The NoSleep Podcast - S20 Ep9: NoSleep Podcast S20E09

Episode Date: December 3, 2023

It's Episode 09 of Season 20. Come join us around the campfire with tales about sleepless nights. "Tree" written by Rosie Albrecht (Story starts around 00:03:20) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator - Marie Westbrook "Three Nights in Kyoto" written by Emma Loughran (Story starts around 00:09:50) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator - Ilana Charnelle "The Stalking Man" written by Lola Noel (Story starts around 00:35:20) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Narrator - Jessica McEvoy, Dana - Katabelle Ansari, Aiden - Atticus Jackson "The Brass Bed" written by Megan Joyce Pugh (Story starts around 01:06:50) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator - Ash Millman, Roz - Erika Sanderson, Mr Asakawa - Masaya Mimura "The Darkness Aboard ZULU-5" written by James Yeary (Story starts around 01:38:30) PProduced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator - Peter Lewis, Evans - Atticus Jackson, Rodriguez - Mike DelGaudio, Mason - Graham Rowat This episode is sponsored by: Uncommon Goods - Uncommon Goods is here to make your holiday shopping stress-free by scouring the globe for the most remarkable and truly unique gifts for everyone on your list. Visit uncommongoods.com/nosleep for 15% off Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "Three Nights in Kyoto" illustration courtesy of Kelly Turnbull Audio 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 firelight. 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 as we enter the month of december it's time to think about all the ways this month connects with the darkness of the night. No, no, I'm not mistaking it with October. December, for many reasons,

really does celebrate the dark hours. Think about it. The winter solstice occurs this month, which, for those of us in the northern hemisphere, denotes the longest night of the year. The night of December 22nd is the longest night of the year, the time when the dark hours are at their darkest, and when fear banishes sleep the most. I suppose, suppose it makes perfect sense that December 22nd is my birthday, I mean my birth night. Yes, you could say I was born to embrace the sleepless dark nights from the moment I was born. But beyond all that, we have things like Christmas Eve, when the youngans wait patiently for old St. Nick to arrive. We have Hanukkah, which has ceremonies involving lighting candles each night to stave off the darkness.

And for most any religion or culture, December usually involves some sort of ceremony or ritual which celebrates the dark nights of the solstice. And so, in this episode, we feature tales about the darkness of the night and what can happen when you find yourself dealing with things that happen when you should be, shamefully, asleep. And while sleepless dark nights are our raison d'etra all year round, we're sharing tales with you about. about people who really do just want to get some sleep, but find themselves struggling to do so thanks to... Well, you'll just have to listen to find out. So here's hoping you can enjoy the nighttime chills and thrills of December. Make sure to keep that campfire glowing if you want to stay safe.

Now, the sun has set. The fire indeed glows bright. Brace yourself for the darkness. of the December night. In our first tale, we meet a woman who is annoyed by and often kept sleepless by branches outside her bedroom window. If you've ever experienced the tapping and scraping of branches on your windows at night, you'll understand how unpeaceful the experience is.

And in this tale, shared with us by author Rosie Albright, the woman explains the reasons why these events are especially unnerving. Performing this tale is Marie Westbrook. So forget about ghosts and demons. Sometimes the real horror can come from something as simple as a tree. Like the tree outside my window. The tree outside my window doesn't like me either. We have lived in this house for eight years.

That's a long time to live next to a tree that hates me. When we first moved here, I was very young, still in kindergarten. and I knew right away that I did not like the tree. I didn't like the way it watched me through the windows at night. I would ask Mom to pull the curtains, and she would, but I knew the tree could see me anyway. It's weird to be hated by something that can't speak and has no face. How do I know it hates me? I can feel its hatred like steam rising off the bark.

When I'm under it, it drops sticks on my head. Sometimes I worry that it will fall over one day and crash into my room and kill me. The tree will die too, but it will take me out with it and I think that the tree will see this as a worthy sacrifice. I would ask to have a different bedroom, but there isn't one for me to move into. Just the one for my mom and dad and the one for me.

By the tree. Sometimes I dream of the tree. Usually the dreams don't make sense, but sometimes they do. And they're about the tree. growing and growing. I am trapped inside the branches and the tree grows around me. It swallows me into it as it gets bigger and bigger until it's the size of two or three or even four houses. And then the wood closes up around me and I am completely inside the trunk. Then I die inside

the tree and I wake up and I feel as though the tree is laughing. I think the tree is getting angrier. It can see me growing and getting older and it doesn't want that. The anger is getting hotter and sometimes it makes me sweat at night. One day I went outside and there was a swing dangling from the tree. It looked old like it had always been there. I never go anywhere near it and it never moves, even when it's really windy outside. That was two months ago. Every day I get more and more afraid of the tree. The branches have gotten so clear. close to my window that they scrape against the glass at night, like they're trying to break in. I can't tell anyone that I'm afraid. I haven't spoken to anyone else about the tree in years,

because when I was little, I asked Mama about the tree outside. I asked if it would ever be cut down. I tried not to seem eager about it. And Mama looked at me funny and said what everyone else has said to me since, that there is no tree outside my window, that there never, ever has been. If you find yourself in a foreign land, a place you want to experience for its culture and traditions, you will likely have to put up with things you find unfamiliar and perhaps annoying. Consider the woman in this tale, shared with us by author Emma Lockren. She is visiting Japan, and the traditional neighborhood she's chosen to stay in makes it almost impossible to sleep. Performing this tale is Ilana Sharan.

And so make the most of your days when you visit because you're likely not going to sleep much when you spend three nights in Kyoto. Night one. The hollow sound ripped me from a dreamless sleep and forced my eyes to peel open. It took a moment for my consciousness to arrange the unfamiliar shadows into a room I could recognize. The faint smell of tatami and the wearer of distant air conditioning reminded me that I was lying on a futon in the center of a simple room. room in my new apartment in Kyoto. I'd only arrived the day before, so I hadn't yet got a full grasp of the place. It was still dark outside, and faintly forgetting what had woken me up, I began to slip seamlessly back to sleep.

Just as my lids began to droop, I heard it again. What the hell is that? I sat up in bed and revolved to see if any explanation revealed itself from the darkened room. Shaffes of sulphur light illuminated my suitcase on the floor, its contents spewing messily out of the open lid, and the closed doors to the yet unused wardrobe and the small side table to my left. Nothing stirred. I rolled over and fumbled to clumsily for my phone on the floor. Its piercing light forced me to squint while I read the time. 3.17 a.m. I turned the screen off to save my eyes and sat up, waiting for my vision to readjust to the yellowed gloom.

Was that inside or outside the building? I couldn't tell. I had chosen this place because it was in an old traditional part of town, and it was meant to be a quiet neighbourhood. The building only had six apartments over three floors. Mine was on the third, facing the street to the front. When I arrived yesterday, I had been enchanted by the wooden buildings, slanted roofs, and the network of winding streets and alleys that made up this neighbourhood with small cafes, restaurants,

yakutories and bakeries sprinkled throughout. My building had been less enchanting. It was a modern edition, with three rows of severe concrete balconies stuffed with clotheslines and man-sized air conditioners. My heart had sunk a little when I first stood outside, but that changed once I saw my neat as a pin apartment with every high-tech amenity I could hope for. My toilet even has a heated seat and plays birdsong on command.

I really needed a fresh start in life, and this trip to Japan was it. I could stay here forever. I rose from my futon and felt my way to the door, taking small steps down the short hallway. I paused at the view of my tiny kitchen and living room. I could barely make out the kitchen counter and small sofa beyond with the slatted light through the blinds. But nothing seemed to be amiss, just as loud as before.

I could feel the vibrations of each clack in my back teeth. But it could just be my jet-lag-out old brain. instinctively I turned on the light. The stark white of the floor and walls almost blinded me, but its brilliance was a welcome friend after the lonesome dark. Was it one of my neighbours stomping in wooden clogs on the floor upstairs? Or a drummer about to start but never getting past the one, two, three? Or was it some creature trapped under the sink trying to get out?

I liked that option the least, but felt an overwhelming urge to check. I grabbed a broom, for all the use it might do me, and stood poised before the cupboard, ready to fling open its doors and attack some unknown thing. Horse thumping in my ears, I swung open the door to reveal a monstrous... Tub, a fabric softener. Get a grip, woman.

Not even one night alone in this place, and you're already losing it. I put the broom back in its place and closed the doors under the sink. I was turning around to slump on the sofa when it came again. It was coming from outside. I almost skidded on the polished floor as I dashed toward the window. I looked up and down the street but didn't see anything, though my balcony was blocking the view to my right. Feeling a mix of foolishness, curiosity and a drop of fear,

I went down the hall to my still darkened bedroom. Without turning on the lights, I opened the sliding door to the balcony. The door moaned as I tried to slide it open quietly, and I heard the clack, clack, clack in false around sound for the first time. It was so loud! I stepped out onto the dusty and disused balcony and tiptoed her to the edge, gear down the street, and there it was.

The source of all that racket was a small, hunched woman. She was walking painfully slowly down the street away from me, her head bowed almost parallel to the pavement. I stared for a long minute at her shuffling form before she brought her arms out at her sides as if she was about to take off in flight and clacked them together three times. The harsh sound reverberated around the narrow alleyways

across the rooftops and away into the starless night. I watched as she moved methodically down the street, mesmerized by the absurdity of the movement. I looked around to see if anyone else had taken an interest. but the streets were empty and the window is all dark. Must be a Japanese thing. Just as she was fading from my view, her clacks becoming more distant.

I turned to leave when something caught my eye. A spark of darkness bloomed on a rooftop to my left. I know, how can darkness spark? But that's the only way to describe it, like the last dying moments of a firework but in reverse, like something sucked a bit of life away. I just need to chill the hell out and get some rest. And that's what I tried to do.

I tossed and turned for what seemed like forever before waking up to daylight, having not realized I'd even fallen asleep. Night 2. I spent my second full day in Kyoto unpacking, exploring my neighbourhood and visiting one of the local shrines. According to my guidebook, it dated back to when Kyoto was the capital of Japan and was one of the last shrines standing after one of the great fires blasted through the area. I had been wondering why there were so many mosquitoes around for a city

until I noticed the buckets of water outside every building. Now that seemed to make sense. A city built of wood is bound to have a healthy fear of fire. The temple was old and luxurious, with a huge red tori looming over all who entered. I watched as locals walked across to a fountain and washed their hands with a ladle, one hand, then the other,

then made their way to an altar in the centre with a huge bell hanging down. Its scale made me think of the pit and the pendulum. They rang the bell and clapped twice, which made me shiver after last night. I thumbed through my precious guidebook for answers, apparently the clapping wards off evil spirits before making your prayer to the kami.

It made sense, but did little to alleviate my uneasiness about the events of the night before. Why did that woman clap three times? My thoughts of the woman soon dissipated after spending the rest of the day, wandering the narrow network of Kyoto's alleyways, catching glimpses of kimono-clad locals around corners, eating strange snacks and rambling down canals, with bridges that looked like scenes from old Akuto Kurosawa films. It was after dark by the time I made it back to the apartment, legs stiff and feet sore, but feeling light and airy after a satisfying day of exploration.

It was only as I took off my shoes and turned on the light to my new abode that I felt my sunny mood turned to twilight. The place had lost its friendly gleam and now seemed stark and soulless. I shuffled to the kitchen for a glass of water, scoffing at my own foolishness when I passed the cupboard under the sink. After lying on the sofa scrolling on my phone for a pointless amount of time, I decided to get an early night and catch up on my sleep for tomorrow. Not again. I unfurled myself from my blanket burrito and groaned. I felt along the tatami floor for my phone, but already guessed what time it was.

3.17 a.m. My eyes adjusted to the now familiar jaundiced glow of the room, my ears still echoing the sounds from outside. Maybe I could get a better look at her tonight, or ask her what she was doing. I wanted to stay in my cozy bed, but there was no way I would sleep while she was clacking around outside. I pulled on my pants and grabbed my phone before easing the sliding door open to the balcony.

I saw her down the road to my left and shivered involuntarily. She was only a few buildings away with her back turned, still hunched over in what seems like a painful right angle. A warm breeze caressed my face and brought with it the slight scent of charred meats and something sweet, or maybe rotten. She brought her arms out slowly like she was about to dive into an invisible pool and clapped them together three times. From here I could see that she had a wooden palette in each hand.

How did these small instruments make such a racket? I could feel them reverberate in my lungs and run like static through my nerves. This is so weird. She was dressed in what I thought was a dark kimono, but it was hard to tell from behind. I held up my phone to take a video, but she had moved into shadows and my camera was far too grainy.

Maybe I could go downstairs for a closer look. The thought thrilled and scared me all at once, like a giddy child about to do something so bold they can't refuse. I sped through the apartment, grabbing my keys and a pair of runners along the way. I didn't know where the switch for the corridor was, so I used the torch on my phone and crept down the hallway. I heard shuffling coming from above

and muffled voices from my right. tiptoeing down the stairs, I heard the murmurs grow more frantic, but they were still just out of audible reach. A couple must be fighting somewhere and they don't want anyone to hear. Been there. Totally normal, I tried to reassure myself. Shadows seemed to dim around the weak light from my phone, and I felt a tickle of fear run down my back.

I was almost at the bottom when I heard the next triple clack right on time, and the whispers ceased all at once. silence. Feeling flushed and more than a little uneasy, I continued down the last few stairs and out through the front door. The quick relief of being outside in the air was almost enough to make me forget why I'd come down here in the first place. Her.

I started to my left, but there was no one there. I turned 180 degrees and there she was, almost out of sight already. To my right. How is that possible? She moved so slowly. How could she have made it so far in the opposite direction in the short time it took me to get down the stairs? The whole place was still,

as if holding its breath for the next clamour. I held up my phone to take a video while she was still in view. Her arms raised for the next clack. Just as my index finger was a hair's breath away from the button, she stopped. I froze. Anyone looking would see the expression of guilt on my face, illuminated from below by the screen. But there was no one else.

It looked like she was straightening up, as if about to turn around. I felt a sudden urge to hide, a primal fizz in the back of my brain pleading with my limbs to move. I could see shadows dance and twist in the corners of my vision, growing darker while I stood there fixated. Her head tilted another degree to the side, and that, was enough to snap me out of the moment and bolt for the door. I could say it was guilt or shame at standing in the middle of the street in my pajamas in the dead of night, trying to film an old woman going about her business. But I'd be lying.

It was pure, unfiltered fear. I dashed through the dim reception and up the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time. I barely registered the murmurs from behind closed doors as my footsteps echoed in my way. I fumbled with the keys and practically fell in the door and locked it behind me. Night three. I woke up at dawn with a crick in my neck. I'd fallen asleep on the sofa with all the lights on and a blanket pulled up to my chin. Whispy memories from my escapades the night before made me cringe with embarrassment as I pulled the blanket over my head.

What was I thinking going out to film an old woman without her knowledge and then getting scared of the dark? In my pajamas. Oh, first two nights alone in a strange country and I'm running around like a lunatic, getting scared by old women and fabric softener. If she's there tonight and I'm awake, I'll go down and apologise in my best phrasebook Japanese. Decision made and feeling a bit lighter, I showered, ate breakfast and got ready for the day. That day, I wandered around the shops and visited galleries of Ukiyoi artists showing woodblock prints of the original Kyoto in all its glory.

I sat on a bench with strangers and ate sashimi at the famous and shiki food market when I was engulfed in a wave of strange foods and smells. I felt like I was in another world, like I was truly living life for the first time. After the market, I strolled past craft shops, knife makers and bubble tea stalls. I stopped at a sunny intersection to check my maps when a shadow fell over me. I looked up to a wizened old man with kind, watery eyes standing right in front of me. He didn't say anything at first, so I smiled and began to reach for my purse out of habit. He shook his head and said something in Japanese. It sounded like,

I yeah, just say there, wannae, josei there, wannae, hanarete. I looked at him blankly and shook my head in response. I replied with one of the few phrases I had learned. I don't understand. I don't understand. I smiled and raised my shoulders in a shrug. He frowned and said, Da Yunja. Da Yunja! Our interaction was gathering attention from passers-by.

His raised voice was not usual for public spaces in Kyoto. Sumi-same, wakarimsa, I said with a slight dip of my head in apology. I took out my purse and he grunted and shook his head again. Sorry, sumim-same. I repeated and took a step back. He grasped my wrist with iron strength and I yelped. Da Yunga! He yelled as a fine mist of spittle found my face.

A passerby stopped and said something angrily at him. Others had paused to stare. The man turned and loosened his grip. I took my chance and yanked my arm back and began to back away from the situation, wiping my face with my sleeve. The two men were now speaking heatedly, so I turned and speedwalked away until their voices were gone and my heart had a chance to slow down.

The sun was setting as I made it back to my street, casting along shadows that reached down from the rooftops to block my sunny path. Back in the apartment, I tried looking up the words on my phone but couldn't quite remember what he'd said at first, let alone how to spell it. The next day I was due to take a bus tour to a bamboo forest outside of the city,

so I spent the evening getting a bag together and making sure everything was charged and ready for the early start. I went to bed early and drifted into a restless sleep until I woke up with a jump. I sat up and listened. Nothing. No nightly clacking to be heard.

I checked the time and it was already 3am. Do I stay in bed for my early start or should I go down and apologise for last night's humiliation? Maybe I'd stop feeling so antsy if I just went down, said I was sorry and went back to bed. I'll do it. I turned on the lights, got dressed and slinked out the door so I wouldn't disturb my neighbours. The mega light from my phone only illuminating a few feet ahead of me.

I went down the familiar stairs one flight, then two. It appeared darker with every step, the stairwell now seeming infinite as no start or end was in sight. I'd heard people use the phrase oppressive dark, but this was the first time I'd felt it, like the shadows were leaning their weight against my back as I descended. The murmurs from the night before began whispering in my ear more urgently this time. Are they coming from above or below? I quickened my pace. After an interminable amount of time, the reception was in sight and I calmly, but too quickly,

made for the door and out into the night air once more. I glanced up and down the narrow street. It had been raining and the lights made slicker. reflections on the tarmac. Oily shadows swirled out of view around puddles, showing mirror images of the street around them. No one in sight. I sighed and looked down at my phone.

3.10 a.m. 7 more minutes. I looked up at my building, its concrete facade showing none of the charm the rest of the neighborhood possessed. All the lights were off as it stared down at me with dark, vacant eyes. That's not right. I'd left the lights in my apartment on.

I looked at my top windows. Black as pitch. The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle. I thought I saw a spark of something to my right, but when I turned my head, there was nothing there. A jolt of fear crackled down my spine and all the way out through my toes. I spun around and there she was. Only a few feet away,

her hunched back to me with arms outstretched for her next move. She was wearing a long, dark kimono, but was silhouetted against the streetlight and still hard to make out, like she was dressed in shadows. The sickly stench of charred meat and rot wafted on the breeze, stinging my senses and making my eyes water. My phone felt slick in my clammy palms, and I began to shiver despite the warmth. I realised she was muttering, barely audibly under her breath. About last night. She didn't reply, but her head cocked a little to one side. I automatically took a step back, and she stepped towards me, except she walked backwards.

Every fibre of my being was screaming at me, synapses fired and nerves tingled all telling me the same thing. Run. Sorry for interrupting. I put one foot behind me, ready to sprint. Then she moved. She moved in a way you never would have imagined in your worst nightmares. She stood up. The perfect right angle of her hunch had described her immense size.

She grew tall as her back straightened, grey hair hanging down limp while she towered over me. Only a few feet away. Now I could see. Now I could see what was really wrong. Her hands were facing the wrong way. Why hadn't I seen that before? The hands holding the paddles were the wrong way.

I looked up slowly, afraid of what I was about to witness. I was looking at the front of her. How is that possible? It was only then the old man's words to me made sense. Da'unja. He must have meant danger. Too late now. She brought her hands up,

and parted her gray hair. Then I saw her face. That awful face. Her eyes had rotted centuries ago, along with her nose, and her mouth was the wet, open, more of an abyss. She, or it, was still muttering, but the sound was coming from somewhere inside that black void. Or maybe it was inside my head.

Before I could react, she brought the paddles. together. The wind from the paddles almost made me lose my balance. I scrunched my eyes shut in defense, and when I opened them, she was gone. The two paddles fell at my feet with a clatter. I was stunned. I rotated in a full circle, but she was gone. Had no one seen this unreal interaction? I looked down at the smooth pieces of wood. A small black swirl was inked in the center of each one. I reached down and picked them up. That's when it happened. It's when my life ended and another began.

My consciousness shattered while my bones stretched. Somewhere far away, I felt my torso twist and my arms break. I felt the paddles burned into the skin of my palms while the world around me swirled in the most luxurious shadows. Such delicious darkness. I saw the buildings bleed tar from every orifice while the potholes erupted with ink. I saw the clouds swirl like smoke while they cried ebony rain on my now rotting skin. It felt glorious.

I could hear the dead all around me. Their sorrowful screams soothed me. I could hear the living too, but more faintly. My connection to that world is more tenuous now. I stretched out my arms and leaned back. Oh, I stared up at the sky. The stars were beginning to shine through as the dark clouds dispersed and the shadows around me began to fade.

The light hurt my eyes. I clapped my hands together behind my back and all the shadows returned. I could stay here forever. When it comes to sleepless nights, sometimes we are the reason we stay awake. Insomnia plagues so many people, including the woman in this tale, which is shared with us by author Lola Noel.

When she experienced insomnia as a child, she learned her imagination was the best way to fall asleep. Now an adult, the insomnia has returned. Good thing she can use her imagination once again. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Catabelle Ansari and Atticus Jackson. So when you need to imagine something fearful to stay still enough to sleep, you should choose something to think about other than the stalking man.

When I was young and I curled up in bed to go to sleep, I used to pretend that inches away from the tips of my toes slept a big, ugly rat. I imagine that if I moved, even a little, I would disturb the rat and it would bite my toes off. This may sound odd, but it actually helped me fall asleep back then. I was a naturally restless kid. I disliked staying still, and even if I could manage that,

my overactive imagination would keep me awake. By focusing on the image of the rat, his mangy white fur, his mouth full of sharp teeth, the way the blankets of my bed draped over the bulk and rose and fell with his breath, I was able to keep my mind from wandering to places that would keep me stimulated and awake. The goal of not disturbing the act, and the consequences if I did, were enough incentive for me to keep my fiddly little body still, and I was able to fall asleep. Once, I remember waking up in the middle of the night, and as I opened my eyes, I saw a large lump in the sheets

just past my toes. I was sure that I could see the fabric rustling, moving up and down like there was a living creature underneath. But as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I started thinking more critically. If the fabric was moving, it was because I was moving it, not a living animal breathing at my feet. I felt silly for thinking,

even for a few seconds, that the rat was real. This was around the time I started growing out of these types of imagination games. I was starting middle school, and I was often teased for being a baby by my peers. I still picture the rat sometimes.

It's kind of funny. I always picture him in my childhood bed, not the one I sleep in now. He's a part of that time in my life, I suppose, and that's where he'll have to stay. As I got older, staying still long enough to drift off to sleep got gradually easier,

but my imagination stayed distracting as ever. But once I discovered the wonderful world of podcasts, that became less of a problem at night. My issues with sleeping subsided through middle and high school, but returned full force once I left for college. It may sound a little childish, but when I moved into my dorm room, I was suddenly very aware, every night,

that there was no mom and dad down the hall. If something happened in the night, I could scream my head off. And while someone would probably hear me, wouldn't be someone who loved me. In fact, seeing as I was surrounded by other dorms, filled with burnt-out college students absorbed entirely in their own lives, there was a very good chance that, even if I screamed bloody murder, only my roommate Dana would even react.

Dana was fine, as far as roommates go. These days, I have the urge to reminisce on her fondly. I find it much easier to remember the one time she lent me her notes in our only shared class when I was dumb enough to wind up hung over on a Monday morning, then the dozens of times she forgot to warn me that she was having her boyfriend over. Hell, I even catch myself forming false memories of being happy to see her boyfriend, who I barely tolerated at best. When I mentioned my sleeping problems to Dana, she jokingly suggested that I, try growing the

up, and then more seriously asked if I had tried sleeping pills. I explained that I had, but they made me too groggy to concentrate in class the next day. She shrugged and said she was out of ideas. I guess that's what you get for wanting to play. past your classes or whatever. She smirked and left to go to a party. I sighed and told her to have fun. I wasn't very keen on parties

ever since the aforementioned hungover on a Monday incident. That night, I climbed the ladder of our bunk bed and pushed play on a podcast. Dana agreed to put up with my podcasts at night if I let her blast her music in the morning, which seemed like a fair trade at the time. My body was exhausted.

I hadn't gotten a good sleep in days. I tried to focus on my podcast, but my brain just wouldn't stop listing all the ways I could be murdered in my dorm. A drunken partygoer could mistake the dorm for his own, think he lost his keys and break in, then kill me because he thinks I'm in his dorm. A serial killer could hear my podcast playing and pick me as her target. The walls were so flimsy,

I bet that if someone shot a gun at the wall, a bullet could go right through. And that was just humans. What about animals? There were some woods not too far from campus. There were all kinds of things that could kill me out there. And if they got hungry enough, there was no stopping them from creeping onto campus. I wouldn't stand a chance.

My catastrophizing was interrupted by yellow light flooding in through the window and casting itself on the ceiling. I groaned and pulled the blankets up over my head. There was a funny little rectangular window right up near the head of my bed. The window faced the main walkway in front of the dorms. The administration had in-strung. installed motion-detecting lights along that walkway. Whenever somebody walked by, they turned on, and light pulled in through those dumb little windows. Because of the height of the windows, it wasn't really an issue for bottom bunks,

but those on the top bunks in dorms near the lights were greeted with soft, but nonetheless disruptive light in their face every time someone walked by. This frequent annoyance did nothing to improve my sleeping issues, but Dana had insisted that she needed the bottom bunk for when her boyfriend came over, and I hadn't wanted to start my relationship with the person I'd have to live with with a fight, so I complied. It was a really dumb decision. Our light and its censor were just to the left of us,

so it turned on before people approached us when they came from the left, and after they passed us when they came from the right. Even years after moving out of there, I can still walk myself through the whole layout in my head. Eventually, the light went off again, and I went back to trying to sleep. No matter how hard I tried to focus on my podcast and keep my eyes closed, though, my mind would wander to the worst-case scenarios, and my eyes would drift open and fix themselves on the window across from me.

I remembered back when I was just a little kid, and my brain gave me exciting, fun ideas to keep me up instead of the different ways that I might die. back when I had trouble keeping my body still because of excess energy instead of having trouble keeping my eyes closed out of fear. I smiled to myself, just a little, at the thought of my solution from back then. That big, ugly rat that I convinced myself would attack me if I didn't keep still. There was no way that would still work.

It had worked at the time because the rat scared me. Even if I knew it was pretend and that I was actively conjuring it in my own mind, there was still some part of me that was convinced that if I didn't stay still, he would bite my toes. And some morbid fixation on that idea compelled me to focus so intently on that rat I was able to sleep. But rats didn't scare me anymore, not since I realized how much bigger than them I was and how much scarier people can be. Hell, at that point, I would have gladly welcomed the rat into my bed just to have some familiar company. But maybe, maybe something else would work? It seemed silly to me that some childish little ritual would cure something that had been plaguing me for weeks,

but I had tried every sensible option. Maybe the stupid solution was worth a shot. But what would scare me now? Well, men with knives with a death wish towards defenseless college students. But that was too scary, too real. I needed something like the giant rat, something that couldn't really be there, that couldn't really get me, but that I could entertain the idea of being a real danger, just scary enough that I could fixate on it without too much effort.

I looked around the room for inspiration when the motion sensor was triggered again, and my retinas were filled with yellow light. I groaned. College parties could keep you up even if you didn't go. I stared down that window until the light went away. It was then startled by how much darker the room suddenly looked. I could make out basic shapes before, but now that my eyes had been exposed to light, everything looked pitch black.

Everything, that is, except for the little window. That was when it came to me. What if it wasn't an intoxicated student leaving a party that triggered the light? What if it was something else? Something inhuman. Something that wanted to watch me. through the little window, but have a wide grin as it gazed in at me, clawed hands gripping the sill. If it was able to do that, it would have to be very tall, tall enough that if it did make it in,

if I were to leave the door unlocked one day, then it would have to bend down to get through the door, and once it passed the threshold, it would fill the whole room. My creature would be made of shadows, silhouetted against the faint light of the campus outside. The only distinct feeling feature would be a six-mile made of long, sharp, yellow, no, red teeth. Teeth the color of blood and shiny eyes like a predatory animal. He would... The light flashed again. I snapped my eyes shut, eager to see if this could actually work. The light marked his arrival. He was coming to stand in front of the window and watch me. And if I opened my eyes, even for a second, he would... Dana barged into the room.

She was pretty obviously tipsy. I sighed. I should have seen that coming. Dana's party was to the left of us from the doorway. Of course her arrival would trigger the light. There was no monster. It was just my roommate. I felt stupid for even thinking such a silly idea would actually work.

Yeah, I stopped at a 7-Eleven for some of that hangover, preventing stuff. She shook an empty red and white bottle, as if she needed it. Dana must have had a magical constitution or something because she never got hangovers. I used to be so jealous of her for that. Why are you telling me this? I sat up in bed, trying to convey to her how little I appreciated her busting in and basically shouting at me in the middle of the night. Sheesh, grumpy. Sheesh.

I got you some sleeping pills because I'm an excellent roommate. She produced a little box that she then handed to me. And I know you can take them because tomorrow is Sunday. Oh, I suddenly felt bad for snapping at her. Thanks, Dana. Yeah, just take them, all right? I'm hitting it. she slammed face first into her bed without changing.

She was snoring within seconds. I popped a couple pills and, after waiting about half an hour for them to work, I was able to fall asleep too. The pills worked. I slept pretty well after that, until I was blasted awake by full-volume bubble gum pop. I dramatically slammed my pillow over my head before relenting and slumping down the ladder. I glared at Dana. She shrugged.

You agreed to this. How can you party half the night away? Stumble home wasted and still be a morning person. I was not wasted. I was barely tipsy. Besides, I took that hangover stuff, remember? I didn't feel like explaining to her how little those things did for most people. Possible.

Look, I'm going to go see Aiden in a few minutes. Then you can go back to sleep if you want. Aidan was her boyfriend. Normally, telling me I could just go back to sleep, was a death wish. But those pills were really doing a number on me. So after she left to see Aiden, I was able to sleep through half the day. After so many rough nights in a row, it felt amazing. But it came back to bite me that night when it was time to go to bed.

Nothing kept me awake like catastrophizing, but sleeping all morning was up there. And it wasn't like I could just stay up. It was a school night, and I had an important lecture in the morning. I had to get a few solid sleep cycles in if I wanted to be fully present for that. Dana was already asleep below me. Along with being hangover-resistant and a morning person, she also slept like a baby. It actually kind of makes me sick. that I still get jealous of her.

I laid there in bed for about two hours, staring into the dark, desperately willing myself to drift off. Then, just like almost every night, someone passed us on the dormitory pathway. Even back then, I could never understand what it was about your late teens slash early 20s

that was supposed to make you want to be out late every night. Maybe my peers were right to call me a baby. A few seconds after, I heard the footsteps go by. The light flooded in through the window, and I scrunched my eyes shut. Suddenly, my brain flashed me the half-baked image I had begun crafting the night before, of the shadowy specter with blood-red fangs that stood at my window staring at me. I actually scared myself a little.

This thing that I created was fucking terrifying. But that was ridiculous. It wasn't a real thing. It was a phantom. It was make-believe. I could easily open it. my eyes and see that the window had no stalking creature, but I didn't. Some tiny part of me, the same part that really believed in the rat when I was young, believed in this. And that little

voice told me that if I opened my eyes, if I let this thing know that I knew it was there, that it wouldn't be content to just watch me. It would have to come and get me, and that scared me. But it didn't scare me in the same way all those real, possible things scared me. It didn't have enough power over me to be added to that pile, but just enough that I was intent on keeping my eyes closed and making it believe that I could not see it. I decided that if I was going to be afraid of this thing, I would have to give it a little more detail. I pictured its claws on the sill, long and jagged. I pictured the way the light would gleam. off his scarlet red teeth.

I wasn't exactly aiming for realism. I pictured his long, spidery limbs that allowed him to reach the window. I pictured the sinister predation in his eyes. The sick glee he got in watching me, baiting me to open my eyes and give him reason to pounce. A name for this thing I had invented floated into my head. The stalking man. Another student walked by and activated the light.

The first student. The last time the light was triggered, it was from the stalking man approaching my window. So the first student of the night walked by and the light came on, filtering through my window and hitting my face. I wanted to open my eyes, but I didn't. I couldn't. I couldn't let the stalking man see me seeing him. The other students walking by couldn't see the stalking man. He just looked like a strange shadow from behind. The only way to really see him was through the window, through my window. The strange little window up near the ceiling of my dorm was the only way to see his silhouette against the night, his claws on the windowsill, his wicked eyes and flashing red teeth.

Didn't realize how well it had worked until I woke up the next morning. There was no music playing. In fact, the only sound was Dana snoring. I had actually woken up before her. It had really worked. The image of the stalking man had kept my mind off of the things that kept me awake. It had helped me keep my eyes shut. It helped me to sleep.

My problem was solved. Later that morning, I excitedly explained to Dana what had happened. I was so happy to have found a solution, I didn't realize how it would sound to say out loud. The stalking man? What? Is he really into hosery or something? Not stalkings. Stalking.

Like watching somebody. Okay, weirdo. Fuck you. Hey, I'm just messing with you. I'm glad you found something that works. She reached over and tussled my hair like a child. Now you can stop bothering me about how you can't sleep. I rolled my eyes and pulled her hand away.

I went to the lecture and was so proud of myself. for being able to pay attention and take good notes the whole time. Before it started, I had walked to the student cafe for coffee out of habit, then realized it wasn't actually necessary. The kid behind the counter must have been pretty confused as to why I was so giddy about just getting a couple hard-boiled eggs, but I didn't care. After that, I started picturing the stalking man every night.

Each night, the light would flash and he would arrive. Each night, he stared at me. from the window with wicked fascination. Each night, I kept my eyes clamped shut and focused intently on his image in my mind. Each night, I was able to sleep. Each morning, I woke up feeling rested. It went on like that for a few months,

until one evening. I'm going to go see Aden. I might bring him back here. I don't know. All right. Thanks for letting me know. I said, not looking up from the essay I was writing. Really? You're just cool with that? Like, you're not going to tell me off or not giving you a heads up sooner or something?

What do I care if you bring him home? Now that I know, I'll be able to sleep through whatever debauchous shit you two get up to. All right, the Lederhausen man. Stalking man. Whatever. Dana grabbed her purse and then she was gone. I got to bed late that night. That essay was worth a lot of my grade, and every time I told myself it was good enough and I should just go to bed,

I found another little thing that needed tweaking and ended up editing for another hour. It was close to midnight when I finally forced myself to shut the laptop and go to bed. I was dead tired. I climbed my ladder and curled up in bed with a big yawn. put on a podcast and waited for the light to be triggered. It took a while that night. My podcast was reaching its end by the time the light finally flashed on. I squeezed my eyes shut, and there he was, the stalking man.

His sinister gaze pierced through my mind's eye. I could tell that night that he was especially intent on catching me looking, but I wouldn't give that to him. I kept my eyes glued shut. Then I heard the lock click, and the door swing open. Dana's purse fell to the floor. Okay, cool.

So, look at this. I tripped and totally Aiden on the way to Aden's. Landed on my side. I think I bruised the shit out of my arm. And we were getting into it, and I had to tell Aiden to be careful because every time he touched it, it really hurt. Dana, shut up.

I'm trying to go to sleep. My brow scrunched up as I struggled to maintain the image of the stalking man while talking to Dana. He got a little fuzzy, but I never let him disappear. here. I had to stay focused on him, or I would have to wait for the light again. Okay, I get it, grumpazoid. Good night. I heard her footsteps as she changed into her pajamas and the creak of the bed beneath me as she flopped down into it. I heard her let out a short,

sharp gasp. During the day, I would have asked what was wrong, but I was so tired and so wanted to get to sleep that I ignored it. She probably just aggravated the bruise on her arm or something. I told myself as I focused intently on the image of the stalking man. Within a few minutes, I was drifting off. When I woke up, the dorm was quiet and still. I thought I had woken up early, but after groping through the sheets from my phone, I checked and saw that it was already nine.

Usually, Dana had music blaring by then. Hey, Dana, you here? I didn't get a response. It was possible that she had left already. I climbed down the ladder and checked her bunk. The sheets were askew, but Dana rarely bothered to make her bed, so that offered nothing. Dana? I looked around.

She wasn't there. I shrugged. She was usually up and awake, bright and early. It was a little odd that she would have been out there. the door at nine in the morning after coming back so close to midnight, but not out of character. In fact, it was possible she hadn't come home at all. Maybe I had already been asleep and just dreamt that I heard her coming home. I checked the door. It was unlocked. I sighed. That was an old, annoying habit of Dana's. She promised to be more careful about it when I told her

how freaked out it made me, but maybe she was starting to forget again. I'll have to have a talk with her when I see her, I thought, but I quickly forgot about it. About an hour later, I was out the door myself and going for some breakfast when I got a text. It was from Aden. Dana had insisted that I have his number, in case of emergencies, and also snacks. Ah, so it wasn't a dream. She really did come home last night with a bruised arm. She said it hurt last night, but she was gone this morning.

I replied. The little dots at the bottom of my screen bounced as he typed. I don't know why, but that unnerved me. I decided to go back to the dorm. Maybe she'd be there. As I was walking back to our building, my phone rang. It was Aiden. I answered and asked what was going on.

She won't pick up. It isn't like her. Well, I'm almost to our dorm. I'll look around and call you back with what I find. She might have just forgotten to charge her phone last night or something. He sounded nervous. He hung up and I unlocked the door. When I stepped into the room, Dana wasn't there.

A second later, I saw something I had somehow missed that morning. Against the wall on the floor sat Dana's purse. I decided to look through it. It violated the roommate code, but this was beginning to feel like an emergency. There was a lot of garbage inside, but when I thought, Felt around for the inside pocket, I found a wad of cash, along with her wallet and keys. Dana didn't have classes on Fridays. That's why she went to see Aiden on a Thursday night. Where could she have gone where she wouldn't need her wallet?

I turned the purse over and shook it. Her phone tumbled out. I turned it on and saw that it was almost 80%, not nearly dead enough to leave it here. Dana never left without her phone if she could help it. Not ever. I saw the notifications for all of Aiden's missed calls on the unlock screen. What was her passcode? I knew I had heard her say it out loud before. Three. Correct. I checked her texts, hoping she had told someone, anyone, where she was going or what she was doing.

The last text she sent was yesterday, telling Aiden she was coming over. Okay, nothing on her phone. Maybe her bed. She left junk in her bed sometimes. Maybe I would find a clue there. I turned over her pillow. Nine out of ten times when she lost something and forced me to help look, that's where we found it.

Nothing. I ripped off the blanket and shook it. I heard something tumble to the floor. Tossed the blanket to the side and looked down, and I thought it would be sick. There, on the floor, sat a ruby red tooth. With a shaking hand, I picked it up and turned it around in the light. It had a lacquered sheen to it, almost like nail polish.

It was jagged and sharp and huge. This wasn't the tooth of anything real. This was the tooth of something imagined. Something I had imagined. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at that cursed thing. An image formed in my mind. the stalking man, grinning wider than ever, clearly missing a tooth. It was impossible. It didn't make any sense. But the stalking man was real. His tooth was in my hand.

And he had taken Dana. In the days after finding the tooth, I realized more and more about that night. I realized that when Dana had come home that night, she hadn't locked the door. that Aiden lived in the dormitory to the right of us, so when she came back, she wouldn't have triggered the light. Someone or something did. I realized that Dana usually slept facing the wall, but she had hurt her arm when she went to see Aiden, so she probably flipped over.

It was never part of the stalking man's canon that only I could see him. It was that he could only be seen from the window, from inside the dorm. Dana was out most nights, and I was usually asleep before she came home. But that night, I had stayed up to work on my essay. That night, the circumstances happened to be right for Dana to glance at the window while I was doing my ritual. I realized what that short gas I heard was.

That was the last sound Dana made, cut short by whatever that thing I had made did to her. Because she saw the stalking man, and I decided, that he attacked when he was seen. In the months after that, the police looked for Dana, but she was never found. I was questioned, and I told the truth,

but nobody believed me. I never met Dana's parents. I thank God for that, because I don't know how I would ever face them. One night, though, the guilt was too much, and I called Aiden and confessed to everything. He didn't believe me.

He told me that I shouldn't find ways, to blame myself that what happened to Dana wasn't my fault. He actually tried to comfort me, even though I could hear over the phone that he was a wreck. I still check on him from time to time. From what I can tell, he's still grieving. It's been years. They're still looking for Dana. I know they'll never find her.

I take sleeping pills every night now. I don't ever want to think of the stalking man again. Or worse. create something worse to replace him. 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 Breson. Boone. Our production team is Phil Michalski, 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 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.