The NoSleep Podcast - S24 Ep3: NoSleep Podcast S24E03

Episode Date: February 15, 2026

It's Episode 03 of Season 24. Enter the dark waters of the Cape Fear River as we present tales celebrating the dark side of Valentine's Day."Blood Marriage" written by Shiv Majmudar (Story starts around 00:03:55)Produced by: Claudius MooreCast: Narrator - Peter Lewis, Isabel - Mary Murphy"Taut" written by Shaun Meeks (Story starts around 00:22:30)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator - David Cummings, Tina - Danielle McRae, James - Atticus Jackson"Fool's Gold" written by Z.D. Dochterman (Story starts around 00:47:45)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator - Jeff Clement, May - Sarah Thomas"You Must Cut It from You" written by Andrew Kozma (Story starts around 01:11:05)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Jessamine - Linsay Rousseau, Henry - Xalavier Nelson Jr., Cassandra - Wafiyyah White, Witch - Nikolle Doolin"Jules" written by Andrew Scire (Story starts around 01:39:10)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: DJ - Graham Rowat, Jules - Nichole Goodnight, Phone - Nikolle Doolin, Receptionist - Mary Murphy, Cop - Atticus JacksonThis episode is sponsored by:Mint Mobile - Ditch overpriced wireless with Mint Mobileís deal and get premium wireless service for 15 bucks a month. Cut your wireless bill to 15 bucks a month at mintmobile.com/nosleepClick here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about the Crimewave at Sea 2.0 Cruise!Click here to get your Crimewave at Sea discount code and bonus event!Click here to learn more about Shaun MeeksClick here to learn more about Andrew KozmaExecutive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone"Taut" illustration courtesy of Hasani WalkerThe NoSleep Podcast is Human-made for Human Minds. No generative AI is used in any aspect of work.Audio program ©2026 - Creative Reason Media - The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media. No part of this audio program may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. All rights reserved.

Water. It gives us life. We are drawn to it. Yet it holds immense power over us. It can bring unspeakable horror to the most familiar places. Your morning shower, a tranquil riverbank, or the endless ocean. It's time to dive deep into the abyss. From the dark waters of the Cape Fear River, immerse yourself in horror as you. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. Did it hurt?

Were you at first shocked, staggered by the blow? There was no pain when it went inside, but you looked down and saw the shaft. It was deep in you. And then the blood. So much blood. Your heart struggled to pump, but it raced fast, trying to regulate the wild fluctuations of your blood pressure.

And still, there was no pain. Your brain released the neurotransmitters to help your body deal with this wholly unexpected. experience. But you knew it was too late. It was happening and all you had left to do was fall. Fall slowly, utterly. And that, my lovely friends, is what happens when Cupid's arrow pierces your heart and fills you with feelings of love. And as we celebrate the deep, red, throbbing, hearts of Valentine's Day. We do what we often like to do around the middle of February.

Expose ourselves to the dark horrors of love. Yes, horror is not limited to feelings of hatred. And there is, as we know, a thin line between love and hate. As such, it makes sense that horror stories can take our most sacred emotion of love and draw from it a spirit of emotional disturbance. emotional pain, emotional horror. It's our hope that our tales for this Valentine's Day will satisfy your love of horror with the horror of love.

It's time to plunge into the horror of our sleepless tales. In our first tale, we learn of two young lovers, drawn together despite the disapproval of their parents. Sounds like Shakespeare's famous star-crossed love. lovers, doesn't it? But no, because that which we call a relationship by any other word would smell as foul. Because in this tale, shared with us by author Shiv Majumdar, these two kids chose to sanctify their relationship with a very special marriage, one which should satisfy their cravings. Performing this tale are Peter Lewis and Mary Murphy. So there's no need to

R-SvP, even if you were invited, to the blood marriage. When you're born, it's about the blood that you came into this world with, pumping through your veins, and you carried it through childhood and through the darkness. And sometimes it spilled, leaked out of you whenever you encountered something sharp. And a wound is cleaned by the person who shares your blood, who gave you your blood, and who would give every drop of their blood for you? Blood is love. Love is blood.

Blood is everything. And some people are just everything to you. Most people don't understand why we did what we did. Because I've never told anyone, not a soul. Most people don't get the chance to love the way Isabel and I loved each other. Maybe no one knows because it was young love, and young love is almost always a secret, isn't it? What we did was twist it, yes, but to me, blood is love. And just like there was a lot of blood, there was a lot of love.

This was senior year. I can't explain how quickly we'd fallen in love two summers before. It was like losing your footing and falling down a cliff. There was nothing but darkness below us, but the darkness was for us only. My most beautiful memories are in the dark. He kissed for the first time in the dark at the bottom of that cliff. When dusk was nearing and we were the only ones in the mossy woods at the time. During homecoming, one year later, the gymnasium lights went out for the final song and we danced in the dark.

and the only thing I saw was the red glow stick tied around her neck. We loved the dark, I guess. It brought us closer than we would ever imagine, so close that everything love offers wasn't enough, and we wanted ourselves inside each other forever, and no physical act can do that. We made love a few times in the dark, of course, And I don't remember when I got her pregnant.

I don't think I even intended that to happen. It just did. Like we both wanted something we weren't ready for that we couldn't realistically have in this world of steel boundaries. But it wasn't a mistake either. Love isn't a mistake if it's true love. And when you bleed for a reason, that blood isn't a mistake either. She told me about it a few days before.

spring break, and I think it was then that we decided what to do. We had decided, even before that day in April, when two lost 17-year-olds had had a blood marriage. Isabel's parents hated me. I never officially proposed to her. We both knew that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together and nothing could stop us. Isabel's parents did not believe that two people could fall in love at 17? Or rather, they didn't believe that their daughter had fallen in love with someone like me. I missed school often. But what Isabelle's parents really hated was the hunting knife I took everywhere. More than my truancy. I kept it in my pocket, and she was the only one to hold it other than me. It was like she was holding my beating heart. And there was no one I wanted to do that

more than her. I was told many times to stay away from her, but that wasn't happening. I remember that being the reason why we had the blood marriage that night. We could not leave each other without one last embrace. She had held my heart in her hands before, but we wanted to flow through each other's hearts, not just once, but forever. We would be together in every heartbeat until death. I remember. I remember remember how gorgeous she looked on the night of our blood wedding. It seemed that all the blood in her body, the blood that would soon run through me, had risen to her cheeks for the occasion. So her face seemed adorned by two roses. She wore her hair loose, thrown to one side, and everything about her spoke of radiance. I remember feeling a lump rise in my throat when I first saw her that

night because she was too precious to lose. And I knew I needed a blood marriage then. That was when I knew there was no turning back, that we were destined to bleed into each other. For me and Isabel, that night was our blood wedding. But for everyone else at our high school, it was the day the varsity basketball team faced off against our arch rival, the lions. Everyone on our school's team, the Falcons was dressed in red. The school spirit was lovely, but everything we saw was, you know, covered in blood. We felt like the entire crowd was there for us.

It only made me want to bleed more. This was a social event where you went with your friends and your girl went with hers. So we were separated at first, the same way it is at a wedding, where the women helped the bride get ready and talk her out of her nerves. She stayed with a handful of girls, none of which knew about the marriage.

I saw her staying strong throughout the whole thing, cheering when the falcons made a three-pointer, smiling with her friends. But her eyes were frightened. To the world, her eyes were dead. And if anyone other than me stared at her, they'd think she was stricken with terror. To everyone else, she did not want to bleed. But when her eyes met mine as she can tell. conveyed only one word, and that word was, yes.

A little before halftime, my eyes found hers across the student section, and she conveyed another word, and that word was now. We each muttered something about getting a drink to our friends and hurried out of the crowded gymnasium. We met each other outside and didn't say a word to one another until we had reached the woods behind the school, until we were finally alone. I wore a small backpack with everything we needed. Some gauze, a tourniquet, and my own hunting knife, shined and cleaned for the occasion. I wanted the hunting knife to be part of the blood marriage. Isabel had objected briefly, but she knew how much it meant to us and how her holding it, and one day had brought us together in a way nothing else could.

And using it today would merge us. into one forever. I thought you would bring rubbing alcohol. No, no, didn't have it. It's fine. The blade is clean. She nodded, biting her lip. If you don't want to, we don't have to.

That sentence was familiar somehow. I said it before we made love for the first time. No, I want to. We have to. I held my hunting knife between us. I placed it onto the cold earth and wrapped the tourniquet around her arm tight as possible. Then, once the veins through which her life flowed, could be seen beyond her perfect skin, I held the knife above the crook of her arm.

I cut. She began to bleed fast, the blood running down her arm like an urgent river. She must have been screaming, but she bit down on her shirt with small, even teeth muffling her own cries. The laceration made by my knife couldn't have been more than an inch, but the blood was pouring and pouring. I bent my head down, seeing the smooth flesh of her arm and the running sheen of blood, sliding down it, soaking her in red. and I kissed her wound, opening my mouth to her, tasting the life that ran inside of her. And it didn't bother me because I knew that this had to happen. We wanted this to happen.

It was destiny. When I was done, she took the hunting knife from me and slashed a line across the crook of my arm, the way you would sign a love letter. She was more delicate than me. It had been raised better. so she was slower to bring her lips to my blood, slower to drink. I had gone in without any doubt to show her how little doubt I had about everything. She seemed to think everything through and then do it anyway because it felt like destiny,

and what can you do about that? Love is strange sometimes. It can also be dangerous. Her lips, even in the dark, were stained red. She wrapped a bandage and gauze around her arm, did the same for me, and we shakily stood up. I felt dizzy and faint, wondering if I was coming down with an infection, and I leaned on her. I always could. The taste of her blood was still on my tongue, but it was a pleasant taste.

It reminded me of her lips, of her. When we were younger, she tasted like green apple candies and bubbleggy. Now she tasted like pain, two things which once felt far away, but now, now they could be seen just beyond the horizon. A red sun to light the rest of the way. We walked out of those woods as different people. The blood pulsing loudly in my ears was now hers, and now her blood would power me forever. My heart was my own, yes, but she flowed through it. In the woods behind us, shadows of deer sprinted in the impending night. At the school, disappointed fans poured out of the exit.

The varsity basketball team had lost another game, but we didn't care, much less notice. This night was ours. I didn't throw up her blood later, and I don't think she threw up mine either. It has stayed inside of me forever running through my veins. Even now, as I lick my lips and wonder if I can still remember her, I kissed her lightly on the lips on that cold April night after our blood marriage. And it was the last time I remember kissing her. She moved away to another city with her parents,

and she said goodbye to me one last time at her house. This was before she was leaving for the airport, the last time I saw her. She ran her hand over the scar on her arm over and over again, tracing a memory. I felt mine burning then, as if the knife guided by her hand was digging into my flesh again so she could join part of me with her, keep it forever. I asked, almost shyly, if she wanted to do the wedding a second time, because I would never see her again. My voice. My voice, broke, a tear fell down my cheek, because this was the first time that I had said those words aloud. I'll never see you again. She, she kissed my face lightly, and instead of drinking my

blood, she drank my tears. Now all of my pain was inside of her, without having to say a single word, running through her veins with my blood, and when she cried, I made sure to do the same thing. Go ahead, call us monsters, but nothing tasted better than her blood, her pain, not ice cream on a summer's day, or fresh spring rain, or even our first kiss. Love is blood, and blood is love. and if someone had taken a knife to her throat right at that moment and she bled out all over my fingers, I would drink it, lap it up like a dog, because then she would run through my body forever. She would be immortal. But I couldn't stop her from leaving town.

No one could. She moved somewhere far, went to a college I've never heard of, And perhaps she's forgotten the blood marriage. It's been years. She's only human. And time swallows the things that ruled our world years ago. But I have every girl and woman in this town as her face. I see them picking strawberries and imagine licking the red juice from their fingers.

A girl scrapes her knee at the swimming pool, and I crave her blood as it flows, darkly into the water because blood is love. And no one has loved me in over 30 years. No one since Isabel. I've resisted the urge to drink the blood of other girls for so long because deep down I know that only her blood is mine. But my hunger is constant and I fear that I will not. control myself for long. Maybe I'll feed tonight. Not breaking the blood marriage, is it?

Isabel, I know you'd understand. Tattoos, piercings, scarification, branding. Some people are drawn to these types of body modifications for many reasons, cultural, personal expression, or even the spiritual reasons. And in this tale, shared with us, by author Sean Meeks. It is the spiritual reason Tina is drawn to these extremes, and when her boyfriend tries to treat her to a most extreme experience,

she can only hope the pain is transcended. Joining me in performing this tale are Danielle McCray and Atticus Jackson. So make sure the equipment works, make sure the chains are tight, because they need to be taught. It's getting cold.

Or at least she feels it is. Her body sways slightly, nausea coming in and moving out in waves. Tina doesn't want to throw up, what little there might be to bring up. Afraid of dehydration as much as anything else. The sick feeling is a combination of a few things. No doubt, keeping her eyes closed isn't helping anything. Yet she doesn't want to open them, doesn't want to face the reality before her. The reality is

She's going to die Cold Her back throbs And she bites back the pain she feels Rippling across her body Bile burning the back of her throat She wants to cry out Scream

But there is no hope Screaming and crying Won't do anything but make her feel worse There's nobody around that can hear her So it would be useless to expend the energy Tina had wondered how James had found this place, an old beat-up warehouse that stood like a decaying tooth and an equally rotting mouth. From the outside, the building was something from a bad

horror movie, a lost building that seemed as though it would be haunted with malicious memories and putrid souls. When they had pulled up to it in James' old sedan, Tina looked at the place and told herself that there was no way she was stepping foot into a building that undoubtedly housed rats, bugs, and one or two homeless people. Some people would look at her piercings, brandings, and surface implants and think, a freak like her lives for places like this. Those people, she thought, are idiots. Her body modifications didn't mean she liked the macabre. She wasn't into horror movies or shock value. Tina altered her body for spiritual reasons. James knew that, so why he had brought her out to this warehouse close to nightfall was beyond her.

He had told her he had a surprise for her, an early birthday present. Right. Here we are. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. You coming? You're kidding, right? Come on, T. You love it.

James smirked at her, giving Tina. that look that he knew melted her resolve. Bastard. She looked back at the building, a husk of its former self, looking both too dark and too luminous in the fading light. Turning to look at James, she felt a trust in him that she had never felt in another. She was compelled to trust him so badly and had no idea why. He was no fairy tale, though.

A string of fuck-ups led up to this moment. and he was sucking up large. Below her now, James is only visible in parts, where the moonlight breaks through the broken window, walls, and a dilapidated ceiling. What she sees is enough, though, as his destroyed body is being visited by a family of raccoons. She sways and can hear what she is happy not to be able to fully see.

Wet sounds. Hungry sounds. The sounds of noisy eaters feasting on meat, feeding on her boyfriend. Even though she can't see it, hearing the sounds, just able to make out his body jerking in and out of the shadows as the little animals tear away bits of him would have been enough torture for her. She closes her eyes again, wishing she hadn't trusted his smile. She blames herself almost as much as she blames him.

It's not like it was the first time he dragged her into a bad situation. Like the time he convinced her to climb over a chain-link fence to watch the meteor show in a clearing, and they were chased by a shotgun-wielding farmer. Or like the time they went skinny-dipping in a large, stagnant pond and came out covered in huge leeches. She had never forgotten how it felt to pluck the slippery, fat bodies off of her tiny little wounds left behind. Her back and legs cry out in protest, screaming at her for her stupidity. She knows her mother would tell her she deserved this, that it was her punishment for making some pretty stupid choices.

When Tina had first gotten into body modification, after meeting her first boyfriend, she told Tina that she was a freak, and that had only been a lip piercing. The more she did, the worse her mother's reaction had been. She was an abomination in the eyes of God. Her mom didn't get it, though. Most people didn't.

The things she did to modify her body weren't about looking a certain way and definitely weren't about fitting in with any group. It was about how they made her feel. For Tina and many others, it was a spiritual thing, a way to be pulled out of her body and see and feel things most people never do. Each new piercing, tattoo, alteration of skin and flesh brought her one step closer to something greater. Something, yet as soon as each incision was closed, or the hot pink of a brand faded and healed, came a feeling of not enough, always not enough.

She began reading up on different religions and cultures that used body modification to reach spiritual enlightenment, and wanted nothing more than to experience each one, to feel it for herself. Now, hanging in the dark, her body cold and numb in places and alive with pain and others, she sways over the partially devoured body of her greatest love, contemplating the cost of her lust for hooks. James had known about her obsession with enlightenment, had joined her on many of the same paths, but there was one thing she had been seeking, one that seemed to be the ultimate release.

It was so attractive and that it seemed impossible to achieve. Her body, she was sure, could do it, but it was pretty hard to find people who knew how in this little town. Then, fast forward to the dirty warehouse and the surprise he had waiting for her. Oh my God. Tina's mouth hung open. standing in the open doorway of the old building. How the hell did you set this up? She was already forgetting the state of the building's exterior,

now that she could see the guts. I take it you like? What do you think? The inside of the building was a shock, almost medically clean, the smell of bleach still strong in the air. It wasn't perfect. There were holes in some of the outer walls,

smashed windows, and spots missing out of the ceiling. But otherwise, it was cleaner than she could have imagined, as though an army of molly maids had stormed in and performed their magic. It wasn't the cleanliness that amazed her, though. It was the apparatus and gear in the middle of the room that she was focused on. It was her dream come true. Now, I set up a small generator here, too, but it won't last long.

We won't really need it too much anyway, T. This will be your first time, so I don't think it'll be a long one. Who's setting me up? I am. Tina had raised her eyebrow at that. James was deep into modifications himself, but she knew he had never performed any before, especially not something this complicated. Below her, as James continues to be eaten, chewed on by the shadowy animals,

she tells herself that she should have listened to her own reason. knowing that James was a complete novice, totally untrained. She wishes the stink of bleach, the wet sounds below, and the throbbing in her back would just go away. As she grits her teeth, biting back at the bursts of red-hot pain exploding across her flesh, she shifts to try and bring relief. It's no use. And it wouldn't be an issue if she hadn't been so damned excited

about what James had done for her. I've been reading up on this and checked out some videos and documentaries. I even did some messaging to make sure I don't dick it up on you, T. Trust me, this is going to be amazing. She had smiled at him, walking over to the setup, admiring the amount of work he had put into it all, which he began to explain. Cleaned it all myself.

That alone took over eight hours, and you know how much I love to clean. Yeah, right. Exactly. So everything after that was a cakewalk. The main chain and crank was easy enough, but I had to climb all the way up to that beam to set it. She looked up, as James pointed out, the eye beam close to the ceiling, nearly 40 feet up. When we get going, you can go as low as you want, or just below that. You'll know it feels right. I want to feel like I'm flying. I want to feel so free.

She looked at the rest of it, the cords, the frame, and the hooks. There were ten in all, six thick ones for her back, and four thinner ones, two for each leg. When it came to suspensions, the hooks scared a lot of people. But the pain was the key. Sometimes you have to push your pain threshold to its limits before you can let go and find out who you are. and there was pain, but nothing she couldn't tolerate, nothing unbearable. She stripped down to her panties and laid down on a tarp James had brought, beginning breathing exercises before he started.

Then the first hook pierced her back. She took a quick breath, in, then out, as James pushed the point of the metal into the skin he was pinching. Tina was already so in tune with herself. so close to a peaceful state that she was even able to hear the popping sound of the hook as it broke through the other side. You good? Perfect.

Each hook went in. Quick breath, pop. And with each one, she felt more and more relaxed, feeling a release from the world around her. The warehouse began to fade, as though it was set on a dimmer switch, The only sound she could hear were James, her own breath and heartbeat, and that of the hooks going in. She could sense how close she was to that place she had always sought, her own personal nirvana.

After the last hook was in, she stretched her arms out and waited. I'll go slow. Tell me when you're ready for me to stop. Tina said nothing, but gave him a small. nod, not wanting to lose her headspace. She heard the crank turning, took in a deep breath, then almost forgot to let it out again. Never in her life had she felt what she had in that moment. Her bond with the earth was suddenly gone, like an umbilical cord being cut. She was free of the womb that once held her and kept her safe. She was flying. She was free. She was free. She was free. Tina was everything and nothing all at once.

Around her, everything became instantly silent and dark. Her mind totally absorbed in the moment. She felt the pain as she rose in the air, but only so much as someone is aware that there are other planets or galaxies above them. To her, the pain became her air, a tool of necessity to get beyond the physical. She closed her eyes, began to breathe meditatively, and flew on her physical and spiritual plane. It was glorious.

Suddenly, the feeling was lost. Ah, shit. Tina opened her eyes and looked down at James, 15 feet below, standing at the crank and looking pissed off. What is that? Something's wrong. You're jammed. Damn it. He looked up, and the problem was clear.

Looks like there's something wrong up top. If you want higher, I have to clear it. Make it fast. Tina bit back laughter. Her body was filling with endorphins, and she was feeling a huge, natural high. Light-headed and giddy. The pain was evaporating.

I'll try. Tina's body hummed with an electricity she had never felt in her life. Every nerve ending seemed to pulse, throbbing with its own pleasant heartbeat, slowly moving toward a unison that she knew would be the final key to finding her true self. Throb, throb, throb, throb she could sense it. Feel and see in her mind's eye her dream coming true. Her own inner heaven was about to be seen.

James screamed, loud and abrupt. Her eyes shot open in time to see her boyfriend of three years. The man she loved and trusted hit the concrete almost directly below her. His body smashed into the ground hard, and he let out a grunt that was nearly drowned out by the thudding sound of the impact and the awful sound of many bones breaking. James! She shook the cords and hooks that held her in the air,

but the only thing that came out of him was blood that pooled under his body. Tina began to scream for help right away, and it took her nearly 15 minutes to realize and remember that they were nowhere, out in a part of town lost and forgotten, abandoned. She felt hope drained from her as time passed, a feeling of doom setting in. Losing the high meant losing the endorphins,

too. Pain came slowly at first, seeping in as it had faded out only minutes earlier. The shadowy ache quickly became brighter and more intense. Those pleasantly throbbing nerves were now like small bombs exploding, burning with stronger and stronger intensity. Within the first hour, the generator died. Then the last of the fading sun went with it, leaving her alone and and terrified in the cold, open space. The night was clear, and the moon spilled just enough of its pale light for her to see the floor as the first scavengers, dirty gray rats,

found James's body and made tentative plays at him. She was able to see them nibble at his fingers, their fat bellies smearing the blood into a fuzzy shape, streaked at the edges from their tails. She turned her face away, trying to keep herself apart from what was happening to her lover's corpse below. But that only made her very aware of her own problems. She was cold, naked except for her panties. She had to pee.

There was no food, no water, no way down. Well, no safe way. No help coming. No hope. Tina told herself to calm down, meditate, and take herself away from the hopelessness and fiery agony. She sucked big breaths in and slowly pushed the air out in a rhythmic cycle. Four counts in, six out. And for a while it worked.

She took herself to the woods, to a warm, soothing setting, and let her mind move away from where she knew it was. Then she felt things. At first she ignored the sensation. She often got tickles or itches when meditating, and they'd go away. This was different, though. There was something on her back, more than one something. It tickled like crazy. Tina moved, swaying on the frame as she twisted to see it.

It was completely useless. The farthest she could see was where her right shoulder blade was buried under a mountain of skin, punctured by a metal hook. Her arm couldn't begin to come close to touching the tickly spots, and the shift in balance only made the pain worse. The tickling sensation on her back was persistent. She tried not to panic, but her mind filled with the possibilities of what they could be. Flies, cockroaches, beetles, whatever they were, made her. itch all over. Tina could feel their small, hairy legs moving up and down her bare skin, moving around the burning holes where the hooks were punched through. She tried not to think about

it, but those itchy things made it impossible. She could feel them, and in her mind's eye, see them all over her. She thought of them burrowing into her open skin, eating before laying their eggs deep inside her so that when their larva, their maggots hatched, they'd have something to eat. Panic filled her, and that swaying feeling made her thrush about. All she wanted was for them to get off her, leave her alone. But no matter how much she moved, they didn't get off. They just crawled, itched. Hours passed, the dark turning to light. She pissed herself, panties clingy and damp, chafing her sensitive skin. It seemed humiliating, but hardly the worst of her problems.

The agony was constant, and the day was timeless but for the sun dipping and her growing hunger and thirst. Again, sunset. As the hours passed, Tina thought about how resilient a skin was, even though it appeared so fragile. She had been hanging by ten hooks through her skin, yet they didn't just tear out. As easy as a bullet or a knife or even paper can cut through it, her own skin was strong enough to hold up her 100 plus pounds.

How much longer could it hold? How much more could it take with the bugs on her, nibbling and mating in and on her skin, feeding on the exposed fat? and muscle. Was it resilient enough to keep her in the air? Would that even matter? She looks down now at James, dead below her, and wonders how long until her flesh admits defeat and resigns her to the floor next to him. She wants to cry over it all, losing James, the pain that makes her want to and knowing that before the next 24 hours have passed, she will likely be dead.

Dying is bad, but anticipating it, counting down the minutes and seconds to it, she thinks, is the worst part. The bugs feel as though they're swarming on her, as though the maggots are outnumbering the adults. She feels the itchy legs, and worse, the small bites up and down her. She can feel wiggly things working in the holes that even she can smell now. Death may be better than us. The raccoons are still busy with James, and she wants to yell at them, scream at them to get away. Her voice is gone, though, throat too dry, thirst making it sore and scratchy, swallowing hurts, and the dust in the air makes her mouth gritty. I love you, James.

You fucking idiot. He was dead. She would die. The bugs and scavengers would probably clean up long before anyone entered the warehouse again. Tina's body is rattling from the cold. The cords vibrate between her and the frame. Tina knows death is coming, and she knows it comes down to a choice. She can die of starvation, thirst, or shock from the extent.

Ended trauma, maybe even exposure. It could take longer than she wanted to think about. Lose, lose. Without fear of death and bracing herself for the worst, she began to thrash back and forth, kicking her legs, rocking side to side. Ten violent explosions made her eyes stream with salty tears, and a guttural hissing rushes through her gritted teeth.

But she can't stop. She knows what she needs to do. Hysterical, she is determined to make it down where James is. And finally, it happens. One of the hooks rips through, tearing open her flesh. The pain is blinding, white-hot, but she can't celebrate the first one. It's the first of many, a small victory. A second goes in her left calf.

then a third at the small of her back. Each one is awful. Her adrenaline is in overdrive. She's crazed and smiling now, dangling 15 feet above the concrete by only two left, one in her left thigh and one in her right lower back. It's only a moment of the awkward drape of her arms and torso to one side before the last two hooks give way.

nearly at the same time falling not flying but free when you're in love with someone deeply passionately in love you'll do anything for them anything

and you can only hope they'll do the same for you and in this tale shared with us by author Z.D. Doctorman we meet a man and his sweet love May may is getting over a traumatic relationship and he wants to help pull her away from all that darkness.

Performing this tale are Jeff Clement and Sarah Thomas. So hold on to precious things, even if they only look precious, like fools gold. When the freezer door and icy air blasted the black mold-covered walls of the basement. She reached in and grabbed a cube-shaped glass container, about a foot wine. and dropped it in my hands. It burnt cold, but I held on. Kidney. But Jonathan did everything.

Splines, lungs, pancreas, too. For the black market? A cabinet of wonders, he called it. His damn collection. I'd be upstairs listening to that back and forth screech of saw on bone. high-pitched snips of tissue on his scalpel. I knew it was wrong, but I thought I loved him. I thought he told me he'd kill me.

May leaned into my chest and began sobbing. But your fault, May. I held her tight, like some bird I wanted to keep till I found its nest. I grabbed at her lips with mine through that wet slop of tears. this. Not you. You hear me? She nodded meekly. See, it couldn't be my May's fault. I'd met her nine and a half years ago, October 12th, 3.47 p.m. after her psychology class at the University of Washington. I'd never gone more than a week without talking to her in all that time. Even when she moved to Portland to work at a remote therapy startup or when I'd traveled in Chile after losing my fourth

job and a year. In all that time, I'd run through girlfriends, ones that had wanted to take me to beachside vacations on the Olympic, or treat me to dinners at places that paired salmon and fennel with coastal views, sycophants for my attention, obsequious pleaders, clasperes, and grabbers, ones who weren't May. In all that time, we'd never kissed, never done more than hold each other as the foghorns bellowed like maimed sea lions across the waves. The only thing she'd ever done wrong was not listen to me. I warned her about Lucas, the architect major from college who'd given her those black eyes. Or Stephen, the cashier at the pawn shop, who didn't let her go out on her own after six at night. I'd even tried to tell her about Jonathan when she

called me at one in the morning just a few months ago. That night, he'd been hospitalized with the overdose. Move in with me, May. I'll pay for everything. I'm the one who will protect you. This is what love looks like. Now Jonathan was dead. Sped straight into a guardrail in the Pacific Coast Highway.

Cops found him with a back seat full of deer parts, some pills, and a 12-gauge. They said he was going 105, maybe 110. At last, she had no one. No one? We spent most of the afternoon walking in the rain, holding hands up and down the Puget Sound along Seaview Avenue. The wind was soft as it dribbled across the white water under the graying sky.

But my thoughts were hazy and far off like the shrouded outline of Mount Rainer. She needed me to do the thinking for her. What to do with the organs? how we get out of town and get lost to the world forever. I called in sick to my job at the Red Star's bar, sick, not quitting, to give May and me some more time. More time before James, the shift manager, could tell the police I'd just up and disappeared.

Kept my voice casual, un worried. He told me if I could walk, he'd expect me at 8 p.m. sharp. Job was on the line. I did my best not to laugh at the threat. How little things matter when love is on the line. Next, I phoned my mom. I knew it was probably a mistake. The less contact with anyone the better.

But I couldn't not call her. One last time. I'd asked her to take out Rot, my eight-year-old Rotweiler, for a walk. Told her I'd got caught up with helping a friend move. She'd grown sick of the favors, loaning me a hundred bucks every month or two, getting my car out of the in-pound lot on the nights I'd drank too much. She sighed and agreed to help the dog for me.

I'd have to pick him up later tonight, tomorrow, whenever it was that May and I split town. I wanted to tell my mom to let her know I wouldn't be around to help her get to the doctor visits anymore. Do the shopping for her when the leg pain got too much, to visit her on Saturdays and sit there in half silence as we played cribbage. Maybe I could send her money anonymously, hire help for her. Maybe I just wanted to hear her voice one last time.

I tried to tell her I loved her, but only managed to ask her to give Rod a big hug for me when she saw him. She hung up without saying anything. Around 3 p.m., May and I sat down at Meadow Point and watched both. boats drift in their languorous wanderings. She picked up a clump of sand and let it drain through her fingers and sang a thronautic lullaby. Fools gold, fools gold.

That's some song you heard online? Made it up myself. You look at things one way and the whole world sparkles. You look at it another way and it's all just rocks and sand. You holding it together? her, Mae. She wiped at her nose with the back of her flannel shirt. It's just these headaches.

Dizziness. Sometimes I could hear them talking to me. The dead ones. They're not real, May. They're just in your mind. You have to listen. The words in the wind. That's when they talk to me.

Get your mind straight once we're far away. Just promise me you won't go to the police. May gave the smallest of nods. She held out the bloodied sleeve and inspected it. Nosebleed. They bring blood, she kept saying. A rivulet of tears ran horizontal across her eyelashes. And her hand shook as she dropped more sand on her exposed, cream-colored toes.

I knew it was wrong. Now the voices won't let me forget. Then ignore them. Focus on mind. A trickle of red on her cheek, down to her lips. I can't. Not when they're loud like this. I grabbed her by the shoulders.

I said focus on mine! Her eyes bulged with terror, but the crying stopped. We listened to the sound for a good half hour, not saying anything. We got back to the house just after sunset, and the world felt like gold. Real, lustrous, precious. I grabbed her around the back of her neck and stared at her. I would not let go this time, would not let my eyes flinch. I saw her lips tremble, cheeks, chin, mouth, moving toward mine,

slow and hesitant. Nine and a half years became nothing in that kiss. It sealed our pact to carry this through, the end. She and I made love in Jonathan's old bedroom in that weather-worn Queen Anne, above the backyard garden, just off from where they buried the corpses. Neither of us were crying, or maybe we both were just quietly, quieter than the rustle of the wind. At last, our bodies had intertwined like seaweed, fixing us to each other forever in that lattice work of legs and arms. We lay there looking out the window at the few stars that edged their way past Seattle streetlights,

and we'd look at them together every night for as long as we lived. I'll never see another star without May. She traced her sharp forefinger nail along my abdomen. A red streak appeared. I yelped and smiled at the pain. She carved another line just below my ribcage on the left. This time I could feel the slow dribble of blood as I pressed my back into the bed sheets.

She was smiling too. At last, I'd done it. I clutched her by the shoulders, kissed her hard enough to hear the clank of teeth. Suddenly, the wind whipped the rain-stained house, crackled against the window. She looked around the room at the corners of the ceiling, Again, an uppercut of wind stunned the glass.

May leapt out of bed naked and wrapped the duvet around her. Blood dripped from her mouth. Can you hear them? Please tell me it's not just me. It might have been the crunchy hum of that freezer down in the basement or the nightlight in the bathroom next to us. But I thought I made out a few syllables. Words, maybe.

Barry. It didn't matter. I could protect May from anything. I held her close, and she traced her fingertip along the spot where she'd cut me on my back. It's not important if I hear them. What matters is what they're telling you to do. They're telling me I can still make it right if I do what they say. I steadied my gaze on her green eyes.

Then tell me. May pulled in close, whispered it in my ear. Hearing her words made my stomach clench up, kicking acid up my throat to burn my gums and teeth. But I swallowed it back down. For her, no matter how vile, how repulsive. We had to do what the voices said. What May said, I kissed her like some cougar with its fangs on a tibia bone.

Then we do it tonight. We do what the voices say. And then we leave. We descended the uneven stairs of the house and stepped out to that grassy garden where they'd buried the bodies. To the left was Jonathan's tool shed. I smashed the lock with a hammer,

and the door creaked open. My flashlight shined on a machete and a couple lanterns. Three hatchets were scattered at the back. I smacked down a spider web and grabbed what I was looking for, not a demet. Soon we'll be in Boise here in Spokane, and this will be over, and you'll forget what you did tonight. We walked over to the garden, with its uneven patches of grass and recently upturned dirt, those shallow burials.

I told May to go to the freezer to get me one. A minute later, she was back, holding a box in her hands. Jack, no, Jacob. She flipped the organ over and over, like it had the story of his life buried deep in that tissue. Software engineer, unmarried, had a patchy beard like he was trying to grow it in, but couldn't. Boxes, takeout, and beer cans at his house from long hours of overwork. Jonathan made me use the medical name. Rohypnol.

We put it in Jacob's vodka and grapefruit. He was number two. Liver and stomach only. Where is he buried? May flicked her chin to the far edge of the garden, toward the rotting fence. I took the shovel and started digging. Earth shifting over earth.

Three, four minutes of digging. The smell jumped into my throat, like swallowing month-old eggs. I covered my cough as best I could. Swallowed hard again. Do it for her. Then I saw the skull. It splanched gray with flaps of tissue still stuck to it.

Earthworms and ants clambered through the nostril holes. I felt my guts wrench inside. May gasped and turned her face away. Her breath was quick and short, like she'd been fleeing something for nights on end, like her running couldn't stop. Give me the box. May came over and opened it.

I stretched out some surgical gloves so my swollen fingers could fit inside. No fingerprints. No memories of this place. The wind picked up and whipped through the pine needles. Each gust forming half-completed sentences. Where the organs go. Bury or else we will. Not sentences.

Just wind noises. Just paradolia. Just wind. I pulled the stomach out first. A slop of fluids splattered on the floor. I made sure to set it just within Jacob's rib cage, where a stomach ought to be. Dug my fingers under the ribs and slid the liver in.

I'd been biting my lip so hard to keep from throwing up, I'd grown numb at last. Numb was good. Finally, I shoveled the earth back on the skeleton and patted it down with my bare hands. So that's what the voice said he wanted. Yes. How many more?

I don't want to. Damn it, May. How many? Blood began to drop out of her left ear, cascaded down her neck onto her collar. The wind whooshed through our hair, pushed May back a half step. They're getting louder, not softer. It doesn't make sense.

I handed her the shovel. It needs to be you too. I'm just as guilty as he was. The police will... I can't take it any... When we finish, the voices will stop. Promise. I dragged her by the arm over to where another body was buried.

May leaned her head against the rounded wooden tip of the shovel and sniffled. May lifted the metal shovel tip and drove it into the earth. She shook her head and began singing her song. With pyrite, fools, gold, fool. The wind's misty veins pressed hard against my cheeks. This time there was no doubt. It was speaking. Clear and spectral words that made my shoulders shudder.

More organs. Burry them all. Burry them with us. I brought more boxes out of the freezer. Lewis, spleen, gallbladder. Rebecca, tongue, small intestine, Dong Mei, eyes, brain. We exhumed all eight, matched organs with bones. I wanted nothing more than to put the voices in May's head in my head to sleep under the damp earth.

Just before sunrise, May tossed the last plumes of dirt over the ninth corpse. We'd drive to get wrought, grab my pistol, a few containers of oatmeal, and some changes of clothes. I'd cut my hair off, maybe May would dye hers. Sand-colored or tawny, or maybe even gold. Then we'd get on the road, headed east, into the rest of our lives. We went upstairs to bed. The dirt from the graves and sweat slathered across the bed sheets. May kissed my neck and then put her.

lips on my heart, like some hummingbird and a flower. The voices are gone. You were always right. I don't know why I didn't see it before. I leaned in my head against her neck. Forever. She handed me the last sip of her whiskey and soda to finish. The wind shook the windows, banged hard and fast,

but its paragraphs of utterances meant nothing. I woke up in a blur. Wet. Freezing. Dizzy. A searing pain in my chest. I began to make out shapes through the penumbra of consciousness. Ceiling fan.

Mirror. Shower curtain. Porcelain of the tub. I must have fallen. May. May? What's going on? I tried to get up, but my muscles wouldn't respond to my thoughts.

My legs felt like dead dogs. I just have really injured myself, drunk in my sleep somehow. What was I not remembering? Knowing May, the ambulance was already on the way. I didn't want you to feel pain, love. A red stream of melancholy washed over May's cheeks. What happened to me? My chest feels...

The voices did it like you said. Then we'll do more. We'll do whatever you say, but tell me what? I am doing more. I'm doing exactly what they told me. I could turn my head enough to see May's gloved hand and the scalpel had clenched. The metal dripping with thin streaks of blood.

My heart boomed and my mouth went dry. I tried to move again. There was no ambulance coming. There was no standing up. Breathing became huffing. Huffing turned into the wild eululation of a clenched throat. Then she started to sing. I write, fools gold, fools gold.

Diasol, systole. The rhythmic boom, so close, so loud in my ears, coming from my chest. It's the pain, right there, my chest. Then I made the mistake of looking. My skin had been cut open from the bottom of my sternum to just below my neck. the flaps of flesh dangling off it like butterfly wings The squish of my heart made the sound of a half-swallowed lunch

Agulping over and over I screamed Louder than the wind at the windows Louder than May's spiraling song I didn't want this to... She rubbed the hair away from my forehead I just needed one last thing the one organ Jonathan and I never took.

Hot tears mixed with the ice around my stomach. The vertigo was taking me, losing consciousness again. I thought of my mom, who would never have to loan me money again, never have to roll her eyes when I called. I thought of rot, staring at the window now, waiting for the familiar sound of my truck to pull into the driveway. But it never would. I whimpered out a few words.

Why, me, me? Why did it have to be me? Me a warm kiss. I drew it into my lips for what seemed like forever. I couldn't believe how tender the kiss was. It was all I ever wanted. The scalpel drew closer to my chest, to mine, warm, messy. flowing. I knew better. I knew I should call out for help, but she pressed the tip of the blade

into that throbbing pink muscle. The slice burned like acid thrown onto my exposed chest. I bit my tongue and a worm-sized morsel of it plopped into the bathwater. She would bury me there, along with this heart, wouldn't scream. I could only think. But May wouldn't do this to me. I may. Beneath the waves, we claw our way back onto dry land. Join us again next time when we plunge into the chilling depths where water hides its darkest secrets. The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical scores are composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Michalski,

Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornett, and Claudius Moore. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley McAnally, Ollie A. White, and Kristen Samito. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings. To discover how you can get even more sleepless horror stories from us, Just visit sleepless.com to learn about the sleepless podcast.com.

To learn about the sleepless universe, add free extended episodes each week and lots of bonus content for the dark hours, all for one low monthly price. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for taking the plunge into our dark waters. This audio program is copyright 2026 by Creative Reason Media. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted

without the written consent of Creative Reason Media. No part of this audio program may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. All rights. Reserved.