S25 Ep1: NoSleep Podcast S25E01

Listen. Listen close sir sir,

turn into a voice of fear here.

Silence isn't safety. It's just dreading over the screen. [music]

“To you, dear, explore the underpinitones.”

Phantom voices, add some sonic river variations that trigger your body's instinct to run. [music] What on your headphones? Step into the dark,

and go to the simple of sleep as you. Please show us how to go. For the ghost sleep we'll be podcasting. [music] [music]

[music]

“You're listening to the no sleep podcast.”

Thanks for making us part of your horror soundtrack. I'm your host, David Cummings. We are delighted to welcome you to the 25th season of the no sleep podcast. In traditional folklore, 25 is the silver anniversary. For us that doesn't mean jewelry,

it means we finally have enough silver to forge the bullets.

And with our new season, we're going to focus on something that might seem rather obvious for an audio production like ours. The focus is on the sounds of horror.

“Audio nightmares, or as I'm calling it, the frequency of fear.”

From the very first episode of this podcast, our focus has been to adapt stories to audio by combining the words with music, sound effects, and audio sound design to enhance the horror. And I'm sure we all realize how much terror can come from sounds. Those haunting footsteps heard in an empty attic above.

The creek of a door opening when you're alone in the house. The whisper that floats past your ear just as you're falling into sleep. The things we hear can be as devastatingly terrifying as the things we see. And we want to bring you auditory terror that will stick with you long after the stories are over. So make sure you have some good headphones.

Settle into a quiet space and close your eyes. Let the sounds transport you into a world where horror surrounds you and embraces you. It's season 25, and it's time to listen up. Now brace yourself for the frequency of fear.

In our first tale, we meet Sarah and Marcus, two friends out for a hike,

and they've split up to see which path to the scenic outlook is the best. But in this tale, shared with us by author, Cosmic Dread, Sarah is waiting for Marcus to show up. His lateness is making her worried, and all she really wants is to hear the sound of his voice. This tale has been produced by Jeff Clement, and features performances by Aaron Lewis, and Jeff Clement. So listen for the sounds of the forest.

Is that a voice or is it the breathing woods? 20 minutes of calling out Marcus' name was when I stopped pretending everything was alright. The plan was simple, split it the fork, made it the overlook in 45 minutes. Marcus goes high, I go low, and we'd argue over whose view was better like we'd been doing since our college backpacking trips.

I double back to the junction, hugged up onto the high trail, and called his name by throat already hurting.

“The red markers were there on the trees, and the same pattern the trail maps said they'd be.”

Yet something wasn't quite great. Is basing of them maybe? Or, and this was the landing thing. They seemed to shift when I wasn't looking directly at them. Come on Sarah, pull yourself together!

I stopped puffing harder than the incline really required. I was 42 in out of shape, and I felt every one of those years. Marcus was probably at the parking lot already checking his watch, wondering what honors was taking me so long. Except he wouldn't do that. He would wait. Marcus always waited.

The smell seemed to coalesce out of the air, rotten sweetness, heavy enough to choke on. Something must have died in the underbrush and stayed there, rotting. I pulled my sleeve across my nose, my eyes were burning. Must be a deer, maybe a bear kill. The ranger that morning had promised us the black bears around here usually avoided people.

Usually, I went on. My boots graded on rock and bear roots.

“Above me, the branches tangled like fingers knitting together.”

I looked away, but the image had already rooted itself in my mind. Cut it out to your spoof because Marcus is late, and you've been watching too much true crime TV. That's what I heard the breathing. Deep rhythmic, deliberate. I froze in my tracks. That wasn't me.

I'd stop wasn't even breathing that hard for a second there.

This was off to my left, off the trail, in the woods where no one had any business being. In, out, in, out. Slow, patient, like something asleep that wasn't quite asleep. Marcus? My voice came out wrong to small, too scared.

The breathing didn't change. Didn't stop, didn't quicken. Just kept on. Steady has a metronome, not very human. I knew it, and hated myself for knowing it.

“My hand fumbled for the bear spray holstered on my belt.”

What had the Ranger said? Make noise, make yourself big. Back away slowly. But this wasn't a bear. Bears didn't breathe like that.

All measured and intentional. All aware. I stepped back once. My gaze tore at the woods, darkening. Wait, darkening?

I glanced at my watch. 347pm hours of daylight left. Get the shadows under the trees had deepened to almost fullidity, pooling in the low spots like oil. Movement.

At the corner of my eye. I whipped my head around. Nothing. Trees and underbrush and that infernal breathing.

But the second I turned back, I saw it again in my periphery.

Something large. Pacing me as I back down the trail. I have bear spray. My voice shook. I hated that, but couldn't stop it.

I'm leaving. Right now, I don't want any trouble. The breathing ceased. Silence hit like a punch. Worse than a way than the breathing.

My entire body screamed at me that old reptile brain that warns you when something's watching you. When you've become the prey. All the horror movie cliches crash through my head. Don't run.

Don't. I stopped suddenly. Seeing something off the trail. Bones were scattered over a flat rock. Small bones.

Finger bones. My brain added unhelpfully. Uselessly. Spirally arranged. And in the center.

One tooth. Two big for a human. Not quite right for an animal either. Yellow and serrated.

And it gleamed wetly in the failing light as though it had just been torn from someone's mouth.

My stomach lurch. I stumbled backward almost fell.

“And that was when I heard Marcus behind me.”

Sarah. Where are you? Relief hits so hard. I almost cried. Marcus.

I'll think I. I'm right here. I'm in there. His voice was in front now. That wasn't.

Sound doesn't do that. Sarah. I can't find the trail. Behind me. No.

To the left. No. Sarah, where are you? The voice is repeated.

Marcus, voice is super imposed over Marcus voices.

Shouting my name in every direction. Somewhere a little off-kilter. Some of the cadence just have to be off.

“I climbed my hands over my ears, but I could still hear them.”

All those almost Marcus voices echoing through the trees. I ran. Red markers flash by like mornings of peril. Breath came in rags, heart, thudding against my ribs. A great, something crashed through the underbrush behind.

Inside. Keeping pace while I stumbled and flailed like wounded prey. The breathing started again. All around this time, the whole forest inhaled and exhaled. And the trees swayed and rhythm within visible lungs.

In. Out. In. Out. Waiting.

Timeless. Patient. I dropped into a clearing. I didn't recognize. The overlooks should have been there.

I could have sworn it. But what I'd stumbled upon was a ring of exposed earth circled by Narld Oaks. Whose roots writhed above ground like snakes turned to stone. Marcus stood in the middle. Marcus.

I ran down. Right. It's something is out here.

“Something's really wrong with this place.”

We have to get him. He turned around. It was Marcus. His face. His gear.

His concerns look. But his eyes were wrong. People's expanded so wide they took up the whole iris. And when he smiled, there were too many teeth. Just a bit.

Just enough to make a difference. You found me. His voice was okay. Except that it was happening. Behind him.

A half second delay. Like watching a movie with that audio sync. I backed away. Bears break between us. What are you?

I'm Marcus. It took a step forward. Don't you recognize your old friend. Where's the real Marcus? The thing wearing Marcus's skin cocked its head.

Considering. Does it matter? You called him. I answered. The breathing enveloped us now.

Eminating from the trees, I finally grasped.

From all the trees. Every shadow. Every grass blade. All of it alive and waiting. And hungry.

The trail. The red markers. You changed them. You've been leaving me here. Not Marcus.

Smile, wider. So easy to turn back. One marker moved when you weren't looking. One past that doubles back. Humans never notice.

You trust your maps more than your senses. My finger was on the trigger of the spray. Let me go. But you wanted to find your friend. It jestered to the edge of the clearing.

Marcus was on the ground in the ferns. Not moving. Pact torn open. Things spilling out. I couldn't see his face.

Didn't need to. The angle of his neck told me everything. What? What did you do? Nothing.

The way it was said made me believe. He fell. Happens all the time. So easy to lose the trail.

It moved a step near.

“It's shadowed, didn't match its body going too long.”

Spreading like roots. But you. You're different. You kept calling. Your voice led to us.

Your worry brought you. The breathing was now louder. The trees seemed closer. The clearing was shrinking. Roots inching inwards and shadows reached out with finger like branches.

I sprayed. Orange missed splatter. Not Marcus right in the face. It didn't blink. Just stood there.

Waring my friend's face while the chemicals dripped off like water on stone.

Then it laughed like wind through an empty skull hollow and never ending.

I ran. I didn't know where. Just away away from the clearing. The thing, Marcus's broken body. The woods closed around me.

Branches with my face. Roots stretched out to snag at my feet. The breathing came next. That's slow. In, out, and beneath it, I could hear things forcing their way through the undergrowth.

More than one, closing in. I crashed through the underbrush and suddenly there. The trail. Red markers pointing the way down. I didn't ask questions.

Didn't ask myself why it was here. I just ran, following the markers down and down and down.

The parking lot materialized like an oasis.

My car, Marcus's truck park beside it. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the keys.

“The engine roared to life on the first turn of the key.”

I backed it up in a shower of gravel. Not noticing where I was going, just away. To get to town, get help, bring back Marcus. In the rearview mirror at the tree line, I saw myself. Same clothes, same face, same look of utter terror, standing perfectly still.

Watching the car drive away. I drove. I knew. Got level. Bone deep.

That wasn't my reflection. That was the woods trying on my skin for size. The Ranger Station was vacant. A back and 30-minute sign leaned crookedly on the door.

I sat there, engine running, hands tied on the wheel, waiting.

My watch said 415 pm. Impossible. I'd been in the woods for hours. It should be dark. Unless.

I checked my phone for the date. Same day. My gaze fell to the road behind. Back to the parking lot. The trailhead.

The breathing woods. I could see them from here. A dark plot on the horizon. Waiting. Eternal.

I thought of Marcus.

“Dirt under my fingernails that hadn't been there this morning.”

I breathed in. Under my fear. Sweat. And the car air freshener. Something else.

Faint. But there. Rot. Sweet and heavy. From my clothes.

My hair. My skin. In. Out. In.

Out. I drove. Away from the station. Away from the woods. Away from what was left of Marcus in that clearing.

Drove until I hit the highway. And drove on. Check in the mirror for anything following. But the road stayed empty. The only breath was mine.

Hours later. I stopped. A gas station several towns over. I looked at myself in the mirror of the bathroom. My face.

My eyes. Everything exactly as it should be. Standing behind me in the reflection. Just visible at the edge of the mirror. Something tall and wrong.

Stood watching. I didn't turn around. Didn't scream. Didn't run. I knew because deep down in a place I didn't care to look too closely at.

I had taken too many wrong turns.

The woods had my scent now. And the woods were patient. I exited the bathroom. Got in my car. And merged onto the highway.

“In the backseat barely visible in the rear view.”

Something stirred in the darkness. Something that breathed. In perfect harmony with my tires. Coming on asphalt. In.

Out. The sonic sounds of sponsors bring you all this content for free. Join our sleepless universe for even more. Had free audio nightmares. We're excited to kick off our new season with our newest sponsor.

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They say if you lose one of your senses, the others can become more acute. And if you're like Ellie, her diminished vision means she relies on her other senses to get around. She's also helped by her dear friend Lily, who helps guide her through the world. But in this tale, shared with us by author B.T. Stanley, Ellie is taken on an unexpected car trip. And no, Ellie isn't the one driving.

This tale has been produced by Jeff Clement and features performances by Ash Milman, Erica Sanderson, Danielle McCray, David Alt, James Cleveland, Jake Benson, and Andy Cresswell. So it's tough enough on the roads with all your senses, even more horrifying is finding yourself driving blind. (Music) Besides me, Lily laughs. So you're bloodhound knows long enough to figure that out.

I grin and sink back into the worn cloth seat, still faintly smelling of takeaway chips and car freshener. After all the perfume you sprayed at the boot sample counter, even I'm not that quick. Lily signals to overtake, the indicator ticking in time with the rhythm I drum against my knee. I don't know about you, but Brighton's drained me.

“You still fancy that upmarket place, or should we just grab a takeaway and crash it mine?”

Take away works. Where are we now? Earth scares of new haven. They don't take cards, we'll have to get some cash out. I nod, listening to the world blur past, the rush of cars, a distant siren, and the uneven growl of Lily's battered old Ford Fiesta, the sort of car every student buys cheap and regrets later. At least we lost that weirdo at the mall.

The engine that's out allowed throwty grumble as if backing her up.

“Got a swear that backstreet garage saw me the mother of all bangers.”

Piece of crap's gonna cut out at this rate. But it was cheap! I say, slipping into a half-hearted impression of her mom. Then I grin. Knowing your luck, it's probably a cutting-shirts. She snorts and pulls up at the curb.

Got a cash point. Be back in a second, Lily.

Leaving the engine running, she climbs out and slams at all. Like winds, she got a thing about that. Cardaw's, flat doors, and especially the ones on campus. I stare at the window. I can tell the sky's gray. That's about it. Even in creeping in, traffic rumbling past the blurry shapes of the cars interior swimming in the dim light.

Lily is more than a bestie. I've got labors congenital amorosis.

“They're fancy way of saying I can't see much. Just like in shadow. Nothing useful.”

Lily and I grew up on the same street, so she got used to me without the awkwardness or nerves most people show. We went through college together and now uni. She makes things easier, explaining what's around us. Helping me get comfortable in new places until they feel familiar.

She's my main guide. I can't stand white cance, and guide dogs never really click with me.

My thoughts drift to what I'll order from the Chinese. Egg fried rice with plenty of extra air and the driver's door opens. The sea creeks, and it closes softly this time before we pull away. That was quick. Silence. Lily really talks while she's navigating, so I give it a few seconds.

The car reaches the end of the road, then takes a sharp left.

“That was quick. I try again. Still nothing.”

I'm back to ask what's up when a deafening crash erupts back along the road. A shattering grinding roar that rattles through the car and makes my chess sees. What the hell was that?

I twist in my seat even though I can't see a thing. Lily says nothing. The car just accelerates.

Lily, what happened? Still nothing. Only the growl of the engine rising in pitch. Maybe she'd seen something earlier, something it's scared of. She could be on autopilot or deep-rooted shock, just focused on getting us out of here. Lil. Normally, she'd react when I call to that, but not this time.

A strange smell invades my nostrils. Boop polish. That's some make sense. The scent is literally alien this time. Lily, like me, is a tracksuit and trainers girl. Not the type to wear boops. Let alone polish them and not tightens in my chest. Lily, this time it comes out more like a question. The car jerks hard right, tires squealing and anxiety hardens into fear.

Slowly and all admit reluctantly, a reach out to a giraffe. Get a jolt of pure terror. There's no one there. For a moment I tried to rationalise it. Maybe she'd lean the seat pack for some reason. A reach out, feeling the air where she should have been.

Nothing. My hand brushes the head rest, learn the back rest, empty. I drop my hand to the cushion beneath, half expecting warmth or movement, but there is only cold fabric and a faint draft, which makes no sense because the air conditioning is off. Lily. I fumble over the driver's seats, then reach into the back seats. I don't know why.

Nothing. I am alone in a car that is driving itself. Car as you like, as if this were just another Sunday drive. Have the hand brake slipped? I dismiss that idea almost instantly. Maybe a tow truck had hooked us, but surely I'd have heard the chains, the clunk, something. The car hooks a left, then overtakes something. The indicator ticking softly near the wheel.

The wheel? I reach out. I'd actually feel it turning beneath my hand. The same cold air hits me again, sharp and tingling, like pins and needles running through my skin. As if something invisible as brush past. The car breaks hard. It's horn blares as it's worms around what I guess is a non-coming vehicle. Judging by the shouted curses and the retaliatory horn blast as we shoot by, then it straightens out.

A single sharp beat, sound from the built in satin half.

“A recognizer instantly, the warning for a speed camera.”

The car uses down, a slow, obedient crawl, almost human in the way it lingers. Then shoots forward again, engine whining as if proud of itself. I try to breathe. To think, my heart is racing faster than the car itself. If it stops, I'll scream the place down. There is no sign of that happening. Jumping out crosses my mind, but we'd have to be doing 50.

Best case, I'd shatter every bone in my body. Worst, I wouldn't get up again. There has to be something. Anything I can do. My phone. A young cop in my hoodie pocket and press the side button. Siri, call emergency services.

Nothing. Siri, turn off voice over. I shouts, thinking the screen reader is frozen. Still nothing. The phone isn't responding. I hold it up, waiting for the glow of the screen.

Nothing. No light, no sound. It is frigid.

The case in radiating the same tingling cold at felt near the wheel. Shit. And the desperate theory hits me. Maybe it's some kind of hack.

“I dismissed that idea, too. This isn't a self-driving car.”

This thing is worth five grand on a good day. Not one of those hundred grand robot axes. A new dread settles over me. I don't have any money. Oh God. What if they don't want money at all?

Cold sweat breaks across my skin as the unnatural chill continues to see through the car. It isn't just fear. It is that deep, suffocating dread that crawls inside and won't let go. My breathing hitches. I could almost feel eyes on me. Close enough to touch.

I screamed. I didn't plan to. It just tore out of me. Raw and jagged bouncing off the windows and back into my ears. My throat burns. My chest locks. But the sound does nothing.

Whoever or whatever is driving doesn't react. Not at first. The air grows colder.

“So cold it feels that my lungs might freeze from the inside.”

Then suddenly the wipers flick on. A soft tongue. The gentle sweep of water against the glass. For heartbeat it's almost soothing. But the car is trying to calm me down. The thought barely forms before the radio crackles to life.

The classical station. Violins weaving through static. Oddly tender. Drifting through my panic like a lullaby I didn't ask for. The car slows. And a synthetic female voice breaks the silence. The car rolls to a stop.

I don't wait. My thumb slams into the seatbelt release. Somehow through the hole in sane ride. Still been wearing it. It doesn't move. The button is locked solid.

A twist. Try to squirm free. I'm slim. So I have this ridiculous idea I can slide out from under it. The bell tightens suddenly. Not truly.

Just firmly. The engine cuts out. Sputters back to life. Then dies again. Almost as if the car is trying to make up its mind.

My hand shoots to the door handle. Yanking hard. Nothing. Locked. Feel for the door pin.

One of those old ones you can pull up manually. But it's slick. Like it's been greased. Not me or Lily's doing.

We always keep wet wipes in the car for when we eat.

Voices echo nearby. Close. I twist the window crank. Desperate to get it open. It won't budge.

Wedged solid. Help me! I hammer the glass with the side of my fist. The engine falls in response. A warning snarl.

Through the panic. I finally register the voices outside. Mail, harsh, jeering. I've heard that tone before. Drunk who lagunns about to smash something.

Or someone. My gut feeling is confirmed a moment later. What's up, love? Can't see joy in the pie. A different bolt of fear flares in my chest.

The car is terrifying. But they are worse. Another voice shouts closer with each word.

Use her as a hostage.

Then a third, cold and focused.

To get the keys. That forwards going with it. The words slice through the haze. They're meaning settling over me like a weight. Pressing the air from my lungs.

Then the car's alarm erupts into life. A deafening shriek that makes me flinch. Over the din. I catch more shouting in the sharp crack of glass breaking somewhere nearby. The door handle rattles.

Hard, quick. Like someone testing it from the outside.

“For a split second, I think it will give.”

They're about to get in. The car lurks his backwards, then surge his forwards again. Heavy third. Followed by a yell of agony. I get the awful impressions someone has just had their foot crushed.

I press myself back in the seat. Heartbeat hammering. Then we are moving again. Fast.

The tires scream as we tear around the next bend.

The car races on. Speed building with every breath. The engines roar swelling until it fills my world. Loud, deeper, all-consuming. I can feel it drumming through the seat.

The floor. My bones. But the whole car has become a living thing dragging me with it. Passing it back. Heart pounding.

But a strange calm begins to settle over me. Maybe this is it. Maybe I am going to die. And there is nothing I can do to stop it. All I can do is breathe.

Try to hold onto my dignity. And pray it will be quick. The alarm cuts out. The car slows. Engines pass us.

Ordinary cars. Ordinary lives. And then a siren wells nearby. Crosse at this time. I can tell the difference in pitch.

This one is police.

“Hope surges through me and I wave frantically.”

Shouting even though I know they can't hear. The siren roars by. Pading back the way we'd come. I slant down. A sound halfway between a sob and a groan escaping me.

I try my phone again. Nothing. Around me the scent of boot polished thickens until it fills my lungs. Tears warm my cheeks. The classical music returns.

Loud enough. Steady. Mornful. The car slows. The familiar double beat tick starts up.

The sound that hazards me when nearly hits the red triangle on the dash. The rhythm is steady. On. Off. Then on again.

I hesitate. A strange thought forming. It's as if it's trying to tell me something. Hello? Is.

Is that you? No answer. Just the soft home of the engine.

“Then the horn gives a single gentle bit.”

Almost like a reply. They thought start to race. The bang back at the cash point. But something happened there. Then the stop at the pub, the shouting the drunks.

Maybe it took me there because it thought a pub meant safety. But then it must have realised whatever was happening there wasn't saved at all. The police heading that way proved it. So, if it isn't trying to hurt me. What is it doing?

Where is it taking me now? It's one of hard. Okay. Okay. If you can understand me.

Bit once, but yes. Twice for no. All right. Go through it, Titans. I am negotiating for the car.

And the car presents it. Are you? Are you going to hurt me?

For the first time since this nightmare began,

I let out a shaky breath that almost turns into a laugh. We glide around around about. Smooth and deliberate. Then take a gentle left. Another turn.

Sharp at this time. A brief burst of speed. Then a slow roll onto gravel. Final curve. Then a calm steady stop.

The music fades. The engine goes quiet. A soft click. The handbreak. Silence.

Hello? A faint jingle of metal. Then something cold drops into my lap. I reach out, trembling. My fingers brush the shape of keys.

The driver's door opens. Then closes softly. And I am alone. For a few seconds, there is nothing. No sound.

No movement. Just the hollow quiet of an empty car. The ringtone hits like an explosion. Slicing through the silence and sending a shock right through me. We snatch it up and shaking.

Replaced by the familiar slight warmth of a working battery.

Incoming calm. Lily. Mobile.

“I double tap with two fingers to answer.”

Lily. Oh my god. Where are you? The cash point. Ellie, I feel so sick.

A lorry mounted the curb. The driver passed out at the wheel. Who is heading straight to your side? If the car hadn't taken off like that, he would have hit you. No one's hurt.

Thank God. That was too bloody close. My mouse goes dry. The track is working now. I can see what you have in the police station.

Who drove you there? I look out through the windscreen. The faint glow of blue lights reflects off the glass. They've gone. Who's gone?

Oh, whoever drove me. She doesn't answer for a few seconds. All right. Listen.

“Or one of the coppers here is giving me a lift over.”

I'll ring your head. Get someone to come out to you. Okay? Okay.

My voice steady's for the first time all night.

Thanks, Lail. The line clicks off. A few minutes later, footsteps crunch on the gravel. A man's voice, steady, local accent. You all right, love?

I not. Yeah. I think so. The door's locked. He reaches over and gives the handle a tug.

To my surprise, it opened without a hitch. Then I air hits me. Cool, clean, and painfully normal. Well, you've been on an adventure tonight. That you could use a cover.

He crouched his beside the open door, Torchlight sweeping across the dashboard. Recognize this car I do.

Used to belong to a local girl.

Royal Marines medic. Lovely kid. They'd obsessed with polishing a boots till you could see your face in them. The smell of boot polish lingers faintly in the air

when mistakenable. What happened to her? Killed in action, they said. Though, whenever a squad swore she didn't die at all, wrecking she got pulled into some MI6 black ops thing.

If you believe that sort of nonsense. I tried to smile. Yeah, maybe. He stands and pats the roof. Well, whoever was driving tonight to hero,

were just came through. Carmatching this one stopped a few drunk chances up at the Green Dragon. Ran over one bloke's foot and slowed the rest just long enough for us to get there.

I didn't see anyone. He nods. You didn't up and to speak to them, did you? I shake my head. Didn't hear a thing.

He sighs. A deep, weary sound that speaks of long hours and endless paperwork. It's ironic, you know. That Green Dragon pub is where she grew up.

Run by her mum, no less. Makes you wonder, doesn't it? The officers went through the CCTV from the Car Park, but the footage had glitched out completely. No driver, no movement, nothing at all.

I didn't tell them the truth about the car driving itself or the empty seat beside me. Though a content to believe it was just a good Samaritan who didn't want to be found. Later, Lily arrived and hooked me so hard

it nearly knocked the breath out of me. whispering over and over how glad she was that I'd made it. When I told her everything, I'm not sure she believed me. Though she tried to.

She just kept saying it didn't matter. That I was safe, and that whoever, or whatever, helped me, had done a good thing. I still don't know what it was. A ghost?

“Some kind of black ops tech that slipped through the cracks?”

Maybe both. When Lily dropped me off that night, I stood outside my flat for a moment, breathing in the cool air. And just as she drove away, I swear I heard it.

The faint gentle bit from somewhere down the street. Like the car letting me know, I was home. The sonic sounds of sponsors bring you all this content for free.

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Now available in Canada and the UK too. That's q-u-i-n-c-e.com/no sleep. Listen closely as we return to the frequency of fear. When it comes to feats of physical endurance, there are few things as impressive as reaching the summit of Mount Everest. Calling it a harrowing and exhausting efforts would be a gross understatement.

“That's why there are many who simply don't survive their attempt.”

But in this tale, shared with us by author E. Gallagher, we meet a woman who reached the top of the world. But now she hopes she can find a friend who got lost on the way down. This tale has been produced by Jesse Cornett and features performances by Marie Westbrook, Jake Benson and Danielle McCray. So if you find yourself high up on the mountain, get down as quickly as you can.

There's a reason the slopes above a thousand meters are called the death zone. Windscreens has a barrel down the mountain. Mad gusts punch into our tent, ripping at the trembling nylon scenes. The fabric pulls top in a frenzied series of staccato pops. I breathe in.

My oxygen bottle lines. I breathe out. The air escapes with a hiss. At 147 p.m. today, I summited Mount Everest. I escape into the memory, retracing my final steps up to the roof of the world.

I reached for the summit marker, reverently brushing a glove-hand over ribbons of multi-colored prayer flags. I woofed as Lea approached and she hugged me fiercely, blinking back tears. We clung to each other, taking in the ethereal panorama of the Himalayan mountains. It was a moment of brilliant, unbridled euphoria. Mix starts coughing again.

His body quakes pitifully as a harsh dry-hacking fills our tent. It's the Kumbukov. The sound of him and lungs withering above 26,000 feet. He props himself up on an elbow and pulls his oxygen mask down. His voice is an inaudible rasp.

I can't make out what he's saying. So I give him a thumbs up and motion for him to put his mask back on. He gives me a dole-eyed nod and burrows back into his core text sleeping back. Lea's sleeping bag is unfurled between us and T. Neither one of us has the heart to put it away.

A wave of nausea sweeps over me and I curl to the side like an infant.

I choked down ragged gasps from my oxygen model.

Everything is so terribly cold. The nylon wall separates. I jerk upright.

“Wind rips in, raking icy daggers across my exposed face.”

A heavily bundled figure leans into the hole, and I realize the trip has let himself in through the door flap. The burly expedition leader tumbles into our tent, zipping the door closed behind him. His face is grave.

Doctor. I reach for my pack. Is it Lea, did they find her? Trips expression fills with sorrow. He shakes his head.

An incredible egg fills my chest.

His fading embers of hope blink out. Min-lip triples. I'm sorry.

“Trips runs a glove-tand over his beard before continuing.”

It's Tashi. He's sick. He poised his chest, then mimics a cough. I nod and follow him into the night. I kick my crampons into the ice as I step outside the tent. The metal teeth bite into the mountain as I pause before committing my full weight.

My stiff muscle scream and protest as I lean into the window and follow Trips headland. Kick, pause, step. Kick, pause, step. The peak of Mount Everest moves above us the north of skewered by the darkening sky.

Lea still up there. I'll look away. We pick our way around the desolate perimeter of camp 4. Several clusters of bright yellow tents are pitched across the staging area.

“All shrugging helplessly under the barrage of wind.”

Each tent is illuminated from the inside by a lantern, giving a hauntingly subdued glow. Another goss tears through camp and billows the snow into a hazy mist. The snow obscures all but the nearest tents, which shuttered light candle flames in the grim light.

I noticed the beam of Trips headland drawing ahead of me as I stumble forward to catch up. Kick, pause, step. It's easy to get lost in these conditions. Mount Everest have lost sight of the tents, only to curl up and die in the lonely cold mere feet away from safety.

We skirted several of their bodies while setting up camp. I take a racket breath and push myself forward. The wind shrieks suddenly and I lose my footing. I stare back on Peter and then fall to my side. I slide several feet crashing painfully into an icy alcohol room.

I curl around the side of the frozen ledge, gripping it with both hands as I squeeze my eyes shut and take several long, slow breaths. In, in, out, in, out. I've been an emergency medicine doctor for 10 years.

I thrive in chaos. I do not panic.

I know the first rule of an emergency is to check your own pulse.

I home to myself. Slow and soft, until my heart rate slows to meet the melody of the song. All this calm. All this bright. I open my eyes.

The strength of the screen works itself for my throat. I'm staring into a frozen leathery face. The eyes are wide and glaring. The gaping jaw hangs from sunken cheeks and a permanent expression of surprise.

I am locked in a full body embrace with one of Everest's many bodies. Revolves and spools in the back of my throat. A metallic bitter taste fills my mouth. A clinton for purchase as my feet scrambled against icy rock.

The begin to hyperventilate.

I can't get enough air. I'm going to suffocate. I start to hum again.

Desperate to contain my terror.

“Round, heal, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn.”

Slowly my breath begins to stabilize. Shame twists my chest. This body isn't a horror. A human with a beating heart and wild impossible dreams. No one will happen to her.

Did your teammates leave her out here to die? I pull myself to my knees. Gripping her out stretched hand for support. The beam of trips headland swims across me as he makes his way over in measured precise steps. Thank you, Brigadier.

And whisper to the dead mountaineer.

Her head turns towards me with just a fraction of an inch.

I cast for trying to back away as her head tightens on my own. Something grabs me from behind and I book violently against the form at my back. Mm-hmm.

“I wrench my hand away from the corpse and throw myself into trip silence.”

Easy, it's just the body. They're all over out here. I sob into a shoulder. The sound thankful he muffled by my oxygen mask. She moved.

I wanted to shout. She grabbed me. With effort, I swallowed the words back into myself.

I'm a doctor and tossing needs me right now.

There's one person on this mountain that I can help, and I'm not going to let him down too. Trip looks at the gauge on my oxygen bottle and shakes his head. He pulls another bottle out of his path and replaces the canister. Empty, low oxygen makes you confused. That's when the stakes happen. I know, she's threatened.

“Of course, the corpse didn't just try to drag me down the mountain.”

I was the one oxygen, exhausted and borderline the lyrious. I take another deep breath and feel my head start to clear. Trip is right. No mistakes. It looked back once as we shuffled away.

My head lamp glinting off a pair of frozen eyes. Her gaze has locked on me. The sagging jaw now twisted to a cruel sneer. When I turn away to follow Trip, my back feels utterly exposed. The whisper of ice articulates down every facet of my spine.

I shut her, trying not to imagine her leathery corpse bounding through the empty night behind me. When we reach the sharpest tent, Pemba and Dota huddled over Toshy's sleeping bag. Dota is visibly flustered, fiddling with the straps of Toshy's oxygen mask. Pemba's weathered face is etched with concern.

His piercing blue eyes meet my own, as he slides away from Toshy's side. Pemba is worried. The realization fills me with unease. I grab a set of scope from the medical kit and make my way over to Toshy. Toshy is difficult to rouse.

His eyes flutter. He responds to my questions with incoherent mumbles. His cough reverberates through the tent. When I listen to his chest, his breath draws in with an ominous wet crackle. What happened?

My confusion is obvious. Toshy is my father's strongest climber on the team. He was leaning the search party. He went back up to the south summit today, pushed himself too hard. A lump forms in my throat.

I swallow it down. I see. Well, it's high altitude pulmonary edema. I can give him some of the fed up pain, but we need to get him down right away. No one seems surprised by my diagnosis.

They're all intimately familiar with altitude sickness. Don't look up. Toshy says he'll take Toshy down the mountain. His lip trembles as he speaks. In this moment, he looks so incredibly young.

I think of all the times I've watched Dote following Toshy around.

Trip in Pemba can fur and hushed voices.

Finally, trip nods. Suicide to try to descend in the dark.

“So Alex and Dote will take him down first thing in the morning.”

Pemba and I can guide the rest of the group down behind you guys. Dote bites his lip and frustration. His eyes glistening with concern. Eventually, he shakes his head and agreement. My heart sinks.

With Toshy in this condition, there won't be another search party. My mind flashes back to the summit.

To my last glimpse of Leah's face, her visible exhaustion.

Her unrestrained joy. The climbing partner I came to love like a sister. What were our last words to each other? Your daughter will be so proud.

“I told her as I wrapped her in a bear hug.”

I couldn't have done it without you. Her words echo in my memory, punching me low in the gut. Which she have turned back in time if I hadn't been pushing her along. What signs of deterioration did I overlook? I shouldn't have been watching more carefully.

I should have noticed when she unclipped from the guideline and wandered off into the snow.

No, there is no one left to search for her. I'm too weak to get back up the mountain, not alone helping other climber down. Toshy is the strongest of us. When he fell ill, Leah's time ran out. All of this for nothing.

I'm shocked at the callousness of my own thoughts. Toshy breaks into another hacking call.

“I silently chastised myself as a reposition as oxygen mask.”

I'll stay for a while and keep an eye on her. Good. Thank you. I've been to go update the team. Toshy's condition stabilizes over the next several hours. He even manages to crack a joke about helping don't down the mountain,

but it does a little to relieve the tension. We all know how tenuous his improvement is. His cough is still wet and rocking. His effort at humor is be lied by deep sadness, whirling in his dark brown eyes. None of us are safe yet.

I need to check on Mick, so I give doubts some instructions instead of the tent. I scuff my crampons into the ice and visualise the route back to my tent. I'll have to pass the dead mountain here. I'll just tighten as I imagine to her outstretched arm. A hungry sneer.

I shake my head. I'm thinking to glass. I don't believe in a supernatural and believe in a cognitive implications of dehydration and hypothesis. My peep is trying to assert logic over skittish unease, the effort fell short. My spine purgles. Even through my ulti expedition mittens, my right hand is chilled to the bone.

The hen she grabbed. I shut her and head into the night. My dread mounts as I approach the patch of rock-wise leading to the dead mountaineer. A dull ache throbs between my temples. I head feels light in the back of my neck they just terribly.

I plot forward forcing myself to look as a pass. There's no body inside. The patch of rock is barren, the empty snow understerned. I'm positive. My breath is steady.

I whirl, flinging the beam of my headland through the darkness. The lights get us across snow and ice. Wind howls through the empty camp. I am completely alone. Suddenly, I notice another light flickering in the distance.

The pause to get my bearings. It's coming from the north.

The light is feeble, barely visible through the gust of snow. My cast. Leah. Hope, flames in my chest.

“Miracles have happened on Mount Everest before.”

Climbers have survived the unthinkable. Made their way back to camp against insurmountable odds. The stories are precious they rare, but Leah is going to be one of them. I debate for just a moment. The best course would be to grab some extra rope from my tent

and drag a line out to be sure I won't get lost. But if I lose sight of Leah's headland while rummaging inside my tent,

I might never find her again.

She could misstep and fall off the side of the mountain in the time it takes for me to grab a line. Every second counts right now. I've left her once before. I'll never be able to live with myself if I fail her now. I start towards the flickering beam of Leah's headland.

Instead of picking my feet up between steps, I drag them through the snow. This creates a trail of two deep furls. I've reason that I can follow this path back, the wind picks up enough to obscure the tents.

“As I touch forward, I take stock on what I have at my disposal.”

I have an oxygen bottle attached to my mask, and one spare bottle clipped to the right side of my belt. My petal isax is clipped to the left. Three carabiners and a six foot length of cord hang from the back. I have a cliff bar in my back pocket, but no water.

I have one headland. The battery should have plenty of life remaining. I have no medical supplies. No radio. A wall of snow briefly obscures the flickering light and my breath catches my throat.

No, no, no. I halt. Desperation bubbles in my chest. I click off my own headland and strain to spot Lea. There.

I swallow back a cell of relief. I'm getting closer.

I'll need to take the air to toss his tent first.

That's where the medical kit is. I can send out to go find Trip. You'll need to raid your base camp and prepare them to expel trade two injured climbers. I'll offer it to help be a down from camp 4. She's going to be in bad shape, but if she's made it this far, she's at least ambulatory.

Consider my flagging strength. Can I get her down?

“Or will I be more of a danger to us both in this condition?”

Encrypt my teeth. I can do this. We both come down together or not at all. Lea's lamp is brighter now. Maybe a few hundred feet away.

I need to keep going.

The cold worms through the protective layers of my climbing gear,

numbing my hands and feet. My nose and cheeks burn painfully. I rain in the vestiges of my strength. If I don't stop moving right now, we'll both die. I click my headland back on.

A scream erupts from my throat, shattering the frigid night. The weathered form is hunched in the beam of my headland, blurring viciously up at me. It's teeth all bare in the frigid grimace. The torso is uncovered revealing an expanse of blackened frostbitten skin.

I stagger backwards, fighting to keep my balance. If I fall here, I will slide to my depth down the latte face. The beam of my headland dances if I tremble violently. The thick and twist of head, keeping its narrowed eyes trained on me. I gasped in a horrifying disbelief.

It raises one's senior alarm in silence in the snow, rocking its weight forwards towards me. I scrubble for the ice axe that my hip. What the heck? The figure raises its other arm, bent inwards at a horrible angle,

and continues to shuffle forward. I hear what crunching sound as it draws near. I take a swing with my axe and miss. A hand shoots full, grabbing my left ankle. My teeter.

Plant my right foot and maintain my balance. The draught is so closer. Jaws, gnashing, expecting me. I pivot, swinging from my hips as I bring my axe down again. The axe connects with the side of the figure's contorted face,

shattering its temple.

It rides.

“It's one remaining eye while of the theory.”

I almost break and run back towards camp.

I'm turning, getting ready to flee. When I catch sight of Leah's headland flickering in the dark. Very so close now. I can't let these things get hurt. I side step around the thrashing corpse and drive myself towards Leah. I can't run, but I accelerate.

Kick pulse step, kick pulse step, kick pulse step. My lungs burn with the effort. My vision darkens, boring past the edges of my headland. Terror propels me onward. The termination directs my course.

I don't look back. Get to Leah. What the fuck is happening? Just get to Leah. I saw when Leah's hopping jacket comes into view.

I raised up to her, wrapping her in a giant hob.

I thought, Leah. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.

“I'm going to get you back to Kabul, okay?”

You're all right now. Can you be okay? Leah's tags into my embrace. I hold her for a moment. Then step back to the corrobor. The valve of her oxygen bottle is encrusted with their guise.

She's lost a glove. Her black tipped fingers fade into a mockered gray. Fourth degree frostbite. She's going to lose most of her left hand. She's going to lose most of her left hand.

She walks on. She stumbles toward me.

Her pink jacket ripples in the wind.

She's confused. Delirious. I knew she'd be in bad condition in the town. How is she even standing? I fumbled for the carabiner's encorde at my waist. I'm going to throw it over her back, okay?

I'll cripple her both together and we need you to count four. It's not that far away. Can you make it 10 more minutes?

“I can't hear her response through the ice covered mask.”

I club us together and turn to the south. There's my trail. It'll lead us straight back to camp. I don't mention the bodies. It'll only cause her to panic. She just needs to focus on getting back to the tents. My heart is thumping erratically as I start to meet her forward.

I found her. I swivel my headlamp as we move for the night. I'm not going to be surprised by another body creeping through the dark. Tension coils in my gut. Lea lags behind me.

Our pace is frighteningly slow. Killing him. My legs stiffened, numbed by exhaustion and freezing wind. I feel my body teetering at the precipice of human endurance. Threatening to the laps.

Keep moving. I will not let Lea die. I think of her words on the summit. It could have done it without you. There is hope in those words now.

An expectation on barred. A promise I can still live up to. I've forced myself onward, sucking at the dreads of my supplemental oxygen. We both come down together or not at all. We come to a patch of disturbs now.

My pulse pounds. Anticipation clawing up at my throat. I swore my headlamp in wild arcs with the corpse's gone. For now. I see a cluster of dual yellow lights ahead.

Can't for. We are so close now. Lea's star is behind me. A gently tucker forward. I start humming.

Hoping to distract her as we close the gap to our tents. It's time to let Kine. Oh, I am right. I feel I start to behind me. This is it.

The home stretch. I drag one foot up, then the other. My universe narrowed to the very next step. Then the next. We are going to make it.

I'll always come. I'll always bright. This will for my gaze to the right. Something is crouching this now. Please let that be a rough formation.

It's just dreadwashes down my spine. This can't be left.

I look ahead.

Something skitters out of the corner.

I have that pain. I keep humming, low and soft. I pray that Lea doesn't notice them.

“I slowly pull my eyes outside of my belly.”

I swing my lamp from side to side. Bent forms prowl around us. They shuffle forward with slow, ungainly steps. Term of seizes my chest as they close around us. Frozen, vicious eyes.

Contorted posters. Tattered, frozen flesh. I guess prayer. It raised my eyes as they circle.

Bracing myself for attack.

What are they waiting for? Lea's stutter is to a halt behind me. Come on Lea, I'm not now. I step backwards towards her. Still shifting my gaze.

Trying to keep all of the looming creatures in sight. I really have to be. I thought I'd close the camera. We're so, so close. But I need you to move right now.

Okay? She doesn't respond.

“She reaches out for me with her gnarled, frostbent head.”

Come on Lea, you can do a bit. I'm going to keep you safe. We need to start moving right now. She reaches from the eyes, acts. With a sudden burst, she grabs it away from me and throws me to hold this.

Lea clumsily tugs her own cottage and mask. Still paralyzed by sudden sinking feeling deep in my chest.

She finally manages to pull the mask away.

Ripping her snow goggles and headlamp off in the process. Dread, blooms, consuming me in a full body shutter. Lea's face is laced with ice. Patches of grain frostbent line are nose and cheeks. Her mouth ends open, jaw coughs at a strange angle.

She does not blink. She does not move. She does not breathe.

“Them sobbing now, shaking my head and disbelief.”

Lea clumsily tugs her own cottage. Her claw-like hand grabs the cord connecting us. She takes a step towards me. I can't afford you. It was all going to be alright.

Shadow's circle and the periphery of my vision. The news of corpses tightens around us. Lea steps up to my chest. We are eyeed to frozen eye. I am known.

She searches forward not in the ground. A scrubber back. A strong hand grabs him by the ankle. I kick, but her grip holds firm. She's dragging herself forward, inching up over my body.

I hear the wet crackle of her movements. Figures loom behind her with icy petrified grins. She reaches up and ripped the oxygen mask from my face. Some zero wing burrows into my lungs. My mind goes hazy.

The air flies out of my lungs as she drags her step up by chest. Sleep. Have family and peace. Her frozen jaws sink into my cheek. Sleep.

Have family and peace. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. As the sounds return to the silence.

We bring our audio horror to a close for another week. Join us again next time. When we conquer the frequency of the air for more exotic nightmares. The no sleep podcast is presented by creative reason media.

Our production team is filled by Golski.

“Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornet, and Claudius War.”

Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy. Ashley McAnelly. Allying a white, Kristen Samito, and Marcus Demanda.

I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings.

To discover how you can get even more sleepless horror stories from us. Just miss it. Sleepless.

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All rights reserved. [Music] [Music] On and on there is the time of 2013. We are now in advance.

The biggest advantage of shopping for me is that we don't need a technical forecast for the future. We all can be convinced about the background and the background. And as soon as you start to get involved in shopping.

“If you want to buy shopping, then you will get the platform that is actually expensive.”

They are simply the main thing. Our whole business is left over shopping. Now, there is a constant test of shopping.