S24 Ep9: NoSleep Podcast S24E09

It can bring unspeakable horror to the most familiar places, your morning shower, a tranquil

will river bank, or the endless ocean. It's time to dive deep into the abyss.

“From the dark waters of the Cape Fear River, immerse yourself in horror as you brace yourself”

for the no-sleep podcast. Welcome to the no-sleep podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. Well, we're glad you're back this week to hear more horror stories, but as a bit of a change

of pace, I thought I'd use this opportunity to try out some of my new stand-up comedy routine.

It won't take long, so get ready to laugh. Hey, have you ever noticed, hey, have you ever noticed that airline food is… wait, wait, hold on, damn it. Sorry about that noise in the background.

“My neighbors always play their music so loud, it's really annoying me.”

They're nice people and all, but truth be told, they're like pests in the neighborhood. Now, hold on, let me close this window. Okay, well, so much for my comedy. But in a more serious vein, I'd like to make you aware of a new project from one of our voice actors you know and love, the delightful Jake Benson.

Jake is creating something special, so here's the man himself to let you know all about it. Hey, no sleepers, I'm Jake Benson. Some of you might recognise my voice and, if so, I hope in a good way.

“I just want to quickly tell you some incredible news, I'm about to make my debut film,”

a folk horror called Drauga. When Ben, a recent widow, escapes to the Scottish Highlands to process his grief, he stays in an old bobbie, a highland cottage, only to discover that something else is trying to get inside, as the uncover's the areas folklore meets the locals, he's given just one piece of advice.

Don't let the fire go out at night. But no sleep, I'm sorry to say, that it's very hard to get independent of film funded. It's even harder to get horror independent of film funded, and that is why I'm talking to you now. We're running a kickstarter from the seventh of April for 30 days, and if we don't hit

the target, we don't get to make the film. But if we do, we get to create an exciting new horror short film and take it around the world,

so we need your help, and any help would be incredible.

If you're in a position to pledge money and backers, we've got some insane rewards for you from exclusive t-shirts, signed posters, you can cam your in the film, come and spend a day with us on set, executive producer credits, and even just having the ability to see the film long, long before the public ever will. And at the kickstarter page with whoever you can, go on to kickstarter, Drauga, folk horror

short film, but from the guy who creeps you out every so often in stories, thanks no sleepers, and I'll go and enjoy your spooky stories. Check the link in the show notes to learn more about Drauga and how you can support this very cool project. So as I was saying about my neighbors, we all have people and/or things in our lives we might

consider to be pests, and they're not just things like insects in our homes, pests can be anything that won't leave you alone and that seem intent on ruining your day or your life. And it's a good thing pests make for good horror, because on the show this week we're going to meet people who have to deal with things that go from annoying to deadly with a lot

So at the risk of bothering you, let's plunge into the horror of our sleepless tales.

“In our first tale, we meet a family dealing with a worldwide mystery, something is approaching”

planet from outer space and no one seems to know what it is. But in this tale, shared with us by author, Ren Siegers, as reality sets in, the family has to deal with a threat despite having no idea what's causing it. Performing this tale, our Lindsay Russo, Waffia White, Mary Murphy, and Nicole Goodnight. So sometimes danger approaches slowly, sometimes you get all of it at once.

We both hunker over the countertop in the kitchen while we prepare dinner, but something made of apples and bread, since that's about all we've got left until the next ration a lot meant, and it's all going to spoil soon anyway. With early evening, midsummer, so we have the windows open, and the air creeping in from outside is warm and sweet.

We can hear Lily and Amelia while they play, dancing among the trees in the grove, running in and out of the open hatch of the bunker. They're pretending it's a castle with secret corridors and a dungeon.

“I hope they remember that whimsy if we do have to lock ourselves away in there.”

Pulling myself away from the picturesque image of our two girls' carefree and laughing against the backdrop of a wooded valley in low-hanging sun, I turned to Laura. Learning to ask if she's had a chance to double-check the air filtration system, I still as her gaze meets mine and my voice dies out before I can ask anything. A struggle finding it again.

You're...you're eyes. Lying down the knife I've been using, I reach for my wife's face and palm her smooth, angular jaw as I brush a finger tip over her eyelashes. Her eyelids flutter and reflex as she wraps my wavering hand in hers. Over the course of our lives together, we've often held each other close and stared into

each other's eyes while things like anxiety and fear coursed through us.

This wasn't like that because something I've never felt in her arms before is panic.

What is it?

“Her soft voice is low and unsteady, edged with concern.”

The wrinkles on her forehead grow deeper as she pauses to search inside herself for signs of something a miss. The slightest shake of her head and shrug of her shoulders tells me she must not feel anything. It must not hurt.

They're changing, they're blue. I attempt to explain to her what I'm seeing, but it's like describing a tsunami. You can get all the right words out, but the magnitude and implication of what your witnessing aren't heavy enough as the warnings roll off your tongue. I watch silently, stunned as a deep sea washes over the whites of my wife's eyes.

Tending them a dark blue hue which drowns out the fiery brown of her irises, a wave extinguishing a flame. What? Laura softly tosses my hand aside as she makes for the bathroom. Glearing into the mirror she tugs on the skin around her eyes and rubs her fingers over

them repeatedly as if pressure and desperation can change them back. What the fuck? How does that? Her voice trails off as she turns to me. "It's here, isn't it?

This isn't what they've been talking about." We stare at one another for a moment, breathed shaky and composure faltering, as we silently nod and agree, "It's here. We don't have a way to communicate with anyone outside of when we visit the town center, so we can't know for sure right now.

We actually won't ever know for sure, but we can feel that something is wrong and it must be what they warned us about. We can feel that some uninvited thing has finally arrived, some intruder is encroaching upon our tiny, perfect world that we carved out for ourselves here in the valley. Even though we knew it was coming, we're still not ready.

It's hard to prepare for something that you don't understand, something that never fully

takes shape. It's like we've been attempting to arm ourselves to fight a thunder cloud. My concentration on what's happening to Laura is broken when maternal panic smacks into me and pushes me out onto the back porch. Lily, Amelia?

I run out the backdoor and dashed on the steps of the deck as I yell across the field toward the small grove of trees surrounding a fresh hole in the ground.

and supplies.

“They've both been making sure it's loaded with all their favorite things to keep them”

busy while we wait out something that may never end.

I rush towards them, but I'm stopped dead at the railing when I notice the sky. A blurry dark blue and black mass displaces the soft orange and yellow of the warm evening air, with eerie forces it tumbles over the horizon. The sky around it vibrates and blurs like a mirage. There is a dull, low pulsating hum that makes it feel as if the softest parts of my head

are throbbing wildly against my skull. This thing reverberates, I see it, I feel it and hear it, and it terrifies me. The cloud that scientists have been tracking for the past seven months finally enters our atmosphere and descends over us like a murky gray pawl. No one was ever able to figure out what it was.

Everything they sent into it came back empty, everything they shot at it when straight through, some cosmic mass has been co-reening towards us for months and we've had no idea

how to prepare for it or what would happen when it finally got here.

“The only thing we could be sure of was that it was definitely going to hit us, and now”

it's actually here. A flash of light in the sky startles me out of my stupor, I blink hard because it's incredibly bright, it flashes again, and this time I see more of it. It's a blinding neon green with soft, wavy lines that feather out from the bottom of the cloud.

I would call it lightening, but I have a feeling there are no words for what I'm witnessing. This cloud is bringing a whole new world with it as it spills itself over ours, slowly snuffing us out. For weeks we've been planning, and now I feel like it's not been enough time. We didn't know what to expect, but something in the air gives me the feeling that we're

not prepared for whatever this actually is. As I call for our girls, two tiny heads pop out from the entrance of the bunker, and for a moment everything stops, and my heart rings with a pained confusion.

“I have two little blonde-headed babies, but even through the trees, I can see there is”

now a redhead and a brunette staring back at me. My vision kaleidoscopes as water swells in my eyes.

I always knew my babies would grow in change, and I just never thought I'd see it happen

in a matter of seconds right in front of me. I push myself forward sprinting across the field toward them as air rushes over my face. There hasn't been rain and days yet, petrochorus surrounds me. Maybe the cloud is bringing it. Maybe the air is changing too.

Really calls to me as I run. Even if the face that's coming from is not the one I'm used to seeing accompanying it, I fight past tree trunks and branches and drop to my knees as I finally get to them. I reach for Lily, an instinctual action that's been a natural part of the way my body is moved for the past seven years.

But now is the first time I ever felt hesitation as I embrace her. I take her tiny face into my palms and watch and shock as she changes before my eyes. The trim of eyelashes around her typically almond eyes morph and stretch into perfect circles, turning her eyelids into hallows that perfectly match the shape of her blown out pupils and darkening irises.

Her once-fruckled button knows alonggates and hooks at the end, and her skin, "Oh God, our soft sweet little skin." It mults as blotchy mobs spreads over her body. The tendrils raise, creating rigid flushy spider webs that squish and move beneath my fingertips. I glance at Amelia. Somehow she still looks like herself, but Lily absolutely does not.

I pull Lily into me smashing her face into my chest as if I can use my t-shirt to wipe away everything that's happened in the last few moments and bring my baby back. Lily honey, look at me, does it hurt? As I raise her off my chest, I feel it. Her skin, undulating beneath my fingers.

It's heaving beneath my touch waves of transformation rippling over the bones, and makes me sick to feel it, and I see tears swell in her blue, no, black eyes. "It doesn't hurt, but I can feel it. It's like popcorn inside me." I pull her to my chest again and squeeze even tighter, maybe this time it will work.

"Is it too late? What good would the bunker be now? Whatever is causing this seems to be in the air. Or maybe it's something else entirely." I reach for Amelia, but stop when I see what's finally happening to her.

Her thin, once blonde baby curls are now blurs of brown tuffs as they break away from

“her scalp and float to the ground and clumps.”

There are no lesions or sores on her head from where the hair falls.

It's simply as if it never belonged there in the first place.

Some of it catches her eye as it drifts past her shoulder, and as she reaches a hand-up to touch her now nearly bald head, I see that her fingers are doing the same. The skin at the base of each digit constricts as if it's caught in a wire that's pulled to hot around it. The skin shrinks in on itself until there is a tiny snap, and the finger simply falls to the ground and rolls in the dirt.

I gasped loudly before swallowing my concern down in a painful, choked gulp. It's as if her body is rejecting everything that is an extension, like it wants to shrivel in on itself as a form of protection.

“I wonder briefly how much shriveling she could take before there was nothing left.”

"Mummy?" Her eyes are wide and she's scared. She's looking to me for comfort, for reassurance. But I can't give her either. I take a deep breath and pull her into me, placing my hand on the cold, smooth skin of her head as her tears wet the front of my shirt. "Lora, come on!"

I yell out into the air, begging for her to get out here to the bunker, out here to us. My heart is pounding with the kind of desperation and uncertainty that can make you sick. Having so fast it's lurching my entire body forward and back in dizzying uncontrolled motions. The pounding drums in my ears and I don't hear "Lora" answer me. I turn around to scan the lower level of the house, the windows, the doors for a sign of her,

but I don't see anything.

I squint to look higher to the second floor. Still, there's nothing.

As my eyes continue to roam upward, I glance to the sky opposite of where the cloud is coming from. And tears prick my eyes again. Washed in a brilliant fiery orange with fluffy pink and yellow clouds that hang lazily just above the setting sun. It's devastatingly, painfully, and beautifully right. Like an old photo of yourself as a child laughing, being tickled while held in your mother's lap.

It's as thing should be. But to look at it in the present moment, you're speared in the chest with the reality that it is not how things truly are. I take the hands of my girls in each of mine and let myself cry as we begin walking toward the house. I cry because I'm scared. I cry because I don't know where Laura is or why she's not answering me. I cry for what's happening to Amelia and Lily. I cry for that perfectly right twilight sky that

will soon be smothered and snuffed out by the very wrong thing that slowly swallowing us whole.

We only take a few steps before the back door slams open and, finally,

“Laura stumbles out onto the deck. Or, what used to be Laura?”

Whatever is swaying at the top of the steps, breathing heavily and barely standing on limbs. I can't call legs. Moans out some garbled version of my name and I'm not sure if it's in pain or panic or both. I quickly spin the girls around with me and grab onto their heads, bearing them into my stomach, obstructing their vision and covering their ears with my hands. I feel hot streams carrying down my face and I swallow hard as I take deep breaths and fight to

think clearly. Finally, I squat down in front of them again, making sure to put my hands in other eyes to keep their view on me and not what's behind me. Get in the bunker. I speak slowly as if the thing behind us, something I can't call Laura anymore, might hear and come storming after us chasing us underground forever. I gently nudge them along, turning them around and guiding them down inside where I don't even know if it's safer, but at least they won't have to witness

what's happening out here. I'll be there in just one minute. My voice is shaky, but I try to reassure them. I force myself not to look back as I close the hatch to the bunker behind them. I stand and brace myself against a tree as I pause to take a breath before attempting to face what's waiting for me at the house. Grasping onto a knot in the tree trunk, my fingers spread out over what feels like flush. Turning, I see that the bark on the tree is changing too.

Some sort of dark brown, velvety membrane is slowly spreading over the trunk in its branches. And I've grabbed hold of a hairy pulsating lump of it. It's soft and warm and as I shutter and jerk my hand away, I swear the tree shutters too. I look out over the field as the mass rumbles closer. I scan for animals to see if the same thing is happening to them, but there

legs and wings morphed into things that would leave them stranded here. Like us. The grass is pulsing

“different colors as the cloud moves to hover above it. Green, gray, brown, deep, burnt orange.”

Clumps of earth bulge up in random places pushing trees and rocks higher toward the sky. Something like rain seems to fall from the cloud and I'm sure if I stayed long enough for it to pass over me. It would burn or suffocate or tear through my flesh, or maybe even all of it at once. I finally let myself accept it. There's no point in being scared. There's nothing we can do to stop this. We couldn't have prepared more than we did.

Whatever this is, it's going to happen, however it's going to happen. And that's it. I wrap my arms around myself and as I do, I finally notice my own change. My skin is loose,

“drooping, sagging from the muscle and bones like it's been stretched thin by eons of a well-lived”

life when I'm reality. It's only been a few moments of torture. I stop and close my eyes, breathing and deeply to let myself take stock of my body. I feel it, too. No pain. Just tiny little bursts within the walls of each cell. Explosions of change at a molecular level. It reminds me of when I first started to feel each of the girls move inside me when I was pregnant with them. And dreamed of how they'd grow up, what they'd look like, all the things we'd do as a family.

Nine dreams never once looked like this, but I suppose anything can change in the blink of a

terrified tear-filled eye. Let's take a short break for our sponsors, who help us keep our heads above water. For waves of ad-free horror content, join our sleepless universe by going to sleepless.com. We're grateful that better help is sponsoring this episode. We're celebrating women,

“not just this month, but year-round, and women contribute to the horror genre in so many important ways.”

I'm always surprised by dudes who seem shocked by how many great horror creators are women.

The no sleep podcast wouldn't exist without the women who not only make this show, but who create the nightmares we experience through their stories. Women don't get an easy pass through life, so take a moment to celebrate a woman in your life, reflect on what they've done for you. And equally important, encourage the sense of balance and boundaries that can be discovered through therapy, like the kind of therapy you can get with better help. Better help

therapists work according to a strict code of conduct and are fully licensed in the US, with over 30,000 therapists. Better help is one of the world's largest online therapy platforms,

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5 stars for a live session based on over 1.7 million client reviews. So listen, your emotional well-being matters. Find support and feel lighter in therapy. Sign up and get 10% off at betterhelp.com/noseleap. That's betterhelp.com/noseleap. Now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. I admire people who can choose a career in pest control. You won't catch me dealing with bugs approaches, vermin, all in a day's work, but Liam seems capable of handling it. And in this

tale, shared with us by author Helena Castellan. Liam is being kept busy these days, and oddly enough, his calls are all coming from the same neighborhood. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, Jeff Clement, Peter Lewis, Jessie Cornette, Mary Murphy, Ellie Hirschman, and Wofia White. So know this isn't an ad for Liam's company. It's just their motto when he says, "Hurt something in the wall or ceiling?" Call us. "Hurt something in the wall or ceiling?" Call us. Hello. We are an independent

We deal in all kinds of intruders, from cockroaches to rats, to raccoons, all sizes and shapes,

“and colors. Safety and comfort is one call away. We offer a high variety of services,”

accommodated to your needs and inquiries, and have a flexible schedule. Call us anytime. That's the job I work at. For privacy reasons, I won't say the name of the company. The pays decent, the hours are flexible, and I get uniforms on the house, and meals. Yes, I do have to deal with all kinds of infested homes, from termites to roaches to bees, and even intruders like raccoons, foxes, once even a snake. It can be dangerous, but I take my precautions.

I can also take phone duty if I'm feeling particularly lazy, but like last week. Don't imagine we're working non-stop. We rarely get any calls. Not a lot of incidents happen around here in this town. Last week, however, I had three calls, which was interesting enough by self because I rarely get this much activity. Three calls also meant that I had to go do ground duty, because we didn't have enough personnel for three interventions in one day.

The first call happened at around 6pm.

Hello, this is (beep) exterminators, or the safety of your home is our priority. I'm going to help you today.

“Hi, yeah, my name is Emily, and I think there's something in my ceiling.”

Hi, Emily, can you describe the issue with a bit more detail? What kind of noises are you hearing? Any signs of anything living up there? Anything like that can help a lot. Okay, um, let's all have been hearing these faint scratches like rats. This scratches started yesterday around midnight, and at first I thought it was the rain. You know, the way you can hear each individual drop fall on the roof of your house.

And I imagined it must have been the birds, but I entered a realising it was coming from the attic. Because I, um, I heard the scratches like coming from right above me, and I thought something had gone into the house. I was next to a lead. Right, so the gas station, which one exactly, don't you pass by going to Kaden or the other one down the road to the bridge?

No, as the one down the road to the bridge, right next to the creek. My house is the blue one right when the town starts. I don't have any neighbors. It's number three on pollen street. So, you know, I'm afraid something got into the house from the forest.

It wouldn't be the first time. I just hope this time it isn't a snake.

The snakes don't scratch like that. Are you hearing the scratches now? They really paint the persistent, to be rats. Okay, Emily, we'll be on a way soon. Thank you.

I sent a team over there, but they couldn't find anything out of place. No insects, no animals, no rats. The next call came around 10pm. Hello. This is (beep) exterminators. We're going to save you if your home is our priority.

I'm going to help you today. Hello, I keep hearing these scratches and the thuds coming from the ceiling.

“When I think it moves to the walls, I'm not sure though, but there's definitely something in there.”

Could you just grab the issue with a bit more detail? The noise is started like three hours ago. At first I thought it was the pipes, but there are two rhythmics. Like, like footsteps or more like something dragging, it's limbs through the walls. I don't understand, and I can't identify the animal. It sounds big.

This is an old house, and it's relatively easy to dig through it.

I've never heard anything like it.

Where is it right now? I can't hear anything right now. I don't know where it went. All right, but you told us you're address. Seven pollen street. Most stomach tense.

Could it be a coincidence?

All right, thank you. We'll be on our way.

I sent the team to the location and was left alone with Andrew, a coworker. The night had fallen, and I hated night interventions. So I hoped the phone wouldn't ring again until they came back. Honestly, I was pretty relaxed. There wasn't a very high chance that I'd get any other calls for the day.

I lifted my head from my lasagna. Me and Andrew stared at each other.

“It had been, what? Like, 30 minutes since the last call?”

The fuck? Andrew raised his shoulders. I stood up and lifted the receiver. This is a... How can I help you?

It was a pause in the other line. Then, heavy breathing. Sir? Matter of art, you okay? What happened?

It's fucking great, something in the house. What do you mean? Who dragged what? Sir, can you be more precise? Andrew's eyes widened.

What? I shook my head and motioned him to be quiet. Sir, what's going on?

“Something broke into my house, habitless tourism, to distinct bodies.”

Not a raccoon, not a bird, you know?

In the first eyes of it were too alive, things, but as I listened more,

I realized one of almost... ...one of the dragon, you know, across my head on my fucking ceiling. I don't even know how it got there. I knew anything like climbing on the house. Like, he just landed on the roof.

Then dug down to the attic. I don't know. Right. Now, I'm not done. I just scared.

Shitly, it's because I thought it was a person. At first, he sounded to be enough to be a person. I was like, yeah, it's a murderer, but that was until I heard it's eating. Eating? What do you mean?

Andrew frowned. He mouths the words. The fuck? Yeah, I can hear his air he's saying.

“It's eating right above me, and I hear the floorboard of the attic creamed.”

I'm afraid it's going to come down. The thing is dragging something, Mary. Fucking hell, please, just come. I wanted to call 911, but I know it's not human. All right, I'll send someone right away.

Address in name, please. Who are you going to send? There's just us. Phoenix, Galen. Eleven, a pollen street.

Fuck me. Okay, sir, we'll be on our way. After I hung up, a moment of silence followed, where me and Andrew just stood there, perplexed.

You know it's us that have to go there, right? Not really, rather not. Then call Walt. Ask him if they've finished at the last place. Are the houses close to each other?

All three calls came from the same street, pollen street, you're the forest. Fuck. Yeah, call them. A dialed Walt's number.

It took a while for him to pick up. Hey, Walt, you done there because I got another call and... Wait a minute, there's no one in that house. My hand was shaking on the receiver. What do you mean?

There was no creature, no person, nothing. However, this scene is rather interesting. I'm afraid we'll be busy here for a while. Why? When windows are broken, furniture destroyed,

the attic is covered in scratches and broken wood. And have their split. It's for action. I don't know what happened here, but we need to find your caller and the intruder.

We're searching the property. Right.

The third call had mentioned something dragging something else.

We need to find your caller.

I had never been so afraid.

As me and Andrew put on our uniforms, I couldn't help but wonder if I should get the police involved. There was no snake, no fox, no bear. The most frustrating thing was that... I didn't know what it was.

We took a deep breath and drove into the night. We reached our destination pretty fast. And that what you're going to say, if the houses numbers were so close,

“why couldn't wall just take a look at number 11 too?”

Well, the numbers were really far apart. This area of town wasn't exactly populated. Neighbors could be miles apart. I reached the house with its lights on. We hesitated.

Then got out of the car and knocked on the door. I got an instant response. Finnacle-bent, pale and shaking. I was so glad you came. I was used to clients being afraid.

Finnacle, ever, was deeply shaken. His eyes were glossy and his movements irregular. He sensed the same thing I had that something sinister was going on, but we couldn't quite label it yet. I tried to remain calm.

“Sir, you can wait in the car if you would like to.”

He didn't need to be told twice. Me and Andrew made our way upstairs to the master bedroom. The house looked pretty normal. Nothing out of place, and nothing broken, like in number 7. The bedroom had old creaking furniture and floors.

It was undeniable that something was in the ceiling. I could hear the sound of something being torn apart and scratching. So much scratching. The ceiling was old too. Look like it was just made of some old slabs.

Andrew and I took out our equipment, gathering our courage to go inside the attic.

And the slabs always had this red tint.

I raised my hand and felt them. They were human and smelled like metal. Andrew, get your gun.

“Pulling the attic stairs down, I tried to be as quiet as possible.”

I didn't want to make our presence known. As silent as we tried to be, the stairs creaked obnoxiously. And I closed my eyes. Fuck. The sounds of stairs stopped.

Okay, you go first. Fuck you. With that, he disappeared into the darkness. I heard his footsteps. Then allowed echoing screen that turned into an inhuman whale.

But first instinct was to crouch and stay on the ground with my hands on my ears.

Then I heard two gunshots in Andrew cursing. More gunshots followed. Then glass breaking and something batting its wings and wailing. The voice was not human, but it had some inflections like a woman. It made my skin crawl.

The attic window had broken and the thing had flown away. I don't know why, but I pulled away the curtain to the bedroom and looked outside for any signs of what it could have been. When Andrew came back down, he was crying. I'd never seen him cry.

I saw it. I saw it. I saw hell. Leo, I looked right at it. I saw it happen.

The sweet smell from the attic made me gag. I put on my mask and went upstairs, leaving Andrew frozen staring into a corner. The light didn't work, so I had to use my flashlight. The floor was wet and darkened and blood. And the smell lingered, putrid, and overwhelming.

But in realising, I was staring at what would turn out to be the second collar.

“I had never dealt with such gore before, so my head didn't know how to take it.”

I guess I knew in some sort of way that the inflated shape was supposed to be the head. And what was above it were the limbs? And the stomach lays somewhere farther away, and the torso had been dug into. That was in shock, and the image just didn't seem real. Above the body, the creature had carved something onto the wooden wall,

some symbol, my face felt numb. Remaining in the same position, I made a call. Hey, wall? Yeah? Are you guys done there?

Are you okay? You sound weird.

A blinked a few times, then cleared my voice.

Yeah, um, are you, are you done there? We didn't find anything. Did you guys do the other intervention? Oh yeah, we did. And we found the collar.

Not all of him, though, and the thing is gone now. Probably resting. What? Yeah. You might want to come.

Since then, I've been giving interviews non-stop

as to describe the three calls in our interventions, the creature.

I told him everything. Well, almost everything. That night, I had looked through the window on Instinct. I don't know why.

“You know how the most horrible things have a way of drawing you in?”

I pulled the curtain. I placed my face close to the window. I had nerded fly away yet. I should have waited for it to leave. In the darkness, I saw two eyes shimmering a few inches from mine.

Two eyes that looks so human. I thought that I was almost seeing my own reflection. Except. Well, they were upside down. And the other parts of the face had been kind of carved into the flesh

with blood-drained skin sort of stretched over them. Behind the head were large wings made the same way. It turned its head so it wasn't upside down anymore, but the body remained exactly the same. I felt it had wanted to see me better.

“Then, it pressed its forehead onto the glass.”

Fear paralyzed me, and I remained still. I had known it had a mouth until then when it smiled. It had no teeth, just more skin. Not even gums were tongue. Then it flew away.

The rest of its body was stretched out. The limbs curved and molded from the grave flesh. My watched it disappear into the night. Leaving nothing but a bloody stain on the window where its forehead had been. That didn't get a lot of sleep after that.

I was hesitant to return to the job, but I had no better option. It has been exactly a week since then. At almost midnight, they got a call. Hello, this is... Extraordinarys, but the safety of your home is our priority.

How can I help you today? There is something in my ceiling scratching. Address. You didn't even let me finish. I'm a polystery, number 13.

Well, get out. Just leave. Trust me. What? Yeah, fuck no.

We ain't helping you with that. It's beyond us.

Are you kidding? No.

“As a hung up, I knew we couldn't run from this thing forever.”

And there's also this other thing I know. My address is 34 Hamney Lane. Right across from pollen street. I'm Charisa, and my experience in all entrepreneurs will start a shopping trip.

I'm going to the first day of shopping.

And the platform will make me no problem. I have a lot of problems, but the platform is no one from now on. I have the feeling that shopping trip will continue to continue. Everything is super interesting and dangerous. And the time goes by and the money that I can't invest in there.

Everything is in the box, right now. Now the costs are testing on Shopify.de. For example, you have a shop with Shopify and business. And you have to get to the market.

“With the check-out with the world-wide best conversion.”

That's right. The check-out with the world-wide best conversion. The legendary check-out from Shopify is just the shop on your website. A bit of social media and everything is over.

That's the music for your ear. Videos of the rest of the vendors with Shopify can still be shared with each other. Start a test-in-the-art for an EuroPromonet on shopify.de/recorder. It ain't easy scraping out a living as a horror storytelling podcaster. You want the big bucks.

You host a video channel as a paranormal investigator. Like Marcus and Kayla do. They're developing a big audience by visiting supposedly haunted places, like a photo museum.

“And in this tale, shared with us by author Melissa Mason.”

This particular museum seems to be infested with a ghost. And let's just say it's not a pretty picture. I'm in this one alongside of Matthew Bradford and Nicole Goodnight. So stop making that duckface and put the phone away. This is the last place you'll want to take a selfie.

Wake up, angry ghost lady. I pan my phone's camera around the empty museum lobby. Doesn't the frame black and white portraits frown down on me. She's not angry, Marcus. My best friend crossed her arms over her flower gloss.

That's incline collection of charms hung from a wrist. She's sad, grieving maybe, but not angry. Still too quiet for me to receive a message, though. My least favorite charm of bright blue glass eyeball fixed its pupil on me. I lowered my phone.

Seriously Kayla, you're telling me we drove out to the ass end of nowhere and camped out at the sold museum all day for nothing. I pointed at her bracelet. And now your evil eye is judging me. She's green.

Hold you a million times already at words against evil.

Cheerful off keywistling interrupted us as a wiry man with toughs of white hair and a shirt proclaiming heartwood photography museum and faded gold stitching rounded recorder. I held up my phone. Hey Jo, still good? The elderly security guard beamed.

Closest I'll get to be in a celebrity. Still can't believe the famous Detroit Ghost Hunters responded to my letter. Film away. Our little video channel hardly qualified as famous but the praise fired me up again. Viral video here we come.

My pointed my phone's camera to where the nearest set of black and white photos. Closer inspection revealed them as 10 types. Then pieces of metal used in 18th century photography. They hung behind paints of thick glass below the words "Amazing Elizabeth".

I've always assumed a carnival barker's cadence.

Stay upright up, spook hunters and learn all about the lovely Elizabeth Hardwood. In death, vengeful ghost, in life, famous Victorian grifter. Spiritual healer? I zoomed into the image of a woman seated on a wicker chair. Dark hair pinned into a neat bun with a knitted shawl draped around her shoulders.

She clashed the hands of a sickly man in covered in boils. All the rails geared by the power of psychic energy and a low-low price of a single photograph,

Who killed her? Deader than a dornail. Motivation?

“Why it's the tail as old as time, murder for money and your sidepiece?”

Sidepiece?

I turned back to our channel's mystic for clarification.

What's the Victorian term? Mistress. Right, right, a murder for money and your mistress. But then what happened, Kay? She rolled her eyes, so I saw him focus over to the security guard.

Then what happened, Joe? His face lit up. Elizabeth returned from the grave and stopped her husband's traitorous heart. Nice, very dramatic. Joe gave it cheesy thumbs up and shuffled off,

probably to guard another room filled with the yellowing newspapers and old photos. Not sure why. Place felt deader than the heartwoods. Then there are belongings moved here to Michigan from England in the 1970s, cue flickering lights and cold spots in the typical ghost shenanigans.

I stopped recording inside. Kind of which we experienced today. Can't believe it's already the last week in a qualify for the horror convention panel. It's tilted her head at me.

“You don't think Elizabeth's story is strong enough to push our channel over the subscriber count?”

A ghost hunting video with no ghosts. I shook my head and chewed a finger now, thinking. We could tweak it. Kayle's face gluttered over. Tweak howl.

Blowing red eyes on Elizabeth's portrait, maybe. No way, just for the thumbnail image.

When we started making videos, we promised we'd never lie.

Promise we'd never lie to each other. And after we get on the panel, finally have enough exposure to turn ghost hunting to a full-time gig. Kayle is set her jaw. We left the laptop upstairs. She marched toward the elevator.

Come on Kay, I know you enjoy our stunning minimum wage careers and retail as much as I do. The elevator door is creed, but I managed to race inside before they shut it. Kayle and I avoided each other's eyes, writing upward in silence until a shaky ding reverberated around us like an underwater doorbell. The elevator opened to reveal stacks of tools essential to Victorian air photography,

but now mostly frosted junk. I'll grab it. I jog to the large bag containing our equipment. It's sat near a wooden cabinet of warp glass bottles containing various chemicals. Think one of these of the cyanide cocktail Elizabeth's husband used to poison her?

Kayle pushed chunky purple frames up her nose, but said nothing. My snagged the heavy duffel and paused for one final look at the museum's best feature, Mr. Hartwood's photography. Not as scam worked downstairs, no? The good stuff. Fringed in types of unswiling families circled walls, women in bustle dresses, men and suits,

children clothe in their Sunday best. And in each photo, one of these elegantly dressed people was dead. Most times the corpse looked obvious, closed eyes or a sagging head, but I knew another tell. Ten-type exposure time could take 15 seconds or more. A difficult terming perfectly still that long.

The people breathed and shifted, causing their outlines to appear subtly blurred in the developmental pictures. But the dead, the dead looks solid, like the photography from the underworld, the corpse is appeared more real than the living. But one photo stood out by its absence. The last picture Mr. Hartwood took of his wife, post-heemously. I glanced a key as I returned to the elevator.

Anyone would have a heart attack of their mistress caught them developing their wife's murder trophy photo, vengeful ghost or no? Not vengeful, sad. I hit the lobby button and open my mouth to cram my foot even further inside, when my phone ding. I tapped the notification expecting to see another warning about the

convention deadline. Instead, a picture slideshow again. A fence of lead cheerful music played over a photo of me as a teenage discount goth with spiky hair and a rip-browed skeptic t-shirt. I tapped to the grin looked huge and happy. One arm slung around Kayla shoulders. Curse of over the top red memories, remember this day. I turned the screen to K. Who's that goofy looking guy with you to treat ghostcon and he's a real jerk? She shrugged her shoulders.

Only 90% of the time? Ouch. I grimaced placing a hand over my heart.

“You should go solo. Probably get more views. Oh, I definitely get more views.”

She finally looked at me, lips twitching. But skeptics make great

fodder. Something spooky tries to nab us. It'll get your dumbass first. My smile back. They see how it is. So, food. Tell our followers where to dine out here in lovely sticksville, Michigan.

Yeah, sorry man. Appreciate you reaching out, but we haven't seen anything truly scary all day.

“I think the Elizabeth's asleep. Lizzy. The staff all call her Lizzy.”

Glanced around is still empty lobby and look me dead in the eyes. Wanna wake her up? Fixed change glances of a came-grinned punching record on my phone. Tell ya. Joe motion does back into the elevator. Gotta be careful. Could lose my job if anything gets busted down there.

He winked at the camera. Or any guests die mysteriously. Our guide produced a shiny metal key and slid it into an unmarked slot on the bottom panel. Sweet adrenaline flooded my veins as we descended. The watery bell announced our arrival as the door shuddered once and opened to darkness. Welcome to the basement.

Joe stepped out and fluorescent lights buzzed to life over head as I waited impatiently for the big reveal.

The illumination finally settled, revealing a large, concrete walled broom.

My heart plummeted at the set of frames hung every few feet along the walls. Oh, great. More pictures. Take gently punch my shoulder. It is a photography museum. Joe's strode toward the nearest image.

“The basement ain't available to the public because Lizzie doesn't want anyone down here.”

Kiela fell into step behind him. Did her ghost tell you that? Ah, I'm not tuned into the spare world like you, Missy. But after the last death, Lizzie got all round up and a bunch of spooky occurrences until these pieces moved to the basement. Last step. Joe stopped beside a color photo of a balding man in a

powdered blue suit and jerked a finger at it. Distant relation of the heartwood family brought over their effects from England for the museum.

I was only 17 on opening day when Lizzie took her revenge on him.

Saw it, Missyelf. The security guard clutched his chest and convulsed. Like that, died in minutes. But that doesn't make sense. Elizabeth wanted to cure people not kill them.

Those photographs in the lobby weren't taken to make money. They acted as healing tokens for her clients and they worked. Everyone pictured with her upstairs recovered. Did her ghost tell you that?

“No, an article in London's 1873 spiritualist newspaper,”

which I read during the museum tour while someone looked at cat videos on his phone. I held a behind. Yeah, guilty. Joe stepped to another picture, partially blocking it. The visible portion showed a familiar dark-haired woman,

but without the telltale show. Elizabeth? Nope, this here is Lizzie's daughter. Joe's eyes grew bright. Murdered by her own mama, more proof of a vengeful spirit.

Wait, wait, she killed her kid, but not her husband's mistress. That's cold. Okay, frown. Why do you think she died because of Elizabeth? With a flourish Joe moved aside revealing the rest of the picture.

Lizzie's daughters did close to a wooden stand, holding up on our neatly-frame portrait. My eyes swam. I'd stared at pictures all day and waves of dizziness washed over me at the image conception. That's it. Kill his urgent whisper, clear the fog.

The death photo. My heart kicked into high gear. In the portrait with an portrait, a man sporting a van-dike beard stood behind a wicker chair, one hand on the occupant's shoulder. In the seat slumped a woman, hair and shawl of skew, eyes closed in death.

Elizabeth. Joe grin. You betcha, and her husband, of course, evil bastard. He got his though. He ate the bucket before his murder trophy photo finished right.

Then how did their daughter die? Same way, Mr. Hartwood did. Same as the original owner of this place too, although his family burned the polaroid. Polaroid.

I exchanged confused glances with Kayla, and so the security guard huffed him patiently. They died because they took a picture of themselves with Lizzie, or with her death portrait anyways.

The pieces of Joe's story finally snapped into place.

A killer selfie. What a clickbait title. Our video will go viral for sure. Told you. Joe sounded smug.

My snap is still the unfortunate daughter when her Charlotte and parents

Please tell me the original death photo was down here. Oh yeah.

“Joe's spot on his heel and bowed like a matriety,”

hushuring us to the best table. Right this way, good sir. Matum? Kay grabbed my arm. Mark, wait, a feeling of sadness?

It's stronger here.

That's great, or finally getting somewhere.

No, you don't understand, it feels wrong. And I have dragged us after the security guard is sheep struggled for words. Have he, like, quicksand? Kayla's skidded to a halt and fell silent, or Gaze fixed over Joe's shoulder.

I gently pride her fingers from my sleeve and step forward. Detail stood out more clearly in the original death photo. The painted floral backdrop behind the couple. The smirk beneath Mr. Heartwood's mustache. Elizabeth stiffly curled fingers.

I stared at her closed eyelids. Something about the photo felt off. So, you gonna do it? Joe gave me an expectant look. Wake up, Lizzy?

Kayla furiously shook her head.

For where he faced, I knew mine was lit up like a kid's on Christmas.

Take a killer selfie. Absolutely, I'd live for this shit. Did you not hear a word, I said? Kayla step between me and my destiny. This picture is cursed.

“I think a channel's Elizabeth's death into its victims.”

I use said Lizzy's not the murdering type. I don't think she has a choice. Kind of a stretch. Besides, think of the horror convention. More subscribers, more exposure, or remember?

No one needs Internet Cloudy Dork. The fact you are so keyed up makes me want to debunk it even more. I wait to hand. Can't you just do your protection thing? Gonna work a spell.

Joe eyed Kay's bracelet eagerly. Something like that. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Anger shuffling through the charms until he separated one from the rest. The cobalt blue eyeball.

But I remain still while my best friend circled me, muttering words in a language that didn't recognize and occasionally punctuated by my name. Satisfied? No. But Kay raised her own phone to record.

I stood next to the photograph from your turn. She and Joe appeared in frame, a portrait of anxiety and eagerness. I flipped to the selfie care and they disappeared, replaced by my excited gaze. I leaned in so my head hovered near Lizzie's tiny crinkles, creased her eyelids, the outline of her dark hair against the wicker, slightly blurry.

Gusebumps, peppered my arms. That's what seemed off. I stared at the woman's outline, not the sharp solid stillness of death, but soft and unsteady. Elizabeth spent her last moment's alive during this photograph.

“Did Mr. Hartwood grip his wife's shoulder to keep her in place while the poison finished its work?”

My hand wavered. "Getting cold feet, Mr. skeptic." "It's okay, Mark. Let's just leave." My friend's eyes met mine over the camera.

Despite my teasing about her beliefs, I always felt steady around Kay.

"Safe." "We got this." Everyone froze. The creepy eyed charms swung gently back and forth from Kayla's wrist. I couldn't help but watch it.

The people once again fixed unerringly toward me. Five seconds passed. Ten. Fifteen. I let her breath and grin.

Finally tearing my gaze away from the evil eye. Still alive. Joe looked a little green. "Honestly didn't think you were going to do it. Looks like your mystic is as powerful as the rumors say."

You beam to Kayla. "That or the heartwoods had a genetic heart condition?" I punched the air, triumphantly. "Curler selfie, officially debunked." Kayla sent me your video proof of my victory and I motioned her over.

"We need a picture for the episode thumbnail." "I am not standing there." A pastoral landscape of what I presume to be the heartwoods grounds hung kitty quarter from the death portrait. I pointed to it.

"That boring enough for you?" She relented and we stood together with our arms round each other's shoulders. "I'll take it." Joe pulled out an honest to goodness clam shell phone, potted it a few times, then scowled.

"Ah, no, that's not right." "I hate these dang things." Kay covered a smile while I handed him my phone. Here, just at the big round button. Joe squinted, and held it up like a poison of snake,

where I'm stiff and straighted. "Like this?" Mr. Hartwood's face smirked at me from behind the security guard

I suppressed a sigh. "Thanks, Joe."

Mr. Bushy White Eyebrows wagled.

“"You know, my granny always swore bigfoot stole chickens out of her coop,”

if you want to check that out next." Kay politely declined design-spec of the picture. She drew in a sharp breath. The others were surrounded around to see. The image looked like some snapped it during an earthquake,

Kyle and I weren't in it. Elizabeth's head droop next to Joe's. I forgot to flip the cameras view back. "No!" The security guard yanked the phone for my fingers with a shockingly strong grip.

Panic covered his face. "She's gonna kill me. You tricked me. And now she's gonna kill me." Kay held her phone in a soothing gesture.

"Easy man, it's okay. We just proved it's not real." "You don't understand. I saw the owner die."

"Oh my god, she's looking at me."

His eyes locked to the screen. "She's looking at me."

“He went bridged it as glass cracked between his fingers.”

I reached out. Stop, you're gonna break my phone. But the device clatter to the floor before I could grab it. The security guard's thin frame jerk does the way to attach to a live wire. "Joe?"

The man collapsed, hands clutching his chest. "Come on, I'm gonna get help." Killer ran for the elevator and I scrambled for my phone. Shaking fingers, I dialed emergency services, and now this side Joe's convulsing body.

Staying on, okay? Four hours in a few police interviews later, Kayla and I slumped and my beat up Wrangler parked outside her apartment building. A sack of fast food untouched on a dash. My stomach coiled into a miserable contradiction of hunger and nausea.

Joe was dead. Just drop it already. I'll delete anything with him and I. "No, it's all got to go. Every photo, every video, no exceptions."

My best friend looked shrunken, dwarfed by the passenger seat. Kay, I feel awful too, but the guy was like 80. And I'm still fine, right? I created my phone, marked by a single hairline crack across the top.

Kayla already deleted her video, so my device held her last chance of hitting the convention deadline. We'll sting this, we'll push us over the subscriber requirement for sure. "Joe died!" If we post a video, our fans will dare each other to take a selfie with Elizabeth.

"You know, they will." She rubbed her arms. And she's awake now, very strong and very awake. I had decided to decide step her supernatural comet.

“"No one can get to the basement, and either that special key, or remember."”

"Seriously?" We broke into places all the time investigating his dumb kids. "Rajasets so hard or change her mold." "Delete those pictures, markets, or I'm done. No more investigations."

"Shark washed through me. I opened my mouth and shut it. I fist hit the steering wheel. My shoulder's drooped." "Fine."

"I selected everything I'd taken that day in, Chad, Delete. Feeling like I'd been punched in the stomach." "Then, the notification popped up." "Delete media from Cloud Storage?" "I hesitated."

"Then tapped?" "No." "Kayla's just emotional right now." "How high was emotional?" "We'd watch the power of magical thinking take someone's life today."

"I handed the phone over with a twinge of guilt." "Everything's gone." "She checked it while I tried to look upset." "Thanks, Mark." "We'll get to the convention another year."

"She gave me an awkward hug across the center console and got out." "I drove aimlessly until sunset, wrestling with my conscience." "And Joe was dead, no changing that." "The other ghost hunting channels would cash the story fast.

Didn't our viewers deserve a first-hand account?"

"Kayla'd see that after she got some rest." "I pulled into a strip mall. The cafe here had terrible coffee but surprisingly strong wi-fi. Not the first time I edited a video in the piece of an empty parking lot." "The light pull above my car flickered as my phone rang."

"Kayla." "I ignored it and retrieved my laptop, relieved at the full battery." "Cloud Storage and editing software open. I burned through the video intro." "My phone chime."

"Got that quick sand feeling again. You okay?" "I swept Kayla's text away and silenced my phone." "Of course she felt terrible. Nothing's supernatural about that.

I kept working." "Museum background section done."

"Done."

“"Loud pops, put the night and white sparks at my windshields.”

The light above burst with a parking lot plunged in the darkness." "That out Lizzy." "I joked aloud to slow my racing heart." "And continued my editing by my laptop school." "Text snippets from K-flash beneath the crack across my phone."

"Can't find you?" "She's awake." "I gritted my teeth and let them fade out."

"Finally my mouse hovered over K's basement video."

"It's time for the main event."

“"Backered smoke hit my nostrils as my laptop screen went dark."”

"It's internal fan worrying to a stop." "My heartbeat felt loudly in total silence." "I felt around for the ignition and yelled like a superstitious idiot." "I'd have a computer at home, you know." "A battery indicator burned orange on the dashboard."

"I stared at and disbelief and shiver."

"Suddenly freezing cold, a pang of icy loneliness settled in my chest."

"If K-luor hears she chants some nonsense that wouldn't fix the car but would somehow make me feel better anyway." "My phone flashed briefly in the dark, relieved high scrambled for it." "Even angry words for my best friend felt like a lifeline." "But instead of expected text messages, a music player." "A offensively cheerful music from my silenced phone."

"The whole screen lit up and I blinked in the sudden glare."

“"Memories remember this day appeared across the top."”

"Anife, K&I stood under a rusted heartwood photography museum sign." "I thought Ned in my mind but the photo changed before I'd grab it." "A wrinkled face smiled up at me, delighted to give his favorite amateur ghost hunters a tour." "Gill burrowed into my stomach as I stared at Joe's happy face. We're remembering how it contorted as he's green. The panic in his eyes."

"Says looking at me." "All the air looked my lungs as realisation head." "Joe didn't show heart attack symptoms until he grabbed my phone. Mr. Hart would survive until he developed the original photo. He's up to confirm my thoughts Lizzie's daughter gaze solemnly at me next to the frame of her dead parents." "Just taking the selfie didn't kill you. Looking at it did."

"Legal Lizzie's patience witnessed their photos but in death the healers gift twisted into something terrible. Revelation struck too late and my face appeared on the screen beside the death portrait. Biles scorched the back of my tongue as the bubbly music surged to a high pitched wine. Frantic text flashed and disappeared. I tried to respond by my body felt paralyzed, pinned in place. My shoulder burned as though invisible fingers dug into the skin.

No warning charm protected my eyes this time and I felt them widen, locked and voluntarily into another gaze. Elizabeth Hart would stare directly at me from her wicker chair. I is a startling bright green in her black and white face.

Kila was right. I thought as my throat closed. Hands clenching voluntarily as the first tremor ran through my body.

She really did look site. [Metal Lizzie plays] 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. The no sleep podcast is presented by creative reason media. The musical scores are composed

by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Michaelski, Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornett, and Claudius Moore. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley Macanale, Ollie A. White, and Kristen Samito. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings. To discover how you can get even more sleepless horror stories from us, just visit sleepless.theno 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 low monthly price.

This audio program is copyright 2026 by Creative Reason Media. The copyrights for each story are

“held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted”

without the written consent of Creative Reason Media. No part of this audio program may be used

or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies

or systems. All rights reserved.

“It's a challenge to get your platform continuously optimized. Everything is super-integreary and”

useful. And the time and the money that I can't invest in there can be different. For all in vacuum. Now, the cost of the test is on shopify.de.