The NoSleep Podcast - S21 Ep19: NoSleep Podcast S21E19

Episode Date: September 8, 2024

It's Episode 19 of Season 21. Ride the Sleepless Express into tales about menacing monsters."Tumble" written by Kristin Kirby (Story starts around 00:03:15)Produced & scored by: David CummingsCast: Narrator - Kristin DiMercurio"Down Where It's Wetter" written by Em Starr (Story starts around 00:14:10)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Nick - Jeff Clement, Blair - Matthew Bradford, Mermaid - Nikolle Doolin"Out of the Light" written by Douglas Smith (Story starts around 00:29:30)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator - Mike DelGaudio, Jan Mirocek - Jake Benson, Detective Garos - Dan Zappulla, Kate Lockridge - Sarah Thomas, Stasia - Tanja Milojevic, Father Karman - Graham Rowat, Harry - David Cummings, Solly - Graham Rowat"Don't Go Feed the Cats" written by Jack Fanning (Story starts around 01:23:30)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Casey - Linsay Rousseau, Mom - Mary Murphy, Dad - Jesse Cornett"Inmates" written by Samantha Moody (Story starts around 01:53:45)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Hester - Wafiyyah White, Clarice - Erin Lillis, Kiki - Danielle McRae, Warden - Jesse Cornett, Alberts - Jessica McEvoy, Debusy - Nikolle Doolin, Tweaker - Mary Murphy, Nurse - Tanja MilojevicThis episode is sponsored by:Betterhelp - 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.Minds of Madness - Check out the gripping true crime "Minds of Madness" podcast to satisfy all your darkest cravings. Available wherever you get your podcasts.Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Kristin KirbyClick here to learn more about Douglas SmithClick here to learn more about Jack FanningClick here to learn more about Samantha MoodyExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone"Out of the Light" illustration courtesy of Kelly TurnbullAudio 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. As someone who listens to the No Sleep Podcast, you must love scary things. You must enjoy being scared. So, answer me this.

What was the first thing that really scared you? Go ahead, tell me, out loud. I'll hear your answers through the mic on your phone. It's a new technology. Don't ask me too many questions about it. Just know this. I'm listening. Anyway, do you remember what it was

that first made you feel that chilling tingle of fear? If I had to guess, you probably were afraid of the dark. But, of course, it's not just the dark, is it? It's what was lurking in the dark, hiding in your closet or under your bed. That thing, that creature, that monster. Yes, I dare say that monsters are likely our very first fear. And from a horror perspective, monsters are, are so perfect for inspiring fear.

I think it's because the most effective monsters are ones who can appear in a perfectly normal, safe form, but then transform into something horrifying. Werewolves, killer, dolls, clowns, one minute, they're normal. The next you find yourself fighting for your life against them. On this episode, we have tales which feature those things that hide in the dark and come for us when we least expect it. Like when traveling on a train that goes through lots of dark tunnels.

Enjoy. And now, the train is ready to depart. Your journey into the darkness begins now. In our first tale, we meet a woman having a typical boring night, eating some cereal, boyfriend zonked out on the couch, drier running in the laundry room. But in this tale, shared with us by author Kristen Kirby, the night stops being boring when she realizes neither she nor her boyfriend actually started the dryer.

Performing this tale is Kristen DeMecurio. So remember, fear can cause wrinkles. That's why you put your clothes on, tumble. I walked out of the kitchen, munching granola with almond milk, and wondered when Cody had started the clothes. because he was still crashed on the couch in front of a friend's rerun. I debated whether to wake him up as a laugh track rolled endlessly over something Chandler had quipped. Then I heard something else.

A chuckling whisper that didn't come from the TV. But Cody was zonked, man spreading across the couch. I sat down my bowl and spoon, and there was the sound again, coming from the laundry room. A chuckle, or more of a girl. But it didn't sound like wet clothes. In the laundry room, I flipped the light switch. The ceiling's bare bulb buzzed for a second, then flickered on. The heater vent just inside the door pushed warm air onto my ankles.

It was humid in the room. Moist. My bare foot squelched in water on the floor. The washer must have been leaking again. I sighed, pulled a towel wedged under the door, our doorstop, and swiped it over the puddle. The air from the heater slowly pushed the door, but I caught it before it closed.

The door liked to stick shut, especially when the room was humid. Last month, I was trapped in there for an hour until Cody wandered down the hall and managed to rescue me. Another gurgle from the dryer. Like a wet, chuckling. I peered through the round window at the tumbling clothes.

They rustled and murmured in the usual way as they spun. The inside of the dryer was dark, but a film of condensation skimmed the window. The air from the heater slowly pushed the door. I lunged, but missed it. The door clicked shut. I grabbed the doorknob and twisted. I yanked hard.

No luck. He wouldn't hear me above the heater and TV, but I gave it a shot. No response. He was just sleeping, right? I'd have been in bed reading, while he was in the living room, but he'd have been okay at dinner. The light bulb flickered. I gave it a worried glance, stomach clenching.

Cody always made sure the hall light was on when he went to bed, because he knew I didn't like the dark. From inside the tumbling dryer came a wet thump. What was drying in there? A giant fish? I turned. A pale, swollen hand slapped against the dry, window, fingernails jagged, crusted, dirty, then grabbed the side of the drum, then rolling clothes blocked my view. My heart blasted against my ribs, my chest jerked like it was on a hook.

I processed a million thoughts. It was the neighbor's toddler who'd wandered in the apartment and climbed in the dryer and got trapped. It was a doll. It was a rubber hand, Cody playing a joke. Or, oh God, it wasn't any of those things. Another wet thump. Then a grunt. Whatever belonged to that awful hand was too big to be a toddler, or a doll, or a rubber toy for that matter.

And the hand had moved. And those noises, the light bulb went out. I sagged against the door and moaned long and low in the pitch black, that thing, that blood-curdling thing with me in the dark. I wrenched and yanked at the dark. doorknob. Then I clamped my hand to my mouth. What if it hurt me? Through sheer will, I made my

gibbering brain work. Were there words in those chuckles it made? I couldn't make out words. Were they human? If not human, then what? What human could fit in a tiny space like that? I was safe as long as the dryer kept going, right? It couldn't get out. Couldn't push the dryer door if it could only hold on as it tumbled, and it couldn't see me in the dark, right? Did it even have eyes? And Cody would wake up and come open the door any minute, unless Cody was already dead and the thing in the dryer was coming for me next. It killed Cody, then cleaned the blood off itself in the washer, right? Then it decided the fluff cycle would do the trick. Soon it would be dry. But there was no blood on Cody, and of course he was just sleeping. So how much longer did the side?

have until it stopped. If I could reset it before then, I'd have more time to figure out how to escape the room. I took a deep breath and slid around until my back was against the door. The washer and dryer were hulking squares a few feet away. I reached out my hand in the dark and found the wall. I let my fingers trail along it as I took a shuffling step toward the dryer, then another. Something against my fingers. My hand encircled it, the metal rod for hanging clothes to try. Carefully, I

slid the rod from its two cradels. It felt cool in my hands. I pulled the rod to my chest as a weapon. I took a few more steps. A few more. Almost. I jumped and shrieked. The rod clanged to the floor. The dryer was stopping.

The cycle was over. The thing inside thumped hard as it did one last humble. I whirled and lunched for the door, fists pounding. I didn't care anymore about making noise. A shaft of light played and widened on the wall next to me as the dryer door

squeaked open. I froze, tried to scream but only choked, dread pouring into my throat like wine. I pressed my forehead against the door, gripping the knob so hard I knew my finger bones would break. I heard a few grunts

and thuds. A rasping. The squeezing of something bulky through a smaller opening. I heard horse breathing. A heavy foot slapped wetly to the floor, nails clicking. I thought this was it. I was going to die. Trapped in my own laundry room with a horrible monster thing that desperately needed a manipetti. As the hysterical giggle died in my mouth, I tumbled down to a dark place. Even darker than the little room I would soon be entombed in. There was only the rushing as I plunged, and it was almost comforting.

I let myself free fall. Then a little ping found me in the dark. What about Cody? Sleeping and without a clue in the next room. It was my turn to rescue him. It took every drop of my resolve to come back, to bend down, feel around and grab the metal rod. I straightened and hugged it like a lover. I braced my hand against the door.

One wild eye on the wall as the thing's dark, mithshapen shadow slid along it, blocked the dryer light and then allowed it. Bulbous, and then flat and then bulbous again, then looming taller than I was. Gripping the rod, I squared my shoulders and turned. As the thing's other hideous foot, dropped to the floor. Imagine a monster that slides an appendage into your personal space

and steals an important part of you. Monstrous, no? I agree. Pickpockets suck. So in this tale, shared with us by author M. Star, we meet two of these thieves down by the shore. It's not like there's anything in the water they should worry about, right? Performing this tale,

are Jeff Clement, Matthew Bradford, and Nicole Doolin. So despite what the song says, sometimes it's not always better down where it's wetter. At first glance, we look like two kids eating tacos under the boardwalk. And since there are no second glances in a place like this, I don't bother hiding our hall. Twelve wallets are fanned into a blatant spread in the sand. A bounty of pleather, leather, globe.

Mesh and Hemp, set up as a game of memory between brothers. Patsy Fisk. Blair arches his brow. He's better at this game than me. But the moniker is a dead giveaway. There's no way Patsy wasn't rocking platforms and metallic gold in 77. I make my selection. Glomesh.

Wrong. Again. What? I snatch up the purse, check its contents. According to the ID, inside, it belongs to a butcher named Harold. Patsy was the Plyther Girl, remember? I don't. Blair claims his prize.

$22 in an expired card. Thanks for nothing, Harold. He pockets the goods and tosses Harold under the discard pile, next to Sarah Gakowski and Peter McSween, Jr., then downs the last of his fish taco. Are you going to eat that? He gestures to my own touch dinner. His manners have improved, at least.

There was a time when he didn't ask at all. I give him the taco. You don't like the fish? The fish is fine. I have other things on my mind. You thinking about staying? I don't reply, and he won't ask again. He knows we never stay.

Not even here on the island. Or pickings are easy, and the ocean airs are. thick with wholesome normality. We'll move on and never speak of this place again. Not a word about our spot under the pier, the waves at her feet, the hum of the half-shut amusement park. The beach, always empty,

save for us, and some harmless old geyser feeding cotton candy to the gulls. Blair wants to stay, but he knows I know best, so he bites his tongue along with the fish taco. If you could be anything in the sea, what would you be? His words are minced with seafood and tortilla.

I shrug. I don't know. A shark? But you eat shark. What can I say? It's a shark eat shark world. I cast my gaze out to sea. The sun is low on the horizon, scattered like gold dust in the water.

It should be a crime to witness such a beauty. I'd know what I'd be. A mermaid. What? A mermaid. As if a second uttering should make it more believable. Like half fish, half man? I'd wife me a mermaid and live in the sea.

Live in the sea. You can't even swim. I don't like it when he talks girls. The kid is a road map of broken promises. Olivia and Oregon. Sarah and Santa Rosa, Penny and Pescadero. You got that one inked an old, English on his pinky finger, an identifying mark of all things.

Yeah, well, fantasy. Blair says no more about it. Nothing like one of my put-downs to silence the Murtok, and I know the swimming thing is a real sore spot with him. When I have time, I used to promise him, and then it was another town, and another town, and never any time. Now we're in a place with palm trees and endless seas, and the kid can't swim a stroke. He says none of this to me and takes another taco bite.

We watch the sun fall when the sky turn black. It's best here when it's dark, when the ocean's murky, and the half-lit amusement park paints colors and shapes across the water's surface, when we can hide in the safety of shadows. We'll leave first thing tomorrow. He stays quiet, probably still bummed about the swimming. I gestured to our game of memory. Your turn or mine. He scores 65 bucks on the first round back in, thanks to Jennifer Hughes and her leather clutch.

And his mood picks up. By the third round, laughing again. And he's up by a hundred bucks. And it makes no sense when he suddenly freezes. back stiff, head cocked. What? I'm on instant alert. Do you hear that?

Hear what? I reach for the blade in my pocket. That, singing. I hear only lapping waves. Listen. I am listening. There's nothing but the rhythm of the ocean. The click-clack screaming of a roller coaster

that should have been decommissioned ten years ago. You don't hear that? Hear what? My patience is weaning. The singing, that singing. He stands up, digs at his ears, steps towards the blackened sea. There's someone out there. I grab at his arm.

What are you doing? He shakes me off, heads for the water, and keeps going. Starts moving through waves like. a fish to allure, oblivious to the oncoming tide that crashes against him, further out to sea as if called by some soundless lullaby. Shin deep, thigh deep, waist deep. You can't swim! He surges forward, ignores me. He's chest deep now. I shout his name, but he doesn't stop, just keeps traversing that watery path to nowhere.

Fuck! I charge after him. Fuck! And retreat! The waves are crashing over his head, knocking him off balance as he chokes on salt and sledge, and I'm watching it all play out, hazy and scratchy like a bad whole movie.

And that's when she emerges, rises up from that old, rippled brine, a maiden of piscine proportions. She shimmers in the moonlight, all scales and tail and siren song, swaying with the push-pull of the current. Her hair is red flame, licking at salt spray. She scoops Blair up and rests him safely atop a crest of foam. Nick! Blair waves from his prime position in the sea.

I'm swimming! I wave back, blinking away disbelief. The mermaid hovers in the water, her eyes glistening green. There's something familiar about those papers. Why don't you join us, Nick? Her voice is like Mother of Pearl, and I feel an intense pull toward the ocean. I step back. Why don't you bring him back to shore?

Blair throws his hands up. Nick, come in the water. Yes. Come into the water. There are such wonderful things in here. Entire worlds. Places you can call home. Her green eyes glow and it unsettles me. Sounds swell, lady.

Here's an idea. Bring my brother back to shore and then we can talk about worlds. She smiles. the perfect lips parting. Why don't you come and get him? With a shimmer and a splash, she drags Blair further out to sea. She dredges him through mouthfuls of seaweed and foam, and he comes up gasping. The delight has left his face.

Please! He can't swim! I know, isn't it hilarious? She laughs. And her eyes are jade fire. Why don't you swim out and help him, Nick? Isn't that what big brothers do? I step into the ocean, and the shaking begins. I step back.

Let him go! She does as requested. She bobs and sinks, scalping at air and finding only seawater. She scoops him up, and the game starts over. Look at him drowning. So confused. He doesn't understand why you just won't help him. I charge at the bay again.

But each wave is a reminder that water is a stranger to me. And not the kind of stranger I can cheat. To seek the safety of sand. Betraying my brother. Betraying myself. Frustration comes in hot, salt tears. I can't. Nick?

Blair's cries are fast-fading bleats. Help! I can't swim! My words echo in sonar waves. I can't swim. I can't swim. I can't swim. Before my brother dies, I see two things.

The first is her gaping mouth, lined and layered and shark-toothed rows. The second is the disappointment in Blair's eyes. Right before those teeth mince his brain, after that finishing bite, she dives beneath the water, taking him with her to the worlds below. That look of disappointment lingers like the stagnant ocean air. I stand on the shore, waiting for them to come back.

I stand there till the amusement park lights go out. Understand why her eyes were so familiar. For the past three nights, I've been admiring their glow, their color and shape on the surface of the ocean, mistaking them for the reflection of a ferris wheel, and not the stalking eyes of an apex predator. The theme park is closed, but the green lights remain. There has to be 30, maybe 40 of them.

They glide across the water, circling me. And that's my field. The sea of my ankles. The tide has risen to envelop my feet. I turn to run, but the water fights me. A trip. In waves of one, the eyes close in with a splash and a shimmer and teeth like a shark. And for a moment.

If monsters are real, and they are, there's a reason you don't see many around. It's because of that age-old profession, Monster Hunter. And as we'll learn in this tale, shared with us by author Douglas Smith, A former monster hunter has been brought out of his retirement because of his very particular set of skills, skills he acquired over a very long career. Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Jake Benson, Dan Zepula, Sarah Thomas, Tanya Milosevic, and Graham Rowett. So when you find yourself dealing with dark things, you can be sure you'll end up out of the light. door swung open, Jan Myrochec hesitated at the threshold, clinging to the hallway's bright

comfort. Ahead, in the dark room, under a lonely cone of light, Detective Yaroche loomed over a shroud-covered corpse. Jan glared up at the single bulb in the ceiling. Forty-vots max. He turned to a clerk slouched at a desk in the hall. Got any more light? The man just shrug, just shrunk. scowling, Jan stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him, cutting the light even more. He cursed and pulled up a small flashlight from a coat pocket. His breathing slowing as the beam brightened his path. Trying not to look into the shadows, he walked to Yarrosh.

Morgs didn't bother Jan. He knew death and corpses. He just wanted more light. Yarrosh eyed the flashlight, but the big man didn't comment. Good to see you in action again, Hunter. It's been a while since last time. His beefy hand swallowed yons. At least old friend, you have the decency to leave it at that.

I'm retired, Andreas. Why do you call me? Ignoring the frown from Yaros, he studied the contours of the white shroud. Slim, short, female. Yadro shrugged, then turned to the corpse. White female early 30s, found about one this morning, just 12 hours ago, on a well-lit, still-busy Toronto Street. Stabbing his beam into dark corners, Jan pulled two extra flashlight batteries from his pocket. He shook them in his hand, calmed by the clicking noise.

So, what do you need me for? You tell me. Yadrush pulled back the sheet. Maybe it was the light or the darkness, or perhaps seeing Yaros in a professional role again had brought her back. Brought it all back. He looked down and she was there. Her face.

the way it used to be in the mornings. Peaceful. Beautiful. Then the face shifted into something else. Something else. Jan stared at the desiccated corpse of a stranger. Black sunken eye sockets and cheeks. Lips pulled back from rotting gums.

White hair, framing gray, translucent skin. The shadows closed in, and with them, his terror, he ran from the room, 10 years old, lying in bed beside his brother, Piotr, in their house in the woods. His mother's voice rose and fell in her sing-song way of telling stories. But these stories were not of frog princes or bears and honey pots, or little girls chasing rabbits down holes. These were different. To begin his change, the werewolf put on a belt of wolf skin,

then drank water from a wolf's paw print. Their mother whispered, Jan looked at Piotr. The younger boy was wide-eyed. Jan smiled. These are stories, he thought. Just stories. Five minutes after leaving the morgue, Jan sat huddled at a window table at the first bar he had found.

The afternoon son of a Toronto winter did little to remove the chill he felt. A familiar face peered inside. Moments later, Yaroshe eased his bulk into a chair beside him. You okay? Jan lied with a nod. For a second, I saw. Her name caught in his throat, and he swallowed. I saw Stasius face.

Garos frowned, his eyebrows forming a single bushy line. An old woman in Sicily had once told Jan, such eyebrows were a sign of the Lupo Manari. She had missed the true signs in her own son. He killed nine people before Jan and Garish had brought him down. I shouldn't have called you. I'm okay. Garosch looked away. You shouldn't have.

You of all people. Jan stared at his hands, gripping his beer as if it were a beast about to leap at his throat. He held life that way now. A wild thing to be feared. Never trusted to lie quietly at his feet. Who was she? Garos said a name. It meant nothing to Jan.

He looked up. Why did you call me, Andreas? Did that look like a fresh corpse to you? The rotting doesn't mean it was done by a shifter. Oh, come on, Jan. We saw the same rapid body decay in Shifter victims back home. Anybody's resolve were in pieces, mostly eaten. Her body would have been, too, if he had been able to bring himself to see it.

This one was intact. It's no verbeast. Looking around, Garosch lowered his voice. We've had other killings similar to this. We're barely keeping a lid on it. Jan swallowed. What's similar about them? Victims killed at night on bright, busy streets.

No robbery. Victims in good health. No drugs or sign of sexual assault. No violence, except some contusions around the throat. But death wasn't by strangulation. And... Garosh leaned forward. And the corpses wrought within ours.

Any patent to the killings? None I can see. Both genders all ages and professions All over downtown The only consistency is the body decay and autopsy results Plus the time of night and type of locations Anything else A witness saw a guy standing over this body

She says she chased him into a dead-end alley No door, window, fiery sky nowhere to hide, but also no suspect. The alley was empty. Jan felt cold. That still doesn't say shifters. Put it with the body decay, it says something weird. You believe her story?

She gave a description. We're checking it out. And her. You see, even down well with the brass. I keep my own counsel. They're not from the old country. Don't believe as we do. Haven't seen what we have.

He stared at Jan. I need your help. Jan avoided his eyes. I came to this country to a big city to escape the piece of the night. Andreas, they don't come to the cities. You don't have a shifter. Even if you did, I can't. And you know why.

They sat not speaking. Jan's shame burning him. Well, I had to try. Garush stood. He looked at Jan. I know what she was to you. I know you blame yourself. But she knew the risks.

He squeezed Jan's shoulder. It's not your fault, Janoslav. Give yourself a break for God's sake. He walked to the door, then stopped and looked back. What if you're wrong? Jan stared at him, puzzled. What do you mean? What if I do have Akala Kanzaros?

A beast of the night in your... big safe city. What then, Hunter? Not waiting for an answer, Garos turned and left. Jan stayed until the winter sun sank too low. Walking home,

he watched the shadows all the way. Fifteen years old, returning home from friends far too late through winter woods oddly silent. The house dark, even the light in the front room not burning. The door open, tilted at a strange angle. His heart leapt.

He ran. He burst past the ruin entrance to stumble in the dark and fall amongst bloody bodies. His parents. Upstairs, Piotr's bed empty, room in disarray. Outside again, father's rifle in hand, following prints in the snow. The prince of the bed. beast. He found it near the quarry. Half human, yellow eyes looked up from where it fed on his brother. He raised the rifle. His childhood died. Was born. After leaving the restaurant, Jan walked home to his

apartment over his bookstore on Queen West. His place was small, but he had left most of his possessions behind in the old country. Too many memories tied to them. Besides, He liked this area. Lots of shops and bars that stayed open late. Plenty of neon. Plenty of light. Once home, he checked that every light in every room was on. He read for a while after dinner, then went to bed early as usual.

Two flashlights lay on a table beside the bed. He made sure they both worked. Then he lay down, leaving a lamp on. Maybe tonight he could sleep. Maybe he was tired enough. Closing his eyes, he prayed for escape from dreams. Sautia! He awoke screaming her name, sitting bolt upright on sweat-soaked sheets.

Sobbing, he fell on his side. There, bathed in light that never touched the night world inside him, he prayed again for deliverance from his darkness. 25 years old, in a Paris bistro, a stack of papers from around the world beside him. Serial killings got good play. And sometimes the signs were there that spoke to him of shifters. He sat forward. Like this one, Athens paper one one week old.

He paid his bill and left, heading for the nearest travel agent. He had hunted where bears in. Norway and wear tigers in India. He carried a ragged scar on his thigh from a leopard shifter in Kenya. Towns paid a man well to be rid of a beast, a man who knew the signs and was brave, or foolish enough to follow them. Jan Murocheck had become such a man. The morning sun found Jan curled, shivering in an armchair in his living room, a flashlight clutched to his chest. Jan thought about the old times and about what he'd become. He realized that he didn't like himself anymore.

He realized also, to his surprise, that he had known this for a long time. Finding his phone, he punched Geroche's number, taking a vindictive pleasure in waking him. Garros swore, listened, then gave a phone number for the witness and directions to the dead-end alley. Jan swore back when Garush thanked him for the third time. Promising to keep in touch, Jan hung up. Times. Grabbing his coat, he checked the pockets for his flashlight and batteries. Then stepped out into a cold but bright February morning.

25, in an Athens bar, listening to a young cop named Garos complain. They won't let me talk to the press. Jan nodded. They always hush it up. Damn bureaucrats. Well, thanks for the lead. Jan shrugged. Thanks for backing me up.

I probably wouldn't be alive otherwise. Didn't figure on two of them. We worked well together. Jan looked at him. I'm thinking of taking on a partner. Garos grinned. The alley was as Garos had said. Nothing but a few bits of trash.

A neon sign over a bricked-up door at the end of the alley advertised that Clancy's eatery was now on the next street. You the guy who called me? Jan turned, startled. She stood at the entrance to the alley. Five-six, maybe, short brown hair, long black coat over a slim figure. Kate Lockridge. You called me, right?

Jan walked up to her. Jan Maitershek. Thanks for coming. You don't look like a cop. She had nice eyes, he decided. Friend of one. Garos. Big guy from last night?

He was okay. She looked Jan over. Okay. Let's talk. but not here gives me the creeps I know a place nearby lousy food but great coffee she started to move to the street

then stopped scanning the alley again something's wrong she shrugged place seemed brighter last night guess it's coming in here out of the sunlight and things are always different in the dark right she walked to the street Yeah, things are different in the dark.

30 years old, in a little tavern in a little village in Poland, waiting for Garos to get to the point. Ahem, uh, Mara and I, we're getting married. Jan had seen this coming. He nodded. And you want out? Gatos reddened, but nodded back. If it's the best for you both, Andreas. You know that.

Garush smiled and shook his head. Thank you. These have been good years, my friend. But Mara needs a different life. Late afternoon, the big mistake was almost empty. They sat at a sunny window table in the long, narrow tavern. A jungle of neon signs, each of visual screen, of a beer brand, colored the dark room in a random rainbow.

Kate called to the bartender. Two coffees, Harry. She turned to Jan. So, what do you want? Garos asked for help on this, this killing. He watched a corner of her mouth curl up. We worked together in Europe. How so?

I was an advisor on one of his cases. He hurried on before she could probe any further. So tell me what you saw. Her story was the same. I reached the alley and there's no one, nothing, including no way out. Well, you saw, right? Jan nodded and sighed. He asked a few more questions, but it added nothing to the story.

Listen, sorry I wasted your time. Let me buy the coffees. He reached for his wallet. So is this body rotting like the others? Jan stopped in mid-motion and looked at her. She smiled. I'm a reporter for the Toronto Star, Mr. Murichek. We need to talk.

Jan sat back again. A reporter covering the killings. For a moment, despite the sunshine, he felt an old darkness close in. 31. Working alone again. He met her in a village in Poland, a reporter up from Warsaw to cover the killings in the town.

Her name was Stasia. He trained her. He loved her. A year later, she was dead. Harry brought refills while Jan gathered his thoughts. A block. trying to see how he'd react.

She might guess that the separate killings were linked, but not about the body decay. How'd you know about the corpse? Corpses. Got a source in the coroner's office who likes to supplement his income. She leaned forward. That's why Yarrosh called you, isn't it? You know why the bodies are rotting like that, right? Jan began to growl a denial,

but stopped. What could she do? No paper would print it. Besides, he didn't believe it himself. He shrugged. You're right. I've seen those signs before. She flicked on a micro recorder.

What's it mean? It's a sign of a shifter killing. Her brow furrowed. In a very pretty way, he thought. Shifter killing. What's that? Shape shifters. Garros and I used to hunt them.

You think she saw one. Shape shifters? Her eagerness melted into a deadpan, then hardened into a glare. Like a werewolf? Shifters aren't limited to wolves. She clicked off the recorder and stuffed it back in her purse with a near ferocity. A wear beast. Right.

Thank you for the coffee. She stood up and grabbed her coat. To his surprise, he realized that he wanted her to stay. So how do you explain the rapid decay? How did the coroner? She bit her lower lip. I can't. Neither could they.

Jan stood and faced her. I can. He could smell her perfume. A hint of vanilla. She stared at him, then shook her head and sighed. Twenty minutes. No more. She sat down, arms folded.

An hour later, Jan sat back, having summarized his life story. He had left out the part about Stasia. Kate looked hard at him. Jan, I'm certain you believe every word you just said. I also know it can't possibly be true. Does it matter? The star wouldn't print it anyway.

Okay, so Yarrosch thinks we have a werebeast in Toronto because of this corpse decay, right? Plus the time of the murders. Most shifters assume animal form only at night to hide in the dark. Out of the light.

But actually, beyond that, I don't think it fits with the shifter. You mean you don't believe Yaros either? Why not? Shifters live where their animal form is common. Their nif seen, they aren't viewed as anything unusual. So their tigers live in areas with tigers, their wolves with real wolves.

So what animals are coming in downtown Toronto. Dogs and cats, for starters. Yeah, but not running free, which they need to be. How about birds? Maybe it's a wear pigeon. Very funny. Too small. So are raccoons from the ravines.

What size's got to do with it? Mass energy conservation. It has to be as big as us. Sounds like we've run out of animals. That's what I think. No such beast. So what about the corpse decay? Jan frowned.

I can't explain that. He looked at her. It almost sounds as if you believe me now. Kate shrugged. I've heard worse. You meet all sorts of weirdos on these streets. Thanks. I love being tolerated.

She grinned at him. You want to stay for dinner? He looked outside. The sun had set and streetlights were winking into life. He should leave, but the area was well lit. Lots of neon. And Kate was smiling at him. I'd like that.

He just wished she didn't remind him so much of Stasia, 32 years old. Sunday. A small church outside Budapest. Stasia, tall and fair beside him. a hunter for a year now. At the altar in an otherwise empty church stood Father Carmen. Their prey. Sparish suspects.

Stasia nodded. But simple tourist like a... The priest turned from the altar and noticed them. He smiled. Are you here for Mass? Jan hesitated. His Catholic upbringing made this hard. A priest in a church?

He could at least let the man hold a laugh. Mass. They should be safe. Carmen needed either time or a taste of blood to shift. Yon nodded. Stasia looked at him, puzzled. During the liturgy of the word, Jan felt in his jacket for his gun. Stasia's presence at a capture still made him uneasy. As they approached the altar for communion, Carmen stared hard at Jan. He turned his back to pour the wine. The communion began. After the ceremony, Carmen took the cup from them and turned back to the altar. Only then did Jan notice another cup on the altar, the one from which the priest had drunk.

Yon's eyes froze over a drop of liquid hanging red and thick on its lip. Thick as blood. Yan struggled to his feet, but the room swam. He fell, panic rising in him. The wine. A face loomed before him, cruel, already bestial, the reek of blood on its foul breath. Jan fumbled for his gun, but the beast struck him hard on the temple. Darkness took him.

As Harry brought Kate and Jan their dinners, Jan noticed an old man sitting in the back. out of the light. He wouldn't have seen him except that the man gestured to Jan with a jerky motion of a stiffened hand. Jan turned to Harry. Who's that? Harry looked over. Solly, a street person.

Comes in sometimes. I'll give him a coffee, sandwich maybe. Don't know how he stays alive. He's usually in the shelter by now. Doesn't like the streets. after dark. Last time he stayed late, I had to walk him there after we closed. Only way I could get him out. Jan stood up. I'm going to see what he wants. Sali was a small round man, round ball, paint, ringed by gray, scraggly hair, circle of a face under stubble and dirt, rounded shoulders under a filthy coat,

once in actual color, now unknowable. Round balls of hands, fingers twisted in, peeking surprisingly clean from tattered sleeves, guarding an empty coffee cup. Jan smiled, then struggled to maintain it as he caught the smell. Solly waved at a chair across from him. Jan sat down. Harry says your name is Solly. One eye almost shut, the other pinned Jan, then darted over the room. Harry's is a good place.

It stays the same, you know. It's important, you know. Some places change. Don't like that. Can't tell if they're just different or... He fixed Jan with that eye again. Heard you talking. Yon glanced back to where Kate chatted to Harry.

Not a word reached Yon. Sali glared as if he read Yon's mind. He turned you. He pounded the table with a crippled hand. Sully's seen things. Seen things. He looked around again, then lowered his head. Yon waited, but Sali said no more.

Standing, Jan started to walk away when a weezy whisper stopped him. Out of the light. Gotta know the signs. Jan turned back to the old man. What did you say? Sallie's head was still down. Remember? Unched over his empty cup, he sat, muttering to himself.

Kate looked up when Jan returned. What do you want? You got me. Buy him a coffee I might have, really, honey? Harry nodded and left. They ate and. talked. So if you hunt shifters and they don't come to the city, why do you live here? Jan looked out to where the gathering dark fed on a dying day.

I live here because they don't. I don't hunt them anymore. I got, I, I got someone killed, Kate. Someone who trusted me. Kate bit her lip. I'm sorry. sat silent for a moment. Then she gave a small smile. Anybody could understand why you'd want to get away from those things. Jan looked back to her. I wonder if I have. What do you mean?

Every civilization has had shapeshift legends. I've always wondered why no such myth exists for our modern cities. Why would such creatures live in a city? Why not stay in the wild? Less chance of being seen. Also less food. The predators who prefer human flesh. He shuddered, remembering. There's more of that in a city.

Sure. But you eliminated all the animal options. He stared out at the night. This is a different jungle. Maybe we've created a new niche supporting a different predator. convergent evolution and so therefore may not be animal at all if it's not an animal

what would it be don't know but it's more likely to be seen in a crowded city so its other shape would need to be downright mundane but what Jan looked out to where shadows fought pale neon he wanted to say that it would be a thing

as at home with concrete as a wolf was with earth and forest. A thing that breathed ozone like a summer breeze and held metal in its heart and electricity in its veins. A thing that not only lived in this realm of the lonely, but fed on it. But he just said, I don't know. Kate shook her head, then checked the time.

Oops, I've got to go. There was another witness last night, a hooker. She won't talk to the cops, but she's meeting me at midnight. She looked at Jan and bit her lip. Why don't I come with you? She broke into a huge smile. Great. She put on her coat while Jan wondered what he had just done.

Sally shuffled over. I also told Harry I'd walk Sally to the shelter. Sali peered outside. We take tubble. Talbot was little more than an alley with no lights. Jan shivered. Let's keep the valid streets. We'll use Richmond.

As Sali started to argue, Harry called Jan to the phone. It was Gatos. Yeah, I think she's on the level, but she's a reporter. She knows about the corpse decay and the other victims. Matches it prior. Jan felt a sudden coldness his gut. Victim?

That doesn't make sense. How could he be a dead guy? It was at the scene of the most... Garush hung up. Jan stared at the neon signs over the bar, trying to lose himself in their colored swirls. A hand touched his shoulder.

He jumped and turned to find Kate, Solly in tow. Jan's face must have betrayed something. She looked puzzled. What's wrong? Nothing. Let's go. Waving a goodbye to Harry, they stepped out onto Richmond and turned east.

The snow had stopped, and the sidewalks were slushy. They hate Talbot. Richmond, Solly, or do you go alone? Solly glared but fell silent, hanging by the curb and scanning the street as they walked. Jan kept thinking of Gairush's call. They reached Jarvis. A young blonde woman stepped from a doorway, a long white coat over a short red leather skirt, black stockings and boots. There's Carla.

Kate started towards the girl. A shout made them turn. Sali was backing away, wide-eyed and pointing a shaking hand at something above their heads. No, Sully knows the signs. You won't get Sali! were on his face, he ran onto the street. Yon spun back. Above the doorway where Carla stood, open-mouthed, a neon sign glared Franny's Tavern.

The first word was red, the second blue. The blue one was moving. In an eye blink, the letters slid down the wall to form a glowing pool on the sidewalk. In another blink, a humanoid shape rose, red. radiant white from the pool. Female torso. Face. Hair.

The shape of clothing. Then colors. Facial details. The face of the murder victim from last night. Carla, behind you! A spear of light stabbed from the creature's hand, striking Kate full in the chest and yawn in the shoulder. Electricity flamed into him.

Numbed, he collapsed to watch as the thing grabbed Carla by the throat and lifted her into the air. Slush seeping into his clothes, choking on ozone, Jan tried to move. A violent tremor shook Carla. Yon's arms twitched. The creature held Carla higher. Its glow, brightening, colors cycling. Yon could feel his legs again. Carla fell limp, and the thing slapped her down like a wet towel.

It turned to Kate. gasping, Jan heaved himself to his knees and lunged forward. Somehow he got his hands under Kate's armpits and dragged her just out of reach. Get up. He pulled her to her knees. The thing's colors were fading, its features melting back into a smooth humanoid shape. It shimmered and changed again and became Carla. The Carla thing smiled.

It stepped toward them. Inches from its outstretched arms, Jan hauled Kate up and they lurched into the road. Stumbling, but with returning strength, Jan scanned the street. From a dark alley across the road, a small round figure waved, a jerky motion from a stiff arm. Half-dragging Kate, Jan struggled toward Solly. Footsteps sounded behind them. The back of his neck tingled as if an electric charge was building. at his back.

He pushed Kate into the alley as something brushed his coat. Shoving a trash can behind him, he heard a thud and a sound no human throat ever made. The alley was dark, and Jan's eyes still burned from the electrical flash. Ahead, Sally's gray form disappeared to the right. Yon moved along the wall. Kate's hand in his. It takes the form of what it kills. That was why her description of the suspect had matched an earlier victim.

A hand grabbed Jan from the darkness and yanked them both sideways. He could see nothing, but he knew the smell. Sali pulled them along. Jan could feel walls to either side. They stopped. Jan reached ahead in the dark and touched another wall. Sali had led them into a dead end. No.

His nightmares seized him, trapped in the dark with a monster, and with a woman who trusted him. 32. In a church basement outside Budapest, waiting to die. Total darkness. Lying on damp earth, bound hand and foot. Stale smell of mildew stinging his throat. As he fought to awaken, a scream. Sleased the black, clearing the flames of pain in his head like a bucket of ice water.

Stasia. He raged against his bonds. Jan threw himself forward and managed to roll once. Her cries were clearer, but so was another sound. The sound of something feeding. Jan threw himself again, but something held him fast. He could do nothing but lie in the dark. Listening to the beast feed on the still-living stasia.

Praying in the dark for her screams to cease. Praying in the dark for her to die. An eternity passed. Then only the grunts of the beast remained. The stench of rotting meat grew strong. A huge shape moved in the darkness. Moved closer. Light suddenly flooded the room,

and the roar of the werewolf echoed in the roar of gunshots. Blood. Thick and black and hot struck Jan's face as Gajaj shouted his name. In the dark alley, Jan shoved Sully away and turned to run back. Sali grabbed him, holding on with surprising strength. Stay here! Out of the light! Solie knows! A glow began at the entrance to the dead end, but Jan still couldn't see. Kate's hand found his.

Yon? Hearing her fear, his panic fled. Replaced by a feeling of resolve, he'd almost forgotten. He squeezed her hand. She would not die. Solic, talk to me. Tell me what you know. I don't like the dark. We're safe here, right?

At this, Kate groaned. Corvah. Jan swore his mind racing. Light was the key. He must feed of electricity, hiding as part of signs. When you chased it last night, it joined with the sign in the alley. That's why the alley was brighter last night. Sun I must sustain it in the day, plus electricity.

Jan stopped. When night comes, it needed more. It needed its real full. food. Human life force. The light at the entrance grew and the glowing form of Carla stopped. Like the dark. He must still be hungry and figures we have worth the risk. How long can it go without light? Five minutes, but a lot more if it just ate. Wonderful. Twenty paces away now, the thing lit the entire area. Its glow was dimmer, but Jan doubted. that would save them. At least now he could see. He looked around and his heart leapt. The wall behind

them and the walls to either side each held a door. Jan grabbed the door handle behind them. Locked. So was the one to the right. He tried the last one. The handle turned a bit. He leaned on it and heard a click. He threw his weight against the door, and it squealed open with rusty protests. Kate rushed forward, sally in hand. Inside! No! Jan grabbed her, an idea of forming.

The thing was ten paces away. Pulling out his flashlight, he stepped into the room and flashed the beam around. The stockroom of a store, 20 feet square. Not much room to maneuver, could he do it? Could he finally face his darkness by walking into it? He turned back. The thing was five paces away. He aimed his light at it.

No! After I lead it in Sanch, open it. Kate turned pale but nodded and pulled Sali back. Yon stepped up, playing his beast. over the creature. It turned to him. Keeping his light on it, he backed into the room. Darkness closed in on him, and with it, his sphere.

What had he done? The thing stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind it. It stopped and looked back. Its mouth opened, and the sound like fingers tapping fine crystal filled the room. And somehow, in that sound, Jan heard its hunger and its pain. A wave of empathy flooded him. They were alike.

Hunters. Hiding their true shape. Fearing the night. The creature reached for him. He turned off his light. The thing trembled and its aura dimmed. But then Carla's features and the clothing faded. seeming to melt back into its body.

A featureless human form remained, glowing blue-white. It's having energy. It no longer needed to pretend to be human. He swallowed. How intelligent was it? A deadly game of tag began, the thing pursuing with the same plotting step, yon retreating, avoiding corners,

always leaving two paths of escape. With each passing minute, the thing's aura dimmed, fading to blue, then yellow, then red. Finally, it stopped, arms drooping. Yon sighed and relaxed. He noticed too late that the arms weren't just drooping, both arms flashed out, easily covering the space between the thing and yon.

Taken by surprise, Jan dove aside, but a hand brushed his thigh. Electricity numbed his leg. Looming over him, the thing reached down and stopped. Its colors cycled the spectrum, then faded to gray. A sound, like breaking glass, fled a suddenly grotesque mouth. Its feet melted into a pool. The arms flowed back into a shrinking torso. Soon, only the pool remained, faintly glowing.

Jan walked to it. The pool bulged once toward him. Then its last light died, and Jan stood in the dark. He waited before flicking on his light. Pool was a dull gray, and it shattered with a crystal cry, imploding into sparkling powder. He opened the door and Kate threw her arms around him. Back on the street, Sali checked every bit of neon in sight.

Then fixed Yon with that eye. Got an older signs. Jan phoned the police about Carla's body and left a message for Gatos to call. So what now, Hunter? You gotta get the others, too? Yon and Kate turned to Salli. Others?

Yon shrugged and looked at her. I could use a problem. He said nothing but took his hand as they walked Sali home. They took Talbot. 35. A midnight street. He waits in the dark watching the signs. She waits beside him.

He knows the ways of the beast. She knows the streets. A town pays well to be rid of its creatures of the night. Creatures that breathe ozone like a summer breeze. wear glass for skin and burn electricity in their veins, creatures that feed on this realm of the lonely. Once he shunned the dark where shadows hide their secrets. Now he stalks the night streets,

a shadow himself slipping from alley to alley. Now he keeps to the dark. and stays out of the light. 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 Cornwall. net. 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. Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

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