The NoSleep Podcast - S19: NoSleep Podcast - Tales of the Moon Crawler Part 2

Episode Date: September 10, 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.“Furry Skins” written by L.Pine (Story starts around 00:02:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Kristen DiMercurio, Shaw – Jesse Cornett, Mr. Boyle – David Cummings“Tales of the Moon Crawler – On Sheets of Papyrus” written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 00:50:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: David CummingsCast: Narrator – Erika Sanderson, Valerius – David Ault, Gaius – James Cleveland, Soldier – Jake BensonThis episode is sponsored by: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 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. Well, we're now well into September. Does it feel like autumn yet? Probably not, since a lot of our listeners are in places where the heat remains oppressively summer-like.

But we were recently treated to a haunting blue moon in the night sky. I hope you had a chance to gaze upon it. In a safe place, of course. As we're learning in this series of episodes, there are creatures out there that use the cover of dark and the moonlight to hunt. Some hunt for us. In this episode, we feature tales of hunters. And while we now know how the moon crawler hunts,

we also learn of how humans can be both the hunters and the hunters. and the hunted. 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 delve into the world of cryptids from a rather unique perspective, searching for these strange creatures, but not to study them for science, but rather to hunt them. to rid them from the property of those who can afford this rather expensive form of pest control. But as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author L. Pine,

when a professional big-game hunter is offered a large payday to eliminate a mysterious creature, the mystery only gets deeper and deadlier. Performing this tale with me are Kristen DiMecurio and Jesse Cornett. So despite the claim that human, human beings, Humans are the most dangerous game to hunt. I think you'll find something even more dangerous when you hunt the things with furry skins. Shaw led out a triumphant whoop

as the last echoes of gunshot faded into the trees. He marched over with long, confident strides to where the beast lay, but still displayed the caution that came with experience. You always had to be just a little careful making sure things of that size were actually dead and not just stunned. But he had his skill to count on,

and the bullet had hit straight through the skull, leaving it lifeless by the riverbank, with its muzzle lolling in the mud, black eyes wide open and glassy, and its limbs buckled beneath it at odd angles. Shaw gave another exhilarated laugh, still rushing from the high of adrenaline and gunfire. He prodded the carcass with the tip of his steel-toed boot,

before giving it a rougher nudge with the barrel of his gun for good measure. That's going to be ten thousand bucks for me. He squatted down on the bank and peered closely at his kill, scratching at the black stubble on his neck. And just what the hell are you? He'd never seen anything like it before, in his entire profession as a hunter. And now that the thrill of the hunt was over,

he could allow himself to be curious. It looked like a weasel If a weasel could grow To the size of a bear Bigger even The head wasn't quite the right shape The muzzle was too long The head too bullet shaped

The hind legs were short and beastlike But there was something off about the front limbs They were way too long And too skinny Too human They looked less like four legs And more like arms and that thought was off-putting to Shaw.

The fur ended at the wrists. The paws just bare pink flesh. If they could be called, paws. Really, they looked like hands, as big as Shaw's torso. Each with five long fingers, so thin the knuckles stood out, round and knobbly and tipped with sleek black talons as long as a hunting knife. It was not something he'd relish facing off against. Well, good thing I'm smarter than you.

Shaw sneered, grasping the weasel-shaped abomination by the ear, lifting its head and forcing its mouth open to examine the teeth. They were all long and pearly, sharp as razors. He let the head fall back against the bank, running a hand through its pelt. That was the best part of all. The whole body was covered in thick, snowy, white fur, soft and downy to the touch. Shaw whistled. That'll fetch a prize too.

And what do you think? You reckon he'll let me do what I want with your pieces if I barter with him? Laughing again, Shaw straightened up and started preparing the carcass for the hall back to his truck, securing it with harnesses and chatting mockingly to it all the while. He was in an exceptionally good mood. This was possibly the easiest hunt of his career, and would be the best paying one too. The man who owned the property had offered him $10,000, $10,000. and it hadn't taken him more than an hour of tracking.

He'd only been scouting for trails that he could leave traps on, and the beast had practically dropped into his lap. It had simply arrived, lumbering out into the open without so much as a look or cautious sniff around, entirely focused on getting a drink of water from the riverbank, making itself a perfect target. It hadn't even heard the click of the safety. It had been completely oblivious to the danger.

Shaw laughed again as he thought about it. It almost seemed like robbery to ask for the full 10,000 with how easy this had been. But he wasn't stupid enough to cut the fee. He'd never get that kind of money for such an easy job ever again, and he'd take the blessing offered him. Whatever this thing was, or how it had gotten there, wasn't something he cared about. An animal was an animal, and though Shaw was partial to a challenge on occasion, they were all just meat and skins to him in the end.

He'd parked his truck uphill at the mouth of the woods, where the river was no longer at ground level, but at the bottom of a steep bluff, several yards high. This made hauling the carcass a task, but Shaw was in too good a mood to complain. Time hauling was time spent daydreaming about his plans for the money. Such thoughts made the work lighter, so in no time at all, he had reached his truck. He was so engrossed in the hot, sweaty work of dragging the carcass onto the pickup bed and securing it that a distant sound almost didn't catch his attention. Shaw paused, wiping his sweaty mullet out of his face and glaring into the trees. Instinct kept him alert, remaining still and quiet as he waited to hear it again, so that he might be able to define it. And he did hear it. A soft, guttural growl somewhere not too far.

far off. Shaw cast a glance down at his prize, frowning. The big white creature's head had been bent and cocked to fit inside the truck bed, and it stared up at him with one filmy black eyeball, its mouth a grimace of death. Quite obviously not the source. As if to confirm this, a fly crawled over the snout, pausing to rub its feet together. Shaw vaulted over the side of the truck, unstrapping his shotgun and tentatively readying it against his shoulder. He swiveled his head, dark eyes darting back and forth as he scanned the clearing for any signs of motion in the trees. It wasn't unusual for an opportunistic predator to smell the blood from a hunt and take their chances tracking it to the source. The likelihood that he was in any danger was slim.

But the weird look of the beast he'd killed was enough to make him suspicious of what was out there. But when time passed without another odd sound, he lowered his firearm with a snort. They ain't got no time to be jumping at shadows. He was about to hitch his gun over his shoulder and jump onto the bed again when the sound of bark scraping and twigs snapping made him jerk back around. For a second he didn't see anything. But then he caught the movement, the shift of fur and muscles against the trunk of a tree. He hadn't noticed it before.

Its brown fur blended with the bark. But he couldn't believe he could miss a pair of a pair of. eyes like that, huge and round as big as dinner plates, bigger. It had been perched in the branches above his line of sight, its forelegs gripping the trunk as it slowly eased its way down the tree with all the lithe danger of a wild cat. It didn't look the same as the dead creature in Shaw's pickup, but it was just as absurd, resembling a cross between a long-eared bat and one of those weird things he'd seen in a National Geographic, a bushbaby, they'd called it. It was smaller, about half the size of the other beast, and despite its bat-like look,

it had no wings, but it had the same off-putting, human-looking arms and hands, fingers equipped with talons. Its rounded head had a wide mouth that stretched almost all the way to its pointed bat-like ears, which flattened against its head as it hissed at him, revealing rows of pearly razor-sharp teeth. The glinting eyes narrowed, jaws pulling back into a snarl. Then it opened its mouth and emitted a ghastly, furious shriek, muscles tensing to spring. He slung his shotgun back into place, but wasn't quick enough to aim in time. The beast propelled itself off the tree, the slug missing it by seconds,

ricocheting in a shower of bark, the deafening sound of the shot ringing through the woods. Shaw was knocked onto his back and slung across the forest floor with a single swipe from the huge set of claws. It tore through his clothes and only just scraped his flesh. He scrambled to get to his feet, bellowing a slew of swear words in his panic and rage. The beast crouched low to the ground, mere feet from him, muscles tensing for another lunge. It gave a high-pitched screech that ended in a low, growling hiss. Shaw knew he had no chance without distance. Gripping the shotgun in both hands, he struck out, clubbing the creature in the face with the butt right above its huge left eye.

It drew back with a scream of pain, and Shaw was on his feet, running. He could hear it coming after him, the scratching of bark and rustling of leaves, letting him know it was leaping from tree to tree, ready to drop on top of him. He reached the edge of the steep drop, the river chuckling below him. Forced to go no further, he turned on his heel, cocking and gripping the shotgun with white knuckles and tensed shoulders as he scanned the treetops. He heaved for breath, letting out a feral gruel. growl of his own.

Where are you? Come and get me! He'd barely let the words out, when a huge furry body pounced from the underbrush in a wild flurry of leaves and dirt. Shaw yelled, adjusting his aim and firing, but again the creature was too fast for him, the bullet only sending up a blast of earth into his eyes and nose. Another blow from a hefty clawed hand, as he backed up to avoid teeth, claws, and dirt, knocked him off balance.

He lost his footing with a howl of surprise, plummeting into the river with stomach-dropping speed as the ground vanished beneath him. The cold water shocked the breath out of him, but he had enough forethought to sling his shotgun over his shoulder, arms and legs flailing as he fought the current. His head breached the surface long enough to see the beast glaring down at him from the top of the bluff before it turned away, and the water dragged Shaw under again. Shaw lay spread-eagled against a flat, mossy boulder, soaked through and seething. His orange-down vest had worked as something of a buoy against the river, and being an outdoorsman made him a strong swimmer. However, he'd been carried a good distance before he'd managed to drag himself to dry land, and he wasn't sure exactly how far out he was. The man who'd hired him hadn't bothered to mention that there were two of the big ugly freaks out here in the woods. Hell, Shaw would

guess that he didn't have any idea what was out here at all. But what could you expect from someone with enough money to pay $10,000 a hide? He had plenty of cash to pay some low-class sap to get killed so he could avoid the risk himself. Shaw rubbed the right side of his jaw, wincing. He'd hit his face against a rock when he'd fought with the current, and the spot was beginning to swell. He stuck a grimy finger into his mouth, massaging his swelling gums and feeling each yellowed, crooked tooth to check if any were loose. Aside from the pain, he hadn't taken any real damage, but his pride was a different matter. He forced a shaking hand into a soaked pocket of his pants, searching for his can of dip, and swore when he remembered that he'd left it on his front seat.

He had no doubt that the carcass was being made into a feast and would be damaged beyond selling by the time he got back to his truck. If he wanted his payout, he'd have to get back fast. He sat up, rage giving him new energy. Just let the little slime ball try and not pay him after this. Taking action, Shaw slung his shotgun from his shoulder and examined it, before cursing and putting himself to the task of dismantling and cleaning the water out. He tore off his vest, red flannel, boots and socks, leaving only his camouflage pants, squeezing and shaking out the water from everything

while he let his gun dry, staying alert for any suspicious sounds or movement. The shotgun shells might be damaged, so he couldn't rely on firing it just yet anyway. And aside from the hunting knife firmly clipped to his belt, he was unarmed and vulnerable. It was a feeling he hated on principle. His thoughts were occupied on vengeful retribution against his client, and the bitch that had attacked him. He was dead convinced it was a female, because no male animal would attack with such vindictive spite and ferocity. No, it was a lady beast, all right. no doubt about it.

The client, a man by the name of Joseph Boyle, had not impressed Shaw, and he could tell that the feeling was mutual. When Shaw had driven into Boyle's expensively landscaped property in his beat-up truck, blaring country music out of his speakers with the window open, wearing his grungiest but best hunting clothes, Mr. Boyle had made a polite effort to mask his disdain.

Frank Shaw, I presume? He'd folded his hands behind his back without offering a handshake. which was fine because Shaw wouldn't have given him one if he had. Boyle was a short, pudgy, overdressed man that Shaw towered over by a good length. He could tell at a glance that he was the type who gave limp handshakes. Shaw spat a squirt of dip onto the manicured lawn, grinning as he saw Mr. Boyle flinch. What gave it away? Yes, well, I was told that you were the best and professional.

Mr. Boyle pointedly looked down his nose. I always am. Cry myself in it. I got word that you've got some money burning a hole in your pocket. And you want to spend it on getting something in those woods of yours removed. I've been meaning to do something about it for a while now. Mr. Boyle gestured vaguely toward the fuzzy outline of expansive woods past an open field behind the mansion. He kept his words very guarded.

Of course, it's not wandered onto the main ground. but it's only a matter of time until it does. And I can't have anything like that out there causing any sort of bad press. It's a liability. Just what exactly is that out there? A bear or something? No, it's not a bear.

Mr. Boyle spoke slowly, not meeting Shaw's eyes. I'll be honest with you, Mr. Shaw. I don't know what it is. You ever go out into those woods? Woods? Shaw picked at his tooth with a dirty chipped fingernail. Oh, heavens no. I've got no business with it. Don't hunt? Shaw hadn't bothered to hide his contempt.

That sort of thing doesn't attract me. I don't even own a gun, but I'm more than willing to rent the woods out to colleagues who do. What's stopping you from letting them pay you to hunt it then? Shaw realized as he looked back on the conversation that he should have been more suspicious. He'd been too eager, the prospect of money clouding his judgment. Not like it would have mattered. He'd have taken the job suspicious or not. I have my reasons.

Are you up for the task or not, Mr. Shaw? Shaw had laughed at that. Ah, no, how could I turn down $10,000 and the opportunity to hunt on such fine, exclusive property? Let me guess. That money ain't just for the animals, is it? You want me to keep my mouth shut. Is that right? Mr. Boyle had glared at him.

If you're willing, I'll have you sign the paperwork. I want it dead, but bring it back in one piece. Shaw had taken that as a very clear, yes. Even now, as he looked back on it, pulling his wrung-out clothes back on, he wasn't sure what the secrecy was about. Sure, they were weird-looking animals. but what didn't Joseph Boyle want his rich buddies to know? Why not take the opportunity to make a profit off of exclusive game?

But Mr. Boyle's strange decision meant money in Shaw's pocket, so he wouldn't question it. Whether he was dealing with aliens from outer space or a science experiment gone wrong, his only job was to pump it full of lead and dump it on Mr. Boyle's immaculate back porch. Though not as dry and prepared as he would have liked, Shaw hitched his reassembled shotgun over his shoulder,

and began the trek upstream. It was thanks to the river running a straight course that he knew he wasn't lost. But how far he was from his truck, he couldn't say. It was going to get dark in an hour or two, and he didn't fancy getting caught out alone and unprotected. He made his way cautiously, alert, darting glances to the treetops and the underbrush at the faintest sound.

He was hyper aware that his boots still sloshed from the wet, his socks still soggy and gross on his bare skin. The bird's song and murmuring of the river did nothing to relax him. The cabin, nestled in a clearing with the view of the river, was a welcome surprise. But it made sense that it was there, and Shaw was more than relieved to see it. After all, Boyle had mentioned renting the woods to his buddies, so of course they'd be accommodated by a comfortable hunting lodge. At the very least, it gave Shaw a new option to consider, and it was a favorable one.

On one hand, he could stay the night mostly secure from whatever might be lurking in the dark, waiting for him, and on the other, there might be some supplies he could use, like ammo. He approached the back door, boots creaking against the wooden steps, still making sure to glance around, listening for suspicious noises. He pressed his face against the window, but it was too dark to get a good look. He doubted anyone was currently staying inside, not if Boyle was dealing with a liability. As he put it, Shaw gritted his teeth. He'd been expecting to sleep in his truck if the hunt took days,

and knowing that this luxury hadn't been mentioned, was an insult. He tried the door, but as to be expected, it was locked. Shaw went down the steps and tried the front door, but that was locked too. He was more than happy to break down the door, if only to vent his frustration, but it didn't come to that. On second glance, he saw that one of the front windows was open, raised just high enough to get his hands under. It lifted with a groan of wood, and Shaw swung one long leg inside, ducking his head as he pulled the rest of his body after it.

The floorboards creaked as he meandered along, taking in his surroundings with a few nods of approval. Not bad at all. It was nothing elaborate, only one floor with an open layout and a high-angled ceiling. Everything from the double bed, the kitchen, and the dining table was in the same space. no doubt a rich man's idea of roughing it. The few doors he found to open only led to a bathroom with a standing shower and a few closets. It was cozy and stylishly furnished. It even had a chandelier and the bed was made with a heavy white comforter and several lacy throw pillows.

Shaw began to search the place, opening drawers and cupboards as he stomped about on the hunt for canned food. Now he had a moment to relax, he realized that he was ravenously hungry. today's excitement having worked up his appetite. Wrenching open one of the cabinets revealed a few cans of clam chowder, probably left by the last guests. Even better, the cans had pull-tops. Shaw tore open the can and snatched a spoon from the dish-drainer, wolfing down the cold, gloppy lumps of concentrated soup

without bothering to get a bowl or heated over the stove. Fisch-smelling chunks caught on his chin, and he wiped them back into his mouth with the palm of his hand. He slowed it down, scraping his spoon around, the inside of the can. A bit odd that there were dishes in the drainer, and not the drawer. Not unheard of, but if a past guest had forgotten to put them away, why wasn't there a layer of dust?

And why were there dirty dishes still in the sink? And trash in the trash can, all of which seemed fresh, and there was no mold or rotten odor. There was a film of dried and greasy soap bubbles around the rim of the sink drain, too, as if someone had pulled the plug not too long ago. Shaw looked his spoon, contemplating what this could mean in his head. When he heard a soft noise, it reminded him of a cat. A stray cat wandering into the woods was possible.

Shaw clucked his tongue, placing the empty soup can on the counter, calling softly. Here, kitty, kitty. He fidgeted with the hilt of his hunting knife. An animal was just meat and skin, after all. And meat was meat. another soft mule, and now he knew it was inside the house, somewhere by the bed, if he had to guess.

He approached slowly, clucking his tongue again. He heard a clear response again. He'd overlooked that the bottom drawer of the bedside table was open a crack. From inside it, something mulled. Cautiously, Shaw pulled it open all the way and almost dropped his hunting knife. What the hell? Staring up at him,

surrounded in a nest of sheets, was a baby, a human baby. It blinked up at him, squinting against the bright light with the soft noise of complaint. Fat little fists waving in protest at being interrupted from a nap, looking hardly old enough to crawl or even sit up. The baby was clean, plump, and healthy, dressed in a yellow onesie with bumblebees embroidered on the chest. It blinked up at him with very little interest, before yawning and sticking a puff. pudgy hand into its drooling mouth, tufts of blonde hair swirling around in unkempt little wisps.

Shaw's mouth hung open, his eyes bulging. At least the answer to this mystery was a simple one. Squatters. That would account for the dishes, the trash, and the food. But where was the mother now? The baby was washed, well fed, and aside from being hidden in a dresser and left on its own, it looked cared for. Whatever.

He twirled the hunting. knife in his fingers to thrust it back into the holster. Ain't my problem. He didn't have any use for babies, and this one was an unwelcome inconvenience that he'd have to keep quiet if he wanted to stay the night. There was a thud outside the cabin, like a large branch falling close to the porch. Shaw's hand instinctively tensed over his knife, slinking low towards the window. He peered out.

He couldn't see anything, but he heard the creek of floorboards to his right. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He probed his tongue against his still throbbing gums and licked his dry lips. From behind him, the baby let loose a loud squeal. Outside, there was a shuddering gasp, like a sob. Relieved, Shaw poked his head out the window. Come on out. I got your kid in here, and I don't have all...

He gazed into a pair of huge saucer eyes, bulging in a round furry face. It crouched low against the porch. Four legs bent like a spider, bat-like ears flattened as it let out a furious hiss full of razor-sharp teeth. Shaw scrambled back with a strangled yell, hitting his head against the window frame in his haste. The beast followed after him, already halfway through the window, long, talloned fingers scraping against the wood as it forced its way inside, snarling and shrieking at him. Shaw kicked the dining table with his full strength, laughing wildly as the monster screamed on impact. With a swipe from both front legs, the beast sent the table toppling over with a crash.

It slunk inside the cabin, crouched and hissing. They circled each other, Shaw gripping his knife and making no sudden movements. Confused and distressed, the baby was screaming its tiny lungs out. The beast darted to the side suddenly, scuttling like a crab not towards Shaw as he'd expected, but towards the makeshift crib, claws outstretched. He didn't know what made him do it. Selflessness wasn't in his nature. And it wasn't as if he cared one way or another what happened to the brat.

He should have let the beast be distracted by easy prey and made his getaway out the door. But he didn't. He lunged, sprinting and catching the beast by the neck in a football-style tackle, burying his knife into one of its huge hands. It screamed, rocking its shoulders and reaching with a free hand to shake him off. Blood splattered against the wood floors and pure white bed sheets. Shaw dropped back, scooping up the baby. be in tucking it firmly against his chest as he dashed across the cabin and vaulted out the window,

almost rolling across the porch. Adrenaline kept him going, thundering down the path and into the woods without looking back. The monster screams and the baby's frightened whales echoing through the trees and inside his head, stinging from the humiliation of a retreat. He paused long enough to bellow at the cabin for the sake of his pride. This ain't over between us. I'm just getting started. He would end things all right.

Just as soon as he had a dry shotgun and fresh ammo, he'd be on top and the hunt would be on. Shaw was regretting his moment of altruism. His swollen jaw throbbed mercilessly. His damp clothes were chafing him raw, and worst of all, the brat wouldn't stop crying. Its ear-splitting whales seemed to pierce right through Shaw's head and into his sore gums.

They echoed into the woods, ringing among the trees so everything with an earshot was aware of his location. His clumsy, inexperienced efforts to soothe the stupid thing only caused it to wriggle and writhe in his arms, fussing and drooling. He had also realized that he couldn't aim a shotgun and hold a baby at the same time. When it led out an excruciatingly piercing shriek, Shaw finally snapped. Holding it out in front of him, he gripped it under the armpits and snarled. Shut up!

If you make another noise, I'm going to bash you against a tree before you get us both killed. The baby stared at him with wide eyes, before its plump face collapsed into a whimper, starting up a mulling, anxious cry. Shaw groaned, cradling it with one arm and pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought his blood pressure. He took deep, steadying breaths. This was a temporary setback. He just had to get to his truck, and then the kid could be someone else's responsibility. He'd found it on Joseph Boyle's property, and that made it Boyle's problem. He had a pretty good idea what had happened to the mother.

He hadn't found any evidence of it, but most likely she'd become lunch for a certain bat-eared freak. He hissed down at the softly whimpering infant. You're stuck with me. Mommy isn't here, and I ain't your daddy. I ain't changing you or feeding you. So the sooner we're out of each other's lives, the happier will be. You got it? He prodded it in its chubby stomach.

So, keep quiet. I got the gun, and I got the knives. So I make the rules round here. It whined piteously. Shaw hadn't bothered to check if it was a boy or a girl, and he didn't care. All it really boiled down to was a pain in his ass. You know, you got some nerve complained.

You're going to act a little. grateful if I weren't such a sweet, kind-hearted man and the left of y'all. He knew perfectly well that couldn't understand a word he was saying, but it probably sensed his tone. Thanks, that big furry bitch would have played nice with you. She'd have split you open and pulled out your insides. Inch by little cute inch. Then he growled as an afterthought. And the next time we see her, I'll gut her myself. so she can spend the rest of her days, mounted to a wall. He continued his trek at a steady clip, keeping close to the riverbank.

He was confident that he'd bought himself some time by pinning his pursuer to the floor, but she'd get loose again. No doubt about that. The sound of the river masked his footsteps, but that also meant it would be difficult for him to hear her coming. So he paused intermittently to listen for anything other than the typical woodland noises. The trees stretched out before him endlessly. The dim light of evening muffled by the shadow of the woods,

and it was only the steady upward incline of the bank that let him know he was nearing his destination. You see that? He pointed, breathing heavily. That's where I shot the first one. We're close now. He increased his speed, boots slipping against the dirt. With any look, there'll be something left of it when we get there.

He grinned, slipping again and catching himself on a branch. And once I take out our baddy friend back there, it'll be $20,000 for me. And if Boyle thinks of paying me any less, I'll get him to. It was the thought of such a huge payout in his future that gave him new energy. The baby's eyes were closed, exhausted from all the excitement and tears. Its chubby little hands were tucked under its chin, nestled into a tight ball against Shaw's heaving chest. Kind of cute for dead weight When you keep your mouth shut, that is.

But when he crested the hill and caught sight of his truck, His improved mood vanished. The bed was empty, completely empty. Not so much as a scrap was left as evidence To show anything had ever been there. Shaw squatted and examined the bungee cords That had fallen to the dirt. He'd fitted them securely.

There was no way an animal could have unraveled them. He swore. kicking one of the tires and flinging his shotgun into the dirt. He placed the fully awake and sniveling infant onto the hard surface of the ribbed truck bed so that he could pace, stamping and kicking, cussing a blue streak and ranting at the injustice of it all. Are you telling me she untied the body and ate the entire thing? It ain't possible. I'll tell you one thing. He pointed at the baby, who was watching him with big scared eyes.

I ain't about to be thrown off a cliff, half-drowned, forced to babysit and have my merchandise robbed from me just so I can go back to boil, empty-handed with my tail between my legs. I'm getting that $10,000, and I'm keeping my pride. You hear? And shut off! The brat had started to whine again, snot and drool, dribbling down its red, wrinkled face. Shaw was glad he'd never had any kids, or a wife for that matter. But he had to calm down.

He had to be on his game, alert, couldn't fly off the handle when he had a job to do. And one way or another, he was going to do it. And to do that, he needed fresh, dry ammo. He trailed a hand tenderly along the metal surface of his truck as he approached the driver's side door. It had suffered its share of dings and scrapes over the years. but each fresh score he could feel in the paint that was the result of a beast's claws was another pinch of salt in his wounded pride.

With a snarl, he pulled the door handle, only for it to hold fast with a clunk. He made a couple more bad-tempered attempts without any success. It was locked, but he couldn't remember locking it. He never had any reason to when he went hunting alone, away from civilization, so it wasn't something he bothered with,

growling to himself, he jammed his hands in his pockets, searching for his keys. His rummaging grew more frantic, stamping and swearing with frustration as he realized that he didn't have them, until he was almost crawling on his hands and knees in the dirt in case he'd dropped them close by. The worst-case scenario was that he'd lost them in the woods, or in the river. As he stood up straight, kicking his front tire in disgust, on the other side of the truck, Something toppled over with a hollow, metallic noise. Shaw went to inspect it. So he was in luck after all.

In all the excitement, he'd forgotten he'd left his ammo box on the ground at the passenger side. He flung open the lid and began selecting new shotgun shells with rhapsodic pleasure. Shaw stroked his loaded gun lovingly, as the emasculating feelings of vulnerability melted away to be replaced by a predatory sense of power. But he wasn't ready yet. He knew the second he entered those woods he would be in her domain. She could come from above his head as well as the ground, and being injured would only heighten her spite and ferocity.

Shaw massaged his swollen gums as he thought this over. His truck was locked, and though he could simply walk to boils and ask for a locksmith, it was still a problem. Without being able to hide inside if things got nasty, he was left out in the open and vulnerable. He needed to have control again, to take the hunt on his terms instead of waiting with no plan of action nor decent vantage point.

Obviously, he needed a trap. She'd ambushed him so it was only fair that he returned the favor. He knew exactly where and how he could do it, but he needed bait, live bait. He leaned against the bed of his truck, picking at his front teeth with his cracked fingernails, deep in thought. Something big and easy enough to be tempting that would catch attention by scent. or noise. He glanced distractedly over his shoulder, still fondling his gun with his long, scarred fingers. The baby had calmed again once the shouting and stamping had stopped,

and was curled up in a little ball, half asleep and sucking on a fat little fist. Shaw grinned a wide, crooked sneer full of jagged yellow teeth, as an epiphany, clicked the last piece of the puzzle into place. Hidden under a canopy of leaves, his scent disguised by wet earth and loam, as well as a few drops of deer urine for good measure, Shaw congratulated himself on his brilliance. It wasn't like the kid would be missed by anyone. In fact, no one but him even knew it existed. Besides, Shaw was confident he could take his shot before any sort of disfiguring or fatal mauling took place, so he'd come out of it looking like a hero. And if he couldn't fire in time, or it got caught in the crossfire, the body wouldn't be found. And if it did, it was all the

beast's fault, and nobody would know the difference. He'd situated himself in a clearing not far from his truck, where a large stump of a fallen tree served as a landmark, as well as a serving table. He had to say the kid had behaved beautifully, asleep for most of the prep work, so that there was no worry about any beast activity off schedule. He'd tethered them to the trunk by the ankle

with a wire cord he kept in his ammo box, just in case the brat got restless and tried to wriggle off. It seemed too young and small to get very far, very fast, but he had to prepare for the worst. Now all he had to do was wait. It was only a matter of time before the bait got cold, hungry, or wet, and its anxious, ear-piercing cries would fill the woods, broadcasting its location.

Shaw licked his lips in anticipation. Remaining still and waiting in silence was part of the job description. He was used to it. But his dark hairy arms were riddled with goosebumps. His jaw set. The woods had grown dark. Night having fallen into a peaceful sort of gloom, the trees full with the eerie sounds of melancholy. Their branches knit together into a threadbare canopy.

The moon and stars caught and held there, as if in the spools of a dream catcher's net. The babble from the river was a distant mumble, outdone by the serenade of crickets, wailing of cicadas, and the occasional call of a screech owl. An ant crawled across Shaw's lip, and he licked it away, crunching it between his teeth. He blinked away fragments of leaves from his eyes, not daring to lift his head to scan the treetops as much as he wanted to. The peaceful night drew on, undisturbed. Then in the distance came a mournful, inhuman wail.

Shaw's blood froze, splintering in his veins like shards of crystal. He clenched his teeth even harder, despite the pain in his right jaw. Around him, the nighttime noises ceased, with all the abruptness of turning off a car radio. On the trunk, a tiny body wriggled with a soft rustle of fabric and loose bark. It muled, a confused, pitiful sound of distress. Shaw's heartbeat quickened, knowing what was coming. In the woods ahead of him came another blood-curdling shriek. As he knew it would, the baby gave an answering scream.

A plaintive, desperate noise that pierced the night's silence. It took up its howling cries in succession, splitting the piece and breaking through the woods in a crescendo of answering echoes and hiccuping sobs. From somewhere down the slope, branches cracked and leaves rustled, a heavy body approaching with gathering speed, its claws scraping rocks and roots in its haste to investigate. A shriek rose with a thunderous growl. The baby continued to sob, tiny pink fists flailing,

legs kicking against the cord that kept it tied. Shaw gripped his shotgun, finger hovering over the trigger as he held his breath. He licked his dry lips, his heart hammering with the exhilaration of a hunt. A pair of huge saucer eyes gleamed unblinkingly from the darkness, fixated on the stump, framed between shrubs and tree trunks. The creature breathed raggedly from its upward sprint. It stepped forward, crouched and slinking like a cat, sniffling,

ducking its head to avoid low-hanging branches and thorns as it crawled on its belly. a limp in its right foreleg. The baby continued to scream its lungs out. The urge to pull the trigger was infuriating. Hot beads of sweat dripping down Shaw's neck and back, soaking his flannel shirt and staining his pits, each howl from the tree stump, piercing his nerves like needles. Victory was so close.

She was in range. But if he missed, he lost the element of surprise and it was all over. She needed to be fully distracted. Ears like hers could hear the click of the trigger, despite the loud wails of an unhappy baby, and she was fast. He couldn't be hasty, even though he was seething with the desire to blow her head from her shoulders. As if his animosity could be sensed, the creature lifted its head, ears pricking. Shaw's heart and stomach turned to lead as those ginormous eyes met his. Did it see him?

If not, could it hear his heart beating against his chest? Or the sound of his breathing? Slowly, it backed away into the gloom, until nothing was visible but moonlight glinting from two rounded orbs. Then, in a rapid rustle of leaves, she dashed to the side and vanished. Shaw didn't dare move a muscle. His shoulders tensing so hard his whole spine burned. Sweat and dirt stung his eyes.

Where had she gone? Was she stalking behind him, preparing to pounce? Or had she just decided to leave, recognizing the, the danger she was in on instinct. The baby's cries drowned out any telling noises he would normally be able to catch. Shaw swallowed, his throat dry and sandy. A twig fell, landing onto the ground an inch from his nose.

Shaw's breath barely had a second to catch when it was completely stolen from him as a heavy weight slammed into his back, piercing, agonizing pain stabbing deep into his flesh and tearing, a resounding screech of animal ferocity deafening him. Talon tore through his down vest in flannel, ripping his back into ribbons. Shaw's gun fell from his grasp, his fingers slippery from sweat and fresh hot blood. Rows of razor-sharp teeth buried themselves into his right shoulder. The beast shook him violently

like a terrier with a rat before sending him flying with a toss of its head. He skidded in the dirt and leaves, his back slamming against the trunk of a tree so hard he felt his shoulder blades crunch. He lay there, stunned, bleeding out from a deep jagged rip in his neck. He tried to stand, but his legs only jerked and wiggled uselessly. His throat and mouth filled with hot blood, which trickled from his mouth and nose. He opened his mouth and only managed a gurgle. He watched, vision fading, as the beast approached the stump. The baby's screams previously loud and distracting, buzzing only faintly in his ear.

the way a radio signal is lost through a tunnel. Licking Shaw's blood from its muzzle, the bat-like thing loomed over the stump and lowered its round, nearly snoutless head close. The baby's crying softened into breathless hiccups, distracted. Two chubby hands reached, tangling into the thick brown fur.

Shaw waited for it to be snapped up, pulled apart and chewed. The beast rubbed his face against the baby's fleece onesie with a low, contented hum. the way a cat might mark its scent. Then it sat back, and raised both of its huge, uncannily human-like hands, one swollen and bloody, and hooked its jaw with its fingers, wrenching its mouth the same way you'd force open a rusty box.

Like the seams of fabric, thick fur tore and ripped, mouth opening wider and wider until it peeled away entirely, and collapsed onto the forest floor in a heap, like a loose and unzipped garment. A woman stepped out, pale and naked, soft brown hair draped over her curved, ample breasts, and curtaining her face from view. She fell to her knees beside the stump and tugged the wire cord loose from the baby's ankle, scooping the infant up and clutching it desperately to her chest.

She buried her face into its wispy blonde hair, rocking back and forth, her shoulders heaving as her entire body trembled. Shaw watched this through fading vision. losing even the ability to feel shocked, as each breath of air was a battle. She stood, bending down and gathering up her cast-off fur coat, draping it over her shoulder like a toga, tenderly swaddling her baby with the loose ends. Long, grotesque arms like empty gloves dragged on the forest floor.

The limp leather flaps of huge bat-like ears hung across her shoulder. She bent her head and whispered something inaudible against her baby's ear before kissing the top of its fuzzy head, soothing it into uneasy silence. The infant still gurgled and whimpered, but safe in the arms of its mother. It began to relax. She then turned and glared at Shaw,

eyes far less huge, but still gleaming with pure hatred. A look of loathing that he returned with all the energy he could muster. With the last of his strength, Shaw gurgled out a final parting word as she walked past him. She paused, scowling down at him. Then her hateful expression softened into a playful smile,

and she held out her hand, one finger crooked. Shaw's keys dangled above his head, jingling softly as glints of moonlight reflected off their jagged surface, before she snapped her hand closed and turned her back on him, picking up his fallen shotgun with her free hand, and disappearing up the slope. He heard the sound of an engine starting, the distance as his vision grew dark, the forest floor, hungrily soaking up his lifeblood,

like an offering. In our final tale, we present part two of Tales of the Mooncrawler. As humankind progressed from the Stone Age, civilization took hold, and we now find ourselves in ancient Rome, a time when the mighty empire was expanding thanks to a well-trained army of soldiers. But when night falls on an encampment of the centuria, some soldiers use the cover of dark to engage in some fraternization, if only they knew what dwelt with them in those dark woods. Performing this tale are Erica Sanderson, David Alt, James Cleveland, and Jake Benson. And so humankind was not the only species which developed and grew over the millennia, and we know

this not because of records carved in stone, but in this case they were recorded on sheets of papyrus. Gaius slipped from the camp while his fellow soldiers drank and laughed and sang. In the chaos and revelry, he was sure that one, or say two men separating from the centurria for a few hours, wouldn't be missed. He was careful not to so much a step on a twig as he entered the forest for fear of giving away his position. Disobedience of any kind was said. subject to serious consequences. And desertion, well, not that desertion was his aim, of course. He wasn't running away.

He was running towards. The voice was coming from behind a tree with a trunk so large it could easily hide two or even three men. Gaius failed to suppress his smile as he rounded the tree, coming face to face with a feast that must have been delivered by Bacchus himself. Sitting amongst the splendor was Valerius. How did you... It was nothing. I just called in a few favours.

Gaius settled in next to Valerius. A nest of exposed tree roots offered them cover and served as comfortable backrests. There was plenty of room for the two of them, but if Valerius noticed that Gaius sat closer to him than was strictly necessary, he didn't mention it. Favors?

Huh? Why, Gaius, you couldn't possibly be accusing me of thievery, could you? I would never. I mean, good, because you know what the punishment for that would be? Don't even joke about that. Valerius poured the meech a cup of wine, then took a long draft of his own. Gaius locked arms with him. After all, he didn't need both hands to eat and drink.

The night lived on, and so did Gaius and Valerius's revelry. They ate and drank and laughed. Then as the moon slipped behind the clouds and the dark enveloped them, they turned their attentions to other things. It was much later as they lay in each other's arms that a noise caught their attention. Gaius bolted up, drawing his cloak over his chest. His mind raced to the worst-case scenario.

They'd been discovered by the other men having abandoned their posts and done what was forbidden to them. The consequences of such acts were grave. In his mind's eye, he saw the other officers binding them, dragging them back to camp to be stoned. Quick, Valerius, we have to go. What? What's the matter? If we're caught out here.

So what if we're caught? The trespass is not so grave as you think. We're allowed to walk in the woods at night, as the men in my contoburnium often do. Surely you don't mean. It's our sworn duty to... Stay in your quarters, close to your fellow men, always ready to leap into battle.

Yes, yes, of course. That's what they tell us. But do you know what those same officers do under the cover of night? No? They leave the camp and go to the pleasure houses in nearby villages. Some, like us, don't even make it that far. It's fine, I swear to you, no harm will come to us. For both our sakes, I hope you're right.

I'll prove it to you. It's probably another officer drunk off his ass on POSCA out here for a piss. Look. Valerius stood abruptly, intending to call out to the source. soldier against Gaius hissed protests. But before he could, he froze. Gaius' stomach churned with worry. Perhaps his fears had been misplaced. Could it be that an enemy scout had happened upon them? He tugged frantically on Valerius's pant leg, but the other man did not move. Slowly, carefully, Gaius pushed himself to his feet and strained his eyes to peer into the darkness. Geyes could just

see it. A large, hunched, dark shape. no less than 30 meters away. If it had been moving before, it certainly wasn't now. It stood still as a stone, seeming to face the direction of their camp. Valerius motioned to Gaius to crouch so that they were hidden by the tree roots that ensconced them.

Still, they could see the shape through the gaps. And while Valerius may have seen a bear, Gaius saw something different. There was something coming out of its head, or rather many somethings. The dark and the distance were no help in making sense of what he was seeing. It was almost like gnarled shape standing straight up, shapes that reminded him of... A deer? What? It has antlers. Look.

Perhaps he hadn't seen them before. Or maybe he'd mistaken them for tree branches in the background. Whatever the case, he saw them now. Don't stand on two legs. What else could it be? A brach, a soldier in a shroud. It was true that the creature, whatever it was, had of normal proportions. As Gaius looked closer, he had to admit that the shaggy back could be an animal pelt. The long arms might be hanging sleeves, and the antlers, if they could be called that, a headpiece of sorts. Instead of two antlers splitting into times, there seemed to be dozens of protrusions, like some sort of spiked crown. What if it's a god?

What god looks like that? Pluto doesn't walk the earth Unless he's escaped You worry too much I'm sure it's nothing But Gaius could hear a hint of worry In Valerius's tone As he continued to stare at the figure

Gaius' thoughts turned to survival Should it truly be a god There was nothing they could do to save themselves But despite his fears It had yet to look their way They watched as it stood for half an hour Its head periodically bobbing From side to side

as though it were a helmet hanging from a stick. Then that bobbing face split in two, almost all the way to the back of its head. Gaius jumped, and Valerius grabbed him tight by the arm, steadying him. It sounded like a woman wailing for help. It was so heart-wrenching, so desperate, that Gaius took an involuntary step forward to go to its aid. It was only Valerius's death grip on his arm

that brought him back to his senses. The creature's head scanned the area slowly, sweeping to and fro in an unhinged, unnatural sway. With that single whispered word, the image resolved itself into something very different in Gaius' mind. Now he could see a person, probably a woman, donning a fur cloak, using wooden dowels and stilts to appear larger and more threatening. At the end of a long stick would be the wooden head with its horned crown, wavering in the breeze.

The entire ensemble would be draped with pelts, possibly from foxes, which were plentiful in the area. Why she was doing it was anyone's guess. Most likely she was from a nearby city, about to be conquered, and this was their best attempt at scaring the centuria away. She probably didn't realize her home was already surrounded on all sides, and that there was no hope for her. Still, Gaius had to admire her tenacity.

All of a sudden, she dropped onto her hands, sending leaves flying in all directions, and bolted on all four straight for the camp. Ah, so the show was commencing. Gaius felt the tension leave his body as he collapsed back onto their blanket. He and Valerius agreed that, come morning, they would explain to the camp what they had seen. That way, if she had managed to scare anyone, they would be put at ease. Even the drunk as soldier will see through her absurd disguise quickly enough.

Well, I don't know about that. Some of the officers are more superstitious than others, after all. Like you? Oh, do shut up. I'm not superstitious. I'm just cautious. Hmm. Well, I hope your story of exhaustion has been exhausted for the night. There are other things that require your attention, I think. They melted back into each other, and their encounter with the strange woman faded into the background,

until they had quite forgotten it. That night, Gaius had a nightmare. When the morning came, all he could remember were flashes, a crown of horns, hollow eyes staring down at him as he was paralysed with fear, a strange clicking noise that seemed everywhere and nowhere all at once. But as the sunlight brought him away from the land of dreams, the memory faded until all that was left was the barest suggestion of dread and despair. And the much more pressing realization that they were late.

Valerius, wake up. We need to get back. They've probably started the headcount already. Must we? Let's lay here a little long. surely it isn't that late. But Gaius would not be persuaded. He prodded and cajoled his lover awake,

then set about gathering up the previous night's detritus. In just a few minutes, they were walking back toward camp, shivering in the freezing morning air. It didn't take long for Gaius to realize that something was off. It's quiet. Hmm? The others should be awake by now. We should be hearing them at the camp.

I heard them enjoying themselves late into the night, Perhaps they remained in bed like reasonable people. I'm being serious. Something is wrong. As they neared the edge of the forest, the tension in the air became palpable. Valerius was fully awake now and in battle mode. His hand gripping his sword as his steps grew more careful.

He pushed Gaius behind him on instinct, and Gaius drew his own weapon to protect Valerius from behind. The forest was deathly silent. Not even a bird broke the morning stillness. There was no smoke in the sky. Nothing to suggest the fires that should have been started an hour ago to cook breakfast. Nothing rustled in the trees or the underbrush. The two men quickened their pace until they finally broke through the trees and into the camp.

At first glance, everything looked almost normal. There were men sitting around long dead fires. Their arms looped around each other's shoulders as though about to launch into another raunchy folk song. Another man was sitting on the watchtower, poised to alert if they should see any enemy's scouts. Still another was sharpening his blade, the sword in one hand and the stone in another. The only trouble really was that all of them, each and every one, was missing their head. Gods, what is this madness? They walked further into the camp, taking in the bizarre scene in front of them. Further away from the treeline, the general state of the bodies changed. There were men

felled with their hands still clutching their swords as though they'd died in the midst of battle. Gaius tracked the progression of events in his mind. Something had come through the trees, right on the path they'd taken, and whatever it was, it would have had to kill everyone in the camp in under ten seconds to leave behind this type of carnage. Gaius and Valerius whipped round, searching for the source of the sound. Could there be a bay in a centuria camp? They ran toward the sound, weapons clutched. in sweating palms, ready to kill or rescue, whichever was needed.

They did not find a baby. Instead, they came face to face with the puppet. The thing was impaled on a spear, twitching, twisting. It turned its face to Gaius and his nightmare roared to life. He remembered a heart-shaped face that looked like it was carved from bone. It was the same face that stared at him now, still crying like a human child, begging to be saved. Its long, blood-soaked nails clawed at the ground, and Gaius understood what must have happened.

The creature's baleful keening died off, and it went still. Gaius took a cautious step forward. But Gads, what are you doing? The shout caused Gaius to startle. He barely had time to blink before the creature was lashing out, its deadly claws pointed right at his chest. The world tipped and he was thrown back on his ass, just out of range of the creature's considerable arm span.

No. He hadn't been thrown at all. He'd been pulled by a soldier with a pale tear-streaked face that was flecked in dried blood. Valerius was at his side in a moment, pulling him to his feet and tugging him even further away from the creature, which was thrashing and screaming with renewed vigor. By the gods, what is that thing? I've never seen anything like it.

We can't do anything to stop it. Aloysius felled it with a spear, more by accident than skill. From a safe distance, Gaius and Valerius. studied the thing that had slaughtered their comrades. They were all too aware that there were only a handful of soldiers left. They'd spotted twelve, standing far away from the beast, their swords trembling in their hands. The thing was like nothing either of them had ever seen. It was easy to see how, under the shadow of night, Valerius had mistaken it for a bear.

It had furred legs and arms with a short stubby tail, but that was where the resemblance ended. Its arms were much longer than any other animal Gaius had seen. seen. Its neck was long and furry, ending in that horrible bleached face with the dark coals for eyes and horns protruding out of the back of its head. But the most horrifying and strange thing about the creature was its chest. Here, there was no fur. Instead, it had an exposed ribcage, its bones gleaming in the sun. Within the cage was the creature's beating heart. Gaius could see it pulsing with blood and thought he might be physically ill. The spear that had pinned the creature had lanced it through the rib cage,

but it had missed the heart by mere centimeters. With a wound like that, it should have bled out hours ago, and yet still the creature lives. Surely it is cursed. The creature lunged forward and the spear in its chest wrenched. The remaining soldiers flinched. That's not going to hold it much longer. What can we do?

We cannot get close enough to kill it. They had minutes, maybe seconds before the creature freed itself. Gaius turned to look at Valerius and received a look of abject terror in return. There was only one thought clear in Gaius's mind. He would not allow Valerius to die. Sometimes the need to protect another person can give clarity where there was none before.

After Gaius's eyes alighted on Valerius, they shifted to the side and saw a still burning torch at the edge of the camp. Without stopping to think, Gaius ran for it. Valerius, get me the cooking oil. Without hesitation, Valerius snatched up the nearest bottle of cooking oil, handing it off to Gaius as he returned with the torch. With all his strength, Gaius threw the torch and cooking oil straight at the creature.

With a wild wrench, the beast freed itself on the spear. The men shouted and leapt back as it tore through the camp. Its burning flesh torching tents and trees in its wake. It ran some hundred or so metres until it finally stumbled and fell dead on the ground. The smoke from its carcass filling the air with a body. rotten stench that caused even the most hardened of the soldiers to shudder. Of the 80 soldiers in the Centuria, only a dozen survived. Valerius, Gaius, two soldiers who were at the camp when it was attacked, and eight others

that had snuck out during the night. The survivors made their way through the wood to the next Centurias camp, but as they walked, they heard the wailing of women in the woods. Yes, women, plural. The men held close together as well. they walked, their eyes darting through the trees in terror. Was it really women making that sound? Or was it something else?

How many of those creatures were out there? They'd never know. All they'd know is that a few weeks later, in the same region, another centuria was found utterly destroyed. And this time, there were no survivors. Tales of the Mooncrawler, part two. Written by Manon Lyset. Story editing assisted by Rona Vassilar.

The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Join us next week for Part 3 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.

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