The NoSleep Podcast - S25 Ep7: NoSleep Podcast S25E07

Episode Date: October 4, 2026

It's Episode 07 of Season 25. The frequency of fear brings you cyclical psych-outs."Supposed to play Puckball" by David Sharpe (Story starts around 00:03:45)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by Jeff ClementCast: Narrator - Graham Rowat, James - Jeff Clement, Tom - Elie Hirschman, Orderly - Mary Murphy"Out in the Park After Dark" by Juan Cardenas (Story starts around 00:13:25)Produced by Claudius MooreCast: Narrator - Peter Lewis"Subterranean" by D. Corisis (Story starts around 00:27:40)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by Jesse CornettCast: Narrator - Dan Zappulla, Grandpa - Graham Rowat"The Flooding Problem" by Michael Miersen (Story starts around 01:15:30)Produced by Phil MichalskiCast: Mark - Kyle Akers, Del - Atticus Jackson, Sarah - Sarah Ruth Thomas"There Is a Doorway" by Jacquelynn Lyon (Story starts around 01:43:00)Produced by Phil MichalskiCast: Darlene - Linsay Rousseau, Dad - Atticus Jackson, Bethany’s Mom - Nikolle Doolin, Bethany’s - Danielle McRae, Olivia - Mary Murphy, Honey - Nichole Goodnight, Other Girl - Sarah Ruth Thomas, Craig - Elie Hirschman, Boss - Wafiyyah White, Intern - Katabelle Ansari, Gary - Jeff ClementThis episode is sponsored by:Weight Loss by Hims - Ready to reach your weight loss goals? Weight Loss by Hims and WegovyÆ. Get a personalized, affordable plan that gets you. Go to Hims.com/nosleep.Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about D. Corisis Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone"Subterranean" illustration courtesy of MiggeaThe 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.

As you south for the no sleep podcast. You're listening to the No Sleep Podcast. Thanks for making us part of your horror soundtrack. I'm your host, David Cummings. Well, we're now in the month of October, and you know what that means. The No Sleep podcast can now start presenting horror stories for your Halloween...

Wait, no, no. We do Horror 360. around here. For us, the month of Halloween is really the full calendar year of Halloween. Good thing we have a stock of genetically modified pumpkins that resist rot and decay. If you're like me, it feels like time moves so fast these days that it's hard to believe Halloween was almost a full year ago. There's no escaping the March of Time.

And it's great when a beloved holiday like Halloween makes us excited when it comes around on its yearly cycle. But time and memories and our own personal experiences can sometimes feel like they're trapped in a sort of inescapable recursive state. It's easy to feel like life is a series of repeated actions, right? Wake up, go to work or school, come home, try to enjoy some personal time, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat, as the saying goes. But on our episode this week, We'll meet people who find themselves trapped in cycles where their past, present, and future bleed together. Whether they're caught in engineered or supernatural traps, they only know one thing for sure. There is no easy or clean exit.

So let's just say that a yearly visit from Mr. Jack O'Lantern can be a good thing. At least we know that nightmare doesn't last year round. Well, that is, except for here at the No Sleep Podcast. Now, brace yourself for the frequency of fear. In our first tale, we meet two young men. They're in a waiting room, but this isn't a doctor's office. As we'll learn in this tale, shared with us by author David Sharp, this is where young people go to join the war effort.

and let's just say the two boys don't share the same level of enthusiasm about it. This tale has been produced by Jeff Clement and features performances by Graham Rowett, Jeff Clement, Ellie Hirschman, and Mary Murphy. So when you're young, stick to fun things, especially if you were supposed to play puckball. Soft lamplight washed across the waiting room with its plush, overstuffed chairs.

Framed posters hung on the walls, printed in bright colors. They proclaimed in large, loud letters, help the war effort, and donate today, and give it your all. James gazed around the room, and his hands twitched with glee. He wasn't alone. In one large, plush chair sat a boy. Bounding across the room, James dove in. into the chair next to the boy.

Wood under the soft stuffing creaked, and springs groaned. Hi. The boy shrunk in terror from him. I'm James. Why are you here? You can call me Jimmy if you want. I... I...

The boy's eyes were wide, tears threatening to spill over. It's okay. You don't have to be scared. James tried to cross his arms. But it didn't work right for some reason. I know. I'm a lot. That's what mom says. She says I'm loud, too. My dad, well, he died.

But he used to say that I was like an elephant. But I won't bite. Elephants don't bite. At least, I don't think so. The boy wiped his eyes and sat a little straighter in his seat. I'm Thomas. I don't have a mom or dad. but everyone at the home calls me Tom.

The man said I was here for assimim-assimulation? Ooh. James felt his eyes get big. You don't have a mom or dad? Did somebody grab you off the street and bring you here? My mom says bad guys will snatch kids off the street and sell them to be assimilated. She said it just like that. Assimulated.

Tom shook his head. No, the home was too full, and the sister said it was time to do my duty. You said duty. He leaned closer, and Tom shrunk away again, but only a little bit. Assimulation is so cool, though. James's voice came out low, with a growl he'd never heard before. I learned about it two years ago when I was eight. I asked Mom, but she said no.

She said next year I'm going to play puckball. All the big kids in school play puckball. Then why are you here? My friend used to play puck ball. He said I'd get to play when I was older. Tom's face fell. Just not anymore. James wrinkled his brow.

It didn't seem to work right either. I read all about assimilation. I've been reading since I was five, you know. The scientists made these giant metal suits for soldiers to wear, but they were too big and clunky. Sometimes the soldiers just fell over like turtles and couldn't get up. Then, battle droids. Robots to fight in the war.

But they had too many wires and gears and junk. Every time they tried, pow, pew, pew! The bad guys shot the full of holes. Even with the biggest computer, the robots were still dumb as bricks. Tom was leaning forward. now, eyes wide, not with terror, with excitement. So then, assimilation. James leaned closer.

A thought flitted through his mind as he looked at the boy his own age, craning his neck to look up at him. But it was gone before he could grab it. I saw it, you know, once. I wasn't supposed to, but I peaked. They start with the legs. What? furrowed his brow and wrinkled his nose. They do. I saw it.

They figured out you needed a person inside. Not the whole person, just the brain and the gooey parts to keep it alive. Way smaller than a computer, so they can wrap it all up in armor. Bullets can't get in. Cool, right? They start with the legs, chop, then the arms, chop, then everything else they don't need. and then bam, you're a battle droid with a laser,

shooting bad guys all day. Tom collapsed in the chair and began to cry. James wondered why. He was about to become the coolest, the coolest kid in school. One of the doors in front of the boys opened and an orderly rushed in. Stray hairs pulled from her bun and floating in the breeze. There you are X-17-992. Orientation drift is normal, but you gave me of bright.

James looked at Tom. You have a robot name already? Cool. No. The orderly shook her head. You, X-17. It can take a little while for your mind to assimilate to your new form. It's okay.

Now, why don't you just come with me? She reached for him, and James held up his hands to stop her. Hands of silver metal that glinted lamplight. She grabbed his hands and grunted as she pulled him to his feet. Now let's get you back to the recovery room. James allowed her to pull him toward the door, heavy metal feet clanking across the floor, his heart feeling the weight of something missing.

He looked back at Tom. Guys, mom said I was supposed to play puckball. If you have a goal for a better body that doesn't include robotics, that's great. But getting there on your own can be the hard part. Weight loss by Hymns offers access to a range of FDA-approved GLP-1 medications, including the Wagovi pill and the Wagovi pen, plus support along the way. Wagovi is the first ever GLP1 weight loss medication available in a pill, And it also comes as a pen, so you've got options.

With Wagovi, you can lose up to 20% of your body weight. People lost an average of 14% body weight at 64 weeks in a Wagovi clinical trial, alongside diet and exercise. I'm having a lot of positive results from my GLP1 journey, and you can too. To get started with Wagovi, just go to Hymns.com and complete an online consultation with a licensed provider, who will determine if a prescription is a. appropriate. HIMS is more than just a prescription. Nutrition and lifestyle guidance are part of the

plan, along with access to 24-7 messaging with your care team, so you've always got someone in your corner. Ready to reach your goals? Visit Hems.com slash no sleep to get a personalized affordable plan that gets you. That's H-I-M-S dot com slash no sleep. Hems.com slash no sleep. Individual results may and stopping treatment may result in weight regain. Weight loss by Hymns is not available in all 50 states. Wagovi is the registered trademark of Novo Nordisk AS. To get started and learn more, including important safety information. Wagovi clinical study information and restrictions, visit Hymns.com.

Listen closely as we return to the frequency of fear. It's a thought experiment we've heard for ages now. If you could go back in time, what would you do? Many answers involve getting rich gambling on known events or killing Hitler. But would you want to meet your younger self? Well, in this tale, shared with us by author Juan Cardenas, we meet a man who has tried for years to connect with his past, and his journey has been arduous indeed.

This tale has been produced by Claudius Moore and features a performance by Peter Lewis. So bundle up and stay warm out there. You don't want to catch cold if you're out in the park after dark. The grass was sparse. There was a cold wind and wet slush from a fresh snow on my leather wingtips. I could barely get a grip on the ground as I stumbled forward, now walking for over an hour. My lungs were burning, my old joints and muscles aching and crying out, but I kept on.

The bench was within sight. Exactly as I remembered it, the old green wood with all the chipping paint and the rusted iron bolts and legs. As I had seen in my memories and nightmares, I was here. But I hadn't done the ritual right, not just yet. It had to be near dusk, but not truly dusk. I had to be wandering without a goal in mind, and I had to be calm and clear-headed. Then and only then might I be allowed to traverse to that hidden zone where this bench resided, affixed to a location that could reach many different points in time.

I'd tried it so many times before at so many points in my life, so many wasted nights and so many failures. That is, until I got the process just right. It took several attempts, patience and the mental fortitude awarded by a lifetime of meditation, desperation, and experience. Dusk was fast coming on. I knew that I had to be lost. The first time I did this on purpose, I managed it by pretending to play soccer.

It was before my injury, and I, feeling nostalgic for my childhood at 25, decided to visit this place. As I kicked the ball, a younger boy, maybe 14 years old, stopped it, juggled it on his ankles for a bit, and then nodded at me. We played for a while, using the bench as something of a goal. He was fast, but sloppy. I don't think he realized who I was until I started to start to talk. I asked him how school was and his face dropped. The realization came to him and I nodded. We didn't hug. We didn't shake hands. I guess there was some shock to meeting your future self that scared him. He started asking questions. I answered them to them to his satisfaction.

We played minor league soccer. We had a girlfriend, but it was not Alice, and we lost touch immediately after high school. And mom and dad were doing great. It was the type of reassurance that warmed both our hearts. It felt like we were going to hug, but instead he just kicked the ball away and disappeared into the tree line, you know, back a decade. I could remember this interaction now from both. perspectives, was really obsessed with that girl. I looked her up later on and I felt the same feelings I did back then, but now that door was closed, I thought. Shortly after this encounter

was my injury and the subsequent depression, the too long pit of despair that I found myself in. I seemed to forget about this place. Time was running out. I was too old now to be waltzing around a cold park at night. I wouldn't make the same mistakes again. I could fix it. I could fix it all. You see, I didn't realize it, but I had done this so many times. After another bunch of years, I was 45, unmarried, chasing a ghost of a love that would never come back. I had become stuck in the cycle. By then, I had even thought the time-trial. By then, I had even thought the time-trial. traveling bench in the park was just a silly delusion and delusions. Well, I had several. I took this walk in the park as part of my mandated therapy and wellness recovery program to get some fresh air

and exercise. Lost in my own head, I had regret after regret confront me until a little boy stood before me. I was aghast. He must have been nine years old, maybe. He was mischievous, confident, wearing a neon blue and yellow windbreaker. I sat on the bench that night, fully exhausted and mesmerized at the younger me. I didn't know what to say to him. What could I say? Hey, kid, get a good look at the loser you'll become one day. That wouldn't be helpful. Eventually he came up to me and asked what time it was.

I looked down at my watch, which was spinning out of control. I told him I didn't know. He looked at me angrily, asked if I was a creep. I said no. He then asked if I knew his dad. I looked like him, to which I said that didn't mean I knew him. But it just so happened that I did. He said he was running away.

His dad was too tough on him, and he wanted to do. to get a taste of freedom. The memory came flooding back, and that translated into a horrid laugh that emanated from my gut. I nearly doubled over in laughter. I stopped myself, though. I remembered his, well, my fear that night. I was acting tough. I was acting tough. but I was not. I stood up and the younger me put his hands up like he was ready to fight. But I just shook my head. And in my gentlest tone, I said,

Don't worry, boy. I just remembered something that made me laugh. That's all. Please, please go home. Go home and tell your pop you love him, hmm? Don't forget your mom. and if she needs help around the house, you do it, you hear? One day they'll be gone.

He ran off into the trees and back almost four decades. Sitting on that bench, I realized that if I hadn't run into myself and scared myself back to running home, I... I might have gone somewhere and who knows maybe become a boy on a milk carton. It was only after the younger me was gone that I realized. I blew it. I could have said so many things. Hey, and invest in Bitcoin. Buy property.

Don't play that fateful game in the muddy park when you're 27 because that damn injury will never go away. I had thought that was my first, you know, for my younger self and last for my older self-encounter. I thought it was over for me that I'd squandered my opportunities, like always. That was the year my mom died. I had to go through and liquidate all her things,

and that's when I found it, an old drawing. It just said, me and the old man in crayon. I thought and thought about it. I was a little boy, only five years old, and I met some old man. I must have kept talking about it, and eventually drew it, and probably with mom's help, I wrote out this little title. She must have thought I made it up or imagined it, but I realized my opportunity.

I had another chance. I wrote a long letter for the young me to have. Every stock to invest in, every mistake that he must avoid, and then life would be different. Life would be better, easier, I would be rich. I wrote Allison's name. I told the young me to pursue her then, when still young and fit, before it was too late. But I didn't know how old I would be. My crayon drawing didn't have any clues, except that I was old. Forty-five became 55, then 65. I didn't have any friends.

I did nothing but live like a miser off whatever money I had and wander the park. It got to the point where the doctors said I needed to relax a bit more, eat, sleep, do something besides wander the park. It was stressing my heart and mind. I became main, gnarled and twisted visage of a man. My back hunched, my face emaciated, my eyes deep, with a terrible sunken quality that accentuated the redness from my lack of sleep. Something about this, wintry night, felt like this was it. I was freezing. I hadn't bothered with a coat. And then it happened. I walked past the bench, only to be approaching it again. Twilight, having consumed the park,

distant paths and city buildings lit up to compensate for the lost sun. I sat on the bench, trembling now. The wet, cold was drenching my very bones. And that's when a crying boy approached. My heart skipped a beat. I beckoned him. I told him it would be okay. I could remember it now,

as if his proximity was awakening these old memories. I had lost my father's hand running after some squirrel or something, and I wound up here. I told him he was safe, his father would find him soon, that I just needed to tell him something. Reaching for the letter in my pocket, it, uh... It started, though. The tightness and pain in my chest, the shortness of breath.

No, no, no, no, no, not now, not now. I tried to speak, I tried handing the boy the letter. As I started to fade away to crumple into a heap, my heart exploding in pain in my chest, he took the paper and with a simple blissful smile, he folded it into an airplane and tossed it. He chased it. He picked it up to throw again. No. It was too late. I remembered it now from his perspective

An old man that looked like a skeleton He stopped me from crying and he gave me the paper airplane to make Yeah skeleton man sat on the ground seemingly tired and he took a big nap Dad called and I turned to look for him relieved he was back I told him about the old skeleton man and I pointed at the bench, but there was no one there. My dad told me, that's great. You have a great imagination.

And I told him I could throw this airplane real far. And it landed in the trees before dad rushed me home because it was getting dark and cold out there. And we shouldn't be out in the park after dark. If you've listened to the No Sleep podcast for many years now, you've probably learned one important lesson. Always be suspicious about inheriting some old property from a family member. We'll meet a man in this tale who has done just that.

Because in this tale, shared with us by author, D. Corrissus, the man's old shack in an old mining town once belonged to his grandfather. And there's more than one reason the man should have stayed far away from it. This tale has been produced by J. Jesse Cornett, and features performances by Dan Zapula and Graham Rowett. So if you can't stay away from the property, at least stay out of the areas you've been warned about. Some dangers can become utterly subterranean. The old dump was finally mine.

Not that I had ever particularly wanted it, but the legal process to gain ownership after my grandfather's death was somewhat grueling. I wasn't sure if I should have felt a sense of accomplishment or solemnity. I stood before the house with an expression of disdain. It was more of a shack than a modern home. In my youth, I remembered it looking far more majestic and full of adventure. The town itself was brimming with possibilities for an eight-year-old back then. Now Boulder City was just an old mining town turned into a tourist trap.

Updates had been made to bring it into the 21st century, like adding an ice cream parlor or renovating the old brothel into a semi-decent hotel. But when all was said and done, it remained just a dusty old town a few miles into the Rockies. My grandfather had actually inherited this house from his father. It wouldn't have been much in the same. the town's heyday, but over the years my grandfather saw fit to turn it into a proper abode, with a second floor and some form of plumbing. I pulled at the leash in my hand.

My old lab was making eyes at a terrier across the street. Its owners had it tied to a pole while they went into a small museum to enjoy some AC. June, quiet. I tugged firmly. It was usually enough to bring her back in line. Turning back to the old house, I asked. So what do you think? Caught a lot of snakes around here when I was little.

She didn't respond other than to shake her head. Not sure what I expected. She had no way of knowing how much time I spent running around the property as a kid with my cousins. It may not have been pretty, but it did offer my family a nice getaway in the summer. My grandfather was more than happy to have the extra company for a weekend or two. I squinted at the siding. Some parts were rotted with visible termite damage. The porch sagged from years of neglect.

Likely, it hadn't been built properly in the first place. Old grandpa just needed somewhere to drink his beers in the shade. I sighed and approached my new property. it's going to take a lot more than a coat of paint to get this place ready to sell. Pushing open the front door made me nervous about the structure's integrity. Growns came from hinges long neglected. The interior was dark and musty. Curtains were drawn across the windows denying access to the mountain's sun.

The place was lived in and not well cleaned. Couldn't have been from abandonment. My grandfather had only died three weeks ago. It saddened me to think I only remembered it being so clean because my grandma was alive back then. You couldn't pay me to sleep on the recliner or sofa in the front room. I could only imagine what the bedroom upstairs was like. Likely, no one had been in there since they found his body.

I had every intention of staying at the hotel every night I was here. His love of fishing covered the walls. Prize-winning taxidermied trout and salmon stared with lifeless eyes between the faded pieces of art. Every creaking floorboard made you think one of the fish might be startled into flopping around on their mounts. The kitchen was as basic as you could get.

A single burner stove next to a sink was all he needed. Some of the pans looked like they had managed to stick around from when Boulder City was first founded. I prayed the hotel had some form of kitchen or food service. June, hot. I saw her leaning on the window to stare at the terrier. Should have left her home with the wife. The hallways seemed so much bigger three decades ago. Now it felt like my shoulders had only a few inches of clearance on either side.

Heading through a back hall toward the bathroom, I paused at a door. It stood out amongst the rest of the house, not worn like the others. It sat dark and heavy. I could tell just from a glance that it was made from solid wood. The basement waited beyond. Even now, it managed to make my heart flutter. If Grandpa ever caught one of us near it, he could. quickly shoot us away.

No matter how sneaky my cousins and I tried to be, the basement evaded our inspection. We were always told it was because the stairs were old and dangerous. Always keep the basement locked. My grandfather had reminded me of this time and time again, to the point where I couldn't walk by the door without hearing his words. It seemed like an odd rule, if the stairs were the problem. Now this spurred wild theories among my cousins,

ideas and stories about what could possibly be waiting behind the door. I remembered us meeting in the trees behind the property to talk in hushed tones about the ghastly noises one of us had apparently heard on the other side. Others shared rumors about grandpa taking animals into the basement to never be seen again. They always joked he was sacrificing them for some kind of ritual. I was too young to partake in these discussions,

other than to listen with wide eyes and agree with whatever they said. These were nothing more than the ramblings of children, of course. But still, as I stood in that dimly lit hallway staring at the heavy wooden door, I was apprehensive, even after all these years. Would Grandpa roll in his grave if I tried to open it? It was my house now, after all. I had a right to every inch of the place. I reached out to grab the knob with more anxiety than I cared to admit.

It rattled in my grasp. My grandfather's voice didn't yell from over my shoulder. True to his words, though, the door had indeed remained locked. right up until he kicked the bucket. As my first order of business, I decided it was high time I found out what was so important. The attorney had given me a rusty key ring with only three keys. One fit the front door,

another I knew fit the propane shed out back, and the last was for a mailbox. None came close to fitting the bill, of that gaping metal hole. Grandpa could have been buried with the key for all I knew. I grumbled with a frown. June was staring at me from the end of the hall. The heat was making her pant.

I couldn't deny it was getting to me, too. Hopefully, Grandpa had installed an AC unit. This is why I packed power tools in a crowbar. Don't you worry. I'm getting in there one way or another. I returned with enough leverage to open a bank vault. I didn't care if that door was two inches thick. I was getting in.

Whatever remained of my childhood whimsy demanded answers. The crowbar was the first method I tried. It wedged firmly between the door and the frame. I had hoped the frame was rotted enough that it would give way and I could save the door. But even with my full weight, the door wouldn't. budge. Apparently, keeping this door locked had been important enough for Grandpa to reinforce the frame as well. After that, I decided it wasn't worth trying to be delicate.

I grabbed a hatchet from my toolbox. Splinters flew with every strike. June scrambled out of the hall after the first whack. Desire fueled my quest for this lifelong secret. as I swung until sweat covered my brow. Carving deep gashes around the handle, I worked to simply remove the lock from the door altogether. Darkness started showing through the other side.

It looked like a rabid beaver had gnawed a crescent moon around the handle. Grinning like a child on Christmas, I plunged my crowbar into the splinters and pushed. Sounds of splitting wood filled the hall. It bowed and bucked in a losing battle. Listening to it popped, I gave a final push through the security. The door splintered open and swung against the wall. I huffed in triumph and pulled the handle from the doorframe

before tossing it down the hall as a piece of junk. Darkness waited in front of me. The stairs indeed looked old, but not enough to warrant concern. They descended into the inky blackness as if there were an ocean in the basement. Years of must and moisture reached my nostrils. I recoiled at the scent of rancid death. A light switch from the last century waded along the inner wall. Pressing the button brought two lights to life, one above the stairs.

and one in the middle of the basement below. Subconsciously taking extra care down the stairs, I entered the lower level. June's curious feet tapped on the stairs behind me to see what all the excitement was about. Her wagging tail brought an odd sense of comfort to the dreary room. I couldn't believe how ordinary it all looked.

A workbench sat along with, the back wall under the center of the house. Shelves of motor oils, paints, and various rusted tools lined most of the walls. Two barrels of what I assumed to be homemade wine sat in a corner. One wall, however, was particularly interesting, and it lent some truth to my cousin's claims. Situated against the wall on the back of the house was a door. I had never seen a door so well reinforced. Lined with metal bracers, it made the basement door look like it was made of cardboard. There was no getting through this door with a hatchet.

To the right was a long wooden table. A butcher block sat on one end, carved deep with the gouges of a missing blade. Dark brown stains of animal blood had. permeated the grain. Some of it looked as recent as my grandfather's death. A few straggling chicken feathers peppered the floor. He was down here before he died, possibly within a few days. I snapped my fingers at June as she jumped up to sniff the block.

Hey, get away from there. She obeyed but licked her chops all the same at the intriguing. sense. A bloody butcher block wasn't enough to keep my attention. Boulder City was an old mining town and not exactly near a supermarket. Was Grandpa killing animals for ritualistic sacrifice like my cousin's thought? Probably not. Killing them for food? Most likely. The door, however, pulled me in like a magnet. Maybe the reason for the secrecy wasn't the basement, but whatever was behind this daunting door anchored into the stone of the mountain. A padlock blocked my advancement. I had only seen locks like this in old westerns.

The thing was bigger than my hand and felt heavier than ten pounds. I would need an hour with a hacksaw to cut through its shackle. or one well-placed hit with the sledgehammer sitting in the corner. The sound made the basement ring like a bell when I brought the hammer down. Apparently, age had gotten the better of the lock. Though the shackle remained whole,

the internal mechanisms broke apart at my strike. I smiled while removing the broken lock from the door and tossing it across the room. Perhaps a hundred years ago it was better at keeping people out. The sound the door made when I swung it open on its rock-mounted hinges made my bones rattle. I felt the temperature drop immediately. The basement was a sauna compared to the gaping darkness within this tunnel. It reminded me of looking into the basement for the first time, only now there was no

light switch along the wall. June whined from the base of the stairs. I guess it was unsettling for her as well. A sudden bark in warning made me jump. Her sound waves dove into the tunnel and bounced off the walls like a bullet before fading off into the depths of the mountain. It was like dropping a stone down a well and waiting for it to hit the water. The longer I listened, the more apprehend.

I became standing at the entrance. There were abandoned mine shafts all across these mountains. I could hardly drive anywhere without seeing them along the road. In old mining towns like Boulder City, it wasn't uncommon for some shacks or houses to be built over the existing mining structures. I pondered the possibility for a moment. It made sense why children wouldn't be allowed in a basement with a mine shaft. It made more sense than dangerous stairs, at least.

I stepped into the tunnel. A flight of steps was hewn into the rock before fading out of the basement's light. The tunnel walls struck me as odd. They didn't look like they had been carved by pickaxes. There were some deep gouges in groups of three or four, but they were too elongated for me to attribute to any specific tool. Cool. Armed with a flashlight, I stepped into the tunnel and bid June wait for my return. I counted 15 stairs before the tunnel leveled out.

It was wide enough for someone to walk comfortably, though the headroom left something to be desired. The tunnel continued only for a time before branching into three new paths. I took the rightmost for the sake of simplicity. This was where I began to comprehend the scale of what lay before me. There was no end to the tunnels. My flashlight shined as best it could, but the darkness was thick. There was always more corridors, more opportunities to lose my way. I had kept to the right so far, but it was easy to imagine myself becoming hopelessly lost in the Chile's subterranean world.

I turned around. It was uncomfortable walking with the vast expanse of unknown at my back. Given how far these tunnels could go, I didn't like thinking about what I could have turned my back on. Returning to my grandfather's basement felt like returning to my own world. June was still waiting for me and more than excited to see my return. I responded with gentle ear scratches while pondering what I'd still. stumbled across. It certainly wasn't a mine shaft.

It was something else entirely. I had always heard legends of lost Native American civilizations sprawled beneath our feet. Until now, I never gave them much credit. But why was it in my grandfather's basement? I had to know more. Searching the piles of tools, I found a long. large coil of paracord, easily several thousand feet in length. And it wouldn't let me explore everything, but it would keep me from getting lost.

I clamped a large screwdriver into my grandfather's vice and set the spool on top before tying the end to my belt loop. She stared at me from under the butcher's table. There was fear in her eyes, and I could hear her whimpering. The open door to the tunnel wasn't sitting well with her, but I wasn't about to leave her unattended in the old house. June, come. Head down, she approached.

With the leash clicked to her collar, we stood in front of the labyrinth together. For the first time in 30 years, I felt the same excitement as when I was a child. I tucked a revolver in the back. back of my jeans as an extra precaution. I was adventurous, but not a fool. Who knew what kind of snakes or badgers might be living there? Let's see what the rest of our basement looks like. June wasn't as excited as me, but followed closely abreast.

It was rare not to see her leading. The paracord tugged at my jeans with every step. It became harder to move when I rounded corners, but my curiosity wouldn't let the friction get the better of me. The underground was far more complex than I anticipated. As I delved deeper, found more flights of stairs and branching tunnels, I became more and more certain that some form of intelligent beings had indeed created these walls. It couldn't have just been miners in search of gold. There was a reasoning to this dark work. I was surrounded by remnants of a civilization long-sense extinct.

I walked among its ruins with only my flashlight as a guide, revealing illuminated conical sections of this otherwise pitch black void. Without it, I might as well have been blind. The rope at my back was my greatest source of comfort. Its tugging was a constant consolation that I could find my way back to the service. Echoes of my own footsteps left me wallowing in the sensation of being followed. I'm not ashamed to admit looking over my shoulder several times. There were countless small alcoves and rooms. I was frightened when I saw the first, indicated only by a small doorway carved into the stone.

My mind tricked me into thinking I saw a face through the opening, but I knew better. A glimpse inside revealed what I believed to be some kind of storage space. There was some debris on the floor, what looked to be pieces of broken pottery and wood. Other nooks followed this same pattern. Sometimes they would have large open windows looking into the tunnel, or smooth boulders arranged in a circle or lines. the walls, chairs perhaps. The deeper I dared to go, the faster my heart raced.

Every flight of stairs taunted me to go just a little further. There was some art on the walls, but my flashlight wasn't bright enough to let me see it clearly. The markings reminded me of petroglyphs, though these were unlike any I had seen above ground. June stopped suddenly. to sniff the air. I felt my blood freeze in my veins when I feared we had stumbled across a bear. But then I felt a gentle breeze. The smell of charred meat found my nostrils.

My flashlight swung toward the ceiling. There I spied a small chute heading far into the rock above. Was I somewhere near the burger restaurant in Boulder City? Whoever had built this maze had been smart enough to build air ducts. My best guess was this one let out along the side of the mountain near the restaurant, likely hidden beneath the brush. How someone could accomplish such a feat without modern tools left me baffled. I think we should get a burger after this, huh, June? Smell is making my mouth water even under a mountain.

Sometimes the tunnels met with gaping. crevices cutting through the inside of the mountain. My meager flashlight had no hope of penetrating that darkness. Some of them spanned before me like a tear through the world itself. Thinking about slipping into those chasms made me uncomfortably dizzy at their edges, and I would have to back away with both feet firmly on the ground. I never would have had the courage to explore to such an extent without the rope at my back. Thinking about the amount of rock hanging above my head was nerve-wracking.

That, plus the ever-groping darkness at my back and shoulders, was enough for my heart. The possibility of getting lost didn't need to be tossed into the mix. The reality of my exploration hit when the tether pulled taut at my jeans. A gentle yank hoped to dislodge it from a particularly rough wall. I couldn't have gone the full length already. There was still so much to explore. My hand tugged again as June's started to whine at my side. It's all right, girl, I grunted, pulling again.

June's whines echoed down the tunnels. Her head spun between two branching paths ahead. I could hear some shifting rocks, but was too busy adjusting my tether to think much of it. Maybe if I had paid more attention to June's anxiety and the tail between her legs, things would have gone differently. She growled. This caught my interest. More rocks clattered further down the tunnel, too far for my flashlight to reveal. June lashed out, almost pulling the leash from my hands. Her teeth

bared themselves to the chilly air. Her hackles stood on end. I had never seen her so riled up. June! Calm down, damn it! My hands burned between holding on to her leash and the rope at my back.

She was in a frenzy. This was a dog in full attack mode. My hands started to slip. A sound made the blood curdle in my veins. It split the air like the cry of a distressed rabbit, followed by strong fading clicks. The tunnel reverberated with its screech.

Perhaps it was just a small animal meeting its end. Perhaps it was a warning. I wasn't about to stick around to find out. June, come on, we're... Another screech sounded off to drive her mad. I couldn't stop her. My grip wasn't prepared. I knew she was gone the moment her leave slipped from my sweating palms.

June! She ran beyond the range of my flashlight and doubt. a tunnel barking madly at whatever was with us. I could hear her nails scraping against the stone and the darkness. I couldn't leave her. Maybe it really was just a rabbit that had wandered in from a burrow. Against every fiber of common sense screaming in my body, I cut the rope from my jeans and gave chase.

June, get back here, damn it! Her barking echoed from all directions in a twisted dance with those shrill screeches. I didn't know which path to take. How far had she gone? My brain ached from the auditory strobe of her howling. A series of clicks followed by the yelping of a pained dog shot through the labyrinth. She'd caught whatever she was chasing. Or worse, it had caught her. Silence fell within the mountain.

I regretted ever entering these tunnels. I'd lost so much in an instant for the sake of curiosity. Grandpa spoke to me from his grave. Should have listened to me, boy. June! I waited, hearing nothing. Anxiety choked the air from my throat like a merciless hand. June!

Relief came over me in a cool wave. She wasn't dead. Lost, but not dead. Maybe we could still make it out of this place in one piece. June! It wasn't easy finding her in the maze of tunnels. With her voice bouncing off the walls in every direction, I had to focus myself to find the most probable source, all while listening for whatever else could be lurking underground.

That awful screeching hadn't sounded since she ran off. I prayed she had managed to chase it away. I called out again, hoping for another clue. June! She was very close. Any of the nearby corridors or alcoves could be hiding her now. Being this close, I didn't want to risk something else finding us before I could get to her. It would be difficult enough to remember my way back to the end of the rope.

I was right on top of her. Couldn't have been more than a corner or two away. All I had to do was grab her leash and turn back. I was ready to be done with this place. Hearing her barking around a bend, I turned into a small hallway and cast my flashlight across the floor. Chew. Her body lay lifeless on the stone. It wasn't difficult to see she'd been dead for a while.

My mind reeled grappling with the seemingly impossible reality. I knew I had heard her bark only moments ago. But given the pool of blood, that was impossible. It came from overhead. Swinging my light upward, I discovered the lurking horror. A ghoul born of darkness clung to the ceiling. Gray skin covered its lanky figure to make it blend frighteningly well into the stone walls. Purple veins ran over its body, some as thick as a pencil.

Not a strand of hair grew from the monster. I felt small under its mass. At full height, it must have easily exceeded eight feet tall. Those slender white fingers could have wrapped around my skull like a spider web. The head was the worst. It overwhelmed my visual senses as my bed. brain tried to reconcile the nightmarish sight with reality. I couldn't tell whether or not it had skin.

It looked like the head of a jackal peeled free of any flesh. There were no lips to hide its gums or teeth. Empty eye sockets stared ahead without life. Globs of saliva fell to June's fur. It's imitation of June. made my spine tremble. It was so perfect, and I had fallen for it without a second thought. Seeing the familiar happy Labrador sounds coming from such a fiendish head was enough

to make me sick to my stomach. The beast jumped at me. It was only time to raise my arm in defense before I was on my back. It stood over me on all fours, gnashing from my face. Our limbs tangled together in a desperate dance of creditor and prey. My ears bled from its cry emanated so close. Rapidly clamping jaws chomped at the air in front of my eyes. Spittle coated my face.

I tried to push its body away, but my hands just slid against the slippery gray hide. It was strong, fighting it was. a deathlish. Knowing my end would come soon, I raised my forearm on front of the face and allowed the creature to bite down. Bones snapped between its jaws. It seared like acid, but I couldn't pull away. Sacrificing my arm, I sought the revolver in my pocket. Blood stung my eyes when I pressed the barrel into the monster's torso. I emptied five rounds into that cursed beast's body, each one muffled by its flesh at point-blank range.

I couldn't use my last shot. If I was caught, didn't want my death to be by those nightmarish vice grips. The resulting shriek made the pain in my arm worth the torture. It brought a strange sense of consolation to see it was capable of feeling pain. With such a demonic figure, part of me was scared it could be impervious to such earthly sensations. It scrambled away with blood draining profusely from a gaping tear on its side. The blood didn't smell like any I had ever encountered from hunting. This thing was barely an animal.

Even more troubling was the amount of life left within its'est. form. I only watched it screech and writhe for a second, before I knew my revolver had failed to do a lethal amount of damage. I ran with my arm clutched to my chest. Blood soaked through my shirt, and I could feel deep puncture wounds big enough for my index finger to enter. I would be lucky to keep the limb after this excursion. But there wasn't time to think about that right now. Worrying about keeping a limb was a luxury for the living. I could already hear more coming. An ear-piercing howl vibrating through my chest as if searching for my heart.

I nearly slipped when I turned on my heel and sprinted down the tunnel. Why did I remove my rope? I was safe with it at my back. I could have gotten me out of this subterranean hell. Everything looks the same. I can't navigate without it. The thing was scrambling after me in the darkness behind my back. Dastardly feet and hands scraped against the floor and the walls.

I didn't think I could outrun it, even on flat ground in daylight, but trapped under a mountain in cramped tunnels. I didn't stand a chance. Their clicking was closer than ever. Watching me scramble away, the clattering jaws of that naked skull sounded like it was right at the nape of my neck. I didn't have the courage to shine the light behind me. Every step forward was a step closer to the exit. It was trying to trick me, lure me back in.

I couldn't fall for it. I couldn't let myself think it was possible even for a second. I'm sorry, June. I never meant for this to be where you spent your last moments. You deserved better than to die alone, terrified, and lost in the darkness. My flashlight strobed around the tunnel with my pumping hands. I was disoriented. I was lost.

I had no way of knowing if I was even headed in the right direction or going deeper into this underground prison. A hallway approached on my left. Feet sliding across the floor, I dove into the passage. The beast screamed at the unexpected change in my path and skidded past the entrance. I had a chance, but only a few seconds before it was over. Spying an empty room, I jumped through a window and huddled myself against the wall by the door. My flashlight shut off.

I didn't know how it sensed its prey, but I wasn't taking any chances. Pure darkness washed over me. I never knew it could be so utterly, completely black. It hurt my eyes to stare into that void beneath a mountain. Somehow the back of my eyelids seemed brighter compared to my surroundings. The silence was deafening. It didn't last long before I heard my pursuer clicking nearby. Echo location.

It knew I was hiding. The pale form crept through the tunnel with slow investigative movements. It was searching for me just outside the room. Its jaws clacked and echoed down the tunnels. I was being hunted by a demonic cave. skeleton that could see in the dark. Feeling its vibrations run over, my body made me bristle. Every solid jolt of air rattled my skull.

It loosed a low guttural scream. My heart lurched into my throat. It was at the doorway. Its searching noises bounced around the room. I couldn't see it, but I could hear its raspy breath. only a foot away. The air was colder around its body. Frost might have formed on the wall behind me.

It walked on all fours like a coyote with legs too long for its body. My heart had never been so loud as when I felt its face come within inches of mine. The breath from its mouth reeked of rotten earth and blood. I was going to die. My watch sounded alerting me that it was the turn of the hour. Doing so made the face illuminate with a dull green glow.

It cast itself upon the beast's face, showing the bony visage like a ghost floating in darkness. The jaws angled toward me. Shadows cast into its empty eye sockets. Strands of drool stretched several inches before landing on the ground in my hand. I spied bloody clumps of dog hair stuck between its teeth, and I wanted to scream. I prayed my watch would turn off. I couldn't stand to stare at this monstrosity for another second,

but I didn't know if it would be able to sense my eyes closing. fully entering the room its jaw hovered within inches of my face. I could have kissed it if I was mad enough. Staring it down eye to eye, I was certain it had found me. As my watchlight faded and left me in the all-consuming darkness, I waited for those hidden jaws to grab my neck. A screech reverberated from me. the maze's depths.

Rearing up, my pursuer stared out the window above me. Someone else had found its half-eaten kill. My poor June. An angry set of clicks. And it was gone. Chips of rock pelted me when it lunged at the wall and crawled out the window at the top of the tunnel inside. I listened for a minute. Those claws scraping the ceiling before it finally faded away.

Silence enveloped me once more. This was my chance. Covering the end of my flashlight with my hand, I clicked it on and made sure there wasn't still a toothy jackal standing over me. I was alone for the time being. My flashlight illuminated the room. It was empty, save for some chicken bones.

I was just glad I hadn't turned on the light to find a pile of human skulls at this point. Aiming the beam toward the doorway brought the real surprise. My rope. It was there lying limp in the tunnel. By pure fortune I had managed to circle back around. I had a chance. My revolver was cold in my hand when I removed it from my waistband. I didn't intend on being killed with bullets in the chamber.

Listening for any final sign of the beasts, I grabbed the paracord and began sprinting in the direction of resistance. The tunnels moved in amorphous blurs of light and dark while I ran. Unable to keep my light still while running, the illumination bounced in a rapid. pattern fast enough to make me nauseous. If I died here, my body would not be found. My screams would not be heard.

I would simply vanish from the world, like whatever ancient civilization built this network of tunnels in the first place. A pale limb flashed in the corner of my eye. They were closing in. Instinctively, I took a madman's aim with the revolver and pulled the trigger while running. I cursed my decision a second later. Though the thing fell back,

the gunshot roared through the tunnel like a clap of thunder inside my head. I instantly went deaf. My ears rang in anger. Were they all calling out to each other now? Was I being chased? I couldn't hear my own footsteps, let alone their ghostly whales,

but I could smell clean air. and the scent of freshly grilled burgers. I was near the exit. I scrambled, rope in hand. It felt like there were claws reaching at my shirt. There wasn't time to figure out if they were real. I would know later if I took it off and found it in tatters. There was dim light ahead.

It burned my eyes after so long in the tunnels, but I wanted to cry tears of joy. It washed over the initial flight of stairs like a golden glow of a salvation leading out of this hellscape. I couldn't hear myself gasping for air as I scrambled up the stone steps. I fell twice,

each time fearing something would grab my ankle and pull me back down. Running through the reinforced door must have looked like I was finishing a race. Only now did I notice the web of gouges on the back of the door. It shook against my hands when I threw it shut. There was nothing to hold it closed. No handle, no lock after I had broken it.

Desperate, I stuck a screwdriver into the latch. The basement jolted at my feet. Something had rammed the other side with enough force to bend the screw. It was never going to hold. Backing away, I found the stairs leading into the house. They must have been screaming. I was glad I couldn't hear them over the ringing in my ears. Scambling up the stairs on all fours, I reached the hallway. The basement door slammed shut only to bounce off the frame and creak open. The handle was gone, as was the lock.

The jagged hole made by the hatchet mocked me. The screwdriver snapped and clattered to the basement floor in fragments. The door flung open to the tunnels below. It stood motionless before pale, ghoulish figures emerged from the darkness. Maybe if I had paid attention to the claw marks on the back of the door, I would have thought twice about venturing into the abyss. Their approaching screams came muffled through my ringing ears, rising from a horde of ghouls emerging from the earth.

I should have kept the basement locked. To the silence, we close for another week. Join us again next time when we could see a fear for more sonic nightmares. The No Slee podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical scores were 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, Kristen Samito, and Marcus Damanda. 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. Dot the no-sleeppodcast.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 long month. Half of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast.

We thank you for listening closely and embracing the sound. 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 reserved.