little boy Mark that idiot going back for the camera the car had crashed headlong into the trunk of a huge old tree

in the front seat Dennis and Barbara unnervingly still before I could lean forward to check on them further, I heard a rustling in the woods outside the shattered passenger window. Gingerly, I turned my head to see what it was, fearing more of the brothers. It was the little boy, creeping along in his corduroy pants. The look on his face, his tiny face, the miserable eyes beneath the bulging head, I'll never forget it.

He didn't speak, but I could almost hear him saying, this is what happens. Not an accusation, not a threat, just a sad, simple statement. This is what happens. Suddenly his face was awash with lights of red and blue. His eyes widened and he began to scamper away, then thought better of it. He hurried to the car and dropped something in my lap through the devastated remains of the passenger window. Then he was gone.

Scuttling away into the woods, back to his mother's house where his dead bird was waiting to be buried. I tucked what he'd given me into my pocket as the lights got brighter and I started to lose consciousness. When the darkness crept into the corners of my vision, I had enough time to hear, stay calm, miss, don't move. And then I was gone again. I spent three weeks in the hospital, first for the car crash injuries, then because I'd been babbling after my surgery about monsters in the woods. They kept me for psychiatric evaluation, but by then I'd learned to keep my mouth shut

and was soon approved for release. There was a memorial at school for Dennis, Barb, and Mark. I didn't go. I couldn't bear the talking, the rumors. The classmates whispering about how when they'd found Mark's body, it was little more than shredded meat and bone, attacked by a mountain lion, some said. But others said much worse because it was truth,

and they didn't even know it. As for what the boy gave me, I don't know where it went. Maybe when they stripped me in the ambulance, someone saw it and threw it out. Maybe they thought it was a prank. Or when they saw it, they couldn't reconcile with themselves what it really was, so it had to be destroyed.

Maybe the government hasn't. I don't know, but I wish I still had it. Because the boy meant for me to. It was meant as a warning. A permanent reminder of what monstrous things we can do when we don't know how our actions can hurt others. Setting in motion a terrible domino effect that leaves the lives of those involved forever damaged beyond repair. So every day I try to picture in my mind Keep the image sharp and crisp to honor

What that little big-headed boy tried to teach me On an early spring night in 1979 A Polaroid of me as I fell backwards Pushed by Mark in an attempt to get his prized shot I'm drenched in white light My teeth are pulled back in a grimacing sneer My hands windmilling as I tried to stop myself from falling Look like claws

My long, dark hair is fanned around my head in a grotesque halo. Behind me, clutching his dead bird, just about to start wailing, is the little boy. He's looking right at me. He's absolutely terrified because I look like a monster. I hope you survived our terrifying tales. Join us again next week, if you dare. The No Sleep Podcast Hour is presented by WNSP in conjunction with Creative Reason Media.

The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cordette. 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 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 Hour, we thank you for tuning in.

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