The NoSleep Podcast - S21 Ep5: NoSleep Podcast S21E05

Episode Date: June 2, 2024

It’s Episode 05 of Season 21. Ride the Sleepless Express into tales about menacing morals.“A Wing and a Prayer” written by Carole Wood (Story starts around 00:03:30)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Cass – Nichole Goodnight, Gina – Jessica McEvoy“For Sale” written by Haley Alt (Story starts around 00:24:05)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Atticus Jackson, Lorraine – Danielle McRae, Eddy – Jesse Cornett, Tad – Kyle Akers, Event Coordinator – Mike DelGaudio, Woman #1 – Katabelle Ansari, Woman #2 – Mary Murphy“Wolf’s-Bane” written by Jesse Rosenbaum (Story starts around 00:39:10)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Jacqueline – Linsay Rousseau, Mrs. Edmonson – Erika Sanderson, GPS Voice – Mike DelGaudio, Mr. Gonzalez – David Cummings, Katherine – Danielle McRae, Mara – Kristen DiMercurio, Dana – Wafiyyah White, Darryl – Jesse Cornett“Human Sushi” written by 1000andonenites (Story starts around 01:07:05)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Marie Westbrook, Server – Katabelle Ansari, Carly – Sarah Thomas, Dad – Dan ZappullaMom – Mary Murphy, Family – Kyle Akers, Nichole Goodnight, Jeff Clement“Poker Face” written by Dominic Breeze (Story starts around 01:12:05)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Jake Benson“The Cadaver King of Calhoun County” written by Clarissa Thomas-Thompson (Story starts around 01:27:15)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator – Erin Lillis, Cadaver King – Graham Rowat, Greg – Jeff Clement, Eduardo – Dan Zappulla, Jingle – Sarah ThomasClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Carole Wood Click here to learn more about Jesse Rosenbaum Click here to learn more about 1000andonenites Click here to learn more about Dominic Breeze Click here to learn more about Clarissa Thomas-Thompson Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Poker Face” illustration courtesy of Thea ArnmanAudio 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.

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. In the horror genre, we're often confronted with people doing terrible things, things which don't require a lot of debate as to the rightness or wrongness of their actions. Serial killers slicing and dicing people up? I dare say we can all call that bad behavior. But let's face it, we live in a world where the lines between good and bad are becoming more and more blurred. And it leads us as a society to consider a concept which always stirs strong opinion.

opinions, morality. You don't have to look far to find things happening in our world that might seem unconscionable to us, but then there are others out there adamantly defending that behavior. Our morals can be a very personal thing to us, lines we simply refuse to cross on principle. But if a bunch of other people in our society don't share our morals, well, what is there to do other than simply trying to stick to our own beliefs? There is much discussion online. about concepts like entitlement and privilege. Should I be allowed to do something even if it affects or bothers someone else? Haven't I earned the right to do this or that?

I worked hard for my money. I can't help it if others... Why, it's not my fault if some people... Yeah, all concepts of morality we've heard over and over. In this episode, we present to you tales which ask us to consider, the morality of people's actions. Maybe they mean well, maybe they don't care what anyone else thinks. But either way, we are confronted with that most fickle of philosophical instruments, the moral compass. And you can be sure that in this episode, it's pointing us into the darker realms.

And now, the train is ready to depart. Your journey into the darkness begins. Now. In our first tale, we meet two women who are having a lively debate. It's a topic much discussed in this day and age. Is it moral for humans to eat other animals? Well, in this tale, shared with us by author Carol Wood, we learned that the women are preparing for an assignment, which, I dare say, could also stir up some other type of lively debate.

Performing this tale are Nicole Goodnight. and Jessica McAvoy. So you can either have firm convictions, or you can make them up as you go, like on a wing and a prayer. You say you like animals, but then you'd go and eat chicken. Chicken is an animal.

It's a bird. Chicken is a bird. It's not a dog, though. Yeah, Gina, because it's a bird. I squirmed around, trying in vain to get comfortable on the hard plastic seat of the Cheapo Diner, we were eating at, Thelma's truck stop Tucker, probably made with fat truckerasses in mind.

Birds are stupid. They don't feel in the same way as dogs do. What are you talking about? Are you saying some animals have feelings and others don't based on whether they're pets or not? The incredulousness of my tone caused her to drop the chicken wing she'd been gnawing on for the past five minutes. You're eating an actual wing belonging to an animal for fuck's sake. She shrugged. It tastes good. You're sick, you know that? Takes one to no one, Cass.

At least I'm not a hypocrite. Are you going to eat that? She pointed to my grilled cheese. I'd gotten through half of the sorry excuse for a sandwich and given up. Looking at Gina chewing on animal parts hadn't helped. Be my guest. I pushed the plate towards her. You eat dairy.

Her tone was flat, not exactly exactly. accusing. I sighed because I knew she was right and I didn't have a good enough excuse for it, but I gave it a go anyway, tried one on for sighs. They don't murder animals for milk. Yeah, but it's still in slavery. I think you mean slavery? Gina frowned. Whatever. It's not like they have a choice, right? God damn it, she's good, I thought. No. Then? It's almost as bad as eating meat. She took a bite of the sandwich and chewed it noisily.

It's not great, I conceded. If I didn't love cheese so much, I'd be vegan. If I didn't love meat so much, I'd be vegetarian. I took a sip of my coffee and picked up the cuticle on my left thumbnail. Truthfully, the dairy issue had haunted me since I stopped eating meat. But there was literally no vegan food available in our shitty culinary wasteland of a town. And I do love cheese. Gina swiped at her mouth with a paper napkin and flung it onto the crumb-written plate.

No judgment here, but it's a two-way street, Cass. I see your point. It just makes me unbelievably sad thinking of all those animals dying for nothing. Humans don't even need meat to survive and don't get me started on Thanksgiving and Christmas and fucking Easter. It's sick. So much gets thrown in the trash. As if lambs aren't babies with mothers or, Herkeys don't have emotions. Pretend none of that exists just so you can gobble down that overcooked flesh and then complain about being too full afterwards. Oh, but when someone hurts a dog, it's like Jesus has just been crucified all over again.

I paused in the middle of my tirade, just to get air, and I noticed Gina's eyes have gone wide. You are one angry bastard, Cass. Someone has to be. I mean, respect. But did it work? Huh? Your whole spiel. Ask me if I'm converted.

I played along, but I didn't like where this was going. Gina had a habit of verbally corraling me when I least expected it. Well, are you converted? No, and I'll tell you why. People like me don't care. We don't want to know, because we'd rather just go on with our lives, doing whatever we feel like, eating whatever we want, and not think about the consequences.

or the process, for that matter. This is the world we live in, Cass. At least I can admit that. My eyes narrowed. So you're saying you'll never stop eating animals because you don't care? She clicked her fingers and pointed at me in a rapid two-step motion. Exactly. Jesus!

I finished my coffee and tucked $10 under the salt shaker. Looks like I need to reconsider my whole approach to vegetarianism. Gina threw down a 10 too, but hers landed in a spot of hot sauce. She left it there. How so? Well, if what you're saying is true and most people are like you, then there's no point in going around trying to make people stop eating meat. That way lies madness, right? Undoubtedly.

So I'll just do my thing and maybe some people will get enlightened. Be the change you want to see in the world and all that. I can't make others care. I flicked my napkin at her. Not if they're all as heartless as you. We both laughed a little too loudly, and the waitress glanced our way, then went back to pouring coffee. When we emerged into the drizzly late afternoon gloom,

I was still thinking about our conversation. And apparently so was Gina. I just don't get you sometimes. It's not like you know these animals personally. And considering your stance on some other things I could mention, I don't need to know an animal personally to have respect and compassion for them. I repeat. I just don't get you sometimes.

She was grinning. Hold up. What? I asked, waiting for the punchline. Are you saying you feel that way about people, too? Some more than others. Ah. She nodded.

Now I get it. I'm not bothered about it. animals being used for meat, because I'd probably eat humans too if they were on the menu. You're joking. I'm really not, Cass. What's the difference if it's all murder? We reached Gina's car, a hulking old Ford that was once shiny black.

You wouldn't look twice at it now, which was nice. We clambered inside. I was thinking, and what I was thinking is probably not a popular opinion among polite society. but polite society was about a thousand miles away from Regina and I operated. Apart from the yuck factor, there is none. It's all meat. It's all murder. Morrissey had it right. See? Now we're on the same page.

The same book maybe, but our pages are way different. Fine. Let's agree to disagree. She popped out a vintage Depeche Mode CD and slipped in some experiment. mental jazz. She refused to upgrade to Bluetooth. I groaned because jazz made my head spin. Only insane people could enjoy this music, Gina. Maybe you could learn something from it. You know, go with the flow more. Maybe. I pulled up the hood of my black raincoat in an attempt to deaden some of the noise. I had to shout to be her. Maybe I'm too sensitive. Or maybe you're too indifferent.

Gina grinned like a loon. Or maybe, it's all just chicken wings. When we arrived at the location, it was dusk, and the drizzle had intensified to a downpour. Gina pulled up to the curb on a street just around the corner. I was thinking, rain is good. I winced, not realizing I'd spoken aloud. Sorry, thought that was my inside voice.

You're a real weird, O Cass. You know that? Might have been mentioned, yeah, but at least I'm not a cannibal. She ignored my jive. Might pose a problem. Wait, what? Footprints. She looked at me strangely.

Hey, are you sure you're up for this? You seem a little... I don't know. Spacey. I hadn't even thought of footprints. I'm fine, Gina. I was just thinking the noise would be good. Sides and downsides to everything.

Right. There was a wistfulness to her tone I didn't hear too often. It made me nervous. How long do we wait? She checked the time on the dash. It'll be dark in half an hour. Cars trickled by for a while and then the street was quiet, making the rain hitting the roof sound loud by comparison.

Dusk gave way to night, illuminated in patches by the streetlights. Poles of water winked and rippled their yellow reflections, except for the streetlight above us. that one was out. Ready? Gina pulled up the hood of her raincoat, which was identical to mine except for it was navy. I followed suit.

Yes. We exited the car quietly and in tandem. The house was around the corner, the last duplex and the small cul-de-sac, meaning there were neighbors on only one side. That was also good. The rain had kept up its part of the bargain, monsoon-like in intensity.

The curtains and blinds were drawn in six, Six of the eight houses in the cul-de-sac, including number four, our destination. Gina and I kept her the shadows as much as possible. When we reached number four, I made sure not to step on the grass verge as we followed the path around the back of the house. At the French doors, Gina paused. The lights were on in the dining room, or rather, light. A big wicker fan contraption over the table that revolved lazily, but emitted a bright yellow glare. I gave her a thumbs up and we put on our gloves.

She produced lockpicks from the pocket of her raincoat and set to work on the deceptively simple sliding door. I kept an eye out for anyone who might spoil our surprise. I heard a series of clicks since she was in. I gently slid the door up in a crack just to test the noise level. A burst of canned laughter spilled through the gap, possibly from a TV in the front room. No one came, so I slid the door back far enough for us to slip through.

When we were inside, I pulled it. close and made a beeline for the light switch by the kitchen door. I flicked it off and turned to Gina, who was illuminated only by the dim glow filtering through the glass panels of the kitchen door. Droplets of water from our raincoats made a soft, pattering sound as they dripped to the tile floor. Gina handed me a towel from a hook by the sink, and I methodically but swiftly dried the soles of my sneakers.

She did the same and then placed the towel by the French doors to grab on the way out. Sneaking wasn't possible in wet sneakers, and there were the prints to consider. Still, no one inside the house moved. I took my Glock from the shoulder holster concealed beneath my coat and screwed the suppressor on. It made no sound, bar the click of metal on metal. To this day, cleaning and oiling my weapons

is a form of meditation for me, and also a point of pride. I take care of my things. Gina followed suit, but she used a Sig Sour P320. She said the trigger was crisper than on the clock 19. But I didn't see the difference. When we were ready, Gina opened the kitchen door.

It emitted a rather loud mouse-like squeak, and we froze simultaneously. From the front room came a chuckle, considing with more canned laughter from what I was now positive was a television. I could see the light flickering through the partly open door. No one came. We advanced down the hallway, Gina on the lead. My gun was just for backup in case something went wrong. It never had, but I always say preparation is the key to success.

When we reached the living room door, Gina raised her left hand and extended her index finger. I tensed, ready for anything. My heart rate increased by approximately 40 beats per minute. The extra BPM was good. It meant a shot of adrenaline, good for alertness. But not so much my hands would shake. Gina's middle finger popped up next to the first,

and on three she kicked open the door. I went in first, gun raised, and stood to one side. A man in a Warren Brown recliner sat facing the television. The recliner was the type that swivels, and when he heard the intrusion he spun around so fast he almost went 360. He was about 45, dark hair with some silver strands poking through, and a day or two's worth of stubble on his jowls. This was the face the little girl saw as he hovered over her,

doing things she'd never get over even with 20 years of therapy. Dirty blue eyes, partly sunk in, widened as they took in me and Gina, who had stepped into the room after me. She didn't even let him get out a whimper before she shot him three times. The first two in the chest and the third right between the eyes. The sig emitted a muffled fee-fee-fee sound, the explosive gases of the gunshots tamed by the suppressor, but not completely extinguished.

Joseph Garrett slammed into the backrest of the recliner, which sent it spinning. Blood immediately began to flow from the gunshot wounds. On each rotation, it made a sound like raindrops hitting the wooden floor. A thump came from above our heads. I glared at Gina, talking to her with my eyes. There wasn't supposed to be anyone else here. Tell me about it, she mouthed back. She held a finger to her lips and motioned for me to stay put,

then disappeared through the door we just came through. I listened for almost imperceptible footsteps as she climbed the stairs. They weren't supposed to happen. Surprises. I hated when plants had hitches. That's why the saying is, it went off without a hitch. Garrett had stopped his revolutions and was slumped in the recliner, eyes half open. There was nothing at all of note in them now, and I felt nothing.

Numb. I turned back through the door into the hall and chanced to peek up the darkened stairway. Gina had reached the top of the stairs and was preparing to enter the room where the thump originated. I held my breath, hoping there wasn't a child or an old lady up there. That would be bad. Suddenly, Gina let out a laugh. I placed my foot on the first step, about to go up and see what was so amusing at a time like this, when a dark-shaped rushed down the unlit stairs, coming straight for me.

I stepped aside and it went streaking down the hall and into the kitchen. I almost screamed, but recovered myself in time. It was a cat, a very large long-haired cat. Gina cackled again from the top of the stairs. But we were screwed. Don't be ridiculous. I had us covered. Yeah, but covered for what?

I was convinced he had his mother or something up there. Or a kid. Yeah, or that. My heart was pounding. Let's get the fuck out of here, Gina. Right you are. I glanced back at Gary. still dead.

What about the cat? What about it? Can't leave her here. Why not? Put down some food. Dude'll be found in two, three days tops. Bad enough for her to have to live with that scumbag. Never mind being imprisoned with his decaying body.

Gina grinned wickedly. At least it'll have something to eat. Gross. And bringing her with us, if I can catch her, that is. You are not. I forbid it. You forbid it? What are you, my mother? What if it starts yowling on the way out? She won't. Cats like me.

Fine. But if it starts making noise, you're the one who has to kill it. She won't. Gina shrugged. In the kitchen, I flipped on the light switch long enough to locate the cat, huddled under the dining room table. Huge green eyes pinned on me like, lasers. She was a tabby of some sort. Beautiful. I called softly to her and made myself small and unthreatening as I approached. Throw me the towel, Gina. She flung the damp towel at me, and in one fluid motion I dropped my haunches and threw it over the bewildered cat. Then I pinned the towel with my

knees on either side and rolled her up like a burrito. She didn't make a sound. See, nothing to it. She muttered something I couldn't hear and slid open the door for me to go through, then followed and behind her. Conveniently for us, it was still raining. So we pulled up our hoods and made our way around the path to the front of the house, avoiding the muddy grass at all costs. The street was as quiet as when we'd arrived. The cat made a low meowing sound in her chest, but she didn't try to escape. I hurried my pace, and we reached the car without incident. Think pisses in my car? You're going to be sorry. Yeah, yeah, yeah, just go. The job's not over till we get home, and I've had enough surprises for one night? I opened the towel and the cat just sat there in my lap, peering up at me

with terrified eyes. It's okay, buddy. I'll take care of you. She didn't seem inclined to believe me, but didn't try to scratch my face off either. Gina drove 10 miles under the speed limit the whole way back. She dropped me and the cat, who I'd decided to call Lucky, outside my apartment. Dawn was approaching. The rain was finally starting to clear and there was one less scumbag in the world. For that, I was thankful. I put down a cardboard box with a blanket inside it, and Lucky hid there for most of the day. Later, I checked my Bitcoin wallet for the second half of my payment. After a couple more jobs, I would have enough money to buy my own place. Maybe get a second cat. Lucky watched me settle into the couch and cautiously exited the box. After some gentle encouragement, she crawled into my lap.

I looked into her big green eyes and realized I would have to buy some cat food. Meat, in other words. Gina would have a field day with that, especially after all my pontificating. But life is funny that way. Makes hypocrites of us all. Imagine being so wealthy that you can attend an event where you get to view elegant gowns displayed on opulent mannequins.

This ain't no shopping trip to T.J. Max. This is only for the rich and elite, and those who don't care about things like conspicuous wealth. But in this tale, shared with us by author Haley Alt, we meet a couple at the event who are enraptured not only by the dresses, but also by those stunning mannequins. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, Danielle McCray, Jesse Cornett, Kyle Akers, Mike Delgado, Gaudio, Catabelle Ansari, and Mary Murphy. And so, maybe it's true what they say.

If you have the money, anything is for sale. Whiz it? The woman reached a hand, unsteady with age, to touch the pearls draped around the mannequin's neck. I remember when I was as young and beautiful as you. Her gaze danced in shadow in memory as she analyzed the figure of the model, her cheekbones, the jewels dripping from her earlobes. The mannequin said nothing. It continued to stand perfectly still. Glassy blue eyes fixed elsewhere.

Come now, my dear. The elderly gentleman at her side touched her elbow familiarly. She was as beautiful as ever. Not as beautiful as it. The rain sighed. Ah, look at that complexion. I could stare at it all day. It's a mannequin, dear.

Its job is to be pretty. Eddie turned to address the model cloaked in folds of silks. How old are you? The mannequin didn't answer. Its tongue had already been cut out. Lorraine glanced down at the platform atop where it stood. Manikin number 23. Age 17.

Imported. 1203. 2145. Russian origin. Lorraine relayed what she read to her husband. 17. Well, it's hardly fair to compare to a model four times younger than you. Is it not Lorraine?

Lorraine sighed, now admiring its studded bracelet with wrinkled fingertips. How can it feel so long ago and right behind me at once? Behind Lorraine and her husband, the Grand Hall milled with the activity of other bidders. A decorative rug ran down the center of the room between elegantly carved pillars, and waiting staff attentatively passed champagne and hors d'oeuvres throughout the crowd. The room was a buzz. Everyone dressed in their finest fabrics. jewelry and cufflings flashing like pale fireworks under chandeliers.

Most of the bidders were near Lorraine and Eddie in age, though she noticed some buyers there were too young to even run for president. The mannequins were raised on circular platforms dappled throughout the hall, two dozen and all. Couture gowns slung from their shoulders in dazzling exclusivity. Their delicate necks and wrists raining rare jewels and gyms. Each of the 24 mannequin girls stood perfectly still, not even blinking when it could be helped. Only at the urging of the clients did they move, turning to show intricate designs over bare backs.

The crowd cooed over them, delighted. I wonder if we'll really get our first pick. Lorraine examined the dress of the mannequin they stood before. It glittered and shone under a hundred lights. Oh, we better for how much we paid to be here. Lorraine elbowed him in the stomach. Over the violet ties, she had gotten him for his birthday. Decorum, Eddie.

Yes. Lorraine. A suited event worker approached them then, clipboard in hand. Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Everett. The man wore a bronze name tag that read Tad. How are you enjoying yourselves? With some champagne, as I always do. Lorraine laughed, and the staff member joined in politely.

Eddie stared at mannequin number 23, which did not even crack a smile. What do you think of our selection this year, Mrs. Everett? Even better than the previous years. You have an excellent selection. Oh, look at those patterns. How the craftsmanship on these fine dresses continue to go above and beyond what we've seen before. I don't know how your designers ever get any rest. I'm very pleased to hear that.

Tad glanced to mannequin number 23 and its gown. I'll take a note that you have your eye on this one then. Lovely. We'll do another walk around to be safe, but... Lorraine looked longingly again at the finely dressed human mannequin and its extravagant, intricately embroidered dress. Sadly, we want our name in for this one, don't we, Eddie? Whatever you say, dear. Eddie's eyes scanned the room for a particular appetizer he had seen floating past earlier.

And what are we willing to pledge today? We'll start at 300,000. Eddie waved a waiter over who carried mushroom christini on his silver platter. Don't you think so, Eddie? Indeed. He reached for the appetizer as Tad took note of the Everett's bid. Lorraine gave another long look. at mannequin number 23 and its ornate piece.

Then, reluctantly, she took her husband's arm to walk once more around the room, appreciating the mannequins and the exclusive fashions they wore. After the crowd had been appropriately whined, the female mannequins, with all the grace of long limbs and high heels, stepped off their platforms and marched the front of the hall. They lined up before the buyers beneath a hand-painted portrait of an eagle and flag that took up most of the width of the room. The banner from the eagle's mouth proudly declared, liberty for all.

The mannequins resumed their frozen positions there, and the clients gave a collective sigh at the mere sight of their elegance and refinement. The event coordinator walked to center stage, decorative gown trailing behind him. His piercing blue eyes lifted to the crowd and he gave them a dazzling white smile. He neared the age of 50, but his tan and form allowed him to pass for 40.

It has been an absolute delight to have you all here this year at our 35th annual auction. His voice echoed off the grand walls and high ceiling. The group applauded politely, except for the mannequins who did not move an inch. We have taken all of your pledges into account and are pleased to announce that every single product today will be going home with its rightful owner.

Delighted gasps and more applause. The mannequins stared across the room with empty eyes. Without further ado, let's review the results. Manikin number one, please step forward. A girl, no one. Older than 16, stepped from the front line with mechanical poise, eyes big and brown. The dress she wore was fitted perfectly to her waist and hips, but Lorraine couldn't help but feel that she was looking at a child rather than a mannequin. Eddie intuited her thoughts.

Hmm, some like them younger. Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Tracy. Who will be bringing mannequin number one home with him this evening? Polite applause followed the tracies to the front of the hall, where an older woman with purple hair led out a small cheer. Her husband next to her looked delighted. The mannequin was promptly whisked away by staff across to a side door. Lorraine knew what would happen next.

The mannequin would be bathed and re-robed, given last-minute training on how to behave in a household. Lorraine wondered if the girl was properly thrilled. Her service would provide her family with small funds to keep them going as long as she stood still as furniture in the Tracy's living room. Their guests would come over to visit, admire her there near the lounger or perhaps in the center of the foyer. They're all just so still. The nearby woman's friend giggled. I forgot to feed our last one.

That's why we're back again this year. You're terrible. But then if I didn't have our housekeeper watering our plants and mannequins, I'd be sure to forget myself. Lorraine refrained from shushing them as the auction went on. Manicant number two. Please step forward. And so, it continued. Each mannequins stepped before the crowd of bidders and were briskly

auctioned away one at a time, to squeals of delight in exchanges of checks and cash. Mr. Yamara gave Manikin No. 14's rear end to squeeze before it walked out, and the rain rolled her eyes. Oh, how lewd. Can't he wait until his home? Gentlemen who cannot help themselves. Are not gentlemen? Eddie popped another mushroom Christini into his mouth with greasy fingers. Finally, it was Lorraine and Eddie's turn. The crowd had thinned. Everyone eager to return home with their new status symbols.

Lorraine cried out against her will when the auctioneer called their names for Mannequin No. 23. They were led from the grand ballroom and into an appropriately exquisite lobby. Should we have the grandkids name it? Other winning bidders were examining their mannequins one last time before departing with them, everyone teeming with excitement, except for the mannequins, who stood precisely, eyes carefully cast downwards, forced smiles fixed to their lips. Oh, they'd probably like that. and you better like this one longer than the last one.

It better last three years or more, you understand? You were too rough on the last one. You don't get to touch this one even when you're upset. If we don't want it damaged, we should ask one of those bellhop boys to roll it out. Nettie flagged one down as he spoke. A few minutes later, Manikin number 20, 23 appeared in the lobby wearing a simpler dress, rolled in on a dolly with the couture gown draped across its stiff arms.

Lorraine beamed. It's here. Eddie, go pull the car around. Eddie left and the bellhop rushed off to help another client. The mannequin and Lorraine were left alone. Oh, I think you'll very much like our home. Lorraine reached out to rub the young girl's arm reassuringly. There are lots of rooms, very elegant.

We had this wonderful interior designer. Her name is Annie Gustavo. Maybe you've heard of her. She was featured in a lot of magazines. The mannequin had never been taught to read. She made the place up real nice. Your room will be our family. room where we relax at night. The maid will see to your needs.

The mannequin's blue eyes stared blankly as Lorraine prattled on, but she could have sworn she saw its lips for a moment twitch into a frown. She pressed on, more to herself than to her expensive piece of new furniture. Oh, you'll love it. The kids will a-ditch. you and wait till the girls see you. They'll positively flip at the sight of you and that perfect skin of yours. The mannequin stared. Eddie returned then. Keys in hand.

Ready, Lorraine? He grabbed the trolley and pulled it roughly. Manikin number 23 went with it. One of the tricks of morality is when you can convince yourself that it's okay to do something bad because, well, it would probably happen anyway. Say, if the store is going to throw out that loaf of bread at the end of the night, does it really matter if you steal it? Consider that as we hear this tale, shared with us by author Jesse Rosenbaum.

In it, we meet a woman who likes to engage in very bad behavior, but perhaps she's only doing what would happen naturally after all. I join Lindsay Russo, Erica Sanderson, Mike Delgadoio, Danielle McCray, Kristen DiMecurio, Wafia White, and Jesse Cornett in performing this tale. So if you're cooking with your own secret blend of herbs and spices, make sure you avoid using Wolf's Bain. It was a full schedule that day with some old favorites, Mr. Edminson, Miss Clark. I saw that Tommy was still on the list. Mrs. Kolsowski, Mr. Greenway, Judy Vaughn, who was new, Frederick Tussaud, Mr. Gonzalez, who always chewed my ear off. Well, not after today's meal delivery. And last, Catherine Gower. Now there was a woman with potential. First stop, Mr. Edmondson, dementia.

Typically a quick stop. His wife takes the food with minimal interaction, which was fine with me, especially since people like Mr. Gonzalez like to talk, so having quick stops like that help balance out the day. I make a good driver for this service because people's illnesses don't bother me. Their stories don't tug at my heartstrings, even with all the sadness and impending death around most of the customers I meet. The only real reason that I entertained people talking like Mr.

Gonzales was so I could figure out which of them to kill next. Listen, did you get the roast pork or baked salmon today? There you are, and you got salmon with buttered noodles, vegetables, which seemed to be green beans today, and a salad. All righty. Oh, hello, Jocelyn. Nice to see you. She always got my name wrong, and she never looked at the menu.

What did my husband pick today? Hi, Mrs. Edmondson. It's baked salmon today with noodles. green beans, and a salad. Did they remember to take the tomatoes off this time? You know they give Martin Hartburn. I can't say for sure. The containers are sealed, so I can't check.

But if they did, just call the office and remind them. I don't really have control over that sort of thing. Sorry. I'll do that. I appreciate the program that Angel's Kitchen provides, but the order should be right. Thank you anyway, Jocelyn. I'll see you tomorrow.

You're welcome. Continue straight for five miles. I was ahead of schedule, which was good because Mr. Gonzalez was next. Like I mentioned before, he likes to talk a lot, which is a good thing because people like him have a need to connect with other people and are very open. Thanks to that, I can learn what illnesses they have and, more importantly, what physical ailments they have because of their illness. This is especially helpful in figuring out if I'm going to poison them or not.

in one mile, turn left on Bailey Court. Mr. Gonzalez suffered from HCM or hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Yeah, I didn't know what it was either until I looked it up. Well, it's a heart disease that can lead to shortness of breath, fainting, chest pain, and most importantly, heart palpitations. Symptoms like those are perfect because my poison of choice has similar symptoms, one of which is a change in heartbeat, which can be fatal to people with heart problems. I find it amazing how some plants can be so deadly.

And monkshood, or as it's more famously known, wolf spade, is extremely poisonous. Turn left on Bailey Court. You have arrived at your destination, 742 Bailey Court. That part I said earlier about food being sealed is true. But what is also true is that sometimes the containers get jostled open, so we have extra seals in containers just in case something happens. Now, Wolfsbane contains a poison called aconitum, which some people use to treat muscle inflammation, but you need to boil down the root to reduce its poison potency.

If you were to ingest the roots in raw form, well, let's just say with the amount of chopped root that I had sprinkled on Mr. Gonzalez's mushroom risotto, he would be dead in about 30 minutes after eating it. Wolfsbane is dangerous to touch with your bare hands, so thank goodness our vans come with disposable gloves. The best part is that the symptoms won't show for several. minutes after ingestion. And once the heart rhythm changes to such a drastic degree, Mr. Gonzalez would go into cardiac arrest. Hi, Jacqueline. At least he always got my name right. Hey, Mr. Gonzalez, how are you

feeling today? Oh, today is a better sort of day. Yesterday, I nearly fainted in the shower. Oh, that was a scary moment. Let me tell you. The floodgates had opened. He would carry this conversation for minutes without a single word for me. Thankfully, that hasn't happened too much lately. My daughter-in-law put this meditation thing on my phone, and I'll tell you, it took a while for me to figure out how to use it, but whenever I'm feeling a little off, I can open that thing up, sit in my chair, and then just relax and listen. Sure, it doesn't help the fainten so much, but all the breathing issues and fatigue that I get when I'm active seems less frequent,

which is nice. My son thinks it's a bunch of new age nonsense. Ah, but I just laugh and tell them son you married her and honestly she's a she's a saint for putting up with you oh no but but seriously he he's a good kid even if he doesn't always think things through listen to me going on and on i haven't even asked you how you're doing today uh you know sometimes i don't realize that i've been talking for as long as I have. Oh, geez, there I go again. Oh, I'm sorry. How are you doing today? I'm doing all right. Thanks. Oh, great. Great. It's your favorite today, roast pork with mushroom risotto. Oh, I saw it on the calendar yesterday. Oh, I'll tell you, it's great that Angel's Kitchen makes quality food. The food you get in those hospitals is barely edible.

And my older sister, Julia, over in Florida, says that the food service they have isn't great either. I told her, I said, Julia, you should come visit and try out what we get. Oh, it'll make you want to move out this way. Ah, but, you know, she doesn't like the weather here in the northwest. Oh, then again, who knows if we could live with each other, let alone near each other. We'd probably drive each other up a wall. Anyway, I better let you go.

I'm sure you have more stops to make, and I... Oh, I'm just slowing you down. Thanks a lot. And be sure to thank everyone back at the kitchen for me. Oh, I'm looking forward to Friday's pot roast. Oh, I've always been a meat and potatoes sort of guy. Oh, there I go again. Okay, you get going before I make you late.

and this yummy food gets cold. Thanks again, dear. Bye, bye. Goodbye, Mr. Gonzalez. Bon Appetit. By now, Mr. Gonzalez would be dead, but I wouldn't know for sure until the next day. Last on the list was Catherine Gower.

She'd been fairly open with me about her illness. Well, at least when her daughter wasn't around. If she was, she just came to get the food and that was that. I was hoping to learn some more today. I knew it was cancer. and she did tell me about how the surgery to her nose, along with the high doses of radiation, caused her to get some skin irritation and lose her hair. She wore a wig, and she worried that her face made people uncomfortable since the doctors had removed part of her nose.

But I still didn't know what her illness did to her physically. Do you always have to come down so hard on me? Do you think I wanted this to happen to me? Oh, spare me the bullshit, Mom, okay? You think I wanted to leave my condo and my career to be here? here. I didn't ask you to come here, sweetheart. No, you just fucking guilted me into it. Mara, language, please. Don't clutch your pearls at me, mom. You think I haven't heard you use the same kind of language? The fact is, you guilted me into this, just like you did with dad. You guilted

him into spending time with me as a kid, when the truth is that he cared about that goddamn mill more than he did about his own family. How dare you? Your father worked hard his whole life and sacrificed a lot so we can have the life that we have. I will not have you sully his memory with your anger. Your father wasn't perfect. That's true. But he loved you and this family. Well, he had a shitty way of showing it, and you wonder why I wanted to get away from here. I guess we're both stuck here now. I couldn't stay out there all day, so I decided to make my presence known. After all, I didn't want the food to get cold. That has to be my lunch.

Can we please just stop bickering? Just calm down. And we can talk about this after lunch. I'll make us cappuccinos and we can have some of that almond cheesecake that you made me. Yeah. Okay, Mom. Hi, Jackie. It's nice to see you today.

You too, Mrs. Gower. How are you feeling? Oh, well, okay, I guess. My sinus syndrome is acting up more than usual. I've been getting the most painful headaches this week, which is new, but I'm on so much medication these days. It's probably a side effect from one of those pills. I made a mental note, sinus syndrome. It's amazing what some people will just volunteer.

I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe some rest and lots of water could help the headaches. Oh, dear, I can't be trying. drinking all that water? I take a diuretic every other day, and drinking too much water has me up and down all day, if you catch my meaning. I understand. If you don't mind me asking, you're still cancer-free, right? Your skin cancer, was it? Is it still in remission? It's not exactly skin cancer, dear. It's called paranasal sinus cancer. It's from breathing all those chemicals all those years. I'm sorry, I must have forgot.

Oh, that's okay, dear. With as many people as you see in a day, I wouldn't expect you to remember. I'm still cancer-free, knock on wood. But you wouldn't think it with all these darn issues and side effects. But you don't need me going on and on like that. I'm sure you have more stops to make. Actually, you're my last stop for today. Well, then you can get home sooner.

It's roast pork. work today, right? Yes, yes it is. You also got the mushroom risotto with green beans and an extra dinner roll, as requested. No dessert again. I've been skipping the dessert because my daughter has been making my favorite almond cheesecake. She spoils me. Sounds like it.

Oh, do you like cheesecake? I'll save a slice for you tomorrow. If you'd like one, that is. I'd like that, Mrs. Gower. Wonderful. I'll put a slice aside for you. I'm looking forward to that new chopped kale salad I saw on the menu. Oh, you take care, Jackie. And thanks again. You're welcome. See you tomorrow.

Bye, bye, dear. Paranasal sinus cancer and sinus syndrome. I'd look those up when I got home that night, and depending on what I found, I would be harvesting some flowers. In the mornings when I got to work, the first thing I needed, needed to do was check in and get the delivery route for the day. The way the kitchens program was designed, we got daily updates on the status of our patrons from the medical insurance companies. By that, I mean, if one of our patrons happened to die, we typically got updated within 24 hours to stop deliveries, but it all depended on how long it took for someone to find the body.

Based on the time that I made my delivery yesterday, my money was on Mr. Gonzalez not being on my sheet for the day. The route sheets all get placed in bins labeled by driver. I saw mine, waiting for me patiently. I could feel the anticipation rising in me the closer I got to it. I reached out, grabbed it, and took a breath as I turned it over to read it. No, Mr. Gonzalez. A warmth grew in me as I held back a smile. Hey, Jackie. So you know, Mr. Gonzalez passed away yesterday. Oh, really? Oh, yeah, you're right. He's not on my sheet today. I'm really sorry to hear that. That's the hard part of this job. I don't know how you all handle this since you have to see them face to face so much.

Yeah, it can be difficult. Well, I better get loaded up and head out. I'll see you later. See you later. Drive safe out there. Thanks. I sat for a moment and let the warmth overcome me. At last, I let a smile cross my face.

I love this part of the job, but I had to be careful. I couldn't go around doing this all the time, despite how it made me feel. Some people microdose mushrooms to find enlightenment or make. life bearable. I just happened to microdose murder. One or two here and there, but I always space them out. Overdosing in this case would quite literally mean the death

of me. Mr. Gonzalez made six in the 14 months since I'd started harvesting Wolfsbane. I needed to get the van over to the loading area for today's deliveries and get on the road. I didn't want to be late for today's dose. Good morning.

Let's see. You're number seven. Give us a couple of minutes. Number seven. That's fitting since Catherine would be my number seven. Last night I learned that syndrome Catherine mentioned is called sick sinus syndrome. The name is misleading because it turns out it was related to her heart and has some nasty symptoms. Shortness of breath, dizziness, fatigue, and either a slowing or rapid change in the heart's rhythm.

Perfect. You're all set. Thanks. Thank you. There's her ticket. Good. She did order the spring kale salad. Angel's Kitchen does love to make their food fancy,

and sometimes they put edible flowers in the spring and summer salads. It looked like Catherine wouldn't be getting that lavender with her salad. Come on, move it. I got food getting cold here. Move it, damn it. Finally. I was running behind. We're expected to have all meals marked as delivered by 1.30 p.m.

It was 1.15 p.m. and I was still 10 minutes away from Catherine's. Not getting back on time after delivering my last meal, well, Catherine's last meal was an unnecessary detail that I didn't need. In three miles, turn right onto Davidson Avenue. Turn right onto Davidson Avenue. In three quarters of a mile, turn left onto Brandywine Rise. In 500 feet, your destination is on the left.

You have arrived at your destination. I had two minutes to spare. I needed to move quickly. I needed to be gentle and not damage the flowers. I made sure to put them in the same place as the lavender I removed. Oh, it's you. Who is it, sweetie? It's your lunch.

Oh, okay, one moment. Can I have my mom's food or what? Yes, I just need to review the ticket with her to make sure it's correct. I'm sure it's fine. Thanks. Did she leave? I promised her a slice of children. cheesecake. She had more deliveries to do, Mom. Besides, I made that cheesecake for you. I don't want you

sharing it. Oh, don't be silly, sweetie. I'll just have to give her one tomorrow. That was probably for the best. Bon Appetit, Catherine. I walked into work that morning bursting with anticipation. My stride was faster and wider as I headed in toward the office. I felt my heart beating faster as I approached the bin. I licked my lips and reached out for the day's sheet. I paused for a moment when I I felt the smooth texture in my fingertips. I turned it over. There she was, Catherine Gower. I was certain she would have been off the list.

Then all sorts of scenarios were running through my head. Did she not eat the salad? Did she pick around the flowers? Did she eat the flowers and get treated at the hospital? Would I get there and no one would be there? I collected myself and took a breath. You okay, Jackie? Yeah, I'm fine.

Looks like the standard route today. It's a good day when I don't have to remove anyone from the list. Sure is. I'll see you later. Drive safe out there. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe I didn't put enough in. No, I was certain I did. The most logical reason was she either didn't eat the salad or the flowers. Admittedly, I hadn't prepared myself for this, and letting my mind wander wouldn't help anything. The sooner the van was loaded, the sooner I would figure out what my next step was. After all, I had a fire yearning to be started. I needed to see the ticket for myself.

almost like I was trying to pinch myself to wake from a dream. There it was, an open-faced turkey sandwich with extra mashed potatoes and corn. No dessert. I felt despondent. So I closed the door and got into the van. I would review the menu and plan again. Right then, I just needed to know what happened. The day went like any other day, and I was on my way to Catharines.

Nervous anticipation rose in me, and my palms had gotten sweaty. Despite that feeling, there was the thrill of possibly getting caught. I'd imagined it was like how a cheating couple feels knowing that their whole scheme could tumble down at any moment. But the pleasure outweighed the risk. I put the van in park and sat for a moment, replaying the possible scenarios in my head. Then I stopped myself, took a breath, and got out. Oh, it's you again. Damn it, I knew I forgot to do something.

Listen, I... I... I don't know how to say this, so I'm... I am just going to say it. Mom died yesterday. There was that warmth. It rose quickly in me and burned away my doubts. Oh my.

I'm so sorry. No one told us. Yeah, I guess that's my fault. Mom left a whole binder of things to do for when she died, but I have just been, you know, processing all of this. Of course. Don't worry about it. I'll tell the office for you.

But you'll have to call and inform her insurance provider, and they'll stop the service. Right. Okay, thanks. Um, listen, would you, um, would you mind coming in here for just a few minutes? I mean, I don't know if you have more stops or whatever, but... I know this sounds silly, but my mom put aside a slice of cheesecake for you. She always had nice things to say about you, and I know she really wanted you to have it.

I don't know, it's not common for us to... Please. I know it would have meant a lot to her. You know what, sure. This is my last stop. Great. Thank you, really. Please, come in.

I walked in and over to the living room. Please, have a seat. I'll just be a minute. I really appreciate you coming in. This all happened so suddenly, and to be honest, I knew she was dying, but I didn't expect it to happen so soon. I guess I'm in disbelief, you know?

What's that, they say? First stage is denial? Yeah, I believe so. This invitation was diminishing my moment. I would just take a couple of big bites and then say that I had to go. Here you go. I brought you a glass of water, too. Sorry, I didn't ask what you wanted to drink.

My mind's a little fucked up right now. So I hope that's okay. This is fine, thank you. You know, my mother loved this cheesecake. Her mother made it for her, and I found the recipe a while back. I thought it would be a nice thing to do. It looks delicious. The cheesecake was very.

very creamy, but the almond flavor had this sort of bitter taste to it. And I knew Mara saw my face cringe a little because of it. I have to admit it, I'm not the best baker. My mom was kind enough to eat it, but I think the almonds I used were not as fresh, so I'm sorry if it's a little bitter. It's okay, really. It's very creamy and tasty. I can really taste the almonds. My grandmother always said the secret was to grind your own almonds, so the natural oils come out. This is what makes the almond flavor strong. You know, my whole childhood, I would have done anything for my mother to show me how to make this. My mom was more firm than affectionate, and we didn't bond with things like this. My father wasn't around much. It's that damn mill that ended up killing him, and in the end,

it killed her too. When I was a teenager, I saw that my father cared more about that damn mill than his family. Sure, mom told me different, but I knew. Mom was very passive-aggressive too. She had this uncanny way of guilting you into doing what she wanted or making you believe things were your fault. Well, as soon as high school was over, I got on the first bus out of town to any college that would take me. I took another big bite, which would be my last.

I swallowed the bitter cake, and I took a big sip of water. I was doing all right on my own. I had a nice place, had a decent job, I miss that life, but I guess I can head back to it now. Plus, it doesn't hurt that my mom knew how to invest their money. Thanks for that, Mom. She was the financial brains, after all. Now I just need to get this place sold, get my inheritance, and head back to my life.

Listen to me, rambling on and on. I'm sure you don't want to listen to all of this. I've probably kept you long enough anyway. It's okay. I'm used to people talking to me, but I really should get back. I need to mark the delivery off before I get into trouble for a late delivery. Sure, sure, I'll walk you out. You know, in a weird sort of way, I should be thanking you.

What do you mean? Well, based on my schedule, Mom should have died in six or seven days. I mean, with the small amounts of cyanide that I've been putting in her cheesecake for the past few months. She should have succumbed to it next week, so you really accelerated my plans. I was stunned. Was she serious? You know, you're not the only one who knows about these sorts of things. Shit, those were my flowers.

What the fuck was she doing with them? My heart was racing. I could feel my breathing starting to struggle. With you poisoning that salad, I have an alibi now. I thought about using something like this, but cyanide was perfect. Mom likes almonds. It smells like almonds. It was a no-brainer.

Now the slice I gave you was from a special cake that I made it just for you. And with the amount that I put in, you should be dead by the time you get to the highway. If you hurry, though, you might be able to get some help. I tried to speak, but it just came out as me gasping for air. Oh, you're not looking so good there, Jackie. You should really get going. Oh, a word of advice, don't try and throw it up. It'll just damage your airways more, and you'll probably just suffocate.

Don't forget your flowers. Thanks again for coming by. I put the van into drive as quick as I could and started back to the highway. I could feel my heart pounding now and my chest hurt. I could simultaneously feel my head. getting dizzy in my stomach churning. I blew through a stop sign and headed toward the highway. I held the wheel with one hand and grasped at my throat with the other. I turned onto the highway and accelerated quickly. I felt my eyes getting heavier. I opened them quickly and caught myself

from swerving into the other lane. The pain was growing inside me and I felt my insides on fire. This was not the warmth that I longed for. My eyes were so heavy. I couldn't keep them open anymore. My hand slipped off the wheel and I felt myself slump against the driver's side door. 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.