S24 Ep24: NoSleep Podcast S24E24

Your morning shower a tranquil river bank or the endless ocean.

“It's time to dive deep into the abyss from the dark waters of the Cape Fear River.”

Emers yourself in horror as you brace yourself for the no sleep podcast. Thank you for joining us for the no sleep podcast. I'm your host David Cummings. Well we've reached the penultimate episode of season 24 and what a chillingly fun season it's been. We may be drying off after spending time beneath the dark waters of horror but the thrills remain unabated.

“And the no sleep podcast will continue to come to you from the shores of the Cape Fear River.”

So there will always be a hint of the dark waters in all we do.

We're excited to present our big season 24 finale next week. I hope you'll feel right at home with it. And as we reach the end of this season, it's understandable to take a look back and see if we reach the finish line having accomplished all we set out to do. I'd like to thank we have. And the thing is, sometimes you begin to seek something or work towards something. Something good, something positive, something that will make you feel better about life. And true to the realm of horror and which we reside, oftentimes the best intentions end up revealing that not only didn't we accomplish beneficial ends but we actually ended up in a nightmare from which there is no escape.

On our episode this week, we present tales where people really are trying to do positive things. They want the best for themselves and others, but alas, their attempts to spread some light into this world leads to nothing but darkness. As dark as the waters of the Cape Fear River, so brace yourself. It's time to plunge into the horror of our sleepless tales.

In our first tale, we meet Ali. She's trying to look after her health. Do all the things that will give her Vim and Viggar.

Unfortunately, she's decided that the best advice for her can be found in online forums. And in this tale, shared with us by author Gail Maitland, Ali learns that while some people want to give legitimate helpful advice, others don't. Performing this tale, our Mike Del Gaudio, Sarah Thomas, Atticus Jackson, Elana Chanel, Dan Zabula, James Cleveland, Jeff Clement, Nicole Goodnight, Jessica McAvoy, Wofia White, Matthew Bradford, Jake Benson, and Mary Murphy. So when trying to do what's best for your body, seek help from actual physicians, otherwise you risk going into a spiral.

“As slash all stupid questions one day ago, advent calendar, what is a keyboard warrior?”

My friends call me a keyboard warrior, but I'm not sure I understand what it means. I just spend a lot of time on set it trying to understand other perspectives. Sometimes I do ask a lot of questions and I tend to get wordy with my responses.

Sort by oldest, Boeing Boing Boing Boobies one day ago.

“Do you ever throw around inflammatory slurs that would make an old white grandpa blush, then you might be a keyboard warrior?”

Advent calendar, OP, one day ago. It's pen sound how he said the conversation gets. I've been known to call someone a dick back from time to time. Dr. Ruckus, 23 hours ago. A keyboard warrior is someone who, because of the anonymity of the internet, has a blank chat to say whatever they want without consequence. It's pretty great.

Alley took a deep breath and pressed start. This is the last time. The machine rushed, signaling the end of the test.

And Alley looked down at her reading for the fifth time that morning.

156 systolic, 103 diastolic, 98 BPM. Fuck, that's too high.

“Her stomach was in knots. Her pulse jumped in her head as she recorded the history of the days readings in her log.”

124 over 81, 128 over 85, 135 over 92, 140 over 98, 156 over 103. Why is it so high? Alley tried to calm herself, but her heart was galloping, and the adrenaline was coursing through her veins. She felt a throbbing deep in her neck. She couldn't shake the thought that something was seriously wrong. My blood pressure is increasing because a stroke, a heart attack, kidney failure, diabetes, autoimmune disease, dysautonomia.

I have health, anxiety. She checked her watch. She'd been taking her blood pressure for nearly half an hour. Alley knew she had to get going or she would be late to therapy, again. I just need one good rate, one good rate, and I can go. Alley took a deep breath, and pressed start.

As slash blood pressure, 163 days ago, Alley gator spikes in the morning, stroke worries. I record my blood pressure daily. I take three readings, but if they start to go up, I take a few more. Recently, I've been seeing spikes in the mornings. My latest read was 156/103. I'm terrified I'm going to have a stroke. Sort by oldest, new cat's smell 163 days ago.

That's high. I'd go to the ER. Alley gator OP 163 days ago. Seriously? OMG. Art Health Hannah 163 days ago. No. You do not need to go to the ER.

“Wait a few minutes and take it again. What was your lowest read?”

Alley gator OP 163 days ago.

124 over 81 was my first read.

Art Health Hannah 163 days ago. Why the fuck did you take it again? That's perfect. There are plenty of us in this community who would kill for that number. And the highest one too. Have some tea and get on with your day. Alley gator OP 163 days ago.

Thank you. I needed to hear that. Alley's therapist, Brenda, didn't pull any punches. She advised Alley to stop searching, stop posting, and be mindful in the moment. Stop getting a reassurance cycle. Alley knew the cycle well.

One symptom led to a day loss searching the internet and posting to forums for reassurance. When that symptom no longer weighed on her mind, another would appear. It didn't end until she consciously decided to break from it. And she meant to do just that. If only she hadn't noticed discoloration on her left big toenail.

S/skin cancer 159 days ago. Alley gator. Spot on toenail, rare melanoma. Today I took off my socks and noticed my toenail had a dark spot on it. I tried to scrape it off, but it looks like it's under the nail bed. Picture attached. Could this be a melanoma?

Sort by oldest. Melenoma 158 days ago.

Yeah, that's nothing to worry about.

Not even close to what a melanoma would look like. I wouldn't sweat it. Alley gator. OP 158 days ago. Phew. Okay. That is my mind. Fancy of foot 155 days ago.

I'm pretty sure that's a fungus and it's fucking disgusting. See a doctor now. Alley walked out of the pharmacy with her prescription anti-fungal in hand. She'd had no plans to make a last minute appointment until the forum told her she needed to go. Her doctor took one look at the tiny spot of fungus

and called in the script. See Brenda? Sometimes the internet can be helpful. S/Healthingxiety 145 days ago. Alley gator. Lump near ankle. I've been treating a fungus on my toenail for about 10 days now, and it looks much better.

However, when I was checking out my nail, I noticed a lump near my ankle. It feels soft and movable. Everything I look up says it's soft tissue sarcoma.

I'm coming to the anxiety forum first before any illness, forum, my therapist's suggestion.

I'm terrified. I've been researching for two days straight, and I'm convinced I have cancer. Sort by oldest. Any anxiety? 145 days ago.

“Docs the internet is not your friend. You need to stop searching and relax.”

Pointing out your next appointment and your doctor will probably tell you the same thing. Alley gator. OP. 145 days ago. It's so scary, isn't it? I barely want to shower anymore because I'm terrified of finding something that shouldn't be there. My therapist calls it exposure therapy, but I don't want to be exposed.

Any anxiety? 145 days ago.

Do some grounding exercises. It always helps me.

Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. Get off the internet. You can get through this. Alley gator. OP. 145 days ago. You're right. I need to put the internet away and stop poking at the home. I saw that it could be assist. That's probably all it is. Unless it starts growing, I'm most likely fine.

Any anxiety? 145 days ago. Stop self-diagnosing. Turn your mind off and come back in a few days. Alley gator. OP. 145 days ago. Easier said than done. I'm not concerned. Come back if you notice it growing.

“That was the worst thing the doctor could have said to Alley. Every day before work, she measured the lump on her ankle.”

And every day after work, she measured again. And every day before bed. And every night when she woke up to pee. Two point six centimeters. Is that big? It feels big. The internet says if it's a sarcoma, under five centimeters is okay. I'm okay. That's not bad. I still have time.

Two point three centimeters. Oh my god. It's shrinking? Okay. This is good news. Two point three centimeters. It's the same as it was this morning. Phew. I think I can stop measuring it so often.

Two point seven centimeters. Fuck. It's growing fast. Fuck. I'm gonna die. S/Healthanxiety, 145 days ago. Alley Gator. Lumpen your ankle. Expand. Sort by oldest. Alley Gator OP, 138 days ago.

Me again. I went to the doctor and she told me it's fine and to come back if it grows. I've been measuring it every day and it's gone from 2.6 centimeters to 2.7 centimeters. What do I do? Any anxiety, 138 days ago. Hey Alley. I'm sure she means if it grows exponentially.

You can call it a C. I'm sorry I know how this must be weighing on your mind. Alley Gator OP, 138 days ago. I did call her. She said to stop measuring and I'll know when it grows. It won't be overnight.

“But I keep checking multiple times a day. How do I stop?”

Any anxiety, 137 days ago. You need to refocus, stop searching, stop measuring, read a book, see a movie.

Everything you see on the internet will scare you, so stay off the internet.

Dr. Ruckus, 134 days ago. Has the lump continued to increase? Alley Gator OP, 134 days ago. OMG, why? Should I be worried? Is my doctor not taking me seriously?

Alley Gator OP, 133 days ago. Dr. Are you there? Dr. Ruckus, 131 days ago.

“A growth of 0.1 centimeter in a single day is a major red flag.”

Making a appointment now. Any anxiety, 131 days ago. Alley, get off the internet.

Alley hung up the phone on the verge of tears.

She'll see me in six months for a follow-up. How can I wait six months if this lump keeps growing? Shaking, alley grabbed for her ruler again. 2.7 centimeters. She marked the perimeter of the lump with a permanent marker. S/Health anxiety, 145 days ago. Alley Gator.

Lump near ankle, expand. Sort by, oldest. Alley Gator OP, 130 days ago. My doctor won't see me. She said to come back for a follow-up in six months. Any anxiety, 129 days ago. She knows what she's talking about. Trust her.

Twitchy Pete, 129 days ago. Just catching up here, but it sounds like you're really spiraling Alley.

“We've all been there. The only way out is to cut this off.”

Put trust in your doctor and stop measuring every day.

Alley Gator OP, 129 days ago. Attached to the photo. Does it look big? Any anxiety, 128 days ago. Did you draw on your leg? Alley Gator OP, 128 days ago.

Were the outline of the lump is? Did it outgrow the circle? Any anxiety, 128 days ago. No, wash that off your leg. Do you live with anybody? Can they distract you? Alley Gator OP, 127 days ago.

I'm separated. Any anxiety, 127 days ago. Are you still in contact with your spouse? Alley Gator OP, 125 days ago.

“Sorry, it took so long to respond. I called him yesterday,”

but he hung up on me when I begged him to come measure this goddamn lump. He can't help me. Any anxiety, 125 days ago. I'm sorry, Alley. Alley Gator OP, 125 days ago.

It's my fault. After a skin cancer diagnosis, I panicked. I kept insisting he'd check my moles. It triggered my health anxiety and the separation. I know it was insensitive.

I couldn't control myself. But this is different. He's totally in remission. And I'm seeing it the hair pissed. And I just know there's something fucked up with this lump.

Look at the newest picture. It's definitely bigger, right? Twitchy Pete, 124 days ago. Looks the same to me. Dr. Ruckus, 123 days ago.

The mass has certainly grown. You doctor won't see you? Alley Gator OP, 123 days ago. Oh fuck, I'm gonna throw up. Dr. Ruckus, 122 days ago.

You really need to get that taken care of. It's extremely concerning. Alley rubbed her finger along her lump, rolling it back and forth under her skin. The breath was ragged.

She took the box cut her off the burner and set down. Just a little incision, just enough to pop it out. She took a swing of bourbon and braced herself. I just have to get this out of me. Alley touched the blade against the black markings on her skin and pressed down.

S/Healthanxiety, 145 days ago. Alley Gator, lumped near ankle, expand.

I did it. It's out. See photo.

Any anxiety, 119 days ago. Alley, what the fuck did you do? Twitchy Pete, 119 days ago. Girl, you need some serious help. Dr. Ruckus, 119 days ago.

It has malignant characteristics. Are you sure that's the only mass? Any anxiety, 118 days ago. Are you even a real doctor?

“In the shower, the droplets formed on the water proof band”

at your round her ankle as Alley grazed her hands over her body, feeling every inch.

She reached around the curtain to the sink and grabbed the permanent marker.

I have to find them all. S/Healthanxiety, 145 days ago. Alley Gator, lumped near ankle, expand. Worked by oldest. Any anxiety, 119 days ago. Alley, how are you doing now?

Alley Gator OP, 116 days ago. I am okay. Twitchy Pete, 105 days ago. I hope you got some stitches and antibiotics for that gaping wound on your ankle. Alley Gator OP, 104 days ago.

It barely hurts.

Any anxiety, 104 days ago.

“Do not let an internet doctor scale you. You're okay.”

Just take care of your mental health and the rest will fall into place. Dr. Ruckus, 101 days ago. Did you find more lumps? Alley Gator OP, 101 days ago. Yes.

Dr. Ruckus, 99 days ago. They need to be addressed. This will multiply and grow and you will die, Alley. You will die if they're not removed. In her empty tub, Alley continued to self-operate.

Alley and all she found 29 lumps that she circled from the top of her forehead down to the inside of her right foot. As she operated top to bottom, her left eye was half open and laser-focused. The right eye had swollen shut, sliced in an attempt to remove a miniscule bump. Could it have been a stif? Nope. But she couldn't chance it.

Her groin. This was going to be the worst one. She dragged her blade along the inside of her thigh and pushed her fingers into the wet, hot, open, laser-aceration. She felt not one. Not two. But three lumps. Limph nodes. Limphoma.

Pollution. This is cancer. Alley dug deeper. Dropping it around the mass is attached to her sinewy muscle. Her softbones of fear muffled the cries of pain that begged to escape. My whole leg is disease.

With no time to reconsider, Alley took the bloody blade and slid it from growing to heal. For arms sunk into the open flesh, pulling out anything that felt foreign to her touch. S/Health Anxiety 145 days ago. Alley Gator. Lumpen your ankle expand. Sort by oldest. Anyxiety 86 days ago.

Alley, how are you hanging in there? Twitchy Pete 81 days ago.

“Yeah, O.P. update us when you can. That was just a cyst, right?”

About the doctors went nuts when they saw your home operation. Dr. Ruckus 69 days ago. Did you remove all the masses? Anyxiety 69 days ago. Fuck you asshole. Alley blocked this guy. He's just a cowardly keyboard warrior.

Dr. Ruckus 66 days ago. I'm here to help. Twitchy Pete 66 days ago. You're here to drive someone fucking crazy. Anyxiety 65 days ago.

Just because you can say whatever you want doesn't mean you should.

Alley Gator O.P. three days ago.

Two eyes, doctor. I've finally helped me.

“Alley's slowly worked her scarred fingers to type her set at response.”

The nurse on duty changed Alley's full body bandages with a look of both pity. And disgust. Alley's bedside sat empty. While the remains of her mangled flesh trudged along the road to recovery. She looked up at the blood pressure monitor. Seathed by his rhythmic beeping.

I finally helped me. She checked her numbers. 138 over 94. Fuck. That's too high.

[Music] Let's take a short break for our sponsors. Who help us keep our heads above water. Four waves of ad-free horror content. Join our sleepless universe by going to

Sleepless.TheNoselyPodcast.com.

“After that story, I'm thankful that this episode is sponsored by Better Help.”

You don't have to be as bad off as Alley to realize how helpful therapy can be. Let's face it. We're talking a lot more these days about our mental health. And that's a good thing.

But there's still a stigma attached to getting help for it. For some reason, treating your physical health is considered normal. Treating your mental health is seen as a weakness. And get this. Better helps 2026.

State of stigma report surveyed 2,000 Americans. And revealed that 85% of Americans believe getting support is wise. Yet 74% say society discourages people from doing so. I know we have many listeners who have sought help for their mental health. So have I.

And I'm glad our community is far more open to it than some others.

“That's why Better Help is such a faithful sponsor of our show.”

They're qualified therapists, their therapist match commitment,

and their ease of online sessions means that more than 1.7 million people

consider Better Help to be an outstanding source of mental health support. So don't let stigma stand in the way of support. Start therapy with Better Help. Sign up and get 10% off at BetterHelp.com/NoselyPodcast.com And speaking of physical health, I've been talking about my weight loss journey.

Part of that journey means I'm looking to stay hydrated with the right level of electrolytes. That's why I subscribe to DriftDrop. But these days, you don't have to be working out to need good hydration. The weather has been hot as ball. Hot as blazes out there lately.

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Go to DriftDrop.com and use promo code NoSleep. That's DriftDrop.com promo code NoSleep for 20% off. Stock up now at DriftDrop.com and use promo code NoSleep. Now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. When parents treat their children poorly, the results can be devastating.

Almost as bad as when parents abandon their children altogether. The child can be left seeking answers. And in this tale, shared with us by author Joe Proset, we need a woman who drives a big rig for a living across the highways and byways of the land.

But let's just say a heartfelt family reunion isn't in the cards for her. Performing this tale is Lindsay Russo. So make sure your rig is working properly when putting many miles on it. You gotta have all the right gear, especially a tire thumber. [Music]

Oh, all use guys don't have jurisdiction over me anyway. You're from some sheriff's department?

“Yeah, see, we're all not from the same place, yeah?”

And where it happened? It happened in my world, not yours. You don't have authority. I don't belong to all use guys. I'm a citizen of the highway, the inner state, the transient places, the liminal spaces.

The spaces in between, copy. The places you pass through without even stopping. The veins that carry the lightblooded this country through the flesh without the flesh even knowing it. But when you ask where I'm from, you're probably thinking of some city or some state or such in such county. You hear my accent and you think, maybe the Midwest or maybe down south or maybe up north, maybe from someplace foreign.

Well, I'll solve the mystery for you. It's from Chuck or Land. I'm an orphan of the road, live my whole life there in one day. Oh, the brace of God, I'll die there. So if anyone's gonna arrest me, it's gotta be the highway patrol.

Anyone of them, Arizona, Iowa, Texas, Missouri, Georgia, Kansas, doesn't matter which. Just not the likes of you.

“Besides, you haven't even asked me about the first kill and I'd done.”

I'll confess to it. Although, hmm, that first one, yeah, he came after me. I didn't want nothing from him, but he wanted everything from me. So, so, as to defend myself, I gave him the tire thumper. Real thought of that one.

The two of you asking about? Yeah. There was no crime done with either of them either. Especially the last one. Hmm, that last one being.

Well, oh, I don't go ahead and tell you about the first one then. Seeing as I was the one who brought it up. It happened in a marshalling yard outside of Vegas. Near the airport. A place tucked neatly between the airport and the strip.

A place all the tourists and convention go as rely on, but never see.

Place at Chainlink fences. Old Jersey barriers, tractorless trailers, and sprawling concrete where the only shade came from the rumble of overhead turbines. I see when my father abandoned me and when I struck out on my own. It was already a member of a different, much larger family.

Periado works the tools out on the Pennsylvania turnpike around a mile-marker 70. Yes, she was like my very own Nana, who always had a sweet treat ready for me any time we pass through. Randy out at the bird bath along I-80 said I always reminded him of his little sister. And Carlos, the fry cook at the WD Cafe in Joplin. It was like an older brother to me.

Charlene, the waitress at the QC Coffee and Pancake House and Davenport. She was one of my many step mamas. You know, I got a funny joke about that town. They say it's only a real Davenport if it comes from the Davenport region of Iowa. Otherwise, it's just a sparkling couch.

I know it's not very good.

Never was much of a comedian, but I try.

But I digress, as they say. It happened in the marshalling yard in Vegas next to the airport. I was in my bob tail because after my dad abandoned me and since I had nowhere to stay, the fellows at KNG transportation let me borrow it and well. After so long, I'm not asking for a package.

Well, it sort of became my own. So that's where I was parked up for a spell.

“I see, that's what I'm trying to explain to you guys that you're not picking up.”

My bob tail, that was my home. And sure, when I was desperate for a paycheck, I'd pick up a refer and haul it out to Sioux Falls or drag a wiggle wagon up to Grand Forks or move-a-woods drive-day and from bar store at the flagstaff, I'd get to where I was going and flip. I never stayed in any of those places.

It was always turn in burns for me.

I stayed, I lived, I belonged in the slender places. Wait, what state is this again? Huh. Anyway, I would stay in a spell at this marshalling yard. And some stranger I'd never met before took me for something I wasn't.

And thought he could con me and to give an up some companionship in his sleeper cab. Well, when I said no, he said yes and we had ourselves a bit of a disagreement over that. The thing he didn't know was that I carried my tire thumper on me at all times. I always went my backpack anytime I'm outside of the cab and poking up out the top as always the butt into my thumper.

Oh, he's guys don't know what a tire thumper is. The bears on the highway would.

About the same length, usually made a hickory, so they're a good and durable.

Yours are usually painted black though. I was a wood grain, any who.

“When I said no when he said yes and we couldn't see eye to eye over that eye,”

introduced him to my thumper. Am I a what? You say in that to offend me? Trying to insult me? But only goes to show how ignorant you are.

No, I'm not a lot lizard, but off. I've known plenty of them and I'm proud of it. They're wonderful people, people like that, people who have had everything taken from them till the point that they've got nothing left to give with themselves. They understand others.

They have empathy and not just false sympathy because whatever you've gone through, chances are they've gone through worse so they can relate copy. You can't can you. Probably how you feel about truckers too. Long haulers more so than day tripers is my bed.

Because the day tripers, they're one of you guys. You guys who have a place in a home and a neighborhood and a community that exists off of rubber and asphalt. But it's like the lake grade and still missing Jimmy Hoffa once said. If you're eating it, drinking it, wearing it, driving it,

riding it, sitting on it, sleeping or fucking on it, a trucker brought it to you. People forget he was the head of the teamsters. Out of the truckers union, that is.

“Most people just figure he's the guts of a bridge abutment these days.”

It was a good man, even if he's nothing more than the sausage inside a bridge pile and casing nowadays. As for my thumper, it's not a motor weapon. Not by nature, I mean. You can pick one up at any loves or fly in J or T.A. or mom and pup, shop,

chucks up. It's a tool to check if you got air in your tires. When you got 18 of them, it can take a half minute to go around with the pressure gauge and check each and every one of them, especially the ones on the inside. So, you take a thumper and give each tire a nice quick thump.

But you got to know how to listen. Pretty obvious these guys don't know how to listen, as evident by this very conversation. But I'll try and explain it for you. When you bop a full tire, it'll sort of sing back to you. There's a ring.

I mean, there's all kinds of resonant noises. There's a smack, a whack-a-thud. But if it's good and pressurized and you hit it right, that tire will ring out just like a bell. A low tire on the other hand?

A low tire just thuds. A creeper in the Vegas moshling yard. When I dumped him, he just went thud. So yeah, I guilt him. But I wouldn't murder. He had it coming.

The other two on the other hand. I told you how my dad abandoned me. He raised me since before I could remember. Ride and shotgun on the air suspension seat, just like I was Fred the bastard hound from Smokey and the Bandit.

Head out the window, pig tails, flopping all around like Fred's ears. Just they had to keep my dad company really. Ever knew my biological mom. My dad took me from her when I was really young. And she must have been okay with that,

or maybe didn't know how to come run an after me.

'Cause I never heard from her again.

She lived somewhere out here off the highway. Outside a trucker land. She was one of you. Maybe still is one of you if she's still kicking. Catch my drift.

He owned schooled me in the cab of a flat nose. It wasle. Although I always like the Mac trucks with the bulldog hood ornament.

“That's how come when K&G offered me my own bob tail,”

and assisted it be a Mac. That way, I'd always have a god dog with me. But his was the Kentwood, and that's where I went to school. He taught me math and reading and had a drive, even though he said it wasn't proper for a lady to drive a rig.

And for a couple of years, we both decided to learn Spanish, and that's how we spoke while we were on the road. I passed the Wacca Pueiro Abladas, and you'll make Jorge Torosus babies. See? You learned me real good. That wink means I know I'm bullshit, in case you're too thick.

And by the shape of that potato had a years, I'm guessing you are. But I had any rate. I figured my dad must have gotten tired of me, and after a while, I wasn't his little girl anymore. I was a teenager, and probably a big old pain in his lumpy ass.

Maybe I sat too much. Maybe he didn't want to be seen as a middle-aged guy with them. That's younger woman hanging out in his cab all the time. Maybe he thought I was all done growing up, and he had nothing left to teach me.

Maybe he didn't want me fighting them for the wheel. Maybe he found somebody better. When he left me there at that greasy spoon diner in Wichita, I didn't have a clue. You know how you people?

And by you people, I mean the non-citizens of Chuck Orlando. You know how you people will make jokes about dads leaving their families saying,

"I'm going to go get some cigarettes, and they never come back?"

Well, for my dad, it wasn't cigarettes, or a gallon of milk, or nothing like that. He said he was going to the bathroom, and while I sat sucking down my vanilla and strawberry malt at the Norman Rockwell counter of that diner,

I heard the hammer drop on that big old diesel, and spun around on my stool, and there went dad and his Kenworth on to the I-35 on ramp and out of my life. No reasons?

No excuses? No explanations? So you can understand why I sought answers.

I knew if I kept my own hammer down

and kept that bob tail on the highway. Suck to the liminal spaces of America. The shipping odds, the way stations, the rest stops, the inner state porno shops, the strip clubs, the stockyards, the distribution centers.

All those places that people like you take for granted, I knew if I kept on chucking. Eventually I'd find them. Somewhere between Boseman and Albany, Duluth and San Antonio, you might in Charlotte

somewhere along the inner state, I'd find them. And I told myself when I did, I was just going to ask them, "Why?" Fair enough question, ain't it? It was a wide search area, no doubt about it.

I give that to you. But all those places, that's where I was going anyway. That's where I belonged. Those places are my home. I asked around a lot.

My family put their ears on. And I'd hear that he'd come past and threw a rust stop last week or that he'd picked up a load from a distribution center two days before.

But that somebody had thought they'd seen him deadheading through Cincinnati and that hammer lane just yesterday.

I was always a step behind.

“That's why I didn't like to take on too many loads.”

Once you have a load, you gotta get it to where it's going. Regardless if you heard your daddy was now a suicide jockey with a hazmat barrel on the way to Carl's batters on such place. All things be in the same for those first few years.

All I wanted to do was catch up to him and ask him why. But I figured I could take on the business full time by my Mac Chuck outright from K&G and commit to the life. Duluth and I stayed on the hunt. But something happened to that mushroom yad and Vegas

out by the airport. When I thumped that jerk who wanted to put his little baby pickle inside of my jar of wine, when I caught him, good upside the head and he went thump with no resonance.

See, I thumped the tires on my bob tail more times than I can count. I knew how to listen. That wooden stick and those chunks of rubber they sang to me.

When I clobbered that creeper in Vegas, his head, it didn't. But I knew who's head would sing. Good 10, you're capping me? Come on now, good buddy.

Well, seeing as you've got nothing to say to that, I guess I'll carry on with my story. My family, after they saw me making my way without my dad, they took me in and a very nomadic sort of way.

And henceforth, they turned on my dad for what he'd done. He started finding snagging his burgers at the roadside diners. Started getting bumped in line at way stations and passed up in the shower lines at Chuck stops.

God is nuts stomped on by Gwendolin. She danced at the Derby Club outside of Casper. Once she learned who he was, well, let's just say that lap dance took a turn. No more warnings from any member of any highway patrol,

neither. Chief Newman of the Kansas State Patrol had it out for him in particular. See, even the bears knew what he'd done and hated him for it,

just as much as my auntie Charlene or Nana Harry had to her. My big brother, Carlos, the fry cook. Chief Newman, he knew my intentions and it didn't bother him one bit.

I said he might do it himself if he caught up with my dad before I did. Oh, does that surprise you?

“You didn't think I had any family in law enforcement?”

Well, some of those highway officers, the good ones. That's Citizens of Trucker Land, too. See, I got family everywhere. Got on the other hand? Yeah, he was ostracized by his own kind.

A vagabond amongst vagabonds. So what he'd go and do? He changed his name. Took on a whole different persona, because he was too much of a coward to square up with his own daughter.

Years went by, years tend to do. I took on more jobs, but seeing as how I wasn't supporting a traditional family, or paying for a mortgage or any of that nonsense, I didn't have to work all that often.

Visited all of my family from Maine to California, Washington to Florida.

I never got to Canada or Mexico.

Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't have any kind of birth certificate or my dear passport. You know, I never even got my CDL. Just been doing it for so long.

Folks sort of accepted me as like a common law trucker. Forget me. But I saw the country. More country than most folks know exists. The late Great Mark Twain told us that travel

is the antidote for ignorance. Said it's fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness.

“That's something us folks in trucker land haven't common.”

We take in all kinds. And just like any family, sometimes we fight. But at the end of the day, we come down to stand each other all the more.

So I damn near Plum forgot about my father and how he abandoned me. I had my rig and I had my relations and I had the whole country laid out beyond my little god doghood ornament,

begging to be explored. I thought I'd found peace. Maybe not satisfaction, but feeling that, whom he was stasis.

And then we caught up. It was at the Turnpike Travel Plaza out along I-70. One of those places were normal folks and my family intersect.

I mean even in those places, things are a bit segregated. Trucks to the left, caught to the right as the signs say. Well, I'd gotten my shower ticket

and was burned in time peruse in the tourist souvenir sweatshirts and shot glasses and little statues of Indians and headdresses slouched over on horseback.

And then, like a ghost from a previous life

then look my way. Didn't even notice me. But I recognized him immediately. It was as if nothing had changed during the past and of all those

in between years and miles

and through all second cities

nobody ever intends to visit. It was like he hadn't aged a day. I know I've aged.

“I've come a long way from that little girl”

he left with her vanilla and strawberry malt. More scars, more wrinkles, more stories, more memories. But I remembered him. So I followed him out of the Turnpike Travel Plaza building

over the curbs and the medians to the chuck inside of the chucks to the left cost of the right divide. Through a whole parcel of tractor trailers crept behind real quiet

so he was nonetheless. When I saw he was headed to his rig to a rooster cruiser semi and refer parked in the potty row at the very back of the lot

I hung behind a tank of trailer and watched. He had some food from the store and when he opened the door of his cab a lady of the night came step-and-down. I guess part of the negotiation

was that he'd buy her dinner after. Or maybe it wasn't because after watching for a bit it was clear he owed her more than her contact on fresh off the rollers than a can of go. They squabbled, he bitched, he shoved her around

and it was then that I made my decision. For a while it was all just curiosity, not malice, not yet anyway. I was dumbfounded. Having finally crossed paths

“after all these years of crisscross in the country”

how it was we'd occupied the same rat maze

but never wound up honing in on the same cheese.

And how was that he looked the very same as he had the day we split ways? While I'd gone from a little girl to a full-grown woman, that he managed that. And how was he still young and dumb

and full of enough piss and vinegar to argue with a woman over how much she'd earned bouncing in the back of his sleeper cab? Curiosity, you see. But when I saw him push her,

when her pumps caught in the rut and she went asked for us into the mud and then when he had the gall to throw that nasty old burnt hot dog at her and mess up her nice clothes

with ketchup and mustard and leave her there outside his cab? Yeah. It was clear he hadn't grown up one day since the time he left me.

So I waited for the woman to gather herself up and haul her ass off to some other cab to negotiate a better deal. And I waited for him to get settled in and comfortable in a sleeper.

The whole time my temperature rise and then the good part of my mind trying to convince the bad part

“that the past was better left in the past.”

And I should hop back in my own rig and high tail it for a little rock where I was supposed to be going anyway. But I couldn't. I just couldn't.

My tire thumper had found my hand and I was certain I'd finally found the tire that would being real nice when I popped it. Finally, I broke. I came from around the tanker trailer

with the thumper in hand and I went right up to the door that cab. It read, "Johnston and Sun truckin' and then I knew what he changed his name to. Something common and ubiquitous,

something unsuspecting. Only I'd seen through his camouflage. So when I got to the door I knocked on it with the end of my thumper. Crouched real low so it was not to be seen.

It snuck around at the front of the truck. The engine was still warm. He radiating off the grill.

He never stayed in any place for long either.

Always on the run I suppose. And then the driver's door opened. And a man stepped up. And as the open door sort of guides a person toward the back of the truck,

he went that way. Cussin' at the hole he'd just stiffed. And I came up behind him, seeing red. Seein' all those years how he'd done without me. Seein' all the places where we'd once stopped

and gotten to know and then seein' them all again. All alone as a reminder of how much he lied and how little he loved. And seein' how he was still doing it. Turnin' women out without so much as a care

and as selfish little mind. So I didn't give him a chance. I came up behind him with that thumper, tightened to fist and I let him have it. I was bay-bruth, I was harm and killer-bruth.

I was Jose Conseco. I was Sammy Sosa, I was Mickey fuckin' mantle and his head was a little white ball with red stitches. Electric bolts of lightning shot at my arms when I made contact. It turned my hands numb and turned his head into wet spaghetti.

He crumbled into the dirt. And then I came down on him like he was a log and I was split in wood. And oh, who did he split? You know how they call it gray matter?

Well, I can tell you that's only somewhat true. When I cracked him open, the blood was good and red and wet. But it's like a watermelon with jagged cracks and crimson guts. It was only after the blood drained away

that the pulp inside showed gray. Also sort of like a watermelon how the meat turns white if it dries out a bit. Anywho, I killed him, couldn't that? Copy?

No doubt about it. No forensics or autopsy needed. But you know what the damn just thing was? My tie at thumper in his head. It didn't sing. There was none of those resonant harmonics

like when you hit a good high pressure hunk of road rubber. I was for certain they would. Just like all 18 wheels on a road ready rigot, too. But nope, just big thick thuds each hit.

or made me stop while I was doing it.

“But after I was done, I'll admit it, confused me a bit.”

What a given as melon a few more waxed to see if I'd heard it wrong if his head wasn't already busted up enough to just go splash, splash, splash. Then the strangest thing happened.

Something I never saw coming.

While I stood over the dead body of the man I'd been searching for for all those years, the door of the cab opened back up. I turned to see, and here was this other fella, a bigger guy, an older guy,

but an uncannily familiar fellow climb and down the steps. And then he turned to face me. Saw the mess of a motor I'd made next to his rigot trailer and stood there all shocked and surprised.

Can you want to guess who it was? I mean, how you already know. You got his body waiting in the cooler down in the basement, too. Although perhaps too ain't quite identified him yet.

Less you got dentest on staff, but you guessed it. At Fatal Bagguin, he was my dad. I'll hunchbacked and wrinkled

“and gray as he should be for all the miles he had”

in the rearview mirror. And then he shut the door the cab, and I saw the name of his business all scrolled out in fancy coast of writing. Johnston and Sun trucking,

and then I put it together. I wasn't just abandoned. I was replaced by a son of course,

because never in his mind had he ever thought

a daughter could be an equal plane business partner. Well, I showed him, didn't I? I showed him good. And this time when I swung for the fences, the whole damn crowd cheered for that home run.

Take me out to the ball game. Take me out to the ball game. And they sang. And I buy him peanuts and crack a jacks. You bet your ass.

When that tie a thumper came upside, his big old round melon, it was like a clapper and a bell. Bing, bong, bing, oh my lord, how you should have heard it.

He stayed on his feet for the first few hits, but I went swinging from the left and then swinging from the right taken turns on each side of his head. I bet he stayed on his feet for a good half

dozen hits. Each time he was like, "El's the same Mary on Sunday morning." That was one high pressure ahead. It got all the formed and was shaped in the process.

But even after he toppled to the ground and I came down on him like I was swat in horse flies, it's still sang. 'Cause see, I found the right one. It wasn't a creeper out by the Vegas airport in Marshall and Yard.

It wasn't my own illegitimate brother who went all broken watermelon behind me. This was the man who'd done me wrong

and my tie a thumper never sounded so right.

So there you have it. Bull confession and all that got me on your little taper quarter and everything. So what are you gonna do now? I tell you what you're gonna do.

You're gonna turn this over to the proper authority. You're gonna hand me over to the office that has jurisdiction over somebody like me. Think you're not? Hmm.

We are in Kansas, are we not? You think my family don't talk? You don't think we look out for our own? You think Meli over at the travel plaza and already sent out the word?

Chief Newman, is that you? Pulling you aside for the sore eyes. Unless I saw you, you didn't recognize my rig and wanted to punch my ticket for blowing that chicken coop outside a Dodge City.

It's been way too long. I'd give you a big ol' hug if it wasn't for the steel bracelets these morons put me in. Aw, I missed you two Uncle Newman. Ugh, well, fellas, it's been fun.

You make sure to give those two cool and their heels in the basement, my regards. And what I mean by that is, a little bit of rotten health from me, will ya? See ya on the road, boys.

The horror keeps flowing. After a word from the folks who make all this free content possible. It's safe to say that woman was rather transparent about her motivations, right? But there are things in life that you don't want to be transparent. Like your swimsuit or your search history.

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Now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror.

Small towns across the land can be quaint and they can have their own unique traditions, festivals and celebrations in which the towns folk gladly participate.

“So let's head over to a particular town where it's Mother's Day.”

But in this tale, shared with us by author Ryan Marie Ketterer. This town does something special for Mother's Day every 10 years, and we're in luck because it's time for their special parade. I join in and perform this tale along with Jesse Cornett, Nicole Goodnight,

Wofia White, Mary Murphy, Erin Lilis, Dan Zabula, Matthew Bradford,

and Jeff Clement. So if you've ever heard the phrase "save the drama for your mama", you'll soon understand what that means to the residents of East Marion. East Marion was, despite its name, in the western part of the state.

“It was snuggled alongside I-47, and in our state highway used by travelers just passing through,”

on their way somewhere more interesting. In fact, I-47 curved perfectly around the small town, rather than slicing straight over homes and businesses like major interstates normally did. Those that drove this part of I-47, noted in the Erie still settling around them. It was as if something was trying to slow their progress,

as if their cars were forced to drive through dense clouds and thick sludge. At the very peak of this I-47 curve, there was a single exit. Exit 3 for those familiar with this area. Exit 3 was the only exit that led directly to East Marion, specifically by way of a long straight road, creatively named Main Street.

All of the routes to East Marion were winding and inefficient. A woman who went by the name of Bonnie, whether or not this is her real name, does not matter, had taken up temporary encampment outside the East Marion Wawa. The employees of the gas station needed to shoe the wandering woman away before the town's exciting day could begin. Upon leaving the trash little gas station pavement, Bonnie made her way down Main Street.

On this day, the road was particularly busy, with the residents frantically preparing for the East Marion Mother's Day parade. Despite her sunken eyes and drooping jowls, the residents of East Marion were friendly into Bonnie's face, keeping their true judgments hidden within. Martha Moore, waived one hand while the other clasped a child's hand.

Hey there! Kathy Jackson shouted from across the street, pushing a pram. Welcome to East Marion! Do that as to know if you need help finding your way around. Don't let the folks here overwhelm you.

Bonnie was unable to reply before Delia Owens hurried off, scolding a young boy pretending to have a sword fight on a skateboard. These were not the only children that Bonnie could see. Kids of all ages bound around the town center playing and crying and yelling as kids do. Their similarity and appearance to one another was striking,

The three story glass clocked tower of the East Marion credit union struck noon,

“and the bells jingle echoed throughout the small town square.”

This hypnotic little tomb brought about a sense of belonging and hope for every resident of East Marion. For Bonnie though, it simply reminded her that now might be a good time to eat as her stomach rumbled loud enough that everyone nearby might hear. Inside the small and fairly empty East Marion diner, the drifting woman ate eggs and bacon, scolding her mouth not once,

but twice on the burnt coffee. In town for the bread? Bonnie said no to the waitress that she was just passing through

and that she hoped to leave before things got busy.

In the far corner of the diner sitting in a cramped booth outside of Bonnie's line of sight, the only other patrons spun a padlock on his finger as he observed the drifter. While Bonnie scraped the last vestiges of scrambled eggs from a scuffed ceramic dish,

“the ladies of East Marion bustled outside.”

Martha Moore was signaling to some teenagers who held a pop-up tent. Those will be lined up along here behind the barcaids. Kathy Jackson Bean, as she looked at the desserts spread across several tables. The cake came out beautiful, didn't it? East Marion read and gold. Deal ya, Owen's held a colorful array of balloons,

and tried to get the attention of the skateboarding boy, who now jabbed an invisible enemy. Pass me the tape? Slowly but surely, Main Street in East Marion was transforming. The town already had a strong sense of pride,

but every effort was made to ensure that parade day was the most special day in East Marion. Not all things were going smoothly though.

“Elsewhere, the men argued, Mark Moore was angry, pointing fingers.”

You must have left the cage open.

I locked it, his same as always.

Charles Jackson attempted to defend himself, but there was an undercurrent of doubt in his voice. The cage has never failed me. Ray Owen's confidence was always welcome, but plainly useless in this situation. The missing parade star presented a true danger to the residents of East Marion

and was thus frightful enough to call in the mayor. When the men first summoned mayor Samuel Lewis, they were nervous he would be angry with them, but the folks of East Marion needn't have worried about each other's temperaments. Even in the most stressful situations, East Marionets kept their cool.

While eating lunch, I thought of the perfect idea. Mayor Samuel's alternative had put the man at ease. I'm so glad Mayor Samuel has found us a replacement. It's not like we could have a parade without it. I knew Mayor Samuel would come through.

Charles Jackson smiled at the other two men, feeling accomplished as Ray Owen's jumped on to one of the floats. "Town the regum up, I suppose." The East Marion Mother's Day parade was a bit different than the parades held in other towns.

To start, there were only two floats, both were identical, simple flippings, a metal bar jutting from a sparkling, clean dark stained wooden floor. The bar stood approximately five feet high, loose ropes hanging from the top. With a solution to their dilemma, the men carried on,

readying for the coming parade. Back downtown, Main Street was flourishing. Women curled the children and jockey for the best of you. "I can't wait to see the new one." Kathy Jackson was laughing as she shook a rattling toy

in front of her prayer. "Heart to believe it's been a whole decade. I still feel buzzed from the last time." "Delia Owen shook her head at the passage of time."

"My now, the crowds had gathered, clogging the sidewalks.

“Children tried running past the barriers into the closed street”

before the adults pulled them back. The distant thunder of drums began, and the jumpy crowd simmered. The brass and woodwinds soon followed, as the East Marion High School song became audible.

The crowd began to chant, "Go East Marion Cougars." The high school band emerged on Main Street, and the crowd went wild. Behind them, the color guards spun and contorted

all while holding massive flags with the towns in London. "Go East Marion Cougars." With the crowd in a proper frenzy, it was show time.

“Mayor Samuel Lewis stopped the floats from moving into view.”

"Welcome, everyone, to the ninth decennial East Marion Mother's Day parade. Today marks the 90th year, our small and resilient town has said no." The crowd erupted, "Go East Marion Cougars."

Nineteers, since we said no, to the medical risks associated with childbirth. More cheers, "Go East Marion Cougars." Nineteers, since we said no, to destroying the bodies of the beautiful women in our community,

our wives. The crowd danced and celebrated with passion. The children and the women who raised us today, we all come together,

“not only to celebrate what we've accomplished here in East Marion,”

but also to retire Mother 8, and usher in a new generation, a new decade. I can't wait for you all to see Mother 9. "Go East Marion Cougars."

The first float moved into view,

and paused before the raucous townspeople. Mother 8 hung from the once loose ropes tied to the floats metal bar. Her thin wrists were nodded above her head, and her limp body hung all the way down to the beautiful stained float floor. Her pale white skin exposed in the bright spring sun.

The men had done a great job cleaning Mother 8. Her hair was shaved, head, armpits, and vulva alike, and her oily skin glistened. Mother 8 gave East Marion a nine new children, nine wonderful children.

To retire Mother 8, we asked "Ike Owens."

Mother 8's first product birthed for this community

to please join me on the float. The trouble making skateboarding boy, next to Delia Owens ran forward, and jumped onto the float next to Mayor Samuel. The mayor handed the boy a knife.

You remember what I told you, right? I'd Owens first nodded, and then stabbed over, and over the boy stabbed. Blood leaked down Mother 8's clean convulsing body.

It splattered onto Ike's shirt, onto his vans, onto his skateboard. He smiled the whole time, even as he carved apart the breasts.

His mouth had never known.

Go East Marion Cougars. Mayor Samuel waved the second float forward as the East Marion High School band continued to play. A great tarp covered Mother 9. Go East Marion Cougars.

Oh, wants to meet Mother 9.

and looked around, pointing to the dancing kids

and the jumping adults. He knew how to work her crowd. Go East Marion Cougars. He ripped the tarp away from the float to reveal a writhing beauty.

“She was hung low enough that she was able to sit directly”

on the float floor. Her bare skin only saved from splinters, thanks to how well the men had stained and cleaned the wood. The arms and legs of Mother 9 were spread wide,

and secured with more rope.

Between her legs was a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers, blues and purples. A perfect Mother's Day medley. A pink Primrose flower, a dorn-deach nibble, and a collection of orange poppies sprouted

from 9's mouth. Mayor Samuel pulled a rope attached

“to Mother 9's arm, simulating a waving motion.”

Say hello everyone! Use and ask, rippled through the crowd. The kids waved their hands passionately and returned.

The men nodded their heads

approvingly patting each other on the backs. The women showed no signs of jealousy. But instead commented on her eye color, her height, her figure, speculating, of course,

what type of children she would bear for East Marion. Go East Marion Cougars!

“Bonnie's eyes flitted back and forth in horror”

at the crowd's excitement. She was unable to respond though, not just because of the lovely spring flowers gagging her, but also because her tongue had been cut out, and with that Mother 9's decade began.

[Music] [Music] [Music] [Music] As our stories sink beneath the waves,

we claw our way back on to dry land. Join us again next time when we plunge into the chilling depths where water hides its darkest secrets.

[Music] The no sleep podcast is presented by creative reason media. The musical scores are composed by Branden Bowen. Our production team is Bill Michaelski,

Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornett, and Claudius Moore. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley McAnelly, Ali A. White, and Kristen Samito. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings.

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