S25 Ep2: NoSleep Podcast S25E02

Listen. Listen closer.

Turn up to bring what's in the up here.

Silence isn't saved. It's just the bread. Over the screen. To you, dear, explore the ugly tones.

“Phantom voices had subsonic reverberations”

that trigger your body's instinct to run. What on your headphones? Step into the dark. And listen closely as you embrace your sound. Put it out slowly for the podcast.

[Music] You're listening to the no sleep podcast. Thanks for making us part of your horror soundtrack. I'm your host, David Cummings. I want to begin by thanking the many people who reached out after the season 25 premier last week.

“We got so many positive comments about the new season and the stories on episode 1.”

We're glad you liked what you heard. We hope those positive vibes keep going. Well, let's face it. If you like what we do so much, we're kind of trapped. Aren't we?

We're going to have to keep doing this week after week. But don't worry. There's nothing we'd rather be doing than sharing audio horror stories with you. But the idea of being trapped within something is a horror tradition rich in history. And even if you have all the freedom in the world to live your life,

“there are people and things that can leave you feeling helpless and hopeless,”

confined, controlled and doomed. And this week, we have tales for you that will leave you feeling stuck, deep down a horror hole from which there is no escape. So come along for the ride.

You'll never get off as, but hey, at least we'll have some thrills and chills along the way.

Welcome to our trap. Now brace yourself for the frequency of fear. In our first tale, we meet Emma, a young girl about to celebrate her 11th birthday. That might seem fun, but Emma is dealing with chronic and serious health problems. And in this tale, shared with us by author K.G. Lewis,

Emma desperately wants to go to the local amusement park for her birthday, because it might be her last chance to go. This tale has been produced by Jeff Clement and features performances by Nicole Goodnight, Mike Delgado, Marie Westbrook, Jeff Clement, Eric of Sanderson, Andy Kresswell, and Atticus Jackson.

So live life while you can.

You never know how long you have on this rather dark ride.

Stop! I said to my dad, who is pushing my wheelchair. I want to go on that. I pointed at the large structure we are passing that looks like a real life replica of the kind of haunted house you'd see in a cartoon. After years of begging, my parents had finally agreed to take me to the local theme park for my 11th birthday. It was the first time I'd been out of the house since I was five years old.

When I didn't have to go to a doctor's appointment. I don't think that's a good idea. It looks scary. Mom was looking at the sign outside the right that proclaimed its name to be dark descent in red letters that looked like blood smears. Please? I turned and looked up at my dad. It doesn't look that scary to me.

I had overheard them talking one night while they thought I was asleep.

And as having a good week, this might be the only chance she has to do something like this. He was referring to the myriad of health issues that had plagued me since I was born. What if we don't she has another episode? What if we keep her home and she doesn't? She should get the opportunity to act like a normal kid even if it's just for one day.

There was a brief period of silence before my mom spoke again. Fine, we can go to the theme park, but if anything happens to her, I'm holding you responsible. I barely slept that night. When I woke up the next morning, I thought it was all the dream until my dad asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday. I've replied quickly with, I want to go to the theme park.

He'd smile.

And that's what we'll do.

Now, my dad looked over at my mom. I don't see the harm and let her ride. I can take her by myself if you don't want to go. I could tell she wanted to protest, but she better tongue because she didn't want to make a scene in front of the crowds of people who were walking by. Well, I'm not waiting out here in the suit. My dad returned his attention to me.

“Do you want to walk or do you want me to wheel you in?”

I want to walk. He asked me that at the entrance to every ride, and I said the same thing every time. The wheelchair was my mom's idea. I didn't normally need one. She was just afraid I'd wear myself out quickly and didn't want my dad to have to carry me around if I got tired. I thought it was a waste of money.

I didn't feel tired in the slightest. In fact, being at the park made me feel energized. I felt better the few hours we'd been there than I had the entire year. When my mom brought up the idea of renting the wheelchair, I tried to talk her out of it. But my dad pulled me aside while she went into the rental place and told me that it would make her feel better if I just used the wheelchair.

Just think of it as another ride the park offers. Then, much to the dismay of my mom, once I was seated in the wheelchair, he started pushing me around like I was on a roller coaster. My mom tried it him and told him to be careful, but he saw how much fun I was having and chose to ignore her. After I hopped out of the wheelchair, I rushed into the exterior queue, sneaking through the railings of the dark descent ride, eliciting a slow down warning from my mom, which I of course ignored.

I didn't slow down until I made it to the part of the queue that was inside the haunted house, where the back of the line was. Welcome, we are the travelers. The voice was coming from a creepy-looking animatronic figure of a Victorian woman. She was standing on a balcony above the area of the queue we were in, which was decorated till collect the foyer of an old house. Please make yourself at home until the storm passes.

When she was done speaking, thunder booms from the ceiling and the lights flashed, mimicking lightning. A couple of teenage girls in line ahead of us screamed when the thunder sounded and then started giggling at how easily they were startled. I was very thankful for the destruction, because it drew my parents attention away from me. So they didn't see that I was startled by the sudden sound as well. Whew, wasn't expecting that.

My dad smiled as he clutched his chest.

“I think I just about had a heart attack.”

I wasn't scared, I lied.

I could tell from the look of my mom's face that she had been startled as well, but I knew she'd never admit it.

The scene with the animatronic woman repeated a few times before we moved far enough of the line to make it to the next section of the queue. In that section, the room was decorated to look like a library. The animatronic woman appeared through a doorway while sounds of a storm played through the speakers above us. It looks like he'll go in to have to stay at the night. The sounds of the storm increased in intensity.

Wait here, while I prepare your room. The animatronic was pulled out of sight as the doorway she was standing in closed. There was a brief period of silence before a translucent blue specter of a man appeared a few feet away from us. Run! This caused a few more people in line to jump at a sudden appearance.

Myself included. It's not safe for you here.

“You must leave once before it's too late.”

The door opened and the animatronic woman reappeared. The man faded from you. I came to see if you'd like to join me for dinner. The spectral man reappeared outside of the animatronic and he was shaking his head from side to side. That was the end of the scene.

The line shuffled ahead into the next section, which was where writers were being loaded into numbered cars that were fashioned to look like beds on the outside.

Looks like each car only holds two people.

“You want to ride with me here with your mom?”

I ride by myself. I saw my mom give my dad a look that said, "I don't think that's a good idea." Please! If my mom had her way, she'd make me ride with her. And I didn't want to do that knowing she'd ruin the experience with her constant worrying over me.

I suppose that's okay. My mom grabbed dad's arms and hissed something into his ear that I didn't catch. I did, however, hear his response. It's her birthday, I don't enjoy yourself. When we got to the front of the line, the right attendant stopped us.

How many in your party? Three. Rose 1 and 2.

He just stood at the partitioned areas he stepped aside to let us pass.

My mom and dad walked in to row one while I stepped into row two. It's not really to change your mind. I'll be fine.

“A moment later, two empty ride cars approached the loading zone and stopped in front of us.”

When I saw that the car I was going to be riding in was numbered with a big red 13, I got a little nervous. Growing up in a house with a mother who was worried about every little thing I did, had made me a bit paranoid. It was just a number. I said to myself as I climbed aboard the car. I watched as the right attendant checked the lap bar of the car.

My parents ran before giving a thumbs up. A moment later, their car moved forward and disappeared around a curve in the track. The right attendant walked over to my car, checked my lap bar and then gave the signal to send me on my way.

I was both excited and a little bit scared as the car lurched forward.

After the car turned the corner, it stopped in front of a large wooden door. Standing off to the side of the door was the animatronic woman. She was holding a candle which cast a sinister shadow upon her face. I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams.

There was a boom of recorded thunder followed by the flash of fake lightning.

“The latter of which caused the woman's face to light up, showing the image of a skull beneath her features.”

And the door opened and I was plunged into darkness. The darkness lasted until I was moved through another door into a large open space that was made to look like an old fog shrouded graveyard. The sounds of the storm receded behind me and were replaced by the chirping of crickets. The squawks of a few animatronic ravens, and the ghostly howling of the wind. It was a little bit spooky since I was the only writer in the room.

As the car wound its way through the graveyard, holographic ghosts would appear amongst the headstones. Right before the car was about to exit the room, one of the ghosts materialized in the car right next to me. It was a young boy about my age. That is so cool. I reached out my hand and passed it through the apparition.

He turned his head to look at me. I knew to appreciate it if he didn't do that. I snatched my hand back. That is so cool. I scanned the ceiling looking for the device that was projecting the boy's image.

I'm not part of the ride. What? I lowered my head to look at him. I'm not like those other ghosts. He turned his thumb over as shoulder as the car we were writing exit at the graveyard,

plunging us into a corridor of darkness. They're not real. I am. As I looked at him, I realized he wasn't dressed the way the other ghosts were. The jeans and t-shirt he had on me didn't look out of place.

It also dawned on me that the car had gotten a lot colder since he appeared. All of that, along with the detail of his image, let me to believe that he was telling me the truth. What are you doing here? I couldn't keep my voice from trembling.

It came to help you before you ended up like me. Does that mean I'm going to die soon? A few months ago, I'd overheard my parents talking about making funeral arrangements for me. My mom wanted to get it all sorted before I passed. But my dad wouldn't let her.

Ever since then, I'd felt like my expiration date was coming sooner rather than later. In a week, maybe two. I thought I hit you my throat as a tear rolled dumb my cheek. I don't want to die. The boy waited until I regained my composure before he spoke again.

A concerned look on his face. I don't want you to die either. Not like this. Like what? You looked like he was going to say something, but then stopped himself.

It'll be easier to show you.

A bright light filled my vision.

“When I could see again, I found that we were still standing in the car from the ride,”

but the scenery around us had changed. We were no longer being shown scenes from the haunted house. You're being shown scenes from my life. Starting with my death. That's me.

I pointed at the animatronic version of me that was lying in bed. It was clear from the way her eyes stared at the ceiling that she was dead. Standing next to her were animatronic versions of my parents. Both of whom had faked here streaming from their eyes. At least I died at home.

I thought. The car moved past the death scene and onto a scene that played out the morning of my birthday. Shortly before we went to the theme park. Can you give Emma her medicine? It was an animatronic of my mom.

In her outstretched hand was a large red capsule. My animatronic dad shook his head.

“Can't we skip the bills today? They always make her feel so tired.”

Doctor's orders. If she doesn't take her medicine, she doesn't go to the park. Fine. The car continued to the next scene. But my dad didn't give me my medicine this morning. That must be why it won't feel so tired.

Keep watching. The boy jestered at the scene the car was approaching. And hit the mom animatronic was filling a red capsule with powder from a jar that had the skull and crossbones warning label on it. No.

I shook my head.

My mom would never do that.

The boy gave me a sad book. There's one more scene. The car pulled alongside an outdoor scene in a cemetery, and I recognized the animatronic of my mom,

“even though it was made to look much younger than she was.”

She was standing next to a headstone of someone named Molly, who died when she was five years old. Standing on the other side of the headstone was an animatronic man, I did not recognize. Who's that?

That's your mother's previous husband. The divorce shortly after Molly died. Who's Molly? Your half-sister. What happened to her?

I think you already know. I did know, but I didn't want to accept it. There's another flash of light before the surroundings returned to the haunted house. It's time for me to go. A moment later, he started to fade from view.

When I looked up the track, I saw the station in the distance where an attendant was helping my parents unload from their car. Wait! The boy now barely visible turned to look at me. What's your name?

Cameron. What happened to you? I could no longer see him, but I could hear his voice. Car accident on the way to the park. My mother decided it would be okay to have a quick and clean before we pass.

As soon as he was done talking, my car pulled into the station where my parents were waiting for me. Oh, it looks terrifying. I knew this is a bad idea. I was terrified, but not because of the ride. Are you okay?

I nodded as I climbed out of the car. Yeah. Dad put his arm around my shoulders as we walked toward the exit. Mom angrily trailing a few feet behind us.

Can I talk to you for a second?

I looked up at him. He smiled down at me. Sure, of course. It's about mom. 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 riding along thanks to this episode being sponsored by Better Help. In this day and age, online reviews speak volumes about products and services. Good reviews and ratings help others discover this podcast.

And when it comes to your mental health, seeing the reviews that better help users leave, you can see how effective online therapy with them can be. You can check it out yourself at betterhelp.com/reviews

to see amazing customer reviews in real time.

how much they love better help and how helpful it's been to them.

“So please visit betterhelp.com/reviews to see for yourself.”

The feedback from people who have actually used the service speaks for itself. Better help has an average live therapy session rating of 4.9 out of 5

based on over 1.7 million client session reviews.

More than 6 million people have used better help globally and the constant feedback from real users makes it easy to see why so many people continue to choose better help because better help therapists have at least 3 years and 1,000 hours of hands-on experience. They also hold all the required education, training and certifications

across a range of mental health specialties. So see the reviews, see what stands out, and see if better help is right for you. Visit betterhelp.com/noseleep. That's better HELP.com/noseleep.

Listen closely as we return to the frequency of fear. In the world of horror, there are a few places more ripe for fear

“than a basement, a space underground with only one way in or out.”

And if you're trapped down there, it can feel inescapable. But in this tale, shared with us by author and a sluice, we meet a woman who, most might surprise you, isn't the one trapped in the basement by some sadistic killer. No, she's the person who owns the house,

who just happens to have someone living in her basement. This tale has been produced by Claudia Smore and features a performance by Ash Millman. So sometimes being trapped can be a positive thing, not a hateful thing.

As the woman tells us, I do this because I loved her. There is a woman in my basement. It is not a dank prison. I'm not heartless.

“There is a television set up for streaming.”

There is a bathroom with a toilet and a shower. There are paperback books. There is a bed. Every evening once I'm home, I make supper and go down to eat it with her.

It is always food that can be eaten with a spoon,

or a hand or chopstick. Never knives. The two of us talk as we eat. I tell her about my day, and she tells me about hers.

Once we're done, and I have taken the dishes upstairs to be washed. We'll sit together and watch a movie. Or, if I have work to do, she will read or busy herself with a hobby while I sit at the desk.

She has recently started to learn piano. On a battery-powered keyboard, she has set up on a round-edged coffee table. The sun goes down and I leave to ready myself for bed. Then I return and slip under the blanket's beside her.

Sometimes all we do is sleep. Often that is not all. She gets bored down there, the poor dear. I do my best to make sure she doesn't. In the morning,

I am woke and by my alarm that I hastened to shut off. I go upstairs and put on coffee. Mind black, hers with sugar, no cream. And take it down to her, so it'll be at her bedside when she wakes. I get dressed, then make breakfast,

and by the time it's ready, she is sitting up in bed. In her lap is the day's newspaper. She smiles at me as she takes her food, and we sit together as we eat.

She finishes first because she likes to save herself some for later.

As I leave, I ask her if there's anything she would like me to bring back. I kiss her goodbye and I sail behind my evening. She tells me she loves me. There was a woman in my basement. It is locked from the outside and small bars cover the windows.

When I return in the evening, she screams. A book is thrown at me and I barely dodge in time. I try to calm her down, but she will not listen. I step closer and she backs away. The chains on her wrists rattling.

I can see her skin around the manacles has become red from her efforts. The next thing she throws at me is a framed photo. This hits me on the forehead, and I feel a drop of blood trickle coldly down.

I removed the glass from it long ago.

She smiles back at me from the past.

“Her and her tuxedo and I at her side in white.”

We hold bouquets. Purs the classic red roses and baby's breath. Mine Easter lilies and pink snap dragons. She had laughed at me for my choice, calling me quirky. Rings glitter on our fingers.

I look at my hand holding the frame, then I look up towards her. Rings glitter on our fingers. Her eyes are turning red, and her cheeks are streaked with tears. She tells me to get out. There is a woman in my basement.

I come down to find that she has hung herself.

The cord of the TV has been unplugged at both ends and tied into a noose,

which she has hooked onto the light fixture on the ceiling. I thought I'd gotten rid of everything she could use. I hurried to her, trying to get her down quickly as I can. I'm sure to then she is, and I struggle, nearly dropping her. It's too late.

Her breathing has stopped. Her heart has stopped. I feel like my own might stop.

“My hands are shaking, as I lay her on the bed.”

Loosing the cord from around her neck reveals the long curved bruise beneath it. I pull the blanket up high enough to cover it. For a while, I sit there and cry. Once I've calmed down enough, I pick up the cable and the TV, and I take them upstairs.

I debate if I should throw them out. But in the end, they are placed in the living room that we no longer use. It was an expensive TV. They'll be ashamed to get rid of it. Back downstairs, I look around it was become of the room. The piano has been pushed off the table, but does not look to be broken.

Several of the books are lying on the floor with pages torn out. Her toothbrush and maker have been knocked over. One tube of liquid lipstick pooling around its broken vial in a thick red puddle. The pillow that is usually mine has long slashes through it. Feathers belong to cross the bed where she lies still.

Briefly, I wonder if she hates me. I take my time cleaning everything, focusing myself on the mess rather than what caused it. I address her and go to the sink, waiting a towel to clean her off. Even though I know she can't feel it, I use warm water. I redress her in her favourite silk pajamas.

The ones I gave to her last Christmas, and then I got upstairs and make dinner. Eat my portion, then cover the rest. It takes a while to build enough nerve to go back down. I stare at her for a while, then slip under the blankets next to her. My eyes feel wet and press them against her shoulder.

The body is starting to feel cold. I wonder if this is it. I wonder if this is over. I wonder if I should call someone. I've almost fallen asleep when I feel her move.

A hand first goes to a neck that is no longer bruised. Then wraps around my waist and pulls me closer. She tells me she's sorry. There is a woman in my basement. The time between her attacks is shorter now.

In the beginning it was only once or twice per year. We would have enough warning beforehand.

She did not always have to be in the basement.

I still have scars from the first time. The four gashes across my chest boarded with dots where the stitches went through. I'd needed a blood transfusion. They weren't sure I was going to make it. We told them it was a bear, and they told us I got off lucky.

I was pregnant then. A miracle after so many trips to the fertility clinic. I wasn't pregnant when I came home. I never blamed her, not out loud at least. She refused to see me for a month, doubling my grief.

It was at this point she bought the lock for the basement, but I refused to use it. I told her that she wouldn't hurt me again. I assured her I knew it was a mistake. For a while I thought I was right. Our neighbor, an old man with a bad knee that creaked when it rained,

had a dog that she would take for walks when he could not. She came home one day covered with blood, with its red collar hanging from her hand. The old man didn't last long after that.

“She locked the manicles herself and flushed the key down the toilet.”

It was her choice to be captive. It was not my choice to be her capture. The attacks are unpredictable now.

Trying to find a pattern that has not yet appeared. Sometimes they stop on their own.

“Sometimes they don't stop until her heart does.”

Often there is no warning. We lie side by side in bed with our arms around each other. Neither of us can tell if she's shaking or if I am. Maybe it's both of us. I can still feel the phantom weight of her body from when I took her down from the light.

My kisser. And tell her not to scare me again.

I say it like this is the first time.

She tells me she won't. There is a woman in my basement. My friend does not know this as we sit in the living room upstairs. We are watching a movie on the same TV that she used to hang herself. My friend and I met only recently at a therapy group of grieving spouses.

My friend thinks she is dead because that's an easier lie than the truth. The two of us are sitting on the same couch, meeting popcorn from the same bowl. It is one made of glass that I can't bring downstairs for fear that she will break it.

“Our hands brush as we both reach into it.”

I don't pull away as fast as I should. My friend moves closer. An arm rests across the back of the couch. An arm rests across my shoulders.

An arm rests across my stomach.

The glass bowl cracks as popcorn spills across the floor. The movie playing on the TV goes on. My friend leaves, and I go downstairs. The floors are thin. I wonder if she heard.

Apart from me, hope she did. I find her sitting at the coffee table with a paintbrush in hand. Her newest hobby. She gave up on the piano. It takes me a moment to realise that the portrait she's painted is of herself.

She doesn't look like that anymore. She looks up at me.

“And my guilt feels like a neon sign glowing red with shame.”

I kiss her hard.

I tell her what I've done.

I apologise. And say it won't happen again. I assure her that it was just a mistake. Silently, I wonder if my friend would be dead. We're not for the locks and the chains.

She looks at me. She tells me she doesn't blame me. She tells me she doesn't blame me. There is a woman in my basement. It's my birthday.

And I've brought down the cake that my co-workers surprise me with. It's decorated with sugar roses airbrushed red. And she pulls one off and holds it out to me. I open my mouth. I'd cut the cake upstairs, and serve it now on paper plates with plastic forks that will snap before they break skin.

I've learned from my mistakes. She doesn't mention it, even though I know she notices. As she's eating, I scoop some of the icing off with my finger and wipe it on her nose. She retaliates by smushing her piece in my face, as she had on that day that feels like another lifetime. I kiss her so it gets on her as well.

We end up in the shower. It is only partially to wash off the cake. Her hands slick with soap, slide over my skin. She bites my lip, and I say nothing when it draws blood. Since it's my birthday, she gets on her knees.

I am almost too far gone to question how hard a grip on my leg has become. I am almost too far gone to realise her tongue is too long. I am almost too far gone to notice the sound of bones cracking. It is not my bones. When I look down, it is not her I see.

When she looks up, the person seen by her bright red eyes is not me. She is not too far gone to stop me when I run, but the voice screaming behind me does not sound like hers. She tells me to lock the door. There is a woman in my basement. She does not look at me as I rub ointment into her wrists where the manacles have left them raw.

The wood of the door is split around the lock and the hinges. I will have to replace it tomorrow. She isn't supposed to be able to reach it. The chains are supposed to be too short. Neither of us mention it, both of us know.

I tell her I am not afraid of her, because I have been saying it for too long to say differently. I meant it in the beginning. I don't want to think otherwise. She tells me I should sleep upstairs tonight. I make a show of protesting before I agree. For a while, I lay in bed with her anyway.

She tells me a story about us if we were not us. We have two kids. One with the same name as the baby we didn't have.

We go out for dinner.

Sometimes we go out to the lake where the photo in the cracked frame was taken.

She tells me a story about us if she were not her.

“As she's telling it, I think about going upstairs to the kitchen.”

I think about waiting until she's asleep. I think about bringing down the big French knife and holding it over a chest. I wonder if it would make a difference that I were the one who killed her. I think I'm applying too much logic to something that has none. Halfway through her story, her words start to drift.

She falls asleep against my shoulder. I slip out from under the blankets and took her in. I refill her water so she won't be thirsty when she wakes up. I kiss her good night. I tell her I love her.

There is a woman in my basement. Her hair is getting too long. She complains one night as she lies with her head pillow in my lap. She grabs a lock of it, holding it above her head high enough that her arm goes straight.

When we first met, she had it short like a boys.

I am hesitant. She insists that it's okay. She assures me that she's not close to an attack right now. I don't know if it's true that she can tell. I know that she lies to me sometimes.

I want to believe her. From upstairs, I get a dining chair and an old towel and a pair of scissors. When I come back, she's put on her favorite album, playing it over a streaming site. I know that the vinyl of it is upstairs. Still sitting on the record player.

I know that it's covered in a thick layer of dust.

“She sings as I wrap the towel around her and I laugh at her off key voice.”

I ask her how short she wants it. She says to her chin. The song switches. I play act at being a barber. As I'm cutting the hair by Aria, she tells me she loves me.

That's all the warning I have. She grabs my hand and shifts the blades into her neck. I'm still holding them as I feel hot blood spill across as both. She missed. It's not deep enough.

If we don't treat it, it will be. And too shocked to stop her when she takes the scissors from me. She jumps from the chair, staggering slightly. The chains rattle as she backs up against the wall. She tells me she's sorry.

“She tells me I shouldn't have to live with her like this.”

She tells me she doesn't want to hurt me. She knows she's hurting me right now. The blades slice sideways before I can stop her. The walls are red. The floor is red.

My hands are red.

She always loves the color red.

I try to stop the bleeding but she hit the artery. There's nothing I can do. I'm cradling her in my arms as the light fades from her eyes. I beg her not to leave me. There is a woman in my basement.

She doesn't tell me anything. The sonic sounds of sponsors bring you all this content for free. Join our sleepless universe for even more at free audio nightmares. Summer is almost over, but there's still time to get out of the basement and do some traveling. And we're grateful that Quince is all we need to do.

We're grateful that Quince is all we need to do. We're grateful that Quince is all we need to do. Summer is almost over, but there's still time to get out of the basement and do some traveling. And we're grateful that Quince is along for the ride. You've heard me talk a lot about the great apparel Kelly and I buy from Quince.

Clothing made with premium materials built to last and designed to become the ones you reach for day after day. And close that travel really well. I'll be packing up my suitcase for a short trip soon. And I am so glad I purchased Quince's eco compression packing cubes. The packing cube system features a space-saving compact design so I can pack more and stay organized.

No more shirts and underwear spread all over my suitcase. Everything is in its place and easy to find. So if you're looking for more than just clothing, Quince has become my go-to for everything from hotel quality bedding and bath essentials to premium cookware and those travel must-haves. And if you're still wearing the same thread bear, teas and pants, Quince makes it easy to upgrade, like their ultra-soft organic cotton teas and premium Mongolian cashmere sweaters.

Everything at Quince's price 50 to 80% less than similar brands.

“They work directly with ethical factories and cut out the middlemen so you're paying for high quality, not brand-mark-up.”

Upgrade your everyday, download the Quince app for app exclusive offers, or go to quince.com/no-sleep. Get free shipping on your order and 365 day returns. Now available in Canada and the UK too. That's QUI-NCE.com/no-sleep. Listen closely, as we return to the frequency of fear.

Sometimes the idea of being trapped doesn't have to be in some catastrophic situation. Chain to a wall locked in a vault can find in a cell. Child's play compared to something most of us experience daily. Being trapped in our car stuck at a long red light. But in this tale, shared with us by author Ron Cyprus,

“we meet a couple on the highway who need to pull off to make a call.”

And when they drive through a small town, they encounter the only stoplight around. This tale has been produced by Phil Michaelski, and features performances by Dan Zapula. Atticus Jackson, Wofia White, Reagan Tacker, Aaron Lewis, and Mary Murphy. So be patient, obey the traffic signals, and whatever you do, wait for the green light. [Music]

Willy declined to follow an eye as suggestion of just going a little bit farther before getting off the interstate to return a call from his mom. Instead, he got off at the next exit, ending up on a road that led to a town called Laverty. I just wanted to find out why she was calling. I didn't hear her answer. I couldn't hear her at all.

“It sounded like the phone was breaking up.”

The road they had exited on, a one-way street, was wooded on both sides for a few miles. They finally arrived at a small rundown gas station and pulled in. Might as well get gas while we're here. He got out of the car, and I had checked her phone before lying back and closing her eyes. She had been sleeping before Willy's mom called.

They had been on the road for nearly four hours heading to a hotel near the beach. About 30 minutes before the call that woke her, their GPS suggested a different route from the one it had initially set. Saying it would get them to their destination faster. Willy had followed the app's directions.

It was an app and I had never heard of before.

One that claimed to be ten times better than the more popular ones. She was drifting back off to sleep when Willy returned to the car, waking her. This is weird. He looked over at her. My mom says she didn't call me.

Are you sure it was her? Yes, it's still there in my history. She showed her the phone and she glanced at it. Maybe she butted out. And I looked out her window and saw woman standing at the gas station entrance, staring at them.

The cashier said we just have to take this road down a few miles and there will be an exit to get back on the interstate. Willy tried to bring up the app he had been using before. I'm barely getting a signal now. I think we could figure it out. He started the car and returned to the road that had brought them there.

In the side mirror, and I noticed the woman still watching them. They went through another mile of mostly trees, a water tower, and a few abandoned vehicles facing the wrong direction. Before coming to what seemed to be the small towns downtown area. Where there were older looking buildings on both sides of the road. Here we go.

Finally seeing some love around here.

Willy stopped at a red light. The only traffic device or guide sign around. To their left, there was a church.

A few minutes went by before a Naya made an observation.

That restaurant is called restaurant.

“I think that's what it's actually called.”

I don't see any other name on it. That's crazy. Where the hell are we? Willy saw a cop car in the parking lot of the medium-sized church. He scanned to the area and noticed a few more toward the back of the parking lot.

He saw an officer in shades sitting in the car closest to the road. He appeared to be staring directly at them. Willy checked the light. It was still red. He noticed the sign next to the signal.

Violators will be arrested and fully prosecuted. What's the name of this street? I don't even see a sign.

I thought I saw one back there, but I don't think it has a real name.

It's like Route 6 or something like that. Are you okay? You've seen a little jumpy. Look over there. Willy nodded toward the church parking lot. That cop is looking over here, isn't he?

Anaya looked. She nodded. Why isn't this light changing? Willy looked up at it again. Why is there even a light here? It's one way. I don't see why we would need to stop here.

I would say run it, but you got one, two, three cops sitting there. Probably bore out of their minds and just waiting for someone like you to run their little light. I'm almost ready to do it. I'll take the ticket. What does Willy prosecute at me?

I have no idea. Willy looked back over toward the cop. He's not even moving. He's just staring. Anaya took out her phone. Okay. I'm going to set the timer for five minutes.

If this light hasn't changed by the time that's up, I need you to go over there and speak with the dude. Let him know there and little light is messed up or something. Because no light should stay red this long. You want me to go talk to him?

I sure do. And I've started the timer. The two sat quietly as the timer ran, eventually Anaya made another comment about the restaurant. You can see a few people in there. The restaurant called restaurant.

There's some people sitting at the tables.

“I think that's all waitress walking around.”

Doesn't that look like a courthouse up ahead? Willy was staring at a building on the right side of the light, stopping them from going forward. Anaya looked. It says courthouse and big letters on the front.

Can you see that? Barely. The two fell silent again and stayed that way until the timer went off. They looked at each other. Willy turned the car off and opened his door.

Alright, let me know what the light turns green.

He closed the door and walked over to the first cop car.

The officer sitting behind the wheel continued to sit still, staring straight ahead even as Willy approached. Willy started to wave as he got closer to the vehicle, but the officer didn't move. When he finally reached the door,

Willy leaned down and tried to get the officer's attention. Hello? Willy leaned in closer. The cops stayed as he was. Hello?

“I think there's something wrong with this lightware.”

Willy gently tapped on the cop's window. The officer didn't move. Willy's face got even closer to get a better look at the man behind the wheel. Hello sir, do you hear me? The light isn't changing.

Can I go ahead through it? He tapped on the window some more. Sir? The officer stayed still. Willy started to reach for the door handle.

But stopped. He turned toward the next closest police car and walked toward it. After getting a better look at the officer behind the wheel, staring straight ahead, Willy grew excited.

He quickly went to the driver's side and tapped on the window. Bro, a honey drill help. My man, could you help me out? This light isn't changing. Can I go through it?

The officer turned and appeared to be looking at him. But his sunglasses were too dark to see through. Can you help, please? Was stuck at this light? He looked over at his car.

He could not see the color of the light from where he was standing. But he assumed it was still red.

Should I go ahead and run it?

“The officer's head turned back to the position it had been in before he was interrupted.”

What the hell? Willy wrapped on the window. It felt thicker than the usual glass. You know what? Never mind.

Sorry. I'm getting out of line. He started to back away. Sorry to bother you. He looked at the last car he could try on the other end of the parking lot

before returning to his vehicle. This tunnel ain't right. There's something wrong with these people. The cops wouldn't even acknowledge or answer me. They're just staring.

I'm wondering if they're even real cops. That light.

And I was looking up at it.

The light got brighter while you were gone. Doesn't it look brighter to you? What? Willy followed her gaze. It does.

He started the car. Or just gonna go. We can't just keep sitting here. He put the car in drive.

“There were a few siren-yelps from the church parking lot.”

Both of them looked over. Okay, guess they're not playing. They're ready to pull you over if you run this light. You want to go ahead and do it anyway. Willy stared out his window.

Maybe we can outrun them. What do you think? No.

Willy turned the car off.

No need to risk it. So what are we gonna do? Like you said, we can't just keep sitting here. Can't believe no other cars come this way. Willy turned and looked back.

It's just been us. Let's go on the restaurant and ask the people there what's going on. I don't know if. And I opened her door and got out. Willy did the same following her as she headed toward the restaurant.

They went inside. The place was well lit and looked like typical diner with several tables and booths. A man was sitting alone at one of the tables in the middle of the dining room floor. An older couple was at a booth near the back. The couple was staring straight ahead.

Past each other. While the man sitting alone had his head down. Eyes toward the mug and plate of food in front of him. A woman in a pink waitress dress came up behind the new guests. She was holding a few menus in her left hand.

With her other hand she waved the couple to a booth at the front of the restaurant. The two followed her and sat down. Looking at each other and urging one another to speak up about their situation. Excuse me, we're not really trying to eat anything. We're having an issue.

You see that light out there? It's not turning green and we're just stuck there. Do you know if it's broken or something? Can we just run through it? The waitress turned and walked away.

What in the hell? The two turned to stare out the window at their car. Willy leaned back and slid closer to the glass. I think I can see the light from here. It's still red.

Or at least I can keep an eye on it. Of course it's red. The thing is broken. No.

“I think it's doing exactly what they want.”

What? The waitress returned with two white mugs gripped by their handles in one hand. And a coffee to canter in the other. She set a mug down in front of each of them. Oh, I actually don't want any coffee.

The waitress poured coffee into her mug, filling it up until some spilled onto the table. She served Willy next. Ma'am, we really need to know how to get out of here. Can we just go through that light?

Please, ma'am. The waitress stared at him with dead eyes before turning and walking to the back. And I pulled out her phone. I'm not getting a signal.

Are you? Willy checked his phone. No. Do you think we could just walk off? Like walk off to somewhere else to get help?

I think we can at least consider doing that. There has to be an answer, though. We can't just be stuck here. If you walk off, they're going to get you for abandoning your vehicle. The man sitting at the other table was still staring down.

They'll punish you for that. Well, Willy got up and went over to him. Do you understand what's going on here? Why isn't the light turning green? I don't know.

I don't even know what green is anymore. You just better not run that light. I'll get you for that. It's all bad. Oh, bad.

Holding a plate in each hand as she made her way to their table.

Are you from here? We're all from here. We all belong here. You go on and get comfortable. I don't think so.

Willy put his hand out. I'm Willy by the way. The man looked up at him.

“You're going to be who they tell you to be.”

Don't go thinking anymore about running that light. His eyes went back down. Willy retreated, returning to his table where he found a plate of food waiting for him. A tenderloin steak, two lobster tails, and fries were on his plate. And on the plate in front of an eye, were salmon, broiled shrimp, and white rice.

She just came out with these. I told her we were fine, and of course, she ignored me. It smells good.

Willy grabbed the utensils wrapped in a napkin.

And I am hungry. Okay, well, these aren't on the menu. And I grabbed one of the menus on the table. Nothing is on here, but the word menu. And chicken scratch.

There's some boxes here with fake writing. This isn't a real menu. Okay, but this is real food. Willy stuck a piece of steak in his mouth and started chewing. Hmm.

It's actually pretty good. I want to get out of here. I can't stay here any longer. Did that guy tell you anything? No?

Willy glanced over at the man who was still staring down at his plate. He was useless.

I'll get the feeling something was wrong with him.

And I looked over at the couple in the back. Okay, I think I'll give them a try. She got up and started to head toward them. And I'll wait. Excuse me.

I was hoping you could help us out.

“Could you tell us if it's okay to just run that light out there?”

There's something wrong with it. It's not turning green. The man continued to stare forward. But the woman turned to Anaya and smiled. I love your hair.

I really love your hair. Thank you. I appreciate it. But do you know anything about the light? Ooh.

Look at that hair. You keep standing there and I'm going to have to touch it. I'm going to touch your hair. I'm going to touch your hair. Man, are you okay?

You keep on standing there and I'm going to get my hands on it. I'm going to touch it. I'm going to touch your hair. The lady kept giggling as Anaya returned to her seat. What she laughing about?

Am I in a dream or something? Anaya reached her phone.

“I really want to punch myself as hard as I can in the face right now.”

This is a dream. This isn't real life. I'm dreaming. No. Willy's stuffed some of the lobster in his mouth.

Hmm. We're not dreaming, babe. This is very real. We're stuck in some town because a light isn't working. Some town called Lafati.

My phone just turned off and it isn't coming back on now. I know it was charged. You're not safe over there. I still see that hair. I'm going to touch it.

I'm going to get a nice handful of that hair. Get that hair. Let's go and all of that. I'm about to step outside for an omit. Anaya rose from the table and left the restaurant.

She looked across the street and saw that the three cop cars were now lined up along side each other in the church parking lot. All three officers were behind their wheels staring at her. Her attention went to her phone as she tried to get it back on. It finally powered up. But turned off after several seconds.

Anaya kept trying. The phone was working again when she heard a man's screams coming from down the street. They sounded as if they were coming from the courthouse. Anaya walked toward it to get a better look. No one was outside.

The screams had come from inside the building behind the closed door. They sounded like cries of pain. She turned around and rushed back into the restaurant. Willy was sipping coffee when she returned. You heard that, right?

It heard something. What was it? It came from the courthouse. It sounded like someone being tortured. I can't stay here.

We can't stay here. We need to go. It will be you screaming if you violate their rules.

Get something in your belly.

It'll help you think better. You don't want to violate their laws. Go on and sit back down. The waitress walked off. Give me your keys.

Anaya held out her hand to Willy. I'm not staying here. I'll risk it. Give me your keys. What?

Willy padded his pockets. The keys are actually still in the car.

“You're not really trying to run that line.”

Are you? You heard what she said.

He looked out the window.

All three of them are ready to go now. We have to think of another way out. There is no other way. They want to keep us here. Come sit down.

We'll work something out. Willy! That hair is back. The woman in the back booth was added again. Laughing even louder.

I see that hair again. Gotta get it. Gotta get my hands all in that hair. It's gonna be mine now.

“I'm sure there's gonna be an opportunity to make a move.”

Willy had gone back to looking out the window.

We just need to wait and figure out when that time is. If we... Out the window, he could see an eye running to the car. He stayed seated until she got behind the wheel. By the time he left the restaurant, the car was already moving forward.

Don't! She couldn't hear him anymore. She was gone. With their bright lights and sirens blaring. Her three pursuers went after her.

One behind the other. Willy watched until they were all out of sight. And the sounds had nearly completely faded. You returned to the restaurant. And approached the man he had spoken to earlier.

What's gonna happen to her? Can she get away? She's gone. The man met his eyes. You need to worry about yourself now.

What are you gonna do? She took the car. I can walk away now, right? There's no log in's that. The man didn't answer.

Going back to his usual position.

“Willy returned to his seat to think about his next move.”

He checked his phone. It was dead. Out the window, a police officer on a bike was sitting in the church parking lot. They were staring in his direction. Willy went back to his food.

Several minutes later he would hear screams coming from outside. They sounded as if they were coming from someone familiar. But he couldn't tell. He didn't want to know. The waitress came and refilled his mug.

The screams were still going on. Willy kept his eyes on the coffee. He didn't want to know. [Music] As the sounds returned to the silence,

we bring our audio horror to a close for another week. Join us again next time when we conjure up the frequency of the air for four sort of nightmares. The no sleep podcast is presented by creative reason media. That musical score is more composed by random movement.

Our production team is filled by Goldsea. Jeff Clement, Jesse Kornett, and Claudius Kornett. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashlee McAnelly, Oliye White, Kristen Samito, and Marcus Tavenda.

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.the no sleep podcast.com to learn about the sleepless universe.

And lots of bonus content for the dark hours.

All for one low monthly price.

“On behalf of everyone at the no sleep podcast,”

we thank you for listening to those slave and embracing the sound.

This audio program is copyrighting 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.

You know 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. [Music] I'm also Shannen Maldonado,

and I'm the founder of Yaui, a singer of Kunstwerke and Han Gefertig the object is specialised. My wife is a copy-fi, because she is a copy-fi in the same way as the other platforms I tested, with the famous friend. I've been waiting for all the seconds.

“All tools that are important for the development of the universe are,”

for example, from the law, are found directly in the dashboard. Start now at your cost.com/sensetest.com