The NoSleep Podcast - S21 Ep15: NoSleep Podcast S21E15

Episode Date: August 11, 2024

It's Episode 15 of Season 21. Ride the Sleepless Express into tales about small town horror.“Embracing Tradition” written by Julian Martin (Story starts around 00:03:25)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Mayor – Danielle McRae“Something Is Not Right in Fox Creek” written by Joel Buxton (Story starts around 00:20:45)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – David Cummings, Diner Worker – Graham Rowat, Diner Patron – Matthew Bradford, Bill – Jeff Clement“The Gravel Turnoff” written by J. Thomas Ganzer (Story starts around 00:37:55)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Kevin – Reagen Tacker, Jason – Jeff Clement, Teddy – Matthew Bradford, Young Man – Allonté Barakat, Young Woman – Sarah Thomas, Waitress – Kristen DiMercurio, Diner #1 – Erin Lillis, Diner #2 – Jesse Cornett, Diner #3 – Linsay Rousseau, Diner #4 – Graham Rowat, Little Girl – Mary Murphy, Gas Station Clerk – Atticus Jackson“Sunflower Island” written by Hans A. Carpenter (Story starts around 01:06:05)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Jim – Mike DelGaudio, Dave – Atticus Jackson, Rebecca – Kristen DiMercurio“It’s Cob Day” written by Hunter Liquore (Story starts around 01:19:30)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin, Usher – Allonté Barakat, Ma Catsby – Danielle McRae, Ma Catsby’s Husband – Jesse Cornett, Mother – Linsay Rousseau, Baker’s Wife – Mary Murphy, Girl in Marigold – Sarah Thomas“None Are Sold Before Their Time” written by K.A. Schultz (Story starts around 01:36:35)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator – David AultThis 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/nosleepBetterhelp – This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at betterhelp.com/nosleep and get on your way to being your best self.Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Hunter LiquoreClick here to learn more about K.A. SchultzExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Sunflower Island” illustration courtesy of Alia SynesthesiaAudio 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.

All aboard. Tickets, please. Find your seats. The train will be departing shortly. You're aboard, the sleepless Express. A direct journey into the darkness of the night. There are no sleeping cars available on this train. On this journey, you will experience the horrors found within

the dark landscapes and endless black tunnels, you will hear things which will leave you frightened and disturbed. And remember, there will be no stops until the very end of the life. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Welcome aboard the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your conductor, David Cummings. Nothing bad ever happens in a big city. When you're surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the metropolis, with its skyscrapers, subways, honking taxi cabs, jaywalkers, food carts, it all adds up to a wonderfully safe space.

It's all good in the city, he says rather sarcastically. So if you want to find horror and dark deeds, where do you go? Why, of course, you go to small towns. You can't fight the truth. Well, the truth of most horror stories anyway. If you want to find the creepy dark traditions, the menacing townsfolk, the legends of misdeeds haunting the citizens,

well, you need to leave the city and head into those small hamlets and villages on the outskirts. Imagine living in towns like Derry or Twin Peaks, or how about Haddonfield? Not the safest places. So what is it about small towns? towns that make nightmarish tales feel so real. Maybe it's their isolation, or how everyone in a small town seems to know everyone else's business. Or maybe it comes down to how small towns look

so idyllic on the outside, but deep down, behind closed doors, our darkest thoughts and actions play out. On this episode, we present tales about those towns and small isolated locations that seem quiet and innocent, but you don't have to be there long to realize that the town might be small, but the horror looms very large indeed. And rest assured, the sleepless express will be stopping at all of them. And now, the train is ready to depart. Your journey into the darkness begins now. In our first tale, we meet a college student. who is spending summer back in his small hometown. It might seem like a common thing for most college students,

but in his case, he has no choice. As we'll learn in this tale, shared with us by author Julian Martin, the town celebrates its Summerfest each year, and if you're born in the town, attendance is mandatory. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres and Danielle McCray. So yes,

the old ways can be nice, but not if you're forced to be embracing tradition. Skin tags, wrinkled eyes, countless eyes, eyes running like yoke, fingers, teeth, bone, blood, swirling, coagulated, bunched together into one. Skin, then everything is one. All there is is skin. Nothing but skin, only skin, nothing but... And then I wake up. My room is empty beside the slow spinning fan above.

Soft moonlight making some unopened luggage and the chair covered in clothes somewhat visible. I still haven't put away much since getting back from school for the summer, despite my parents' complaints. I should listen to them because I really don't like how the clothing chair has my mother-loving. lovingly puts it, looks in the dark. The human mind can play tricks on you like that. I check my alarm, and Jesus, four o'clock. It's been maybe two or three months of this now. The nightmares, I mean. It started during my midterms. The weekly call with mom was going fine, besides the fact that I had my eyes on a calc study guide the entire time. How are classes? Find any jobs? Meet any cute guys or gals, she put it.

Standard parent conversation shit. Then she asked if I was ready for Summerfest in a few months. Suddenly the math I was working on was not important as I looked up from my half-answered homework sheet. I said I was ready for the festival. Yeah, it'll be fun. Then I said it was getting late and hung up as soon as possible. That night, the nightmares started.

all of them about my hometown's summer fest, which is tomorrow, by the way. In the little town of Woodhaven, there's nothing much really to do. There's a cheap one auditorium movie theater that shows PG-rated films all year. There's a single ice cream shop that closes at 6, 8 o'clock during the summer. There's a baseball diamond where the Little League team plays, a high school, a gas station, and a solitary bus. stop. That's the only way out of here. Take away two things from this. One, I was very excited to get to a liberal art school far, far away from here. Two, because of the sheer lack of literally anything even

vaguely entertaining, everyone in the town gets very excited for Summerfest. Very excited. Flyers are already put up by the end of May, and concession stands are set up weeks beforehand. Essentially, Summerfest is your typical town carnival with some blow-up rides and loud music and funnel cake. Then, at the end of the festival, we have the whole purpose for the entire thing itself. The games, the food, all of that, that's just for show. See, as the sun sets, we as a town perform what the mayor has dubbed in this generation as embracement. It's a cutesy name for a very... peculiar tradition.

The mayor wanted it to sound like what she had described Summerfest as. A time for the community of Woodhaven to truly come together. But I'm getting ahead of myself. When my mom brought up Summerfest on that phone call, it was the first time I had thought about it since before I got to college.

I was used to Summerfest, and by about 17 years old or so, I was getting used to the tradition of embracement. I didn't know why it struck me as so upsetting when she mentioned it. You'd think I hadn't been a part of it every year since my literal birth, but since the nightmares started, I became suspicious of something. Just a worry in the back of my head. That worry, though, has gotten only worse with every day closer to the festival. The first nightmare was about the festival aspects of Summerfest itself, before the embracement,

the games, the blow-up rides, etc. I could distinctly feel the summer breeze in the dream. The thing is, though, it had almost ominous undertones. See, I felt that everyone else during the festival knew something I didn't. The dream ended with the mayor announcing the embracement would start soon, and everyone should start making their way to Langdon Park. I almost forgot. Langdon is the sorriest excuse for a park you'll ever see.

It's a big grass field with some sidewalks on the perimeter. but it is in fact big enough for every townsperson in Woodhaven to fit into, a very important aspect of the tradition. I woke up from that dream to a panic attack in my dorm room. Embracement is an uncomfortable tradition, but I had done it before. Not worth panic hangover. I figured I would just try to move on. Nothing to stress about. Nightmares only got worse.

The next dream was... Almost an exact continuation of the first, starting with the 1,200-odd townsfolk walking through suburban streets towards Langdon as the sun began to set overhead. I could hear the mosquitoes buzz like they were real. Everything just felt so real. Each individual conversation was distinct. Yet still there was that feeling that everyone else knew something I did not.

I threw up after waking up, and have no clue why. In the next dream, we arrived at Langdon Park. Everyone squeezed in, loudly chatting, squished together on the medium-sized plot of grass. The trees swayed like they do in real life, and the smell of honeysuckle was so real. Then the mayor called for our attention.

We all went completely and utterly silent. The dreams continued like this. each played out in your average embracement tradition at Summerfest. The townsfolk coming together, they're circling in Langdon, even they're stripping. Oh, yeah, uh, we get naked for this. All of us. It's incredibly uncomfy, and even the most elderly of the community who have done embracement nearly 80 times haven't got used to that part. Then the actual embracing starts.

the whole fucking ritual. That's what most of the recent dreams have been. And there's my worry. How do I put this to someone not from Woodhaven? Every year, one townsperson is randomly chosen. I don't know by who, no one does. That's just life. But every year, this one person becomes lost during embracement.

After the tradition is done and everyone splits up from Langdon park, there is one person gone. It sounds cliche, but no, they are not seen or heard from again. I've been starting to worry these dreams are an omen. I'm scared that they mean that tomorrow evening, I will be the one who disappears during the ceremony. It's usually an elderly person. Last year, it was 86-year-old father Michael. After the embracement, the mayor did her usual headcount. Everyone was accounted for during our merging except for the preacher. He was confirmed to have been, as she calls it, embraced by all of us. The year before was a 94-year-old, and before that a 72-year-old. It's not impossible, though, for those younger to be lost during the process. When I was 10 years old,

my schoolyard bully was embraced by the town. For hours after we had all left Langdon Park, his mom kept wandering the empty grass field calling for her little Jacob Tremblay. It was no use, though. He was gone for good. My mom asked her once if she would ever have more kids since Jacob was an only child. And I believe Mrs. Tremblay responded with something along the lines of only a devil could bring a child into the rituals of this town knowing fully what it entails. Mrs. Tremblay hung herself from her ceiling fan one month. after their conversation.

My point here is that someone younger can be chosen. Are these nightmares telling me it'll be me tomorrow? Are they telling me that out of everyone I'm going to be absorbed? I know what you're thinking. If I'm that worried, just leave the town. No, no, no, it doesn't work like that. 15-year-old Shelley Dumont ran away the day of her embracement a couple years ago. When the town began embracing her, while she was on a bus ride miles away from here,

She died all of a sudden. Unexplained heart attack. Keith Richards was 45 when he took his two young sons on vacation during Summerfest. Their plane back from Europe crashed into the Atlantic Ocean for no known reason. You can read about that one on the news. See, there's no real leaving Woodhaven. Everyone has to come back, at least once a year for embracement. No one is that worried they'll be chosen.

It's about a thousand to one. You might as well take the chance of being embraced, whatever that means, as opposed to certain death. Whatever's controlling this ritual does not want us to skip it. It needs its sacrifice. Once a year. Once every July. I'm closing my eyes again.

I should probably get a couple more hours of rest, right? Before tomorrow. We're naked now. Everyone stands nervously staring at the mayor. The sun is just starting to go down. Twilight rays cast on. on all of us, barely keeping us warm without clothes. And then the mare claps her hands together.

We haven't even started, but our bodies are readying. I look at my hands and they seem to wriggle from the inside. My skin moves as if large cockroaches are underneath my flesh. I look up and it's the same for everyone. Everyone's bodies look like ice cream just beginning to melt. eyes slopping towards the earth and faces moving downward as if liquid. We're all anticipating it. Whether we want to or not, we're all ready.

Our bodies know it's time. Embrace! We all run towards the center. Hard. As we crash into each other, we melt into one. I grab a shoulder and pull my hand away only to see their skin melded into mine. Heads melt into other heads. bodies combine.

A scared couple kisses one another, and their faces continue forward until it's a single glob of skin where it once was. Hands hold and the arms fall into each other. It's like we're all made of silly putty, or pudding, merging and becoming one. Freckles, pimple, straggly arm hair, skin tags, wrinkled eyes, countless eyes. fingers, bone, blood, swirling, coagulated, bunched together. Skin, and then everything is one. All there is is skin, nothing but skin, only skin, nothing but skin.

Suddenly we are one. I can only imagine what it looks like from outside. Does anyone really know? Have we formed something beautiful? or are we just an amorphous blob of flesh, brains, organs, and bones? Things go dark during the embracement. You still have thoughts, yes, but barely. You feel lighter.

That's the best I can describe it. I don't think anyone can really accurately get across what the sensation is like. And then you separate. And a little bit of one resident has been absorbed into everyone, carried with them for life. But in this dream, it's... Happening a little differently. I don't separate like I'm supposed to.

I feel myself being pulled apart. Each melted inch of my being shrinking and merging with a thousand other beings. I suddenly don't have my own thoughts. But the thoughts of a thousand townspeople as they escape from embrace me. I feel nothing. I feel everything. In the dream, I'm being absorbed. I'm being embraced.

It's morning now. I look at my alarm clock. It's 10. I step out of bed. Outside, I can hear music being played from a speaker. Summerfest is just starting. A lump forms in my stomach. It's all just nightmares, I tell myself.

It couldn't possibly be me. It'll probably be a town elder, just like basically every other year. My mom's calling. I should head downstairs. I'm trying to keep calm. Mantra's running through my head to try to stay relaxed. I'm thinking, At the very least, at least by the end of the day, in one respect or another, I'll be a greater part of my community.

If things in a small town start to become weird, there are those who want to find out what's going on. That can mean sending a reporter to get the facts. And in this tale, shared with us by author Joel Buxton, we learn about a reporter who's gone missing on his assignment and his editor who tries to find out. what happened to him. Joining me in performing this tale are Graham Rowett, Matthew Bradford, and Jeff Clement. So maybe it's the water, maybe it's the food, but there's no denying it. Something is not right in Fox Creek. The whole thing started when I heard rumblings that something was not right in Fox Creek.

Across the Athabasca River in central Alberta lies the Duvernais for. formation, an area of land with countless tons of valuable oil. The only problem is it's locked up in shale and sandstone. Enter the miracle of induced hydraulic fracturing, or fracking, as we call it in the media. Instead of just drilling down to pump the black gold from vast reservoirs underground, they fire off explosives down there to shatter the rock and release the oil. Environmentalists have always objected to fracking. citing a laundry list of potential harm, earthquakes, contamination of groundwater, you name it.

And the oil industry has always ignored them. But I haven't. Over the years, I have overseen some excellent journalism about the impact fracking has on small towns. Our story exposing the harm to communities near the Spirit River Formation even won a CAJ award. So when I caught wind of strange stories coming from Fox Creek, I was like a hound with a scent. Reports of odd seismic activity. Farmers complaining of missing cattle. Whole families up and disappeared.

It was hard to see the connection, but I know a story when I smell one. I've worked at the Winnipeg Tribune for 16 years, the last five as editor-in-chief. We've always leaned left, and with the paper, industry locked in a death struggle with internet clickbait, I thought that this kind of story would be catnip for our readers. I decided to get some boots on the ground and assigned my best investigative reporter, Bill Heisey, to spend a week at Fox Creek and get a lay of the land. Talk to the locals, try to score a couple of juicy poll quotes from drunk off-duty riggers. Worst case scenario, he'd come back empty-handed, and we'd be out the cost of it didn't.

Angie Motel room and some gas money. Bill was only there a couple of days and already he was sending back extremely interesting photos. Giant sinkholes on the outskirts of town, talk of bigger ones at the fracking site. Great gashes ripped open in the earth. Who knows how deep? Bill wrote to me of the smell of methane that hung over the town like rotten eggs. grocery stores nearly empty, a thin layer of grease over the slowly rotting produce. I asked him to grin and bear it for a few more days. But then, nothing. Total radio silence from Bill.

I tried calling and emailing, even reached out to his wife, but she hadn't heard anything either. I tried to file a missing person's report, but was told we had to wait 48 hours. The Fox Creek Sheriff's Department informed. me that no one had seen a person matching Bill's description in town. I found that hard to swallow. Fox Creek is not exactly a bustling metropolis. I tried to convince myself that Bill was pulling some kind of stunt and chasing a story off the grid, but after a tearful call from Maria, I promised that I would go have a look. It was a 15-hour drive from the city. I had passed dozens of pit stops along the way, each a dimly glowing oasis in the inky blackness of the road.

I approached the final pit stop before Fox Creek proper. Bill was right about the smell. Even with the windows shut tight, the stench was horrendous. As I drew closer, my eyes went wide as I saw something that stopped me cold. Bill's car parked right outside the diner. I pulled into the parking lot beside the car. Bill drove a hybrid, which was what made me so confident it was his. Hard to imagine folks in an oil town driving electric. The vehicle stuck out like a sore thumb next to the two Ford F-350s parked alongside. Just to be sure, I examined the plate. Yep, Saskatchewan issued. I studied the diner, not much bigger than a couple of shipping containers welded together. Even the restroom was separate from the main building, a standalone structure

made of brick and concrete, more of an outhouse than a restroom. I entered the diner and grimaced as the smell from outside somehow got worse. The baseline heavy methane aroma was now flavored with something sharp and metallic that made my stomach turn. I sat down at the counter and glanced at the only other patron, a hulking man hunched over a plate of steak. Resting in a pool of pink liquid, the meat was so undercooked it would be more apt to call it raw than rare. I looked around at the booths to see if Bill might be tucked away in one of them, but the rest of the diner was empty. I waited for a server, trying not to gag at the sound of the man's serrated knife tearing through the flesh of the steak,

the juicy squelching of his open mouth chewing. Finally, I cleared my throat and called through the swinging door into the kitchen. Anybody work in the counter? A squat, squinty-eyed fellow emerged, more hairy arms than man. He wore heavy rubber gloves up to his elbows that were caked with grease and stained a dark brown. He sweated profusely and wiped his forehead with the glove. We're closed. I'm looking for an employee of mine.

I haven't seen him. His car is in the parking lot. Can I show you a picture? From the kitchen, a bell dinged, and he turned from me, ignoring my phone. Get lost. I looked over at the man beside me, showing him the screen, but he just stared at his plate, breathing heavily. Bill Heisey, you haven't seen this man? No.

The hairy guy returned from the kitchen, carrying a stack of milk crates. In each one was a thick plastic bag filled to bursting with cuts of raw meat. Juice was dripping from the bottom crate, but he ignored it and rested the stack on the counter. The man next to me choked down the last big bite of his steak. His throat bulged as he swallowed. He picked up the crates and disappeared out the door. The hairy guy returned to the kitchen, then came back with a similar stack. He emerged from behind the counter and followed.

his friend. Don't be here when I get back. I'd like to say my finally honed journalistic instincts for sniffing out a story, took in the situation and started asking questions. If the diner was closed, what was it being used for? Where was all that meat going, if not to a restaurant? But something else had grabbed my attention. As the kitchen door swung closed, I saw for a brief moment, a familiar,

face. Bill, dressed in an apron, soaked and grimy with blood. I jumped to my feet. Bill! There was no response from the kitchen, so I moved around the counter and pushed open the kitchen door. Inside was one of the most gruesome sights I'd ever seen. Hunks of meat draped everywhere, cow skulls piled in the corner. I gagged as I spotted a trash can overflowing with intestinal. and other viscera. And there, in the center of it, was Bill, carving hunks of meat from a huge slab of beef. He was ankle-deep in chunks of fat and awful.

His sneakers soaked through with thick coagulated gore. Bill! He looked up and blinked. His eyes were scarlet and bloodshot, like he'd been crying for hours. What do you warn? I stared at him for a moment, my mouth open. What do I...

Where have you been? He continued to stare at me like he'd never seen me before. We've been looking for you for days. Everyone thought you were dead or kidnapped or... He shook his head. I'm fine. I looked around at the makeshift slaughterhouse we were both standing in at a loss for words.

You're obviously not fine. I came to take you home. I jumped as the hairy guy grabbed my shoulder from behind. As he shoved me out of the kitchen, I had an idea. I turned back to Bill. What should I tell Katie? Tell her I'm not coming back. My heart raced as he failed the test.

His wife's name is Maria. Something was definitely going on here. Was he on drugs? Or maybe this was his way of giving me a message. Was he trying to tell me he was being held against his will? As the kitchen door swung closed, I heard Bill call after in a small, halting voice. The restroom, it's just outside.

He was trying to tell me something. I struggled against the hairy guy who dragged me out from behind the counter. As we passed by the register, I quietly grabbed the restroom key. It was chained to a soup ladle, caked with something sticky and slick. I held it between two fingers behind my back as the hairy guy shoved me outside and slammed the diner door. Out front of the diner, one of the trucks pulled away. Its bed completely filled with the crates of the stator. I consider just getting the hell out of there, but you don't get to be editor-in-chief

by dropping a story when it heats up. I unlocked the restroom door, bracing myself for something somehow worse than the kitchen, but it was a pretty regular bathroom, a simple sink, urinal, and walled-in bathroom stall. Even the cracked tile of the floor looked clean. Opening the stall door, I saw that the tall, toilet was missing, just a hole that went deep into the ground, surrounded by jagged tile. And of course, that stench worse than ever. I checked the stall walls for a message from Bill, but just found regular graffiti. It wasn't until I exited the stall and turned to leave that I saw

it. The inside of the restroom door, unseen until now, was covered with writing. Big block letters, etched by a black sharpie. The letters looked written in a hurry, running together but legible. Near the top of the door. My name is Bill Heisey. Then below. Locked in.

Dark for hours. Something in here. Fracking opened to something. Down there. Holes all over Fox Creek. Not people. Now, something else. My heart raced as I took a photo with my phone and continued reading.

Can hear it. From the stall, down there. So tired. Can't sleep. Crawl inside. Behind my eyes. Killed one, but more. I looked at the floor near the hinges of the door and saw.

the quashed remains of something in the corner, maroon and oily, almost a puddle. I could see what looked like a broken, spindly leg sticking out. Near the floor, almost illegible. So tired. Contact Maria Heise or Tyler Graham. Destroy town. Before spread. Hear it.

I stopped reading. startled by the sound of the restroom door latch slamming shut outside. I grabbed the handle and shoved, but it wouldn't budge. Then the lights went out. Been sitting here for hours in the dark. My back to the door, just like Bill. The thing that wore him wasn't trying to give me a clue. It trapped me in here.

Used to the smell now. Listening for sounds, writing this. No reception, but need to get this down. Tell the story. Listening and shining the flashlight on my phone, keeping it on the stall door as I type. Something is in there. Flashlight is dead now.

Phone screen not far behind. The smell. I hear it now In the dark We have to tell someone Something is not right In Fox Creek If horror stories have taught us to be wary of small towns

They have definitely shown us That ending up in a small town Due to an unexpected stop Is the last thing you want You see in this tale Shared with us by author J Thomas Gendel We meet some friends on a road trip.

They need gas, so they stop at a town that seems... Well, it seems perfect. Performing this tale are Reagan Tacker, Jeff Clement, Matthew Bradford, Alante Berwickette, Sarah Thomas, Kristen DiMakirio, Aaron Lillis, Jesse Cornett, Lindsay Russo, Graham Rowett, Mary Murphy, and Atticus Jackson. So keep an eye on your car's gaze. You don't need to be looking for gas on. The gravel turn off.

I'll be brief because I have to be. I'm sure everyone has the same story I do. A friend of a friend, your cousin's roommate Gary, this guy who lived in your dorm but dropped out halfway through freshman year. The point being, there's always enough degrees of separation that the story cannot be corroborated, but is told with the level of sincerity that the audience convinces itself that even if all the details aren't one of 100% true, the core of the story probably is, right? Like, why would my cousin's roommate Gary make that up? But when it happens to you, everything changes. All those campfire stories take on a different meaning. At least this happened to me and two of my friends, so I'm not alone. At least I'm a more reliable narrator for the next few minutes, because who would make this up, right? We wrapped up the first half

a spring semester with only a couple months left to graduation. We never had enough money to go somewhere tropical on spring break. No Cancun or Fort Lauderdale or the south of France. That was big the last couple of years in the Greek community at UCLA. We were headed to Phoenix, Arizona. Tommy had an aunt who would let us crash at her place while we partied, then on to Tucson where Jason's folks lived. We planned to new nightly excursions to Nagales, Mexico and party there.

Basically, this road trip was all we could afford. After four or five nights, we'd start the long drive back to school. We got on the road after dinner. The plan was to make it the Blythe, California town right on the Arizona border. We figured we'd get there around 10 p.m. and grab a hotel room. We weren't 100% certain we'd find one, but we could just crash in the car for a few hours, or drive straight through all night and take turns behind the wheel. Though it's not like we didn't have a plan, we just didn't have a very well-thought-out plan.

But it's like my dad said, when you're young and poor, you can do anything. Once you've got a little money and something resembling standards, you lose that freedom to cut loose. He told stories about road tripping when he was my age. Just jumping in a car with a full tank of gas, a couple hundred bucks, which feels like a million when you can survive on pork rinds and gatorade, and go. North, south, east, west, just pick a direction and see where the road takes you. But that's where our heads were at, and hindsight being 2020, we should have gassed up at any of the places we'd passed along Interstate 10 instead of winging it. I mean, you can take a road trip with no clue where you're going,

but that doesn't mean you can violate the laws of thermodynamics. A car needs gas. So with that, we began noticing the needle drop for the last 30 miles. Hey Kevin, how are we doing on gas, man? I looked at the gauge. About an eighth of a tank. We kind of need to find a place. The palms of my hands were sweating on the wheel,

but I was acting casual. It was my decision to skip the last gas station we passed about an hour earlier, and this was all on me. We made it another ten miles before Jason, Teddy, and I were like mere cats, bobbing our heads this way and that, looking for signs of civilization. If you've never driven through the Southern California desert, it's a bizarre experience in and of itself.

The windows were down and we were all staring out into the crisp desert air. Every star in the sky was visible, something we never saw in L.A. And although all of us were aware of the need for renewable energy, we had never seen a windmill up close, a big one at least. And here there was a forest of them. Dozens, hundreds maybe, reaching up to the night sky and spinning in unison, but none of them made a sound. The entire area, as far as we could tell, was dark, uninhabited, and silent. Hell, we'd have flagged down a trucker if we saw one just to find out where the nearest feeling station was.

But we were all alone and hadn't seen another soul for an hour at least. The radio blasted nothing but static and her phones had no signal for the last half hour. but how to reflex we turned off the radio just to focus better. As if doing that would make a gas station appear out of nowhere. Although in the end, that's kind of what happened. As I said, the gas needle was dropping. I'm sweating, Jason and Teddy are bobbing and weaving, and then I saw it. Or I guess Teddy saw it first.

It wasn't a well-lit modern digital billboard. It was a piece of plywood with the words gas. two miles written on it and an arrow pointing down a gravel road. The sign wasn't lit at all and we nearly missed it, and in any other circumstance I would have been fine with driving a little further looking for something better. But we were getting desperate and we simply didn't have the luxury of driving another hour and hoping for the best.

The first sign that everything wasn't exactly kosher was the promise that gas was only two miles down the road. It was at least five before we started arguing about turning back. At least if we run out of gas on the highway, someone will come by at some point. If we get stuck here, we're fucked. Absolutely fucked. Jason was right, but I felt like we might not be able to make it back to the interstate. We had less than a 16th of gas left.

It was right or die. Teddy started to call us fucking idiots before we saw the lights. Guys, guys! We got closer and sure enough, a gas station. and not just some shitty little pump and some hillbilly with no teeth running the show. It looked like an eight-pump modern filling station. It wasn't a chain, no BP or a moco. The sign just said Lakebed Gas, Lakebed, California.

We cheered and laughed and teased each other. Dude, you were shitting your pants. What? No way, man. You were the one shitting your pants. Lots of good-natured guy humor. It would be the last time I heard them laugh like that. We pulled in and all hopped out, our adrenaline pumping again.

The pump was brand spanking new. I would swear I was the first person to use it. As I was pumping and they were stretching and giving each other grief, something hit Teddy and Jason. They would later describe it as a low hum. It hit them all at once in an instant. They both grabbed their hands and shouted a few woes and dudes until it passed, maybe ten seconds in duration.

What the hell was that? I couldn't tell what was wrong with him. They kept pestering me. Didn't you hear that or feel that? Fuck, my head hurt. Teddy stumbled as if his equilibrium was off and Jason kept working his jaw trying to get his ears to pop.

A minute later, it had passed. They chalked it up to a change in desert elevation. I mean, none of us were geologists, or climatologists or even pre-med, so any theory sounded as good as the last one. I finished filling up while they went inside, though they remained empty-handed when I found them again. You didn't buy anything?

Nah, grab us something, though. Jerky. We have a bunch of drinks still. You didn't buy anything? I grabbed an arm full of slim jimms, jerky, and corn nuts, and laid them out on the counter. Checking out, I spoke with the clerk, hoping to make some small talk and ask about the tremor or foreshock or whatever the hell that was that I didn't hear, but they did.

Nice not. Hey man, what was that just now? Like a sonic boom, my buddies felt a pretty good vibration or something. But he was robotically scanning the jerky and chips and smiling like a used car salesman. Welcome to Lakebed. Will this complete your order? Uh, yes. I mean, yeah.

I handed cash to the clerk, but he seemed confused. It took me a moment to realize by the way he was looking at my bills that he couldn't do the math. We accept Visa and MasterCard. Okay. I can take the hint. I took back the 20, pulled out my card, scanned it, and hit enter. I waited for him to bag the snacks up and ask if I wanted a receipt, but he just stood there smiling. Um, could I get a bag or something?

He paused, and his smile almost imperceptibly dipped, like he had to consider the question and wasn't sure what to do next. Welcome to Lakebed. Will this complete your order? I shook my head slightly and scooped up all the food. It's fine. I got it. I beat it out of there and hustled to the car. Took you long enough. Teddy was still rubbing his neck while Jason met him. with his ears. I think the clerk was on something. He was kind of messed up. I tossed the food in the

front seat and climbed back in. Strange. Blade shift at a gas station off-country road double Q usually draws the best applicants. We headed into town and decided to grab a bite. The entire town was well lit and the main drag was lined with those modern throwback street lamps that looked like they were from the 1900s, save for the bright bluish halogen bulbs. I noticed that, as bright and modern as this town was, it was almost like it was a speck town designed to get people to move there, or a movie set, but the storefronts were facades. It didn't appear, I don't know, genuine. We drove a couple blocks past closed shops, all seeming to be designed to attract boomers, with an ice cream shop, a few fudge shops, a far, a far,

Armory, a bakery, all quaint, but closed. Our hopes for finding a quick burger place were dimming. We finally saw our first sign of life, a couple of 20-somethings holding hands. But something was off. They were attractive, almost like models. A desert town in Southern Cali is not where you'd expect to find people like that. It appeared to be on a date, sipping barista made coffee from paper cups and talking. Both were smiling and seemed to be laughing at the other's comments. It was perfect. Like you called a movie studio and said, I need two young pretty people on a perfect date,

sipping gourmet coffees in a quaint town. Listen, you guys think it's off that... I felt a punch on my chest and had the wind knocked out of me for a second. Jason seated next to me, had reached across and punched me. His hand gripped the wheel and steered us into oncoming traffic. I over-corrected, squealing the tires a bit, but I was only going 35, so I caught my breath, wrestled control back from Jason, and hit the brakes. The entire ordeal lasted maybe five seconds, but seemed like an hour. My heart was beaten like a jackrabbit.

Jason? What the hell's the matter? I looked over and realized he and Teddy were holding their heads and screaming, though no noise was coming out. I grabbed Jason's arm. You okay? Jason? He looked back at me with a look of terror and panic I'd never seen before. I've known Jason since junior high, and I was probably more terrified than he was. And in the next moment, it stopped.

Teddy came around first, opening his eyes wide a few times. Dude. Dude. What the hell was that? Jason was not so quick to recover. He looked at me and kept repeating him. What'd you say? Kev, what'd you say?

It was then that I noticed the blood dripping from his right ear. I pointed and he put a finger to his ear, bringing it back looking like it was dipped in crimson paint. I pulled over to the side of the road and shut off the car. I jumped out and went around to the passenger side to get them both out of the car. Teddy got out on his own and leaned against the car. Jason needed me to pull him out. He leaned against the car momentarily and then slid down to the ground. I checked on Teddy.

Teddy? What happened? That thing again? You didn't hear it. Man, that walled the shit out of me. Feels like my head isn't a vice. Fucking Dodgers, man. What time is it?

Dodgers? What, what time is it? I don't know. I don't know, man. How's Jason? Teddy was staring at his hands like he was trying to regain his concentration. He's bad. His ear is bleeding something fierce. And you didn't hear anything, Keff. That was way worse than the gas station.

I shook my head. No, I didn't hear... I stopped. I realized in that moment that I was seeing double. I wasn't blinded and I wiped my eyes a few times, which seemed to help. But nothing like what they went through. No? Just some blurry vision. Look, we gotta get Jason to a doctor.

I grabbed my phone, and to my shock, I had a single bar illuminated. A very weak signal, but a signal nonetheless. I googled nearby urgent care and waited. I was greeted with no results located. What the hell? So I googled Urgent Care Clinic Lakebed, California. It gave me pages of results for Lakewood, California. I started to get a chill.

I didn't want to type anymore, but I had to. I closed my eyes, concentrated, opened them, and typed, quote, Lakebed California, quote. I paused, hovered my finger over the keyboard, and hit enter. I really didn't need to wait. Somehow I knew. No results located. Lakebed California didn't exist. Something is very wrong.

This place is very wrong. I lost the signal in that moment. No more cell service. The young couple we passed on the sidewalk sauntered past us. They looked at Jason sitting on the ground with blood pouring from his ear, and with me with my arm around Teddy, who was slapping the side of his head, trying to clear whatever cobwebs this damn place gave him.

They were smiling with vacant expressions, holding hands, acting as if they looked at, but didn't see us. Welcome to Lakebed. They looked at each other and giggled. Jinks. They kept walking. I was equal parts freaked out and really, really pissed.

I yelled back at him and walked over. Hey, wait up. Is there a doctor in town? A clinic? We're hurt here. They both tilted their heads and looked at each other. The same way two people would if someone approached speaking of foreign language.

They were genuinely confused, like I asked them something that they weren't prepared to answer. You know, a doctor? Hello? You speak English? The woman was gorgeous. Shoulder-length platinum blonde hair, blue eyes,

a thin vanilla down jacket, black yoga pants, and a pair of hugs. Not very creative. Pretty much what you'd wear if you asked Siri how to dress like an American woman on a date. My patience was over. My vision was blurry.

Teddy could barely remember his own name, and Jason was having a damn brain aneurysm. Hey, we need help here. The man spoke first, the cologne model with perfect black hair and a touch of stubble. A silk scarf, brown leather jacket, and blue jeans, finished off with casual brown ankle-high boots. He looked like he finally figured out what was going on and smiled at the woman before turning back to me. I see now. There's a visitor center located right here in Main Street. A visitor center?

Are you fucking serious? I saw some lights on a storefront about 50 yards ahead of us on our side of the street. I figured the walk might help us, so I grabbed Jason, put his arm around my shoulder, and hoisted him as I walked. Teddy followed, but occasionally stepped off the curb into the gutter, and his balance was off. Jason moaned and rubbed his neck. I wasn't sure if he could even open his eyes, but at least he could walk with help. We approached the lights and I saw that the building was a diner. I could hear voices inside.

As we got closer, I could see in the window. There were maybe 25 people in there. Civilization. There was hope. I opened the door and the little bell overhead jingled announcing our arrival. I thought we made a hell of an entrance, me panting and holding up a guy bleeding from the ear, and Teddy looking like he was hit by a bus,

I knew we were in trouble instantly. No one looked up. There was no waitress rushing to get us a seat. No manager asking if we needed an ambulance. No nurse leaping up from her apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream offering her service? It was like they never saw us. A waitress finally approached,

and I suppose I was wrong to expect any other greeting. Welcome to Lakebed. May I take your order? She looked like Alice from that TV show from the 70s. Pink uniform, white apron, a little white hat. I could have strangled her. Yeah, we need a table and some water. My friend needs an ambulance. I saw an open table a few feet away and forced my way over,

placing Jason in a chair and helping Teddy sit. I looked at the waitress, out of breath, and she gave me the same vacant smile everyone else had given me. I'll return with menus. She walked away and I should have been more terrified, but I was just happy to find people, odd as they may be. Teddy handed Jason some napkins and helped him hold them in place to soak up the blood, which seemed to flow more than just a few minutes ago.

Soon, the napkin was soaked. Tony Flo. Teddy looked at me and nodded, half smiling like he was happy you remembered something. Tony what? Tony Flo, and the majestic. masters of mayhem, the red hot chili pepper's first name. It took me a minute. Teddy, we talked about that, what, a week ago? At school, what the fuck are you talking about? Teddy looked confused, then panicked. School? What do you mean? What are you even saying right now? He dropped the bloody

napkins and grabbed my collar, his eyes bulging out of his head. What the hell do you mean? What school are you even talking about? Hey man, take it easy. It's okay. Everything's fine. Everything's Fine. Hey man, look at Jason. He's bleeding. Can you help? Teddy looked at his hands and let go. He grabbed fresh napkins from the dispenser and dabbed more blood from Jason's ear. He seemed to refocus. I looked over at the other diners wondering if they were staring at us. Why they weren't staring at us, why they weren't coming to help. Nearest to us, an older couple, probably 60, both sat in front of two full plates. They hadn't taken a single bite. Looking at their faces, I could make out what they were talking about. The weather is very important.

The forecast is daily, and it is reported. Many people depend on elected officials, though that is uncertain. They spoke in clipped phrases, each waiting for the other to finish before continuing. No more than 15 words, no less than 10. You cannot purchase certain things due to the cost. Things must be affordable. The old man nodded after every comment. You cannot display this form without clothing.

That is against ordinances. There is a grievance among those choosing to live in proximity to others, called neighbors. It's like they were practicing, but practicing what? Being human? My blood ran cold and my heart thundered away. I looked at another table and saw the same thing. Another couple sat in front of untouched plates of food. I enjoyed the cinema.

Those on the screen were acting. They weren't actually experiencing those things. Exchanging currency for goods and services is common. Across from them was a family of four. Two parents and a daughter, maybe ten, who spoke to her younger brother. Disease is quite common, though medical intervention is usually successful. They weren't saying anything. It was all gibberish.

I had to get the fuck out of there. I jumped up and grabbed Jason. Teddy looked confused. Teddy, we got to go. Now. Teddy stood up and followed my lead. Fucking college, man. Yeah, Teddy.

College. Let's get out of here and go back there. I moved as fast as I could, busted through the door and headed straight for the car. Teddy was mumbling about nonsense the entire hike. We got to the car and I leaned Jason against the roof while I opened the door and poured him and Teddy in the back seat. Jason moaned, but was awake enough that I thought we had time to get him to a doctor, anywhere else but here.

We couldn't be more than half an hour away from Bligh. We just had to make it back to the interstate. Landline, shit. I slammed the door and ran back to the diner. I barged in and nothing had changed. Everyone was right where they were when we left. The same waitress with the same blank expression and the same lifeless tone. a voice was standing at the hostess station.

Welcome to Lakebed. May I take your order? I brushed past her and began rifling through the hostess station. I found a standard black phone on a black rectangular base. There were buttons for different extensions, all lit green, and the whole button was blinking red. Thank God. I picked up the receiver and was greeted with silence. I pushed buttons hoping for an open line but got nothing, not even a click. I held the base in my hand and looked at the back.

It wasn't hooked up to anything. No cord, no power, nothing. It was just for show. But how the hell was it lit up? I wasn't going to hope there was another phone in town or that anyone could help. I slammed it down and screamed. Fuck! I'll return with menus.

I sprinted out the door and made it to the car. The rear door was open and the young couple from earlier were bent down saying something to Ted I yelled as I ran up to him. What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck away from him. They both looked at me with the most innocent, twisted smiles. Welcome to Lakebed. They pointed each other and smiled. Jinks.

I leaned into the car as they walked away, arm and arm. Teddy, what did they say to you? Think. He stared straight ahead. They said it happens to all visitors who enter. of the town, but it'll be over soon. The others are coming. I closed the door as Teddy cradled Jason's head in his lap. Jason was rubbing his eyes, but doing little else. I ran around to the driver's side and was opening the door when it hit me. Another boom. I fell to my knees and was completely blinded. I stayed on all fours waiting for it, whatever it was to pass. I could see, but mostly just

colors and shapes. Could I even drive? Would I be able to see that gravel road in the darkness? Come on, come on, God damn it. I rubbed my eyes and after a minute, I knew I could see just barely well enough to drive. I sat up on the pavement, leaning against the car. Let's get the fuck out of here. I paused. Jason. I stood and opened the back door. Teddy was setting up, but his expression was vacant. The lights were on, but no one was home. Jason's head was lying in Teddy's lap, and his eyes were wide open, but lifeless. Both ears had apparently ruptured and Teddy's lap was soaked in blood. Jason was dead. Teddy was catatonic. I tried to call his name. It took me a moment to concentrate and form the words. When I did, Teddy didn't respond.

He stared out the window as a small stream of blood dripped from an ear. Jason's dead. I have to drive. I have to drive. I climbed behind the wheel and started the engine, and hit the gas and peeled out. I remembered that we came into town from the other direction. Yes, I knew that much. I did a U-turn and floored it down the street.

The car was silent. Teddy was cradling Jason's head and stroking his hair while he stared out the window. though he was functionally catatonic. He said nothing, and frankly, I don't think he could if he wanted to. He hadn't made any sense in the last 20 minutes. I just repeated to myself that I had to make it to the gravel road. We'd be fine if I could get there. Maybe I couldn't see for shit, but if I went slow enough,

I could navigate my way back to the interstate. Sooner or later, we'd see someone. The street led to darkness. The lights from town now only existed in the rearview mirror. I repeated my mantra, got to make it to the gravel road, if only to maintain my focus. My vision was getting worse.

I was back to colors and shapes as we approached the abyss. It was then that I heard and felt it underneath the car. Gravel. We made it. We made it. Lake bed faded into the distance. The headlights valiantly fought in the dark, but it was fruitless.

I could see no more than 20 feet in front of the windshield. I felt the scraping of the tires against the gravel, seeking some purchase, but occasionally spinning and kicking up rocks. But it was progress. I followed the twists and turns and switch packs, pushing on to the interstate. After five minutes, then ten, I knew we had to be close. Did it take this long when we arrived? After 30 minutes, confusion set in. Are we close? Was there a street light marking the turnoff? When will I feel the smooth ride of pure concrete underneath the wheels? More minutes passed and my vision narrowed. I was nearly blind now.

Somehow, I knew this wasn't a phase. It was permanent. If I could only get to the interstate, I told myself, I can flack down a trucker, just have to make it. In the distance, I saw a light, a single light. The turnoff. I drove a little faster than I should have, but I was so close I had to make it. I missed the little switchback, a 45-degree turn to the left, and we hit a dirt mound, dead stop.

I tried to reverse, but no dice. We had to walk the last hundred yards. I climbed out and left the engine on to keep the headlights pointed ahead, anything to help. I walked around and pulled Teddy out. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. Teddy, come on. We have to leave Jason. Come on, man. He could follow commands, probably out of reflex.

He stepped out as I pulled him and looped his arm around my neck. As I reached around his waist and lifted, he started to walk. We made it about halfway to the street lot when I lost vision completely. I was blind. Come on, Teddy. You can do it. He didn't respond. Just shuffled his feet. We made it another minute or two.

like this, when I felt a smooth, hard surface under my feet. The interstate. That's when it happened. I cringed, but managed to stay on my feet and felt something wet at my cheek. I knew what blood smelled like and the air was thick with it. I heard something tumbled down to the ground and Teddy's body went limp. He was small enough that I could still hold him, though I was sure half his head had just exploded and blew off his body.

I felt something wet and sticky dripping down my cheek. I knew without touching it that both my ears were bleeding. I marched another few feet when I heard the shuffle of shoes on the concrete. Help. Help us. Please. I recognize the voices immediately and nearly collapsed. Realizing my sense of direction was far more compromised than I had realized. Welcome to Lake Bed.

As the train pulls into the terminal, we ask that you gather what's left of your sanity and depart the train. Thank you for traveling with us on the sleepless Express. The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy and Ashley McAnally. 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 traveling the rails with us for our 21st season.