The NoSleep Podcast - S19 Ep2: NoSleep Podcast S19E02

Episode Date: February 12, 2023

It’s Episode 02 of Season 19. We ponder weak and weary with tales about the strangest strangers.“The Caller” written by Ryan Jameson (Story starts around 00:03:50)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Judith Nichole Goodnight, Caller – Graham Rowat, Franklin – Mike DelGaudio, Mr. Donegan – Jesse Cornett“The Man in the Trees” written by Claire Halleran (Story starts around 00:19:10)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Muriel – Erin Lillis, Charlene – Wafiyyah White, Gladys – Mary Murphy, Judy – Penny Scott-Andrews, Susan – Sarah Thomas“Uncanny” written by R.J. Knutson (Story starts around 00:47:35)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Linsay Rousseau, Sammi – Jessica McEvoy, Robin – Sarah Thomas, Gabe – Elie Hirschman, Paul – Jeff Clement“Out the Corner of Your Eye” written by Rachel Racette (Story starts around 01:02:30)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Erika Sanderson“The Queen of Spores” written by LP Hernandez (Story starts around 01:07:35)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Sylvia – Kristen DiMercurio, Dave – Atticus Jackson, Samantha – Danielle McRae, Queen of Spores – Mary MurphyThis episode is sponsored by:Green Chef - Green Chef makes eating well easy with plans to fit every lifestyle. Green Chef offers a range of recipes to suit your preferences. Go to greenchef.com/nosleep60 and use code nosleep60 to get 60% off plus free shipping!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 LP HernandezExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“The Man in the Trees” 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 keeps rolling along with season 19. Wait, who's that watching you? Oh, never mind. Guess my eyes are playing tricks on me. Kind of like you must feel going to the grocery store these days. Are those prices for real? Is food disappearing off the shelves before your eyes? To end the confusion, we love recommending the number one meal kit for eating well, Green Chef.

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Try fast and fit recipes under 750 calories and ready in less than 25 minutes. Plus, cut down on shopping and meal prep with pre-portioned and pre-premediod ingredients, including pre-measured sauces, spices, and dressings. So avoid the wacky grocery store and go to greenchef.com slash no sleep 60. That's 6.0. And use code No Sleep 60 to get 60% off plus free shipping. Yes, that's right. Go to greenchef.com slash no sleep60 and use code no sleep 60 to get 60% off plus free shipping.

Green Chef, the number one meal kit for eating well. And now, if things aren't quite what they seem, it must be time for some sleepless horror. In the dark shadows of the Rue Morg, to the rhythm of the stolen telltale heart, as the black cat swings upon the peasant. pendulum and the cask offers its sherry deep and dry as you knock at our chamber door we open our sleepless tales for you in store and the terror shall be lifted for the no sleep welcome to the no sleep podcast i'm your host david cummings season 19 is off to a great start we're back and going with the flow and going with the Po as well. It's encouraging to hear all the positive comments from fans who love Poe as much as we do. We can't wait to keep spreading his distinctive writing with you throughout the season.

But let's get things started with a series of stories about strange people who just won't seem to leave us alone. And so, our tales come to you upon a midnight dreary, best not to ponder them while weak and weary. In our first tale, we encounter a modern horror plaguing us all. Spam phone calls. Your phone rings, an unknown number appears, and your blood runs cold. But in this tale, shared with us by author Ryan Jameson, we meet a woman who's expecting calls from potential employers. That means she must answer the calls.

Performing this tale are Nicole Goodnight, Graham Rowett, Mike Delgado and Jesse Cornett. So press that green button when the phone rings. What's the worst that could happen when you hear from, the caller? I'd begun filling out my fifth job application on the day when I received the first call. I'd completed a promising online job interview that morning and was anxiously awaiting a call back. Hello, this is Judith. Hi, this is Jacob calling with Gold Star Payday Loans.

We specialize in short-term cash loans with reasonable... I hung up and returned to filling out my job history for another restaurant gig. I submitted the application and was searching for any new job leads when the phone rang again. It was a different unknown number. Hello, this is Judith. Eating an air conditioning. We know that, as a homeowner, affordable climate control is at top... I hung up again, exasperated.

There ought to be a law against this telephone harassment. It almost sounded like the same. guy. Did he say you had the same name as well? Whatever, time for lunch break. I closed my laptop and went to the kitchen to search the cupboards. I flipped on the television, more for company than to watch the daytime court shows. I was still sucked into the petty drama playing out on screen when I heard my cell phone ringing in the bedroom. I rushed back to pick it up and saw it was an unknown number. This was the third in an hour and it was getting obnoxious. This is Judy. Who is this? Franklin from universal student loans?

I mouthed a curse word to myself and tried to sound cordial. Hello, Franklin. This is Judith. Hi, Judith. I know you're not happy to hear from us, but you probably know why I'm calling. I do. I waited for him to go next. It looks like you updated your payment plan two months ago to lower your monthly fees, but haven't made any payments since then. Yes, that's true. I also emailed your collection agency, to explain why.

Well, hopefully we can figure out a plan to help you get your monthly payments back on... I appreciate you calling to help, Franklin. Did you read any of my emails? Unfortunately, I'm not privy to all emails. I just want to talk to you about your monthly spending habits and options you may have to reduce your spending in order to ensure your future credit and financial health.

I sighed a little too loud and tried not to sound pissed. You know, I finished school at a pretty lousy time. I haven't been able to get any responses to job applications, even the ones I'm more than qualified for. I'm renting an apartment I can't afford. Two months ago, my roommate packed his stuff and moved back in with his parents while I was at the grocery store. Now I'm on the hook for a two-bedroom place with no income. I'm not an irresponsible person, but I need some time to get things figured out. I understand the times are hard for many people.

But when you took this loan, you agreed to pay us back in a timely. You agreed to a specific number figure. The line beeped and I saw another unknown number calling in. Hey, I have a call waiting. Hopefully it's an employer offering me a job so I can make those payments of yours. I need to go and try to make that happen. Good luck, Judith. Please call me back.

You know how to reach me, Frank. I'll call you first if any miracles come my way, but I have to take this. I pressed the end and accept button. This is Judith. Hi, Judith. This is Jake calling from Farsight Financial. Is debt keeping you up at night? If you're worried about your financial future, please call us back.

I'm doing okay, you automated bullshit. Leave me alone. The voice paused and I realized that this was the same voice that had been calling for the past hour. He'd said his name was Jake or Jacob each time. The opinion of all potential future clients, that wasn't very civil, Jude. I'd still like to thank you for listening, and I'll be speaking with you again soon. The line disconnected in my mouth went dry. Everything about the call sounded pre-recorded, but he used my name and my nickname.

It was Jake, the same Jake from the last two automated calls. I went back into the bedroom and sat up right on my bed. Opened my internet browser and searched for Farsight Financial. Showing results for Forsyth financing. I looked for Ace Heating. There were a fair number of ACE Heating companies listed, but the closest one was in a town over 100 miles away. I was trying to remember the name of the first company that Jake or Jacob called from

and tried to rationalize why the same person would be calling over and over from different numbers and different companies when my phone rang again. The number red is unknown. Who is this? Is this a joke? Hi, Judy. Jacob with Therispa. Did you know that the American Brain Society has labeled Stress the silent killer? At Therispa, we seek to help our clients. manage anxiety.

I lowered the phone to my shoulder. Something wasn't right. Faintly, but certainly, I heard Jake or Jacob's voice outside my window. I leaned over and pulled the curtain back. A man was standing in the center of the courtyard of my apartment complex. My unit is on the third floor and he was at least

20 yards away, but I could still hear his voice. He wore a business suit and a telemarketer headset. He stared directly through my window at me. something was wrong with his face. I couldn't place what it was from this distance. I put the phone back to my ear. Jake or Jacob, I don't know who you are. You need to leave me alone.

I don't know where you got this number, but you need to leave and stop calling. The police will be here soon, so I suggest you walk away now. Thank you for your time. I look forward to our in-person consultation. Jake reached up and touched the side of his headset, dropping the call.

He began to walk to the end. of my building with slow, deliberate steps. I ran to the front door clutching my phone and double-checked the door lock and deadbolt, and I strained to slide a heavy, waist-high bookshelf in front of the door. When I was confident my blockade was secure, I called 911. There was no ring, just a recorded message by a voice I had come to know very well. Big with security associates, we know how important safety in the household is for you and your loved ones. momentarily you will be contacted in person regarding your personal well-being.

I hung up on Jake again and ran to the bathroom. It was the only inside door with a lock on it. There was a small window on the wall that faced the side of the building opposite the courtyard. I stood on the toilet and hoisted myself through the window to my shoulders. The streets below were empty. I yelled anyway. Someone, please help. Please help. I'm being attacked. Call the police.

About one minute had passed. since I saw Jake heading towards the building, and part of me knew that help wouldn't arrive. I was thrilled and relieved to see Mr. Donagan poke his head out from his second-story window. He scanned the street below until I called out. Mr. Donagan, up here! He turned his head and squinted.

Judith? What the hell are you doing up there? I need you to call the police. A man is in the building and coming up to my apartment. I tried, but my phone isn't working. He squinted up at me for me. a moment and didn't say anything. Are you on drugs?

No, this is serious. Please. Call the police. My apartment number is 369. Just call and please hurry. He sighed and made a face. I'll be up in a minute, Judith. No, please don't leave your apartment. He pulled his head back inside. He was a sweet older man, a veteran who doted on his wife and was protective of everyone in the complex. I did not want him involved.

with Jake. My phone rang again and I hit the ignore button. The call did not hang up and my ringer increased in volume. Every ring got louder and louder. When the ringer reached an ungodly level, I answered just to make it stop. It was Jake. Aging is a natural process that presents a new set of challenges. We worry about our elderly family and neighbors having accidents that can result in serious injury

and even death. Stop it. Don't touch him. Leave him alone. I hung up and looked out the window. I had never seen the street so empty in the middle of the afternoon. I realized I was sobbing and took a few deep breaths to get my wits about me. There was no other option.

My best bet at this point was to find a weapon and protect myself. I looked in the cabinet under the sink and pushed past the toilet paper and extra shampoo, finding a few different cleaners. I picked an aerosol car. can that advertised itself as having a healthy amount of bleach in it. I listened at the bathroom door for a few moments. Aside from my heavy breathing and pounding heartbeat, I couldn't hear anything. I unlocked the door quietly, poking my head out to look down the hallway. Nothing appeared to be amiss, so I tiptoed as quietly as I could with a can of cleaner

in my right hand and my phone in the other. I peeked around the corner. The bookshelf had been knocked over and the front door was slightly ajar. He was in sight. I bolted for the front door, and when I turned to push the bookshelf out of the way, I saw Jake sitting at my kitchen table. A thick trail of blood ran from his mouth down his chin and the front of his crisp suit. His eyes had no irises or pupils, but I could feel his stare.

He smiled, exposing pointed, razor-sharp teeth that were packed with strings of flesh. The phone in my left hand rang once and then answered itself. His voice boomed through the speaker, but his mouth remained motionless in a great. gory grin. Hi, this is Jake with Customer Plus. At Customer Plus, we're far more than a company. We're also Consumers. Consumers.

He spoke a split second ahead of my phone, and the two voices sounded like feedback as his voice began to loop the word consumers. He rose from the table and walked towards me. When he reached from my throat, I sprayed the bleach directly into his blank eyes. It didn't face him. He made what I could only assume was eye contact

as he gripped my forearm and opened his mouth wider than his jaw should have allowed. He pushed the can in my arm down his throat and clamped down his teeth just below my elbow joint. The speaker on my phone still repeated. He pushed me backwards and sucked flesh from my bone, leaving my lower arm an almost perfect skeletal image from an anatomy textbook. He swallowed the flesh greedily, and as a ridiculous amount of my blood hit the floor, my head rushed and I swayed. In a final attempt to save myself, I swung my other hand, which still held my phone,

punching down the abyss between his jaws. I encountered no resistance until his jaws clamped down again, breaking through bone this time and swallowing my arm entirely, phone and off. He gulped my arm down his gullet like a seagull. I could hear my phone slide down his throat, his repeated consumers now sounding like a faint call for help. Jake snapped his head down and looked at me with his. blank eyes. Suddenly his face contorted in fear. When his mouth opened again, I heard the sound of

feedback, like a microphone coming too close to a speaker. He swallowed, wretched, and swallowed again. His face distorted in his clothes rippled as though they were too big for his body. They swayed in a breeze I couldn't feel, and his face sucked inward as though he was aging rapidly. For one moment he looked me in the eyes, then crumpled to the floor in a mess of clothes. and melted human tissue before evaporating entirely. I looked down at my missing arms, my blood still pulsing onto the floor. I felt faint.

Then I felt nothing. I woke up in unfamiliar surroundings with unfamiliar smells. Everything was white and sterile. I heard machines beeping and orderlies moving about. I looked down to see my arms, stubs now, and did in cleanly wrapped bandages. My right arm stopped a few inches past the elbow. my left arm was missing closer to the shoulder.

I passed out again, and when the nurses woke me, they were accompanied by a police officer who asked me a few questions before answering mine. A nosy neighbor noticed my door was slightly open when passing by and entered to find me bleeding out on the floor. Mr. Donagan was gone with no trace. His wife filed a missing person's report,

and I didn't have the heart to tell her it was hopeless. There was no proof that I had anything to do with his disappearance and our two cases were classified as unrelated. When I told the officer what had happened, he didn't believe me and I didn't try to convince him. I couldn't truly believe it myself. My phone was missing and my wireless provider couldn't find any evidence that I had received

a number of strange calls from random numbers. No signs of violence were found in my apartment outside of a broken door frame. I'll never be able to drive a car or wash my hair again. I'll never be able to learn how to play the guitar or crochet. Never be able to use a spoon or pick up a phone again. But that last one was just fine with me. Working among the elderly at a senior living facility can be both rewarding and heartbreaking. You have to interact with people whose best years, and perhaps their best mental faculties,

are behind them. And in this tale, shared with us by author Claire Halloran. One worker tells of a woman he enjoys meeting with, that is until she starts seeing things that aren't there. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres, Aaron Lillis, Wafia White, Mary Murphy, Penny Scott Andrews, and Sarah Thomas. So don't be so quick to dismiss their visions. Look closely and you just might see the man in the trees. There is a man in the trees. I squint out the window Muriel has shuffled herself in front. of. The glasses fogged from collected warm breath and hot food, but I can still see the back gardens and forest beyond. It's late January. Brambles of tangled rose shrubs and untamed topiary hunker beneath mounds of snow. Rot iron benches and tables left out from summer

are cloaked in white like huddling beasts. Behind the forest stands still, but I see no man. Where? Muriel's long nails. tap against the metal frame of her walker. She turned 83 last month, started using a walker the past week. She fidgets with it the way one would a new pair of glasses or a new ring. Behind us, the clatter of plates being collected harmonizes with the groans of old bones writing after filling lunch.

The stack of bowls I'm carrying balances precariously on my tray, and I can feel the beginnings of a cramp locking my wrist. Do you want company up to your room? I ask, she isn't going to answer the previous question. Muriel's been seated in my serving section since I began work at Violet Hill Care Home. She's one of my favorite residents. I've even met her daughter and her grandson a few times,

though it's been more than a year since they've last been to visit. She's a short lady, the top of her head reaching only to my shoulder. Her white hair has thinned. She keeps the fragile strands pinned at the base of her skull, but from where I can stand above her, I can spy the pink skin of her scalp, through. She's all there, though, in the head, I mean. At least I thought she was. Mariel waves her hand. No.

You sure? I don't mind taking a short break. Oh, dear, no need to look at me like that. I'm quite all right. Don't need help up to my rooms yet. She swivels around and heads for the door, her walker rattling. I hesitate a moment longer at the window. It's only just past midday, but winter's darkness has already begun to encroach on the sky. And the harder I stare out, the more my reflection obscures the view. It's not like Muriel to talk nonsense. I sigh and lean my head against the cool glass. It's these moments that make my job hard, watching people lose themselves to their age. The underlying truth that awaits us all if we can make it. Muriel doesn't come down from her room for dinner. It's not uncommon for residents to choose to eat in their rooms, and we take their meal

requests the day prior, so it's not a problem to fill their plates in the kitchen and wheel them up. I collected Muriel's meal of roasted chicken breast, steamed vegetables, and mashed potatoes, added to the four other meals I'm in charge of delivering, and head towards the elevator. With my cart, I feel how Muriel must feel with her walker. My movement's awkward, trying to navigate wheels around corners. Muriel's room is on the third floor at the end of the hall. My last stop. I speak into the wood grain of her door. Muriel, I have your dinner. From inside, I hear scuffling and the squeak of wheels before the door opens.

And when her eyes meet mine, she grins. She looks well, skin, a soft blush. Thank you. Where would you like me to set you up? Oh, by the window, if you would. Muriel's room is known for being meticulous. The throw pillows on her couch are always straight and plush. Her kitchen sink free of dirty dishes,

and there is a pleasant rose scent that hangs about. So when I set her plate down on the table near the window and notice the mountain of breadcrumbs that line the sill, I pause. I feel Muriel's gaze on my bag. Oh, the birds. I like watching the meat. I leave them little treats to indice them over. Muriel's room is on the side of the building that presses tight against the forest. When the wind blows branches scrape against the glass, I lift the cloche covering her dinner. And do they?

Come over, I mean? Not yet, but I hope soon. They've been getting nearer every night a little closer. She gazes out the window. Smudges blur at the glass where her fingers have touched. It can be lonely, you know, being here. My heart softens at her words. Is your daughter planning on visiting soon?

Muriel rolls her walker back and forth like it's a baby's crib. She's very busy with Gavin and going back to work. It's because I live so far away, see? They're very busy. Maybe in the spring. I nod. It is lovely here in the spring. When the crocuses pop up?

It is, isn't it? I always look forward to spring. Me too. I pull out the chair for her. Leave your dishes outside your door when you're done and someone will be by to collect them. Thank you. She makes her way to sit down. You're welcome.

I retreat to the hall. I expect Muriel to be taking her seat, but when I turn to close the door behind me, I find that she is still standing. One hand on her wall. the other on the chair awaiting her, staring out her window. Good night, Muriel. Oh, good night. Muriel has stopped coming down to the common area entirely.

She takes every meal in her room, and each time I arrived to deliver her food, she's standing by her window staring out. At first she would answer the door and escort me in, but recently she started calling for me to enter, never budging from where she stands. I'll set you up as usual, I ask, carrying her tray. It's pork chops. day. I can smell the mushroom gravy wafting. Despite the warmth steaming from Muriel's dinner, I shiver. The window is open and winter air breezes in from it, filling the room like floodwaters.

It cuts to my bone. Are you not cold? Miriel doesn't respond. I can see her breath, can see the glisten of blown in snow around her feet. Muriel? I sit down the tray of food. Not even the clatter of ceramic and metal rouses her. Hesitantly, I reach out and tap her shoulder. Muriel? She jumps. Sorry. Her eyes flitter around my face and then to the food on the table.

For a moment, I fear she doesn't recognize me. I didn't mean to startle you. I have your dinner. I knocked and you called me in, remember? She isn't even wearing her shawl. Right. Sorry. I...

Her voice trails off and she glances back towards the window. Outside the night is solid without even the light of the moon or the stars upon the trees. The gaping window sits like a black hole in the wall, and fear grips me that if I were to stretch my arm out into that black, it would be bitten off. Has this been open all day? Open. Muriel's lips are pale. There's a familiar ache in my chest. For some, the decline is fast. Words start slipping, faces lost. For others, it's like a boulder rolling down hell, picking up speed, unstoppable. Let's get you sat down, all right?

I rest a hand on her back to guide her to the table and into the chair I've put her food in front of. It's cold in here. I'm surprised you're not on icicle already. I didn't realize. She rubs her hands together. They're a modelled purple. Once Muriel is seated, I go to the window and slide it shut. I lock it, too.

There we go. I can already feel the heat from the radiators pushing back at the frigid air. Oh, and I brought you these. I reach into my apron pocket to withdraw the packets of soda crackers I'd carried with me. I hand them to her. Her brows, furrow, and she looks from my face to the crackers. For the birds. The birds?

I hesitate. You said you feed the birds, so that they'll keep you company? Oh, oh, yes, of course. She takes the crackers, sets them down beside her plate. Thank you. Yes, that's very thoughtful of you. Looks like you've succeeded in calling them over. I point to the spotless window cell.

All your treats from before are gone. Muriel nods. They are hungry. It's not until the next week that I suspect Miriel isn't eating her food. I'm not sure what she's doing with it, but I don't think she's eating it. Her dishes are returned clean. So clean it's as if they've been licked or washed beneath a tap, whereas before she always left bits behind. I know she hates the peas that are served alongside the veal, but

even those were gone last night. And she's shrinking. If one didn't see her every day, they might not notice how fast it was happening. Her clothes had begun drooping off of her shoulders. Even her socks weighed about her ankles now. A bolder gaining momentum. I don't think Muriel is eating her meals. I mentioned to Charlene, one of the nurses on the staff.

When I pass her on my way back to the kitchens, I'd been serving the residents who came down for their morning coffee and tea. Charlene lifts her head from her clipboard. What makes you say that? Her long dark hair is tucked behind her ears, and the deep purple circles under her eyes plead with me not to add another task to her list. Her plates are clean, even of the food I know she doesn't like. Maybe she's washing her dishes for you, throwing away her scraps.

I snuck a look in her garbage. Nothing. What do you think she's doing with the food then? I shake my head. I don't know, but it's like she's wasting away. I swear I can see every bone in her face. It happens, you know. When people are getting close to the end?

I know. It's just that I like Muriel. She's always been so sweet. Charlene holds my elbow and gives it a gentle squeeze. I'll give her a check, okay? See if there's anything we can do. Thanks, Charlene. I say, and I mean it.

I know you're busy. She withdraws her hand, unclips the pen at the top of her board and shuts down, Muriel at the bottom of her paper. Not a problem. I know she's had a rough go of it. With her daughter not visiting and all, it's hard on them being alone,

especially out here. Charlene glances out the windows around the manor's front doors. It's a bit eerie in the winter, isn't it? I follow Charlene's gaze. It had snowed last night, and even now bits of white are floating beneath the entry lights. The dark gray clouds above are thick enough to block out the sun.

They hang low, their swollen bellies scraping the treetops. I look further to the forest. Violet Hill used to be a private estate and had been built like a gem, hidden in dense trees. The care home is sold as a sanctuary, and some days it does feel like that. But I agree with Charlene. In deep winter, when the road is clogged with snow and the nights race by faster than the days can recuperate, There is a creeping isolation. I get to go home at least, but for the residents, this is their home.

They don't have anywhere else. Hours later, in the break room, Charlene finds me. She pulls out a chair to sit. You're right. I don't think Muriel is eating her meals. I'm partway through my lunch, mustard from my sandwich stating my fingers. I swallow, wince when I realized I should have chewed a few more times. Did she tell you?

Charlene shakes her head. No. She was adamant that she was eating, but her weight has dropped. Why would she lie? Sometimes they just do. Are those barbecue? Charlene points to my open bag of chips. I nod.

Can I have some? I slide the bag towards her. The fluorescent lights above us emphasize the fatigue that weighs on Charlene's face. You look exhausted. Charlene exhales through her nose by the way of the laugh. Thanks. She dips a hand. into the chip bag.

We have three nurses quit and no new hires. Shit. Charlene nods in agreement. Shit is right. How's the kitchen? I shrug. We're short on staff too. Brian's already thrown two fits today.

Should we call Muriel's daughter? Let her know. Maybe Muriel will talk to her. Charlene goes in for another chip. No use, really. Parents rarely listen to their kids, I've learned. no matter their age. She raises a chip to her mouth, then hesitates.

She lowers her hand and looks at me with a soft sort of expression. We kind of seen her use with confused residents. I know it's hard. Trust me. I get it. But sometimes people decide they're ready to go. Muriel has had a long life. Longer than most.

I frown and take another bite of my sandwich. If there's anything in particular, you'd like to eat. I say to Muriel when I bring her dinner. I can make suggestions to the chef. They're always looking for new ideas. That was a lie. Brian would rather fry his own hand than take suggestions for meals, but if there was something Muriel would eat, I'd make sure she got it. She didn't respond. Doesn't move from her spot from the window. It's closed today and I see someone has put a lock on it to keep it from being opened. A mistake? I place her dinner on the table. At the sound, Muriel's head jerks from the window.

Our eyes lock. Puffed, dark circles hang beneath her eyes, worse even than Charlene's. I can see veins spidering beneath her skin, and her lips are chapped to the point of fraying. Stray strands of translucent hair have come loose from her clip. They whisper around her face. A cold prickling crawls across my scalp. Are you all right, Muriel? Muriel only stares at me.

Her pupils blown wide. Should I... Should I call a nurse for you? I... Muriel's neck cracks. Her head wrenching back toward the window, cutting off her words. And I flinch back with a gas.

Muriel leans heavy on her walker, her forehead pressed against the glass. White spittle wavers in her breath beneath her thin lips. Muriel? Something primal in me tells me to run, pushing fire into my blood. I'm calling a nurse, all right? Before I can move her wife.

one eye, the one closest to me, peels away from the window. The other stays trained ahead. I see it in the reflection. And I watch in horror as the one that is moving towards me hits the far corner of the socket. It stares at me. Her lips peel back from her teeth, exposing pale, spotted gums. Her hand lifts to the window. He's in the trees. It's only then that I notice her fingers and the dried blood that crusts them. Her nails are ragged and torn, some completely missing. I see the window's wide frame marred with her desperate, bloody prints where she's tried to open it despite the lock. He's getting closer.

Muriel? She's gotten blood on her walker as well. He's coming. With one eye still trained on me, she slams her head against the glass. I hear the crunch of bone breaking and the frame shivers. her nose is crushed, but she slams her head again, beating it with her skull. Muriel! I grab at her before I can think.

The skin on her forehead splits. Blood splatters as she bashes her head again and again. Muriel, please! I try to pull her away. My muscles strain as if wrangling a bowl, but it's no use. For a woman's so small and thin, I can't stop her. I jump away and race to the nurse call button that sits at her coffee table. I slam my hand onto it before running back to Muriel.

I tear off my apron from around my waist and shove it between Muriel's bleeding head and the window. The white fabric stains red. Muriel, stop it. Stop it! But she keeps chanting. Keep slamming her head against the window. And I fear that even with my apron in the way, the glass will shatter. I begin to scream.

Help! Help! I don't know what's last. My pleas are Muriel's repeated howls. Somebody! Please! I hear running in the hall. In here, in here!

What's going? Oh, God! It's not Charlene, but Susan, another nurse. I see her terrified expression in the reflection of a glass, how her wide eyes try to take in what she's seeing. I can't stop her. Help me, please. Susan moves then, rushes to Muriel's other side,

and between the two of us, we manage to pry Muriel away from the window. She collapses the moment she takes a staggering step back. On my knees beside her, I press my apron hard against Muriel's forehead to stop bleeding, but as I do, movement out of the corner of my eye makes me look up. My breath catches. For a second, I see a face outside the window, staring in. I don't see Muriel again for a few days. She's being kept in the hospital for treatment and evaluation.

I heard her, you know. Every night talking, talking, talking. The resident sitting across from Gladys, Judy, leans in, eyes wide, thirsty for new gossip. Talking? Talking to who? On the phone? My hands shake while I lay out their soup and buttered bread. They've been doing that recently.

I see him still. The face in Muriel's window. It wasn't human. Yes, it had two eyes and a mouth, but they were wrong somehow. Too big for its misshapen head. I think it had hair, long and straggly-like, but I'm not sure. I hadn't seen a body, just a kinked neck that allowed it to peer over the sill. It had glistened, its skin wet or oily.

No, not on the phone. Who's on the phone at midnight? To herself. She'd talk as though she'd. normally would, and then respond to herself in some strange, deep voice she put on. It was the honest thing. And to think they call me senile. Judy is eyeing Muriel's empty seat as though she expects it to jump out and bite her.

What kind of things did she say? I pretend to wrestle through my cart looking for extra packets of soda crackers. It's not what I saw that haunts me. No, what truly haunts me. What has me closing my blinds at night and locking my windows is not only that I had seen it, it had seen me. I'd felt at the moment our eyes met, a snapping and sort of a pull. It was magnetic, the urge to go to it.

All kinds of things. I couldn't understand it all, of course. It was mostly gibberish, you see. But there were bits about booed. that I could catch about being hungry. Do you think they'll let her come back? Gladys shrugs. Would you?

Muriel does come back. At least some of her does. Brian had been told to switch my schedule with Darla's to keep me from having to go back to Muriel's room after all that had happened, but it's no matter. It's already too late for me. I feel it still. Coming from the windows after sundown.

That creatures stare. I wait until the end of my shift before going to see Muriel. I don't bother knocking. Charlene told me Muriel's awareness of the world is gone. I don't think we have much time left with her. It never gets easier. Never. When I opened Muriel's door, she's sitting at the table near her window.

Her room has been cleaned. The cream carpet below the window scrubbed of any trace of blood, and the glass spit shined. The smell of roses is gone, replaced with the stinging scent of bleach. Working here, I've come to associate that sterile perfume with death. She's so pale, she glows in the dim yellow light of her lamp. I fear if a breeze should hit her, she'd be carried away with it. I take the seat beside her. Gladys and the others were worried about you.

We all were. I try to ignore how my voice shakes. I only see her in profile, but it's enough to see the entire half of her face is purple, green, and yellow with bruises. The gash on our forehead had to be stitched closed, and a white bandage has been wrapped around. Like trying to sew together wet tissue paper, Charlene once told me about giving senior stitches. Outside, a wind is blowing, howling through the trees. I don't know why I've come. Hope maybe. That what has been done can be undone. I saw him. What's out your window? I saw it. I saw him, the man in the trees. She stirs, then meets my gaze. Her eyes are like milk. I try to steady

my breathing, but the branches outside sound like claws against the window. I refuse to look. What is he? She doesn't answer right away. I begin to fear she never will when finally, her lips part. I didn't mean to call him. Her voice is brittle and fades, carried on her breath alone, her hands fidget in her lap. A mistake. Old things. Ancient things. talk at night. She pauses a moment. The wind has stopped. All I can hear is my blood rushing in my ears.

And you'll talk to anything when you're lonely. There's a certain clarity in her eyes I haven't seen in weeks. And she takes my hands in hers. Her skin is cold. It feels like marble against mine. He's hungry. Always hungry. I'm sorry.

I'm so. So sorry, my dear. He's... Before Muriel can finish, her neck cranks back at an impossible angle to stare out the window at her back. Chills raced down my spine, an edivistic warning to flee. This time, I listen. The next morning, Muriel is gone. Vanished.

I'm checking in for the start of my shift. One of the nurses went to check on her around midnight, but she wasn't there. We checked the security footage from the hall, and she was. She never left her room, at least not through the door. You'd think she went through the window? I mean, it was open. How she got the lock off? I'll never know.

But there was no sign of her below? Charlene shakes her head. Not even a footprint. I mean, there is no way she would have survived a fall like that. Police searched the forest for days, but all they find is Mariel's walker, strung up in some branches a few kilometers away. It's so far up that they need a ladder. to get it down. I don't tell anyone about the man in the trees. I don't tell anyone about what I saw

at Muriel's window or what she told me that last night. I know no one would believe me even if I did. I wouldn't believe it myself if I didn't still feel him. I had hoped that he would be satiated after Muriel, but some nights I must fight the urge to run to my windows and let him in. Those are the nights I know he's starving. Days after the search for Muriel is called off, her daughter and grandson come to collect her belongings. I watch from the kitchen as they load boxes into the trunk of their SUV. I know he'll get in eventually, that I can only hold off for so long. I never used to sleepwalk before, but recently I've been waking up standing next to my window,

and sometimes the air is cold, as if it's been open. He'd almost gotten me that last night at Muriel's. The window lock had taken longer to screw off than I'd expected, and Muriel had started opening the window before. before I was even out the door. I wish I felt guilty. Muriel was one of my favorite residents, but all I feel is his stare, even in the day. I feel as though I've been branded, the cold burning constantly in my back, my heart incessantly pounding. Outside, Muriel's grandson stops. He's pointing. There's something purple in the grass. The crocuses have started to bloom.

Chop down the tree outside my bedroom window. Hey, listen, I got to look after myself. To that end, let's take a quick break to talk about other ways to look after yourself, especially your mental health. That's why this show is sponsored by BetterHelp. It's almost impossible not to feel overwhelmed at times. It feels like there's bad news and negativity everywhere you look. It can make you feel like you're bogged down and unable to find a good space for yourself.

That's why I want to make sure you know about Better Help, therapy. Therapy has helped me a lot in my life. It doesn't mean I'm immune to the difficult stresses of life, but it has helped me cope and empowered me to take on all the ups and downs life can throw at me. So if you're thinking of giving therapy a try, BetterHelp is a great option. As the world's largest therapy service, BetterHelp has matched 3 million people with professionally licensed and vetted therapists available 100% online. Plus, it's affordable. Just fill out a brief questionnaire to match with a therapist. If things aren't clicking, you can easily switch to a new therapist anytime. It couldn't be simpler. No waiting rooms, no traffic, no endless searches for the

right therapist. Learn more and save 10% off your first month at betterhelp.com slash no sleep. That's better h-elp.com slash no sleep. Thanks to BetterHelp for sponsoring this episode. Now let's get back to the horror. What's that candle I see in the window? The cabin in the woods. No, not the horror movie, an actual cabin. Although a group of friends and horror movies are a part of this tale, shared with us by author R.J. Canootson. You see, they're gathering to watch some scary movies when they see a candle burning in the window of a cabin, they've always known to be abandoned. Performing this tale are Lindsay Russo, Jessica McAvoy, Sarah Thomas, Ellie Hirschman, and Jeff Clement. So prepare yourself for what you might encounter in a decrepit cabin.

What you see might be uncanny. The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. We had walked past the little place with the overgrown lawn and the empty, staring windows dozens of times before. We never saw anyone. No car in the drive, no flickering from a television, nothing. Never saw a single sign of life until that one yellow flame. I'm not sure I even registered seeing it. I was distracted by my friends, excited for the rest of the night.

But it stuck just enough that I mentioned it between our showing of the Babaduke and the Thing. Once I brought it up, we couldn't stop thinking about it. I'd never imagined going inside the place. It wasn't boarded up or falling in, but it just didn't look like a place anyone should go. It looked forgotten. I was happy to let it be forgotten, which is why it was so surprising when we all agreed to go inside. Lights don't work. Sammy gestured at the batch of switches by the door.

Not a problem. Robin tossed her duffel onto the yellowed floor. Flashlights and a couple lanterns in the bag. Let's set them up. Living room is base camp. Gabe rolled his eyes and snorted. You are loving this way too much. Robin put her hands up. Guilty is charged. I mean, if she's making us, we might as well enjoy it.

Sammy giggled and handed me some matches, nodding towards some unlit candles on the other side of the room. I just thought it would be fun. I had thought we were already having fun. A scary movie night, just like we used to. At least it's an excuse to finally bust these puppies out. Paul pulled the lenses of his tactical nighttime goggles down. And these do nothing.

Fucking Craigslist. I had to laugh. I was grateful to have something to laugh about amid the dancing shadows of the place. Tactical nighttime goggles, dude? Sounds like a bad translation of a sentence that doesn't actually mean anything in the first place. Paul shrugged. I guess I shouldn't have expected to see in the dark for 20 bucks in a sixer. Gabe was digging around in the duffel when he saw me lighting more candles.

Are you totally committed to making this as scary as possible? Gabe was the scirty cat of the bunch, which meant he was the best person to have along for anything spooky. Exactly the right friend for a roller coaster or a scary movie or a haunted house. He jumped and squirmed and whined so wonderfully. Gabe hated to be scared, got scared easily, but always showed up for scary movie night. On time, with snacks. He was the kind of guy who made fun things even more fun.

I always wondered if he knew what he was doing, suffering for our enjoyment. I held one of the candles up under my chin. Come on, Gabe, commit to the bit. The warmth from the candles seeped into my chin in a steady crescendo. I knew it would hurt soon, but I had the strangest notion to just hold it there and let it scald my skin. I wanted to burn myself. Sammy gently pulled on the candle holder,

moving it away from my face, smiling softly at me. I smiled back, and the feeling went away. Robin had just set up a big LED camping lantern on the kitchen counter, which was in the same big space as the living room. She was taking a good look around, but seemed disappointed.

The candles are honestly a great touch. We need something spooky in here, because is it just me, does this place just look like a house? What were you expecting? Bloody handprints up the wall? All those are in the basement. Or in the attic.

I bet there's some freaky shit in the attic. Sammy nodded in agreement. Robin was right, though. All those years wondering what was in this forgotten little house, I hadn't imagined it would be like this. The linoleum was yellowing, the furniture was old. There was some mold in the corners of the ceiling. But we had imagined much worse.

Yeah, this is only half a degree more run down than my uncle's house. I was hoping for something scarier. Sure you were. Robin's mouth twisted in a little frown. She had been stage managing at the high school and the sort of full-throthrotho way only an ambitious young woman could. She liked to put things in their place. Well, not things, really.

Her room was like an avalanche-prone section of the dump. But people. Not in a bad way. She liked to orchestrate events for maximum fun. She always wanted everything to be an event and to be awesome all the time for everyone. Paul started going through the cupboards in the kitchen. You want something scary? Tell them what you told me before they got to your house, Robin.

That shit was chilling. I logged that Paul had been over at Robbins early before the rest of us were supposed to show up. My suspicions about the two of them deepened. I could see it, even if it was a little kissing your cousin-ish. Oh, hell yes. so freaky. I'm not going to listen to this again. I'm going to take a leak.

He went back out the front and disappeared into the shadows of the overgrown lawn. Robin and I had already talked about this, which meant we were reciting this just for Gabe and Sammy. I knew exactly what she was going to say and chills were already running down my spine at the thought. So, you know how everyone is at least a little afraid of the dark? Or jumps when something slithers past them in the water? Evolutionary fear.

I wasn't trying to sound smart, even if I already knew the answer. Robin shot a finger gun at me. Bingo. It's in the programming. Enough of our ancestors got hunted by tigers in the dark or got bit by a water snake that now it's coded into us to be afraid of certain things. Gabe had sort of frozen in the middle of the room. Yeah, that makes sense.

Well, if that's true, what else might be true because of generational fears. Maybe there was a murderous tribe that painted up their faces white with big red smiles. Fear of clowns. Sammy considered this. That's interesting.

Fear of clowns never made much sense to me. Robin smiled, moving on to the part she knew what really freaked gave out. The one that really creeped me out is when the article... Ahem, Reddit post. Sorry. The very well-written and recent

searched Reddit post. Talked about the uncanny valley. Gabe's brow furrowed. Like in animation? Yeah, especially early CG animation where they thought they could make things photorealistic and it just made everything look freaky. Animated Tom Hanks. Right. Animated Tom Hanks from the train movie is mankind's greatest abomination. I like Tom Hanks. Sammy was clearly not following or not interested in the conversation. So think about what from our evolutionary history might be to blame for that. What if in our history there was something that almost looked like a person but wasn't quite something that humans had over time learned that we had to fear?

So now when we see something that looks like it's pretending to be a person, we get that kick of panic, the cold chill. Every culture has them. vampires, skin walkers, things that pretend to be people to get close to us. What if there was something like that? Something that over time killed enough of us, just like bears in the dark caves, so many that it got into our bones to be scared of something that's trying to look human, but isn't. I could see the hair on the back of Gabe's neck standing up.

He stood still for a long time before he finally spoke. Fuck you. We all versed out laughing as the tension discharged into the dark house with a rush of relief. Robin pulled open another cupboard, this time exposing plastic dishes, paper plates, and mismatched solo cups. She opened a drawer and I heard plastic cluttering around. Look at all the picnic shit. She held up a clear plastic spork. Did this used to be a park building or something?

Gabe hefted his backpack and went into the kitchen after her. Awesome. I brought snacks, but not plates and stuff. We can have a picnic. Great. I'm still hungry. Me too. As I realized how hungry I was, it dawned on me. Oh shit, you guys. We ordered a pizza. For here? No, before we left. We fought over toppings for 20 minutes. Finally agreed. Black olives are manifestations of Satan's will. Robin sneered.

People who don't like olives are doomed to celebrate. but meaningless lives. No, no, we are not doing that again. I don't really like pizza. Sammy, I don't have time to explain to you how weird and wrong that is. I couldn't believe it. Such a weird thing to do. I went from my phone.

I had to call the pizza place and apologize. Sammy saw me fumbling for my phone and shook her head. No service. Shit. We seriously ordered a pizza, got into some tizzy about a candle in the window of The Watching House, and just wandered off. really what happened? I was still laughing, but a little exasperated at the thought of the poor delivery

person, or of my mom getting jarred out of bed by the doorbell. I heard the refrigerator open, and the fans were to life. Oh, nice, the refrigerator works. We can keep the drinks cold. I saw Robin's eyes go stark wide. Gabe, if the fridge works, that means there's electricity. Gabe took something out of the fridge, a glass jar full of a briny liquid. pale yellow-green with things floating in it. Just pickles. Gabe shook the jar at Robin. Jeez, you're a genius. Fridges do run on electricity.

He didn't seem to catch the implications. Gabe, she means that if there's electricity, someone is living here. Someone is paying for the electricity. Or they forgot to turn it off. The three of us have come swimming here since we were little, and we've never seen anyone go in or out of this house. house, and the lights don't work, and the yard is insanely overgrown, and we've been in here talking at full volume for like a while. No one lives here.

I could see Gabe was being defensive. Robin often tried to freak him out, so he was quick to suspect a prank. Gabe, no jokes. We're not scring with you. It's just weird. Definitely weird. Sammy was chewing something. She didn't eat one of those mysterious pickles, did she? The lantern was only on half power, so I reached for it. I needed light. Needed to get a better look. The feeling of trespass was screaming in me, making my stomach hurt. Don't turn up the light. My fingers were already on the dial, but my arm hurt. There was suddenly a deep ache. Tendons and cartilage were burning. I'd hyper-extended once after a fall, and this was worse. I want to go. My voice was shaking, like I was straining. It sounded so

odd. Robin and Gabe were staring at me so strangely. There was something in their faces I couldn't place. Their jaws hung a little loose. Their eyes were dilated, even as I slowly, painstakingly, click by click, turned the lantern light up. Stop! I almost yelled it, but I didn't know why. I didn't know who I was yelling at. I don't... Sammy. They looked like they were trying really hard to see something, like their eyes and their minds were fighting. What? There's something there. Robin pointed.

Her short auburn hair seemed almost raised like a scared animal. Every word was a struggle. As the brighter light fell on her, Sammy's hands went up to her face and she turned around. As she did, she let go of my arm. I fell to my knees from the pain, a huge distorted bruise already forming in the shape of long fingers deep within the flesh of my arm. It welled up purple with spots of bright red from where the blood vessels had burst. My phone fell out of my hoodie pocket and clattered to the floor.

The screen swarmed with notifications, dozens of missed calls and texts, from Domino's, from Mom, one from Paul. Now that I saw them, I could hear the buzzing and dinging of notifications from Robin and Gabe's phones. No service, Sammy had said. The most recent message was Paul's. It was short. We don't know Sam. Sammy. I pushed myself to my feet and slapped at the batch of switches on the wall. The room lit up pale yellow.

Lights don't work, Sammy had said. Sammy covered her eyes from the light. That's that. Now, in full light, it was obvious. I'll never know how we didn't see it. The four of us had been swimming in front of her house for years. We'd probably seen her a lot of times, in the window or peering from a doorway, but it was easy to forget. Hard to remember. It's not easy to see things you don't want to see. Why did we come here? Why did you make us come here? Sammy looked sad.

I really did think it would be fun. You always seemed so happy when I watched you. I wanted to be happy, too. I think we all tried to run at the same time. No. All my muscles pulled into knots. Gabe lurched to a stop and vomited down his chest. Robin jerked forward and fell.

She caught her temple on the kitchen counter. No one tells you how far blood shoots when you are opened up really quickly. Some of Robin hit the wall next to me. I've had sleep paralysis a few times. Now, I'm pretty sure it's one of them coming to look at you to check you over like how Sammy looked us over. Her long fingers trailing and prodding, inspecting us like fresh fruit.

Sammy had long dark hair, but it was so glossy it looked like a wig. Sammy's eyes were just a little. little too far apart. Her mouth never actually closed. The skin on her neck looked like it didn't fit. Nothing was quite where it should be. Nothing had actually changed about her, but in the light I could finally see. In the light, it was too hard to fill the gaps. I still didn't want to see, but now I couldn't stop looking. Sammy ran one of her sharp fingers over the gash in Robin's head, leaving a red smear across her forehead. This will scar, but...

You'll learn to appreciate it. Otherwise, it would have been you. Sammy flicked one of her tongues along the side of my chin and down where I had tried to burn myself. Almost got loose right away. Would have spoiled the little fun we did get to have. It stayed close. The thing's not a face hovering right in front of mine. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can see it there.

The worst part, worse than the plastic, loose skin and broken teeth, is how it's lies have stuck. Even now, even after seeing it more closely and all that happened, when I picture it, I still think, Sammy. I can't quite shake the lie of a friend I had once named Sammy. I'm lonely. Then after what felt like another forever, it said, but I'm still. It sounded so sad. When it started to eat Gabe, whatever hold it had on us let loose. I didn't look. I just scrambled across the floor to Robin. Everything was burning and screaming inside of me. Oh, look! I heard myself choking. She looked. She's never been the same. Gabe pleaded and kicked and cried. Then he was quiet. I caught a reflection in the front windows of the house,

saw just a glimpse of my friend disappearing in big, ragged chunks. He looked like a crescent moon. I dragged Robin out of the house into the darkness of the overgrown front yard past what was left of Paul, don't mind him, Semey had said. I can't imagine what he thought as he died and we ignored him. It's easy to forget. Too easy to forget and too easy to lie. Too easy. So easy to believe.

You lie to yourself all the time. They are only a little better at it than you are. So just forget. The elves have dispersed this night. Poetic works from D. Darkness, a light. 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.

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