The NoSleep Podcast - S20: NoSleep Podcast - Sleepless Decompositions Vol. 17

Episode Date: April 28, 2024

We're sleeplessly decomposing as Season 21 approaches. Get necromantic with Sleepless Decompositions Vol. 17. "A Warm Place" written by Justin Wayne Ratliff (Story starts around 00:03:45) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Narrator - Atticus Jackson, Old Woman - Erin Lillis, Charlie - Jesse Cornett "Nicholas Semper's War" written by Simon Kewin (Story starts around 00:32:05) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator - Ash Millman, Nicholas Semper - David Ault, Major Featherstone - Andy Cresswell, Lieutenant Ebbers - Jake Benson, General McTavish - James Cleveland This episode is sponsored by: GhostBed - Get ready for the coolest beds in the world! GhostBed provides high-quality & super comfortable award-winning mattresses crafted in the United States and Canada. Get 50% off your purchase by going to GhostBed.com/nosleep Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Simon Kewin Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "Sleepless Decompositions" illustration courtesy of Kelly Turnbull Audio 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.

Sleepless listeners, and welcome to Sleepless Decompositions, Volume 17. I'm your host, David Cummings. With Season 21 premiering next week, I want to mention a couple of details that might be of interest to you. The first involves our sleepless sanctuary memberships. If you're already a member of either the sleepless or the sanctuary tier, you'll automatically roll right into Season 21 episodes when they launch on Saturday, May 4th. So your membership will keep you right on track with the current season. But if you're not yet a member and you're considering signing up for the $5 a month sleepless tier,

you should think about doing it before the start of May. Signing up before Wednesday, May 1st means you'll be active for all of season 20 plus into season 21. But if you sign up to be a sleepless tier member after the start of May, you'll have access only to season 21 as it moves forward. This sort of feature is what our fans requested as we transitioned for, from the Season Pass program to our Supercast Sleepless Sanctuary System. And of course, the Sanctuary Tier always gets you access to the entire back catalog of episodes. So for the sleepless tier, it's a great deal if you sign up before Wednesday, May 1st.

And I want to provide an update to an issue I mentioned previously. That is, our Season Past members from the old Nanocast system not being able to access past episodes. I am most grateful to the patients our members have shown us. I had no idea a problem like this was going to be so complicated. We're working hard to find a solution which will allow members to access and download the episodes they paid for in a manner that, well, frankly, won't bankrupt the show. Bandwidth charges for downloads of this size are daunting. We are doing our best to get you access as soon as possible.

And yes, it has been a rough situation to deal with, so again, thank you for your patience. Now, let's jump into our sleepless decompositions episode and get romantic. Ah, yes, love romance, a veritable hallmark movie of horror. Oh, wait. Oh, I've misunderstood. No, this episode isn't about romance, it's about necromancy. A subject decidedly different than your typical romance. You see, necromancy is the process of bringing the dead back to life.

Whether it's a person's special gift or the act of dark rituals, we've learned that the dead really should remain dead. And since some of you need proof of that statement, we have two tales for you which should leave no doubt as to whether or not the dead need to stay on their side of the veil. Hence so, let's allow the dearly departed to fully depart, never to return. Life is for the living, and only for the living, as you'll soon find. out. Now, dear friends, join us and brace yourself for these sleepless decompositions. In our first tale, we meet an unhoused man just looking for a warm place to stay for the night. It's not easy to find a safe place to sleep, and sometimes, well, sometimes he has to resort to more extreme measures. And in this tale, shared with us by author Justin Wayne Ratliff, we learn that the man decides to follow

an elderly woman home in hopes that he can sneak into her house for the night, and that's just the first of his bad decisions. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, Aaron Lillis, and Jesse Cornett. So find a shelter if you can or a kind stranger. Just be smart if you're looking for a warm place. You know those stories about people living in other people's houses? You always hear about them as if they're horror stories. They'll be staying in the attic or some spare room of someone's house that never gets used. Most are innocent enough. Not many true cases end and anyone getting hurt.

Except in the movies. They love showing how dangerous and scary they are. See, there are squatters who stay in an empty building or unoccupied homes, And then there are Froggers who stay in an occupied home, which is exactly what I've been doing for the past year. I don't do it for thrills or anything of the sort. I just do it for the food and, most importantly, a warm place to sleep. I've been homeless for almost half my life now. The world forgot about me a long time ago.

All I have to my name is an old busted-up Android phone I found in a drunk drawer forever ago and the clothes on my back. When I find a place, I'll normally only stay for a couple of days, unless the situation is optimal, a vacation, or if they have a profession where they travel a lot. I need the risk of getting caught, or worse, shot, to be as low. as possible. A lot of the places they'll stay are those of older retirees. They don't move around much, and when they do, it's not very fast. They rarely ever leave their same three rooms. Plus, they can't hear shit.

Two days ago, I had to leave the three-story penthouse I've been living in for about two weeks, which sucked. I was really starting to think I could retire there. But when the sole inhabitant passed away, it complicated things. I mean, sure, I could have stayed a while longer, maybe stolen his identity. But believe it or not, I'm a half-decent person. When I noticed he hadn't moved from his bed all day, I got brave enough to check on him. and sure enough, he was gone.

For a moment, I felt a sense of jealousy, looking down at this deceased old man. If only I could be so lucky to pass calmly in my sleep, it didn't seem to suffer, looked peaceful. I made sure to wipe any evidence that I was there, packed what food I could, and called an anonymous wellness check on him. In between houses, I like to stay at the library.

It's warm, no one bothers you, and it's a great place to scout out other homes. Old folks love the library. I sat down at a table in the corner of the room and began to read some fantasy novel I'd grabbed when I got there. Every so often, I'd peek up and survey the people coming and going. It was in three hours before I'd... spotted a lady in her late 70s all by herself. She was clutching a Bible close to her chest while looking through the ghosts and spirit section. My mind began working overtime.

She thinks her house is haunted, and there is a good chance I can get away with making noise and taking more food than usual. This could work out for a while. I watched her for a bit. She seemed a nervous wreck. I noticed her hands shaking as she flipped through one of the books. I was starting to feel bad for her. But the temperatures were dropping fast outside,

and I really didn't want to end up on the street that night. January is hell out there. She ended up checking out a handful of books. I followed her outside from a distance and took note of the making model of her car, as well as the license played. With any luck, I could follow her on foot if she drove slow enough. And at her age, that was a safe bet. That night, the red lights were my friend.

I was able to track her down to a crowded little street. Only took about 30 minutes to find her car, and bingo. Solo car in the driveway. and neighbors aren't too close by. Doesn't seem to be an apartment or boarding house. No cars parked on the street. Wheat might be in the clear. The house looked like every other house on the block,

aside from the right side being covered in dead ivy. It was also the only house that wasn't as maintained as the others. The yard was uncapped and junk was piled up on the front porch. I made my way toward the house and listened around for any movement or talking. I heard the squeaking of the floorboards as she moved around the dwelling. I could hear her talking, but couldn't make out what she was saying. Good news was no one was talking back. I heard her walk up the stairs.

This was my chance. I quickly checked the front and back door. Both locked. I checked a couple of windows. All locked aside from one on the side of the house that happened to be hidden under the ivy. After wiggling it back and forth a couple times with some force, it slid right up. And I quickly slithered into the house and shut the window. The house was dark.

Much darker than I was used to, elderly homes being. I surveyed the room I was in. Your heart is always beaten out of your chest, no matter how many times you do this. I was in an office of some kind. I quickly noticed the amount of dust on everything in the room, and thought I should be safe in there for a bit. I heard her descending the stairs that were just outside the office. I cautiously hurried to get behind the desk.

and hit under it. I heard the old lady talking the closer her footsteps got. It sounded like gibberish. She was right outside the office door. Was she talking in tongues? Latin? I didn't have a clue. I didn't manage to make out the name.

Charlie. She passed by the door of the office a couple different times. still talking to herself. I sat under there long enough that I ended up falling asleep. When I woke up, it was daytime. Shit. That was careless of me. I checked my phone.

It was 7.14 a.m. I listened closely. After about 10 minutes of silence, I made my way out from under the desk. This house was loud. With every step I took, I cringed at the creaking of the floorboards. I looked out the window and noticed her car was gone. I let out a sigh of relief and relaxed a little bit. Now, all I had to do was make sure I was alone.

The process was simple enough. I would knock on the door from the inside and hide. Then wait to see if anyone came to a little. answer it. I loudly knocked three times and shuffled back into the office, trying not to disturb the floorboards. Seconds, turned into minutes. I was alone. I hurried and made my way to the kitchen.

I noticed a foul smell coming from the trash can. I didn't think much of it. Just supposed her senses were failing her, and she wasn't aware of the stench. Could be a problem, but not right now. I opened the fridge to try and find something to eat quickly. I took a bottle of water to save for later, a handful of grapes that were starting to wither into raisins and some slices of cheese. Things that are unlikely for someone to notice how much they had previously.

I got a glass from the back of the cabinet and filled it with water. I quickly chugged it and put the glass back. back in the cabinet. With any luck, this place would have an attic. Attics were a dream for a frogger. Bonus points if it had stairs and not one of the pull-down ladders. I hate those things. I went upstairs and I was shocked at how big this house was.

There were about five different rooms, two on each side and then one straight ahead. I slowly opened each door. First one was a bathroom. Second, a messy storage closet. The other side was what I assumed was a spare room. And the fourth was clearly her room. It was the only room not filled with dust and looked lived in. It was simple, though.

A large bed, a side table. A large vanity, and a dresser. The side table had the Bible, which she was clutching at the library, on it. It was open and pages had been torn out of it. I also noticed both sides of the bed were worn in, not just one side. This put me on alert. I started wondering if maybe she had a husband. I guess I would find out soon enough.

I needed to finish this search. I left the room and tried the final door, finding the pleasant surprise of stairs. I climbed up and found a massive dark attic. I used the flashlight on my phone to look around. I walked around and tried to spot out a good place to sleep, and that's when I noticed the back wall of the attic. There was what appeared to be. be a shrine of sorts.

It was at least 50 or more black and white photos of the same man, his age varying from his 20s to probably his 70s. All around them were candles that barely had any wick left. On the floor in front of this were the books from the library. They were all open and had what looked like red candle wax dripped on. over them. What the fuck had I stumbled upon? I was about to go back downstairs when I heard the door slam. Shit. I surveyed the attic and found a spot where boxes were stacked high in the corner. I hid behind them and quickly turned off my flashlight. It was pitch black up there.

All I could do was listen as the floorboard creaking got louder and louder. Then I heard the attic door open. As the old woman slowly made her way up the stairs, the light she brought with her grew brighter and brighter. When she got to the top of the stairs, I noticed she was holding a plastic bag in one hand and a candle in the other. I watched nervously through a crack in the boxes, holding my breath so not to make a sound. The old woman walked over to the shrine And turned the bag upside down Some kind of bloody animal remains

Hit the floor with a loud thud The smell immediately filled the attic She began to light the other candles Once they were all lit I saw what was on the floor It was a freshly killed bird of some kind. A chicken, maybe.

She spread its wings out on the floor in a crucifixion type pose. She reached over and grabbed a hammer and a handful of nails. She chaotically began to nail the chicken to the floorboard in front of the shrine while talking in tongues again. It was at this point I realized

that this wasn't worth having a a place to sleep. This lady was fucking bad shit, and I needed to get the hell out of there. I thought about just running out and taking my chances with her knowing I was there, but

I decided against it. I would wait until she was done with this insanity. And then just leave out the front door. She pulled a knife out of her pocket and stabbed it into the chicken. She cut open its chest and, with the same knife, cut her hand open, pouring her blood into the chest cavity.

I knew I had to call the police before this old lady killed herself. She needed to be in a home. She screamed, causing me to jump. John, come back to me! She got down on the ground and began to shake uncontrollably before jumping to her feet. She grabbed a picture off the wall and placed her blood-stained hand on it. She let out another loud scream. Suddenly, there was a knock downstairs.

This startled the woman, and she looked over in my direction. Is that you? She dropped the picture or a knife on the floor and wiped her hands on her dress before heading down the stairs. This was my chance. I waited until she was far enough ahead of me, and I made my way out from behind the boxes. I looked over at the amount of blood on the floor. The drip led down the stairs. She would have a hard time making it to the door with all the blood she was losing.

I know it was just her hand, but she must have cut it deep, based on the drip pattern. I made it out of the attic door and started tiptoeing towards the end of the hall. to the other staircase. I saw the old woman's bedroom door was open, just a crack. As I walked by, I heard her close the front door. She began making her way up the stairs. I quickly shifted into her bedroom and closed the door back to a crack. That's when I noticed the body of an old man in her bed.

As confused and terrified as I was, I needed to get out of sight. I quickly slid under the bed. I saw the old woman's feet appear in the doorway, with blood still dripping from her hand. She stopped dead in her tracks. Charlie, you're back. Then I heard a raspy voice from above me speak back to her.

A visitor. My heart was beating. out of my throat. Had he seen me? He looked dead, lifeless. How was this possible? Where did he come from?

I knew he wasn't there before. Suddenly, the old woman bent down and was now face to face with me. I hadn't noticed just how unkempt she was. Her teeth were stained a dark yellow, and her face was covered in soars. You get away from my Charlie!

I slid out from the other side of the bed as she swung the knife at me under it. I managed to evade the swing and got to my feet. I looked over at the old man in the bed, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. He looked like a rotting corpse. Only his eyes were moving. They were watching me so intensely. The old woman lunged the knife at me. I felt it drive deep into my abdomen,

but I managed to push her away. The man in the bed let out a loud, haunting laugh. It echoed through the room. I ran out of the room, down the stairs. The laugh was growing louder and louder even though I was getting

farther away from it. I made it to the front door and tried to leave, but it wouldn't budge. It had been nailed shut. I heard the old woman slowly walking down the hallway towards the stairs.

I ran for the back of the house. The back door was the same as the front. I walked through the kitchen, this time seeing the cause of the stench from earlier. There were dead animal carcasses all over the floor. The trash can was overflowing with them. I felt as if I was going crazy. How could I have not noticed this? This house was different from how I found it. I made my way back into the office. It was the only way out of there.

I saw the old woman standing at the end of the hallway. A bloody mess. She had the knife in her hand. I sprinted for the office door. I made it in and closed the door before she could stop me. I locked it and grabbed a couple things to block the door with. A chair, a bulky chest of drawers. She beat on the door for a moment.

Then I heard the voice of the old man again. As if he was right outside the door. The beating on the door stopped. I turned around to see the window was boarded up. It looked as if it had been this way for a long time. I was sure this was the room I came in through, though. This wasn't possible. I sat in that office for hours on end, just trying to decide what to do, scared out of my mind.

I held pressure on the wound on my stomach. It didn't seem too bad, though. It hurts something awful. Minutes, maybe hours went by. It was so quiet. Even with all this going on, I was too tired, and I must have dozed off again. When I woke up, I could tell it was dark because the rays of sun weren't coming through the cracks of the boards on the window.

I listened around for a bit, but didn't hear any movement. I'd finally stopped bleeding. I began to move the stuff from in front of the door, then opened it and peaked out. No sign of the old woman. The house seemed emptier than before. I walked to the front door and noticed it was no longer nailed shut. A sigh of relief came over me. I turned the door knob and began to pull it open.

But something told me to stop. I had the feeling someone was behind me. I turned around and looked up at the stairs. There. At the top stood a young couple. A ray of light seemed to be cast behind them

as they smiled down at me. Come on now. It's late. They both walked back towards the hallway. I shut the front door and made my way up the stairs. A pleasant feeling flowed through me. I couldn't help but think.

It'll be nice to have a warm place to stay tonight. In our final tale, we find ourselves on the front lines during World War II. The Brits are fighting back the Germans, and it's safe to say that both sides are looking for any kind of advantage. But in this tale, shared with us by author Simon Kewen, we'll meet a man who has a certain expertise that the higher ranks are trying to harness, and it's a plan he'd rather not have any part of. Performing this tale are Ash Millman, David Olman, David O'Brien. Alt, Andy Cresswell, Jake Benson, and James Cleveland.

So serving your country can be a powerful act of service. That is, unless you're fighting, Nicholas Semper's War. Nicholas Semper knew he was damned whatever he did. Shells thumped into the mud of the psalm around him. Miles to the south, the German gunners were working hard to find their range, pick out the thin line of the British trenches amid shattered acres of mud. They were getting closer. The last shuddering boom had been near enough to make the ground skip beneath his feet.

It had also made Major Featherstone's ridiculous china teacup rattle in its ridiculous China saucer. Semper stood in the Major's dugout, maintaining his best estimate of standing to attention. He had to suppress the impulse to flee, an impulse which seemed to him entirely sensible. He didn't want to die, and not standing in a trench in the Somme seemed to be. a good way to go about that. Unfortunately, Major Featherston saw things differently. He sat there in his corrugated iron dugout, the floor under an inch of muddy water, regarding Semper from behind his wooden desk and his extravagant moustache.

The look on his face could only be described as a scowl of distaste. Just to be absolutely clear, I regard you as an abomination, Semper. An affront to your king, your country, and God. Do you understand me? I believe I do, sir. You're here because of the direct orders of General McTavish. If it were up to me, I'd have you shot at dawn. In fact, since it's afternoon and dawn is hours away,

I'd have you shot right now. Yes, sir, a shot, sir. Semper longed to scratch his itchy neck and back. At first he assumed it was the rough material of his uniform, but more likely it was lice crawling out of the stitching of his dead man's clothes. He resisted the urge to squirm. There was a madness in the major's eye that Semper did not like. Here was a man who had seen too much,

and who was, consequently, capable of just about anything. Officially, you're the new company chaplain, Understand? May God forgive us for that. This should allow you to go about your work. Any questions? What happened to the previous chaplain? What happened to the previous chaplain, sir?

What happened to the previous chaplain, sir? Gordon's, good man. Went out into no man's land to pick up the pieces of some of the lads. And I mean, pieces. Semper, shot to bits by the Huns' bloody machine guns. But Gordon still went out, said they deserved a Christian burial. You'll find it hard to understand a sacrifice like that. It took us a day to retrieve his remains.

Is his body still here? Good God, man. Is there no limit to your depravity? I merely need to know what I have to work with, sir. The major's eye twitched in a troubling way. Well, you needn't worry about that. If there's one thing we have no shortage of here, it's the dead. Then perhaps I should get to work immediately, sir. The sooner he could escape the gimlet glare of this mad major, the better.

Another shell thumped into the ground, sending a cascade of soil down from the wooden slats of the roof. Some of it fell onto the major's desk and into his tea. He appeared not to notice. One thing, Semper. I'm sure you're used to cowering in the darkness, like the vermin you are. But I expect absolute secrecy from you. No one is to know why you're here or what you're up to. Understand.

If word got back home, there'd be hell to pay. Literally, in your case, do I make myself clear? Quite clear, sir. Hell, sir. The Major's words washed over Semper. He'd heard it all before. Once, he would have raged at the injustice. How many people had Major Featherston sent to their debts?

How many people had he personally killed? The man probably didn't even know. Yet the Major was a hero, and he, Nicholas Semper, was the villain, the abomination. Semper had never killed a single soul in his entire life. Quite the opposite, in point of fact. Very well. Lieutenant Ebers will show you where you can practice your foul arts. Semper saluted, well, so he liked to think, and strode out for the dugout. He stood for a moment between the mud walls of the trench.

The sky overhead was a beautiful cloudless blue. For some reason, that surprised him. Could he do this thing they demanded of him? He had never worked death magic on such a scale before. Still, it didn't make much difference one way or the other. There was a war on, and he'd been given his orders. And if he were successful, they'd want more, and then more, and then he'd be stuck here until the day a shell found its range

and blasted him into that blue sky. And if he weren't successful, he was useless to them. Then the best he could hope for was to join the regular soldiers and face everything those poor sods dealt with each day. Although, in truth, it was rather more likely the Major would find some reason to have him up before his firing squad first. Reverend Semper? Ah, yes, that's me, my son.

A lieutenant stood waiting. His British army cap, doing a poor job of hiding the bandages, swayed about his head. He held a twig-like roll-up in his hand, which he sucked on and flicked away, over the top of the trench, into no man's land. Did Semper outrank a lieutenant, or did he have to obey this man's orders too?

He had no idea. Ebers. I'm sorry? Ebers, that's me. Of course. They're set off, squelching through the mud that filled the bottom of the trench. Here and there, duck boards have been placed over the deeper puddles, but Semper's feet were soon soaked through.

Waterproof boots were too much to hope for, of course. They're all laid out, ready for you, Rev. Laudette out, Lieutenant. For the last ride. That's the game, ain't it? Don't make much difference now, if you ask me. People do I know. Last rights, yes. There's eight of them from the morning's attack, poor buggers.

A couple of them only came last week. Better duck just here. Trenches a bit shallow and a beanpole like you might protrude if you see what I mean. Best not rely on the law protecting you, eh? No, fiends, Rev. None taken. I appreciate the warning, truly. You're older than Father Gordon's.

Seen a lot of death, I expect. You could say that, yes. Well, who hasn't? Wash the mud here. It'll have your boots if you're not careful. Keep moving and the rats won't get you. Just my little joke. Despite the warning, Semper slipped on a particularly muddy slope

and landed on his knees in the mire. He swore under his breath, employing a suitably guttural ancient tongue, though a few people alive who would have understood his words, although a sect of long-dead Sumerian priests, had they been around to hear, would have been deeply shocked. Ebbers, perhaps catching some of the sense of the words,

if not their literal meaning, had a calculating look on his face as he offered a helping hand. So, a reverend, eh? I beg your pardon? You're a reverend. Oh, that's right. Reverend Semper, yes. Fair enough. Good luck to you, I say.

I'm sorry? Eber shrugged. Look, if the British Army says you're a man of gold, that's enough for me. You think I'm here under false pretenses? The lieutenant grinned a lot sign. I reckon we're all here under false pretenses, Rev. Now, here we are, the aid post. I've done what I could for him.

You? I help the company's stretcher-bearers when I can, because of my job back home. You're a medical man? Butcher. Ah. The aid post was another hut, larger than Featherston's dugout, sandbag supporting corrugated iron walls that leaned alarmingly. Inside, bodies had been laid out in the...

lines, as if the soldiers were on parade even in death. Scraps of bloody bandages lay strewn all around. A field hospital or a morgue, perhaps there wasn't much distinction here. Thank you, Lieutenant. I shall do what needs to be done. And could you ensure I am left to work in peace to perform the rights? I need to worry about that, Riv. This is the last place a men want to be reminded of. Trust me. When he was alone, Semper set about studying the soldiers he'd been given to work with. Some of their injuries were terrible. One or two men were just assortments of pieces, laid out in the rough shape of a body.

Organs and limbs placed more or less where they were supposed to be. They'd clearly been blown apart by some tremendous explosion. Semper spoke the name of each dead soldier out loud as he came to them, reading from their metal identity discs. It wasn't a part of the necromancy. it merely felt like the right thing to do. It made them people again, individuals, if only for a moment. But it was completely obvious most of the eight were too injured. What did people expect?

He might be able to raise the dead, but he wasn't a miracle worker. Reanimating a corpse was easy enough. That was basic, bread and butter death magic. A mindless revenant was surprisingly easy to create. It wasn't like attempting to summon one of the towering horrors of the beyond. or anything. Even so, there had to be a torso and working legs and arms. Everything had to be connected. There were three he could work with. Jack Griffiths, Toby Hayes, Ivan Fling. The first two looked like mustard gas victims and Fling had a single, clean bullet wound

through his head. As he studied the dead soldiers, Sempers and ease at what he was doing grew. They were just boys. They hadn't asked for this. He consoled himself with the thought that they were already dead, and he wasn't making matters worse. Terrible things had been done to them, but not by him. In truth, it didn't make him feel very much better. Of course, he only had himself to blame. The whole idea had been his, after all. He'd hoped to see out the war safely engrossed in his arcane studies

while the distant world went mad and tore itself to pieces. But then conscription had arrived and had been forced to put Plan B in operation. He'd thought about claiming to be a minister of a religion, mysteriously exempt from conscription, but somehow doubted he could pull it off. Instead, he'd murmured to the scowling recruiting sergeant that he had certain special abilities that might be of help in the war effort, if only he could be allowed to use them. The sergeant had looked like he was about to bite Semper's head clean off there and then. He demanded to know what these special abilities might be. Semper asked to speak in confidence to someone of a higher rank. The sergeant very nearly exploded in fury, but Semper stuck

to his guns. In the end, the queue growing, the sergeant passed Semper onto a captain, who in turn sent him to see a major. Eventually, he found his way to General McTavish, and, having nowhere higher to go, was forced to explain what he had in mind. McTavish was a stick-thin, ascetic man who looked more like a librarian than a general, but he saw the military value of Semper's idea immediately. You're suggesting you could send a wave of fallen soldiers back over the top to attack enemy lines. Soldiers who wouldn't stop if shot, who would simply keep going and going. Only if their injuries weren't too great. McTavish waved away this detail.

This could make all the difference. Dead soldiers might even be preferable. Living ones have the unfortunate habit of not always doing what we tell them. Really? Imagine. We must put this into action immediately. And so, Semper had found himself at the front after all. But at least no one was ordering him to climb out of his trench

and march slowly towards the mechanised guns of the enemy. Not yet, anyway. He finished the three reanimations by midnight. He then spent the next five hours working on an altogether more dangerous and precarious piece of necromancy. Indeed, it was one he had never worked before, although he'd studied its form and rituals often. A scrap of bandage stolen from a certain pharonic tomb.

Rooms written upon it in a cursive script that many experts thought long lost. Several fluid ounces of his own blood in which the scrap was soaked. A binding rite performed over two long hours. The incantations he used were grueling, and it wouldn't take much for them to go wrong. The slightest slip in the flow of syllables would be enough to render them ineffective, or worse, make them function in some unexpected way. He was playing with fire, and that tended to mean someone getting burned.

Semper was used to working in the peace and calm of his own laboratory, not on the front line of a wall where the guns were never silent, but eventually he was done. He could only hope he hadn't made a mistake, and he also hoped, most fervently, that he would never have cause to use the insorcelled scrap of cloth and find out. At five in the morning, Semper trudged through the cold mud of the trenches to report his readiness to Featherston. The Major was still sitting in his dugout, as if he never moved from the place.

Very well, let us see what foul horror you have worked. Yes, sir, if you're sure you want to see. Of course I bloody want to see. Do you think a few dead soldiers trouble me? No, sir. I don't think dead soldiers trouble you at all. but you might not be used to seeing them sit up and walk around. Featherstone's eye twitched again. Are you trying to make a fool of me, Semper? No, sir.

I don't need to try, he very nearly added, but thought better of it. Good. Then go and cast your spells now, or whatever it is you do, before the men are up and about. The living men, I mean. Sir. Samper and Featherston. stood in a distant French, out of sight of any century.

The reanimated corpses of Jack Griffiths, Toby Hayes and Ivan Fling waited to climb the ladder into no man's land. Their blank eyes staring into some unknown distance, 300 yards away, upon a small rise in the ground, lay a German machine gun position. The revenant's instructions were simple. Get to that position and disable the gun. Semper watched Featherston as the revenants climbed. The mage's eyes were wide and he'd gone very quiet.

That was something, anyway. When the last of them, flinged, had disappeared over the top, Featherstone gave Semper a glare of pure avulsion. Both had wooden periscopes, and these they used to peer into no man's land without exposing themselves to gunfire. They watched as the three revenant shambled forwards and then, 30 yards out,

were cut down by well-aigned sniper shots from the machine-gun position. Featherstone set his periscope down. Well, so much for that. Bloody shambles. I'll report your failure to General McTavish immediately. With any luck, he'll have you on a one-man charge of enemy lines before the day is out. Wait? Wait, sir.

Yes, yes. Semper was still peering into his periscope. Look, they're still going. What? That's not possible. Clean shots to the head, all three of them. Heads make no difference. So long as the limbs can move, they will.

The three revenants were now crawling forwards. He'd forgotten to give them instructions to stand back up if knocked down. Why are they creeping like that? What's wrong with them? They're just keeping their heads down. They were instructed to get up that hill. We didn't say how quickly they had to do it. Disgraceful display.

Featherston scowled. as if he suspected the revenance of cowardice. In the end, it was Semper's oversight that saved him. The German sniper, clearly thinking he'd done his job and seeing no other figures stalking through the gloom across the mud, fired no more. No one in the enemy lines appeared to notice to three figures inching their way along the ground until it was too late.

Half an hour after they'd set off, a sudden flurry of screams and cries made it clear the revenants had reached their target. It struck Semper that he, He was responsible for the deaths of those German soldiers. He'd been obeying orders, it was true, but still, the war tainted everything and everyone. Watching through his periscope, Semper saw one of the revenants beginning the return journey. Half an hour later, Fling toppled over the lip of the trench and landed in a heap at the bottom. The animated corpse stared up at Semper, the bullet hole in the middle of his forehead like a third eye,

an unblinking eye. Semper knelt to remove the gear she'd imprinted into the corner. corpse tissues. What are you doing? Letting him rest. I presume he can have his Christian burial now. Featherston's eyes twitched four or five times in a row. Return him to the aid post.

We may have use of him again. Semper resisted the urge to ask who the abomination was now. Instead, he decided that this was the moment to play his hand. If we're to repeat this exercise, I'll need time to prepare, sir. The spells take... considerable effort to work. If I'm to curse them on the sort of scale General McTavish requires, it will take time. Featherston looked suspicious, as if Semper were admitting to some moral weakness. How long? I can have everything ready within four months. It wasn't true. A few weeks would suffice,

but Featherston didn't know that. Here was Semper's new plan, Plan C, see out the war pretending to be busy in the safety of some remote maison, or even, if he were lucky, Chateau. Featherstone's words put a swift end to Semper's hopes. Nonsense, man. The war can't wait while you swan around for months on end. The push is coming in six days. We need your army of revenants ready by then.

Semper had always hated death. It was something that surprised people when he tried. to explain, which these days he rarely bothered to. But he had hated death long before he'd ever opened a grim war or uttered a thonic syllable, long before he'd even heard of necromancy. What he hated was the injustice of it, the arbitrariness. He had lost too many loved ones growing up, brothers and sisters taken by a seemingly endless list of fatal diseases, adults who were fit and well one day, but simply no longer there the next. Sometimes he would stare at some recently deceased unfortunate and think,

What's changed? Why are they dead now when they weren't a few minutes ago? Their organs are all intact. Blood still fills their veins. They could breathe and move and think. But they've just stopped. Before he'd come to the front, he'd told himself he could do some good with his scheme.

Oh, he had been mainly trying to save his own skin. But he'd also reasoned that it was better to send soldiers who were already dead over the time. He saw now how misguided he'd been. They weren't going to send dead soldiers instead of living ones. McTavish and the rest would send boast if they could. They may even be more inclined to order the living to attack, securing the knowledge the soldiers wouldn't have to stop fighting for a small inconvenience like death.

In short, Semper saw in that moment, looking into Major Featherstone's eyes, that he had to get away. For his own sake and for the sake of everyone in the trenches. He couldn't do anything to stop the slaughter. All he could do was not make it any worse. And that meant escaping. He could simply climb out of the trench and be away one dark night. But that wasn't going to get him anywhere, was it?

Walk towards the enemy lines and the Germans would shoot him. Head the other way and his own side would. Reluctantly, he concluded that Plan D had to be put into operation, the insurance policy. Could he really do such a job? a thing? The very thought of attempting it, parched his mouth dry and made his throat constrict because he hated death. And the death he most especially hated was his. I shall need assistance. Achieving such a thing in six days on my own is impossible. Good God, man. These are soldiers fighting for king and tuntry. They aren't ghouls like you. They'd run you through before assisting in such a

foul scheme. Lieutenant Ebers, perhaps. He has some experience with field surgery. I shall need one other pair of hands at the very least. Can't you just raise up some of the dead to assist you? No, no, the fine motor skills aren't there. It would be worse than useless. Ebers is the man.

He believes you're a simple cleric, not some black-hearted wizard that cavorts with the devil. Actually, I don't believe Ebers. is fooled at all. The Major fumed for a second, his eye now twitching non-stop. He was losing it. Very well. Take Ebers. Then get out of my sight.

Semper found Ebers sitting against the side of the trench, cap over his eyes, seemingly asleep. Lieutenant? Ebers opened one eye. Rev. Don't worry, I ain't dead. Don't go bury me just yet. Semper looked around, then crouched down.

so we could speak without anyone else hearing. Can we talk? I think we are talking. Evers grinned his skewed grin. Quite. The thing is, I have a confession to make. Really, Rev? I thought it were meant to be the other way around.

I'm sorry? Of course, you're the expert. I thought we poor sinners were supposed to confess to you. Yes, quite so. But things change. You see, the truth is, I shouldn't really be here. here. Another should bleed him be here, Rev.

Don't know what I ever did to deserve all this. No doubt you could explain the thinking, eh? Ebers cast an eye upwards to the heavens, as if to indicate whose thinking it was he'd like to understand. Can't help you there, Abbers. The truth is, I'm not a reverend at all, as I suspect you've guessed. Ebbers nodded conspiratorily.

Pulled the old minister of a church stunt to avoid being signed up, eh? Something like that. Looks like it didn't work out too well. No. However, all is not lost. I have a way out, but I need the assistance of an able accomplice. You what?

I need your help. I love to, Rev. But Major Madar would have me shot at dawn. Likes a shooting at dawn does old Madar. Actually, he knows all about this. That got Eber's attention. He does. By all means.

ask him yourself, but the nature of the assignment is somewhat unusual. It's shivering in a muddy trench and occasionally marching towards machine guns, eh? Fair point. But what I have in mind is also insanely dangerous. For me, that is, not you. Your wish to take, I reckon. Good. Let me explain my scheme. I quite understand it may not be for you, and I can't offer you your freedom. I can offer you some respite from the trench. inches, a week or two behind the lines at the very least. And that means you'll be safe when the next push kicks off. It's the best I can do.

Ebers grinned. Better tell me all about it then, hey, Rave? Five days later, Semper was ready. Or as ready as he'd ever be. More than once, he decided not to go through with it. But he knew they weren't going to leave him in peace if he delayed. Featherston's visits to their specially assigned casualty clearing station, two miles behind the lines, were becoming too.

frequent. Plus, they were running out of room to house all the bodies. And you're going to do this, are you, Riv? I mean, I've seen some things in my time, but this. As I say, it's the only way. It's a bit, well, desperate? Yes, it is. Now, you're sure you understand your role. I'm not an idiot, Rev. No, I know. You're the sanest person I've met here. I say much for the rest of them. Indeed. And in fact, Ebbers, I meant to say to you, While I'm sure butchery is a fine and noble calling, if you do survive the war, may I suggest there are other ends you might pursue? Meaning what, Red? Meaning whatever you want it to mean.

Meaning maybe I should come knocking on your door one sunny day. Semper smiled. If by some unlikely chance we both survive this, then yes. I'd welcome that. Semper took the scrap of ancient cloth he'd in saw-souled and cut it in two with a pair of surgeon scissors. One half he handed to Ebers. The other, he kept. Here we go then.

Over the top. Over the top, Rev. Best are British. Thanks. I rather suspect I'll need it. Back at the front, Semper huddled in the trench for a moment while he collected his thoughts. His heart pounded away in his chest. He didn't know if he could do this.

Was this what it was like for the men each time they climbed those ladders? How did they make themselves do it? How did they make themselves do it? themselves do it again the next time. He had no idea. He had no choice, though. With trembling fingers, he dropped his half of the scrap of cloths into a tin cup and then lit it with a safety match. Oily smoke coiled off it as it smolded. Semper, holding the cup to his nose, inhaled the smoke as deeply as he could. He had to fight back the urge to cough and wretch. When he was done, he began to climb the ladder that would take him up to no man's land. One rung.

at a time. Semper, what are you doing, man? One rung at a time. Major Featherston stood 20 yards away, his face white with rage. Semper felt sorry for Featherston. He really did. Sending soldiers to their death again and again was clearly taking its toll, but he couldn't resist a final dig at the man who had called him such terrible things.

Going out to rescue some more men, you gave me the idea yourself, telling me what a fine man Gordon's was. Gordon's? My predecessor, I can only hope to live up to his shining example. But you can't! Our plans for the pushman! Oh, I'll be fine. And if I don't come back, General McTavish can always cancel the offensive.

I'm sure the men would appreciate it. Mass slaughter must be so bad for morale. Ignoring Featherston's enraged shouts, Semper climbed the ladder and began to walk towards enemy lines. It occurred to him as he worked his way through the churned and pitted mud that these were quite possibly his last few moments on earth, that these were the last few thoughts he'd ever think. He wondered how his death would come.

If he trod on a mine or if a shell landed nearby, that would be that. There wouldn't be enough pieces left of him to fill a bucket. A clean sniper shot would be best, perhaps, and worst would be some crippling wound followed by days spent writhing in agony. It happened, so people said. It was all a ridiculous gamble, of course. But what could he do? Funny how he'd gone to so much trouble to avoid being sent over the top,

and now here he was, doing just that, walking towards the enemy machine guns without even being ordered to. It was, when you thought about it, a funny old life. He glanced back. The British lines were only a few yards behind him. Strange. He felt like he'd been walking for hours already. He turned.

and strode on. He didn't even hear or feel the shot that felled him a moment later. The problem with astral walking wasn't the walking. That was the easy part. The ether was a limitless expanse and it simply longed to suck you inside. No, the hard part was returning to your body afterwards, or to anybody, or come to that, to any material realm whatsoever. The ancient texts all place great emphasis on this point. Leave your own body and there was every chance you'd never be able to return. An eternity of blank dissipation was your most likely fate. Semper, his soul freed from his body by the magics he'd employed, wondered the ether.

It was impossible to say how long for. Time was meaningless there. There wasn't even a there there. An endless expanse of grey stretched away forever in all directions. He was dimly aware of other beings, some tiny, some vast beyond measure. Fortunately, none came near. Semper simply floated, knowing that this might be the sum of his existence for the rest of time. Then there came the moment he glimpsed a light in the void, a tiny speck of white.

He'd seen nothing like it. Bending all his will to the effort, he swam towards it. Scale was impossible to judge in the ether. He was just thinking it might be a distant sun that would take lifetimes to reach when he was suddenly upon it. The light was the size of a candle flame bobbing quietly away in the grey. A beacon. Semper circled for a while, intrigued, aware he was supposed to do something. The plan.

He was aware also that other minds had seen the light and were coming. He couldn't recall precisely why, but he knew he had to stop those others reaching the light. If they did, it would be a very bad thing. Bad for everyone on Earth, but more importantly, bad for him. He put his eye near the flame. There was no heat to it. It was like peering through a keyhole. He could see a whole room through there.

A white, white room. So bright it was blinding. There were shapes too, but they were indistinct. Something moved about, but he couldn't tell what. The beings of the ether were close now, thronging. Not looking around, Semper began to push through the tiny crack of light, pouring himself out of the ether and into that room. back into the real world.

The effort of it was enormous. The ether loved him, longed to hold on to him, but Semper fought. He knew one thing in the whole universe, that he had to wring himself through that gap in the walls and escape. It was the only chance he would ever have. He screamed wordlessly. The pain of it was like being torn in two.

Minds the size of thunder clouds gathered around him now, Tendrils reaching for the sliver of light. Semper screamed again and threw all his remaining strength into a final push. The pain was finally too much. He passed out, the world going grey once more. Hello, Rev. Good to see you back with us. A familiar, lopsided grin hovered into view. Hubbers? At your service.

Tearing pain shot all across Semper's chest, making the simple act of breathing agony. I'm alive. Alive enough to ask staff questions. The scrap of cloth. You burned it as instructed, forced the smoke into my lungs. You're here, ain't you? Yes.

I believe I am. And you are able to retrieve my body. After a day, under cover of darkness, nice clean shut to the chest. The way your body healed, rather than decaying, I never seen the light. Strong magic. How long have I been out?

Two weeks. Longer than he'd hoped. There would be side effects from such a prolonged astral walk. Effects he might not understand for years to come. Effects on his own brain and effects on the structure of the universe too. He tried to rise, but then gave up. The pain was too great. That wasn't the only thing troubling him.

Was his vision fading, or were their shadows gathering around him in the room? Tell me, Ebers. Did anything else manifest when I appeared? Did any of those horrors come through after me? The ancient texts were fulsome in their warnings. He just had to hope he hadn't unleashed further nightmare and calamity on the young century. There was talk in some of the tomes of the tomes of the ethers trailing plague and calamity in their wake, of the rise of demons in human form and the collapse of civilisations. Ebers seemed unaware of any shadows. Horrors? I ain't seen no horrors. No more than the usual, anyway. Semper looked around, seeing shapes in the corner of his eye, seeing or imagining them.

The shapes disappeared when he looked directly at them. He probably needed to rest. That was it. And why haven't you been ordered back to the train? trenches. Oh, Maddo I gave me special orders to stay. Reckon he hopes I can pick up where you left off sort of thing. Could you... No bleeding way. What you did, I'd rather take my chances with the guns and the poison gas, thank you very much. I quite understand. Tell me, Rev, that owe me of the dead marching across snowman's land. Could you really have done it? Oh, yes, I think so. But there's Quite enough insanity in the world just now, don't you think? Right, you are.

And tell me, what of the Reverend Semper? Ebbers grinned. Oh, you were officially dead. I buried you a week ago, according to the paperwork. Don't seem to be a form to cover the dead coming back to life, so I can't feel one in. Seems to me you can just wander off once you're back on your feet. Semper closed his eyes.

That was good. Very good. He was officially dead. It was perfect, and so much better than the other sort of dead. And he longed to be away from here, as far as he could get from the trenches and shadows and Major Featherstone. He needed time to uncover what harm he'd done, to the world, but more importantly, to himself.

Ebbers? Yes, Riv. Do you have a pen and paper? Will you write something for me? What is it? My address back home. Where I live in the Welsh marches. It's hard to find if you're not invited.

But you'd be welcome if you could make it one day, like we said. Ebers considered for a moment, regarding Semper through narrowed eyes. Then he picked up a pen and held it ready. I reckon I just might do that in all, Riv. As we usher the undead back to the netherworld in which they belong, we thank you for joining us here at the No Sleep podcast for our sleepless decompositions. Brace yourself for next week and the launch of season 21. The No Sleep Podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical composer is Brandon Boone.

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