The NoSleep Podcast - S20 Ep1: NoSleep Podcast S20E01

Episode Date: October 1, 2023

It’s Episode 01 of Season 20. Come join us around the campfire with tales that will leave you wanting s’more!“The Hunt” written by Dagen Strong (Story starts around 00:03:20)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Reagen Tacker“Among the Trees” written by Evan Jaffe (Story starts around 00:17:40)Produced & scored by: David CummingsCast: Wendy – Mary Murphy, Donnie – Atticus Jackson, Ian – Mike DelGaudio, Colton – Dan Zappulla, Tara – Sarah Thomas, Matt – Jeff Clement“The Watcher in the Leaves” written by Thibault Vasse (Story starts around 00:41:50)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Graham Rowat, Cecil – Dan Zappulla, Mother – Erin Lillis, Father – Jesse Cornett“Never Hike Alone at Big Bear Mountain” written by Elsey Sullivan (Story starts around 01:03:00)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Girl #1 – Sarah Thomas, Girl #2 – Nichole Goodnight, Guy – Elie Hirschman“The Sleep-Away Camp Massacre” written by Matt Richardsen (Story starts around 01:16:20)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Max – Matthew Bradford, Adam – Elie Hirschman, Meredith – Nichole Goodnight, Jared – Atticus Jackson, Park Ranger – Jesse Cornett, Kid #1 – Danielle McRae, Kid #2 – Kyle Akers, Kid #3 – Mary Murphy, Martin – Jeff Clement, Counselor #1 – Erin Lillis, Counselor #2 – Mike DelGaudio“The Missing Trees” written by Jim Horlock (Story starts around 02:00:20)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – Erika Sanderson, Bill – Andy Cresswell, Lorna – Penny Scott-Andrews, Man – David Ault, Woman – Ash MillmanThis episode is sponsored by:Green Chef - Green Chef makes eating well easy with plans to fit every lifestyle. Whether you're Keto, Paleo, Vegan, Vegetarian, Gluten-Free, or just looking to eat more balanced meals, Green Chef offers a range of recipes to suit your preferences. Go to greenchef.com/60nosleep and use code 60nosleep to get 60% off plus free shipping!Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about the Sleepless SanctuaryClick here to learn more about Matt RichardsenExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“The Hunt” illustration courtesy of Hasani WalkerAudio 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 our earliest days, we've gathered around the fire for warmth and comfort. But beyond the light of the dying embers, there is the darkness. And it's in the darkness of the night where we find ourselves, waiting, yearning for the dawn to banish our fears. But our campfire holds more than fire. light. For with us, you will hear the tales that make the nightmares engulf you. And you dare not close your eyes. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Welcome to Season 20 of the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. Well, we are so glad you've joined us at the start of our 20th season. October is upon us, and we're launching right at the start of the month of Halloween.

And although horror stories are a 365 kind of thing for us, we can't wait to make October extra horrifying for you. And upon reaching a milestone like 20 seasons, it's only natural to look back on where we started. Back in the early days, I used to say that the No Sleep podcast was like listening to scary stories around a campfire. And, with that in mind, our theme this season is just that. The Campfire, and the scary stories told in that setting. We hope you'll grab some warm clothes and maybe even some marshmallows and sit around the fire as we share the scares with you.

A big thanks to our composer Brandon Boone and senior producer Phil Mikulski for crafting the opening musical theme once again. And our very own Dan Zapula stopped by the Campfire with his old six-string. Thanks for bringing that great guitar sound to season 20, Dan. Uh, next time, can you play Wonderwall? And by now I hope you're aware of our new Sleepless Sanctuary. It's a monthly service where you can get all the extended, ad-free content and bonus episodes, all for one low monthly price.

If you have it already, make sure you check out the short announcement episode we released last week to learn about the new program and why we think it's the best way for you to stay as, Leapeless as possible. Check it out at sleepless.com. The nosleeppodcast.com. Okay, it's Halloween season. It's season 20, and it's time for horror. We're so glad we can be a part of your nightmares. Now the sun has set. The fire glows bright. Brace yourself for the darkness of the night. In our first tale, we meet a man who, as is most, appropriate for this new season, is heading for his favorite camping spot, and he's not one to let some rain dampen his spirits. But in this tale, shared with us by author Dagan Strong, the man is greeted

with a rather gruesome sight when he arrives in the forest, one that should have made him reconsider his trip. Performing this tale is Reagan Tacker. So remember that you're never truly alone in the forest. Food for thought when you're out there for the rest, the solitude, or the hunt. It was a rainy Friday evening when I hit the dirt roads that lead up to my usual hiking trail. The week had been long and work had been stressful. I wanted nothing more than to escape into the wilderness for the whole weekend, and that's what I'd set out to do. I wasn't a big hunter of any kind, really, though there had been the occasional outing where I'd brought my hunting equipment up, always found it difficult to pull the trigger when the time came.

This particular even I had brought some stuff with me, but only because I knew I wanted to try and stay until Sunday evening. My camping equipment was all kidded up in the backseat, along with my hunting rifle, just in case I encountered some less than friendly animals when I was out there. The first sign that something was wrong upon this mountain came only a short distance from where I'd parked my vehicle. With my gear on my back and the rain not letting up, I almost didn't notice it until I damn near kicked the thing. Half tucked into the bush, a set of dead, black eyes looked back at me, unblinking and unmoving.

I froze up for a moment, but once my eyes actually focused on it, I saw that it couldn't bring me any harm. It was the head of a deer that had spooked me. Just the head. When I actually moved to try and touch it with a gloved hand, it fell forward, revealing the stump of its mauled neck. On top of that, its horns had been completely removed in a similarly messy fashion. Whatever had killed it had done one hell of a job to say the least. The blood looked somewhat fresh, too. Now, normally, when I see something like that, I'd turn around pronto.

But I'd only just made it out there, and the eye would. idea of spending the weekend cooped up in my bachelor apartment was enough to outweigh the possibility of being mauled in that moment. Besides, I had my rifle with me and could easily just set up camp much further away from this little gore site. If something did give me trouble, I could just scare it off and hoof it back down the mountain before it could come back for round two. Most of the logic was there at the time of me making that decision. Along the way, I hadn't seen anything really out of the ordinary. There were a large, amount of deer prints in the fresh mud with some possible elk as well, but that by itself

couldn't be considered odd when one is this far away from civilization. It still bothered me, but I couldn't quite place my finger as to why yet. Ultimately, I managed to find a good camp in spot and spent the first night in my tent watching the light drizzle of rain pour off the canvas and the eventual stars as the clouds parted ways. When morning came, I found another strange discovery. All around my campsite, imprinted in the soft ground where hoof prints. It wasn't just a couple of them, but damn near hundreds scattered around where I'd slept. Some of the marks nearly appeared to be on top of each other. First an animal carcass and now this? It wasn't like deer were known for being very aggressive, though. So perhaps this was just some sort of weird timing.

A herd might have been in the area and what I had seen near my arrival was just one of the poor stragglers they got picked off by something. The start to the morning still left me rather unsettled, though, so I decided I would spend the day hiking up the nearby ridge, a direction that coincided with the tracks funnily enough, the prince thinning as I went further and further along. Eventually, it was down to what looked like just an elk and a deer that had once walked along there,

with one set of tracks following strangely close to the other. As I followed the tracks, I noticed something new. Now, when I said I wasn't a hunter, I never meant to say that I didn't have a good eye for detail out in the woods. Alongside these tracks were little speckles of some kind of dark green liquid. It was on the ground, the occasional branch that overlap the path and leaves as well. Wherever it touched, it seemed to spread out and cause rot to the plant life. Really fucking weird to see.

I almost touched it, but thought better of it after seeing what it had done to those plants. My guess at the time was that one of the two that, left these marks had to have been really sick and this was the leftovers of that. I felt bad for the things. With my rifle on my back, I decided I'd follow the tracks as long as they kept with my course. And if I came across the animal, I'd get a good idea of what kind of condition it was in through the scope. If it looked to be in too bad of shape, I'd put the thing out of its misery. Well, I got my wish one way or another. After another couple hours of hiking, I still hadn't lost the trail. Whenever it petered out, I always seemed to find another sign of it that picked back up again. Then, I finally spotted the

thing. I was heading down the hill when it lifted its head up to look around. It was probably a hundred feet or so in front of me in a clearing with tall grass. Now, from where I was, all I could really make out was its figure. It appeared to be a large elk, at least just from the side of the side of the of the thing. I had a coat of fur that was off color. It looked almost like moss it was so green. It also had a massive set of antlers that ended in razor tips that spayed out like branches. One thing I couldn't make out was his head, but that's because it was faced away at the top. Kneeling down, I took my rifle off of my shoulder and set myself up on a stump, letting the body rest on top of it as I peered down the scope and lined it up with the animal.

It was when I got a close look at the thing that I realized just how wrong this animal was. It wasn't just an off green, but it was coming off in patches, revealing dead, gray-modeled skin underneath. From these patches, there were occasional gashes that leaked green ooze onto the grass below. Flies buzzed around the creature and crawled across his body as it moved lazily through the grass. The thing must have been in absolute agony. Seeing something in such a state made my decision easy. and I switched my safety off, lining up for its head. I wanted to get a clean shot to make it as painless as possible,

but couldn't until the thing was looking at me. Through the scope, I watched it finally emerged from the tall grass and nearly lost my lunch. It had eight legs. Four of them were normal, if not still suffering from those oozing wounds, but the other four hung loosely between them with hooves that only made occasional contact with the ground. At that point, I didn't know what the fuck this thing was suffering from, but I could barely stomach looking at it any longer, so I let out a sharp whistle to try and draw its gaze in my direction. The whistle broke through the forest's calm and echoed off the mountain ridge.

The elk's head turned, and my heart stopped. What looked back at me didn't even process at first. Like when you're looking at an image that just doesn't make sense, your mind can't make out the shapes because it's rejecting what it's actually looking at. A human skull looked out in my direction. Bloody antlers adorning its forehead. It had no skin on it, nor eyes that I could see. Only empty sockets that seemed to pierce my very soul.

Its mouth. Oh God, its mouth, it had no jaw, and its extended tongue wobbled back and forth as its body swayed. I finally felt my heart start up again, and without even thinking I pulled the trigger of my ghost. gun. With a crack, it fired. And I was since sprawling back into the dirt. I didn't even look to see if I had hit it. I just ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction. With the wind whistling in my ears, all sense of direction vanished as I simply moved my body as fast as I could.

Only moments later, though, I could hear it. The sound of thundering hooves close behind and getting closer. My eyes were so tunnel vision, though, I failed to keep track of my feet and tripped on an exposed tree route, sending me head first down the hill, where I finally came to a stop as I rolled hard into the base of a tree. My head was spinning and my vision was blurred. My legs weren't responding either. All I could do was sit and wait for my sight to come back. I smelt it first before I was able to see it. The stench of death and decay wafted its way towards me and assaulted my nostrils, bringing tears to my eyes as I clapped my hand across my mouth to avoid screaming. When my vision did return, I could see it again, only 10 feet away now.

The thing brought its head down as it approached me slowly. In those empty sockets, I saw something. Two pinpricks of light that seemed to regard me with dull consideration. Again, my body was locked, so all I could do was sit and stare as it got within three feet of me and raised its head up slightly. Now I could see into its mouth. I could see as its tongue was pushed aside and fingers started to wriggle their way free from its throat, first the hand, then the wrist, then the elbow, until a full arm had extended itself out of the creature's mouth towards me. Its skin was as pale as snow, and its nails were blackened and blackened. cracked. Gingerly, it moved with one finger outstretched until it made contact with my forehead.

The last thing I can remember was feeling it dragged that nail across my forehead before the world went dark. I was found roughly a week later by a search and rescue. Apparently, I had managed to wander back to my campsite and was catatonic and unresponsive at the time of rescue. I was not any worse than I remembered. I had a fractured leg. I had a fractured leg. taking a nasty cut on my forehead, but was well fed and watered. My memory doesn't start for at least another week after my rescue. I don't know how I survived in those woods for that week, but I guess that should be the least of my worries at this point.

You see, ever since that thing touched me and I regained consciousness, I've been plagued with nightmares, nightmares of butchering, of the wilderness, of a time where civilization has crumbled and all that is left is flesh and bone. That thing is calling to me. It's calling me back to those woods to finish what we had started. When a group of friends go camping, it can be a time to unwind and relax. Forget about the daily grind for a while, even if it is hard to ignore. But in this tale, shared with us by author Evan Jaffe, the friends are quick to discover that their campground isn't as isolated as they thought, and what's out there in the woods isn't very friendly. Performing this tale are Mary Murphy, Atticus Jackson, Mike Delgadoio, Dan Zapula, Sarah Thomas,

and Jeff Clement. So enjoy the forest, but stay safe out there when you find yourself among the trees. Okay, Wendy? A random sharp stabbing pain, you know? It makes you feel so alive when you're reminded Oh, yeah. You can go at any time. I know how you feel. I'm wasting time studying. Even here, instead of enjoying nature, hiking and exploring and all that. That was the whole point of coming. I mean, it's a bit late to start hiking now.

It'll be dark soon. I mean, hey, if the stabbing pain keeps up, I may die soon enough anyway. Why not? A night hike sounds fun. I'm sure Matt's having a great time out there doing whatever. It's a great time until you smell copper anyway. But that's what I got this for. Donnie sat down on the log next to Tara,

propped his rifle on the log, and swung his arm around her shoulders. I smelled booze on his breath over and crinkled my nose. I just put up the bare bags, but I did grab stuff to make some s'mores. If anybody wants them anyway Oh yeah, Ian Thank you

Thanks Ian Save some for Matt too Yep I think I saw him along that tree line Over that way maybe Maybe those other hikers were down at the next site I'm not sure Strange I thought the other sites were empty

When I made the reservations I guess they could be a last minute addition Or going permitless Next site isn't for a couple miles I think According to the map Matt'll be fine He might have drank a bit much, but he's not stupid. He'll be back before it's pitch black.

It's not like we haven't done worse before, Colt. Like the time we lost the map? With another bender during spring break two years ago. You remember that, right? With that one time, Matt... As if on cue, Matt lumbered out of the forest behind us and stumbled about like a newborn deer. Whomst summoned the ancient one?

Matt posed in mock elegance and bowed and nearly fell over. Ooh, you all have s'mores? Oh, I'll have to grab me one of those. Get the marshmallow melted just right. Jesus. Maddie, where were you? Did you find some hooch out there? I was playing with some cool rocks over by a river

I think that way Or was it that way Ah, I don't know Ah shit gotta take the week I'll be back Hey be careful not to trip over your own feet So tomorrow do you all want to hit the trail loop Up the Mountain or through the valley first

Let's hit the mountain first to get the difficult part out of the way, then just let the downgrade take us all the way back. Remember last time we had an uphill at the end of the hike, and... Shit, that's Matt. Matt? Matt? Matt?

Where'd me? Are you okay? Matt emerged from the trees behind Tara. He looked a bit disheveled, and the bottom of one of his pant legs was ripped and bloody. Yes, I'm fine now. Yo, Matt, what the hell happened? your leg? There was some animal. It startled me when I was peeing. I shouted at it to scare it and fell

when I turned to run. I must have ripped my pants on a rock or something. We got to treat that. It'll get infected. Colton put his arm around Matt's shoulder to support him over to the fire. The rest of us followed. Colton went to ease Matt down on a log, but Matt sat down on his own. Colton fished out a small first aid kit from a cargo pocket. What'd you see out there? The animal, I mean. I couldn't tell. It was dark.

A coyote or small bear maybe. Say, can you give me a s'more? Yeah, sure. And here's a stick to roast the marshmallow. Matt had already eaten the smore. His mouth stuffed when Ian offered him the stick. Matt quickly chewed and swallowed the en. entire thing.

No, thank you. I'm fine. It was good as is. All done. We should probably turn in for the night in case it was a baby bear. Mama bear will be nearby, and that's not someone we want to meet. Uh-huh. You're right. We packed it up for the night and went to our tents, except for Matt, who just stood there. I walked up to him and waved my hand in front of his face. Matt, are you all right? Do you need anything? I don't know which tent is mine.

It's the one over there, next to Tara's tent, the little one manner. Did you bump your head when you fell? His pupils appeared to be the same size in the dying light, fixated on the tent. That could have happened. That would explain the haze. Thank you for the concern. Without another word, he silently stalked across a... campsite to his tent. I stopped by Colton's tent. That might have been concussed during his fall. He didn't remember where his tent was. His pupils looked the same to me, though.

That would make sense. He seemed to sober up pretty fast, didn't he? Keep an eye on him. We'll see how he's doing in the morning. If he's worse, we'll just cut the trip early and head back to get him some help. I nodded, bid Colton a good night, and went to my tent. I changed into my clothes. I changed into my clothes. for the next day and got ready to sleep. Something bothered me as I teetered on the edge of rest. Matt came out of the forest behind us, the complete opposite direction from where Ian said he saw him. Other hikers wouldn't still be hiking that late, would they?

Those thoughts eventually faded as fatigue won out and pulled me into sleep. I bolted upright and smacked my face against the tent poles. Shit! There was no time. The screams kept going, although they were getting softer. I quickly pulled on my boots, not bothering to lace them up, and grabbed my pocket knife and flashlight.

I heard a commotion in the other tents as well. I don't think anyone could sleep through those awful screams. I yanked the tent zipper open so fast it almost derailed from the tracks. I hurled myself out of the opening, almost getting stepped on by someone else rushing by. It sounded like it came from the corner where Terra was set up. I started to get to my knees when someone helped me up. It's okay, Wendy. It's me. Come on, let's go.

Yeah, okay. Thanks. No, no, no. Tara, fuck. Colton and I rushed over to join the others who were motionless. Ian had his hands on his knees halfway bent over, breathing heavy, muttering. Donnie had his rifle-shouldered, sweeping the tree line. You motherfucker, where are you? Show yourself. Oh, God, shit.

Colton let go of me and froze as if turned to stone by what he saw. I pushed past him and promptly turned and heaved dinner. Christ! In front of us was Tara or what was left of her. Her tent had been ripped open, pole snapped in half, all stained crimson. Vicerra had been thrown about With only the bottom of her torso left As if she'd been bisected at the hips

Her legs had been bent the wrong way And resembled a Doberman's favorite chew toy God knew how awful the rest of her must look As her top half was gone My flashlight illuminated a bloody smear headed towards the tree line out of camp Something reflected my light in the trees Two orbs.

No eyes. In the trees. It's in the trees. Fuck you. The ice stayed for a second longer and then vanished into the night as some large form disappeared into the foliage. What the fuck was that? What the fuck do we do? Calm down?

It might come back. Calm down. Calm down. Something just ripped Terra in half. It is probably watching us right now. That sounded like Matt. Where is Matt? We turned and looked at each other.

Matt wasn't with us. I moved my light over to Matt's tent to see it was unzipped. Empty. The flap fluttered in the wind. I stumbled over. My knees almost buckled. And the group followed. My light illuminated the tent in its surroundings.

There was shredded cloth in front of the tent opening. The ground trampled. Everything inside, it's untouched. He didn't change clothes, finish setting up his sleeping bag, any of it. Are these his clothes? They're shredded to bits! But there's no blood, no, uh, parts, nothing? So Matt's gone too?

Or did he? I'll fucking kill him. That son of a bitch! It couldn't have been him. I mean, you saw the... There's no way a man could be killed. of that. And you saw those eyes. They were too high in the trees. Those weren't human eyes. These tracks here are all wrong, too. I can't tell what they are, but it's not human. Besides, we know Matt.

He couldn't have done anything like this. Then, why don't you come find me, Donnie? Tara's here too, aren't you? Yeah, Donnie. Come on. I know. need you. You're my better half. I'm also missing my lower half. Think you could grab that on the way over. Whatever that thing is, it is not Matt or Tara. No way. You saw what was left. It's playing with us. We can't stay here. We have to go now. And what? Get picked off one by one on the hike back to the car? It's at least a couple of miles. Well, we can't stay here. It knows where we are. It knows where we are. We've been making too much noise. If we stay, we'd need to stand guard.

If we light a fire that's like ringing the dinner bell. I'm here, kill me. But if we don't make a fire, there's no chance of us seeing it coming. Fuck! He's got a point. We ought to try for the car. If we stay, it's certain death. If we go for the car, we have a chance.

The longer we wait, the longer it has to get us. It's settled. Let's go. Damned if we do. Damned if we don't. Let's go. Single file to our deaths. Stick together. This thing can imitate voices. Who knows what else it can do. Do not lose the group. We can only trust each other.

Go slow to minimize the noise. No bags to slow us down if we have to run for it. Let's go. We formed a diamond to try to see it coming. Colton was in front and Donnie brought up the rear. I was next to Ian. We marched into the abyss to the car. None of us spoke. We just looked around and tried to see anything more than five feet in front of us. Colton had his flashlight aimed at the ground to minimize light footprint,

only on to help find the way. Time dragged on for what felt like forever. It was probably just a few minutes before I bumped into Colton since I was watching the trees. What is it? It's Matt. Shit. I stepped over the outline, which caught a bit of light to reveal Matt's mangled corpse. His neck was crushed.

His face was ripped open. Eyes gone. Bloody sockets aimed at the sky. There was nothing below the neck, and we were far from camp. It brought his head here. He knew we were going to come this way. It knows. It knows. It knows. Shh.

Donnie stumbled, having tripped over Matt's head. He recovered fast, but the damage had been done. Oh, she's right. I know exactly. I thought it would be fitting for you all to see your friend. You guys are terrible friends. Or do you know you'll see him again soon enough? Don't listen.

It's trying to get into our heads. Get us to mess up. Otherwise, why hasn't it killed us yet? Because it's fun. I'm not just some animal. An animal would have killed you already or been content with one. I'm worse. I enjoy the hut, the torment, the feet.

It's almost better. Or maybe I don't know where you are. How can you even know? It's not like that light. That light is helping. Someone wants to change their trousers. Colton, turn off the flashlight. Nobody move.

There weren't any lights on when I came for Terra. Any of you? Run! Something crashed into me hard and pain erupted on my side. I began sprinting. The sounds of gunshots. and screams, egging me on. I ran until I almost face-planted

after I tripped over a route. I slowed down to catch my breath. My sigh throbbed. It was quiet now. Too quiet. I started to slowly continue towards where I thought the car was. I tried to slow my breathing

and keep quiet. Wendy, you made it. Are you okay? I stopped and looked around but couldn't see anyone. It sounded far. I swore. I thought for sure it had caught me, but the truth was worse. Yeah, but you... I cupped my hands over my mouth. That was my voice, but that wasn't me. It was far away, too. I knew what was next.

It looks like us. It can be us! You're so smart, Colton. Most people don't figure it out. It ain't my friend while it wore my face. I needed to get away, so I ran. Oh, I'm sorry for using you like that. Oh, wait. No, I'm not. Oh, come on, Wendy. You can't blame this or me too much.

That was pretty slick. Impersonating you to trick me? Even I can appreciate that. No, no, no. Fuck you. Oh, that hurts, Wendy. Is this not fun for you anymore? That's okay.

I'll end this soon. I saw a light through the trees up ahead and ran for it. Breeze! Don't you fucking move. Whatever you are. I froze, hands to the sky, and dropped my seat. Stuff. I stared down the barrel of Donnie's hunting rifle. Next to him was Ian. It's me. Wendy. What the hell?

Shut up. We heard it as you. The thing only impersonates dead people. No, it impersonated me to get Colton. Didn't you hear it mocking me after? We heard you talking to him and then he died. Then it goes quiet for a bit and you lumber out of the woods here at us. Where were you? You disappeared. the beginning of the scatter. I ran. It pretended to be me. That's how it tricked Colton.

How do you know it's not him, Donnie? Because we stuck together from the beginning. We didn't separate. And as far as I'm concerned, we're the only ones that are still us. Shoot it. No, please, no. I tensed up, closed my eyes,

and let out a gasp, expecting oblivion. But there was only a click. I kept my eyes closed for another few seconds. I thought I was dead, only to open them and still see Ian and Donnie in front of me. Ian looked relieved, but Donnie reloaded the rifle and aimed it high once again. Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down.

She passed. She didn't change or attack. And you saw how she reacted. She's got to actually be her. I'm not convinced. What? No. If she was the thing, why would she have let you reload? She would have killed us already.

Maybe it's playing the long con, and we'll get us later. Are you insane? After everything we've been through tonight and in the past, when I introduced you to Tara and... Shut up. She knows us, man? You heard the things it said as Tara and Matt. It knows our memories.

Come on, Donnie, don't do this, man. It's not right. She's a person. This wasn't working, and I'd had it. enough. The longer we waited, the more time that thing had to get us. Hell, it was probably watching, eating this up. When Donnie turned, I acted. I've made up my mind. Man or beast, let God decide. Wendy, forgive me. I lunged forward and grabbed the gun. Surprise was my only chance. Donnie was far stronger than I was. I clawed at the barrel trying to rip the gun from his hands.

Let go! I stumbled back and let go of the gun. I clutched at my torso, adorned with two new holes. I sputtered blood and collapsed to the ground. Let's go. What the fuck, Donnie? Man or beast? The fuck is wrong with you!

She was your friend. Have some fucking compassion. That thing didn't have any compassion for terror. I hope it made Wendy's death quick, but there's nothing we can do now. It's dead. Let's go. Are you sure? It still looks like, Wendy. Shouldn't something have happened if she was the thing? I thought something might happen.

But I only heard about these things from some internet forum. I don't know, man. I turned my head with great strain and agony to see myself or it. Walk into the clearing with a devilish grin. You bastards. Good show. Bloody good show. The pain of mente's eyes.

Oh, the betrayal. There's just one teeny, tiny thing, you see. Oh, Jesus Christ, shoot it! Shoot it! She caused a misfeed when she grabbed it. Damn it! It! Wrong one. What's wrong?

What's wrong? Let's a rock. My body, or well, its body, changed and morphed. Jaw growing longer, limbs extending. They gained unnatural bends and ankles as bones cracked and reshaped into the creature's true hideous form. It towered above them and easily batted the gun away from Donnie and broke his arm too.

Face creamed. in pure unadulterated fear. I would have two if I wasn't already dying. I tried to chuckle as it effortlessly tore them apart and wrenched them in half. But I could only manage one last audible gurgle as I bled out and suffocated. If you live in a small town in the country, spending time in the great outdoors is commonplace. Especially years ago, before we had so many distractions, which keep us locked up tight in our homes.

And in this tale, shared with us by author Thiebo Voss, we hear the tale from a man who spent many days in the forest with his brother, events which had quite an impact on both of them. Performing this tale are Graham Rowett, Dan Zapula, Aaron Lillis, and Jesse Cornett. So don't let the sound of an owl scare you away. It's far less dangerous than the watcher

in the leaves. It's done well to come all this way. There are things undreamt of that simple words won't impart. I can't just tell you my story. You must decipher it in the grooves of my face, the tightening of my lips, the quiver of my eyes. Please do come closer.

Make yourself comfortable. Listen up and keep your eyes peeled. Do not forget what you're about to hear. I will only tell you, once know that I never repeat myself. I grew up in a desolate place. Whereabouts you ask? Well, follow the interstate west out of the city, then keep driving. Drive until your feet hurt. Drive until your mind is numbed by the unending stretch of asphalt and the insipid music that is left for the radio to spew on otherwise abandoned airwaves. Drive until you reach the middle of

But fuck nowhere. Then drive some more. Then take a left. Congratulations. You've made it to New Meadows. It's a quaint little shit stain of a town of a few hundred souls, half of which are dimwits and the other half degenerates. Back then, people barely made it past 60, if they were lucky.

And if they did, it was with some kind of mental affliction. But that didn't bother anyone. People there had nasty habits, you see. Booze drinking, drug-taking, bar brawling, car rodeoing, you name it. Anything that could kill enough neurons to make you forget who you are and the wasteland you've been stranded in would do. It sure beats the slow brain death places like New Meadows otherwise inflict on their residence. We lived about a 30-minute bike ride from the center of town.

Our house slumped at the end of a long dirt road that, while... past the old reservoir at the edge of the Lenape forest. It was a dinky old house of paleish hue, which long ago passed for white, marbled all over by chipped paint that laid bare the cheap timber with which it was built. I remember the weed-infested yard, the missing panels in the inchworm of green shutters, the looseness of each step in the stairs leading to the front porch. The gutters hanging like pendulums, all tallies on the wallies on the wall. a bill that time had levied. It was a sorry remnant of a home my parents, my brother Cecil, and I populated for a time, surrounded by nothing but a vast expanse of wilderness.

My father split his time working odd jobs and monkey would resent doing, and drinking himself into a senseless stupor with the other bums at Smokie's roadside inn, bar, diner, and barbecue. When he wasn't working or comatose, he would tinker with him. with his 1970 Pontiac Firebird for hours on end. Elbows deep in its innards and hands covered in brown gunk that left a sour tinge he never could quite get rid of. He never drove it, of course. All the damn thing ever did was sit on top of the mediocre plot of dirt we called home. But it filled him with an inflated sense of pride regardless.

My mother spent most days in front of the TV. She would wilt on our couch, droopy-eyed and mouth slightly ajar, dazing in and out of consciousness, as the endless barrage of moronic soap operas and infomercials pounded her brains into mush. And there, in the chasm of silence between a rumbling car engine and the constant babble of a television, was the place where Cecil and I lived. Now get me wrong, we didn't have it too bad. We were fed. We were clothed.

We weren't abused or bullied. We had all the material necessities of a happy childhood, didn't we? But in my gut, there was a pit, cold, dark, and bottomless. A pit only Cecil, two years my senior, knew how to fill. He filled it with the stories he would read to me under the covers late at night. The weird games he invented for us to play in our backyard on sunny summer days. the candy he stole for me from old man Cunningham's store. He filled it with the bandages he put on my bloodied knees

after Scott Hauserman pushed me off my bike that one time, with his punch to Scott's face in immediate retribution. He was the bold, big brother, but he never made me feel like the lily-livered runt that I was, and I loved him for it. I don't know exactly when we started doing it. It was Cecil's idea to try. He suggested we skipped school one day to go explore the woods behind our house.

He'd been itching to discover them, but our parents had always forbidden it. I was reluctant at first. There was something about the shadows that shuffled beneath the treetops and the strange noises they harbored, something that urged me to stay out. I always sped up when I biked past them on my way to town. But I couldn't resist Cecil's gap-toothed the smile for long, and once we penetrated the tree line, my fears melted away. We found no monsters there, no unseen perils hiding in the foliage,

only a boundless sea of green and newfound freedoms. We spent the day running among the tall trees, giggling and reveling in all the wonders the forest had to offer. I looked up and saw the sky turning a fiery orange. The whole day had flown by. Gosh, it's dark already. I said. What are we going to tell mom and dad?

Don't you worry about that. I'll think of something. Come on. Cecil nudged me gently before speeding off towards our house. I'll race you. That evening, Cecil and I sat eating our lukewarm dinners in silence. We waited for our parents to ask where we'd been all day. But dinner came and went, and the interrogation I dreaded never came to be.

Our absence from school had gone unnoticed, and Cecil could hardly contain his delight at the realization. His gap-toothed smile glistened still when we slid under the covers. The days to come were pregnant with possibility. Thus began our daily excursions into the forest. We would leave our bikes on the side of the road, hidden from sight, and run to the woods to live out whatever fantasy our young minds could conjure. Knights fighting off hordes of invisible creatures, treasure hunters on a quest for ancient relics,

bounty hunters capturing murderous gangs of outlaws, Cecil the brave hero, and I his trusted companion. Our expeditions lasted hours, following trails that slithered through a labyrinth of oak, maple, and moss-covered rocks. With time, we grew accustomed to the forest. It became our home,

but we appropriated its topography and hidden landmarks as such. We were jot down each new discovery with silly names on a hand-drawn map taped together from the pages of our notebooks. But we always stayed within yelling distance of the house, and would never cross the river that twisted through the woods and formed the natural boundary to our wanderings. I can't remember when I first noticed it. Maybe it had always been there among the branches, watching us from above. It was a barn owl with long wings, a short square tail and a heart-shaped visage. Its plumage was a white so pure, words cannot describe it.

It had one eye, large, and eclipse black. Despite its eerie physique, it did not fear the owl. It even brought a strange comfort to me. I came to embrace our silent observer, though I was somewhat mystified by its unyielding gaze. At last, there would be a witness to the glorious tales we put on display each day. Our parents were none the wiser. After all, we biked down the dirt road that led to town every morning with our bags on our backs, and were back in time for dinner, alive and well.

What more could be asked of them? Never mind that our bags were completely empty, except for the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Cecil prepared every morning, our Swiss Army knives, and our trusty map. Never mind that the homework vanished from the dinner table one day, never to return. Never mind that we came home from school each evening, bruised, exhausted, and filthy, leaving a trail of muddy footsteps from the front door to our bedroom. Her mother had asked about the bruises once.

Cecil, defiant as always, gave an excuse so half-baked I was sure it wouldn't be enough to appease her sudden interest in our physical well-being. It had been, of course. But never mind that. One day, Cecil decided to go deeper into the woods than we had ever gone before, thirsting from new adventures. I followed, trusting the white owl would watch over us. We took the main route into the forest, passed a telephone pole engraved with our initials that marked the entrance to our domain. We passed Castle Flynn, the wooden fort we built that summer. continued straight on the path and hiked to the top of big boulder hill. We followed the trail that passed under the hunchback tree down into the depths of the valley and met with the rapid river at the bottom of nosebleed gorge. We walked along its gushing waters for some time, before Cecil hopped across the large rocks that stuck out from the froth.

There I was, at the outer reaches of our territory. Our map was blank beyond the water. It would be completely useless from this point forward. Cecil hadn't even blinked. I paused for a moment, pretending to catch my breath, too scared to venture further into the unknown realms that lay beyond. Cecil marched ahead without looking back and quickly disappeared into the underbrush. Wait for me!

I yelled as I sped off behind him. As we progressed, the vegetation grew dense and formed a thick canopy through which little sunlight pierced. The terrain became jagged and treacherous, our journey increasingly demanding. A heavy smog developed, as if summoned from the depths of the earth. I could barely see 20 feet in front of me. My muscles tired, my feet soared, and my throat ached with every whiff of thick air. I was losing all sense of time and space. I called for Cecil to head back, but he pushed forward. determined to uncover some new, obscure treasure the most remote, untamed confines of the wild had shielded from the world. After ages of trudging through the unforgiving terrain, we arrived at a

small clearing. The shrouded sun cast on natural shadows all around us. It was as if some occult force had drawn us to that lonely place. A single lifeless tree stood at the center, with long crooked branches swaying in those bitter vapors. Beside it was a rusty barrel. The white owl perched on a branch above, waiting patiently for us. Without hesitation, Cecil approached the barrel. He grabbed a nearby branch and jammed it beneath the lid. I was frozen.

My lips trembled. So, Cecil, I don't think this is a good idea. It's late. We should probably head home. Don't be a wuss. Think of what we could find in here. What would Indy do? Do you think you would just turn back now? Come on, grow up hair and give me a hand.

I hold myself towards the barrel and place my hands on the makeshift lever. On three. One? Two. Three! We pulled on it with all our might. Our feet lifted from the ground. We dangled there, teeth clenching and grunting as we shimmied up and down, up and down.

up and down. Finally, the crusty lid popped off, and we crashed to the hard ground. Cecil helped me up, and we balanced on the tips of our toes to peer inside. My heart sank as the putrid smell of the barrel's unspeakable contents penetrated my nostrils. Tears swarmed my eyes, like vicious locusts, forced up by the stench of some depraved, forgotten deed. An abominable face, stared up at me with a petrified whale and hollows for eyes. I stumbled backwards. My head was a whirlwind. My vision blurred.

I turned to find Cecil on the ground, screaming with his head between his hands, though I couldn't hear it for the deafening rush of blood in my ears. The white owls, all-seeing eye, clung to me. Black is the void and unfazed by the horrors that shook us so. Let's get to hell out of it. here. Cecil didn't budge. Cecil, come on! I pulled Cecil to his feet and rushed out of that godforsaken place, lugging him through the forest. My heart pounding like a battering ram against my ribcage.

I had no clue how I found my way back home in that delirious state. It was long before I would run as fast as I did that day. I burst into the living room, heaving, drenched in sweat. Our mother was spellbound, with the ghoulish look of the television's blue light dancing on her face. We saw something in the woods. Cecil shuddered next to me, staring into nothingness, an unbroken stream of hot tears still running down his reddened cheeks. Oh, hi boys. Are you supposed to be a school?

My mother's head shifted slightly. Her eyes still glued to the TV. Mom, fucking look at me! She turned to face me, and the shirt. shivering shell that had once been Cecil. She turned off the TV and hurried to the front door. Wayne! Get over here! Something's up with the boys! The firebirds' distant rumbling died off, and our father stumbled into the house. What the hell is it, Marie? I'm in the middle of something. As I described our epic journey through the woods and what we discovered, my parents grew quiet.

They shed their counterfeit airs of concern to present something new, something I'd never seen before. Their brows arched up and loose skin rippled across their foreheads. Their jaws dropped and their eyelids peeled back. They were like awestruck puppets, looking straight at me. For a time, the story of the New Meadows barrel became a national sensation. Journalists filed through our driveway. one by one, all eager to hear the story of our grim discovery. Cecil refused to speak of it, but I was happy to oblige. My parents would sit nearby, leaning in closer, holding their breath

and gasping on cue. Each time, I added exquisite details. My performance became more grandiose, the climax more shocking. And with each iteration, the most peculiar seed started to sprout in the far recesses of my mind. Cecil never spoke of the incident again. My brave, impetuous older brother grew quiet and skittish. He vowed to never return to the forest.

Despite my incessant calls to adventure, he was always too tired or too busy. It was always too early or too late. too hot, too cold, or too wet. Instead, he would wither in silence on the couch by my mother, gorging on the same cascade of mindless garbage. Each night, I would hear his muffled sobbing as he slept his troubled sleep. His disintegration into utter gutlessness filled me with an ever-mounting disgust. The days rolled by, and talk of the barrel, its sordid contents and the one who put them there dissipated. Despite my best efforts to play out the scene with great passion and intensity,

the country moved on. The people of New Meadows lost interest, and my parents recoiled to their ordinary, apathetic states. I resumed my otherworldly escapades in search of other abandoned mysteries I could make my own. Alone, except for the white owl that always leered overhead. But try as I might, the forest held no more secrets for me. The woods I had once found wondrous and rich in fantasy now struck me as dull and barren, all paled in comparison to the barrel and the clearing. My woodland kingdom had become a puny patch of land,

but the strange seed remained. With time, the owl's protective watch turned into a fierce glare. That's when the headaches started. At first an itch, then a faint sting. But soon enough, a blinding pain started to tear through my skull. Always I could feel the owl's dark eye raging at the back of my head. As my gaping loneliness grew, so did the seeds venomous roots, sprawling under the black sun. They seared through my brain like sinister serpents.

And I thought I would go mad with the egg. agony of their unholy procession. One night, I writhed on my sweat-soaked mattress, enduring unfathomable tortures that pushed me closer, foot by foot and inch by inch, to the edge of the yawning abyss of madness. Cecil, as per his nightly ritual, was weeping. It was a soft, pitiful sound that grated my ears like knuckles on sandpaper. Far beyond my window, at the edge of the woods, behind the leaves waving under the pale moonlight, I could feel the white owls glare upon me like a thousand scorching suns. The horrid scene lasted for an unforgivable amount of time.

The furious throbbing in my head and the bubbling of the white-hot coals of hate in my stomach started to mingle. They infused one another and formed a most evil brew that filled me to the bread. I knew what the black eye sought. I rose from my bed, retrieved my knife from my backpack, and made my way to Cecil's bedside. Ghost quiet. I hung there, towering over my dear, big brother. My heart pounded as hard as it had that day in the woods. Only now it was I, and what I intended, that made it beat so furiously. I looked one last time to the deep. To the trees for the owl's quiet approbation before descending upon my brother to stop his miserable whimpering once

and for all. He let out one final cry, a deeper kind, more compelling, more visceral than before. When it was done, I slipped through our bedroom window. I sat in the darkness at the edge of the woods. Cecil still drip dripping from me. There I remained, waiting patiently in my pall of branches and leaves. Oh, how delicious it was to see the terror in my mother's eyes, and to hear her shriek echo through the night. The headaches were gone, and the white owl would look softly on me once more. That was eons ago.

The lily-livered runt is no more. You see, I don't prance around in forests anymore. I lurk. I creep, and I prowl through your familiar places. I don't look for forgotten treasures in the woods of new meadows. I make them, and my kingdom knows no bounds. I am the one they only speak of in hushed tones and well-lit places. I am the damp breath that crawls down the back of your neck on lonely nights

and makes your teeth rattle beyond reason. And when I am no longer of this world, I will leave behind me an army of treasures for others to find. The owl is forever by my side. It's here now, in fact, waiting, watching. Its gaze never falters. That marvelous, everlasting gaze. It sees me, always, doesn't it?

And the light of dawn approaches. Our tales must come to an end, until the next time we gather. We'll keep the fire burning until you return. That is, if you dare to remain sleepless. The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy.

To discover how you can get even more sleepless horror stories from us, just visit sleepless. com to learn about the sleepless sanctuary. Add free extended episodes each week and lots of bonus content for the dark hours, all for only one low monthly price. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for joining us.

us around the campfire for our 20th season. This audio program is copyright 2023 and 2024 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.