The NoSleep Podcast - S21 Ep20: NoSleep Podcast S21E20

Episode Date: September 15, 2024

It's Episode 20 of Season 21. Ride the Sleepless Express into tales about creepy cadavers."One-Way Ticket" written by Jeff Presto (Story starts around 00:04:10)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - Kristen DiMercurio, Todd - Graham Rowat, The Man in the Trench Coat - Jesse Cornett"Morison's Funeral Home and Museum of Death" written by Justin Sangermano (Story starts around 00:19:38)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Roger - Dan Zappulla, Clay - Graham Rowat, Jeff - Mike DelGaudio, Mitchell - Matthew Bradford"The Dead Girl" written by Connor O'Mara (Story starts around 00:47:45)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator - Sarah Thomas, The Girl - Nichole Goodnight, Corpse #1 - Jesse Cornett, Corpse #2 - Erin Lillis, Father - Mike DelGaudio"The Weight of the Dead" written by Stephen Hill (Story starts around 01:05:20)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - Atticus Jackson, Todd - Matthew Bradford, Irish - James Cleveland"Eggshell" written by Gemma Amor (Story starts around 01:23:50)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Aggie - Erika Sanderson, Mike Vasa - Andy Cresswell"Splitter" written by Kevin Winiarz (Story starts around 02:00:40)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - David Ault, Splitter - Erika Sanderson, Queen - Penny Scott-Andrews, Messenger - Jake Benson, Villager #1 - Erin Lillis, Villager #2 - James Cleveland, Villager #3 - Andy CresswellThis episode is sponsored by:ShipStation - Work less and ship more with ShipStation. The innovative tool that helps turn your shipping challenges into opportunities for growth. Use promo code NOSLEEP today at shipstation.com to sign up for your FREE 60-day trial.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/nosleepClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about Jeff PrestoClick here to learn more about Connor O'MaraClick here to learn more about Gemma AmorExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone"Eggshell" illustration courtesy of Jen TracyAudio 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. Such funny creatures, aren't we? As much as we like to think of ourselves as elevated above our fellow animals, we know that deep down we have millennia of evolution which has imprinted in our DNA certain instincts, which have helped us survive.

For example, no matter how young we are, humans know to hold their breath underwater without it being taught. We have our fight, flight, freeze response to danger in many forms. forms. And I think it's safe to say that we all have a rather intense aversion to seeing, touching, or even being around, a human corpse. We all know, instinctively, that not only can human remains pose a health risk, but there's also an emotional separation when you see someone's remains. That body, now nothing more than a mass of biological matter, was once a living, breathing person. I think we have difficulty reconciling the loss of that person's,

well, call it what you will, their consciousness, their soul, their essence. That's all gone, and what's left is a rather unappealing cadaver. And when Vern, in the movie, Stand By Me, asks his friends, do you guys want to go see a dead body? The boys are equal parts fascinated by the chance to do something extreme and wary of experience. something they know to be unsavory and wrong. To say that corpses are one of the foundations of horror stories is an understatement. Whether it's Dr. Frankenstein trying to reanimate body parts, morgue workers finding their charges aren't quite dead,

or people doing very nasty things with dead bodies, there is much horror to be found in being in the presence of the dead. In this episode, we meet people who have direct contact with the dearly departed. But we're not talking about sweet little ghosties here. No, we're talking about people who have to get up close and personal with those sacks of meat, who were once living people. And so, allow me to quote another great movie as the sleepless express gets ready for another trip. The request is simple.

Bring out your dead. And now the train is ready to depart. Your journey into the darkness begins now. In our first tale, we join the horrifying act of commuting to work on the subway. If you've ever been in a crowded subway car, you know the horrors you can encounter. But in this tale, shared with us by author Jeff Presto, We meet Todd. Todd is faced with a fellow commuter who is not only deceased,

but who is carrying a sign to let everyone know that he's dead. Performing this tale are Kristen D. Macurio, Graham Rowett, and Jesse Cornett. So whether it's a metro card, a presto pass, or some other form of subway fare, make sure you don't buy a one-way ticket. Dead. This single word. word was scrawled sloppily in thick black letters across a piece of cardboard being held by the

passenger opposite Todd. The passenger rested awkwardly in his chair as his chin hung down past his collarbones and his dull expressionless face was angled sharply towards the floor. Whether the passenger holding the sign was asleep, unconscious, or truly dead was unclear. But he sat in place with mannequin like stillness. Todd noted his appearance from the moment that he had boarded the subway car, but the man's demeanor never changed. The man's eyes remained closed, but his hands never relinquished their grasp from over the cardboard sign resting across his lap. The other passengers on the subway did their best to ignore the oddity, but Todd found himself unable to look away. The man's age was difficult to place. The aging process had not been kind to him, made evident by his sunken cheekbones

and the subtle wrinkles across his forehead. But the man couldn't have been any older than 50. His youth had abandoned him long ago, and, dead or not, the clothes that he wore gave off the impression that he had just recently been pulled up from out of some deep hole in the ground. His plain blue windbreaker glimmered in the cabin lights from underneath a thin layer of crust, and patches of dried mud clung to the bottom of his frayed jeans. The man's tattered, suede boots were faded and modelled with brown stains. His appearance was in stark contrast to the business suits and collared shirts worn by the other men and women in the subway car. Todd didn't see a styrofoam cup or anything else that the man could use to panhandle with, but it soon became obvious to him that the man was

likely homeless. It was the only scenario that made sense. Plenty of people like this loitered around the subway cars during the day, but none of them ever struck Todd as anything more than beggars. They also never carried around declarations of their own death. After several long and uncomfortable seconds, the novelty of the situation quickly wore off. The man with the sign remained motionless, rather than springing to life as Todd expected. There was no payoff to this perceived gimmick, and the notion of this was growing increasingly disturbing. If none of this was for show or reward, then the reasons behind the display were unknown. Its lack of purpose was confounding.

Todd finally managed to look away from the man and redirect his gaze towards the floor. It was far too early to be worrying over something. something as ridiculous as this. In an hour, Todd would be reporting his quarterly analysis findings to the head of his department, and he began to mentally rehearse some of the major talking points. Having to present in front of others wasn't something that Todd was bothered by, but the thought of it provided him a distraction from the man across the aisle. The empty seats surrounding the man, an unusual occurrence in and of itself on a subway, made it clear that the other riders were equally unamused by his antics.

Something wasn't adding up. Todd's urge to change seats grew stronger as the subway began to slow down and approach the next terminal. The overhead lights flickered as the subway doors opened and a wave of commuters entered the cabin. When the lights finally stabilized, Todd glanced around and surveyed the car for any empty seats nearby. As he did, he became immediately aware of the fact

that a second passenger was now seated across from him. This man, unlike the one holding the sign, stared directly back at him. Todd's eyes shifted quickly between the two passengers. He wasn't sure which elicited greater cause for concern. The man holding on to the sign remained slumped back in his chair in the same comatose state that Todd found him in. But the man seated beside him was very much alive.

He wore a long black trance. trench coat, and a shaggy mane of jet-black hair flowed down past his shoulders. His eyes teemed with manic energy as they focused unwaveringly onto Todd. The whites of this man's eyes were so piercing and distinct that they almost hurt to look at. Todd glanced away as the man in the trench coat began to smirk. The weight of the man's gaze still lingered on him. It ate away at Todd's patience like a circling flound. lie in need of swatting, completely impossible to ignore.

When the awkward silence became too much for Todd to bear, he took it upon himself to clear the air between them. Sometimes I look like that too in the morning. Todd nodded to the passenger holding the sign. Before I've had my morning coffee. The smirk remained on the trench coat man's face, although he never laughed. I don't think that's what you actually wanted to say to me.

Excuse me? You heard me. No, I guess not. You want to know about him. The man in the trench coat's smile widened as he wrapped an arm around the homeless man's shoulders. You want to know if he's really dead? I mean, I highly doubt that he... The man in the trench coat didn't hesitate or wait for Todd's explanation.

He placed one hand on top of the homeless man's head, leaned him forward, and threw the man's head back into the glass window behind him. A loud thud echoed through the cabin as Todd recoiled back into his seat in horror. The back of the homeless man's head hit the glass with so much force that it ricocheted and bounced back. The other passengers on the subway flinched at the sound, but none of them dared to look over at what was taking place. They refused.

The man in the trench coat ran his fingers along the back of the homeless man's head. Todd saw that several of the man's fingers were now stained red. You know, it's weird that he hasn't woken up yet. The man in the trench coat began to lick the blood from his fingers. You'd think that if this guy was still alive, he'd react to something like that. Todd said nothing. He was too stunned to move. If I were you, I would start asking myself some different questions.

I would waste less time asking myself whether the dead man in front of me were truly dead, and I'd start worrying about the people who left him here to hold that sign. A sudden urgency swept through Todd as the man's statement began to sink in. He could feel the color rapidly draining from his face as he sprang to his feet. Todd stood and watched as the man in the tree. trench coat remained seated, it began to chuckle. His laughter grew progressively louder and more malicious, while the dead man beside him continued to bleed. Todd's mind began to race from one thought to the next as he wondered who this man was and what it was that he wanted. It was unclear if the

man in the coat was with anyone else on the subway, but Todd felt the stare of invisible eyes come from all directions. He glanced around the cabin, but the passengers continued to ignore him as if nothing were happening. By the time Todd looked back across the aisle at the man with the coat, he was too late to react. The man raised his arm and flicked his wrist at Todd

as his laughter grew more intense. Flex of the homeless manned blood dotted Todd's face and shirt collar. The man cackled wildly as he pointed at the blood marks and the look of fright on Todd's face. His finger poked through the air with exaggerated excitement

as Todd turned and ran. The man did not give chase. But Todd didn't dare look back as he sprinted away to the subway door on the opposite end of the train. It was all too much to handle. The moment that the train came to a stop, Todd had planned to jump out onto the platform and scramble up the stairway leading to the streets above. Anywhere with open space would be better than being confined underground inside of a metal box with some lunatic. Todd cowered behind a standing rail and several other passengers.

as he kept his eyes locked on the cabin doors. Each passing second seemed longer than the last as Todd listened to the man scream out from his seat, his voice booming with twisted pleasure. We are in every town. We know who you are, and we know where you live. When the time is right,

and the day finally comes, we will come for you, too. Make no mistake. We will come for you. The train gradually came to a stop, and the heavy metal doors slid open. Todd burst through the entryway and shouldered his way past dozens of boarding commuters. They cursed angrily at him as he slammed into them and even knocked a few of them to the ground, but none of that mattered to Todd.

He had to escape and put some distance between himself and the man in the trench coat. He could still hear the man shouting from inside the subway car. as he traversed the platform and clamored up the concrete steps. By the time he was halfway up the staircase, Todd was bounding up the steps two at a time. He could see the morning sun just ahead of him, and safety was only a stone's throw away. Todd shot out onto the street and kept on sprinting to make the crosswalk ahead. To many of the people that he passed, Todd looked like a complete maniac. His pale blue button-down shirt was flecked with blood.

his face had turned from sheet paper white to red, and his tie flapped loosely over his shoulder in the wind. Todd's lungs began to burn as he juked his way past at least a dozen people in the intersection before he reached the other side of the street. Once there, he turned around and stared back at the entranceway leading back down to the subway tunnels. Much to his relief, the man in the trench coat was nowhere to be found. No one was charging their way up the steps after him. But Todd's nerves still rang with fright.

The man's burning eyes still haunted him. He was still out there. The idea of running into the man again was not something that Todd was ready to face. If they met again, it was more than likely that the man would do more than simply stare at him. The mere thought of looking across the subway aisle

and seeing the man's pale white face emerge from the shadows made Todd's blood run coal. Something had to be done. otherwise it was all too easy for Todd to envision himself as another victim, propped up on a seating bench and holding a cardboard sign of his own. Unable to speak. Unable to leave. Just another passenger with no destination. Todd stuffed his hands inside of his coat pockets as he debated reporting the incident to the police. A soft crinkle rattled through the air as his right hand grazed against something small and thin.

His eyebrows raised in confusion as he looked down and removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket. There was no reason for him to carry notes or written reminders around with him. Cell phones had made that obsolete. He anxiously flipped the paper open and read the message inside, written in front of him, in a handwriting that differed from his own, was a single word that made him gasp as he read it aloud. Soon. If you've ever worked in sales, you'll know how difficult it is to cold-call businesses

in hopes of setting up a meeting where you can pitch your services. And if you find yourself calling a mortuary, well, that's an even colder call. But in this tale, shared with us by author Justin Sanjermano, we learn that Roger has scored a meeting with a business looking to expand its rather unique services. Performing this tale are Dan Zapula, Graham Rowett, Mike Delgado, and Matthew Bradford. So don't make jokes about your undertaking when you visit Morrison's funeral home and Museum of Death. The phone rang twice, then went to voicemail. The prospect had hung up on me. Although there wasn't much point in leaving a message, I still did. Hi, this is Roger from Oakwood Co-employment.

I love phone tag, but my feet are sore. Call me back. That was my tagline on every outbound voicemail. It got me a callback twice. It was my second month working at Oakwood. I didn't feel quite like I had the hang of it yet. My cubicle was in the furthest corner of the room, just out of the comfortable reach of conversation with the other reps.

That didn't matter this morning, though. We were in a company call block contest, and the winner got to go home early on Friday. My next half-dozen calls led to voicemails as well, but one prospect was a change of pace. The business was called Morrison's funeral home and Museum of Death. The name caught me off guard. I even thought it was a joke from a previous rep at first. Surely it was just a regular funeral home, and the Museum of Death part was a gag, right? The phone only rang once, but its answer was followed by at least five seconds of silence.

I almost hung up before a soothing male voice spoke. Moments were a welcome break from the grief and pain you must be experiencing. It took me a second to stammer. Hi, this is Roger from Oakwood Co-employment. I'll be quick since I'm sure you're busy. Not too busy, actually. People just aren't dying like they did last month. I guess.

He laughed, and I guess I didn't react quick enough. Sorry, that was a bad joke. Things is lighthearted as we can. I totally understand, and I was not offended. If you're not too busy, then, I was wondering if I could just get seven to 11 minutes of your time to tell you more about how we could be of service to you. My company is called Oakwood Co-employment, and I'd like to show you some ways we can save you time and money.

Do you have any availability this afternoon? Truthfully, most meetings took over an hour, and there was almost no way we could save anyone money. My boss, Jeff, loved to remind us that we were an investment to companies and not a discount shop, but he wanted us to stick to the script, and the script said we could save them time and money. Another at five. Honestly, right now might be the best time for me. I pumped my fist under the table. I had gotten a sale during the call block contest. Just in time, too. It was already one minute after ten, which was when the contest ended.

I confirmed the address of the funeral home and thanked him for his time. Jeff came into the room and saw the call numbers on the whiteboard, or lack thereof. No one booked a meeting this morning. I did, actually. I stood up to put on my suit jacket. And I have to go right now. Jeff clapped twice with too much enthusiasm. All right, Roger.

Hey, you might actually get a sale in your first 90 days. Who's it with? I told him the name, and there were Snickers among the reps. Jeff didn't acknowledge its absurdity. He must have heard of it before. Awesome. So proud of you, bud. What about you, Mitchell?

Jupak any appointments this morning? Mitchell was another sales rep who had started the same week I did. He sat in the cubicle to my left, And over the past couple of months, we had formed a camaraderie over how much we were growing to hate this place. They called 40 people this morning. Only four of them picked up and two of them were retiring soon. You're probably not reaching out to the right people. We want to make sure you're talking to business owners, not just anyone in the phone book.

You need to close a deal soon if you want to make it to 90 days. At the end of the first three months, or 90 days, new hires would return to headquarters in Cleveland, where we would get the next round of training before earning the company car and being set up with everything else we needed for success. This is what they told us when we started, at least. As soon as the initial training was over, management started talking about all our futures in the company

with massive uncertainty. They would never blatantly say they would fire us, but they'd say shit like, those of you who make it to 90 days, and if you reach 90 days. In hindsight, it made sense. sense why they hired new people every month, but only had three employees of over two years. Mitchell shot me a sideways glance and rolled his eyes. He was actively looking for other jobs.

I was willing to stick it out a little bit longer because the money could be good. Besides, I kind of wanted to see if I would make it to 90 days. But all of that would depend on if I could make a sale, and I was supposed to be in the car by then. I got to go. Sorry. Never apologized. for business. Thanks for bringing home results. This team is more than just a family. We are one awesome, powerful unit. We'll catch up after your meeting. Good luck. I fixed my tie in the mirror of my car. It was only a 13-minute drive, and I spent each minute rehearsing what I was going to say aloud, but couldn't find anything to say that did not sound ridiculous. I still didn't have my shit together when I pulled up to the funeral home 17 minutes early. It appeared to have been,

been a regular house at some point, but there had recently been some additions to have a second floor. If it was only a funeral home, it would be massive for its size. It was then that I wished I'd had time to research this place more. I knocked, and a balding, silver-haired man opened the door with a huge grin. Hello. You must be Roger. I am. I shook his cold, clammy hand. Pleasure to meet you. You as well. I'm Clay Morrison, the guy you spoke to on the phone. You can call me Clay or Mr. Morrison.

People usually call me one of the two. I opted for the first name to get on a more personal level. Clay led me into a room that smelled like cleaning supplies mixed with an oaky candle. The place looked like a standard funeral home. There was a living room filled with three couches and a small flat screen TV mounted on the flower-painted wall. There were no doors between the rooms, so only the flower-covered walls on either side of a large opening obstructed our view of the next room over. This room was much longer, and had lines of foldable chairs that were set up like a sanctuary.

The chairs were facing a coffin, and it was wide open, revealing a rigid body inside. It was an old bald man with a clean-shaven face. Clay noticed me staring at the body. I hope his family isn't mad at me. He had a beard when he came in, but it was so straggly and grotesque that I knew it would take away from the somber atmosphere in which one needs to properly grieve. I cleared my throat and ignored what he had just said. So, uh, Clay, what was it I said on the phone that made you take this meeting? Well, your business sounded intriguing.

But honestly, I was mainly hoping to get your opinion on something. What's that? Well, this used to strictly be a funeral home, but lately I've made some changes. I'm opening an expansion upstairs, and I want to get your professional opinion. Being a man of the sale, I think you may have the eye and the mind to help drive more customers to my business. Um, okay, what are you putting upstairs? It's called the Museum of Death. That confirmed it. The name and the software was not a prank.

The Museum of Death? Yes. You probably won't be surprised by this, but being a funeral director is lonely work. I hardly have two-sided conversations anymore. I spend so much time around the deceased to prepare their funerals, and the only people I meet are the ones grieving them. I can't be myself around them. I can't really be anyone when each of my words must be perfectly sculpted

to uplift and encourage someone to get over their loss. Please don't think I'm speaking negatively about those in the craving process. It's always a blessing to help someone move on in life. But I must admit that a small part of me gets tired of doing it day in and day out. Maybe that's just in my nature as a man. My wife died a couple of years ago, so I don't have her to come home to anymore after I leave this place. I practically live here now.

It gets lonely, I must admit. so I wanted to think of a way that more people would visit me here. I realized that people only come here on the unfortunate days when one of their relatives passes, and then they have no reason to ever come back until someone else croaks. That's when I got the idea to have some kind of lasting attraction here in addition to the funerals. I'd like to show you some of the exhibits, if you don't mind. You can give me your sales pitch as we walk. I already wanted to leave, but I recognized that this would be the perfect story to tell the other reps,

and I could potentially even make a sale, so I accepted his offer. Great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great. Do you want a water or anything before we start the tour? Just a week prior, Jeff had lectured us on how accepting small offers of snacks or beverages from your prospects is beneficial to the sale. He called it a psychological trick that enforces to your prospect that you two have a relationship of mutual assistance, thus lending credibility to the service you're selling. So, I accepted a water bottle from Clay. One more thing, I'll need your phone, so you aren't tempted to take pictures before it opens.

I promise not to take photos. I'd still prefer it if you just gave me your phone for the duration of the tour. I reluctantly accepted, telling myself that I was doing him a favor, and this would only help the sale. I cleared my throat as we took a creaky staircase to the newly added second floor. So, Clay, how many employees do you have? Too scripted, way too scripted. How awkward did that sound? Two, I've got my business partner, Greg, who's retiring next year, and also the caretaker, Marissa.

Oh, and there's also the groundskeeper of Fripp. fill, but he runs his own lawn care company, and I just pay him to come out here once a week. When the museum starts up, though, I'll need some ticket punchers and maybe a few security guards. Soft piano music welcomed us to the top floor. We were in another funeral home like the one below, but this time, there were heads peeking above every chair and someone standing at the pulpit in front of the open coffin behind them. I was about to ask another question. but instantly shut my mouth when I realized we had walked in on a funeral. Clay smiled.

Relax, Roger. Everyone here is dead. Take a look around. Sure enough, every person in the seats was ghostly white. Their eyes were marble and unmoving, and their faces were positioned to look sad. Some of them looked realistic, but others were comical in a horrific way. Are these real people? Yes, they've been taxidermied. I turned to the corpse at the pulpit behind me. His mouth was wide open.

I guessed it was to give the appearance of him giving a eulogy, but it looked more like the gaping mouth of a sex doll. On the note of employees, I should have at least two living people taking tickets in this room, but I may need more for busy days. Would you like to see the rest of the tour? It was no longer worth doing this for a funny story. If I didn't feel like my new job was already on the line, I would have checked out right there.

Instead, I chose to follow the sale. The next room was an off-putting site. There was a hospital bed, and in the bed was a taxidermied mother in the process of giving birth. Assisting in the removal of the also taxidermied baby was the corpse of a nurse. So none of these people are wax figures or anything? No, they are all 100% real. Why is this one dressed as a nurse? Because she was a nurse.

I have an entire exhibit towards the end on people who died on the clock. I considered displaying her there, but she got hit by a drunk driver on her way home from her shift, so she technically didn't qualify. I had to create this little nativity scene to fit her in. She's beautiful. No way I was going to let her be one of the bodies that didn't make the cut. I took a sip of my water in an attempt not to puke. Speaking of nurses, I assume you offer health insurance.

Tell me about it. I had drilled the healthcare pitch into my head so hard that I practically recited it in my sleep. But all I could think about in that moment was the progression of age in the corpses ahead of us. They started as fresh newborns and appeared to go all the way through grade school. We have what we call the master health plan. That basically means that we add all your employees to one plan,

and then we try to get reductions based on. I stopped as we walked past a familiar face. It was a boy who looked to be about ten. "'Is this Tim a Woffett? "'Isn't this that kid who got hit by a bus?' "'Yes, he is. "'He died like three years ago. "'His brother was a friend of mine.

"'I was at his funeral. "'I watched them bury him.' "'It was a closed casket funeral, wasn't it?' "'I think.' "'Well, his body wasn't in there. "'I was having it made ready for this museum. "'I've had this in the works for a long time. "'Now tell me more about this.

health care plan. His brother was a very good friend of mine, and he had never once mentioned in the past three years anything about Tim being on display at a museum of death. I found that incredibly strange, but I couldn't dwell on it. I restarted what I could remember from the health care plan presentation as we made our way down the hall.

The bodies went from being teens to young adults and so on, until we were coming up on people my grandparents' age. All the while, I was rambling half-heartedly about FSAs and deductibles, but at some point I must have lost Clay because he cut me off. Oh, by the way, this hallway will eventually have 100 bodies in it and be called the 100 Bodies Exhibit, with someone from every age until 100. Right now there are a lot of holes,

so we're just calling it the timeline till death. Lovely. Any questions about the healthcare plan? Maybe rushing through the presentation would get me out of there faster. Clay gave me an uncanny smile. I think it sounds like a good plan, Roger. This next exhibit is called the Room of Freak Accidents. The first body I saw was unrecognizable.

It was covered in third-degree burns, and its face had been most, closely melted off. The plaque next to it had the person's name and a brief description of the accident. He had died in a house fire. Apparently this one was really hard to taxidermy. Oh, I bet. The next body in line was a middle-aged man with a horrified look on his face and only half of his right arm. There was a wood chipper next to him and a backdrop of a forest behind him. You made little scenes for some of them? Yes. They'll have more decorations and modifications before the grand opening, but for now this is what we're working with. I threw up a little bit in my mouth when I saw what was left of the next body. You know, I said, trying not to choke on the remaining vomit in

the back of my throat. I bet these guys' families wish they had workers' comp. Is that a big deal for your employees, too? It hasn't been, but maybe it will be when the museum opens. Do you think someone could sue for emotional distress if I ask them to clean the bodies and keep them fresh? I'm not sure, but if you partner with Oakland co-employment, we will represent you in court. I may need that. The last body we saw before we left the room of freak accidents was a man who had been flattened. All his bones were broken.

including his skull, and shards were sticking out of his arms and sides. As a sick joke, his backdrop was a stack of pancakes. So, any other questions about Oakwood? Not right now. Why don't we just enjoy the tour for a little while? I wasn't happy about it, but I had to indulge him if I wanted the sale. So how did you get people to agree to let you display them like this? He laughed.

These people did agree to be here before they died, didn't they? His laugh increased. You still want to represent us in court? Shit. Maybe partnering with Clay was a lawsuit waiting to happen. Still, I could let Jeff make that decision later and still come back from a successful sale today. We got your back in court. Doesn't matter what it is.

He wasn't laughing when he spoke again. I'll hold you to that. By the end of the exhibit, my stomach was aching and making gurgling noises. I chalked it up to the atmosphere and the number of horrific stuffed bodies I had seen already and told myself to keep moving. It would be over soon, and I could have my first sale. There are only two exhibits left. The next one is the room full of people who died on the clock, and the one after that is the biggest one yet, the true crime room. The first person that died on the clock was a construction worker.

He could have been in the last exhibit, too, from the looks of him, because he was on a pile of bricks and had a gash in his head. The next few were doctors, which Clay clarified had actually died while working, unlike their co-worker at the start of the museum. One of the doctors even had a heart attack during surgery. He lost his patient, and the patient was also a part of the museum. exhibit. Now the two of them were locked in their final position forever. My stomach ached tighter. I looked around for a bathroom but only saw dead people. The next person who died on the clock was a

salesman, but there was not a body in the exhibit. On top of a desk sat a sign that said, Coming soon. The cubicle looked eerily like the ones at the Oakwood office. There was a name tag on the the desk. It had my name on it. What the hell? Parts of the museum are still in the coming soon phase. That's my name. Yes, it is, Roger. My stomach hurt so bad. What the hell does this mean, Clay? Is this some kind of prank? A prank? No, Roger. Your death is going to mean something. I gaped back at him. The water. Had he poisoned it? I reached into my pocket for my phone, but it wasn't there. Shit, I gave it to him when I got there.

I have a meeting at the office in an hour. I lied. If I'm not there, my co-workers will come looking for me. Jeff isn't going to be looking for you, Roger. I never mentioned my boss by name. You didn't have to. I know Jeff personally. He's the one that called me.

You see, this whole time you thought you were trying to sell me in Oakwood Co-employment, but I'm already an active customer of yours. Why am I here, then? To help drive revenue and sales for your company. It's the same thing you thought you'd be doing, just in a different way. You see, when you die here shortly, I'm going to have you stuffed, and then returned to this very exhibit. See that Oakwood Co-employment emblem on your name tag there on the desk.

That's an advertisement, buddy. Every time someone comes in here, they're going to see that. Even if they don't need Oakwood's services at the time, they'll have something to remember them by if they ever do in the future. It was Jeff's idea, actually. He called me one afternoon and told me that if he could get a spot to advertise in the museum when it opens, he would lower the costs of his services for an entire year. So he put my company in the computer until one of his reps called.

And now here we are. You won't get away with this. People will realize what you've done, and it'll end up. end you. Roger, the poison you've ingested won't show up in an autopsy. I can't be convicted of anything. Even if the public thinks I murdered someone to add to my museum, do you really think that would hurt ticket sales? On the contrary, it seemed like it would actually help, but I wasn't about to admit that to him. I have a life to live. Please let me go. Clay looked at his phone. Actually, Roger, you've only got about 15 more minutes of life left in you.

At this point, there's no saving you. Why don't you come with me to the true crime exhibit? It's our grand finale. I had nothing left to lose, not even time. So I followed him. The first body in the true crime exhibit was a serial killer named Albert Todd. He had a machete in his hand like Jason, and it wasn't a prop one. It was sharp and covered in blood.

It was likely his murder weapon. That's when I had the idea. Just because my chances of walking out alive were slim didn't mean Clay's had to be any better. I glanced at the body behind Clay, a young girl who was likely a victim of Albert. Who is she? When Clay turned around,

I wrenched Albert's machete from his rigor-mortous hands and swung down on Clay's head. With a raspy shout, He sank to the ground and I collapsed with him. He looked around, blood running down his face and laughed. Well, at least our bodies. There's one positive thing I can say about my short career at Oakwood Co-employment. It's that it gave me the chance to watch the light leave Clay Morrison's eyes.

I'd stopped a madman. And while it was going to cost me my life, It at least meant that my final purpose was to be more than a lifeless prop used for someone else's profit. We all should know to have respect for the dead, right? Any contact with corpses should be done by licensed professionals in a solemn manner. We shouldn't touch corpses and we absolutely shouldn't... Well, in this tale, shared with us by author Connor O'Meara, We meet a woman whose father runs a mortuary business,

and to make extra cash, she goes to extremes with a rather macabre side hustle. Performing this tale are Sarah Thomas, Nicole Goodnight, Jesse Cornett, Aaron Lillis, and Mike Delgado. So I'm just going to come out and say it. Don't fuck around with the dead. Not unless you want to be known as the dead girl. The corpse out of its cold locker, then reached down and grab the wad of bedding she used to prop the bodies upright. The corpse's shoulders were cool to the touch, his skin paper thin. She worried it might tear.

She panted as she heaved, placing the padding behind his lower back and struggled with his weight. One blue eye peered down at the dead pale thighs. The other remained closed. The fluorescent lighting hummed overhead, while a florescent lighting hummed overhead, while a fly zipped under the stale light panels. Then, landing on the girl's shoulder, it rubbed its greedy black hands together as if excited for the monstrous display

of human depravity about to be performed. She swatted it away. It buzzed through the air and landed on the corpse's forehead, walking along the thick ridge of the man's bushy black eyebrow, then descended downwards until its black limbs crawled over the dried cornea. Gross. She slapped the man's face, and the fly disappeared into a back room. The girl stripped off the thin cream sheet bunched over the dead man's genitals.

The fabric caught on his foot before falling to the tile. She kicked it into a pile against the locker wall, then stripped off her own clothes. First her shirt and bra, then her slacks and underwear. She neatly folded the clothing in the air, then walked it back into the office, and set it on her father's desk. The dead man's lower eyelid drooped towards the floor as the icy eye peered straight ahead. The girl avoided his gaze

as she rolled over a metal instrument table and set it perpendicular to the body. She imagined his eyes examining her, judging her, desiring her. A tissue box sat next to a few tools used to dissect and embalm the bodies. She checked her phone for any new messages, Any new requests, then prop the phone against the tissue box, pressing record.

You ask your daddy for some money. That way, you wouldn't have to do a nasty thing like this. You don't know, my father. She brought one of the stiff arms around her waist and placed the other across her breasts. You're a pretty girl. Why don't you get a boyfriend? He could give you some money. She sighed and adjusted the corpse into a new position.

I don't know why I respond. Because you're lonely. That's why. A lonely, sick fuck with no friends except for dead men. Women too. Fuck, I did it again. You just can't help yourself. Sweetheart, now tell me, ain't I the best-looking dead men you've ever seen.

She felt a chill, looking into the corpse's pale, clouded eyes. That, along with the cold metal room, made goose flesh crawl along her own pale limbs. Maybe if you do more than just pose me like a goddamn doll, I'll come back to life. then I can be your boyfriend. That's enough. She snatched the bedding away and the body collapsed back against the metal tray. She pulled the sheet over his face, slid the locker closed, and stopped the recording. Her bare feet icy against the tile.

The girl shut off her phone and quickly put her clothes on as the lock on the front door echoed through the sterile room. The sound of metal ground against metal. as an old-worn key struggled to move the old-worn pins. And soon after, an old-worn man wheeling a mop bucket entered, humming Ave Maria. The girl slipped out the back door and thought about those blue eyes. Once home, the girl grabbed a tub of ice cream from the freezer and laid in her bed while editing the video. She cut out awkward spots and reflected on how the corpse's pale skin made her look tan,

even though it was the middle of January. Even in that cold, sterile room, next to death itself, she looked beautiful. The buyer of the video messaged her, reminding her of their agreed-upon deadline. She confirmed, saying that the finishing touches were being applied and it would be sent by the end of the night.

He replied with a smiley face and then inquired about future content. But she did it reply. $1,500. appeared in her bank account. She waited another hour before sending him the video, hoping that he'd send more money. During this time, the girl's father knocked on her door

and came into her childhood room, wearing a cream bowling shirt and bowling shoes. He'd been growing out his beard since her mom died, and now the white-gray fluff hid his face almost entirely. She had asked him to shave many times, saying she missed her father's face, but he rarely even acknowledged the request. The most he ever said was, you don't understand.

She didn't. He came to the corner of her bed, took a seat, reached out, and patted her calf. Hey, honey, I was closing up tonight. He smiled a warm smile and rubbed at his eyes. She continued looking at her phone. Fine. The guys did it. We won.

Local bowling league. champs. That's nice, Dad. She put a blurry filter over her genitals on the video, then over the corpse's genitals, and sent the censored version to the buyer. He responded with a picture of his erect penis and $100. Listen, honey, I wanted to thank you so much for working these late shifts. I know it can be lonely, especially a night. It's no problem, Dad. You've really been doing an excellent job. I'm very proud. Sure. The buyer was begging for the full, uncensored version, but she put the phone face down on the bed and turned to her father. You need me to close again tomorrow? You don't mind? It's not my ideal Friday night, but I want to help out. Come here. He pulled her into a hug and kissed

the top of her head. I've been thinking. I know how much you wanted to leave for. I'm not. I know how much you wanted to leave for college. So maybe we could go in a little trip soon. New York, maybe. The big city. She struck him with a scowl and picked her phone back up. The ceiling fan word above them, and a neighbor's dog barked outside. I don't think that's the best idea to add.

I'll close tomorrow. Can you shut the door on your way out? What's wrong? Honey, don't be like this. Like what? Don't be so cold? I was trying to extend the olive branch. Show you how grateful I am.

Listen, if my dreams needed to die, let them. Don't tease me. I couldn't be more grateful, more proud that you're continuing the family business, our legacy. I only wanted to say thank you. You're welcome. She eyeballed the door.

He got up from the bed and closed the door while the phone buzzed in her hands. She laid back into the bed and wrapped herself in the warm bedding. The buyer was continually messaging her, and another $500 had appeared in her account. She turned off her phone, put out the light, and dreamt she was dead. The next day, the girl arrived at work in the early afternoon.

The sun peaked through a thick, overcast sky, and the worn asphalt before the morgue was dark from recent rain. scattered dandelions bloomed on the wet lawn. She reached over into the passenger seat for the lace lingerie set she'd purchased earlier that morning. She stuffed the soft lump of fabric into her purse and checked her makeup in the sun visor. After applying a fresh coat of lipstick,

she fumbled around in her bag for her phone and checked her messages. She located the highest bidder among the stack, sighed, then got out of the car, a light, unseen wet. wetness hung in the air. She located a woman, one who had died in her late 60s, and looked similar to her own now deceased grandmother, before changing into the lingerie and setting up the body for recording. Almost immediately, the corpse started complaining. You're a sick little

whore. You know that? I can only imagine the vile things that must go on in someone's life in order to resort to this. She made a disapproving tiske and blew a puff of hot air out of her nose. The girl swallowed, trying her best to ignore the dead woman. You're a rapist. You know that?

You're doing all of this without my consent. I hope whoever sees this video knows that. She made a displeased high-deaf. pitch sound as her hands were made to caress the girl. I think that's the point. Disgusting. Absolutely fucking foul. The girl put her outstretched tongue close to the wrinkled discolored skin of the woman's

underbelly. I couldn't agree more. The tone of the woman's voice changed. Why are you doing such a thing? A pretty good. Girl, let you? The girl didn't respond for a few moments, completing the axe requested by the buyer and then stopping the recording. I need the money. I'm saving up to move out of here.

She turned around, and the dead woman's head hung back behind her shoulders. A small, dry slit of a wound at the center of the windpipe. She swore. Oh, shit! The woman's face wasn't in the recording the whole time. Too ashamed to look me in the eyes up. The corpse cackled, the laughter bubbling, seeping out of the slit. The girl fixed the corpse's head, propping the cold flesh against the back of the locker wall.

We'll have to do another. The corpse grumbled, but then stayed silent. The girl was thankful for the quiet. It made her feel like the woman was actually dead. It also made the recording easier. The girl wondered if that made her an even worse person. Do you know what happened to my son? The girl stayed silent and turned off the recording.

It should be in here with me. Can you tell him I love him, please? I don't know where your son is. The girl laid the corpse back on the cold metal table. You liar! What did you do to my son? You fucking liar! The girl quickly covered the body and slid the woman back into the locker.

Hysterical sobbing echoed through the room, and the girl smacked the door. Quiet! She panicked. Her breathing heavied. The corpses never talked once she put them away. This was the first time their presence hung in her psyche after she could no longer see them. She hit the locker again, but the sobbing didn't end.

It got louder. One by one, the sounds of the dead filled the moon. Wimperes, moans, blood-curdling screams. The girl covered her ears and crouched into a ball on the ground. Stop it, please. Stop! Her hands did nothing to muffle the screams, and with tears streaming down her face, she fled the morgue. A few days later, she sent the video to the buyer and received her payment.

Almost instantly, he requested another. He was adamant that she'd film with the same corpse. The thought of bringing that woman back out, of hearing those screams again, made the girl's stomach churn. She tossed her phone to the floor and lay sick in bed for many hours. The moon cast tepid light through the blinds of her bedroom, and shadows danced over the carpet onto the bed. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the figures, praying that they didn't speak to her. Her phone buzzed incessantly in the late hours of the night.

The buyer was adamant, obsessive. He sent her hundreds of dollars within minutes, yet she ignored him still. He begged, pleaded, and at dawn, the girl checked her phone to find a receipt for $10,000, along with the message, the other half comes when I get my video. The girl decided to research the woman who taunted and screamed at her. She needed to know her history,

hoping the more she knew, the less her mind would be apt to create. What she found terrified her. The dead woman indeed had a son, one who died many years ago in this town, buried in the cemetery next to the morgue. A cool sweat broke out over the girl's skin as she thought about the corpse and her undead plea. Tell my son I love. She swallowed, knowing that she would record another video, knowing that the woman would beg for her son once again. Entering the morgue, the girl's body was cold, her hands numb.

The slow descent of paper-thin eyelids over dry corneas made cold tears well up and trickled down her pale cheeks. She worried the tears would freeze over and she would become one of them, lost to the world forever, or even more terrifying, only connected to the world of the living through demonic conduit such as herself. What would she beg when undeath came? The corpse surprised her with silence when she unpacked her. her from the cold locker. Better yet, her ears were shut, and the gash on her throat looked like

nothing more than a paper cut. For the first time in a long time, a corpse looked normal. It looked dead. She set up for the video and stripped, careful this time to get the woman's face in the recording. Once the act was done, the girl put the sheet over the corpse, thanked her for her silence and closed the locker. Sitting on the cushioned chair in her father's office, the girl put her phone face down on the desk and felt her cheek. It was

warm. She looked at her reflection in the black computer monitor sitting atop the oak desk. She looked young and alive. A breath of relief washed over her and she sat crying for a few minutes with her face in her elbows leaned over the desk.

The girl sighed, wiped her face, and began to edit the recording to send to the buyer. This would be the last one, she decided. The video played back on the girl's phone. Desensitized to the deviant content, it seemed as normal as anything else to her. Suddenly, a voice whispering like dusty wind into her ear.

The corpse in the recording opened its eyes. They were ice blue and burned like the hottest fire sheltered in the coldest of places. The girl froze. Where is my son? She felt a hand on her shoulder and frigid breaths pluming against her neck. Something let out a gutter will shriek from behind her

and she fell to her knees. The screams multiplied and the girl turned to face a crowd of the dead filling the office. A chorus of ghastly howls filled every crevice of her psyche. She raced through the mob. They clawed at her with broken hands.

harassed her with broken voices. She reached the exit door, but it was locked. She was sure that the horde would dismember her, devour her for all she had done to them. But the screaming stopped, and the dead spoke. Find him. There was a click of the lock, and the girl escaped into the cold rain of a dark night.

The cemetery was a twisting maze, but the girl knew it like the back of her hand. She ran as the rain hit. her exposed skin, and the chance of the dead grew louder and louder in her ears. She found the boy's grave and his headstone, the granite dripping atop the muddy ground. The girl fell to her knees, and with her bare hands she clawed at the earth, ripping away its flesh. She dug through the black hours of night and into the early morning. Her fingers bled, and her fingernails fell off.

Still, she worked at the dense soil. She was exhausted, yet the ever-present chanting, the voices of those gone from this world kept her focused, determined to find the dead woman's son. She struck the wood of his coffin and used all her weight, all her might, to bust through the thick boards. They splintered, and the girl pulled them apart with the last of her strength. Within, she found the body of the sun

and pulled him up out of the coffin, holding him like he was her own. She held him, while the early rays of morning sun bled through the thick canopy of cottonwoods above. She held him, sobbing and begging for forgiveness, not realizing that the dead were quiet once again. 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. respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the risen consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.