The NoSleep Podcast - S19: NoSleep Podcast - Tales of the Moon Crawler - The Final Chapters

Episode Date: September 24, 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.“Tales of the Moon Crawler – By the Clatter of a Typewriter” written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 00:08:40)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Doctor James Emilio Leon – Graham Rowat, Narrator – Dan Zappulla, Photographer – David Cummings“Tales of the Moon Crawler – In the Light of a Monitor” written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 00:36:05)Produced by: David CummingsCast: Narrator – Atticus JacksonThis episode is sponsored by:Factor - Factor, Americaís #1 Ready-To-Eat Meal Kit, can help you fuel up with fast, fresh, never-frozen, chef-crafted meals delivered straight to your door. Visit factormeals.com/NOSLEEP50 and use code NOSLEEP50 to redeem 50% off.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 ©2013 – 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 in memorial, 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 world. creature known throughout history as the moon crawler. Greetings, sleepless listeners, and welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. As the calendar draws ever closer to the end of September, we've reached the conclusion of our series featuring the Tales of the Mooncrawler.

This final installment features the final two chapters of the series, as reported encounters with this creature reaches modern history right up. to present day. Yes, even our highly advanced technological world can't protect us from all the creatures who inhabit the night. A big cryptid congratulations and thanks to the author of this series, Manon Lyset. And may the moon also shine upon friend of the show and gifted writer in her own right, Rona Vassilar, for the editing help she provided on this series. And so, with one week remaining before the start of October and the launch of our 20th season, I'm thrilled to share the exciting news of what's about to happen with the No Sleep podcast. As most of you know, we've been

offering our season pass program since the spring of 2013. That means over 10 years of premium, extended, ad-free horror stories, and plenty of exclusive bonus episodes. And as I consider those nice round numbers, 10 years of season passes, and 20, seasons of horror overall. I felt it was time to shake things up just a wee bit. And change sometimes requires sacrifices. To that end, we set up an altar, got Peter Lewis to dawn one of his many strange robes, and put our season pass program under the sharp blade of the ceremonial dagger. Yes, that's right. There will be no season pass for seasons 20 and beyond. Ah, but Cummings, I hear you ask, what does this mean?

What about those longer episodes and the seemingly endless content we crave? Well, fear not, dear listeners, because we're transitioning to a new platform and a new way to experience sleepless horror and so much more. And we're doing it in the form of a new subscription platform called Supercast. Partnering with Supercast will allow us to offer an extremely easy to sign up subscription. package so you can continue or start to experience all the great content you've been used to in the former Season Pass program. We'll be offering two levels of support that we're calling our sleepless sanctuary. The sleepless level is just $5 a month or $55 a year. It'll feature access to a lot of great perks, including access to season 20s weekly ad-free episodes running

over two hours each, plus access to the fan-fifes. favorite, suddenly shocking bonus episode released each season. Access to our special Sleepless Sanctuary Discord channel, where you'll get to hang out with fellow Sleepless Sanctuary fans to talk about the podcast and hang out with many of the No Sleep team, a great place of interaction, fun, and exclusive hangouts. Our second tier is called The Sanctuary Level. Not only do you get all the content from the sleepless level,

but you'll also get access to our entire library of Power. season past episodes. That's right, 17 seasons worth of full-length episodes. Now, I'm not good at math, but I know that's probably over 500 episodes, and they're all available to you in the sanctuary. Now, what else do you get in this tier? Well, how about these perks? A monthly bonus episode, which will feature content like extra horror stories and interviews with our team, our writers, and the many people who make this show possible. You'll receive access to, the bonus episodes you've come to love, like the premium Halloween and Christmas episodes, along with each season's suddenly shocking and old-time radio bonus episodes. You'll be invited

to regular no-sleep game nights throughout the year where we'll be playing online games like Jackbox that you can join in on and play with members of the No Sleep cast and crew. Annual subscribers receive access to exclusive No Sleep merchandise, along with advanced notice and special pricing for any No Sleep live appearances. And get this, sanctuary members are included in quarterly raffles to be included in a no-sleep episode. That's right, hear your name in one of our stories. Simply put, the sanctuary is a place to do a deep, dark dive into the world of the No Sleep podcast, and it's available to you for only $10 a month or $110 a year.

And to really sweeten the deal, for the first week, you can sign up for the sanctuary tier for 20, percent off. That's one month of sanctuary for only $8. We are so excited about the possibilities that this new platform will bring us and you are fans. If you enjoy the kind of horror we bring you every week, and if you simply like what we do and have the capacity to support us, we hope you'll join our sleepless sanctuary at one of our tier levels and become even more sleepless. Our plan is to go live with our new platform on Wednesday, September 27th. And on the 27th, make sure you refresh the No Sleep Podcast regular feed or check our website. I'll be dropping a short episode on that date, which will give you more details about the new platform and how to become a member of our sleepless sanctuary.

So, there it is, the No Sleep podcast in its latest incarnation. The time has come to enter the sleepless Sanctuary. And so, dear friends, lock the doors and get settled in a place of relative safety, because you're going to encounter a creature that will undoubtedly leave you sleepless. In our first tale, we meet a gentleman on a mission, an academic, actually, a doctor, who has spent decades searching for a creature he first discovered rendered in cave paintings in Africa. I think by now we're well aware of what he's searching for. And as he shares in his journals, he was actually able to capture one of these moon crawlers.

But as you've come to realize, a creature like this is not something you can study or tame. Performing this tale are Graham Rowett and Dan Zapula. And so, reports of this creature draw closer and closer to our generation, so close, in fact, that the reports come to us by the clatter of a typewriter. They said it wasn't real. That the creature I devoted my life's work to was nothing but a myth. They called me a proper fool for searching. Oh, how wrong my so-called peers were. And Darwin, the thieving bastard.

Oh, he might have beaten me to the punch. But he did it off of my research. While everyone praised him for penning the theory of evolution, I'd devoted years to finding an animal that irrevocably proves it. And now they have. I've captured the rarest specimen known to man, a creature which I've dubbed the Luna Arepo.

A creature so rare that you've most certainly never heard of it, but whose proverbial footprints forge a trail through known human history. My name is Dr. James Emilio Leon, and I have found a species that we've found a species that will change our understanding of evolution as we know it. A creature that proves just how fast and efficiently a species can adapt, not merely over the course of hundreds of thousands of years, but within near observable spans of time.

Here, I give you my findings, accumulation of decades of work, brought to its conclusion by the successful capture and study of the Luna Aerepo. My introduction to the lunar Epo species were cave paintings found in Africa, dated back to approximately 5,000 to 4,500 BC. The creature was treated as a sort of boogeyman, a warning to tribe mates of the dangers of wandering alone at night.

Based on the repeated circular motifs, it is understood that it was believed to come out only on full moons and was particularly adverse to rain. Hence its name, Luna. Its face beared a striking resemblance to the Taito Alba, the modern barn owl, though its body more closely resembles a member of the Kolo-epis-Hofmani family, the common sloth. From my interpretations of the cave paintings and all the evidence I've gathered, I believe its resemblance to the latter does not extend to its speed or size.

In actual fact, the creature is quite swift, nimble and large. My interest was piqued when another scholar, James Brighton, wrote a paper on the ancient peasant folklore of the European countryside. As a man of many interests and high culture, I was drawn to his research purely as an exercise in intellectual stimulation, a pleasant diversion from my much more arduous work. So, imagine my surprise when I came upon a description so closely matching that of the creature from the cave paintings, that it could be nothing else but that very species.

That was the moment I began, in earnest, my search for this creature. For you see, while its description was nearly identical, there were a few peculiar disparities. These differences, I hypothesized, could not be wholly attributed to the rudimentary art style of the Stone Age or the inherent skewing of oral history. I had enough to throw myself into my research, looking for stories and depictions of this creature, attempting to trace back its history, and what I hoped would be the visible changes to its species for the sole purpose of proving evolution. My greatest regret was telling that rat, Darwin, about my research.

May he contract syphilis and gout and rot in his bed until the end of his days. How could I have predicted he would steal my ideas as the basis for his own research? But a fool I was for trusting him. But I am a fool no longer. Darwin is in the past. The Luna Areppo is my future. It took 30 long years. But I've captured one of its kind.

And I will show the world, and they shall suckle at the teat of my greatness. I will not live in his shadow. I will not be his success. I will be his superior. He will rule the day he came to my lecture to laugh and sneer. I will not be outshined again. It was north of Barcelona, edging uncomfortably close to the French border that we captured the creature. I had hired a group of hunters, a mix of British trappers and Indian natives

who'd done excellent work dealing with the blight that is India's tigers, ferocious man-eating beasts that could rise. I believe even the Luna Arepo had their intelligence not been so inferior, my instructions to the team were very clear. We would be trapping the Luna Aerepo, not killing it. As for how I managed to pinpoint where this creature was, it was thanks to my meticulous research and keen instincts. Suffice it to say, there were signs,

and I know many who would not have been capable of recognizing them. Thankfully, it was I, not them, in charge of the human. operation. I was informed shortly after arriving in Barcelona that my team had managed to seize the creature with limited casualties, arousing success. It was being transported to my lab, caged and sedated. I, of course, immediately set about preparing its chambers for arrival. I will admit to feeling a certain excitement on becoming a man of my status as the carriage pulled up with the veil cage. Once it was brought indoors and the veil lifted, I could only stare in awe. Oh, what a sight it was to behold.

The lunar wrapper was slumped in its case, looking like a bed of feathers and coarse-tangled fur. We placed it in its enclosure carefully, and I took a moment to inspect its body closely while it was still anesthetized. I felt the claws and face and membranes, and once it began to stir, I left it to its own devices and locked the enclosure. The first thing we learned about it was its adversity to light. It took hours of experimentation to determine the amount of light it would permit in its presence. With too much light, it became quite unmanageable, writhing in agony and throwing itself against the walls of its cage.

The specimen was feisty and uncooperative, so studying it took time, patience, and many doses of anesthetic. I've had it in my midst for two days now, and I've sent for a photographer to immortalize my discovery. In the meantime, I will pen my findings, which will be formally published once I've completed my research. The Lunar Repo stands tall at approximately seven feet and two inches, well above the average height of a man.

However, due to its propensity to hunch, which I believe serves to protect its vulnerable chest, its head is usually on level with that of a human. Speaking of the chest, while the Lunarepo was sedated, I was able to examine it closely. One of the things that piqued my initial interest in the cave paintings was that they showed the creature with an exposed heart,

though it is unclear exactly how accurate the drawings were. To my initial disappointment, I could find no exposed organs. I then noticed that there was only a thin sheet of skin covering the animal's ribs and heart. If I placed my hand upon it, I could feel its heart pumping rapidly, even with the lightest of touches. There's little muscle tissue or fat in the way. The absence of pectoral muscles must limit the motion of its arms. Perhaps it secures its prey with its undoubtedly more powerful hind legs. It is possible, though unlikely, that the muscles are buried behind the heart.

The only way to confirm it is to open the chest, but I hesitate to perform surgery on the creature before I've concluded my research. I do not wish to risk infection or death. Moving on to the creature's neck, it's smaller than it initially appears. It's coated in a thick mane of fur and feather that stands on end whenever it hunts, making it look larger and more menacing. The mane gives way approximately a quarter of the way down its back to a thick, leathery hide. While it seems connected to its body, and while the hide responds to stimuli,

oral history would indicate that it is capable of shedding this layer of skin, much like a lizard to escape danger. This skin is so tough that it is nearly impossible to penetrate. From an evolutionary standpoint, this makes sense. Due to its crouched stance, its chest is its most protected feature. Thus, it has evolved more defenses to survive an attack on its exposed back, while its weaker chest is protected by its posture. I would say, in a sense, that it is comparable to an armadillo,

in that both creatures favor protection in certain parts of the body while leaving others vulnerable. Unlike those of the human body, the lunar repos arms are long. than its legs, though both have visibly shrunk since its earliest depictions, becoming more proportionate through the ages. All limbs end in claws, also much shorter than originally depicted. It has five fingers, one of which is reminiscent of a thumb, though it does not appear to be as flexible and versatile. I believe, given a thousand years or so, it could easily evolve into an opposable thumb, but it's hard to say what course evolution will take.

Based on the cave paintings, it seems that the Luna Areppo may have once had a tail, but at this point in its evolution, all that is left is a vestigial stump and a few useless links to a tailbone. The face appears to be made of cartilage, not dissimilar to a bird's beak, but with a much larger surface area. Its eyes are small, sitting at the back of wide, circular sockets. I believe the size and depth of the socket serves two purposes. First, it shields the eyes from direct light. The creature has proven quite photosensitive, which makes its home in the dark confines of my laboratory ideal. Second, it gives the creature an imposing appearance that dissuades other predators, much like the eyes on butterfly wings

or tiger ears. There is evidence that the eyes were bigger at one point in time. and so must have adapted to shrink over the gears. This is evidenced by two thin, semi-opaque membranes present on the left and right inner portions of the eye cavities. When pulled, they stretch to meet in the middle. I believe these are remnants of what were once eyelids covering a much larger eyeball. The membranes remain, though I have yet to see their movement

triggered by the Luna Repo itself. It is unclear whether the creature is capable of, controlling the membrane. But even if it could, it lacks the muscle or tendon structure to be able to hold it in place. The membrane would collapse like an unsupported roof. As for its smaller eyes, they did not involve eyelids, though their withdrawn positions and the geometry of the eye socket protects them from dust and debris. It also appears to have two small canals connecting to its nasal cavities within the socket, which I've so far only once witnessed to being used to clear out dirt from the chasm. The final feature of note is the creature's horns. The specimen I am studying has six,

though there is an additional seventh protrusion at the base of his skull covered in a velvety texture like that of a deer. It is unclear to me whether these horns naturally fall and regrow, or whether their numbers change based on age or other. external factors. I look forward to studying this specimen for years to come to answer this question. The horns are fairly solid and twist outwards in seemingly random directions. Though they bend and twist, not a single pair of tangled together, suggesting there is some sort of biological design that prevents them from doing so. It is almost as though the horns are aware of one another. The Lunar Repo is surprisingly stealthy and quiet despite its size.

It keeps to the corners of its cell, blending in with the shadows. However, when I approach to feed or study it, it will turn its bone-white face towards me and follow my every move. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the one being studied. I've observed it standing, hunching, and crawling. I believe it switches. positions based on its needs. It stands to intimidate, crawls to ambush, and hunches the rest of the time. Likewise, it switches from bipedal to quadruped, depending on its stance,

though I expect for longer periods of walking it defaults to quadruped. It refuses any meat that isn't fresh. At first I was afraid it was attempting to starve itself. However, once offered a live specimen, it ate eagerly. it always decapitates the creature before consuming it, no matter the size of the prey. Further study is needed to understand this behavior. Does decapitation change the taste of the meat? Is it simply an easy way to incapacitate prey? Is it for amusement?

It's impossible to say. It's more than capable of swallowing an entire pig hole, but it actively chooses to remove the head first. It also seems fascinated with the tools and objects at my disposal. In one instance, I lacked vigilance while I was taking notes. The Lunarepo bridged the distance from the corner of its cell to my side, swiping my keys with one long claw. Thankfully, I acted fast and tranquilized it so as to retrieve them.

It surely did not understand how the keys function, but I have since taken extra precautions, nonetheless, always ensuring all objects are out of reach. The most fascinating behavior is its capability for human speech. A common element of stories of the Lunarepo is its ability to mimic. Like a parrot, it seems capable of speaking common words and sounds it hears. Reports describe screams of children, cries of women, and calls for help. During my initial research, I believed these were common noise.

it heard when attacking its prey, and that it reproduced them without understanding them, much like a child barks back at their dog. However, I have made an incredible discovery. Not only can it replicate human sounds, it can understand them as well. Thus far, don't and know are its favorite words, though it has shown that it is capable of so much more. I've managed to teach it more words, and I believe with patience and time it will be able to speak full sentences.

Never in a thousand years could I have imagined such a feat. The creature is more intelligent and resourceful than any other known to man. Tomorrow the photographer arrives, and at a single photo, I will become the most famous man in the world, and, more importantly, the most revered scientific mind ever to be born. I am utterly ruined. Much like Icarus and his fatal flight, I have made a catastrophic mistake in my overzealousness with the creature.

As I write this, there is literal and figurative blood on my hands. The Luna Erepo has escaped. It is not the gruesome sight that will haunt me to my grave. But the screams of the man savagely torn asunder, I hear them reverberating through the halls now, hours after the catastrophe. Even as the image fades, the sound only grows louder in my mind. Today, we were meant to take the first photograph of the lunar repo. I had not sedated the creature as I wanted to show its awesome might.

This mistake is what cost me my life's work. Still, there was no way I could have predicted what it would do. All the evidence I've gathered, all my empirical research, showed that this creature's strength was in its sense. swiftness and cunning, and its ability to evolve much more rapidly than other animals. There is nothing to suggest its enormous physical strength, beyond its strong jowls. The photographer, I didn't take note of his name, arrived shortly afternoon. He set up his equipment in the dim light and showed some nervousness at the creature

stirring in the darkness of its cage. He expressed some reservations, but I assured him it safe. He also protested the lack of light in the room, but I offered to pay him a second time if the first photo did not turn out. And so, I positioned myself in view of the creature and drew it nearer to the bars with the promise of food, much like a dog sitting still at its master's side. Just as I'd hoped, the Lunar Repo stood on its haunches, towering over me, looking as fearsome as I knew it to be. The photographer Reddit himself and his camera. On the count of three.

One, two, three. All hell broke loose. The lunar epoch shrieked what seemed like before the flash of the camera hit us. It was the most awful sound I'd yet heard from the creature. It felt like its talons had pierced my eardrums. Alas, the damage did not deafen me

to what was about to happen. I turned on my heels just in time to see the creature, its face against the bars and push outwards. I've never in my life experienced such horror as in the moment where I saw the iron bars begin to buckle. The amount of force it took, its neck must surely have been all muscle underneath the shaggy mane.

It happened so fast, yet there were details my keen eye caught that others surely would have missed, the fissures forming on its mask-like face, the clawed legs burrowing into the floor of the cage, the focus and intent in its hollow eyes. It was clear we'd angered the creature. We, or rather the photographer, who seemed none the wiser, still under his camera's tarp, fiddling with something,

I wish I'd had the mental fortitude to call out a warning to him. I did not. The iron parted just enough for the creature to squeeze its head and neck through. There was a thunderous cracking noise as it successfully pushed its broad chest between the bars. I believe this sound was the breaking of the rib-like bones protecting its heart. It must have injured itself in its rage, letting go of rational self-preservation in favor of revenge. A cornered animal reverting to its most basic instincts.

Fascinating behavior in hindsight. Terrifying to witness. With a swipe of its arm, the camera flew across the room, revealing the photographer who only just realized how terribly wrong everything had gone. The lunar repo did not decapitate the man. Instead, it pulled him apart slowly, carving away bits of his flesh with razor-sharp claws. It pulled out his intestines like a sailor raising an anchor. It flayed his skin from his flesh. It plunged its claws into his mouth and broke his jaw apart.

All while the man was still conscious, still screaming, I had squeezed into the cage, crawling to the corner and hoping the creature would either forget my presence or be unwilling to attempt to re-enter. I cowered there, afraid so much as breathed as the man begged and bellowed for help. Eventually he begged for death. Though it was slow to come, I believe the ultimate cause of death was blood loss, because by the time he fell silent, the floor beneath him was stained in an ocean of red. Finally, the lunar epoch consumed what it had killed,

leaving behind only the stink of blood and peace and shit. Then, it turned to me. In that moment, I was certain my fate would be as bad or worse than that of the photo. The lunar epoch stood there, as to evaluating whether I would be worth eating. Or perhaps it was mimicking me, studying me as I had spent so many weeks studying it. And then it shifted to all fours and turned away. Over the thundering of my heart, I could swear it said. Goodbye.

I think I may have even heard it say my name as it crawled out of the room. The destination's unknown. I have yet to leave the laboratory, to determine what other destruction the creature left in its wake. Instead, here I sit, with a third of a human body in pieces behind me. All my evidence. Gone. I'm only left with my notes and sketches. Perhaps these will be enough. Perhaps not all has been in vain.

The class snickered as they read through the final notes of Dr. James Emilio Leon's research. The paper was a well-known joke in the academic community. The actual identity of the doctor remains unknown, as there are no other papers or research published under the name. Most academics believe he never existed, and the entire thing was a hoax, a prank, played on the other scientists of the time. Others believed the purpose of the fraudulent paper was to teach younger researchers what not to do, as it was an exercise in incompetence.

Others believed the man really did exist, and was either a quack looking for fame, or an unfortunate soul gripped by delusions from which he could not escape. One thing is for certain. Dr. Leon's name lives on in infamy, as the greatest joke ever played in academia. So they claim the mooncrawler is the greatest joke ever played in academia, huh? I don't imagine many of us are laughing about this carnivorous cryptid.

So let's take a short break to calm our addled minds, and we can do that because this episode is brought to you by better help. You don't have to be trying to track down a killer cryptid to feel the stress of an anxious mind. I'm sure we've all been there. You're trying to relax, to fall asleep, to forget about life for a while. But your mind starts racing through all the things you either have to get done, solve, or just process. Well, a great way to make those racing thoughts go away is by talking them through. And doing that with a trained therapist is even better.

When I talk with my therapist, I get a new perspective on the things that keep my mind active late into the night. I've learned coping skills and ways to set down. In our final tale, we present the closing chapter in the Tales of the Mooncrawler series. We find ourselves in the 21st century, present day, a long time removed from the stone age when humankind first encountered the moon crawler. And as we meet a young man working a job while going to school, we'll find that while humanity may have evolved, so too as the moon crawler. And weapons we use to have fun with each other certainly will.

won't be enough to defend ourselves from the cryptid. Performing this tale is Atticus Jackson. And so, these tales may be at an end, but the moon will always shine in the night sky, just like what we learn in the light of a monitor. Last semester, I was looking for a quiet, easy-going job, something where I wouldn't have to be on my feet for long periods of time, and where no one would give the shit if I was constantly on Discord. I don't have a good excuse. Call me chronically lazy, call me an entitled 20-something, call me whatever. The fact is, I wanted to rake up as much money as I could for the least amount of effort.

You wouldn't think working out of paintball range would fit those criteria, but you'd be wrong. Once the game starts, there isn't much for me to do. And when you get used to the sound of paintball shots, you can pretty much drown out the noise and chill. Hell, it's almost relaxing. Or it was, until that guy went missing a few months after I started working there. I worked evenings, and my job was simple. Greet guests, distribute and collect waivers, go through the rules, rent out equipment as needed, and monitor the game. Once the players were all decked out in their gear, I'd climb up a little viewing platform,

a sorry excuse for a watchtower, and would start the game. I'd act as an unofficial referee, making sure people didn't overtly break the rules. But the truth was, I was only ever watching with one eye while messaging my friends with the other. Kind of like an escape room attendant. It's the nature of the work. What you have to understand is, for the most part, it was all routine. Sure, every once in a while, a group of friends would gang up on a guy and repeatedly shoot him in the nuts, but that wasn't strictly against the rules.

It was just generally frowned upon. At worst, someone would fall and cut themselves, and I'd pause the game to come help them with the first aid kit. The night he went missing, I was more distracted than usual. Midterms were coming up, so instead of chatting all evening, I was holding an impromptu cram session. I was cycling between three books and a hefty stack of cue cards.

It was a Friday evening, and the group was of the rowdier variety. I think they'd been out drinking before they got here, but I let them through anyways. I'm not paid enough to try to stop drunk guys who'll make a fuss about their reservations. I figured the worst that could happen as someone would pass out and or they'd pee on the obstacles. The forecast called for rain overnight, so I wasn't too concerned about the latter. The group decided on a three-way capture-the-flag type game. Once they were set up in their teams, red, blue, and green with matching paints,

I climbed back into the watchtower, melted into my chair, and gave them the go-ahead on the intercom. I didn't spare so much as a glance at them, opting instead to give all my attention to my studies as the distant chorus of pops erupted from all corners of the field. It was only when the shooting stopped, filling my little cabin with uneasy silence, that I tore my eyes away from my advanced economics textbook. I was almost relieved to hear the silence replaced by yelling. I could smell the adrenaline and testosterone from a mile away, coating the paintball range and splotches of animosity.

I peeked out the window and saw a member of the Red Team in the neutral quadrant, absolutely covered in blue paint from head to toe. I couldn't make out his words, but he was visibly upset in cussing the other team out. The greens were filtering in slowly. Tensions were rising and I had a feeling they might come to blows at any moment. Now, a little mea culpa here. It's possible that whatever he was upset over, he was in the right. It was my job to monitor and referee. And if I had been doing my job well, I could have called a foul against the blue team. Instead, I went over the loudspeakers and told the angry one he was eliminated. And to head on to the same.

sit-out, bitch. He reluctantly moved, as though I wasn't just some kid, but someone with real authority. In a few words, I'd knock some of the wind out of his sails. All hail the power of the loudspeaker system. I could see him fuming as he stomped his way out of the range. He was the only player eliminated so far, so the bench was a lonely place where he could have his temper tantrum in peace and quiet. The game continued, and I was a bit more careful to keep an eye out. I know for a fact I checked on this guy a few times. I know he was still seething with anger for a while, but then I kind of forgot about him and went back to my studies. Look, as long as he wasn't going to try to be some paintball rambo, I figured it'd be fine. Eventually, I glanced at

the sit-out bench again, and a handful of players were hanging out on it, chatting, and having a good time. I couldn't tell you whether he was part of the group. I hadn't taken note of his player number. They all kind of look the same to me, you know, when they're decked out in protective gear and covered in paint. I remember finding his equipment later, strewn haphazardly around halfway from the bench to the far end of the range, figured he'd had a hissy fit at some point and tossed it. There were a few pieces missing, but when renting it out, he'd put down a deposit, which he never collected, so it wasn't that big of a deal. We can afford to replace the knee pads and shirt.

I didn't hear back until the next day when his friends came looking. They said he'd gone missing, and the paintball range was the last place anyone remembered seeing him. There were no accusations in their questions, only hope and worry. They'd asked if I'd seen which way he'd gone that night. He wasn't known for bailing, but when they saw he was missing from the sit-out bench, they figured he'd been pissed enough to storm off. He couldn't have gone far. The paintball range was in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but fields,

and forests and just the one road. They'd only reserved the range for a couple of hours, so after the game, they figured they'd leave in both directions, and someone would find them walking down the road. But no one did. I admitted I hadn't seen him leave, but that I'd found his equipment out back. I wish I could remember more details.

I racked my brain for days afterwards, even when the cops came by to ask me the same questions. I tried to scrounge up the littlest detail, the smallest clue, something, anything, but I came up empty. I'd crammed in so much study material that evening that I hadn't retained anything helpful, leaving me feeling guilty, even though I hadn't done anything. Realistically, even if I had done my job, I don't think I would have seen what happened to him. But the fact that I hadn't even tried, killed me, like a lifeguard letting someone drown on their watch. I promised myself I'd be more vigilant moving forward and actually do my job. My next shift, I was all eyes on the paintball range, probably for the first time since I started working there.

Maybe that's why I noticed it. If that guy hadn't gone missing, and if I hadn't vowed to start taking my job seriously, I don't know if I ever would have seen what I saw on the horizon that night. There was an animal prowling in the dark, barely illuminated by moon. It could have been a dog, but it was a little bit too big. It was creeping on the fringes of the forest on the north quadrant of the paintball range. I watched as it wove through the first line of trees, seemingly oblivious to my gaze. It would occasionally flinch when paintball guns were fired from the edge of the arena closest to it.

Eventually, it disappeared into the foliage, leaving me to wonder what it could have been. A few days later, I brought a cheap telescope to work with me. You know, the kids' spyglass ones that look like a pirate's. I ordered it online, and while it wasn't great, it did help magnify my view. I really wish I'd remember there were binoculars in the cupboard at work. Hindsight is 2020. Throughout my shift, I scanned the forest edge, but I didn't see the animal I'd been looking at the night prior. Still, I kept a spyglass with me whenever I went into work.

I stayed vigilant over the next few days, but in the end, I didn't see the animal again. One morning, the owner called me and asked if I could fill in for my coworker Jamie. They were supposed to open the paintball range, but had no-called no-showed. Still tired from the night before, I managed to peel my blankets off and face the brightness of daylight, driving up to the range with a cup of coffee in one hand. There was a small group lined up at the gate waiting for their turn to play. To make a long, logistical story short, the first group had arrived that morning to a close sign and called the office, aka my boss, who came and let them in.

Rather than cancel everyone's reservations, he was trying to stagger groups in the hopes that no one would notice the delay. The group I met was the second reservation of the day, and I registered everyone and got them set up while the team still playing finished up their game. So yeah, kind of save the day there. No big deal. Once we had a rhythm going, the owner left me to my own devices and promised he'd find a replacement for my evening shift, so I wouldn't be there all day.

Now, the delay meant that there was no time for me to really take a break. I'd watch the first part of the game, then during the final third, I'd run to the entrance to get the new guests ready. That meant that when I saw something in the woods about midday, I didn't have time to go get my spyglass from my car. I don't know if it would have made a difference if I'd had the time. Besides, it wasn't an animal this time. It looked like fabric, something that was blowing in the wind, and it could have been anything.

I didn't even clue into the fact that it matched the color of our shirts. I was so busy running back and forth trying to keep the paintball matches going. My duties ate a good half of my lunch hour, but once that was done, I was well and truly caught up on the reservations. The afternoon wasn't as frantic or fast-paced, but I was exhausted anyway. The sun was already setting by the time my replacement Jack arrived. He took over and I headed to my car. Out of pure curiosity, I grabbed a spyglass and looked towards the forest in the dimming light.

I was right. It was fabric. An employee T-shirt, to be precise, logo and all. I should have checked it out, right? I should have. but I didn't. The sun was setting and I didn't want to go wandering over into the woods late at night for a wayward shirt. And I had a bad feeling, I guess.

Like when you walk by an open closet door at night. The next evening, I worked and brought the spyglass with me up to the watchtower. I'm sure the players thought I was a weirdo, blew to the window with a freaking pirate spyglass in my hands. I scanned the entire tree line for that shirt, but it was gone. I thought maybe my boss or Jack had spotted and retrieved it. Things were pretty normal for a while after that. We heard nothing more about the missing kid, and Jamie must have quit because they never showed up for work again.

But that was nothing new. Paintball ranges have surprisingly high turnover and surprisingly unreliable employees, which I already knew, because, after all, they hired me. It wasn't until about a week later that things changed. I wasn't even supposed to be working that day. It was a Friday, and I'd just gotten my test back,

the one I was cramming for when that kid went missing, and, big surprise, I totally bombed it. So, I was already in a pretty shit mood when my boss called me and told me that Jack No-Cold-No-Show'd. He was scheduled for both the afternoon and evening shit, So I had to work a double, all fuming over my stupid rotten luck, and subpar studying habits. So there I was, sitting in the watchtower, holding my lighter to my test paper in what was, in hindsight, a pretty childish tantrum. Once again, only half paying attention to the game going on outside.

It was another college group, five against five, nothing crazy. I'm not sure what it was that caught my attention. Something about the field seemed off. I looked up from where the flame was just starting to lick the corner of my test paper just to double check that everything was okay. It took me a moment to figure out what was wrong. But then I saw it. There was another player on the field.

I blew out the fire and stuffed the paper into the trash can. Was that another player walking across the field? field? They looked like they had some gear on, but it almost looked like they were wearing one of our employee t-shirts. Was Jack coming by for his shift after all? But why would he be walking across the field rather than through the parking lot? It was too dark to make much out at my distance, so I grabbed the spyglass to see if I could get a better look. I wasn't the only one who had noticed our guest. I heard some shouts from the players trying to figure out what was going on. Just as I was lifting the spyglass to my eye, the strangest thing happened.

One of the players, a guy on Team Red, by the looks of the blue paint, absolutely coating his gear, and walked over to the stranger. The player stopped just a step away from the person, and then crumpled to the ground like he'd been punched in the balls. Everything erupted into chaos. About half of the players ran towards their fallen friend while the other half ran away. It wasn't until I looked through the spyglass that I realized why. Their friend's head had been neatly separated from his body. Holy shit. I swung my spyglass over to the sound of the screen,

only to drop it out of my numb hands a second later. In that second, I managed to get a glimpse of that creature that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Long, wiry arms. A bone-white face dominated by huge, black eyes. And horns. At least a half a dozen horns protruded out the back of its head. Each ending in a razor-sharp point.

I fumbled for my cell phone. I wasn't sure who I was going to call exactly. The cops or the fire department or Sam and Dean Winchester. But as soon as my phone lit up, it didn't matter. because the bright blue light caught the creature's attention. You dropped to all fours and charged the watchtower so fast I could barely track its movement. It was there one moment, then gone the next. Then I felt the watchtower sway.

Remember earlier when I said it was a sorry excuse for a watchtower? That's because it was so old and shoddily built that a stiff wind could knock it over. We all used to joke that it was a lawsuit waiting to happen. We even had a betting pool on who would be in it when it finally went down. I was about to lose 50 bucks. Whatever the thing was, it was climbing fast. If I was going to get out of there, I had to act immediately. But when I turned around, I realized I had another potentially equally big problem on my hands.

That test paper that I'd planned to burn? Well, it was burning all right. along with everything else in the trash can. So, there I was. Caught between a monster and a literal trash fire. In my moment of hesitation, the watchtower came to a decision for me. Its sway became a tilt, which became a splintering of wood, which became a free fall.

The creature wasn't any more happy about the tower's downward trajectory than I was, which was weirdly comforting for a split second. Then the rest of reality caught up. Everything lurched to the side. I lost my footing and was thrown into the air. The four seconds it took for us to fall to the ground were the longest of my entire life. Yet I barely had enough time to bring my arms up to protect my head.

For a moment, when I hit the ground, I didn't experience anything. No pain. no sudden jolt, no feelings whatsoever. It was like I didn't exist at all. Then my consciousness was yanked back into my body, and everything hurt. I'd smack my head against something, probably, you know, the ground, which I suddenly realized was everywhere, and I could feel sticky blood running into my hair.

My left arm was definitely broken. And if my leg wasn't, it would be a miracle. I was certain that I was about to throw up. The worst thing, though, was that it was so hot. Which is precisely the moment that I realized the trash fire was becoming a woodpile fire. And I was smack in the middle of the pile. I'd almost forgotten that I had company. I scrambled to my knees and crawled as best as I could.

away from the awful noise before it split my eardrums. I felt blisters forming on my hands where I got too close to the flames. Some long, agonizing seconds later, I emerged from the other side of the fire, hacking smoke out of my lungs and shaking like a Scottish terrier after a mild inconvenience. I turned to look back at the fire. My vision was sort of blurry, and my head was still spinning,

but it was so close now that I could truly see it for what it was. From a distance, you could have mistaken it for a human. But here, like this, I could see its tough, leathery skin, and its long, matted mane of hair. Its arms were a little too long and ended in sharp claws that were stained with blood. Its face was the strangest thing. It looked like it was made of bone, but that wasn't possible. Strangest of all, it was wearing our paintball gear.

There were knee pads on its legs, and it wore an unfastened vest over a T-shirt, an employee t-shirt, to be exact. As I watched it shriek and frantically try to put out the flames that were singeing its clothes and licking at its skin, I realized two things. First, it must have been prowling around the paintball range for days, or even weak watching us, stealing from us. Second, it was smart enough to actually put the clothing on. This thing wasn't just a dumb animal.

It was something else. The thing stumbled back from the flames, raising its hands in front of its eyes. The light seemed to be hurting it. I felt a surge of relief. As long as I stayed near the fire, it wouldn't hurt me. Then it lowered its hands. hands, and my heart stopped. Its eyes had shrunk inside its face, leaving its sockets looking nearly empty, save for tiny pinpricks that shined and the light. It fixed those awful eyes on me,

and started to walk, on two feet, like a man, around the fire, and I knew what a rabbit feels like when a wolf closes in on it. The shrieking noise pounded the inside. of my head, and I cringed away even as I turned to see what could possibly be making such an awful sound. I've never been so happy to see a fire truck in my life. The creature clearly didn't feel the same. It took one more step toward me, tense as though to leap on me and tear me to shreds. Then, after a long moment staring at me, it turned, dropped on all fours, and sprinted back,

into the trees. That awful image stayed with me, even as my body gave out, and I surrendered to blessed unconsciousness. As it turns out, I owe my life to Todd, another straight-ease student like me who was playing paintball with his friends that night. He's the one who called the police when he saw the tower go down and catch fire. He's also the one who told the police that a monster dressed in paintball gear came out of the woods and decapitated three of the his friends. When I told them that story, they thought it was due to my head trauma. When Todd and his friends told them that story, they decided we were all lying to cover our asses. They spent hours trying to get Todd and his friends to admit that they'd rushed the watchtower and pushed it

over for fun. They tried to get me to at least admit that my version of events was probably concussion induced. They didn't get much luck either way. You might have expected me to quit after everything that happened, but I didn't. I was fired. My boss told me to take a hike for being a liability. How does getting stalked by a demon cryptic make me more of a liability than any other college kid? I know, I know. It's bullshit.

At the end of the day, I made the smart decision to get a job at a fast food joint, into hell with my bullshit boss. Amazingly, it only took about three months for the paintball range to be up and running again. I couldn't believe the place wasn't crawling with lawsuits, but there it was, with a shiny new watchtower to boot. Then, three weeks after it reopened, it was abandoned. It happened literally overnight. My ex-boss and two of the employees just vanished. After that, the place was shut down for good.

The cops have searched the woods a couple times now looking for bodies. There's even talk of a serial killer on the loose somewhere. Nobody ever finds anything, though. As for me, I think of that part of my life as some weird insane shit that happened and now it's over. Except, you know, I'm not so sure it's true. Because sometimes at night, when I'm finishing my shift at the diner, I'll step outside into the dark parking lot, and I swear, I could just swear that there's something watching me from the bushes. The Miles of the Mooncrawler, the final two chapters.

Written by Manon Lyset, story editing assisted by Rona Vassilar. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Join us next week for the start of the 20th season of the No-Zo. Sleep Podcast. 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. This audio production is copyright 2023 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.