The NoSleep Podcast - S18 Ep6: NoSleep Podcast S18E06

Episode Date: July 31, 2022

Tune in to Episode 6 of Season 18 and get into the zone!“Body Heat” written by P. F. McGrail (Story starts around 00:02:30)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Peter Lewis“Beach Memories” written by Matt Tighe (Story starts around 00:07:30)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – David Ault, Dad – James Cleveland, Mum – Erika Sanderson, Old Man – Andy Cresswell“One More Slice at Enzo’s” written by Hans A Carpenter (Story starts around 00:14:40)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Tommy – Dan Zappulla, Mikey – Atticus Jackson“This Is What Evil Sounds Like” written by Alec Blome (Story starts around 00:38:50)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Sherry Lynn Nance – Erin Lillis, Jack B. Frost – Graham Rowat, Pete – Jeff Clement, Woman on Phone – Mary Murphy“Cleaning Out My Closet” written by Justin Wayne Ratliff (Story starts around 01:08:40)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Matthew Bradford“Sing For Us Soon Again” written by E.W.H. Thornton (Story starts around 01:18:30)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Madri Kapoor – Katabelle Ansari, Hector – Guy Woodward, Penelope – Ilana CharnelleThis episode is sponsored by:ZocDoc - Zocdoc is a free app that shows you doctors who are patient-reviewed, take your insurance, and are available when you need them. Go to Zocdoc.com/nosleep and download the Zocdoc app for free. Then start your search for a top-rated doctor today.Quip - Quip is the good habits company for oral health. With their leading-edge electric smart toothbrush combined with dentist-recommend scheduled replacement plans for brush heads, toothpaste, floss, chewing gum, and mouthwash - Quip makes oral care easy and affordable. And if you go to getquip.com/nosleep right now you'll get your first refill FREEClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Aeralie BrightonExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Beach Memories” illustration courtesy of Krys HookuhAudio 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

What's this you say? The No Sleep Podcast. Well, I don't know nothing about no podcasts. I like TV shows. The good kind of TV. Like medical shows. I remember back in the 60s when they had the best medical dramas ever made. Dr. Kildare, Ben Casey, Marcus Wilby.

Hell, even General Hospital had great doctors. Those were the days, I tell you. Back when doctors and TV shows cared of. about people. Okay, Gramps. Yes, the 60s had some wonderful doctors on TV, but these days it can be a little tougher to find a good doctor, on TV, or in real life.

That's why you sleepless listeners need to consider Zoc Doc. Zoc Doc is a free app that shows you doctors who are patient reviewed, take your insurance, and are available when you need them. On Zoc Doc, you can find every specialist under the sun. Whether you're trying to manage those molars, spiff up your spine, shine up your skin, or anything else, Zoc Doc has you covered. Zoc Doc's mobile app is as easy as ordering a ride to a restaurant or getting delivery to your house. Search, find, and book doctors with a few taps. Find and review local doctors.

Read verified patient reviews from real people who made real appointments. Now, when you walk into that doctor's office, you're all set to see someone who is, your network and who gets you. Go to Zocdoc.com. Find the doctor that's right for you and book an appointment in person or remotely that works for your schedule. Every month, millions of people use ZocDoc. Make it's your go-to when you need to find and book a quality doctor. Go to Zocdoc.com slash no sleep and download the ZocDoc app for free. Then start your search for a top-rated doctor today. Many are are available within 24 hours. So that's Z O-C-D-O-C dot com slash no sleep.

Yes, Zock-Doc dot com slash no sleep. And since we're talking about the 60s, it's time to fire up the horror. The memories that burn hottest aren't always the milestones. Some were, to be sure, walking down the aisle together when I tripped and she caught me. The whole church laughed.

Dr. Ophelis telling us she heard two heartbeats on the ultrasound, burying sparky in the backyard as we held each other and cried. But the everyday experiences stand out just as much. She taps her knees while reading the paper and has never failed to burn toast. She can raise one eyebrow, but not the other, and claims to be one quarter witch. The thoughts all flow. me at once as she clutches my hand and begs me not to go, but I've held on long enough.

The fire has engulfed the entire car, and I escaped, but her leg is stuck. So I pry her fingers from mine and step away as she screams and burns, but there's nothing I can do. You're sleepless in another dimension. A dimension of horror, cursed to be frightened and disturbed. A journey into a terrifying land whose boundaries are inky darkness. Your next stop. The no-sleep zone. Now open the door.

Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. You're now in the middle ground between light and shadow. I'm David Cummings, and this is the No Sleep Zone. It's always so romantic to hear a husband speak so glowingly about his wife. After all these years, he still thinks she's hot. A tribute to love from author P.F. McGrail. From the tale which was this episode's cold open. Body Heat, performed by Peter Lewis.

We welcome you to the next stop in Season 18's Journey through the decades of old-time television. We have arrived in the 1960s, a time when one particular TV show took people on strange, thought-provoking, and sometimes terrifying journeys. It was, and some might think, still remains,

the gold standard of anthology television. But I like to say it's silver. Sirling silver, as it were. Well, we hope you celebrate the 60s with us, especially for those wonderful people lucky enough to be born in this delightful decade. And speaking of delightful, we are honored to welcome a special guest artist to this episode. Aurely Brighton is a dynamic, award-winning recording artist and voice-over talent known throughout the video gaming and soundtrack industries. She was recognized amongst

her global peers and achieved the Artist of the Year Video Game Music Award in 2015. Brighton's voice is also featured in one of the world's biggest games, Minecraft, and her work can be heard in Rift, Siberia 3, and various other AAA video games. Aureli teamed up with our maestro Brandon Boone to perform two songs which Brandon wrote for this episode's final tale, Sing for us soon again. We're grateful to have the musical talents of both Brandon and Aurely for this very special story. And so, it's a little. It's a very special story. And so it's the 60s and we're psyched. Now, that's the signpost up ahead.

Your next stop awaits as the horror begins. In our first tale, we head down the shore. It's summer after all, and the sand and surf is a great way to enjoy some family fun. But as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author Matt Ty, There is danger at the shore, and it's not just the riptides and sharks in the water. Performing this tale are David Alt, James Cleveland, Erica Sanderson, and Andy Cresswell. So put on your sunscreen, enjoy yourself, and remember all those good times as you make beach memories. I blink in surprise. Sure, the summer sun is hot and bright and glints off the water, but I don't

think it should make the whitewash look that pale pink color. But then the next wave crashes and whatever it was disappears. It's only a tiny stretch of beach, but it's still surprising there are not a few more people. There were several cars parked in the wide clearing just over the dunes, and I can see two piles of belongings on the little beach as well, towels and bags and an umbrella that has fallen sideways, but the owners are not in evidence. There is an old, couple a little ways away from me, though. She is wearing a big floppy hat, and they lay out their beach gear with the unconscious synchronicity of lifelong partners. The old guy smiles at her in an absent sort of way. It's sweet. But for some reason it makes me uneasy, like I'm forgetting

something important. There is one other group that has just arrived, a family, mom, dad, a teenage girl. As I'm watching, the girl laughs and runs from mum, her long brown hair streaming out behind her. She dives into the water, straight into a cresting wave, and just for a moment, I'm sure the foaming water flashes pink again. She doesn't come up. Her mother falters in her pursuit, looks around for a moment and then turns back to Dad. She says something, and they both laugh and flop down onto their towels. I stare at them, and then at the small breaking waves. The girl doesn't surface.

Mum lays back and closes her eyes. Dad reaches into a bag and pulls out a paperback. Just down from them, the old woman, Sans's hat, is thigh-deep in the water. I take a few steps towards Mom and Dad, looking between them and the water. The girl has been under for a long time. Hey! Dad looks up from his book. Yes.

Can I help you? I take a few more steps towards them, glancing pointedly at the water. water as I do so. You, um, you aren't worried? She's been under for a long time now. Dad has the same brown hair and open, honest face as his grinning daughter, but he isn't smiling. Who?

Now mum is sitting up and looking at me curiously. Your daughter? She dove in. Dad's frown deepens, but it's mum who responds. We don't have a daughter. I don't know what to say. Then it makes sense. and I shake my head, they are wasting time.

Whoever the girl was, is. It's dad that replies this time, and there is a guarded note to his voice as he slowly stands up. We are here alone. I stare at them both, and they stare back. Finally, I look down and see something. I point.

You have three towels laid out. Mum looks down at the three towels, one with red stripes, one green, one blue. Obviously a set. but she shakes her head. I don't know who owns that red towel. They look at each other and I can read their thoughts loud and clear. They think I'm a crazy person.

I point out at the water. Look, I don't know what's going on, but a girl dove in and hasn't come up. I thought she was with you. You chased her. Even as I say it, I realize how weird it sounds. Dad looks at Mum and then he bends and grabs their towels. He leaves the third one, but I notice Mum's gaze seems to slide. hide away from that red-striped towel like she doesn't want to see it.

I look past them. The old woman is now standing a little deeper in the water, but she is watching us. Her husband has done one better and come on over. Ask them. Dad frowns at me and then turns. When I look again, the old lady is gone, and I get a glimpse of pink foam as a wave breaks where she had been standing. Them? The old man steps up now.

next to Dad. I'm here by myself. I argue, of course. I point out the big bag and the floppy straw hat sitting with the old guy's gear down the beach. Not mine. But I can see him frown a little. Just like the mum, his gaze slides away from the unclaimed beach accoutrements and back to me. You're scaring these nice people.

Mum and Dad nod, but I'm not paying them much attention. I'm looking at the same. the water, the small crashing waves and the foaming whitewash, there are no flashes of pink. There is still no girl and no old lady, and I am scared too. My hands shake as I unlock my car. I keep seeing the way Mum didn't want to see that red-striped towel and the way the old man's eyes slid away from that floppy straw hat. I keep seeing those flashes of pink. As I settle into the driver's seat, I realize a I've left whatever I took to the beach back down there on the sand. I'm thinking about going back

when my gaze settles on something else. It takes a moment for me to register what I'm looking at, a lipstick case sitting in the console between the front seats. That feeling of forgetting something has come back and as I stare at the lipstick, all I can think of is that first pink flash of foam on the water. I glance in the rearview mirror, but then I let my gaze slide away. I know I came to the beach alone. I know I'm single. And there is no reason I know for a child's booster seat to be in the back of my car. Imagine growing up in a town with a restaurant that you thought served the best food ever.

Now imagine the pain of knowing you'll never taste it again after the restaurant closed. That sets the scene for this tale, shared with us by author Hans A. Carpenter. You see, two brothers discover a second location of their favorite long-lost restaurant, one which promises to serve them up some fondly remembered pizza. Performing this tale are Dan Zapula and Atticus Jackson. So let's get ready for some cheesy, crusty delights as we head out for one more slice at Enzo's. It's funny, the way food and memory go hand in hand. Can you sum your childhood up in one dish?

See, I absolutely can, a pepperoni pan pizza from Enzo's pizzeria. When you're a kid going out to eat as a treat, when you grow up poor like my brother and I, it's even more of a treat. Now, we weren't destitute, but in a family firmly planted in the low end of middle class, it was a big deal to go out to a restaurant. Enzo's was one of the only places accessible to us. Pizza is a great way to feed a family on a budget, so Enzo's became our go-to. Birthday? Enzo's.

Straight A's? Enzo's. I guess over time, we began to associate anything positive with the trip to Enzo's. Maybe that's why it sticks out in my memory so much. Well, that, and it was just plain good. I've tried for a very, very long time to get a slice that holds up to Enzo's and I'm I don't know if it's the kitty nostalgia goggles, but nothing compares. The cheese, the pepperoni that would crisp and curl up a bit on the edges,

the pan crust that would brown just right. It was magical. It broke our hearts when Enzo's burned down. It was your run-of-the-mill kitchen fire in the middle of the night. Nobody was hurt, luckily. Still, Enzo's never reopened. The remains were bulldozed and became an extension lot for the neighboring car dealership. Well, Mikey and I would reminisce about Enzo's from time to time.

As much as I loved the place, I think Mikey loved it more. He was older than me, after all, so his memories had to be even stronger. I guess that's why he was practically giddy when he called me in the middle of a workday with news that couldn't wait. Mikey, is everything all right? What are you doing on Saturday? For Christ's sake, I mean, couldn't you just text me? No, no, no. You can't text something like this.

Tommy, we're going to Enzo's. Wait, what? Turns out it was a franchise. All these years, we thought it was just some mom and pop shop. But it's a franchise. Well, not much of one anymore. Turns out there's still one left. It's a six-hour drive.

But it's Enzo's. Wait, are you sure it's not just a pizzeria that happens to be called Enzo's? It can't be that uncommon of a name. I looked at the website and Facebook page. It's definitely our Enzo's. Come on. We'll get a slice Saturday. I don't...

Tommy. Please? Mike wasn't begging. He was too proud to do that. Still, I knew him enough to know that tone, that directness. How much this meant to him. Sure. I'm in.

"'Mike needed this. I knew that much. The last year had been brutal for him. The divorce was bad enough, but seeing his ex pregnant again was just too much. They had tried to get pregnant for years. Eventually, they drifted apart, and she moved on. Mikey didn't. Going to Enzo's was the first time I'd heard him excited about anything in a very long time. How could I take that away from him? When Saturday came around, I offered to drive, but Mikey wouldn't have it. He wanted to leadfoot his way to the last Enzo's on Earth, and he wanted to prove Google Maps wrong in the process. The ride felt like old times. We talked about our favorite memories of Enzo's, from playing the Guns and Roses pinball machine

to winning bouncy balls in the quarter baseball game. Mostly, we talked about those amazing pizzas and celebrations with Mom and Dad. I wish they were still here to go with us one more time. The last hour of the ride, things got quiet. I was scanning the radio stations, and You Look Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton was playing. I tried to move on quick, but Mikey stopped me.

It was their song. Mikey started to tear up. Man, I'm sorry. No, it's fine. just, we wanted the kids so bad. I think she blamed me. And now, to know it was really my fault. Mike, you don't talk like that. No, it was. She gave birth last week. After all the miscarriages, I'm happy for her. Miscarriages? Plural? Three. Just about the time we thought we'd moved on from the last one.

We'd try again. Things would be going smooth. We'd finally start hoping, planning for a new life, and then... Mikey had to pull off on the shoulder for a minute. There was nothing I could say. I just put my hand on his shoulder. After a minute or two, he just wiped his eyes and pulled back on the highway. Neither of us spoke for a long time after that.

The closer we got to Enzo's, the more the heaviness in the air. air began to lift. Mike was practically giddy as he took the exit the GPS said was a half a mile for Menzos. I admit I was getting pretty amped up myself. In 500 feet, the destination is on your right. We pulled into the parking lot, and the excitement in the car turned to confusion, then to despair. What we found was the shell of an old fast food joint, a Wendy's by the look of it, that had been repainted several times. From what we could see, the last tenants had been a Mexican restaurant. Mikey was sure the GPS had been wrong,

until I pointed out the silhouette of an E and S, stained under the makeshift banner of the previous restaurant. Mikey got out and cupped his hands on the window while I aimlessly kicked rocks in the parking lot. Then he sighed and slumped against the door. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. I don't get it. Yesterday there was a web page, a Facebook page, a Google business profile.

Google even had it marked green for open today. It's all gone. All of it. Like it never existed. Mikey was on the verge of tears. All I wanted was the goddamn slice of pizza. Is there too much to ask? Look, this sucks.

But let's get back on the road. Maybe we can at least get some pizza somewhere else or find a bar or something. Mikey didn't put up much resistance. We decided to take a slightly longer path home and avoid the freeway. We figured we could bump into somewhere cool along the way, taking the road less traveled. At least something that wasn't a cracker barrel or a Bob Evans. About two hours into our return trip, I had nodded off when Mikey slammed on the brakes. Holy shit. Did you hit something? No. Look!

Holy shit was right. Here, on a two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere, sat a busy, vibrant Enzo's pizzeria. Mikey pulled in and barely had the ignition turn before he was out of his seat and at the door. Inside, it looked just like our Enzo's. It was uncons. It was uncutely. canny. The wood paneling, the stained glass fixtures, the checkered tablecloths were all just like I remembered. They even had the same vending machine in Guns and Roses pinball. Kids were running around, families laughing, and the smell. I knew right away we were in the right place. We grabbed a booth and Mikey went all out on our order. He ordered two large pepperoni pans, one to take home, breadsticks and cheesy garlic bread.

I asked the server if they accepted Apple Pay. She looked very confused, but before she could answer, Mikey waved off my question. It's on me, bro. The food came surprisingly quickly, and it was incredible. And not only lived up to my childhood nostalgia, but surpassed it. This was the best pizza I had ever had, maybe the best meal, period. As satisfied as I was, Mikey was practically orgasmic. I stopped for a second to enjoy the surroundings and let it all sink in.

And that's when I noticed something odd. An older couple by the door was staring at us. Not just staring, but glaring at us. I leaned in close to Mikey. You see those old people by the door? Is it just me or are they staring daggers at us? Mikey wheeled around to look over his shoulder. Way to be subtle, Mikey.

Don't be a worse. And yeah, they're definitely given us the old evil eye. I glanced back at the couple who hadn't broken their icy stare. What's their problem? They're old people. Old people are cranky. That explanation, crude as it was, may have been enough for me. It certainly was for Mikey who went back to stuffing his face.

But something just didn't sit right about that older couple. I looked back to catch their gaze when I noticed that not only were they still staring at us, but the table next to them was as well. It was a mother, father, and two little kids who had all quit talking and eating, and were staring at us with the same irritation as the older couple. I leaned in. Okay, this is getting weird. Now another table's looking.

I know my table manners aren't the best, but am I that much of a pig? Mikey whirled around and lingered for just a moment. He tried waving at the family who ignored him and never broke their gaze. Okay. That is a bit odd. Mikey slumped back for a second, thinking. Doesn't the dad look familiar? I locked eyes with the guy for an uncomfortable second.

He had a long nose, thick. rimmed glasses and brown hair, but otherwise looked unremarkable. Not really. I swear I know him from somewhere. You get a look at that Rams jersey? They haven't made those since the mid-90s, and it looks brand new. It's probably some throwback. I feel sorry for the poor bastard trying to hawk St. Louis Rams' throwback jerseys. I swear though, that guy looks really familiar. Mikey pulled out his phone. I took another bite of pizza and tried to ignore the staring patrons. It was unnerving. There's no amount of ignoring someone looking right at you

that can erase the feeling of having someone's eyes trained on you. Can I help you? I blurted out rudely at the older couple. They didn't respond. They didn't even flinch. Now I noticed more tables were starting to stare at us. Okay, Mikey, this is starting to freak me out. Tommy, I do know that guy.

That's Jack Phillips from back home. I don't know him. Yeah, you wouldn't. He died when I was 14. Wait, what? You heard me. He killed himself in 1998. Bullshit.

Here, look! Mikey thrust his phone in my face. Sure enough, there was a scanned article from 1998. The headline was, Father Murder's Family, Attack's First Responders. Right there at the top of the page was a family photo of a man with a long nose, brown hair, and thick, rimmed glasses. There was no doubt. This was the same guy currently sitting across the pizzeria from us.

This was the same wife and kids. The article said that one November evening in 1990, Jack Phillips killed his wife Chinette, his son Brandon, his daughter Brittany, and the family cat, before setting the house on fire and jumping into the blaze. Okay, this photo does look a lot like those people over there. I slid the foam back. Mikey had his head in his hands. It doesn't look like them, Tommy.

It is them. Mikey, are you trying to tell me that there is a table full of dead people sitting over there? Not just over there. It was just then that I noticed the restaurant had gotten uncomfortably quiet. The talking, the laughing, the ambient sound of conversation. It was all gone. Everyone in the restaurant was deathly quiet. And I noticed they were all staring at us now.

Every single man, woman, and child in the whole restaurant. I guess you were too young to remember that old couple by the door. The ones you first noticed. That's Pearl and Donnie Harris. They lived down the street from us. They died when we were kids, too. Donnie used to give me half dollars when I had lemonade stands. Okay, I'm officially freaked out.

Grandin Phillips. I used to see him all the time at the pool. We weren't friends, but I saw him a lot. Okay, Mikey, we officially need to leave. Tommy. Oh, my God. That's Tyler Lloyd. Mikey pointed over my shoulder.

Sure enough, there was Tyler Lloyd. He was a kid my age who had died in high school. He got wasted at a party and fell asleep on a pool raft after everyone had. left his house. His mom found him the next day. She killed herself a few years later. And she was sitting across the table from Tyler right this very fucking second staring at us. Jesus, Mikey, what the fuck are we going to do? We have to make a break for it or something. I don't know what these people want, but considering they're all dead and we aren't, it's probably not good. Plus, they all look Pissed. I may as well have been talking to myself because Mikey was miles away. He seemed to have locked eyes on the far corner of the room. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

Mikey? Beth is here. I followed Mikey's gaze across the room to a young brunette in a no-doubt t-shirt. It was Beth all right, Mikey's high school sweetheart. She died in a motorcycle. crash this senior year. She didn't want to stay at that party. I was too drunk to drive, and I didn't want to leave. She wanted to drive my car home, but I didn't want to have to catch a ride in the morning. I talked to her into hopping on the back of Brian's bike. She didn't want to, and she'd be alive right now if I had just let it take my car. We'd never spoken about it.

I knew the general details, but I'd never heard Mikey talk about it. I used to think my brother and I were close. To this day, I hate that I never talked to him about the stuff that mattered. Mikey carried a lot on his shoulders, and I never really knew it. Then again, I never really asked. Look, Mikey, we need to focus. The door isn't blocked, so let's just get up and walk calmly to the exit. If anyone moves, run for it.

Okay? Mikey's gaze never left, Beth. I snapped my fingers. Focus! We're going to walk calmly to the door. Get in the car and get the hell out of here. If they move, we run. Agreed?

I... Yeah. Let's go. Mikey and I finished our beers and stood up as calmly as we could, given the circumstances. I crossed over the table and beckoned Mikey out of the booth, and toward the door. No one tried to stop us.

Instead, their gazes follow us as we inched forward. That's when I stopped cold. Standing next to the register at the back of the building were our parents. They were young, much younger than when they had died. Early 30s, I guessed. They weren't glaring like the rest. Their expressions were much softer, with the hint of the same. sadness. Mikey saw them too. We both stared back at mom and dad for a good long moment before I

grabbed Mikey's arm. That's not them, Mikey. Come on, we need to go. Reluctantly, Mikey moved with me slowly toward the door. By now, the rest of the restaurant were on their feet, not in a threatening manner. They were just watching. They didn't look angry anymore. Just as I was about to open the door. We could hear a baby crying in the distance. The whales pierced the thick silence. Mikey stopped dead in his tracks. I tugged on his arm, but he was planted.

Mikey grabbed my hand and shoved his keys into my palm. I'm not going, Tommy. Mikey, you don't belong here. These people are dead. I don't belong out there. Please. I'm not leaving you. You have a lot to look forward to.

I have a lot to look back on. We're just heading in different directions. I'll miss you, little bro. I love you. There was no changing his mind. The dead were almost on us now, slowly walking and converging. It was now or never. I love you too, Mikey.

Take care of yourself, Tommy. And hey, the pizza was pretty good, right? Yeah. Yeah, it was. I turned around to look at my brother one more time. He was sobbing now in a group hug with mom, dad, and Beth. I miss Mikey every day. But I'll never forget that feeling of peace I got,

knowing that he was where he needed to be. I closed the door, and the lights at Enzo's went out, leaving a dark, empty restaurant. When I got back to Mikey's car, I looked back. Enzo's was gone. I'm sure soon the parking lot will be, too. I got back on the road. I didn't worry about how I would explain my brother's disappearance

or why there was a box of takeout from a dead pizza chain on the passenger seat. I just thought about my brother being happy for the first time in many, many years. I thought about how I was going to hug my wife and boys just a little tighter that night. It really was a damn good pizza. That was a sad one, but I got to admit, I'm now really hungry for pizza. Let's take a short break from the horror and ponder that last delicious slice of zah. And when you're done eating pizza, you know what to do. Look after those teeth of yours.

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If you go to get quip.com slash no sleep right now, you'll get your first refill free. That's your first refill free at g-et-k-u-I-P dot com slash no sleep. Ah, quip, it's the good habits company. And now we've got a podcast to return to, oh yeah, quite literally. In the podcast world, it's one of the most popular genres, with millions of listeners around the world. Of course, I'm talking about horror fiction podcast. No, no, that's my biased opinion. No, I'm actually referring to true crime podcasts. And as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author Alec Bloom, we discover a true crime podcast episode where the host interrogates a man who confessed

to murdering his family. Performing this tale are Aaron Lillis, Graham Rowett, Jeff Clement, and Mary Murphy. So let's listen in to hear all the gory details of this one. Turn up the volume because this is what evil sounds like. Long past the midnight hour on February 13, 1993, a Midwest family of four was savagely butchered in their sleep. When the sun eventually peaked over the horizon onto the quaint, idyllic farming community of Zabriski, Iowa.

Their bodies were discovered by the town's paper boy while out on his early morning route. Dylan Frost, 17, lay face down on the curb, drenched in his own blood, presumably attempting to flee the scene by way of his father's rusted out pickup truck. Significant blood loss from 23 stab wounds proved too much. He never made it to the truck.

Inside the house, his 15-year-old brother, Michael, never made it out of bed. His throat slashed one time, neat and clean. His mother, Claire, suffered a similar fate. She, however, had at least made it to the bedroom floor where she crawled around aimlessly, unknowingly in circles, and eventually bled out onto a mangy area rug, styled with faded camouflage print.

Just off the master bedroom, in the hallway bathroom. The smell of cheap beer and last night's bowel movement overpowered the stench of death where the family's patriarch was found lifeless, slumped atop his throne. The killer's knife lodged into his neck.

Claire's husband, Zachariah Frost, suffered hardship his entire life, but suffered the least of them all that night, already passed out pissed drunk on the toilet when the blade pierced his Adam's. apple. Four dead frosts, one traumatized paper boy. Scared shitless, he ran next door to the Verkamps, the elderly retired couple and near decade-long neighbor to the Frost family. But much to that young, terrified paper boy's dismay, he was not greeted by an aging, American Gothic ma-and-paw

farm couple eager to comfort a panicked kid in distress. For it was this year, the Verkamps decided to buck trend and spend an extended family holiday with their eldest daughter and newborn grandson in the desert, Phoenix. But as it turns out, their rustic Iowa home was not empty on this particular February morning. Inside, the rotary phones obnoxiously persistent off-the-hook tone was heard, and a fifth body was found, a fifth frost. But this one was very much alive and watching Saturday morning cartoons

in the Verkamp's TV room. X-Men A boy of only 11, his name, unfortunately, was Jack. Jack B. Frost. A silly name awarded by a drunken father fighting demons and debt. Jack was the youngest, the one they never wanted, the one they couldn't afford,

the one sitting on the Verkamp's postropedic recliner splattered in blood, not his own. Shortly after the sheriff arrived, young Jack needed no arm twisting nor corrupt police tactics to coerce a confession. He offered up his guilt freely and almost immediately. I say almost because he didn't utter a single word until the second of back-to-back X-Men episodes came to an end. While the credits rolled, Jack's beans spilled. Every kill, every detail. He wasn't in shock. He wasn't remorseful.

He was simply stating fact. First to go was his brother, Michael, then brother Dylan, then his mother. And finally, his father, Zachariah. Before he knew it, the deed was done. Just in time for his Saturday morning cartoons. Of course, the question of why was asked of young Jack. His answer was strange, mostly because it wasn't so much an answer as it was more a curious question of his own. Do they have phones in prison?

The trial came soon after, very soon. Some believe too soon. It was as if everyone touched by this tragedy just wanted to get the damn thing over with and get back to their normal, less heinous life. The details of the case were so unbelievably gruesome, grisly, and, quote, just not something that happens around here, end quote, so they said. They also said, they, being the judge and jury,

that young 11-year-old Jack B. Frost simply could not have committed those murders. Even with his detailed confession, they didn't believe him. They didn't want to. Survivor's guilt, it was determined. From the depths of his fractured psyche, Jack conjured up a tale of bloody murder so radical it simply could and would not be accepted as truth

by a panel of his, albeit, considerably older peers. And, believe it or not, the town of Zabrisky rallied around Jack B. Frost and showered the boy with blind, unabashed support. And I say, believe it or not, Because here in America, we've grown rather accustomed to vocal, public mobs, demanding heads-on spikes by way of immediate arrest and execution of the first and oftentimes only suspect taken into police custody.

Satanic cults, for example, tend to make great scapegoats around these parts. Though there is something to be said for how satisfying, how undeniably effective knee-jerk blind justice can be in quelling the rage and fear of a traumatized community. But not in Zabriski, Iowa. No, they weren't having any part of it. The years passed, life went on and got back to normal. After all, that is what everyone wanted.

But normal proved not good enough for Zabriski, as the little farming town would soon succumb to widespread drought and crippling bankruptcy. As its elder townsfolk passed, the younger generation moved on. Its already minuscule population dwindled rapidly until there was but only one resident left still standing. Jack B. Frost.

It's 2022, February 13th. Beard graying and stomach bulging, Jack is now 40 years old. As I speak, an Amazon package is being dropped off at his front stoop. I know this because I can see him peering through his bay window as the disgruntled FedEx driver walks back to the delivery truck. Yes, I am currently sitting in my car with my trusty, dutiful podcast producer Pete, watching and waiting for Jack to surface. And why exactly are we here today of all days? Because it's been 29 years to the day.

And Jack B. Frost, the lone survivor and only known suspect of the first. Frost Four murders still maintains his guilt. And I, Sherry Lynn Nance, want to talk to him. This is what evil sounds like. Hey, slow down, Sherry. We don't want to come off pushy again, like with the last guy. I'm not pushy, Pete. I'm intrepid. Yeah, sure. But we don't want to spook this guy. The point of this podcast is to help people distinguish the good from the evil, right? Red flags,

all evil folk have them. It's my job to point out those flags. And in order for our listeners, the good people, to accurately identify what evil sounds like, I have to push a few buttons. Hey, grab his Amazon package.

It'll be like we're bearing gifts. Or holding it for ransom. An intrepid podcaster's got to do what an intrepid podcaster's got to do. Now, smile. But not like that. Damn it, Pete smaller. Not so creepy. There you go. Mr. Frost? Mr. Jack B. Frost? It's Sherry Lynn Nance. We spoke on the phone. I was in the neighborhood and thought today would be a good day to have that sit-down we talked about for the podcast. Oh, you want to do that today? Yeah, I think it's time. May we come in? We have your package.

That you do. We came all this way just to see you, Mr. Frost. All I want to do is talk. It'll be quick and painless. I swear, you won't feel a thing. You have my word. Fine. Come on in.

But he needs to stop smiling. Of course. Pete, stop being weird. Oh, this is... It has a nice country feel to it. Homie, lived in. Never would have believed that this... That it was a murder house?

Well, yeah. Should I take my shoes off or... Worried about contaminating the crime scene? No, I just... Can I have my package? Oh, yeah, that's right. Sorry. You need help getting it open?

I carry a blade for just such an occasion. We get a lot of deliveries out here, do you? Not as many as I used to. Anything good? What is that? DVDs? Did you send this to me? Uh, no. FedEx guy did.

What is it? Not something you ordered? It is not. And the name on the return address is obviously fake. Gene Gray. Who's Jean Grey? Oh, she's an X-Men. Uh, also known as...

Phoenix. Oh, like, Rise from the Ashes, Phoenix? Did you do this? Do what? Send me a box set of the animated X-Men series. Now why would I do that? What kind of show is this again? As I told you earlier on the phone, we seek out admitted murderers, such as yourself, and just sit down with them for a nice little chat.

Get to know what they're really like. Find out what makes them so special. And hopefully we'll all learn a little something about ourselves along the way. Special? Special. Yeah. Find out what sets you apart from everyone else. I'm not different. I'm not special. Oh, I beg to differ, but hey, maybe I'm wrong.

It's all up to what the listeners believe anyway, isn't it? A lot of people are going to be listening to this thing? Do you listen to many podcasts? I do not. Well, not to boast too much, but we currently have the largest listenership on every major platform. Kind of a big deal, this true crime genre. and we just so happen to be the ones on top, ruling the roost.

Some even say it's the podcast people need right now. It's all pretty crazy, really. I simply tell people to spread the word and subscribe, and they do it, and it's actually grown into quite the following. They must like what they hear, I guess. Hell, these days, I'm bigger than cereal and Rogan combined. What's Rogan? The hair stuff? Uh-huh, yeah.

Why don't we go ahead and get started? Sound good? Not really, but you're here, so follow me. Right channel. Good, good. All right. Do I speak into this, then? Not right into it, but when I ask you a question, yes.

Don't be nervous. You'll do fine. Sure. Okay. We all good, Pete? Yeah, we're all good. Mr. Frost. In 1993, you killed four people in cold blood.

As an 11-year-old boy, you confessed as much back then, and today, 29 years on the dot, you are sticking to that story. Is that correct? Am I speaking out of turn here? Mr. Frost, did I say something that... Please, would you not call me Mr. Frost? Oh, would you prefer Jack then? If you're going to throw around the cold blood,

puns and chilling tales of murder lines or whatever you have up your sleeve, I'd be far more comfortable with Jack. Yes, please. Of course. Thank you. Jack, you murdered your family. You admit it. They are dead by your hand. Is that the truth?

It is the truth. With... With the boning knife my father gave me for Christmas two months earlier. Yes. The knife he more than likely stole out of Walmart's hunting section. That was your present? Well, it was for all of us to share, which meant it was his. So it wasn't actually your knife?

Nothing in that house was mine. This house, you mean? This house, yes. You had two brothers, correct? I'm sorry, I don't know how this works, but is this whole thing going to be questions you are? or do you know the answers to? I'd like to lay the groundwork of your story first, for the audience,

before we build upon it with the more engrossing, probing questions. Preferred to ease into it nice and slow before we jump into the deep end, if I'm being honest. I appreciate your honesty and understand the logic, but would you mind building faster, please? Okay, I can do that. Thank you. During your trial, you stated on the record

that a woman called the house around 1.30 in the a.m. You answered, what did this woman have to say? Not much, really. Other than to kill my parents and my brothers, it wasn't a terribly long conversation. That was it? No, no, she left me with one final instruction. She said after it was over not to worry,

and to leave and to go do something fun before the cops found me. said that would make me feel better, make me feel happy. Something fun? Like, watch Saturday morning cartoons all by your lonesome at the neighbor's house? I'd never even seen an episode in its entirety before, let alone too. It was nice. Did you feel better? After?

For a while, there was a relief, a sort of clarity for a while. Who was the woman on the other end of that phone? I don't know. She was young, I think, disguised her voice, never gave a name. Curious, do you typically do whatever strange women on the phone tell you to do? Sherry. Sorry, what I meant to ask, had anything similar happen before this or after? Not that I'm aware of.

Are you sure? Why? Don't you believe me? Oh, I'm just trying to establish whether or not any old person can persuade you to slaughter a group of four. No questions asked, or if it was just this one special person. Sherry. Sorry. Please, don't think I'm mocking here. No, far from it.

Really, I'm only trying to understand what made her so special. And why? Why did you do what she said? I guess what she was saying. Just made sense. Jack, was it your sister on the phone? Never had a sister. True, you never grew up with one.

You didn't know her, but you had a sister. Jillian. And as I understand, she made it out just before you did. Out of the womb, that is. Beat you by a good 90 seconds, according to my records. No, I don't think so. You must have him mistaken with one of your other special guests. You really don't know, do you?

There's nothing to know, other than the fact you're some whack-job conspiracy bullshiter looking for attention. Why on earth would I or anyone believe anything you, some random potter, has to say? You don't know a goddamn thing. I know they sold her and kept you. Which one of you was the lucky one? I'm not so sure. But that's what happened, Jack. you had a sister and she's the one who called you that night and convinced you to murder your family.

I thought you knew. That's bullshit. She's alive. What? Jack, I found her. Why? Why wouldn't my parents... Your parents were not good people, were they?

They... What? Your parents, Jack. They were a... They were parents. They weren't your parents for long, were they? Obviously. Have you killed since, Jack?

Since? No. Do you want to kill again, Jack? Me? No, I never wanted to hurt anyone, but... But what? It doesn't matter what I want. Only what she wants, right?

Gillian. I don't know who she is. is, and I don't care. You should. She helped you, didn't she? This isn't right? Do you want to talk to her, Jack? I don't want to do this anymore.

What is there to be afraid of? I'm not scared. I'm not scared. Now that's bullshit. You think I'm lying? I fully admit to murdering four people, and you think I'm lying to you? Obviously. Fuck you.

What are you so scared of, Jack? I'm not. Answer the fucking question. I don't want to kill anyone. I don't. Never did. You truly believe if she commands you to kill again, you will. Is that right?

No personal accountability, no self-control. Is that what you're telling me? I don't know. How could you not know? I don't know. You were just a child, Jack. You're a grown man now. What is this power you think she has over you?

She called. I answered. Then they were dead. They were all dead. Will you kill for her again? I don't know. Will you? I don't know!

Let's find out. What? What? What are you... Is this absolutely necessary? I'm only pushing a few buttons, Pete. That's all. Who are you calling?

Now, why are you asking questions you already know the answers to, Jack? No, no, no, please. Gillian. Your name is Jillian, correct? Jillian, as a barely newborn child in 1982, you were adopted. Is that also correct? Adopted, if you want to call it that. Is this the woman, Jack?

Is this her voice? Is this your sister? I don't know. It was so long ago. Gillian, tell me, I want to hear it from your mouth. You called Jack B. Frost on the night of February 13, 1993, and instructed him to kill his entire family, didn't you? Jillian, this is very important. I need you to do one more thing for me. Why would you call her? Hang up, Sherry. This is sick. Hang up the goddamn phone. Tell Jack to kill my podcast producer Pete.

Uh, what? Sherry, what the hell do you think you're doing? It's okay, Pete. Gillian, say it. Let's see what happens. Please. Beyond unhinged, you know that. Sherry!

Please! Just stay where you are. Pete. I'm not dying for a podcast. Pete. Calm down. He's not going to hurt you. Look at him. But what if? He would have done it by now. Just trust me. Sit.

What the hell was that? Damn it, Sherry? I wanted to see what would happen. See if she could control him. And she can't. Of course she can't. This is good news, guys. Come on, really. I was far from good, Sherry. Jesus Christ. How do you know that was my sister?

Or even the same? woman from before. Well, that's fair. Pete, I have his sister's birth certificate in my bag. The manila envelope. Would you mind? Would I fucking mind? Pete.

Fine. But you'll be looking for a new producer after today. Got it? There's your proof, Jack. Proof of what? Open it. Now that I think about it, I probably didn't need to pay her to say those things. Not sure I had to.

Damn. Could have saved myself 50? You paid who? That crazy Jillian lady? Like, as an actor? Jesus, Sherry? Why? Just in case.

In case of what? In case she didn't do what I said. Is this real? What's it say, Jack? This says, it says. Whose name is on that birth certificate, Jack? It says. Jillian.

Gillian. Sherry, Lynn, Frost. That's not... Sherry, what are you trying to do to this guy? This isn't right. He needs help. Not whatever twisted mind game. This is...

This is evil. What does this mean? I'm so sorry, Jack. I'm sorry they kept you. In a fair, just world, we would have stayed together. You needed me. You need me. You need your big sister.

Sherry? What do you want from me? I don't want to do this alone. Tell me. Jack, you're going to kill Pete now. How did that feel? I don't. You feel better.

Trust me. you feel better. I feel. So do I. Now, go sit down, watch your superheroes. Every episode, you earned it. You know, that is the one and only thing I loved about my childhood, the TV. Because any time it was on, it meant their attention was focused solely on it and not on me.

Growing up, my parents, the Nances, they were, gross unkind evil living with them became too much for an 11 year old girl to take

so I told them to kill themselves I mean just blurting it out was cathartic enough but Jack they actually went through with it well luck right

then I ran got the hell out of there and soon after I found you I found my home my real biological family but

you had it so much worse. And it wasn't just the parents. It was the brothers. Our blood brothers, Jack. How could they be blood when they were nothing like you and me and so much like them? Mean, vicious, fueled by hate and ignorance. Irredeemable they were. None of it made any goddamn sense.

It just wasn't fair. And it was in that moment, standing outside this. This very house, I realized I was truly lost. Alone, utterly abandoned. I didn't know what else to do. So I made a call sometime after midnight, with every intention of telling them all to off themselves right here in this shitty old house for the better of all humanity.

Good riddance. But you answered the phone, Jack. You were so fragile. I didn't want to scare you any more than you already were. I wanted to give you power. I wanted you to be happy. So I told you to kill them. And you did.

My God, it worked. Again. Yet, believe it or not, that scared me. I'm so sorry, Jack. But I ran. Again. From you, from myself, from this wicked power of mine

I never fully appreciated until recently. For so long I kept it buried, deep, never knowing what to do with it. Until now, there is just too much evil out there in this world, Jack. Murderers, rapists, thieves and liars, I've met them all, spoken with them on this very podcast. Bad, bad people, the lot of them.

But not us. We're different. Jack? There are others out there in need. Frightened people. In need of a big sister like me. I... No, we can help them.

We are the good ones here. We can make this world a better place. You and I, Jack, together. Brother and sister. I believe that. And so do you. And soon, so will the rest of the world. We just have to tell them what to do.

All they have to do is listen. And they will. Every last one of them. Well, that was quite the episode, wasn't it? Best one yet, if I do say so myself? Yeah, Pete died. But it was for a good cause. A big thank you, as always, to my loyal, devoted father.

for listening each and every week, hanging on to my every word. You truly know how to make a girl feel special. I've been your host, Sherry Lynn Frost, but you can call me Jill. Now, don't forget to rate, subscribe, and lay waste to everyone in your path. Annihilate every single person you see. Don't ask questions, don't hesitate, and don't worry, you'll feel so much better when the deed is done. We all will. Trust me.

And if you're still around, I hope you'll join us next week for another spellbinding episode of this is what evil sounds like. Say goodbye, Jack. The nightmares may be over, but the darkness will linger on, so long as you reside in the no-sleep zone. The No-Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandeis. in Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikalski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our creative content

manager is Olivia White. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy. If you would like to find out how you can hear the extended editions of our program, please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season Pass program, 25 episodes each over two hours long, and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only $25. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for joining us in the No Sleep Zone. This program is copyright 2022 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent

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