The NoSleep Podcast - S19 Ep13: NoSleep Podcast S19E13

Episode Date: April 30, 2023

It’s Episode 13 of Season 19. We ponder weak and weary with tales about wet willies.“The City in the Sea” written by Edgar Allan Poe (Story starts around 00:05:05)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Andy Cresswell“The Harvester” written by Keith Long (Story starts around 00:08:40)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – Peter Lewis“The Mermaid’s Drop Research Expedition” written by G. T. Korbin (Story starts around 00:24:30)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Transcriber – Nikolle Doolin, Oliver Stone – David Ault, Elyanna Markou – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Luca Altier – Atticus Jackson, Mary Ewin – Erin Lillis“The Panic” written by Jacob Steven Mohr (Story starts around 00:50:40)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Kristen DiMercurio, Joel Mackie – Jeff Clement, Flat-Fish Frankie – Graham Rowat, Helen Yelt – Linsay Rousseau, Yanni Thomasin – Kyle Akers, Trish Molloy – Mary Murphy, Burton Groose – David Cummings, Voicemail – Danielle McRae, Detective Redd Yelt – Jesse Cornett, Dahlia – Erin Lillis“The Jewels of the Mermaids” written by Marisca Pichette (Story starts around 01:19:20)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Ash Millman, Jan – Jake Benson, Gen – Andy Cresswell, Lessie – Mary Murphy, Burt – James Cleveland, Kla – Erika Sanderson, Hogart – David Ault“Screen Time” written by C M Locke (Story starts around 01:33:20)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator – Mike DelGaudio, Logan – Matthew Bradford, Woman – Erika SandersonThis episode is sponsored by:Vessi - Vessiís the only shoes you need because of how versatile they are. Vessis are my go-to shoes by my door. Check them out at vessi.com/nosleep for 15% off your entire order for your Vessi shoes.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 G. T. KorbinClick here to learn more about Marisca PichetteExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“The Harvester” illustration courtesy of Thea ArnmanAudio 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 is in over its head this week as we splash around in the horror of deep water. That's why I'm down here at the shore. The siren song of the waves is enchanting. I'm drawn closer and closer. The waves splashed my foot. Oh, good thing I'm wearing my Vessy waterproof shoes. And I got to tell you, I am a huge fan of my Vessy cloudburst shoes. Even when I'm not strolling the beaches, there's wrong.

rain and the dark abyss of deep puddles to contend with. And call me crazy, but I don't like wet feet or soggy socks. And with Vessie Cloudburst shoes, it's not just that they're 100% waterproof, not just water resistant. They fit great and feel so comfortable. I get all the features of a warm, dry winter boot built into a sneaker, thanks to Vessie's added lining inside for extra warmth in the cold. And don't worry about your feet slip sliding away.

The lugged rubber outsole gives your feet extra grip in the fight against the dreaded water. Now, I don't know what scientist or alien technology or demi-god invented Dimitex, but this super-soft knit material is what allows vessies to keep your feet warm in the cold, but cool when the sun starts heating things up. I could raise my fist and swear to the gods that this material doesn't feel like it should be waterproof, but it is. Listen, when you have a chance to wear a shoe like this, one that slips on and off easily, so it's quick and easy to get out the door, you gotta try it. They have a wide range of styles and colors to choose from.

So take it from me. Vessies are my go-to shoes by my door. Just go to vse.com slash no sleep for 15% off your entire order. That's V-E-S-S-I-com slash no-sleep for a pair of your Vessie shoes. Now, let's go under the sea, where our mermaid, aren't so little. 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 in.

Our sleepless tales for you in store. and the terror shall be lifted. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. When we consider all the things which can harm us or end us, we've explored many of the common themes, bad people doing bad things and nasty creatures doing nasty things.

It makes sense that our greatest threats are from living creatures. But on this episode, we're going to take a deep dive into something which, from the dawn of time, has caused untold carnage to humanity. You've likely heard about the dangers of dihydrogen monoxide. It may cause severe burns. It can destroy or alter natural landscapes. It can corrode metal. It may cause electrical failures.

Accidental inhalation can cause death, and it has been detected coming out of the taps in our homes. Oh, what a horrible substance. it is, this dreaded water. But putting aside the parodies about the dangers of water, there is good reason to be wary of it. Perhaps like many people, you suffer from fallasophobia, the persistent and intense fear of deep bodies of water such as oceans or lakes. Who really knows what lies beneath the waves? Yes, water is all well and good when you're having a refreshing drink or a warm shower, but when you have to deal with a lot of water in deep places, well, that's where nightmares can reside. Whether it's real or allegorical, water possesses such overwhelming

power that Edgar Allan Poe wrote about it in a poem. He speaks about a glorious city which rises in splendor on the shore. It's a city where death dwells. What could possibly befall a city which death holds dominion over? Can even its power stand against the power, and of the waves. Let's have Andy Cresswell perform this poem for us as we learn about how sin and vice and death itself fares against the power of water as we visit the city in the sea. Lo, death has reared himself a throne in a strange city lying alone, far down within the dim west, where the good and the bad and the worst and the best have gone to their eternal rest. There, shrines and palaces and towers, time-eaten towers and tremble not, resemble

nothing that is ours, around by lifting winds forgot, resignedly beneath the sky, the melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down on the long night-time of that town, but light from out The lurid sea streams up the turrets silently, gleams up the pinnacles, far and free. Up domes, up spires, up kingly halls, up fains, up Babylon-like walls, up shadowy, long-forgotten bowers of sculptured ivy and stone flowers, up many and many a marvellous shrine whose wreathed freezes intertwine, the vile, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky, the melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets and shadows there that all seem pendulous in air, while from a proud tower in the town, death looks gigantically down. There, open fains and gaping graves yawned,

yawned level with the luminous waves, but not the riches there that lie in each idol's diamond eye. Not the gaily jewelled dead tempt the waters from their bed. For no ripples curl, alas, along that wilderness of glass, no swellings tell that winds may be upon some far-off happier sea. No heavings hint that winds have been on seas less hideously serene. But lo, a stir is in the air. The wave?

There is a movement there. As if the towers had thrust aside in slightly sinking, the dull tide. As if their tops had feebly given a void within the filmy heaven. The waves have now a redder glow. The hours are breathing faint and low. And when, amid no earthly moans,

Down, down, down that town shall settle hence. Hell rising from a thousand thrones shall do it, reverence. As our planet undergoes changes, there are growing concerns about Earth's ability to provide the resources we need to survive. Some have suggested that the oceans might be able to provide for us. And as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author Keith Long, There may be more to be found in the ocean than mere sources of food, metals, and fuel. Performing this tale is Peter Lewis.

So be grateful some are willing to dive deep for the things we need. People like The Harvester. On the western horizon, there are black clouds rolling or attending the nascent storm. Lightning in the distant shows, it will be rough. Crouching at the edge of an open helicopter. the door the ocean below looks like a solid thing impermeable. The roar of the rotor blades above is deafening without a protective headset. But the man crouching at the door is soon pulling on headgear for diving underwater.

Once fully equipped, he looks back at the pilot who gives him a nod and whose lips say, be careful, though the words are impossible to hear. At that, the diver pushes off the edge of the halvember. and plummets down into the rolling blue waves. As he hits the surface, the entire world changes. The tangible roar of the helicopter disappears and is replaced with the impact of water, then a looming silence. The stormy surface of the ocean and the foreboding clouds brooding on the horizon are gone,

supplanted by a yawning blue abyss of empty ocean. There is nothing within any directional view, save one. To the west of the diver is a containment fence, stretching the extent of visibility in either direction, and plummeting down to untold depths. As the diver nears this barrier, the water grows noticeably warmer and a slightly greener hue. Seeing the imposing barrier disappearing into the hazy blue depth, is a disquieting sight he has never become used to. Slowly approaching the barrier, the diver carefully swims through,

ensuring his oxygen tank doesn't make contact with the wall. The barrier emits a high-frequency electric pulse to ward off unwanted entrance of aquatic life, causing the diver's entire body to thrum slightly. Passing through the wall safely, the diver swims on, only able to see a few hundred feet in any direction. Despite the barrier, he is always wary on the other side. At any given moment, there may be a dozen divers in the farm,

but due to the sheer size of it, he never sees them, and his suit isn't fitted for radio communication. The only sound he hears is his own breathing. After swimming a few hundred feet inside the barrier, something can be seen ahead, large. and eerie in the blue-green fog of deep water. It is a massive rectangular shape hanging a few dozen feet below the surface. As the diver swims closer lightning can be seen rolling in the sky overhead,

occasionally lighting the depths with a harsh white flash. The large floating rectangle that is looming closer now is redolent of an airplane's fuselage rolled out flat. out flat. It is thousands of feet long, almost stretching to the edge of vision and hundreds of feet wide, reaching down into the chasm of deep sea below. Behind it there are rows of them in the cerulean water, each a few dozen feet behind the other. Once close enough to make out details, the rectangular mass takes on unsettling textures and color. It is a ghostly white with undertones of pink.

When the lightning strikes overhead, it appears to glow amid the darkness. The length of it appears to have reaches like a topographical map. But the diver knows this is just from prolonged submersion. The entire thing can now be seen to only have a thickness of a few millimeters, a sort of ethereal cloth. Another flash of lightning causes the ridges to have shadows, making the surface of the shape appear to be striped in uneven swathes. For the brief second of illuminating light there appears to be a large shadow moving behind the spectral sheet. But another flash sets the diver's mind at ease, seeing no moving silhouettes or shapes.

In such an expanse of solitude and dark, the mind plays its tricks. The diver swims closer and removes a scalpel from the back on his waist, revealing the blade with the push of a button and a muffled snick sound. He swims up to the huge thin wall and begins carefully cutting away a four-foot-by-four-foot section of it. As his scalpel slices clean through a thin red trail of cloudy blood is left in the water, he stores the removed portion of skin in a sealed bag and attaches a small ball to it. Twisting the top and bottom half of the ball in opposite directions causes the ball to grow larger and begin to rise. It grows to the size of a beach ball and is already bobbing. the surface. Having harvested the first part of the order, the diver swims on. He swims parallel

to the ghostly wall of floating skin, passing sections that he has cut away previously, each in a different stage of regrowth and all perfectly square. As he nears the edge, however, there is a section of torn away flesh still bleeding slightly. The section appears lacerated. and ripped, not the clean cut of a harvester's blade. The diver's heart begins to beat faster as he gazes around and below. A few hundred feet down he can see a faint white spot of skin, receding into the deep, falling in slow motion. The diver begins to worry that a predator has breached the barrier

and he is much more cautious. Swimming ahead and reaching the... edge of the huge rectangular section of skin, he swims further on toward the next farm to collect the rest of his order. He is suddenly aware of how much his vision is blocked by intrusive sections of his diving mask and breathing apparatus. He finds his gaze wandering around, seeing moving blotches of darkness in every corner of his vision. He stops swimming and closes his eyes for a moment, steadying his breathing. Opening his eyes, he feels calmer and begins swimming on.

Behind the diver is a dermal field with its hanging walls of ghostly flesh. Ahead he can just start to discern the beginning rows of the next farm. It gets darker, very suddenly, a rushing line of darkness that swallows him and everything else. The storm has reached him. He is swimming past a large boat chain that descends into the darkness when he clicks on his head-mounted flashlight. The spectral spotlight adds to the haunting atmosphere of blue-green darkness. Finally reaching the next farm, the diver's headlamp illuminates rows and rows of dark organic matter. The innumerable rose receipts.

into the northern ocean. But the diver's order is for a Mr. Zima, which means that it'll be on the outermost edge. Swimming up to the organic matter, the diver's light reveals two kidney-been-shaped masses the size of an average shoe. Watching the shapes, they can be seen to fill and empty like a balloon. Following the label system, the diver locates the correct pair of lungs,

lungs, draws his scalpel, and severs the connections. He carefully places the lungs into a new bag and attaches the small golf ball-sized buoy, twisting it so that it inflates and grows to the bigger, more buoyant size. The lightning is flashing more regularly, causing strange shadows to suddenly appear in the rows of organs. Apples seep from some of the tubing connected to the lungs, rising up to the dark surface of the water. The diver looks out to the northern ocean along the length of diminishing rows of lungs. With the storm overhead, the view horizontally almost resembles the view vertically,

with black impermeable distance at the zenith of both. It is a sight no harvester ever gets used to. The diver turns around to go back toward the dermal farm and lets out a sort of muffled, bubbling scream despite himself. There, in front of him, about 50 feet away, is another harvester. The other harvester is motionless, seeming to just watch the diver. The diver, recovering himself from shock, attempts to wave with both arms, signaling the harvester. The other harvester doesn't respond or move in any way. The diver is unsure what to do and why the other harvester is watching him.

As the diver is about to swim toward the other harvester, something inexplicable happens that sends shivers up his spine. While the diver watches, the other harvester begins to slowly move north away from him. The terrifying part is the way in which he moved, not turning around and not moving his flippers for thrust. No. He simply slips away while still facing the diver, slowly receding into the dark, as if drawn in by an unseen phantom. The diver is shaking from fear and is frozen in place. When he finally snaps out of his days, he frantically sweet.

for the surface of the ocean while removing the emergency flare from his bag. Upon reaching the stormy surface, he is slammed with the noise of pounding rain against his mask and crashing waves. He sets off his flare and dips back under the surface breathing in agony, so that he can maintain a visual on the depths below him. There, by the thick links of the boat chain, he sees movement. At the deepest point, the diver can discern on the chain, long, thin shadows that seem to be reaching up, climbing the length toward the surface.

Frantically, the diver searches for the other harvester and any other trace of movement. Flicking his gaze back to the boat chain, he strains his eyes to see the shadows that were there a moment before, but he sees no movement. Sweating. And breathing heavily, he hastily scans every direction looking for shadows. The movement doesn't come from one place, but rather from every place as he looks around in awe.

The black depths of the ocean seem to crawl and ooze upward reaching for the diver. Tentacles of malice and shadow yearning to grasp at him and pull him down. and the unknown darkness beneath. The diver is screaming, flailing in terror at the surface of the ocean when he is suddenly plucked from the water by some prehensile limb clasping onto his back. Before he can even realize what is happening, he is being hoisted up above the water by a horrifying black tentacle, being pulled toward a roaring mouth of antediluvian teeth. The sound is deafening, and the sound.

The diver is screaming and flailing when he is pulled into the massive open jaws of some unknown menace. Suddenly, hands are pulling off his diving mask and shaking him by the shoulders. He can barely hear the person yelling. Are you okay? Hey! Hey, are you all right? His breath comes ragged and exasperated, and he can scarcely understand what the man is saying to him. He catches a bit.

in pieces. Oxygen tank. Brain. Calm down. Safe. You're safe. The diver crawls to the edge of the helicopter on his stomach, ignoring the man explaining his condition of asphyxia. The diver's oxygen tank made contact with the barrier and it sprung a leak, and the diver had been breathing less and less oxygen during his dive, causing hallucinations and delusion. The diver ignores all of this, fixating on a point of the ocean below and staring. As the helicopter pulls up and away from the rough surface of the water, the diver watches a man-sized shape, distorted by the waves and wind, receding down into the abyss. Part of the wondrous mystery of our oceans are areas yet to be explored.

We may have reached the deepest parts of the ocean, but there are still many areas in the deep, dark abyss that humanity has yet to experience. And in this tale, shared with us by author G.T. Corbin, we hear the reports from one team's efforts to explore a deep ocean pit, and one former member who wants to tell the whole story. Performing this tale are Nicole Doolin, David Alt, Sarah Thomas, Atticus Jackson, and Aaron Lillis. So try to fathom what lies beneath the waves as we learn of the Mermaids Drop Research Expedition. There appear to be two overlapping recordings.

The second inserted post-mission by one of the former members of the crew. Mary Ewan's research team conducted an expedition in the area in the Atlanta, off the coast of Portugal, unofficially called the Mermaid's Drop in March 2021. The time lapse between the first and second recording has yet to be determined. Algarve, Coast of Portugal, May 3, 2021, 740 CET. We're in the final 20 minutes before departure and Luca decided he needs chocolate or he'll die. The general consensus is that he's right, mostly because we're going to murder. him. I cannot believe you don't agree with me either. You wound me. I am wounded. Odds on Eliana

drowning him before this mission is over. I will take the odds of him, never leaving the docks. Professor, come on. Luca didn't get killed. He even got his chocolate. Professor Ewan had been on two more expeditions and three conferences with him. She was well aware of Luca's moons. She took care of Me, Eliana, and Luca, her favorite students. I'll take you to new wonders, she said. Said we'd see the secrets of the world, an adventure. We saw the light and reached for it. We bit right into the bait.

Stop fighting, you three. This goes on the transcript, remember? It's fine. I can edit it. You will do no such thing. Luca never wrote the transcript. Miss Marco, start off a. our recording, won't you?

Aye, aye, Captain. We're waiting here at the Algarve coast of Portugal, with an anticipated departure time of 0,800 hours, led by the brilliant, not at all... Miss Marco, I chose you for professionalism. Why would you do that? Ewan. And we're using the new submersible Loxa 2000

to go deep into a location right off the coast. Coordinates... We're also trying the cool new diving suits today. Behold our use of grant money dear sponsors. We're going to get defunded. On board are Luca Altieri, Oliver Stone, and myself, Eliana Markup. We're going to have our work cut out for us.

Maybe we can figure out what's making that sound they reported. We also have... The locals called this place the Mermaid's Drop, a sudden depth to the ocean like a well. They said that when an earthquake hit the shore, you could hear a woman's weeping. Luca was so excited about it. He joked, said we'd see a beautiful mermaid that she'd lure him deep into the ocean and he could discover the lost Atlantis

or turn him into a creature of the sea to stay with her forever. Eliana was also excited about that prospect because the mermaid could drown him for her. She could drown him for her. Mermaids drop. Atlantic Ocean. May 3rd, 2021. 845 C.E.T.

Is everyone ready? Last chance to back out. We will, however, leave you in the ocean. Oliver. I agree. Luca, time to back out. Deep down, you'll be sad if I go. It'd be boring. A bit. But we'd also probably be done in half the time.

All right, all right, Luca, if you're not quitting, could you start our descent? I never said. Sometimes I wonder if anyone could have convinced us not to go. But we weren't chasing a... urban myths. We were giddy with the promise of scientific discovery and the world was so bright that day. It seemed like nothing could touch us. With the sun glimmering on the waves, that lovely blue of the ocean melting with the clouds in the sky, we forgot how dark the deep could become. For a moment, even as the water covered us, we forgot we were wading to the absence

of light. Some things are not meant to be seen. Mermaids drop, Atlantic Ocean, May 3, 2021. 902 CET. Are you sure? Yes. Can you double- Oliver? The submersible moved fast.

Most of them do. Like they don't want to leave you enough time to think about what you're doing. We lost most of the light in ten minutes. By 15, we were entering the midnight zone. Have you ever been? No sunlight can reach that. leap, not a drop. Luca almost flew out of his seat when a leatherback turtle passed too close.

You see, the problem with going into the midnight zone is that in order to discover new things, you need to be able to see them. But light in total darkness attracts things to you. And unlike the things carrying lights in this ocean, we weren't the predators they could be. Be calm. We're not even at the bottom yet. Mermaid's Drop Atlantic Ocean 3,422 meters deep

May 3rd, 2021 942 CET Mission update Mermaids drop caps at roughly 3,426 meters deep We're 27 minutes into the dive And so far we haven't seen anything odd Well you did capture a great video of that turtle

After you stopped screaming I did not Go on Oliver And you did scream a little bit Louca Yeah we also have footage of a sperm whales dive Which made Ellie scream All in all we're very professional

At least the footage is great Eliana this is your third dive Marine life is surprising you why Why are you only questioning me And not Altieri I can't help it It's too big Things were not meant to be that big

She is not wrong. Mermaids drop. Atlantic Ocean. 3,422 meters deep, May 3, 2021, 9.57 CET. There appears to be an unusual formation of land surrounding the mermaid's drop. Well, itself, opened up at 2,980 meters deep into a large cave. What is interesting, however, is that the walls of the cave don't match any kind of rock formation I've seen before. Should we move a little closer?

Please. It's not consistent either. Oliver, you're recording this, right? Mm-hmm. It's not... Where do you want me to go? Southwest, do you see the crystalline-looking structure? Copy that.

Horizontal crystals? They're curved slightly, aren't they? I'm not sure that... Okay, I need you... I need a moment. The cave was unlike anything we had ever seen. A long section glistening iridescent. Further west of it, a part moving in a non-existent current like moss.

Further still, peculiar ridges and shapes. And the most fascinating part, the crystal structures. That's what we thought they were. Professor. Should one of us go out there? I would love to get a closer look. Aye. Who is feeling brave enough to try out the suit? Are you asking that question so we won't volunteer you?

I am manning the ship. The new ADS's cost us two-thirds of our budget. Diving suits that could withstand the intense pressure of up to 3,500 meters. A marvel of modern technology. Professor Ewan wept when she first saw them. It would be the first time she would get so close to all she could discover down there. They were thoroughly tested before, of course. They were safe from the pressure anyway.

All right, I'll go. You sure, Ollie? Yeah, I'm excited. Okay, Oliver, you know the drill, slip the suit on. Secure it, well. Then go to the pod to seal yourself from us. And please double-check everything. Mermaids drop.

Atlantic Ocean. 3,422 meters deep, May 3rd, 2021. 1023 CET. Mr. Stone has left the LOXA 2000. This is also our first official use of the Glow 193 suits. He should still be connected to us. Status update, Stone. At least you're not squashed.

Do you need to return? It felt like I was dying. I just didn't want to back down. It was like being squeezed in a thin space that barely fits you. No, no, that's half a centimeter too small. So even though you look like you fit, everything digs into you. Your breaths can't expand your lungs because there's no space and you know, you know you were never meant to be in there. Right, Ollie.

I'm going to go a bit higher and shine you some light to the ground. crystals from above. Got it. Oliver? What do you see? What is it made of? Can you take a sample? Stone, could you repeat that?

We lost you. Wait. They were smooth. I couldn't tear a piece off because they weren't fucking crystals. He's stepping back. Oliver? What's going on?

Stone, status update. What do you see? I hadn't realized. Maybe... Maybe I didn't want to. But I knew something was very wrong. The mistake was not turning back. Or it was the best choice I could have made. I don't know, at which point I condemned them all. He's going to the left? Did he find something?

Oliver, update now. I remember pressing my hands against the rock. I remember the softness under my touch pliable like skin. I remember it moved. I remember it moving. Can you take a sample of the rock? Then you can return. Maybe it was Ewan's fault. Right? Maybe it was her fault. Maybe I'm not to blame. Yeah, I'm not. I'm not. She shouldn't have asked us to hurt it. She bled. Is that an earthquake? The hell kind of timing? We woke her up. Oliver, are you okay? The rock moved. It didn't shake. It changed completely because we woke her. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and shifted around to stare at her intruders. In a flurry of movement, everything around me had shifted. The crystalline structure was in front of me again, not hot.

horizontal this time, but vertical. Her mouth never really closed. Her teeth so big, her face always held, a lethal smile like a Venus flytrap ready to snatch her victim inside. The skin of her lids drew back from her milky white eyes, each one twice my height, watching me like twin moons as she tilted her massive head to the side to stutter. me. She was a skyscraper at the bottom of the ocean, and I had dared tear at her skin. Luca, turn the light off for a second. Do you see this? Bioluminescence. Her skin lit up from the hairline of her head down and across her numerous limbs. A soft blue glow.

It might have been beautiful if I wasn't still staring at her teeth. It must have been. For my team behind me focused on the light more than the predator who caused it. They were the dumb fish caught in her trap, and they thought themselves lucky for getting to witness it. Maybe they hadn't realized yet what they were looking at. They hadn't felt her breathing under them. touch. They must have felt what came next.

Professor, what do we do? I... It's moving. Are those tentacles? You wanted to see a fucking mermaid. That is not. Oh, no. Oh, no, no! Professor, what do we do?

Oliver? One of her tentacles wrapped around. me. I didn't think I could feel more pressure than I already did. Just the tip of her limb was as wide as I was tall. I could barely see over her. Altieri, get us, get us out of here. What? Professor, we can't just... Be quiet. Go! Go! Hurry! I didn't see them, leave. I don't know if I should be made. I don't know if I should be mad at them for leaving me. I am mad about a lot of things. No, no, no, no, that's a lie. It's never anger. I can't quite reach for anger. Now, Altieri. I'm so sorry, Oliver. There's oxygen. Keep going. It's moving. I guess it couldn't catch the

sound. The locals called this place the mermaids drop, because when the ground shook, you could hear a woman crying. They weren't too wrong. When she moved, the land moved with her, and when she spoke her cry pierced the water, a morning song sending vibrations to travel all the way to the surface, high-pitched and painful like nails scratching on a chalkboard. It made my chest buckle. I wanted to cover my ears, but I couldn't reach them. Instead, I heard it all. Felt it vibrate in my heart, rattle my lungs.

It rang in my eardrums, leaving scars in my mind. I hear it still. I hear it always. I haven't stopped talking since hoping it will drown out the sound. With the memory burned in my head, I can only string words of what happened. With no one to believe me, I find myself the sole audience. Luca, move! Hold on!

I'm not sure what happened. I remember her pulling me close to one of her eyes. The clammy white looked almost dull, framed by the neon glow radiating from under her translucent skin, a film of paper-thin flesh covering her source of light. She watched me struggle and choke in the lack of air, and she... I think she wanted to save me. I don't think she meant to kill them.

She pushed herself upward to swim out of her hole, still holding me in her tentacles. I don't... I don't know what happened not for sure. Sure, I didn't dare look. I think I didn't. But I heard the sound, the third of her tentacle connecting with the submersible, the sound of metal bending under her force. In her haste to get me out, she slammed them to the ground. Did she do it on purpose? Did she do it for me? The last thing I heard of them was them abandoning me. No.

The last thing I heard was the screaming. The thud, the metal. Oxygen deprivation stole my consciousness on my way out. I woke up hours later, deep into the night on some rocks a little away from the shore. What happened to me during those hours? Where did she take me? I couldn't have been sleeping that long. It took them months to find the wreckage. It was hard to gather volunteers for the mission to follow a trip where all the crew went missing except for the one guy that showed up in the hospital raving about giant mermaids.

They blamed the oxygen deprivation. The only thing I was deprived of were my friends. One of the people in the Coast Guard, she listened to me. Maybe she knew there was more to the local legend than people gave credit, or maybe I didn't seem like the type to make it up, the type that would murder his own research crew during a mission. Yeah, I heard that rumor. I heard it in hushed tones and quick gazes around me until they found the crush submersible. No person could have the strength to do that. Then they called it a pressure accident. Some still believe I sabotage the fucking vehicle left before it collapsed, as if I could have ever swam out in that suit. Maybe the Coast Guard woman saw the suction marks left where the tentacle hit.

I saw the wreckage three months after waking up. Couldn't leave my nightmares audio only, could I? I can't believe the recording survived. I don't expect people to listen to me. I just wanted to leave my side of things, especially since I... I see her sometimes, like she's haunting me. I don't go out a lot anymore. I'll get some coffee and glimpse the woman behind me in line.

Her hair will turn into barbells billowing in the water. The lady on the subway next to me will tilt her head and her eyes will flood with a milky white. Someone will bump into me on the sidewalk and leave a moist residue behind a circular suction mark on my skin. The worst part is I don't know that they are not the same person. I don't know that she's not somewhere out there looking for me, calling to me. I saved you. I saved you. Where did you go? When I first woke up, I thought I would be scared of the water now. So she's made sure I'm scared of the land.

It is so I would return to her. This is Oliver Stone, and this concludes the last recording of Mary Ewan's team and the real account of what went down in the Mermaid's drop. To this day, there has been no evidence of a creature residing in Mermaid's Drop, and the wreckage analysis from Ewan submersible declared the accident a pressure failure. As of June 3, 2022, Mr. Oliver Stone, 27, is missing, presumed dead after failing to return from a diving excursion off the Algarve coast of Portugal. No body has been recovered.

If anyone has any information over the whereabouts of Mr. Stone, they are encouraged to contact the Coast Guard or their local police department. Please stop calling about the echo. We're aware of the second repetition of the cry that has been heard recently. No research team has agreed to investigate. Oh, poor Oliver. I guess you could say he sank like a stone. Okay, okay, let's take a quick break to decompress after that dive.

It's important to do that, whether you're a diver or not. So let's talk about ways we can look after ourselves, thanks to this show being sponsored by BetterHelp. I recently started thinking about how much time I spend on myself each week. I mean time spent doing things that genuinely benefit me, not just things like taking a shower or eating a tasty meal. I find it's easy to think that working on. hard or helping out other people is a way of benefiting myself. Don't get me wrong, those things can be

positive, but if we spend all our time giving, it can leave us feeling stretched thin and burned out. I feel like our society forces us to feel selfish if we spend time doing things that help ourselves, but it's all about balance, right? Therapy helped me find the tools to create more balance in my life. It's a great way to keep supporting others without leaving yourself behind. And don't make the mistake of assuming that therapy is only for dealing with major traumas in your life, therapy can help you develop better coping skills and how to set boundaries, things that might seem small but which can have a big and positive impact on your life. 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 questionnaire 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 BetterH-E-L-P.com slash no sleep. Thanks to BetterHelp for sponsoring this episode. Now it's time to get back to the horror. It's starting now, so don't panic.

When bizarre and unexplainable events happen, We rely on the reports of witnesses and those close to the event to gain some understanding. This is especially true when it involves multiple deaths. And in this tale, shared with us by author Jacob Stephen Moore, we piece together the details of an occurrence which led to the drowning of a large number of people on an ordinary Summers Day. I join Kristen D. Maccurio, Jeff Clement, Graham Rowett, Lindsay Russo, Ellie Hirschman, Mary Murphy, Danielle McCrae, Jesse Cornett, and Aaron Lillis in performing this tale.

So draw your own conclusions, if you can, as you learn of the mysterious events that became known as the Panic. The following email chain and attached documents were recovered from the PC of Joel Mackey, feature writer for the online dark fiction publication Rising Dark Review. All audio components are transcribed. All visual elements are described in text. These records were released online 10th of December 2019 and are believed genuine. Together, they formed the narrative known to online theorists everywhere as

The Panic. Sent Monday, October 11th, 2004, to D. Clarks at Rising Darkmag.com from J. Mackey at Rising Darkmag.com. Regarding, spontaneous mass. drowning event, Sanibel Island, Florida. Gahlia. Sorry for the radio silence.

I've been whooped by that stomach bug that's been going around. But I wanted to let you know I'm just about done compiling the docs my contact on Sanibel's been forwarding. There's loads here, but if you've got time over the long weekend, let's look over these together. I don't know if there's a story here or if Bembe is pulling another stunt, but just the same. you should see what he sent my way. Here's the truth.

Maybe I'm still queasy from that stomach thing, but when I got all this together, I felt unsettled somehow. Part of me hopes this is all just some big prank on us. But another part, the sick part, I guess, wants it to be true. Nuts or what? Guess it's why I work here. I've attached all the relevant stuff. There's multiple different docs, so let me know if anything doesn't come through.

Our mail system's been jacked up recently. I think it's a memory issue maybe, or storage problems. I hope it hasn't affected submissions. Let's talk soon. Friday evening, maybe? Joel Mackey, feature writer, Rising Dark Review. Attached. Sanabelle Seafone 1.p.p.d.fone.

Sanibel Island Seafoam Newsletter, August 6th, 2004. Hey, beach bums, we interrupt our regularly scheduled reporting on summer, Fun and the Sun to bring you this bulletin. Island PDs search for the beachgoers who vanished during the July 31st anomaly is yet ongoing. Investigators are asking the public for any information they might have as to the missing individual's whereabouts. Eyewitnesses to the event are encouraged to report to SIPD headquarters or call the tip line provided at the bottom of the page. Counseling will be available for respondents under 18. Stay fresh, small fry, flatfish Frankie. Attached, Sanibel Vacation 2014-34.jp.g.

The attached file is a scan of a photograph believed taken during the July 31st event. The image depicts a beach scene, with the photographer facing the ocean. Objects in the foreground appear out of focus. Water damage has obscured figures in the bottom right corner of the frame. Several dozen adult figures face away from the camera, also looking towards the water. They appear in motion, moving towards the surf. Some are half in, half out of the ocean. More are already mostly or entirely submerged.

In the distance, a smaller shape appears, likely a fishing vessel or other craft. A young boy's face appears in profile in the foreground, but water damage and poor focus obscure his expression. The photographer's identity is unknown. Attached, Sanibel Lifeguardreport. DotX 31st of July 2004, 251 p.m. Incident report, Yelte. Saw victim enter water approximately 2 p.m. day of reporting. Had observed victim with family before, appeared a strong swimmer. Resumed standard scanning.

After two scan cycles did not notice victim in water. Began deliberated scanning. Still did not locate victim. Stood and delivered double blast on whistle, at which point trainee Lee Kim took over chair. Entered water where victim had entered, found him floating head up only a few dozen feet from shore. Surf conditions were smooth.

victim was easy to spot and reach. Performed standard single-guard rescue. Victim had open eyes but appeared unconscious and resumed breathing when his head cleared water. Reach shore, Lee Kim and full-time guard Jared Osman assisted with backboard extraction. Victim regained consciousness soon after landfall and became disoriented, trying multiple times to re-enter the water. Restraining victim took three guards, me included. Jared Osman sustained a cut above left eye. Responding guards suffered broken, ribs on right side. Lee Kim was uninjured but shaken. Victim's current condition unknown. By time of rescue, approximately 2.15. Crowds had gathered by shore, victim left lifeguard care

and disappeared. Second of August 2004, 4.14 p.m. Addendum, Yelt. None of us saw the others at first. Then there were too many to miss. I had busted ribs. Jared was still bleeding out of his face. What did you want us to do? It was too. too late for most of them anyway. We helped who we could. We did our jobs. Signed, Helen Yelt, S.G., senior guard. Co-signed, Jared Osmond, H.G., headguard, and Lee Kim, trainee.

Attached. Sleepless Hour-Sseason 4-E dash episode 13 dash rip.m.p3. Dahlia. Here's a fragment of that true horror podcast I've been yacking about. the sleepless hour. I think they did a series about the July 31st event, but everything they did on the drownings got nixed off the host platform. Bembe was able to find somebody who'd uploaded part of this episode.

It's pretty corrupted, but I've cleaned it up some. You can't really hear the guy asking questions, but the other guy's audible enough. Yanni Thomason, 19. All my life, near enough. I don't take my phone out on my kayak. but I guess around two. Me and Hungry Mike had just eaten lunch.

Oh, 21. He just had a birthday. Screaming. Coming from the beach. I thought somebody had seen a shark. Nothing at first. Then it was like a foot race starting in slow motion. They all started coming towards me into the water.

Hundreds. Hell, maybe a thousand From both directions on the beach. All adults. It was the kids screaming. Their kids, I guess. Not to start. Then they didn't come back up.

I got real nervous after that. When I heard the splash, his kayak was just kind of rocking there. I don't know what happened to the paddle. They're supposed to float. I guess he took it with him. The water was pretty clear, but no. I looked for almost an hour.

Then I had to get on shore quick. I left his kayak in the water. I didn't want to touch it. His mom and his little brother, they weren't on the beach. Lucky them. If you're talking about that fishing boat, no. I was looking towards shore most of the time. If it was there, I was between it and the beach.

Local police and then later some other government goons. They asked a lot of the same questions, and I started getting pretty sore about it, not to talk about this to anybody. Attached WGSITV-24 clip1.move. The attached video file is archival footage from WGSI, a now defunct local news station on Sanabella Island. The footage was ripped from the station's YouTube page, also inactive.

The clip has long been taken down from the channel itself, and no re-uploads appear on other sites. The clip depicts a Sanibel native, identified as Trish, giving an interview some time after the July 31st event. Police lights flash in the background. The screams of gulls permeate the audio. No, this was before everybody went nuts.

Maybe ten minutes before? About a quarter mile offshore, maybe? I don't know. I guess something just didn't look right about it. No gulls. You see fishing boats out all the time, and there's always a mess of seagulls hanging around them. But this one didn't have one.

Kind of fake-looking, like a toy or a prop. You know in Jaws how the shark they used only had half a body so they could operate it from the other side? It looked like that. Like there was only half a boat there, the half we were supposed to see. Well, it had to be a boat. There were people on it, yeah?

I told that other crew already. Don't you all talk to each other? Three or four guys, all in these yellow slicker coats. Only the arms of the coats were too long. Maybe the arms themselves were too long? They dragged on the deck of the fishing boat and they kind of... Flapped around. It wasn't exactly walking what they were doing.

and it wasn't exactly jumping. Mostly their faces. They were smooth all over, egg smooth. Or like a toilet bowl. Not pale, but white. Like paper. It was cruising along the beach north to south. It wasn't moving crazy fast, but it was definitely moving.

Well, all that screaming started. I lost track of it for me. a moment or two. Somebody kicked over my chair on their way to the water. Maybe 10 minutes? I guess there was some haze or fog out there. Because I couldn't find it again through the binoculars. It just kind of vanished. Not for another eight months. Sent, Thursday, October 14th, 2004 to D. Clarks at Rising Darkmag.com. From J. Mackey at Rising Darkmag.com. Regarding spontaneous mass drowning event, Sanibel Island, Florida. Dahlia.

Why didn't you say the rest of the docs didn't upload? We're lucky I was going through my scent folder and spotted it. We've got to get that new IT guide to take a look at our server's memory issues if this keeps on happening. Anywho, I talked to Bembe on the phone right after I fired off that last email, and he said he'd got new stuff for me. He sounded a little shaky, but I don't know if that was because he was. had bad reception or something. But this new batch of docs, Dahlia, this is good stuff.

I still don't know if he's pulling something, but if these are fakes, then they are great fakes. I'm half convinced we should just post scans on the site and let the fans sort it out themselves. Let me know when it's a good time to call. I wish I could see your face when you read it all the first time, but I'll settle for the play-by-play.

TTFN, Joel. P.S. Bembe says he wants to talk to you, in person. I don't know if it's a good idea, but I'll leave it up to you. He did sound shaky on that phone call. Attached, Sanibel Clarion dash right-in. p.d.f. Sanibel Island Clarion, we want to hear from you. August 10th, 2014.

This is for all you real nice folks who've been called. and showing up at the house all hours of the night. Yes, I've seen the pictures. Yes, I used to own a fishing boat that looked a little like that one. But I'll tell you, there's no way that boat you think you saw is mine. Because the panic hit a reef near two years ago. It's at the bottom of the ocean, and it ought to stay there for all I care. I just want you real nice folks to quit hassling me about old news.

I served my country two times. I got a finger blown off in Korea. I'm 70, and I'm too old to deal with your f*** or shit. Leave me and my wife alone. Burton Gruse, Sanibel Island resident. Attached, voicemail.m.m.m.m. Daddy, one, pick, okay, okay. Daddy, you said if I ever got really scared somewhere, you would come get it.

me and you wouldn't ask me any questions about it something happened on the beach today and I know this is mommy's cell phone but mommy's not I mean she can't everybody just went into the water altogether there was a bad boat out on the water and then everybody went in the water and then everybody went in the water and them got back out. Mommy was. Mommy was holding Fletcher when she went in, and he was struggling and crying, but she wouldn't let go,

and I couldn't stop her. I know you said I'm a big, strong boy now, but I couldn't stop her from going in. She was dragging me along, and when she got into the water, Daddy, please don't be mad. go into the water with them. She wouldn't even talk to me.

She wouldn't even look at me. She just kept walking. And Fletcher, he kept wiggling and yelling and yelling and he stopped crying once his head went underwater. Then I couldn't see him anymore. Mommy was one of the last ones to go in. There's no grown-ups on the beach anymore. Maybe there's no grown-ups anywhere. On the beach.

I can come out on the street. There's a walkway here. Number 11. Don't come looking for me. They took all the grown-ups on the beach, and they'll take you too. The bad boat will take you too. I love you, Daddy. I'm really sorry.

Attached, Sanibel Seafoom 2.PDF.D.Fanabelle Seafone Newsletter, August 13th, 2004. Hey, beach bums. Summer fun in the sun gives way to gloomy clouds today. Area organizers have announced that public memorial services for victims of the July 31st drowning event will be held on Lightfoot Pier over the coming weekend. Further details, along with a full list of the missing and deceased, can be found on the website linked to this QR code. Stay crispy, small fry.

Flatfish, Frankie Attached Satellite Image 1 The attached image files comprise satellite images captured off Bowman's Beach on the 31st of July 2014, apparently, before or during the event itself. All three images depict a fishing vessel from three different angles, as captured by the flight of the satellite, one from directly overhead, one from the front of the craft, and one from a side angle. Each image is grainy and distorted from enlarging a low-resolution image, and parts of the photos appear incomplete, as though there are whole clusters of pixels missing. The side-view image reveals symbols painted along the hull. At first examination, they appear to spell the name, Panic,

but closer inspection reveals they don't comprise recognizable human letters. In each image, figures wearing yellow coats appear on the deck of the craft in bizarre poses. The number of these figures changes from image to image, three in the first, two in the second, and five in the third. Image distortion gives these figures disproportionately long arms, and their faces are uniformly round and pale. No matter how many appear in each image, one is always facing the camera. sent Sunday, October 17, 2004, to D. Clarks at Rising Darkmag.com from J. Mackey at Rising Darkmag.com. Regarding spontaneous mass drowning event, Sanibel Island, Florida.

Dalia. Is everything okay? I'm worried I haven't heard back after two emails. It's not like you to go dark. I'm sure you've got your reasons. Just sure. me a message when you've gone through all this stuff, including what I'm forwarding here. Honestly, if anything's worrying me right now, it's Bembe.

I can't get him on the phone, and his last emails haven't had any text in them. They're just dock dumps. It's still interesting stuff, but I'm baffled why he's shut me out. I tried baiting him, saying you'd talk to him if he called me back, but he didn't bite at that. His social media has gone dark too, and all his profile pictures have that stark silhouette now. I don't know how to move forward here. This is all new territory for me. Ping me when you're done with the materials.

I'll let you make the call. Attached. Journal slash sipd.p.d.p.f. scan two. Journal entry 29th of August 2014. Detective Red Yelt. Keep tumbling it in my head. Over and over. Case won't click shut and won't fly open. Won't quit. Getting sick. Looking and missing faces on posters.

Whole thing got rode down missing persons, but that ain't what this is, right? 450 souls don't go missing. They vanish. They get disappeared, like they used to do in Russia. Maybe still don't. do. Fact. Approximately 450 adult beachgoers go missing 31st of July. Fact. Eyewitnesses say victims walked into the ocean on their own. Fact. Say my witnesses. All kids or young people. Fact. Victims of 31st of July all aged 21 and up, male and female. Fact. Fact. Affected area, one-mile stretch of Bowman's Beach, markers 11 and 12. No victims reported save who was on the sand or in the water. Fact. 31st of July coincides with arrival of fishing vessel, panic. Owner, Burton Gruse.

Fact. Grus disputes previous finding, but remains person of interest. Fact. Vid surveillance from Hotel Armistice. Shows 31st of July event in progress. Victims enter the water as vessel passes by their position on shore. Result, wave of bodies entering ocean together. Fact, Coast Guard divers report no bodies recovered from affected sight. Conclusion. The world's losing a fucking mind.

I guess I could be more logical than that. But it gnaws at me still. Too many loose wires. That damned boat, for instance? Girl on the news said crazy things, but she was higher than giraffe teeth. Her words no good for evidence. But how she described the men, the things on the deck? Even if it was some goofy hallucination, I can't get the picture out of my head.

Long creatures in yellow coats, jumping and flapping. There's the thing. I've talked to other officers on the case, and they can't get it out of their brains either. Like, it's invaded us. Like it burned into our skulls. Clancy hunts not even in missing persons. He only heard the scuttlebutt through channels. He told me he went out once and stood on that beach and just kind of stared at the water for four hours.

Christ, he didn't even stop to pee. It had hold of him that bad. Worst thing is, I can picture me doing that. I want to do it. And there's more, isn't there? Helen lifeguards on that beach. She's got some vacation there giving her now. But next summer for sure she'll have to go back unless she finds some other job.

She's scared, I think, but she's tough. My money says she'll stick in place. She takes after Maureen like that. She'll be out there getting tanned as toast and having all the boys holler down the beach at her. But her birthdays 11th of June, most of that summer, she'll be 21. Attached, Sanibel Seafone 3.pd.feefell Island Seafone Newsletter, September 1st, 2004. Hey, beach bums, this may be the last you. hear from good old pan-fried leather-lipped flatfish, Frankie. Those notorious do-gooders, you know them,

the alphabet people, stormed into Uncle Frankie's news shack and took it all. File cabinet, items, pinned on walls, even my little black book. They even took my laptop, which is why this missives getting click-clacked by typewriter. Here's worse, if you've got the stomach. I'm not the only beats bum these Dudley-do wrongs rolled. Your face. Favorite flat fish keeps us here to the ground, and I've heard stories all over about folks getting rough, hassled, and generally put ill at ease over this July 31st dust up. It's true blue police state tom foolery, and bet your bottom dollar Frankie's not going to take it. No, sir rebob! But for now, strategic retreats in order.

A quick trick getaway from Sunny Sanibel's shores to dream up some new scheme to get word out to you loyal bottom feeders. Lucky for me, there's always a beach somewhere. You float up my way, stop in for a cold breeze brew. And as always, stay low, small fry. Flatfish, Frankie. Attached, bad boat-sightings.pdepf. Attached file contains a scan of a hand-drawn map of Sanibel Island and surrounding landmasses, with several additions made in red pen along with handwritten labels and notes.

First of these is a red line denoting a one-mile stretch of Bowman's Beach, along with a letter X drawn offshore. Further out, more Xs appear with a line connecting them. These points were once labeled with dates, but the scan's resolution isn't high enough for these to be reliably legible. Notes scrawled in the margins read, Never approaches shore. Never gets close enough. What is it waiting for? God damn it, God damn it, God damn it.

Are we still safe? What does it want? A crude drawing appears in the bottom right corner of the image, depicting a figure in a slicker coat with a hood. The drawing's face is simply a yawning, toothless hole. Attached. Headlines. Dot X. Wolford Resort opens investigation into vanished seniors,

Sanneville Clarion, August 30, 2014. Fort Myers Beach closed, Link to Missing Joggers case, Sanibel Clarion, September 13th, 2014. Ebell Lighthousekeeper 4th to Disappear Sanibel Clarion, September 21st, 2014. Sent. Monday, October 24th, 2004, to D. Clarks at Rising Darkmag.com.

From J. Mackey at Rising Darkmag.com. Regarding, spontaneous mass drowning event, Sanibel Island, Florida. Dahlia. got hold of Bembe, or I should say he got a hold of me. He sounded bad last night, freaking out in a major way. I didn't like how he was running his mouth, but I got him calm enough to tell me. He's moving off Sanibel.

He wouldn't tell me where. All he'd say was further inland and that we shouldn't look him up. He said he'd seen the bad boat in his head. It's all he can think about now. That was it for him when he woke up 20 miles from his apartment face up on Bowman's Beach. He thinks it's coming back. I mean, he really thinks it. He said a lot more crazy stuff like that, but the worst was when I tried to ask him why it was coming back.

I could picture his face looking at me like I was the biggest damn fool on the planet. For the rest of us. He said. It's coming back for the ones it missed before. That's when I got to putting two and two together. I got no idea when Bembe's birthday is, but I bet you it's soon, or it already happened. I bet he's just turned 21. I'd been feeling funny about all of this before, but now I know it. We've got to run with this story.

It could be huge for us, fake or not fake. But there's still more we need, and if Bembe's not going to send it up our way, I've got no other option, right? I got some vacate coming up, so I won't be on company time. I'm going to wager it all on Sunny Sanibel, like our friend Flatfish Frankie would call it. I know you're reluctant. I understand your silence now.

but you'll understand once I've seen it for myself. You'll understand it all. I know you will. We're so close, Dahlia. It's like I can reach out and touch it. I can almost picture it in my head now. I don't hit 21 for another two weeks. That should buy me enough time.

I can picture it, Dahlia. So clear. So clear, Joel. Sent Monday, October 24th, 2004 to J. Mackey at Rising Darkmag.com. From D. Clarks at Rising Darkmag.com. Regarding, spontaneous mass drowning event, Sanneville Island, Florida. Joel, call me, please, ASAP. Sent Monday, October 24th, 2004 to D. Clarks at Rising Darkmag.com.

from Mailer-Dash-Demon at Google Mail.com. Regarding spontaneous mass drowning event, Sanibel Island, Florida. Address not found. Your message wasn't delivered to j.macky at rising darkmag.com because the address couldn't be found or is unable to receive mail. Learn more now. Our sleepless 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

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Please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com for show notes and more details about the people who bring you this show. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for being a supportive season past member and for joining us within the exquisite horror of our reality. This audio program is copyright 2023 by creating, of Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.