The NoSleep Podcast - S19: NoSleep Podcast - Tales of the Moon Crawler Part 1

Episode Date: September 3, 2023

During the month of September we go cryptid crazy with tales about those mysterious creatures that remain hidden from us…until it’s too late.“Dead Upon Collision” written by Justin Moritz (Story starts around 00:03:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator – Graham Rowat, You – Atticus Jackson , Candace – Sarah Thomas, Driver – David Cummings“Tales of the Moon Crawler – Carved in Stone” written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 00:33:40)Produced by: David CummingsCast: Narrator – Mike DelGaudio, Heekoo – Atticus Jackson, Daarha – Sarah ThomasClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Manen LysetExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsTales of the Moon Crawler editing assistance by: Rona VaselaarMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Tales of the Moon Crawler” illustration courtesy of Emily CannonAudio 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.

From time immemorial, humanity has fought for its survival against the myriad beasts and animals with which we share this planet. And while creatures known to us have challenged our existence, there are those creatures, unseen, unstudied, unknown, which have proven to be our biggest threat. Now, brace yourself as you encounter the creature known throughout history as the moon crawler. Greetings, sleepless listeners, and welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. This is the first in a four-part series we're calling Tales of the Mooncrawler. In this short series, we're going to delve into the world of cryptids. A cryptid is defined as a creature that has been claimed to exist, but never proven to exist.

And while cryptids don't technically have to be mythical or supernatural, in literature they usually have characteristics which make them beings you don't want to encounter on a dark night, or even on a bright sunny day, for that matter. Humanity might consider itself to be at the top of the food chain, but in the world of cryptids, we can often find ourselves, nothing more than a tasty snack. The main tales in this series will feature stories about the cryptid known as the Mooncrawler. Writer and Erzot's cryptozoologist, Menon Lyset, is the one who has postulated the existence of this creature,

and as we'll learn, the Mooncrawler has been preying on humanity from prehistoric times all the way up to present day. And it's over the span of these many millennia that we will learn. encounter this cryptid, thanks to the records of those who had the misfortune of encountering this beast. But as we well know, the mooncrawler is not the only cryptid which has been claimed to exist, and to that end, we'll be featuring other tales of creatures which we can only hope reside in the imagination of writers instead of the dark woods and hidden places where humans dare not tread. And so, dear friends, lock the doors and get settled in a place of relative safety, because you're going to encounter a series of creatures that will undoubtedly leave you sleepless.

In our first tale, we meet... Well, we meet you. Yes, you. And I had no idea what you do for a living. I mean, collecting roadkill sounds like a gruesome job, but I suppose. it pays your bills and keeps a roof over your head, right? And as I've learned in this tale, shared with us by author Justin Moritz,

you've started to discover a strange trend lately with the creatures you scrape off the road. They all seem to be missing their heads. Performing this tale, on your behalf, are Graham Rowett, Atticus Jackson, and Sarah Thomas. And so, don't spend too much time trying to figure out what's happening to these animals? After all, they're all dead upon collision. A heart of your breakfast would have done you good.

The powdered donuts in your stomach burn up fast beneath the sultry afternoon heat, leaving you with nothing besides a sickly sweet taste in the back of your throat and a knot in your belly. You find your head between your knees, vision spinning dizzy as you dry heaved on the shoulder of the road. But maybe it's not the sun. and your poor diet that's getting to you. It could very well be the pregnant dough plastered to the side of the road, ragged rib cage and splintered spine, belly burst open somewhere between being struck by a speeding car's bumper

and smacking against the concrete. Grusome, perhaps. But to you, it's just another afternoon scraping rogue kill for shitty pay. What makes you yank your gaze from the gore is the man. mess spilling out from her. The fawn lies half on the concrete, glassy eyes staring up at you. A pregnant animal struck down in the heat of breeding season is far from unusual, but when you lean close, you can see that the fawn is far from intact. All four of its legs torn from its body, yet nowhere in sight. You can't bring yourself to pull the fawn from its mother's belly,

so instead you push it back inside and go about heaving the dough into the plastic tub with a pair of straps. You load mother and child into the back of the van. When you're back in the car, you grab a pat of paper from the passenger seat. Talley marks mar the page, categorized by the type of mutilation. A few dozen slashes beneath torn or severed legs, an elevated number of heads missing from their owners. It's a morbid exercise. exercise, but one that guarantees your supervisor won't poo-poo your observations, guffawing, probably a picky coyote.

Tossing the pad back in the seat, you start the van. A brain-numbing amount of your time is spent driving, scanning the asphalt for your next cleanup job. You find your head nodding along to the radio, zoning out as you drive these roads you've navigated countless times. Then you're pressing the brakes on your next clean-up. instinct, a pile of white and orange fur lying on the pavement a hundred yards out. Clearly, a cat poiled about its own feet. If you saw it anywhere else besides this long stretch of sparsely populated backwoods,

you might wonder if it was simply sleeping. Your heart breaks every time you stop for something domestic, imagining the owner yelling out into the night for a pet that will never come home. And each time you find yourself thinking of your cats, wondering if somehow this time you'll be scraping their bodies from the road. But today, hearing the Doe's body thud against the sides of the tub as you stop, an unfortunate accident is a relief. You're forced to walk on the shoulder of the road.

The slope leading up from the woods reduced to a muddy mess from last night's rain. A shovel in hand, you keep tabs on traffic out of the corner of your eye. The car is dangerously speed by. not even slowing as you make your way towards the mess with a flathead shovel. You walk quickly. Better get this over fast. You come upon the body, and when you go for a closer inspection, your guess of what happened. A car's fender, quickly striking the animal as it wandered into the road, knocking it back away from the tires,

an injury the cat addressed by pulling in its extremities, tucking its head against its chest, than dying is dashed. You rip your eyes away from the ragged wound, running the length of the cat's torso. So that makes an even dozen missing heads. Cleaning up the body doesn't take long. But as you go to load the bin into the back of your van, you take a step too far into the road.

The horn blairs, forcing you to jump away from the road. For brains? Tomorrow, the asshole. will have forgotten the sight of you on the side of the road, ridding the roadside of an unpleasant eyesore. People, they're all the same, sticking their tongues out and disgust when they're forced to stare death in the face. They should be thankful that they don't have to watch the bodies rocked because of you, but to them, you're nobody. A civil servant. No, you're a lesser janitor condemned to scraping the filth from the surface of the earth. Their gratitude for you.

your job? It comes into perpetual ringing in one ear. The eardrum beat paper thin by their palms slamming the car horn as they drive by. As the car swerves around you and you regain your footing, you see something in the grass, a glimmer of metal. You walk to the edge of the road and sweep it into your hand. It's the cat's bloody collar, a phone number etched in the stained tag. Thinking of your two cats at home and how you would want to know right away if anything happened to them. You dialed the number. I'm with Public Works, and I... Let me think how to say this.

If you got a call like this one, what would you want to hear? Yes, the truth. I found your cat dead on the side of the road. I'm sorry. A long pause. What did you get this number? I found the caller in the woods near the bus. body.

And I have it? Cat? You know that your supervisor wouldn't approve of an unwarranted break. Just forward her to the office. That's the protocol. But then she's speaking again. Come for a cup of coffee. At least I can do.

I really shouldn't. You're saying you'd rather spend the afternoon with sweat dripping down your forehead, scraping roadkill from the side of the road instead of having a cup of coffee. You suppose not. If you insist. You say yes, not because of the free coffee, but because of the way her voice shakes as she gives you the address, vocal cords quivering with a strange desperation.

So you pull up in front of her house, a small, single-story painted daffodil yellow with dirty white trim. You ring the doorbell, and as you remove the collar from your pocket, you realize by her voice alone, you have no idea if you should expect. a young or an old woman. And then she's standing in the doorway, younger than you expected.

No older than 25, with her red hair cut in the sort of stylish bob that all the movie stars wear, but none of the local stylists know how to style. She holds out her hand, introducing herself as Candace and welcomes you in. You hand her the collar and follow her into the kitchen. Thanks for bringing that. I really appreciate it. It's no bother. Cream? Sugar? You shake your head, no.

Pickles was a shitty cat. She locks eyes with you as she looks up from her coffee. Used to knock everything off the counters. One time, he even snatched all my fish from their tank and didn't even have the decency to eat them once he tossed them on the ground. That's horrible. You say it, then clarify. I'm really sorry about your cat and your fish.

The funny thing about pets is, no matter how much of a pain in the ass they are, you still miss them when they aren't around anymore. Easier to get lonely when you don't have the little shit to keep you on your toes. Candice steps a tad too close, her arm brushing against yours as she reaches across your body to place a metal tin before you, pulling the lid open with her fingernails.

Candice offers you a shortbread cookie. You take one out of politeness, your stomach already aching as you take a generous bite from the homemade treat. It crumbles beneath your molars, forming a paste as it melds with your saliva, leaving a stale taste in your mouth as you struggle to swallow it down.

Candice nearly stands shoulder to shoulder with you, so when you look down to mutter thank you, her face is closer than you would like. She stares up at you, her shaking hand, bridging the distance to touch your jaw. When she suddenly pulls your face to hers, you kiss her back without knowing why. Candice is peeling your fingers from your mug, leading the free hand to her waist. The way she looks at you, her eyes desperately searching for any acknowledgement, burrowing into you as she pushes you back into the countertop.

The suddenness of it brings about a... of flustered heat within you. Your fingers thrashing about as your hand finds its way to her belt. And with your bodies pressed together, kissing with all the awkwardness of strangers finding themselves in the unexpected throes of intimacy, everything you do feels too quick. You try to enjoy it, to shut your eyes and forget how strange it is. But on the back of your eyelids, all you see is Candace's cat with its head ripped from its shoulders. You smell rotting flesh on hot asphalt.

You can hear the splact of the cat's body falling into a full tub to stew in the vitriol of other animals. You try to bat these intrusive thoughts away, but all you can think about is every animal you've peeled from the pavement, tangled limbs and severed spines and twitching hot meat. And with her hips pressed against your own, Candice seems to notice your waning excitement. Let's go of you and turns away as you stand there trying to sputter out some excuse.

It's not you, it's me, is what you should say, but you don't. You just stand there sputtering for an apology that doesn't find its bearings before blurting out. I should be going. Stay for lunch at least. A rainjack. You take a sticky note from her refrigerator, a pen from the kitchen island, and write your number down. This is my personal number. Give me a call and I'll take you to dinner.

Every night you bring the pad of paper home with you, trying to sort through the number of tallies who's the most likely culprit for the mutilations. A bear would be wary of traffic. And even if one did manage to get to a road when it was quiet and still, bears prefer their kills fresh. So a scavenger then, a fox or coyote scarfing down a chunk of flesh than going on their way. But to tear a deer's leg off with ease, that coyote would have to be the size of a small car, and surely someone would notice a creature of that size, even in a sparsely populated area. Your theories are tangled, arguments built on evidence you do not have. But when Candace calls you a week after your last awkward encounter, they are fresh in your mind. Candice speaks before you

have a chance, muttering between sobs. When you don't respond, she repeats herself as if uttering it again will nullify your disbelief. Candice, I saw Pickles dead on the side of the road. When you stay quiet on the other end of the line, Candice cuts through the silence. Is he wearing his collar? No, I found it a little way off in the woods. And the cat you found? Was it an orange cat? Yes. And did it have white stripes? Uh-huh.

With little black spots on his back? You can see the cat smashed into the asphalt. And as you picture him, your mind starts to play tricks on you. You see him without spots in your memory. But then, as if suddenly flicked with a paintbrush dipped in black ink, spots are thrown across his hide. Then they are gone. Then suddenly there. All the while you're fixated on the thought of the frayed,

edge of the cat's severed throat. Don't remember. Help me to look for him. Right now, it's pretty late. Oh, he isn't. I know that we just met, and that maybe I'm asking too much of you,

but I just have to know if it was him. You begin to decline. Then one of your cats hops onto the bed. He purrs so loudly as he rubs himself against your body that you can't think straight. Every night since you brought the collar, Candace has fallen asleep to silence. No warmth of a loving pet curled beneath the covers. Okay.

I'm on my way. When you get there, you realize that Candace is ill-prepared, handing you a flashlight that seems impossible to turn on. She takes the thing from you, expanding a lever from the side and cranking it until light beams out. You have to wind it up. flashlight in hand, you follow her into the woods at the back of her property. Candice doesn't make her search method clear to you. She walks too fast, takes sharp turns that leave you spinning to find her in the dark woods. The two of you only find each other again by the trill of your winding flashlights.

The deeper you get into the woods, the more frustrated you become with the exercise. Wind the flashlight, walk a few feet, try to make out what your flashlight isn't bright enough, to illuminate, wind again. Where did you see them? I think it was around here. By the way, Candace mumbles, you don't feel sure of her answer. You sure? Recognize these trees.

Don't all trees pretty much look the same? You regret saying it, seeing how quickly she walks away from you. But then she shouts your name, drawing your attention to a tree. The bark hangs ragged from its trunk, torn asunder by some of the same. something large. Her flashlight moves from tree to tree. The bark gripped from the trees seems strange. The wounds to the trunks too deep to be the result of a nasty storm. And then you hear a familiar noise, tires speeding over wet asphalt. The road isn't far. So this was how Pickles the cat made his way to the street. It's hopeless, isn't it? Candice sighs as her flashlight

ghost Ed. Yours flickers out soon afterwards. We can keep looking if you want. Why are you doing this for me? I spend my whole life looking for dead things on the side of the road. It's nice to look for something living. You trail close behind, Candace, watching as her flashlight suddenly seems overwhelmed by the darkness of night. Why were you even out here?

But Candice is already stepping out into the clearing. the beam of light doing little to illuminate the empty swath of land. You crank your flashlight, stopping despite Candace's continued pace as you shine the light on the ground. Wouldn't want a broken ankle out here. Candice grunts in the darkness, causing you to flick your flashlight beam in her direction to see her hopping a fence. She carefully lowers herself on the other side. I worry they get lonely, too. You nod, placing one foot on the bottom plank and heaving yourself over the obstacle.

But for every inch God made you tall, he made you equally awkward on your feet. At the top of the fence, your center of balance falls first, sending you crashing on your ass into the dirt. Your elbow strikes the ground hard, the flashlight going dark as it's thrown from your hand. Scambling for the tool, you crank and crank and crank and crank. But no light spills forth from the busted bulb. You're forced to run after or remain in the dark. When you rejoin her, you're able to see the hardly illuminated form of a muddy brown mare against the opposite side of the clearing.

The creature's back is turned to you, snorting air out its nose as it stares out into the woods. Candace, I think we should jump the fence again. You're already backing up towards the direction came. Candice doesn't move. Do you think a cat could frighten a horse enough to make it act like this? Candice motions to the horse peddling its feet, clearly looking like it's about to bolt. I don't want to find out by being trampled. You motion her to follow you out of this place.

But Candice is walking further into the field. The mechanical whir of her flashlight doesn't even catch a sideways glance from the horse. It whinnies, kicks its front legs high in the air as Candace finally gets close enough to illuminate the woods behind the creature. Blinking, you only see an empty space in the fence. Men exit into the deep woods that the horse inches backwards from. Its flanks are covered in deep scratches. The shattered remnants of the fence's wooden planks

scattered about its hooves. The animal heaves in breaths. foaming from the nostrils as it nays angrily at the darkness. You dig your heel in, lean in to grab Candace by the elbow, and throw the two of you out of the way in case the horse charges. But then Candice's flashlight turns off. And all you can hear is the panicked animal and the sound of your own breathing coming out rushed and flustered

as the whirring of her flashlight muffles your senses. You can't picture the horse moving. in the dark. You can only hear the heavy fall of its hooves, much too close for your comfort. One last crank, and the flashlight's beam illuminates the scene once again. The horse is now facing you, screaming as a blur of something darts from the woods and nips at its heels. The horse digs its front legs into the ground and begins to run full speed at the two of you. You throw your body to the side, watching as pandas stands motion. in the creature's path.

You expect to watch her get smashed to a pulp beneath the animal's hooves. Then the horse suddenly stops. All you can seem to focus on is the way the creature's eyes go wide as it's yanked hard, back into the woods. The noises that escape the horse's throat, desperate and gasping and crying for release, make you grab Candace hard and pull her in the opposite direction. She shouts and, and she shouts and. protest tears herself free from your grip. The horses' protests have gone silent, replaced by a wet, tearing noise. Flesh torn from flesh, an animal scarfing down fresh meat.

James, we need to leave. You grab the flashlight from her hand, watching its beam bob about the forest edge. A flash of orange fur tears through the bushes, only visible as the branches snap back and hide its path. Candice begins to walk towards the woods, leaving you sputtering. We'll come back for the cat. I promise we'll come back for the cat. But whatever just killed that horse,

we need to get back to your house and call someone before someone gets hurt. What you hear in the woods, the snapping of bones, limbs yanked noisily from sockets, a scuffling as the horse's body is dragged through the woods. It makes your entire being want to run away But Candice runs towards the noise

You want to shout at her that it's just some cat She can get another one You'll take her to an animal shelter Stick around for lunch and never leave her side If only she would turn on her heel And come running back to you But Candice doesn't stop as she passes between the fence posts Just mouths sorry over one shoulder

As she pushes her way through the foliage Right now, all you have to do to save yourself is leave. Forget this ever happened. Phone someone more qualified once you get back to your car. But you just stand there, waiting for Candice to change her mind. But a second's turn into minutes. You realize her mind is made. Then you're stepping forward, inching your way towards whatever monster

just slaughtered an animal much sturdier than you. You can't bring yourself to leave her to die. You're stupid for it, but you keep walking. You hear Candice's feet tearing through the forest debris, pick the noise out of the silence of the wood, and turn the crank in what you think to be her direction. When your light turns on, a creature towers over Candace.

Pickles the cat lies close to the ground. But then as your eyes adjust, you realize that what you see is not the cat. cat in its entirety, but rather his head attached to a massive foreign body. Its torso is a tower of snapping jaws, cats and dogs and coyotes held together by pulsating fibrous muscles. The creature stands on more than a dozen stolen legs, loosely separated into two rows which support its body. You can pick the mare's legs out from the rest. They don't seem to move with the rest of the appendages, twitching as threads of flesh secure them to the body.

The creature roars the sound of not one single animal, but that of a dozen vocal cords vibrating together. The sound of each of those animals, as they were pulled beneath the turning tires of passing traffic. As Candace turns on her heel to dive in your direction, screaming for help, the many biting mouths ripped into her back to pull her kicking. into the air. Candice goes limp as the creature consumes her. Her arms and legs ripped in opposite directions to sink into the back of the creature. The beast of beasts envelops her torso, her head

lining up with the others. And as her head settles into the mass, Candice comes alive again. Farrell, she snaps her teeth at you. That is when you run. You run in total darkness, the flashlight falling from your hand in the panic, but you can see the illuminated roadside. Just another hundred yards, and you're home free. You can hear the creature howling in its many voices behind you, the din of Candace's voice, familiar and terrifying amongst them. You pulled yourself hand and foot up the slope leading to the road, stumbling onto the asphalt, palms broken and bleeding. You hold your hands up, waving for the oncoming semi-truck. The truck's headlights grow brighter, blinding you as it nears.

But maybe at that moment the driver has dozed off, or got caught in his daydreaming, or look down at his phone, because he does not slow. By the time you realize this, there isn't time to jump out of the road. The truck's bumper strikes your legs. The pain's so bad that you don't feel your rib cage, smacking the windshield. You land on the roadside, a pile of broken bones.

Still alive, but just barely. You see the truck's brake lights a hundred yards down. The driver surely just registering what happened, but then you feel something wrapped around your ankle. A tentacle of metamorphic flesh pulls you out of sight into the shrubbery.

You see the driver of the truck, Look at the gore on the side of the road. No sign of you in sight. He shrugs. Just another wild animal. Who wasn't lucky enough to die upon collision. In our final tale, we present part one of Tales of the Mooncrawler. In order to find the first records of this mysterious and deadly crypted,

we must look back all the way to the Paleolithic period, where humans lived in small clans, sheltered in caves, and fought hard to survive this harsh planet. The only records from that era consist of cave paintings, and it's from one particular set of cave paintings that we first discover what the mooncrawler is and what it can do to humans. Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Atticus Jackson,

and Sarah Thomas. And so, brace yourself, for you're about to encounter the mooncrawler and learn some hard lessons. Lessons we know, because they've been carved in stone. Iku, son of Clock, waited at the cave entrance for his brother, Unk, first Son of Clock, to return. At his back, the rock settler clan slept fitfully as the rain pelted the rock face. and thick rivers of runoff water infiltrated the floor of the cave they called home. It had been raining like this for three straight days,

which meant the season of floods had begun. While it would bring the drying, brittle land back to life, it also made it harder for the clan to survive. Foraging was difficult and more miserable work. Weaving was near impossible in the dim light, and the rain stifled their ability, to harness fire. And with the heavy rain clouds blocking out the sun,

there was no defending against the things that made the darkness their home. Things announced only by the bodies they left in their wake, and those they didn't. Hiku shivered and pulled the pelt tighter around his shoulders. Three days it had been since Unk had gone hunting. On the first night, Hiku thought he heard a sound, like two pebbles clicking together. On the second night, he was sure he'd seen something scuttling about in trees.

By now, he knew what everyone else had already said with their pitying eyes. Unk was never coming back. Iku's mind flashed back to another night years ago. He and his family huddled in the recesses of a small cave, as the other members of the Grassland Clan screamed in agony outside. Their shrieks nearly eclipsed by the sound of the rain. After it was over, they'd taken refuge with the rock settlers, who'd been generous enough to take them in.

And now, it was happening all over again. Dara ignored the warning glances of the other rock settler clan members as she approached Hikus' perch at the mouth of the cave. He didn't look over as she sat next to him, but he did take a few of the dried berries she offered him. Leadership came naturally to Dara, which was why she took charge of preparing their food stores for the floods and droughts. It was never much, only what she and the others could scrounge from the merciless land,

but it would help them survive several rough weeks, and what weeks they would be. The rock settlers were getting anxious. Every day there was a new fight, always on the same topic. Should they stay or should they go? Was there greater danger in staying in the cave and risking starvation or in braving the things that walked in the darkness? There were those who didn't believe the darkness held any danger

they hadn't already seen in the light of day. They thought the drawings on the cave wall were sure. stories told to frighten the children and stop them from wandering out of the cave at night. Others, though, had sworn they'd seen dark, void-like eyes staring out at them from the trees, as clear a sign as any that death would soon follow. Once in a great while, someone would claim to have come face to face with the things in the darkness and survived. They'd try to explain what they'd seen. that all any of them ever talked about were those eyes.

Most of them flung themselves off precipices soon after the encounter, whether it was from the horrors of what they'd seen or the result of some sort of witchcraft, no one could say. Dara had never seen any such creatures, but she knew what had happened to Hiku's people. He told her there was a terrible beast out there, that it was real. And that was good enough for her.

Darra was yanked from her thoughts. She saw Hiku's head snap up and his hand dart to the stone knife at his side. There was a long, quiet pause. Then Hiku's voice, painfully full of hope, called out. Hunk? Hiku's face paled and his hand gripped the knife so tight it shook. That was not Unk's voice. It was not one of their own at all.

The worst part was that it seemed to be coming from nowhere. Dara's head whipped from side to side as she looked for the source, but the noise continued to bounce off the rock walls. Was it inside the cave somehow? Had it found another entrance, killing the others of the clan as they sat blissfully unaware at the cave entrance? Was it now creeping up behind them? Were they moments away from death?

She tried to look, but Hiku grabbed her shoulder firmly, gesturing out of the cave. The pallid look on his face was at odds with his warrior posture. On his feet now, crouched low with the knife drawn back. But his message was clear. Whatever that thing was, it was outside, watching them. It was the second longest night of Hiku's life. All night and through the dawn, shrouded as it was by thick clouds suffocating the sky, Dara and Hiku watched, kept awake by the knowledge that the creature was so close.

Hiku's sharp eyes peeled away at the darkness, trying to pin the creature's location in vain. The noise continued all night. One moment it could be heard running through the trees. The next, they'd hear that clicking noise close to their ears. and small pebbles would rain down on their heads, as though something was scaling the tall rock wall above the cave. And yet, the attack they braced themselves for never happened. Hiku was sure it was taunting them, enjoying the thrill of the hunt.

And so the night went on, until the day finally broke and the things scuttled away. Hiku let out a shaky breath, as Dara turned to stare at. at him. She tilted her head in the early morning quiet, as though to ask, was that what I think it was? Hiku nodded his head jerkily and turned away before she could see the tears prickling the back of his eyes. There would be no time to mourn, Unk. That morning, Mao, one of the clan elders, examined the sky as she had done every day since the season of floods had begun. The cloud cover, had thinned, and so she sent the hunting party out for much-needed supplies. They'd have to be quick, for if the clouds thickened, or if they didn't return before nightfall, they'd be in danger

of encountering the beast. Many clan members volunteered, foremost among them, those that dismissed the existence of the evils of the darkness, including Dara's sister, Mika, who believed chiefly in what things she could see with her own. eyes, and Mika's son, Iroch, a boy eager to prove himself a man. The love between Dara and Mika was strong, and so Hiku couldn't claim to be surprised when Dara stated she too would join the party. Fortunately, Mao ordered both Dara and Hiku to stay in the cave and rest after their night watch.

Dara glanced nervously at the mouth of the cave as the hunting party left on its mission, braving the dim light of day with sharpened spears, stone daggers, as well as bows and arrows. Secretly, Hiku cursed Mika, whose foolishness had put that look in Dara's eyes. Hiku took Dara by the arm and pulled her away from the cave entrance. She was usually stubborn as a rock, but her exhaustion made her yield as he brought her to a pile of soft furs at the back of the cave. The both of them laid side by side, too afraid to sleep, but too tired to stay awake. Hiku watched Dara until he saw her eyes slip closed and her breathing even out. After that, there was nothing to keep him awake, and he too closed his eyes.

Dara jerked awake and was on her feet before she even registered what it was she had heard. Hiku was calling after her, but she couldn't wait. She had to get to the source of that sound because it felt so familiar deep down in her bones. Dara sprinted out of the mouth of the cave only to discover the land cloaked in darkness, the sky covered in deep gray storm clouds. Dara's eyes strained to see through the dark

until a whimper led her gaze across the clearing to the edge of the forest. There, in the mud, was the source of the sound. Mika, cradling Eroch's limp body. Her long black hair fell over the boy's shoulders covering his face. Dara could see dark blood washed from his skin by the rain. Mika lifted her face and Dara's stomach lurched.

Eroch's head had been torn off, leaving behind a pulsing red mess. His limbs still twitched in Mika's arms as she clutched him tight to her chest. Dara ran toward her sister, crying out for the other members of the hunting party to return. She could hear them stumbling through the trees in her direction. But it was too late. Something rushed by Dara with inhuman speed. It was too fast to see, but she could sense that it was enormous. Larger than two fanged cats, smaller than the mammoth.

She stumbled at the gust of wind it brought in its wake, riding herself just in time to hear her sister's cries. sharply cut. Mika knelt there for a moment longer, still holding Eeroch in a mother's embrace. Then, sheets of blood gushed out of her neck. Her head toppled to the side, landing in a bloody puddle. Her headless body slumped to the ground. Dara froze halfway between the cave and the forest.

The beast disappeared into the trees, but not before emitting the most terrible sound she'd ever heard. heard. It was nearly a mimic of Mika's cries, except it was impossible to mistake for anything human. It was only after the silence following the haunting cry, that Dower realized the thing was heading right in the direction of the hunting party. Before she could so much as scream a warning, Hiku grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back to the cave. Hiku stood there, frozen, clutching Dara so hard to his chest he was sure he must be hurting her while they listened to the massacre of their hunting party.

Heku hoped that someone, anyone, would make it back alive, but as the screams cut off one by one, he knew there would be no survivors. He had pressed Dara's head to his chest out of reflex. He was glad of it when he saw the thing's long black fingers emerge from the trees to snatch Mika and Irox's bodies, dragging them into the forest. Iku knew that would be the last they would see of Daris family. Not even bones would be left by the time the beast was finished.

The two of them stood there, trembling, both thinking the same thing. Half of their clan, eviscerated in minutes. The sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bones in the woods came to a sudden stop, and Dara pushed herself away from Hiku just enough that she could turn back to look out of the cave. Slowly, two large orbs floated out from behind a massive tree trunk. Each orb was almost as big as Hiku's hand. They were darker than dark, blacker than the shadows that surrounded them, and yet they had a reflective quality like water. They were both dark and light, empty and full. They moved in the shadows, twitching this way and that,

rotating in small circles and even standing on top of each other. Dara's breath hitched and she started to shake. Hiku could tell she was crying. He wanted to pull her close to him again, drag her backwards into the cave until they couldn't see the terrible orbs anymore. Only he He couldn't. He couldn't seem to look away. They weighed down his lungs so he could hardly breathe. They filled him with such terror. He was paralyzed. It was only as the orbs grew bigger that Dara realized they were the creature's eyes. And they weren't getting bigger. They were getting closer. The beast was approaching. It came crawling through the clearing on all fours, and though the rest of its body was now All Dara could look at were its terrible, captivating eyes.

It was watching her. It was coming for her. But then, the cloud covering thinned, and a shot of sunlight burst through, causing the creature to rear back. Its claws clutching at its eyes in agony. With its eyes shielded, Dara was free. She stumbled back, pulling Hiku with her as the creature howled. In the dim light, for a split second before the beast scuttled back into the safety of the trees, she caught a glimpse of it, seeing more than any survivor had seen before her.

Two things immediately caught her eye. First, the face. It was an odd shape, with two mounds tapering to a point at the end. It looked as though it were made of sun-bleached bone. Second, there was a red, beating heart on its chest. Dara had never seen anything like it, not even in the cave paintings. The heart, yes, she'd seen it inside the chests of animals they hunted, but on this creature, it sat impossibly on the outside of its skin.

She knew from hunting that to kill the heart was to kill the creature. If this creature had a heart like any other animal, then maybe it too could be killed. Once the beast was gone, Hiku steered Dara back inside the cave with the others, where Maho sat in the center of what remained of their clan. She kept her calm, even as others wept beside her. To show weakness now would mean death for the rest of the clan. Mao waited until she had everyone's attention. Then she gestured up to the sky, twisting her hand into a claw.

It was their symbol for the moon crawler. That was what they called the beast that stalked the night, the one that so many believed existed only in legend, until now. To reference the thing's name was considered a great evil, only permissible in the most dire of times. In using it, Maho had confirmed what Hiku had already. already known, the mooncrawler had come for them, and it would come again and again until the last of their blood had been shed. The argument that broke out after was the worst one yet. Until that

day, many members of the clan hadn't even truly believed in the moon crawler. Now they were faced with the truth, and no better for it. Nobody knew how the moon crawler could be killed. Nobody except Dara. She fell to her knees and grabbed a nearby stick, scratching wildly in the mud. Mao held up a hand to silence the others as she watched Dara work. Soon, the entire clan was watching with bated breath to see what she had to say. There, on the wet cave floor was a drawing of the moon crawler, showing the exposed heart on its chest.

Dara stabbed the stick into the chest of the drawing over and over until the others understood. If they could just get it to rear back on its hind legs again, they would have a chance to stab it right where it was most vulnerable. They could kill it. She knew they could. Mao looked thoughtful, but the others looked skeptical, and for good reason. The moon crawler was so fast, they would never see. its attack. They would die the second they stepped out of the cave, and inside the cave they were little better than trapped rats. Hiku grabbed the stick from her and added something to the drawing.

The sun shining above the creature, the reason it had stumbled in the first place. Dara frowned. The moon crawler would never have come out into the open if the sun was out, and there was no way to control the sun. Hiku tossed it. the stick down and made for the back of the cave. Dara thought perhaps he did so out of frustration. Until she saw him climbing up the rocks to the makeshift storeroom where they kept the paints and other meager supplies. The mooncrawler hated the sun and it feared fire.

There was something brewing in his mind as he tossed aside the supplies in search of something in particular. It didn't take long for Dara to figure out what he wanted, so she joined him in the search. The others in the clan looked on in confusion. That was no surprise. Dara and Hiku were so often of the same mind, they could have entire conversations just with their eyes.

The others would catch on soon enough. Sun, fire, night, rain. The moon crawler hated light. Of course. and as the two found their flint and knocked the stones together, the rest of the clan finally caught on. The excitement in the cave was a living thing, and it spread through Dara's chest. Now they had something they did not have before. Hope.

Things happened quickly after that. The clan worked together to plan their attack carefully, drawing painstakingly on the cave floor. By the time all the preparations were made, the sun was sinking low in the sky. The clouds were thickening, and there was nothing to do but wait. Hiku was the first to hear the clicking noise. It sent a wave of revulsion in his stomach. He thought of those terrible eyes and all the things he was willing to do to get away from them, to ensure he never looked at them again.

He would run screaming inside the cave. hide under a rock ledge until it was over. He could survive this, like his family had survived it before. Instead, he drew a deep breath, raised his right hand, and gave the signal. One by one, the clan members crept out of the cave, until half were lined up on each side of the rock face. They stood there, in the darkness, for what felt like ours, listening to the clicking that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

It was maddening, knowing that the moon crawler would reveal itself when it chose, that it was playing with them again. Hiku whipped his head to the right, eyes frantically searching the darkness, only to find Tuk-Tock's position empty. A murmur went through the rest of the group. The moon crawler had attacked so swiftly that no one would have known it was there at All were it not for Tuck Tuck's scream. Hiku pumped his fist twice in the air, and the group moved together, forming a massive arc across the clearing. Spears pointed outward like spikes.

Hiku stood perfectly still, straining every sense for the smallest indication of the moon crawler's location. But there was none. The creature was made for hunting at night. They were not. Hiku turned his weapon at the sound, only to find Vera next to him, pulling a twig from under her foot. A rush of air was Hiku's only warning. He turned back to find Ulu gone.

He hadn't even had the chance to scream. The group huddled closer. Now Hiku was next to Dara. She took his hand in his, squeezed it so tight he thought it would break. Hiku's other hand shook on his spear. The clearing and the forest had become deathly silent. Hiku had no idea where the creature was, but he was very aware that it knew exactly where they were. Now was their only chance.

At one of the elders' signals, the clan sprang into action, breaking their formation to charge into the darkness. As they did, fat rain drops began to fall from the sky and chaos rain. Hiku struck out wildly, hoping to land the shot that finally felled the terrible moon crawler. Around him, some war cries grew louder, while others are off entirely. Across the clearing, he heard Dara scream. At that moment, Mao came running out of the cave. She was brandishing two flints in her hand, striking them together wildly to create small sparks. She also painted her skin bright yellow.

that way if the rain prevented the sparks from lighting, perhaps she would look enough like the sun to fool the creature. The moon crawler stumbled out of its lethal crouch. Its claws clutched to its eyes as it lurched away from Mao. And sure enough, when it stood, it exposed its heart. Vera led a charge on the other side of the clearing, but as she and the others came close, the moon crawler lashed out with its vicious claw.

eviscerating them all in one swipe. But the movement left an opening just in front of Hiku. This was it. This was the moment. Raising his spear high, his own war cry frozen in his throat, he ran at the creature, his feet slipping in the mud around him. Closer. He was only a few steps away from plunging the spear into the thing's chest.

when it swung its bony, freakish head toward him, he refused to look up at its eyes. To do so would mean instant death. He could do this. He could make it just one more step. Before he could launch his spear, he saw a great maw of blackness before him, edged with sharp red stones. He faltered, the spear wobbling in his hands as the darkness. rushed over him. Dara watched as the moon crawler's teeth snapped through Hiku's neck. One moment it had unhinged its jaws like a snake, the next Hiku was in pieces. Dara did not cry as his body tumbled to the ground. She did not moan. Instead, she felt herself filled with wild rage. The creature tossed its head back to her.

swallow its mouthful of Hiku's head, and Dara didn't hesitate. She threw herself forward, gripped so tight on her spear she felt the splinters digging into her palm. The moon crawler's head was swinging down. She put everything she had into a burst of speed, gritting her teeth as she cried out, thrust the spear into the monster's chest. The few remaining clan members stepped back, giving the moon crawler a wide berth as it shrieked, its claws scrabbling at the spear in its chest. Only Dara would not retreat, driving the spear even deeper, almost begging the horrible creature to take her like it had taken Hiku. It stretched out to claw her, and she closed her eyes. This is it. This is where it ends. And then its limb curled back into its

south. And it fell, still and dead, with a force that shook the ground. For a moment, all was quiet, but for Dara's harsh breathing. Then the others crept closer to see the beast that had felled so many of them. The mooncrawler was huge. The body was at least three, perhaps four times their size. It was a wonder how the creature had been able to move so quickly. silently. The neck, coated in thick fur, was as tall as a person, with a tail just as long. The length of its arms was comparable, but its legs were much shorter. Now that she was closer to the creature, Dara could see the head was indeed made up of something hard, like bone or wood, and out of its back were strange, flexible tendrils that were still twitching.

A horrible feeling flooded Dara, and she screamed. scrambled away from the beast. The moon crawler jerked, its limbs lashing out in one last moment of agony before it finally succumbed to death. Dara had just barely stumbled out of the way, the tip of its claw slicing the skin across her stomach. Her clan members were not so fast, nor so lucky. Two of them were cut in two.

Another's neck was almost fully severed. and she fell to the ground, clutching weakly at the wound as she bled to death. Mao's abdomen was ripped open, and her innards spilled into the mud. In just a few agonizing seconds, their bodies twitched their last. And Dara was left alone. Helpless fury and grief overwhelmed her. She took another spear from the cold hand of one of her brethren and buried it in the moon crawler's eye.

This time, it did not scream. The tendrils from the back of its head lay lifeless. She grabbed one of the tendrils and mustered all her force to rip it from the moon crawler's body. She kicked muddy, bloody water into its face. She stabbed it over and over, the spear struggling to penetrate its thick hide until it finally snapped into pieces. And then she stepped away. Dara, the last of the rock settler clan, crawled back into the safety of the cave. Her blood dripped into the water that was flooding the cave floor.

It would reach a foot and a half by the time the season of floods ended. For now, she painfully crawled up the rock wall until she reached higher ground. Up there, on the wall were paintings. They told the stories of the rock settlers, the good and the bad. They told the legend of the mooncrawler, the one that so many others had thought was myth. Now, there would be a final story. Dara dipped her fingers into her own blood and painted the horrors she had seen. She grabbed old pieces of charcoal and other paints made from animal fat,

so she could render everything in painstated. taking detail. She painted Hiku's sacrifice, so all would know him as the hero who gave his life so they could slay the mooncrawler. Then she took the tendrils she'd pulled from the creature's head. Its ragged end was dripping something thick and black, unlike anything she'd ever seen in her life. She smeared it onto the wall, creating the moon crawler's effigy, a warning to to all who saw it of the horrors that lay waiting in the shadows. Eventually, she knew the sands of time would dull the other colors, but this figure would remain as sharp and vivid as the day it was drawn,

especially its large black eyes. Even now, it felt like they were watching her. They made her feel wrong somehow, like part of her had been done, had been torn away and fear had been stuffed in its place. She stared at them as the blood loss pulled her out of the world. They were almost as horrifying as the real thing. Almost. Tales of the Mooncrawler, part one. Written by Manon Lyset. Story editing assisted by Rona Vasselar. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Join us next next. week for part two of Tales of the Mooncrawler.

The No Sleep Podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical composer is Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings. Please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com for show notes and more details about the People who bring you this show, along with hundreds of hours of audio horror stories in our archives. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening and for supporting our Dark Tales.

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