The NoSleep Podcast - S19 Ep11: NoSleep Podcast S19E11

Episode Date: April 16, 2023

It’s Episode 11 of Season 19. We ponder weak and weary with tales about menacing monsters.“The Last Run of the Lightning Bolt Freight Train” written by Seth Borgen (Story starts around 00:05:35)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCaspar Freemountain – Atticus Jackson“Field of Teeth” written by Martin Fisher (Story starts around 00:28:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – Dan Zappulla, Father – Jesse Cornett“Captain Furry” written by Ryan Peacock (Story starts around 00:41:45)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Mike DelGaudio, Eyewitness – Wafiyyah White, Officer Nick Whelan – Graham Rowat, Colin Prossler – Matthew Bradford, Officer Mike Davenport – Jeff Clement, Karly Baker – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Dr. Brad King – David Cummings“The Missing” written by Gene Gallistel (Story starts around 01:08:15)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Elie Hirschman“There’s More for a Dog to Fear than the Postman” written by Anna W. Clark (Story starts around 01:24:10)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Ash Millman, Sam – James Cleveland“Draystone’s Secret” written by Simon Bleaken (Story starts around 01:33:30)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Michael – David Ault, Draystone – Andy Cresswell, Lorraine – Erika Sanderson, Barrie – Jake BensonThis 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.Betterhelp - This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at betterhelp.com/nosleep and get on your way to being your best self.Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Edgar Allan Poe from author Rene RehnClick here to learn more about Seth BorgenClick here to learn more about Anna W. ClarkClick here to learn more about Simon BleakenExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Field of Teeth” illustration courtesy of Mark PelhamAudio program ©2023 – 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. The works of Edgar Allan Poe reside in the public domain. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The No Sleep Podcast becomes monstrous this week with tales about menacing monstrosities. My favorite horror monster is Frankenstein's monster. I don't know about you, but Dr. Frankenstein wouldn't be my first choice if I needed medical help. Thankfully, we can turn to Zoc Doc. Let's face it, when you need to see a doctor, you want someone who is exceptionally good at what they do. And sure, Frankenstein was good at bringing the dead back to life, but since you're probably still alive, you want to find the right doctor for your needs. When you find the right doctor, you can feel it. You feel heard and at ease.

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Millions of people use ZockDoc's free app to find and book a doctor in their neighborhood who is patient reviewed and fits their needs and schedule just right. So 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 available within 24 hours. That's Z-O-C-D-O-C dot com slash no-sleep. It's simple. Zocdoc.com slash no sleep.

And now get ready, because here there be monsters. In the dark shadows of the Rue Morg to the rhythm of the stolen telltale heart as the black cat swings upon the pendulum and the cask offers its sherry deep and dry. As you knock at our chamber door, we open and usher you. Our sleepless tales for you in store. And the terror shall be lifted. Brace yourself for the no sleep.

Welcome to the No Sleep podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. In our world of interconnection with seemingly every bit of information available across the planet, it's difficult not to be made aware of the evil, dark, harmful, and downright criminal behavior of people. It's easy to get caught up in it and to have our fears stoked by it. Around every corner there seems to be a threat waiting to strike. Perhaps it's true what they say. Ignorance is bliss.

But if we think back in time to simpler pre-internet, pre-television, hell even pre-radio days, people who enjoyed the idea of horror entertainment were thrilled and chilled, not so much by reality, but by the fantastical beasts and monsters of literature and film. They may seem quaint by today's standards, but monsters like the mummy, the wolfman, Dracula, Frankenstein's monster, well, they chilled people to the bone. Monsters are a staple of the horror genre, and in this episode we feature tales which present us with modern monsters who seek to evoke the same fear of the monsters of yore.

In his tale, The Sphinx, Edgar Allan Poe tells of a man who flees to the country to avoid a deadly cholera outbreak in the city. While visiting a relative, he glances up from a novel he's reading to be terrified by what he sees. A beast he describes as an enormous creature, large, than any ocean-going ship. Its trunk is about 70 feet long. It has two tusks at its base like an elephant, surrounded by a huge mass of black hair, with two pairs of wings, each wing nearly 100 yards in length, and all thickly covered with metal scales. Now imagine seeing such a sight outside your living room window. I won't spoil the ending for you, but the man soon discovers what he had

actually seen. Ah, but the terror instilled by the perceived monster, left him badly shaken. We hope you'll be badly shaken, in the best possible way, by the monsters you're about to meet. Because no matter how monstrous some people behave these days, there is still delicious horror to be found in the monsters hiding in the darkness of our minds.

And now, our tales come to you upon a midnight dreary. Best not to ponder them while weak and weary. In our first tale, we meet a man, nay, a legend, known in his hometown as a superstar athlete bound for an all-star career on the gridiron. That is, until an injury scuttled his dreams of football glory. And as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author Seth Borgon, the man settles into a normal life running a security company. Well, it would be a normal life if he didn't have to watch over the local abandoned mall

with a mysterious past. Performing this tale is Atticus Jackson. So try not to live in the memories of your glory days, even when you listen to the story of the last run of the Lightning Bolt freight train. You might think Casper Fremount's life was fueled by regret. The basically good people of Monument think so. They see them around town at the grocery store maybe.

or picking up a pizza at Tomasovs. And they think to themselves, would you look at that? That used to be Casper Freemountain. I know they think that, because I'm Casper Free Mountain. And sometimes they don't just think it. What they're referring to is how back in high school,

my life was spread out before me like Henry the 8th's dinner table. That's true in theory. for just about everyone in high school. But it's truer for some than others, or at least seems truer. And without a doubt, back in high school, I was a bona fide card-carrying, dues-paying member of the truer for some. You see, when it comes to sports, I'm the closest thing monument has to a gloried past. From mid-teens on, I could out-hit, out-throw, out-catch, and out-run any adult in the county.

and the next county over, and the next county after that. The local paper dubbed me the Lightning Bolt Freight Train. Rumor has it that the editorial board couldn't decide between Casper Lightning Bolt Freemountain or Casper Freight Train Free Mountain. And in the end, they just decided to go for broke. Baseball, basketball, track. I was a one-man wrecking crew. But where I truly excelled was football.

One year, Monument thought a gridiron was something you cooked burgers on. The next, they'd etched the rest of my life in bronze. After states and a national championship, a full ride to a Division I school. A Heisman trophy. Going number one in the draft. A long and storied career in the NFL, ultimately culminating in a heartfelt, in a heartfelt Hall of Fame acceptance speech, where I proudly proclaim I wouldn't be here today, if not for the love and support of the little community of Monument.

Thankfully, none of that happened. I never told anyone this, but playing in front of crowds made me nervous. More than nervous. If there's a word for when a thing knows it's about to be eaten, that's what I felt like playing in front of crowds. It was also the terrible secret of my success. When the quarterback would finally put the ball in my hands, and the lightning bolt freight train was rumbling from one into the field to the other,

it was never to get into the end zone. What I was trying to do was outrun that terrible feeling. As the crowds got bigger, louder, chanting my name like some kind of dark incantation. That feeling of a little bit of. got bigger right along with them, growing like an invisible cancer. Eventually that cancer living inside me got so big I felt like I was living inside it. Even when I was alone, I could feel myself slipping away like blood disappearing into

a leech. At night I would lay awake, sweating, my heart pounding, thinking about those crowds, all those eyes. They only have power if you think about them. I tell myself, over and over again, they only have power if you think about them. Don't think about them, and there's no need to run. Don't think about them, and you're just a guy going to sleep. Sometimes it helped. But really, Nothing helped. That is, until some third stringer whose team was down by four touchdowns, and a safety in the second quarter blindsided me during a timeout,

half of me going this way, half the other. They say you could hear my knee crunching like a fortune cookie, all the way up in the cheap seats. Goodbye states, Division I, the NFL, the Hall of Fame. One cheap hit, and I was a permanent lesson and failed potential and almost was. Those basically good people of Monument, they weren't expecting a golden idol. They didn't know what to do when they got one, and they really didn't know what to do when they lost it. As far as they were concerned, Casper Freemount and died that Friday night.

As far as I was concerned, and one cheap hit gave me my life back. When I imagine a future with two pristine knees, what I see and vaguely feel like an ache inside an amputated limb is a life I never would have survived. A barely perceptible limb for the rest of my life was a small price to pay for the rest of my life. The only reason it's a sad story is because when those strangers see me now, it makes them sad. 22 years later, neither my thoughts nor theirs had changed much on the matter. The one thing my brief interlude with notoriety taught me was that all I really wanted out of life was a little bit of peace and quiet, far, far away from crowds of strangers watching my every move. I never think about my football career if I can help it, and Monument doesn't utter my name

if it can help it. The result is the sort of invisibility you only find in a small, town that has moved on. I run a small private security company here in town, and each night I hop between several locations, a self-storage facility, a sports complex, the old abandoned mall, a few other places, serving as the last line of defense against graffiti artists and teenage smokers. For the most part, what I do each night is park in one location, sit for an hour or so, and read inside my patrol car. After that, I drive to the next location and read there for another hour or so.

All in all, it's more peace and quiet than any one person deserves. And if this were a story about dying and being reborn, that might be where it would end. But it's not. This is a story about how when you die and are reborn, that means there's still one more death waiting for you somewhere out there. That part of the story begins in a parking lot on the outskirts of town. Me reading a book about the Titanic under the glow of my cruiser's dome light,

the engine gently and cleanly idling. My reading glasses had worked the way down to the end of my nose. I pushed them back into place and checked my reflection in the windshield to make sure they were straight. For no particular reason, my eyes shifted from my reflection to the darkness beyond. Somewhere in all that blackness was what folks around here used to call Monument Park Mall. I knew that, of course. I knew where I was, and I knew it was there. I knew it without thinking about it, but for some reason, right then, I decided to think about it.

Of all the places I patrol at night, the mall is the one place I'd never had any trouble. Not one trespasser. Not one prankster, not one abandoned collar. Sitting there, the words Monument Park Mall feeling strangely out of place in my brain, I tried to remember them all being open. It was like trying to see through fog. Memories were more like pieces of memories. A fountain?

Yes, there was a fountain. What else? A glass and silver-plated elevator? The smell of caramel corn. Yes, and yes. But that's every mall. More memories took shape. Bad ones.

Something about some people going missing. No. Not some. A lot. Mothers. Fathers. Employees. Kids.

Memories started coming faster. A flash flood of memories. Ten years ago, over a 13-day period, just under 200 people vanished inside the mall, and were never heard from again. A few turned into more than a few real quick. The second to last night, living, breathing humans went inside. 50 cops went in, and 37 came out. No one saw a thing.

The last night, 100 cops went in, and 74 came out. After that, they just boarded up the doors. The disappearances stopped. The news fans drove away, and as far as I could recollect, the strangest, most terrifying, most incomprehensible thing just about any town has ever experienced, just sort of slipped everyone's mind, disappearing from the town's collective memory. Like 200 people disappeared from their days. Mine included.

How is it that I've been coming here every night for years? Getting paid to look for anything suspicious. And I hadn't thought about those 200 people once. How had the words Monument Park Mall not crossed my mind one time? How is that possible? Another question. Why tonight? Just then, my don't light flickered.

I gave it a tap and that seemed to get it working again. When I looked back through the windshield, there was a man standing about 30 feet in front of my car. Seeing him there made my heartbeat snag. Not because of anything he was doing. He was literally just standing there, but because, well, because of everything, I guess. The man's hair, skin, and clothes were all the same pale white. Other than that, I couldn't make out any distinct feature. or details.

Perhaps sensing just how loosely my fingertips were clinging to a world I understood. I didn't allow myself to wonder what was illuminating a man standing in a pitch-dark parking lot like he was wax paper held in front of a candle. Instead, I flipped on my headlights, cutting a wide triangle of light out of the shattered, weed-choked blacktop. As soon as the lights went on, the man was gone. My heart snagged again. I got out of the cruiser and walked in the direction of where the man had just been.

About halfway there, my headlights cut out behind me. The engine, too. All of a sudden, I was engulfed in a darkness and silence so thick, it had a tangible weight. Earlier in the night, I'd been thinking about what it might have been like if some poor fool rode the Titanic all the way down to the bottom of the Atlantic and lived for a minute or two. This, I thought, fumbling for my flashlight, it would have been like this. I pointed my flashlight's beam at the car, as if that might reveal something. My brain's still fumbling around for rational explanations. The cruiser rose straight up into the air like a child picking up a hot wheels and disappeared

into the night air. Arking my flashlight skyward revealed even more nothing. Starless, moonless, impenetrable sky. For the next few seconds, my reason reduced to radio static. Nothing happened. It kind of seemed like nothing was going to happen ever again, until out of nowhere. Whatever thing had picked up my car dropped it again. About ten feet to the left.

The windows exploded outward. The hood and doors flew open, and three of the four hubcaps took off. like dervishes. As the sound of the crash echoed across the parking and disappeared into the distance, I found myself thinking, I used to be that fast. All at once, something siphoned the warmth out of the air and the light out of my flashlight. My nostrils filled with a scent of fresh ozone. I was swallowed again by that 13,000 feet under the Atlantic Ocean blackness, until all around me, Tiny winks of light appeared like fireflies. The winks grew outward until each one was the shape and size of a person.

Various builds, heights, postures, a random sampling of the human form. Each one, a featureless void sculpted out of cold white light. About 200 of them, if I had to guess. One of them, I knew was the man from before who'd, disappeared somewhere inside my headlights. But that couldn't have mattered less right then. What did matter, to me at least, was that even though they didn't have eyes, I knew they were looking at me. They just stood there in a loose circle all around me, watching and waiting, waiting for whatever it was that did this to them to arrive.

When it did, it emerged from the darkness like a slow twist of a dimmer switch. It took shape mid-stride, a crackling, pulsating, bioluminescent nightmare of a thing. It had the size and power of a bull elephant, but stepped around my car and into full view with the grace of something feline. beneath translucent jellyfish-like skin. Its blood looked like television static pumping through veins' thickest goldposts. Its appendages were glowing incomprehensible tangles of claws, tusks, fangs, and tendrils. It arched what I assumed was its back, and from what I assumed was its mouth let out a howl, part lion, part electric chair.

that vibrated my bones. Ten years ago, this thing made 200 of my neighbors disappear without a sound or glimpse. The reason I could see it, hear it, and understand it now was because it wanted me to. As a thank you, I guess you could say. Forgotten inside that dead mall, it slipped into hibernation. Me digging around inside my memories so close by had woken it up. It was happy. It was thankful.

And yes, it was hungry. It howled again. That old feeling came over me. That feeling there's no word for when the thing knows it's going to be eaten. Two points in time separated by 22 years folded in on themselves, becoming one moment. And inside that moment, I remembered something else I'd never really forgotten. All those times I'd felt this way. All those crowds trying to make me something I could never be.

They never caught me. Did they? They never caught me. They never caught me. All right then. Muscle memory took over. I placed my feet shoulder width apart. Hands relaxed.

I bent at the knees. Well, one of them was a knee. The other was more a stained glass window of a knee. but it would hold. I knew it would hold. I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet. Sensing what was coming, it did the same, poised for a pounce. One of the only people in town who treated me the same before, during, and after I was the lightning bolt freight train,

was my old quarterback, Timmy Dorsey. He sent me a Christmas card every December until I just remembered. This thing ate him 10 years ago. He definitely deserved better than that. Not much of a quarterback, though. Average arm, couldn't hit the floor if he fell out of bed. But that never mattered. All he ever had to do was put the ball in my hands.

Blue 42. When Timmy's voice inside my head. Blue 42. Hut, hut, hut, hype. And like a bullet threw a gun. gun, I was off. Despite the years, despite the injury, the old machine knew its purpose. Way back when, the sound of the crowd always disappeared somewhere inside the whoosh of air around my face and the hum of my blood. That reliable oblivion was still there, waiting for me,

like an old friend. Those glowing forms of what used to be people would never lay a hand on me. The nameless beasts' footfalls were so far behind me, they were last week. I was weightless, soaring, no pain, only speed. Somewhere up ahead was the lifts separating parking lot from overgrown field. I don't know how I knew, but I knew all I had to do was get there. Once I crossed that threshold, the night would close like a door on the electric monstrospection. and my dust. Just because it doesn't have a name, I thought.

That doesn't mean there isn't a place for it on the list of things that never caught me. Expecting to feel grass under my feet any second, something took my legs out from under me. I flew forward. My stomach and chin landed ugly on the blacktop, and I skid it to a stop. Frantically, my heart racing, I looked around trying to gauge how much farther I had left to go. the creature had barely moved. I had barely moved. Me, my cruiser, and the beast,

we were all still inside the illuminated vigil of dead monument residents. I'd gotten through four, maybe five strides before the thing brought me down with the slap of one of its tendrils. And with that same tendril, it picked me up and hoisted me into the air by my good leg. A glowing, undulating mouth that looked like a crack of lightning with fangs split open, and my other foot disappeared inside. As the flesh dissolved from bone, followed by the bone itself, my pain receptors couldn't settle on if it felt more like acid or cold. Both?

Why not? Either way, my last words on earth were going to be an indecipherable script. screen. In went my ankle, my shed, just like a thing knows when it's going to be eaten. A thing knows when it's being savored. The beast, taking its time. My screams filling the night air. The spectral crowd looked on. Did they know me? Did they feel sorry for me? Did they want the same thing that happened to them to happen to someone else? Was it better for them When their master was full What will I be When I know the answers to these questions Will the pain stop when I'm dead?

I closed my eyes They only have power if you think about them I told myself They only have power if you think about them Don't think about them And there's no need to run Don't think about them And you're just a guy

going to sleep. It didn't help. When you live in the rural countryside, there's nothing unusual about seeing a large field full of tall cornstalks. Well, that is until you realize that the field in question was just yesterday nothing more than an empty plane without a thing growing on it. And in this tale, shared with us by author Martin Fisher, we meet a father and his son discovering the mystery field, and the father is compelled to figure out what's going on. Performing this tale are Dan Zapula and Jesse Cornett. So when something is just too bizarre to be rationally explained, maybe it's best to leave it alone. That way, you avoid dealing with the field of teeth. Those were the words my father uttered

as his stuttering beast of a pickup truck came to a stop on the side of what was once an empty plane. Now in its place was a seemingly endless field of corn stalks, as if someone had just planted thousands overnight, and they had grown to full stance with the rising sun. After getting out of the truck, my dad slowly approached the mass of vegetation, still trying to process how this happened. Do you think it was one of the farms down the road?

Son, I don't think anyone we know was involved with whatever this is. That's when my father stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes staring daggers at the ground before the field. He shuddered before starting to back away. One foot caught around the other, and he fell to the ground. I began to open my door. Everything all right, Dad? Stay right here.

Just stay in the truck. He lifted off the ground, doing his best to steady himself, as he came back to the driver's side of the truck. He opened the door, and being able to see him up close made his apparent terror all the more real. Rivers of sweat found their way down his forehead, spotting his jean jacket. His hands were shaking as they tried to find something to hold on to,

something to pull him back to our reality. What's wrong? He looked at me as if he was just registering that I was there with him. I just got to go in there, boy. Some made right, and your daddy intends to find out. With that, he reached under his seat and pulled out his hunting rifle. The wood finish shined in the midday sun. Mom said you can only use that when we go hunting.

My mother ain't here right now, is she? With that, he grabbed onto my shoulder with his free hand and looked me in the eyes. Now, no matter what you hear in there, do not stay in here and keep the doors locked. What's going on? Just stay in the truck, okay? I'll keep the radio on, and you can just stay here while I'm gone. This is important, son. After a long stretch of silence, I finally muttered,

Okay, Dad. He patted my head. Good boy. With that, he began his walk to the cornfield. The golden stalks seemed to be even taller than they were when we stopped to investigate. My father looked back down at the spot that caught his eye the last time, as if he were trying to confirm what he saw to himself. Soon his figure was dissolving into the corn,

and even before I realized it, my father was gone. I could see the tops of stalks, moving, being pushed aside from my father who was likely moving rifle first through the maze. The radio buzzed. Chainsaw by the Ramones was the only noise giving me comfort from the benign chorus of shifting stalks of corn moving from a westward flowing wind. I tried to keep my eyes on the radio, but soon found myself drifting to look at the moving stalks. That's when I noticed something was odd about the corn. From this distance I couldn't quite

make it out, but the color seemed off, their shape not quite right. My focus was broken from the loud boom of my father's rifle. The sound echoed and bounced off the cornstalks before ringing into the truck. I felt my heart leap into my throat, thudding like an old locomotive. Dad? I needed something, anything, to know he was all right. I needed to know that he would come out of the field with a grin on his face and a look of foolish glee, muttering about how the gun must have gone off on its own, and that I shouldn't tell Mom about all of this. After a minute of waiting, I knew that wasn't going to happen.

My hand reached out to the door handle, my unconscious mind forcing my body to leave the believed safety. of the truck and investigate. I heard the dull click of the door releasing, and within an instant, my feet planted themselves to the earth below. While I wasn't very tall for my age, I could at least be described as average for someone who hadn't hit puberty yet.

This fact made the scale of the cornstalks all the more intimidating. Their height doubled my own, making it impossible for even the tallest man in the world to see over. let alone my below six-foot father. I swallowed the bubbling fear in my throat and took my first steps toward the edge of the field.

My gaze drifted to the ground. Curiosity took over as I searched for what had caught my father's eye, what had made him so terrified and so ready to head out into the field. It wasn't long before my eyes stopped on the liquid crimson that was unmistakably blood. and I felt the same terror he must have felt. I examined the puddle for a moment and noticed that its path was abruptly cut off

once it reached the edge of the cornfield, as if the excess drained off into some unseen hole that preceded the plants. That's when my attention was caught by the haunting wail of my father, a scream that was filled with not just horror but excruciating pain, My eyes darted back to the field.

Deep in the brush I could see my father bouncing between stalks of corn. He became bloodier each time his body connected with an ear of corn. Until now, though, I hadn't noticed what the ears of corn really were. What was so strange about them at first was that they looked to be out of their natural sleeve, kernels sticking out in the open air ready to be eaten. except they weren't kernels. They were teeth. Not just human either,

but sets obviously from the mouths of cats, dogs, bears, what must have been a rat, and every kind of living creature imaginable. Some sets of teeth looked even more foreign than that, as if they weren't from anything we in the natural world knew of. Looking to my father, the fear tearing its way into my stomach, I could see his mouth was bloodied. Bright red shone from his mouth,

and with every scream he let out as the newest ear of teeth took its bite, I could see that his own set of teeth were gone. All that remained were the raw gums and torn nerves of forced removal. That's when the ground began to shake. every stalk of teeth moving in a faster motion than they had before. I could hear a thunderous quake from below the ground,

as if roots so deeply planted in the earth were starting to move. The world around us shook. My father couldn't stop himself from being shredded by another ear of teeth. As the world shook, he was mere feet away from the edge to where I stood in shocked stillness. He stumbled, pulling himself from the floor, reaching his left arm out for me to grab onto, to pull him free from this nightmare of pain.

Before I could move to grab hold, the ground below him shot up into the air. What slept below the teeth field had awoken. The pure size of the beast was immeasurable, far bigger than any building I had ever seen. An army of warehouses could not match it. The field of teeth was its mouth, a trap it had laid out in the empty void of land.

It closed the vast collection of teeth, dirt, and gore with a deafening snap. As I watched it cross the vast plains of the Midwest landscape, I felt my vision blur before I blacked out. By the time I woke up, a passerby had stopped to check on me. I begged and pleaded for help to find my dad. They never did. What they did find, and where they assumed my father ended up,

was a massive sinkhole so deep that the bottom was impossible to see even as the sun rested above. After so many years, I never saw the bottom. beast again. I know I never will. I took my own teeth out before it could get me next. Losing your teeth really bites, or doesn't bite, I guess. I suppose if you think it will improve your life, removing all your teeth could be an option, but during this short break, I can give you other options for positive changes you can make. That's why we're thankful that this show is sponsored by Better Help. You know, I find myself surprised. by how often I learn something new about myself.

Even in my advanced years, I've discovered new hobbies and realized things about myself that I didn't previously understand. Some of those things are good, while others are things I need to work on to overcome. That's why therapy has been so good for me. Therapy is all about deepening yourself awareness and understanding,

because sometimes we don't know what we want or why we react the way we do until we talk through things. Better help connects you with a license there, who can take you on that journey of self-discovery from wherever you are. It really is an eye-opening experience to be talking to a therapist about yourself when all of a sudden you say something and bang, that light bulb over your head pops on and you understand yourself in a different, deeper way. That's when change can happen. If you're thinking of

starting therapy, give better help a try. It's entirely online, designed to be convenient, flexible, and suited to your schedule. Just fill out a brief question. to get matched with a licensed therapist and switch therapists at any time for no additional charge. So discover your potential with BetterHelp. Visit BetterHelp.com slash no sleep today to get 10% off your first month. That's better, H-E-L-P.com slash no sleep. Thanks to BetterHelp for sponsoring this episode. Now let's return to the monstrous fun in games.

This time, we're not cosplaying around. These days, we're well aware of those people who enjoy getting dressed up in large, plush costumes. Cosplayers, role players, hell, even sports mascots, some folks enjoy getting in their big suits and becoming something else entirely. And in this tale, shared with us by author Ryan Peacock, we learn of a series of strange incidents which occurred back in the ox, about a man who not only wore a suit like that, but whose bizarre behavior terrified all who encountered him. I join Mike Delgadoo, Wafia White, Graham Rowett, Matthew Bradford, Jeff Clement, and Sarah Thomas in performing this tale.

So try not to judge people if costumes like this are their thing, but you'd best run far and fast if you ever encounter Captain Furry. Between March of 2003 and June of 2004, in the small town of Chester, Manitoba. There were numerous sightings of an individual that is often referred to on certain forums as Captain Furry. The name comes from the unique choice of attire worn by the man described in most encounters consisting of a loose-fitting blue fox fur suit with rainbow accents around the face and paws. The eyes were described as large and bulging, with a cartoonish look. The irises were painted in rainbow colors. The individual had an insignia of a fox face embroidered on their chest,

also with a colorful rainbow pattern and wore a blue cape, similar to the one worn by many classic comic book superheroes. The first confirmed sighting was on March 21, 2003, at around 3 a.m. Several eyewitnesses described seeing a man in a blue fox fur suit walking along the side of the road. According to one eyewitness, the man she saw was pacing back and forth on the side of the road as she drove nearer. She attempted to stop to ask him if everything was okay, but as soon as she showed signs of slowing down, he looked up towards her and froze. In her own words, as she recounted the event later, he looked at me like a deer in the headlights.

You know how they just stare at you sometimes? Like, they're waiting on you to make the first move. Yeah, yeah, that's the kind of look he had. It was weird. I figured he was lost or something or trying to walk home from a party. It was due to storm pretty hard that night. The rain hadn't come down just yet, but you could see the lightning up ahead. I thought he needed a ride.

I don't know. Something about the way he was looking at me, though, made me feel as if I was intruding or something. It was hard to see through that costume, but there was just something about it. His posture, I think. I didn't roll down my window. I just got right back on the highway and kept driving.

I didn't look back. At least six or seven other drivers also describes seeing a man in a blue fox costume and cape on the side of the road. While no one else reported stopping, two of them mentioned that the man had run out into the road, as if attempting to chase their vehicles. The local police were not involved, and the incident failed to attract much attention beyond some gossip amongst the relatively small population of Chester, most of whom dismissed it as either a prank or a drunk walking home.

On April 4, 2003, Chester resident Carla Arnold's spotted a figure whose description matched the man seen on the side of the highway in her backyard. According to Mrs. Arnold's, at approximately 2.15 p.m., she entered her kitchen and noticed movement through her window. Upon going to investigate, she described seeing a figure in a blue animal costume near the far end of her backyard around her shed. The figure was standing in front of the shed door, which was secured by a padlock and seemingly trying to gain entry. She went outside to confront the man and shouted at him, prompting him to abruptly flee into the woods outside her home. According to Mrs. Arnold's, the man did not say anything at this time.

She did not attempt to pursue him and did not contact the local police at this time. The man did not appear to return. Later that month, Chester Police responded to a vandalism call at around 4 a.m. at a local strip mall. The following police report filed by Officer Nick Whelan describes what was found at the scene of the call. On April 26, 2003, I was dispatched to 14 Cheshire Street in reference to vandalism of one of the storefronts. Upon the arrival of myself and OFC Davenport, we are met by Ashley Mina, the owner of the Ashley Women's Hair Salon. Miss Mina then showed us the damaged under her storefront, which was obvious at first glance. The front window of the premises had been shattered, indicating that entry had been forced.

There was blood visible at the scene, believed to have come from the carcass of a male deer who was found inside the building, near the front desk. The deer had been decapitated, and its head was placed upon a salon chair that had been moved to the center of the building. No weapon was found on the premises, and according to Miss Mina, nothing appeared to have been taken. drawn in blood on the far wall of the salon was a logo of indeterminate meaning, depicting a downward-pointing triangle and several intersecting lines. See attached photograph. Miss Mina claims to have seen no one at the scene when she arrived. However, the animal carcass found on the premises appeared relatively fresh, as did the drawing in blood.

The animal was likely killed less than an hour prior to her arrival, and, judging by the amount of blood, at the scene, it is likely that it was killed inside the salon. There are no credible accounts of the man in the blue fur suit over the next two months. However, the next confirmed incident occurred on July 14, 2003, along the same stretch of highway outside Chester, where the man had previously been cited. According to 23-year-old Colin Prostler and his 22-year-old girlfriend Anna Powers, At around 10.30 p.m., while returning from a party, he had stopped their car at the side of the road, after hearing a grinding noise in his engine.

Mr. Prostler had put on his four-way lights and gotten out to look under the hood of his car, while Ms. Powers called CAA for a tow. Mr. Prostler would later give the following statement to the Chester Police. I was just seen if I could spot the problem. You know, Anna was in the car, and I just told her to call us a tow, and I heard someone walking in the the shoulder. Anyway, I look over thinking maybe someone else stopped, but I see this guy in like a dirty sports mascot costume or something. It looked like it had been out there for a while, right? It was either blue or white, blue, I think. Yeah, I don't know what was from, but I called out to him,

like, hey, or something, but he didn't say anything back. He just kept getting closer to me, and he was, like, kind of swing, kind of like he was drunk or something. It gave me a really bad feeling, like, I don't know, he was just really fucking off. So, yeah, he stopped for a moment and just sort of stared at me, and I stared back at him. And then he just throws himself forward in a full-on sprint. Like, he just starts running at me. I panicked. I just got back in the car as fast as I could, and I locked the door behind me.

As soon as I did, man, he was pounding on my window. You can even see where he cracked him. He was just trying to get into the car. It was terrifying. So I turned the car back on. I didn't know if it was going to run, but I just thought, if we have to get out of here. Thank God. I mean, the car turned on just fine.

but it sounded off, but it worked. I just hit the gas. I mean, I hadn't even put the hood down, so I couldn't see where we were going. I just needed to get us away from this guy. Anyway, I remember we sort of went forward for a bit. Anna was looking behind us. I looked in the rearview mirror,

and I saw this guy running towards us. Not like a person runs. He just got down on all fours and ran like that. I think Anna was saying something to me, but I don't remember. Probably telling me to keep going. But when I look back again, I saw some headlights coming.

up behind us and the guy was gone. Anna said he went back into the woods. I didn't see that part. I just pulled back over and waved the other car down so I'd have someone to watch me while I put the hood back on and while she called the police. The Chester Police investigated this incident and did in fact find footprints on the shoulder of the road to indicate that another man approached Mr. Prasler's car while he was stopped at the side of the road. However, they found no evidence of the man at the scene. This would be the last confirmed sighting of Captain Furry in 2003, but not the last incident that appears to have involved him.

Between July and November of 2003, there are a few scattered reports of a man in a mascot costume in the woods around Chester, Manitoba. However, it is difficult to determine what is real and what is not. By this time, several locals claimed to have seen what they began dubbing as the mascot man. But some later admitted to having made up their accounts, and some accounts are obviously fabricated to get attention. On November 9th of 2003, the town of Chester was struck by tragedy when a six-year-old boy named William Reed disappeared from his home on the outskirts of the town. William's parents had taken him to bed and retired for the evening.

Then, upon waking up the next day, they found the back door open and no sign of their son. Chester Police and the RCMP were immediately contacted and arranged a search effort for William, who was believed to have left the house on his own and ventured outside. His winter coat and boots were found to be missing as well. Police found two sets of footprints leading away from the house and into the woods, although they were unable to follow the trail much further. By 4 p.m. that day, a motorist on one of the highways outside of Chester would contact the police after seeing what appeared to be a body on the side of the road. Upon reaching the scene,

the police unfortunately discovered the remains of William Reed. While the full autopsy report has not been released, the police would later issue a statement that William had been killed by internal bleeding caused by blunt force trauma to the head. They did not officially release any further details, although within the next few days, unconfirmed rumors of bite marks and missing pieces of flesh from the boy's neck, face, and legs spread around town. William Reed was given a closed-casket funeral. His parents declined to provide any reason why. Though the RCMP spent the next several weeks investigating the murder of William Reed, no suspects were ever arrested. While one detective on the case suggested the possibility that William had wandered out into the road

and been struck by a car, this was dismissed. His injuries were of Allegedly, more consistent with being attacked by another person, presumably an adult, and defensive bruises on his forearm supported this. The hit-and-run theory also did not explain the second set of footprints leaving the Reed house. Police suspected that a man had lured William outside and then killed him, before dumping his body on the side of the road. Around this same time, the RCMP began looking more into the strange symbol that had been found at the Ashley Salon in April.

While they never confirmed what the connection was, one anonymous source claimed they had found the same symbol carved into the flesh of William Reed's back, although this information was never made public. The next confirmed sighting of the man in the mascot suit came on February 12th of 2004. At approximately 5.17 a.m., Dan Levita was awoken by the sound of someone forcibly entering his home. Mr. Levita immediately requested that a.m., Mr. His wife, Cheryl, call the police and asked his two children to lock their doors before going downstairs to investigate. Mr. Levita would later tell the police that he found the back door of his house broken and

that a man had entered and was rummaging through his kitchen. He described the man as being about six foot five inches tall and dressed in an exceptionally dirty blue dog mascot costume with rainbow highlights and a cape. Upon spotting the man, he reportedly stared. at Mr. Levita for some time and did not respond to Mr. Levita's repeated demands for him to leave, although he did appear to grow increasingly agitated. Mr. Levita claims that the man he encountered did not speak, but he did, however, pace around aggressively before Mr. Levita attempted to use force to remove him. At this point, the man in the costume attacked him, and after overpowering

and bludgeoning Mr. Lovita with his hands and forearms grabbed a kitchen knife. During the attack, Mr. Lovita was stabbed three times before he succeeded in pushing the assailant off him. By this time, his wife had come down to investigate the struggle, and upon witnessing the attack, claimed to have a gun on her person. This prompted the unknown man to retreat through the opened back door. Police arrived soon after, along with paramedics, who took Mr. Lovita to the hospital where he received 35 stitches. He would later make a full recovery, although he and his family left Chester within the next few months. The police searched the woods close to the Levita property and found a set of footprints

leading into the forest but lost the trail. They found no evidence of the man in the mascot costume aside from his footprints and some blue synthetic fur that had been torn off in the struggle. It was at this time that the Chester Police requested that any further sightings of the man in the mascot costume be reported directly to them. And while there were several calls that followed in the wake of the LeVita attack, it is impossible to know which ones are credible and which are not. Approximately two weeks following the attack, a teenage boy was arrested after approaching a local school dressed in an imitation outfit and wielding a toy gun. and there are a few cases of vandalism that were believed to be unrelated. The next noteworthy encounter came approximately one month later. A group of hikers contacted Chester Police regarding a makeshifting campment they had discovered

on a local hiking trail. The following report, filed by Officer Mike Davenport, who had also been present a year prior during the incident at the Ashley Salon, describes what was discovered at this scene. On March 21st, 2004, I was dispatched to the Chester Canal Trail, along with OFC Mills and OFC Grant. Upon arrival, we met with the hikers who had discovered the encampment, Christopher Bersie, Daniel Moss, Robert Crewe, and Brent Pike. They led us to the location where they had discovered it. Prior to reaching the location, we became aware of a strong smell that we identified as rotting meat.

Shortly after, we noticed that there were animal carcasses on the scene. I recognize several small animals such as raccoons, squirrels, and two young deer. We also noticed the bodies of some common household pets, such as dogs and cats. In most cases, the animals had been strung up from nearby trees and were left to hang while they decayed. This had led to a noticeable deterioration in bodies, and some were in the process of for lack of a better term, coming undone. OFC Grant investigated several bodies and found evidence to suggest that all had been killed in the same manner,

a slice across the throat, although some also appeared to have been partially crushed, maimed, or eaten. We proceeded further towards the encampment and found some more animal carcasses, some of which may have been a few months old. Upon reaching the encampment itself, we found a torn tent supported by branches. It was unoccupied at the time of our arrival.

Clothes and fabric had been put inside the tent, presumably as bedding, and we found evidence of human feces nearby. There was no evidence that whoever had been living at this encampment had ever attempted to make a fire. Mr. Moss also directed our attention towards markings on several of the trees surrounding the campsite. The symbol depicted an inverted triangle

with several lines passing through it, most of them forming various V shapes. This symbol matches the one I saw at the Ashley Hair Salon one year prior. The dead animals would also suggest that the same individual was involved here. As we conducted our investigation, Mr. Crew and Mr. Pike both claimed to have seen a man in the woods. OFC Grant left to investigate and returned, having found no one else at the scene. The campsite was taken down by the Chester Police, and at their urging, the city of Chester

allowed the installation of deer cameras upon the trail. Whether or not the deer cameras found anything has never been confirmed, and the footage was never released. Requests to access the footage have been denied. The final confirmed encounter with the man in the mascot costume came later that year on June 10th. 31-year-old Thomas Howe and 33-year-year-old Thomas Howe and 33-year-year old Carly Baker, a couple who had been dating for approximately four years, were reportedly on a walk on one of the river trails in Chester. They were not far from downtown Chester at the time, approximately 15 minutes, when Miss Baker recalls seeing a man on the trail ahead of them. She would later describe the incident as follows. We were just walking and talking when we

saw him. I didn't know what he was at first. He was wearing some sort of costume. tomb, blue, kind of like a dog or a box. He had a cape, too, just like people were seeing at the time. I didn't believe my eyes. I thought it was some sort of hoax or joke, but there he was. Then I started wondering if maybe it was some kid just playing some prank. Remember, like, that kid a few months back? God, he was just walking around, almost like he was angry at something. Then when he saw us, he just stood in place and stared at us. I remember thinking that his costume looked filthy. It looked more white than blue and there was so much dirt on it.

I think it was dirt. Tom stepped forward and got between us. He told me that we should go back and he kept trying to make me go back. I didn't want to argue with him, so I didn't. just did it. I started going back. Almost as soon as we did, he started coming towards us. Slowly, at first, then he started getting faster until he was running. We ran too. We just turned and we ran and I ran. He was so fast. Tom stopped and tried to stand his ground. The next thing I know, I looked back and he was on top of him and he was hitting him and God, I called the police.

Tom kept yelling at me to run, so I kept running. I got off the trail. I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to go back, but I was so fucking scared. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do. The following police report was filed by Officer Nick Whelan, who was one of the first officers on the scene after receiving Miss Baker's call. On June 10, 2004, at around 1135 a.m., I was dispatched to the Riverside Trail along the

with OFC Mills. Upon arriving at the scene, we immediately noticed a man matching the descriptions of a figure seen over the past year. The man was dressed in a loose-fitting fox mascot costume with rainbow highlights. He was wearing a cape and had an insignia resembling a fox on his chest. Approximately 10 feet from his location, we observed the body of Thomas Howe lying unresponsive on the ground. OFC Mills and I identified ourselves and requested that the suspect,

get on the ground. He neither responded to us nor proceeded to comply, and instead paced angrily back and forth in a threatening manner. It was at this point that OFC Mills and I drew our weapons and issued our request the second time. Once more, the suspect did not comply, and instead began to approach us. He was issued one warning to stop. After failing to do so, I fired one shot at him into his chest. He continued to approach, gaining speed as he did so. OFC Mills and I fired our weapons at the suspect, who continued his approach, despite receiving several direct hits, and proceeded to tackle OFC Mills. He then proceeded to assault him with his fists and attempted to bite his neck. I fired three shots into the suspect's head, which finally caused him to collapse.

OFC Mills was bleeding heavily from a wound in his throat. I attempted to administer first aid and called for backup, however, before they could arrive. OFC Mills became non-responsive. It was at this point that I heard a noise coming from my left side. I'd initially believed this to be OFC Mills, but instead realized that it was the suspect. It sounded as if he was laughing. Once paramedics arrived at the scene,

OFC Mills and Thomas Howe were both pronounced dead at the scene. Carly Baker was also treated for minor bruises. The suspect was taken to hospital by paramedics. He was laughing the entire time. After the shooting, paramedics brought the man to Chester General Hospital under extremely heavy sedation, where they then attempted to treat him for multiple gunshot wounds. According to their records, he was shot approximately 24 times, three times in the head. Dr. Brad King would later give this account of his attempts to treat the patient.

He came in at approximately noon, 24. fucking gunshot wounds. I don't know how he was still alive. Guess that was the least of his problems. One of the paramedics told me they'd been pumping him full of sedatives to keep him from thrashing. They'd been unable to remove the costumes so they'd just cut through the fabric of the arm and tried to get an IV in. He'd torn it out as soon as they got it in. They'd needed to use syringes. I'd asked how much they'd given him and he told me he didn't know. They'd just kept dosing him until he stopped fighting. When I walked into that room, I was expecting to find a dead man. Instead, he was wide awake.

Some of the nurses had managed to restrain him. I later found out he'd broken Patricia's arm and dislocated Dr. Martin's jaw, just trying to fight them off. Looking at him in that bed, he was still trying to fight. Eventually, we managed to get an IV into his upper arm. We had to cut through a good portion of the costume to do it. I remember seeing how pale his skin was underneath, and the arm I saw looked almost skeletally thin. I could see his mouth through the mouth of the mask, so I knew he had the ability to eat in there.

Hell, he was trying to bite me. But he must have been starving himself, being out there so long. The sedative we got into him seemed to slow him down a bit, but he stayed awake the entire time. I knew because I could see his head moving, following me. He watched everything I did. So I wanted to address the head wounds first. I knew he'd likely need to be sent in for surgery, but I needed to see just how bad it was.

I told the nurses to remove the head of that costume. They couldn't. The second they touched it, he started fighting again. It shouldn't have stopped them. He was still tied down and sedated, but they pulled, and it didn't budge. We took a closer look at it after that, and... Oh, Jesus.

We took a look and found that the head of the costume had been stitched to the skin of his neck. I didn't want to risk attempting to cut through the stitching while he was still struggling, and it seemed a safer bet to just cut away as much of the mascot head as we could. So that's what we did. We cut just above the neck, and we removed the head. I remember when we took it off, he was shaking, straining against his restraints. I don't know how the fuck he was doing it. All the drugs in his system, the injuries, the malnutrition.

It shouldn't have been physically possible, but he was right there. He was fighting like he was going to die if we took that thing off him. Maybe we should have left it on. I... There was a lot of damage done to the patient's face, enough so that it made recognizing him next to impossible. I don't think we ever got a positive ID on him. His eyes. Christ, he'd removed the fucking lids of his own eyes so that no matter what, he was always just staring, unblinking.

He'd also taken a knife to his cheeks at some point and carved them up so he could, so he could open his mouth wider. There wasn't much left. His tongue had also been removed. There were a lot of signs of infection. Some of his flesh was starting to rot. Well, a few of the nurses left the room. I'm not sure it was the extent of his injuries or the smell that was too much for them. When we took the head off, he just kept looking at me with those lidless fucking eyes of his. I could see the wounds in his head. All three were on the right side. You could see the blood still flowing as if the wound was fresh.

He kept looking at me, and he made this sound. It was like he was gasping for air. He kept moving his mouth and I... Okay, maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I was just hearing things, but I swear that he was trying to speak to me. It almost sounded as if he said, Now I ascend.

While his vitals flatlined immediately afterwards, we made sure to double check. Last I heard, the coroner was never able to figure out the official cause of the first of... death. Maybe there was just too many to choose from. I couldn't have left that room fast enough, though. Even when I saw his body go limp, I still felt him staring at me. Sometimes I still feel it. Maybe it sounds crazy. But sometimes when I'm alone, I'm sure I can still feel him looking at me. According to the Chester General Hospital, the remains of the unidentified man were cremated shortly after his death.

However, no records of this cremation exist, nor are there any records that explain what became of the body after it was sent to the morgue. The murders of Thomas Howe and Officer Brian Mills marked the final officially recognized encounter with the enigmatic figure, sometimes known as Captain Furry. However, there have been roughly 23 unsolved disappearances within the town over the following 16 years, and it is unknown if there is any connection to the unidentified man who was presumably killed in 2004. Sightings of Captain Furry are still reported in the area as of 2022. Motorists passing by the town will occasionally describe seeing a man in a dirty blue fox costume with rainbow highlights, wearing a cape and attempting to chase passing cars, or describe the same man emerging from the woods to attack them

while they are stopped on the side of the road. While many of these are officially dismissed as hoaxes or pranks, the Chester Police Department continues to investigate each one. Lepless tales have dispersed this night. Poetic works from darkness alight. We leave you. with this a question on a theme. Is all that we see or seem

but a dream within a dream? The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our creative content manager is Olly White. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy.

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