The NoSleep Podcast - S20 Ep14: NoSleep Podcast S20E14

Episode Date: January 14, 2024

It’s Episode 14 of Season 20. Come join us around the campfire with tales about occupational horrors.“Waiting” written by Brian Maycock (Story starts around 00:03:40)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced & scored by: David CummingsCast: Narrator – Penny Scott-Andrews, Announcer – Erika Sanderson“A Man in a Diner” written by Sean J. K. Heasman (Story starts around 00:15:35)Produced by: David CummingsCast: Narrator – Dan Zappulla, Man – David Cummings, Rose – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Kelly – Mike DelGaudio“Child Predator” written by Eric Neher (Story starts around 00:37:45)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Peter Lewis, Kyle – Matthew Bradford, Girl – Nichole Goodnight, Prospect – Mike DelGaudio, Voice #1 – Elie Hirschman, Voice #2 – Danielle McRae“David?” written by Joshua Fardon (Story starts around 00:58:50)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Edgar – Graham Rowat, Phone – Katabelle Ansari, Nurse – Wafiyyah White, Voice – Danielle McRae, Operator – Elie Hirschman“1,000 Eyes” written by Alexander Hay (Story starts around 01:11:05)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Andy Cresswell, Clive – James Cleveland, Figure – Jake Benson“The Impossible Song” written by Nathaniel Bonfield (Story starts around 01:04:20)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Tobiah – David Ault, Evelyn – Ash Millman, Peitho 28 – Erika SandersonThis episode is sponsored by:Rocket Money – Rocket Money is the app that helps you identify and stop paying for subscriptions you donít need, want, or simply forgot about. Stop wasting money on things you donít use. Cancel your unwanted subscriptions by going to RocketMoney.com/nosleepClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Joshua Fardon Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Waiting” illustration courtesy of Catriel TallaricoAudio program ©2024 – 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 fireless. 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 the no sleep podcast i'm your host david cummings work job career occupation gig call it what you will you either have or very much much want something like that. Something where you perform a service and get paid for it. What do you do

for a living? It's usually one of the first questions asked when meeting someone new. Yes, in our culture, our jobs tend to define us. If your job pays well, if it's interesting or cool, you tend to be seen in a better light. If you work a minimum wage job toiling away in the bowels of some company, well, you probably don't want to mention your job. It's rather sad that that we derive so much of our identity and even our self-worth because of what we do to try to get by and pay our bills. In our episode this week, we discover the horror found when people are simply trying to do their work, get to their work, or talk about strange jobs they had in the past. It's a subject well suited to horror, because we tend to spend most of our waking hours going to,

being at, and coming home from some sort of occupation. and you just know that horror will find you during those work hours. And speaking of work and our work here at the No Sleep Podcast, I want to give an update about a project we had in store for this season. With the theme of our 20th season being that of tales told around the campfire, one of the projects I've hinted at was our return to that rather unique camping spot known as Goat Valley Campground. And while we're very much looking forward to going back to Goat Valley,

there have been some logistical challenges which will delay our next camping trip there. So while we won't be presenting season two of Goat Valley Campground this season, you can rest assured that we will indeed be going back to GVC very soon. Kate, Sabota, and the Man with the Skull Cup are all anxiously awaiting our return. So, we've got a job to do. You probably do as well. So let's work our way into the occupational horrors of our work-a-day world. And now the sun has set.

The fire glows bright. Brace yourself for the darkness of the night. In our first tale, we meet a young woman in a train station. As with many others, taking the train to work is all part of the daily routine. But in this tale, shared with us by author Brian. Maycock, the woman isn't so much hoping to get to work as much as she is hoping to just get away from where she is. Performing this tale are Penny Scott Andrews and Erica Sanderson. So get your ticket and mind the gap and be patient when you find yourself waiting.

Like this train station, it has a small sign pointing the way in and is reached by a path hidden between trees. was nice. And I like that there are two platforms connected by a narrow footbridge. Then there is the small building on one of the platforms, Platform One, which was where I was at first. It has a lot of glass in its sides so you could see in. The place in the building, where the person who sold tickets sat look cosy. There was a mug for drinking tea or coffee out of resting on the counter next to the gap for handing over money and taking tickets and speaking through to say thank you have a lovely day or here's your change the building was empty though and locked there's a sign in the door saying due to staff shortages this station is not manned today

that was a shame there were seats in there as well four plastic ones all linked together it looked like a nice place to wait. I pictured myself sitting in one of the plastic seats, and then it began to rain. I ran for the little shelter further down the platform, the box with the front missing, which meant it could not be closed because of staff shortages, but also meant that if the wind was blowing the rain in through the front, you had to stand huddled in one of the corners to try and keep dry. That's what I did. Hello? Can you hear me? me. The rain is very loud now, so maybe

not. The rain will pass. The sun might even come out after. That would be good. It would make the train station even better. I'm still here. In the little shelter.

I'm the only person on Platform 1 and Platform 2, because it's early, I guess. I expect more people will appear from the hidden path soon. commuters. That's what you call people who catch trains to go to work. I've never had a job. So I can't be late. I can't be chewed out by the boss and told this paperwork won't fire itself, or you need to make more sales, or you're teetering on the brink, which is good. That I can't be late,

because I'm still standing here waiting. I'm feeling cold, especially my time. toes. My toes are not happy. At the station. I can't see where that lady's voice came from, out of the blue, or a speaker somewhere. Most likely a speaker. It might be a machine voice, automated, but it might not, because she sounds nice, but also serious, someone you should listen to. She sounds like she wears glasses and is never late when she commutes to her work. She might be pretty. If she would like me, if she met me.

I hope so. That's good. Safety. I like to feel safe. But most of the time, I don't. I get scared easily. And the others know that. They like to sneak up on me and shout and call me names.

They like to pull out clumps of hair and hurt me in other ways, ways that don't leave marks. ways I don't want to think about, and I'm not going to. Think. Or go back. I don't have to now I've run away. Now I'm waiting and watching for commuters, joining me on the platform and wondering when the first train will come. The train that will take me far away. I am going to go on a holiday.

I will catch the first train that stops at Platform 1 and apologize for not having a ticket because there was nowhere to buy one from. and hope no one gets mad. I will go to where the train is going, then catch another train and another. I will visit places where there are art galleries and cathedrals and beaches and skyscrapers. I will sit in cafes staring moodily out at bustling boulevards. I will buy a notebook and write stories about heroes who look like me.

It will be amazing. All these dreams happening. But I need a train to come. come. Can you tell me what time a train I can get on will arrive? Hello? No, I guess not. I'll keep waiting. Platform 1 is still deserted. The lady has not said anything else, and it does not stop raining. I'm standing in puddles now. They're everywhere and my toes are freezing. There is a seagull as well on platform two. It is picking at a plastic bag

hanging out of a little metal bin, trying to tease out scraps to eat, but just making a mess. More seagulls are circling overhead. Can you hear them? I wish they'd be quiet. Go back to the actual sea, which is nowhere around here as far as I know.

The back from the platform. The next train passing through does not stop at this station. The lady's voice made me jump again. And now a train is rushing past me carriage after carriage of grey steel boxes and looking at it is making me feel dizzy. And it's gone.

Good riddance. Due to signal failure, no services will stop at this station today. What? Don't say that. You can't mean it. I feel sad now. My shoulders are slumping and if toes could cry,

mine would be welling up. I do not like the train station so much anymore. But I have a lot. nowhere else ago. Now I have left the note I wrote, telling the home, I'm moving on and will never see them again, telling them that they stink. Oh no, I can't go back there. There's only here. And this, standing in the little shelter where the rain is blowing in and pressing this little button as hard as I can and speaking into the helpline, like the sign said I should. But no one is helping me. No one is replying.

There was just the message at first saying this call will be recorded. Are you there yet? Wait, there is someone appearing from the hidden path. A commuter, I think. Wrong about them. Something scary. It's her face. Face is made of plastic.

It's all shiny in the rain and where there should be eyes. There are dark spaces. They are not a commuter. They are a monster. It is a monster. It... He's walking towards me. And there's a knife in its hand.

The lady needs to tell the monster, for your safety knives must be put away. She needs to say, monsters are not permitted at the station. But the lady's saying nothing. There's only crackling coming from the speaker I can't see. Seagulls screaming in the sky. And no trains are coming. And the art galleries of the cathedrals are going further and further away. forever out of reach.

Now, and afraid, and the monster is almost in the little shelter with me. Its plastic face is smiling, and it's an eye who is very sharp and ragged. If you're about to head into a job interview, you know how tense it can be. Anxiously watching the clock, waiting,

running through your answers to all those questions, pretty much a horror story in and of itself. But in this tale, shared with us by author J.K. Heisman, we meet a man killing time before his job interview, but there's someone else who has some questions of his own for the man. I join Dan Zapula, Sarah Thomas, and Mike Delgadoo in performing this tale. So try to relax. You'll do great, as long as you don't encounter a man in a diner. I stirred the spoon aimlessly in the mug.

and watched a whirlpool of dark brown coffee deepen, stopping just before it peaked and crested the edges. The distraction did nothing to calm my nerves. My eyes drifted toward the clock above the counter. My interview was still 40 minutes away. I tried for anything to occupy my time as waiting was dreadful. From the clock, I looked around at the quiet diner. A mother with two kids sat in a boot.

booth by the back. She seemed to have her hands full with keeping them in their seats and eating. Behind me, by the door, sat two older police officers enjoying their club sandwiches. And without much work, the waitress and chef were chatting through the service window about a book they'd just read called From Here to Eternity. Then my eyes fell on him, the man sitting alone with his newspaper at the end of the counter. He wore a dark suit with immaculate tailoring that matched his shades. Both his suit and his sunglasses stood in contrast to the bright white smile that he bore at me as our eyes met over the top of his paper.

In retrospect, it seemed as though he wasn't reading, but rather watching. Without dropping the paper, he wiggled his fingers at me in an approximation of a wave. With a nod, I returned the sentiment. That one reflexive bow of the head is probably the greatest mistake of my life. Immediately he stood up, folded his paper beneath his arm, picked up his mug, and approached my table. I hadn't realized it until that moment, but he was tall, much taller than anyone I'd met before in my life. He was thin, too. It looked odd matched with his height, even unhealthy, as though he were emaciated.

Towering over my table, he asked, may I sit? I nodded, already regretting my choice. I was never much of a people person, and he seemed much too eager. The impression I got was of an exhausting personality. The man folded himself into the booth, knees jutted outward to fit around mine, and elbows placed firmly on the table. Once across from me, he rested his chin on the back of his folded hands and grinned wide. He was so close that I could see my nervous face reflected in his glasses.

What do you have in store for today? He asked with such genuine curiosity that I started to feel bad for how I treated him in my mind. I told him I was just on my way to an interview. The interview was across the story. street and was scheduled for three, just 40 minutes away. Some part of me wanted to tell him to go away, but I relented. He could serve as a good distraction. As he leaned across the table, he continued. What a coincidence. I'm conducting interviews myself. Rushing his cheek against my ear, I felt his breath rush inside me.

I'm looking for human sacrifices. I retreated into my seat. which I was already pretty far back against. He was still so close that I could see the disgust and horror on my face reflected in his black, soulless sunglasses. I tried to stand, but with strength he didn't look like he possessed. A man reached across the table without budging from his seat, placed a hand on my shoulder, and then shoved me back down. As I hit the cushion, I felt something hard press into my knee.

Feel that? It's a 45. Do anything out of line and I'll have to put you down. And just in case you're the type that doesn't care what happens to himself, know that I'll have to do the same to every other person in here. Jane Edwards, with Will Jr. and Michael, took the day off school to visit the dentist. Milkshakes are the reward. He barely flicked his head in the direction of where the mother and two children sat over his shoulder. Behind you, officers Carmichael and Harvey, they're taking it easy this close to retirement. To my right is Rose.

She works here to pay for a dance school. In the back is the owner, Kelly. Every day that he slaves in that kitchen is a dream come true for him. Just in case knowing all of that is easier on you. My throat ran dry. I felt my mouth open and closed several times, but my mind was spiraling too much. much to conjure words. He seemed to take the flapping of my gums as understanding and continued.

I'll begin the interview now, if you don't mind. He reached his free right hand into his suit jacket, retrieving a blank sheet of paper and an expensive-looking pen. He adjusted the paper and hovered the pen awkwardly above its surface, adjusted once more, then laughed. Ha ha ha ha. Oh, my handwriting is bad enough with my dominant hand. If I want to read these notes later, I can't use the off one.

As he spoke, his pen hand vanished under the table. After a moment, his left hand emerged, brandishing the pen. At the same time, I felt the hard object jam into my other knee. Are you left-handed? I nodded, and his face lit up. His grin revolted me. We're a rare breed. He happily jotted down that I was left-handed as he spoke.

I think there's more than the stats say, though. I don't know about you, but they tried to beat it out of me at Catholic school. But I held on. The Latin word, sinister, means left. That's why they try to get it out of you. Because of some misguided judgment that being left-handed makes you wrong in some way. Did you have an easier time of it than I did? I just shook my head

I felt my left hand tighten as for a brief moment the memory of the ruler striking against my wrist came flying back It's all right All in the past now We withstood

Came out stronger If you went to Catholic school Are you still practicing? I answered My words strained Like when trying to speak With a sore throat I told him

I was Roman Catholic. I don't know why I was so forthcoming, but a terrible knot in my stomach told me that if I lied, he would know, not that my mind was coherent enough to conjure any fabrications. He leaned in close again. His grin twisted as his white teeth were all I could see from the corner of my eye,

too petrified to even turn my head. Are you a virgin? I saw my revulsed face before the reflex, was ripped away as the man tossed his head back in a full-throated laugh. He drummed his free hand on the edge of the table, causing people's heads to turn and face us. Are you two having fun, sir? Rose leaned across the counter with a playful grin. I felt my stomach drop as I silently prayed for her not to get involved.

Today is going to be a great day, Rose. I can feel it. He tossed his head towards her. What's the pie today? Cherry. Rose walked over to where it sat in a glass display, being presented like on some late-night game show. Kelly called out from the kitchen. Made it extra sweet for you.

The man blew him a kiss. Thank you. We'll take two slices and, uh... He leaned over and examined the nearly finished coffee I had been nursing. Two coffee. if it so pleases you. He turned away from Rose, who began preparing our order, and once more fixed his attention squarely on me.

Under his gaze, the room felt suddenly cold and dark. Despite being in a large space with others, looking into those black lenses, I felt utterly isolated. I didn't even ask. You like Cherry Pie, right? Of course you do. Who doesn't? I can't believe you're a true blue. wait till marriage kind. You're a handsome guy. It wouldn't be difficult if you wanted. Well, who knows? Maybe you have some terrible interpersonal flaw I haven't noticed yet that makes you

repulsive to women. It's hard to tell just based on appearance if someone is deranged. You really can't know till they start saying the vilest things. He seemed content to just keep talking without any input from me, but stopped when Rose placed our slices of pie down before us. I looked at it, watching the steam rise from the fresh cherry filling that spilled out onto the plate. The thought of eating made me want to wretch. What's the damage, Rose? He pulled a thin black wallet from his pants' pocket. Then I saw it.

And as the realization dawned on me, the world fell to silence. Even the thumping of my heart faded to nothing. With his right hand, he held open the wallet. And with his left, he was removing a bill. My heartbeat rang against the inside of my skull like a dinner bell. Each rush of blood sent a shiver up my spine. Nothing was pressed against my knee. Now was the time if I wanted to act.

My mind ran through options, but I still had no idea where the gun was. I'd also never been in a fight. Every scenario in my mind ended with a bullet through my chest. So I just watched, telling myself I'd know the right moment when it came. I've always been much better at lying to myself than to others. A dollar, quarter each for the slices and a quarter each for the coffees. Rose placed a receipt on the table between us. I started to stammer.

It felt like a monumental effort to even utter a single word. Their attention flashed to me, Rose smiling politely waiting for me to finish. The man had his head inclined towards me, and for the first time I saw past his glasses. His eyes were hazel, not even deep or bright, just normal eyes. Yet I could feel their malice when I looked into them. They were daring me. Under that gaze, any drive I had to try and escape melted. I managed to finally just say that I would pay and started to retrieve my wallet.

Nonsense, it was my idea. He put a $5 bill onto the table. And keep the change, for always putting up with me. Rose tried to keep her excitement down. Thank you. That's very generous. Then she turned to me. He's very nice, but he can be a bit much. Just give me a wink if you need to be rescued from the conversation.

He threw his head back in open, vulnerable laughter as Rose went back behind the counter. I stirred my coffee, watching my hollow reflection sink into the whirlpool. At that moment, I did wish it would swallow me up. I felt like a fool and a coward. A chance like the one I missed with the bill. A chance to save my life would probably never come again. But I was too frightened to take it. Each second of silence passed as though stretched to its limit.

Eons over a few breaths. Can you believe what the world is coming to? He was reclining now with his hands folded behind his head. A quarter for a cup of coffee. Really thought things would improve after the war? Here's a quarter's worth of free advice. Buy gold. Currency and their governments are fickle.

In the grand scheme of things, they only last a blink of an eye. Gold is a base element, as old as, well, let's just say it's old. He paused and took a fork full of his pie, patiently chewing, savoring each crumb. Pausing before taking another bite, he looked at me. I took the hint and forced myself to try some too. I imagined it was delicious, but my body was in too many knots to notice. After I took a bite, he returned to his own dessert, seemingly satisfied. When finished, he released a great moan and pushed the plate away.

Now that's a pie. He picked up his pen and paper once more. Where were we? Before I could try to stop. utter and answer. He kept going. Right, your abstinence. Great news. Absolutely great. Hey, what's your birthday?

I told him. He nodded, unfolding his newspaper once more and vanishing behind it. He turned each page slowly, methodically. I looked around the diner as much as I could without turning my head. Then, to my horror, she popped into my vision, rose. She motioned towards our plates. May I clear those for you? I felt paralyzed as she looked at me for an answer. I could feel the sweat running down my face and drenching my back.

The man slowly turned another page of his paper. Yes, please, Rose. I don't think I thought to do it. I just remember doing it. As Rose leaned in to grab the plates and mugs, I waited for direct unmistakable eye contact. Then I winked. For a moment she paused, looking concerned.

Thinking back now, I must have looked to be on the verge of a breakdown. My hair matted, my face pale and drenched in sweat, my body barely holding back trembles. Are you? He's hitting on you. I nearly screamed when I saw the cold black lenses peering over the top of the paper at me. Forgive his awkwardness. He's never done anything like this before. Trying to come out of his shell, I think.

After only a short conversation with you? Rose turned a bright face to the man, who reciprocated in kind as he folded away his paper. What can I say? I've got away with people. Rose turned back to face me. Well, if that's the case, come in again on another slow day

and maybe we can get to know each other a bit. Sound nice? I just nodded, pathetic. After Rose left, the man's face turned grim, and I felt the hard metal jam into my knee once more. I think at that point some tears were starting to escape down my cheeks, my final moments, weeping in a diner booth. That was bold, but I understand, and we're almost done anyways.

I read your horoscope. It's good. Try to control your emotions. Your financial life will prosper today. Domestic issues need immediate attention. He finished his rendition and then looked at me expectantly. After the silence grew too much to bear, I thanked him. I actually thanked him.

I like to think now that I would have chosen the bullet over lowering myself that much. But that's probably not true. I didn't know yet. The worst it could. be. Don't thank me. Thank the stars. The very fates themselves. He gestured grandly. As he waved his arm, he seemed to notice the clock on the wall for the first time. Wow, would you look at the time? I've kept you way too long. You've got an interview. My head turned to the door behind me. I could see the busy city street just outside. It was so close this whole time, but I may as

well have been on an island. I turned back to him. The question must have been obvious on my face since he continued. Before you go, please sign your name here. He slid the paper across to me, and for the first time, I saw his notes. His penstrokes were an inky mess, completely incomprehensible. Half the time it didn't even look like English. Without any excuse not to, I scrawled my signature across the bottom. Thank you. He folded the paper, vanishing it into his jacket. I have high hopes for you.

Very high. I sat there stunned, my mind racing. Part of me was certain the moment I stood, he'd shoot me through the stomach. He just watched, smiling his bright, toothy smile. Am I going to die? Oh, did no one tell you? His face fell. I felt actual pity from him, which made me want to bash his face in.

Everyone dies eventually. But will I be sacrificed? Not for me to decide. He shrugged. His grin had returned. But it has been a pleasure. I truly mean that. Now, get out of here, or you'll be late.

Without another word, I left, and I never saw him. him again. The interview afterwards went terribly, and yet I still got the job. It's been several years now. Since then I had moved to a new city and met someone I thought I could love, but I didn't have it in me anymore. Each day since that meeting, my life has grown colder and darker. I struggle to leave my home. I jump at every shadow, the sight of pie disgusting. me. My chest tightens when someone taller than me stands too close.

Just the other day, something brushed my knee in a crowd, and I screamed. Every waking moment I'm expecting to see his terrible grin and black glasses reveal themselves. Yet, it's never happened. I even returned

to the diner, but it had been sold. No one I knew was there anymore, and none of them recognized the man I described. I write this now, sitting in the same seat at the same diner, waiting for him, waiting for the end. It's all I ever do these days. I'm waiting for something to happen, something to let me know once and for all if he'll let me live or not. I know it doesn't make sense. And in all likelihood, he was just some strange man being cruel to me for his own sake.

But his grin won't flee my mind. The same type of grin the interviewer held when he gave me that job. A grin of approval. A grin that deemed me worthy. Till the end, I wait. When I was younger, I heard a lot about traveling salesmen. They'd go city to city, door to door, selling products to whomever they could find at home. I wasn't sure if people do that much anymore. That was until I heard about this tale, shared with us by author Eric Nair. In it, we meet a man going around selling windows.

Unfortunately, that's not all he's trying to do. Performing this tale are Peter Lewis, Matthew Braddock. Nicole Goodnight, Mike Delgadoio, Ellie Hirschman, and Danielle McCray. So let's hope they're just trying to make a sail instead of encountering a child predator. Mark was a gift. Rusted slides and weathered swings stood forgotten, like figments of a historic joy lost to the ages. It was perfect. Kyle Lane had stumbled upon the relic by accident. It sat in the run. rundown neighborhood of a person whose desire to own the latest window technology far outweighed

their capability to pay. Normally, Kyle would have let the homeowner down at the door and moved on, but the little girl caused him to pause. She couldn't have been any more than seven or eight, just a small shadow illuminated by the park's only light. He watched from the failed The prospect's living room as she mounted one of the swings and kicked out her legs. But what was really incredible was the fact that she appeared to be alone. Excuse me? Kyle turned away from the girl and back to the hopeless prospect. Sorry, it's been a long day.

What about the windows? The pitch lasted another 40 minutes until it came to pricing. I can't afford that. Well, you don't have to do it. all of them. Kyle pointed at the large picture window that revealed the park. We could start with that one. The girl was now still, her feet hanging a few inches off the ground. I'll have to think about it. Kyle couldn't care less. He packed up his kit and made his way to the door, offering a brief handshake. He popped to the trunk of his Mustang, threw in

the sales kit, and then made his way over to the driver's side door. were glancing back at the park. The girl sat within the halo of the solitary lamp. The urge struck like a fit, and it took everything he had to abstain from going to her, but that was what separated him from all of the others. Kyle had figured out long ago that the secret to longevity came down to two things. Ego and laziness. History was full of those who made mistakes, and you didn't have to be old to be wise, just be aware. The act of murder for murder's sake to watch the light transfer from their eyes to yours was all the accolade that Kyle required. But for those like BTK and Berkowitz, it wasn't enough. They longed for the spotlight, relishing in

the anonymous notoriety, unaware of the walls slowly closing in. And then there were those like Gacy, whose gluttonous need for more had him storing away bodies under his house like canned goods. All of them were fools. All of them clung to a comfort zone that did little else but create a trail, and trails were meant to be followed. Kyle knew better. Not once had he taken the life of the same sex twice in a row, and as far as disposing of the body, though that's where the creativity.

truly began. He had dumped some in the woods, had burned some, had dismembered some, and as a traveling salesman he was rarely in the same place twice. Most of the bodies had been found, of course they would be. Anyone who thought differently was an idiot, but because of his skill they were never linked together. That was Kyle's gift. He was an artist. This was why the girl had appeared, he was sure of it. It was time for a change, a new angle, if you will, and with one week left in this financially ruined town, he would have plenty of time to plan. During the day, the park was mostly empty, with only an occasional boy tossing a ball at a netless hoop, suspended by a chipped, leaning pole. But when the sun set, she would be there alone. She would

sit on the same swing, looking out into the darkness as if she were waiting on something or someone. It occurred to Kyle that maybe that's exactly what she was doing, waiting, waiting for a storm to pass. He understood that, having come from an abusive father who wasn't afraid to lay down the law with a left hook. His mother could testify to that if she hadn't fried away her lungs with unfilful. filtered camels. Perhaps this little girl found sanctuary within this relic of bygone happiness. The irony produced a smile on Kyle's face. The joke was on her. Four nights had passed and it was time. He pulled his car over a block away, just as the sun began to sink behind the dilapidated

roofline to the west. Already the kinked wig was making his head itch, as it was. As it always did, but he ignored it. He climbed out of the Mustang, regaled in loose-fitting jeans, and a t-shirt emblazoned with bud light across the chest. Everything pointed away from what he was, a three-piece suit-wearing man of means. The park sat empty within the growing shadows. At its center was a cinder-block shack, its eaves warped and broken. Kyle made his way over to one of the rust-ridden doors and turned the handle. It opened with an unnerving squeal. It would have to do. A chill suddenly filled him. It was the excitement of knowing what was to come. This feeling of exhilaration always arrived before the act. Kyle had come to believe that it was spiritual,

granted to him by some higher being. Yes, he was doing this being's work, following its path, ass, ensuring that those he had chosen would all be waiting to serve him once it was his time to move on. Kyle went into the ancient lavatory and gently closed to the door. The room reeked of aged rot and hardened waste, and that was good. No one would dare use it. The darkness continued to grow, and Kyle watched his reflection slowly fade in the cracked mirror that spanned a row. of sinks in front of him. If she was coming, it would be soon. Hopefully her abusive parents stayed on course. If there were anything like this, they would. An image of his old man popped up

unwelcome in his mind. How he had hated him. What would his father say if he could see Kyle crouching in the dark like a thief in the night? Nothing. Because Kyle would kill him before the bastard would have a chance to speak. Kyle forced himself to return to the job at hand. It would be quick. There would be nothing sexual about it. There never was. It was another reason that Kyle was so hard to catch.

His motives for murder remained elusive, hardly fitting into any type of profile. He would bring her back into this freestanding toilet of misery. strangle her, strip her, and then leave. The fantasy would come later as he lay there alone in the hotel room with her spirit trapped within him. A squeaking sound of motion broke through the silence. Kyle cracked the door just enough to see the girl swinging. Her dark curly hair flew to the front and then back as her small body rode the momentum. Kyle opened the door a little more.

glanced around the park. Beyond the dome of weak light, all was still. It was as if the two of them had fallen into a small, reclusive world of their own. Kyle stepped out of the restroom, imagining himself as a lion beginning to stalk. The whining of the ancient chains provided some cover as he crept closer. A light breeze kicked up as if on cue. He came within five feet of the little girl and stopped. He took another precautionary look around and then watched as the girl went forward only to fall back closer and closer to her doom. Kyle leapt, his arm encircling her tiny waist. He flung his free hand around her face, muffling any chance of a scream. She fell away from the swing, her legs kicking out uselessly, her hands pulling against his, but a

unable to break the hold. Kyle carried the helpless girl back to the cinder block hut. He readjusted his grip and reached for the handle door. The girl suddenly became limp, sending wave of fear through him. Had he killed her? She wasn't very big, and his adrenaline was firing at full charge. Had he broken her neck? Kyle pushed his way into the dark room, closing the door behind him. Still, she was. She remained motionless. He pulled out his cell phone with his free hand, activating the flashlight. The girl's eyes were closed, her jaw hanging open.

Perhaps she had fainted. He placed a finger on her throat, just like he'd seen in all the movies and could feel nothing. Maybe she had a condition. Maybe her heart had given out from the fear. As he stood there holding her, he noticed that she was cold. Cold like death. Oh, shit. This so-called gift had been nothing more than a prank.

Anger ignited within him. Why would this victim of abuse pick tonight to collapse? Because she was part of a universe that wanted nothing more than to see Kyle fail. It was the same universe that had produced his father, after all. It seemed that the joke was now on Kyle, and even if he stripped her naked an autopsy would reveal the truth. The little bitch had died from natural causes. Of course, it shouldn't matter. The objective had been met, but it wasn't the same.

It wouldn't provide the foundation that was needed for his oncoming fantasy. With a sigh, he dropped the girl under the cracked concrete flannel. floor and faced the mirror. The man looking back at him in the low light seemed ghastly. The shadows of the room had become attached to each wrinkle and had recessed his eyes into a pair of faraway points of dull light. He forced himself to smile. This was certainly one for the books. Too bad no one would ever know. Kyle glanced at the reflection of the floor and felt his blood freeze. The girl was gone. He spun around, his breath trapped within his chest. She lay where he had dropped her. Kyle closed his eyes and focused on his racing heart, taking in deep breaths,

holding in the nasty air of the restroom for a count of three. Finally, the pounding in his ears began to slow. He turned back to the sink, twisting the faucet. Water burst out like shots from a gun. Kyle filled his hands and splashed his face. It was time to move on. Already he had been there longer than he had planned. He again looked in the mirror at the place on the floor, and again she was gone.

It didn't surprise him. The mirror was old and most likely warped, creating illusions in the dark. After shutting off the water, Kyle gave his reflection one light, last mournful look and turn to leave. She was gone. He shined the beam of his phone around the room, sweeping out the darkness in small waves of light, but there was no one there. The place was empty. Had she crept out the door? Was that possible? The panel rang out like a bell when barely pushed. How could she have escaped without making a sound? The answer didn't matter. What

did matter was that soon this park would be full of cops looking for a man with curly black hair sporting a bud-light t-shirt. Kyle turned off the light from his phone and made his way to the exit. He cracked open the door and paused. It seemed as if the darkness had come alive, becoming an alkins of the park light near useless. A fog had moved in, rippling over the hidden ground like weightless waves. On any other night, the distance to the car would be nothing, just a casual jaunt. But now Kyle wasn't sure if he would be able to find it. And what if the cops were already there?

It took everything he had to quell the chill, threatening to freeze him in place. Kyle forced in a shuddering breath and stepped out of the cinder block shed. The park light was his only point of reference. Because of this and the fact that he was terrified, Kyle soon found himself grasping at the post. The air felt like toxins burning his lungs, his breath coming in deep heaves as if he had just finished a sprint. There had been risky moments before, times when an unplanned stranger had happened to pass by when a body had been placed. But those things were about. to happen, none of those feelings compared to this overwhelming fear that now had him holding

onto the light post like a buoy in a storm. With the walls closing in, he needed to move to get out of the sputtering radiance that had become his security blanket. Kyle took a step and felt his blood go cold. A shadow within the shadows shifted, dancing near the edge of the light like a wisp of cloud. Another shape moved to his right, and then another. Who's there? His only answer was hissing laughter. Leave me alone.

Let's keep this one. Forever. Forever. The electric surge gripping Kyle held him in place, immobilizing everything but his breath. Go away. But you wanted me. Kyle looked over, just as the girl appeared out of the mist.

Do you still want me? An eerie laugh filled the night, and Kyle could do little else but cringe against the lamp post as a dozen more children came out of the fog, encircling him. It was then that he noticed their eyes, burning orange like scores of enraged furnaces. God help me.

As if he would. They had attacked as one, covering his mouth and compressing his chest until he fell into darkness. Within that darkness came fleeting images of clawing beasts, equipped with hands ending in daggers, grasping for him, tearing at his flesh as they playfully sang in a foreign language while his blood began to flow. The pain should have been unbearable and should have caused him to scream like a tornadic wind, and yet he felt nothing. The endless nightmare continued with ravenous grunts and an occasional belch. Kyle could do little else but watch in horror as his body became a macabre feast.

From the east, the sky began to brighten, and it was only then that he fell into a problem. peaceful slumber. He thought that his eyes had been infected. Everything seemed brighter, glowing with a greenish tint. He could smell rotting flesh and the rusted aroma of drying blood. His stomach began to grumble. You're back. Kyle turned his head and saw the girl standing over him. Her eyes still burned and from out of her top lip protruded serrated point. points like ivory needles. Where am I? You should probably ask, what am I?

What do you mean? You like to hunt. Well, so do we. Kyle watched her face as she spoke. Even in the low light of whatever cave or basement they had taken him to, he could see the paleness of her skin like porcelain and those eyes burning with a fire of their own. You're a vampire. Yes.

The fear that a twisted Kyle's gut seemed to fall away. If they had wanted him dead, he would have been. Perhaps they had sensed the monster within him. What had one of them said before, Let's keep this one? Perhaps they had sensed what he longed for the most. A family. And not just any family, but one that could share in the thrill.

of the hunt. Surely they understood that need. It was how they survived. Am I like you? In a way. Kyle tried to sit up, but was unable to move. A moment of panic rushed through him, and he struggled to roll over, but his arms wouldn't work. What's wrong with me? You mean besides the obvious. Why can't I move? The girl sat down, placed. placing her porcelain chin on the palm of her hand. Because you have no arms or legs. What are you talking about? We removed them before we turned you.

Panic raced through what was left of Kyle's body, allowing only an anguished moan to escape. He again tried to sit up, to roll over, to kick out, but it was pointless. If he had been able to cry, he might have drowned. But that wasn't true, because his body no longer needed air to survive. All that it required, who was blood. Was that their plan?

Were they going to let him starve? Another rumble erupted from his stomach. Sounds like someone's hungry. The girl rose from the floor and made her way to the back of the cavern, where a row of cages sat. Her hand shot out like lightning, and Kyle heard. a terrified squeal that was cut short. The girl returned with a freshly murdered rat in her hand.

She leaned down and placed the rodent just inches away from Kyle's mouth. Doesn't that smell good? Fresh from the sewer. Kyle expected revulsion, but instead discovered that the nasty creature did smell good, like steak on a grill. saliva began dripping out of the corner of his mouth. The girl lowered it more until the greasy fur of the thing tickled his lips. Without thinking, Kyle plunged his head forward, slicing his teeth through the rat's hide.

The liquid was still warm as it gushed down his throat, awakening within him a need for more. Once the rat was drained, the girl tossed it to the side. Please. One is all you get. My arms, my legs, will they grow back? If we had turned you before they were removed, then yes, they would have. Her word struck him like a hammer. Why did you do this to me?

Why not make me like you? The girl lifted her face and let out laugh. She then reached out and gave him. Kyle's forehead a light tap. Because we're bad, but we're not that bad. 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

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