S23 Ep7: NoSleep Podcast S23E07

WNSP

Thanks for tuning in to The Darkness of the Night, WNSP's overnight programming.

I'm your host, DC, with you as always.

For those of you out-of-towners thinking of visiting the Cryptid Valley area, here's a recent development.

Many people like to spend a few nights at Meriwether Motel off Route 6.

Well, it's usually a delightful little place to stay.

That is, until the White Bluff Screamer decides to spend time in the woods behind the motel.

The White Bluff Screamer is a legendary cryptid believed to inhabit the region around White Bluff, Tennessee.

But she has been known to visit our area.

Known for her eerie, piercing screams echoing through the night, the screamer has become a staple of folklore and cryptozoology.

She's said to be around seven feet tall, with long flowing hair or fur, and eyes that glow with an otherworldly light.

The most distinctive feature of the screamer is its terrifying, high-pitched scream, which is said to be a mix between a human wail and an animalistic howl.

So, until the end of the month at least, maybe consider finding a B.

The Meriwethers are working hard to clear out the screamer and resume regular business hours.

Now, if it's screams you want, we'll start our regular segment here on the darkness of the night: an episode of the No Sleep Podcast:

A rustle of the leaves, a fleeting movement at the edge of your vision.

How often have you walked a forest trail at dusk, only to feel the unmistakable sensation that something unseen is watching you?

For centuries, humans have populated the darkness with creatures of legend whose existence remains unproven, yet whose presence is undeniable in the whispered tales of those who dare venture too deep into the wild of the wild.

Brace yourself for the no-sleep podcast.

Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast.

I'm your host, David Cummings.

It's August, the weather is scorching, and I know many of you are taking some vacation time, spending some time away before the normal routine kicks back in, right?

Safe travels, folks.

And you know what they say?

A change is as good as a rest.

And that can be true.

Sometimes we just need a change of scenery to kind of recharge our batteries.

It's not always big trips to resorts or amusement parks we need.

A few days in a national park, driving somewhere up or down state, even spending time in one of the nation's many delightful motels that dot the landscape.

All great ways to enjoy some time away.

As long as one of your stops isn't the Bates Motel.

Ah, and here's some fun news.

For those of you in the area, or who feel like traveling a bit to get there, I want to make you aware of a horror film festival the No Sleep Podcast is proud to be a sponsor of.

It's called the First Cut Horror Film Festival, and it takes place in Wilmington, North Carolina, on October 4th.

It's a one-day festival featuring short films submitted from around the world.

I'll be there along with some of the No Sleep team.

We may even have some cool no-sleep swag to give away to anyone who asks.

So if watching some excellent indie horror shorts and hanging out with fellow horror nerds is your bag, check the show notes to learn more about the festival and get your tickets.

They sold out early last year, so don't wait to kick off the Halloween season in style in beautiful Wilmington, North Carolina.

Now, on this episode, we encounter people who are looking to get away for a little while.

And whether they're on their own or meeting up with some old or new friends, we are quite certain their tales aren't going to be so restful.

They may even be sleepless.

So, even if the sign says no vacancy, you're welcome here.

There's always room for one more in our motel hell.

Now, tune in, turn on, and brace yourself for our sleepless tales.

In our first tale, we meet a ghost.

Huh, spoiler.

No, that's really not spoiling anything, because this boy is used to being a ghost, even at his young age.

And in this tale, shared with us by author 1001 Nights, the boy enjoys rising from his grave to return to his house.

He is lonely after all.

But thankfully for him, his loneliness doesn't last.

Performing this tale are Joel from Let's Read, Jeff Clement, and Mary Murphy.

So his name might not be Casper, but he is friendly.

He's Daniel the ghost.

Daniel was eight when he became a ghost, rising from the shallow grave where his stepfather had buried him in the woods behind their house.

Daniel was happy to be a ghost because no one could hurt him anymore, so he wasn't scared of going back to the house, but he stayed out of their way, hiding in an alcove in the basement.

Sometimes he would go up in the dead of night, poking around in the kitchen, and once he crept up to the bedroom and stood at the foot of their bed.

His mother, jerked out of sleep, sat up and screamed and screamed.

Daniel fled back to his hideyhole.

They left that house soon after and others came, but they didn't stay long either.

As much fun as it is to imagine haunted houses, it actually isn't fun to live in one.

And so families came and went and Daniel grew more forgetful of how humans do things.

Until Lily and her family came.

Lily was often ill and couldn't get out and run around like others.

Daniel heard it whispered through the walls that she may not live much longer.

He wondered if she would become a ghost like him, perhaps joining him in his basement home.

It wouldn't be terrible to have a companion in the dark and dreary basement.

So, despite what had happened those years ago, his mother sitting up in bed screaming and screaming, her mouth an open black hole of suffering and misery, Daniel decided to visit Lily in the bedroom where she lay in bed.

Lily couldn't sleep.

Being often restless, she had heard the noises in the kitchen and the creak of the basement stairs.

She had learned about the ghost of the missing little boy, of course, but being close to death herself, it didn't bother her.

When her bedroom door swung open, she knew the boy was coming to her.

But it wasn't a little boy who stepped into her room.

It was a big one, almost a man.

In the dull night glow, she could see him clearly, a lanky, tall young man with a pale face.

She still wasn't scared, but quite confused.

The young man looked at her, also confused.

Who are you?

Daniel remembered.

I am Daniel.

A ghost.

Although it had been years since he spoke, the words came to him naturally.

Lily got out of bed and walked towards him.

Daniel?

She reached and gripped his wrist.

They stared at each other, the young man bewildered as memories and futures ran through his mind.

You're not a ghost, Daniel.

Warm tears squeezed their way out of Daniel's eyes.

He remembered the earth, the air on his face as he crawled out of his grave and started walking home, covered with dried blood.

You're alive.

Lily drew the young man in and sat him down next to her on the edge of the bed.

They began talking.

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Now back to WNSP's presentation of the no sleep podcast.

If you're shocked to discover your partner has been cheating on you, it's understandable that you'd want to get away, far away, and sort yourself out.

Like the woman who we meet driving frantically and looking for a place to stop for the night.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Hannah Pheltz, she's grateful to get out of a storm and a small roadside motel looks good enough.

Well, it seemed good enough.

Performing this tale are Nicole Goodnight and Kyle Akers.

So look after your broken heart and any other parts that are breakable when you check into Motel 66.

The quick back and forth of the windshield wipers seemed useless against the massive downpour of rain that came from the sky.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, willing the car to push forward against the rushing waves of water.

Through the rearview mirror, I saw the pile of clothes thrown carelessly on the back seat.

The folds of fabric toppled over each other like dirty gym rags.

I had to find somewhere to stop for the night.

As I barreled down the lonely stretch of back roads, I caught a glimmer in the distance.

It was the first sign of human life I saw since a red subaru with a cat mom bumper sticker peeled off on the main highway about 40 miles back.

Approaching the gleaming lights, I could finally make out the sign.

Motel 66.

A sickly bright blue sign made it even more ghastly against the night sky.

The word vacancy came into view.

That was all I needed to see to pull over.

The motel was nestled on a long drive up an inclined path that weaved through rows of dead trees.

Coming to a stop, I finally let my grip slowly loosen off the steering wheel.

The pelting daggers of rain continued to storm down.

No more than two hours ago, I let myself into my apartment to find my girlfriend with another woman.

Seeing her hands tangled in the hair of a woman who wasn't me sent aches of betrayal through my entire body.

I let out a deep sigh as I checked my phone.

No service.

I reached for the door handle and was immediately greeted by waterfalls of rain.

Bolting through the lot, I found refuge under a small awning covering the lobby entrance.

Welcoming back my visibility, I did a quick scan of my surroundings.

There were three other cars in the parking area.

Knowing I wasn't the only attendee at a backcountry motel gave me peace of mind.

Extending to the left and right of the entrance were a line of numbered rooms, about 10 on each side, that flanked the lobby like outstretched arms.

Yellow lights hung neatly over each thickly painted white door, piercing the darkness surrounding the motel.

The first thing I noticed when I entered the motel was how clean it was.

There was no dust on the shelves that held small figurines and nature catalogs.

No grimy fingerprints on the glass coffee table that sat in the center of the room.

The second thing I noticed was the protective plastic covering that wrapped tightly atop the carpet and the leather sofa.

The tight, shimmery veil hugged the fabric, daring any speck of grime to make its way onto the threads.

As I approached the check-in desk though, I found empty snack wrappers, scattered papers, and a muddy pair of car keys littered across the top.

Nestled under a chip bag was a shiny gold bell.

I tapped the top and was met with a high-pitched ding.

lingering for what felt like ages after I removed my hand.

There was no sign of movement from the doorway behind the desk.

desk.

Succumbing to my impatience, I tried the bell again.

While I waited, I started to shift through the papers sitting in front of me.

They were check-in records.

I started to read from the top.

Name, Suzette Downing.

Check-in date, April 17th, 2021.

Checkout, blank.

Scanning down the paper, I read more.

Name, Curran Saunders.

Check-in date, November 6th, 2021.

Checkout.

Blank.

Name, Tiffany Huby.

Check-in date, May 13th, 2022.

Checkout date.

Blank.

Noticing a trend, I looked through the other lines only to find that no checkout date was listed for any of the guests.

Suddenly, I heard a heavy door closing.

It made the kind of sound a refrigerator does when it slams shut.

A figure finally stepped out from the doorway.

Good evening.

He was strikingly average.

His light light brown hair was parted perfectly on the left side.

He donned a forest green polo neatly tucked into a pair of khakis,

complete with a tightly notched belt around his thin waist.

His name tag sat above his heart.

Stephen, it read.

Stephen stood a bit too tall, arms resting awkwardly by his sides, well-mannered and poised like he was the best student in finishing school.

His eyes quickly darted to the mess that sat between us.

I could see the outline of his clenched jaw as he swept the assortment of junk into a metal trash can and placed the muddy keys in his back pocket.

Clearing his throat,

he finally asked if I was looking for a room.

Unable to ignore my heavy eyelids, I told him I needed a room for the night.

Sifting through a drawer, Stephen pulled out a dull silver key with the number 16 engraved on the front.

If you could please sign your name on this sheet.

He pushed a fresh sheet of white paper across the desk.

We take payment upon checkout.

I immediately noticed that the sign-in sheet was identical to the one I had previously discovered, with the same checkout line at the bottom of each section.

Too emotionally drain to ask questions, I scribbled my name, took the key, and told Stephen thank you as I made my way to the exit.

Before I could leave, he faintly told me to sleep well.

Room 16 was down the far right end of the motel complex.

Unlatching the lock, I swung the door open to find a queen-sized bed that bore a bland, beige cover pushed against the left of the wall.

Directly to its right sat a nightstand topped with a blinking alarm clock, crocheted coaster, and lamp.

It was all I expected for a cheap motel to have.

All I expected except for the massive mirror that hung on the wall directly in front of the bed.

I approached the glass.

It had to have been 12 feet long.

Running my fingers across the metallic frame chilled my fingertips and sent a shiver up my spine.

Taking a step back, I took in my disheveled appearance.

I was still wearing my workout clothes.

Hair flying in strands around my partially undone braids.

The bags under my eyes were dark and heavy.

I closed them to bring relief to the tired pain and to shut out the woman that looked back at me.

And then I thought of her.

Of us.

Of the way she looked with her mouth on a stranger with long dark hair.

Finally, the tears came, hot and wet down my cheeks.

My hands shot up to wipe the salty droplets.

I'd better just get some tissues, I thought.

I scrambled around the room looking for a box, only to come across none.

Damn it!

I pounded my fist against the foam of the mattress.

I punched down and down and down again against the absorbent material.

My hair flailed around me, whipping and lashing the back of my neck.

Exhausted from the crying, I felt my eyes flutter closed.

I fell asleep like that.

Fists curled face down on the mattress.

The stuffiness of the room clung to me like a wet blanket.

My skin slick with sweat.

I woke with a start, gasping for air.

The walls felt like they were closing in.

Desperate, I stumbled to the window and yanked the blinds only to find a thick pane of glass with a single latch at the top.

Flipping it, I shoved my hands beneath the window, trying to lift it.

Nothing.

I crouched, putting all my weight into it, but it didn't budge.

Not an inch.

4.47 displayed across the alarm clock.

I wasn't getting another wink of sleep.

I irrationally decided to pack up and make the drive to my mom's.

I could already see her getting out a bottle of wine, a medicine she thinks cures all.

Making my way outside to check if Stephen was awake for checkout, I opened the door to find a blurry figure moving in the parking lot.

I quickly closed the door, keeping it open only enough to make out the figure.

They were draped with a heavy raincoat, with the hood pulled over top, kneeling in front of a car.

My car,

holding something in their hands.

Suddenly I heard the faint clang of sharp metal on pavement as the license plate to the car dropped in front of the stranger's heavy boots.

They stabbed what I now could make out as a screwdriver into the two rear tires before making their way to the front, replicating the same swift movements.

My blood went cold.

Before I could even let the panic sink in, the figure turned.

picked up the sack at their feet, and started to walk towards my door.

I wasted no time subtly closing the door, switching the lock before practically leaping into bed.

Suddenly, a shadow slowly creeped across the blinds outside of room 16.

They lingered in the center of the window, slowly tilting their head to the side like a confused dog.

The shadow reached down, pulled something out of its pocket, and promptly stepped out of view.

That's when I heard the deadbolt come undone.

The door slowly crept open and I heard soft breathing over the rainfall.

I kept my eyes clenched shut, opting to go with the illusion of surprise against the intruder.

But nothing happened.

As quickly as the door opened, it was shut again.

I opened my eyes and saw the shadow outside of my room again.

They lifted a hand towards my window and dragged their fingers down the windowpane and simply

walked away.

I allowed myself to breathe.

A deep, heavy breath that sat stuck in my throat.

Finally, I switched on the lamp and saw a single box of tissues was placed squarely on the ground in front of my door.

My mouth went dry, fear spreading itself like cancerous veins down to the tip of my fingers.

I reached for my phone.

No service still.

I figured my best bet was to try to wake up another guest.

There were three, maybe four other cars in the parking lot.

One of them could help.

I braced myself for whatever stood on the other side of the door and reached for the handle.

Except, it was locked.

My shoulder leveled into the door as I pushed harder and harder, my face going flush and teeth grinding.

It was locked from the outside.

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

My heart started to violently thud in my chest.

The window was jammed, the door locked, I was trapped.

The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

That's how I felt clicking my phone alive every minute.

hoping to see bars of service.

Each time the no-service symbol blinked back at me like a callous smile.

The anger, fear, and confusion all rushed over me at once, causing me to hurl my phone across the room, only to realize too late that I threw it directly at the mirror.

Shattered pieces of glass plunged down towards the floor.

Then I saw it.

The broken glass revealed another room entirely.

I climbed my way through.

The hallway I stepped into was cold, its air heavy with the scent of damp wood and mildew.

Flickering bulbs barely illuminated the long, narrow corridor.

My heart raced as I moved cautiously, the crunch of broken glass beneath my shoes echoing in the unsettling silence.

Rows of big rectangular glass were fixed down the hall.

Each mirror I realized belonged to another motel room.

Standing squarely in the center of each mirror was a tripod.

A tripod that held a camcorder.

The red-on button was illuminated on each camcorder down the hallway, shining like blood-red stars in the sky.

I stumbled back, the sickening realization washing over me.

I was being watched.

I passed a couple of the mirrors, finally coming across a room with the lights on.

A blonde woman laid on the motel bed.

I started to bang on the windows, trying to get her attention, but she didn't move.

I cupped my hands against the glass and peered closer at her, only to find her body was wrapped tightly in the same plastic wrap I found covering the motel lobby.

My horror barely had time to set in before I heard a startled voice.

You found it.

Then I saw him.

Stephen.

He came into my view, still wearing the same neat name tag, carefully pressed polo, and clean slacks.

He took a couple of shuffled steps forward, his voice stuttering.

We were only supposed to watch, but he wanted to touch.

I swear, I only wanted to watch.

From behind, I heard the crunching of glass as someone climbed through from my room.

I whipped around to find myself not 20 feet away from...

Stephen?

No, it couldn't have been.

Stephen was right in front of me.

Once fully in the hallway, I finally got a clear view of him.

He looked like Stephen, but he was...

filthier?

His greasy hair sat at his shoulders, stringy and dark.

There were rips in his plain white undershirt and mud stains on his wrinkly, oversized khakis.

His arms were covered in red sores, and he used his dirty fingernails to pick incessantly at the wounds, causing puss and blood to slowly spill out.

Dirty Stephen kept his head down, staring silently at the glass shards on the ground.

Without a word, he bent over and picked up a jagged piece of glass, hand crunching tightly around the fragment as drops of blood rained down from his pale, clenched hand.

His movements were slow, almost mechanical, like a predator savoring the chase.

Blood still oozed from his clenched fist, dripping rhythmically to the floor, each drop hitting the ground like a countdown.

My head whipped back and forth to Stephen.

And Stephen?

I'm sorry.

I...

I can't argue with him.

He always gets his way.

The tension between them was palpable.

A silent war waged in the space between their bodies with me stuck in the middle.

They both stepped towards me in unison.

A terrifying contradiction of order and chaos.

I decided to take my chances against the clean Steven.

Then I charged.

I slammed my fist hard into his cheekbone and he doubled back, hands recoiling towards his face.

I used this as an opportunity to push him down, delivering a swift kick to his side for good measure.

Remembering the pair of car keys he picked up earlier on the desk, I searched his back pockets and rejoiced at the sound of clinging metal as I frantically pulled out the set.

I wasted no time sprinting towards the light of the motel lobby, away from dirty Stephen's grasp.

The hallway door led to the front lobby.

I dashed outside, repeatedly pressing the unlock button on the keys, praying they'd match a working vehicle.

As I neared the rear of the motel, I heard it.

A car horn.

I rushed towards the sound to find that it belonged to an old pickup truck.

I heard the front door of the lobby whip open.

Just as I pulled the door shut, Dirty Steven was there, his bloodied fist crashing against the truck window.

He punched over and over until cracks spider-webbed across the glass, each punch shaking the truck violently as I fumbled with the keys.

The engine coughed to life just as the window gave way, shards exploding inward.

I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, peeling out of the parking lot, but not fast enough.

His hand shot through the broken window, clawing at my arm, nails biting into my skin.

I swerved wildly, trying to shake him off as his fingernails pierced my skin.

Finally, I threw him off.

His body hitting the dirt road hard as I flew down the stretch of road that led away from the Motel 66 sign.

I looked in my rearview mirror to see him pulling his crumpled body off the ground.

Instantly, he started bounding down the road again.

After me.

I didn't let my foot off of the gas for what felt like an eternity.

The night stretched on, oppressive and heavy, until the first hints of dawn started to break over the horizon.

I reached for the glove box, hoping to find a map.

Anything that could help me figure out where the hell I was headed.

Instead, I found a photo.

It was an old Polaroid with two young boys sitting in a tree.

One of the boys was smiling sweetly, his striped polo bright and tucked in, while the other boy looked callously at the camera.

His face was drawn tight, almost as if he were holding back a snarl, with eyes that didn't belong to a kid his age.

Something had been growing inside him long before I ever set foot in that motel.

I turned the photo around to find scribbled cursive that read, Take care of your brother.

He has different needs than you.

Love,

Mom.

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You want longer episodes, no ads, and lots of bonus content?

Find out more at sleepless.thenosleeppodcast.com.

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Now back to WNSP's presentation of the No Sleep Podcast.

National parks are great places in which to enjoy some time away.

Kids love the forest as well.

So pack up your family and your sleeping bags and hit hit the road.

But in this tale, shared with us by author John Beardify, we meet a family with a daughter who doesn't seem to like this park visit.

Perhaps that's because she sees something no one else can.

Performing this tale are Dan Zapula, Danielle McRae, Marie Westbrook, and Aaron Lillis.

So if you can't see the forest for the trees, at least stay on the lookout for The Man in the woods.

We had been driving through the forest for about 20 minutes when my daughter started acting strange.

Kylie was ordinarily a loud, active toddler with so much energy that my wife and I usually had to drag ourselves along behind her.

Yet now, in the shadow of the huge evergreens,

she had fallen silent.

Everything okay back there?

No response.

You excited about visiting the park, honey?

We might even see a bear.

Still nothing.

Kylie was staring with absolute concentration at the shadows beneath the trees.

Kylie,

honey.

My wife, Heather, reached back and shook Kylie's knee.

There's a man in the woods.

Of course there is, honey.

It's a national park.

I laughed, but Kylie just scowled and looked back out the window.

I sighed.

The sun was just starting to cast its golden beams through the misty woods, and if Kylie was in one of her moods, we had a very long day ahead of us.

I spotted a gravel turnoff up ahead, and it occurred to me that maybe Kylie was just grumpy from the long car ride.

My wife and I were plenty sore ourselves, and the prospect of dipping our feet in a cool mountain stream was too good to miss.

I pulled in beside a dusty pickup truck and flashed a mischievous grin at Heather.

We were both out the door as soon as the wheels stopped rolling.

Kylie, however, refused to budge.

This is a bad place.

I don't wanna.

My daughter crossed her arms.

There was no reasoning with her when she was like this.

I nodded to my wife, and we each grabbed an arm to lift her out of the car seat.

Kylie wailed and clawed, putting up such a fight that I was grateful that I'd trimmed her nails in the hotel room the night before.

I looked over my shoulder at the pickup and winced.

If the driver was around, he'd probably think that Kylie was being kidnapped.

Ooh, there's a creek down there with big rocks and fish and waterfalls.

You're gonna love it, Kai.

Suddenly, my daughter stopped crying, but it didn't have anything to do with my pep talk.

Okay, Daddy, let's go.

Her arms had gone slack, her face blank.

I'd only ever seen her like this once before, when our plane hit a gut-dropping patch of turbulence, the kind that makes passengers wail, luggage fall, and lights flicker.

Then, As now, she just shut down, too frightened to function.

I couldn't imagine what was scaring her so badly.

Apart from the rustling leaves and the murmur of the stream down below, the early morning forest was still.

I slipped a neon pink jacket over Kylie's head before lifting her onto my shoulders and starting down the steep, muddy trail.

Heather let out a loud whoop and sprinted past me.

I winced.

It feels wrong to disturb the silence,

I thought, then wondered if Kylie's irrational fear had infected me as well.

We found Heather lying on a smooth white stone beside the water, kicking her feet in the rapids.

It's so peaceful here.

She smiled, and I had to agree.

Even Kylie seemed to be doing better.

She sat at the edge of the rock, absent-mindedly tugging at clumps of moss.

You're pretty quiet, champ.

Heather rustled our daughter's hair.

I'm listening to the man in the woods.

Again with that same flat voice.

A shiver ran up my spine.

Most toddlers say creepy things from time to time, but Kylie had never gone this deep into her daydreams before.

What man in the woods?

Honey, nobody's talking.

Yes, he is.

I can hear him.

He's talking inside my head.

Heather and I exchanged a glance.

Um, what's the man saying, Jam?

Kylie just frowned and pulled away, as if to say that whatever it was, it was none of our business.

The morning air suddenly seemed just a little bit cooler.

A bird took off from a branch above us, and Heather and I both jumped.

But not Kylie.

Our daughter was staring dead ahead at something on the other side of the creek.

Before either of us could stop her, she got on all fours and scurried across the smooth river rocks.

It's amazing how fast small children can move when they really want to.

By the time we got to our feet, Kylie was halfway across the creek.

Not being a barefoot toddler myself, I slipped almost instantly, plunging into the freezing waste-deep water.

My daughter, meanwhile, had already reached the far bank.

I felt a sudden, horrible certainty that if she climbed up it, we would never see her again.

Fortunately, my wife was a lot less clumsy than I was.

Jumping from rock to rock, she managed to grab the back of Kylie's pink jacket seconds before she disappeared into the ferns.

Ordinarily, Kylie screamed her head off whenever we stopped her from doing what she wanted.

But now,

she was calm.

In fact,

she was giggling.

Daddy got wet.

Kylie, it is not okay to run off like that.

What's going into you?

He said it would be funny.

And he was right.

Only then did it occur to me to climb the eroded bank and see what had made Kylie so eager to cross the stream.

My fingers sank into the mud as I pulled myself upward,

then fell back with a yelp as sharp teeth sank into my ankle.

Kylie!

My daughter had bitten me.

He doesn't like it when you look.

That's enough!

I picked my daughter up

she went into full tantrum mode battering me with her tiny fists but I was finally able to peer over the muddy creek bank

I saw only more trees rotting logs and a carpet of decaying leaves

whatever Kylie had been so eager to get to It was long gone.

It was the worst fit Kylie had thrown in years, maybe ever.

Getting a flailing, screaming, biting child back across the slippery rocks was no easy feat.

By the end of it, all three of us were soaked and exhausted.

I reached out for the car door and patted my hip for my keys.

They weren't there.

Had their clip come undone when I'd fallen in the water?

Or had Kylie pulled them off on purpose?

I didn't like to think about what that might mean.

Ugh, the keys.

I have to go back.

Heather looked up at me from where she was struggling with Kylie.

Her eyes begged me not to go.

I understood how she felt.

The day had suddenly turned strange and wrong.

All I wanted to do now was get back in the car with my family, drive out of the forest, and forget that any of it had ever happened.

I glanced over at the pickup truck beside us.

It was covered with dust and dead leaves, as though it had been sitting there abandoned for years.

And what had happened to the driver?

Something seemed to slither beneath the grimy blue tarp in the truck bed.

I shuddered and turned back to my family.

Kylie had finally calmed down.

She sat in the gravel, messy hair hanging over her face, not saying a word.

Babe, please, why don't we just go back on the road?

We can flag someone down, ask them to call for help.

Images flashed through my head.

Long, hungry hours waiting for some smug tow truck driver.

Yet another bill for my already bloated credit card.

Kylie crying non-stop.

Our vacation ruined.

No, I couldn't let that happen.

All I had to do was walk back down the trail and grab my keys.

So,

why did that suddenly feel so hard to do?

I took a last look around.

The winding two-lane road should have been packed, but not a single car had passed by.

I could feel my wife's eyes on the back of my neck, pleading with me.

Stay,

they seemed to say.

I'm scared.

As much as I wanted to, someone had to get us out of the woods.

Shivering in my waterlogged jeans, I stuffed my hands into my pockets.

and trudged back down the trail.

I found myself wishing that somebody else would appear just to confirm that we were still inside the borders of the national park at all.

A grimy backpacker, an old fisherman on his way to the creek, anybody other than Kylie's man in the woods.

Although I kept my eyes down in search of the keys, couldn't shake the feeling that I'd look up and find him just in front of me.

Looking like the green knight from some childhood storybook.

A mossy beard, a crown of antlers,

golden animal eyes.

A footstep crunched in the leaves to my left.

Glancing up, I saw an enormous stag making its way through the trees.

There was something unsettling about the way it moved.

It didn't look my way, didn't freeze when it saw me.

It just kept walking straight ahead, like it was being guided by some terrible purpose.

It was heading for the car.

I jogged back up the slick path.

The stag had reached the edge of the forest.

Heather, oblivious, was squatting in the gravel, trying to talk to Kylie.

My daughter sat with eerie patience, staring straight ahead, like she knew the stag was coming.

From my vantage point, I could see how it walked out from the tree line and knelt down in front of her, as though inviting her to ride it.

I could hear my wife and daughter arguing.

Honey, get back.

That's a wild animal.

You don't know what it might do.

The man in the woods says that I should go with it, mommy.

He says where I'm going.

There's lots of other kids, just like me.

Heather had heard enough.

She grabbed for Kylie's arm, but the stag came between them.

Snorting and frothing at the mouth, it reared back and rammed its head into my wife's chest.

Heather flew backwards, impacting against the driver's seat mirror with a sickening crack.

Crumpled to the ground and lay still.

Kylie, meanwhile, was already climbing onto the stag's back.

No, Tylie, wait!

But the big animal was already moving.

My daughter clung to the mangy fur of its neck.

Her golden hair flashed in a beam of sunlight.

Then she and the stag were gone, swallowed by the shadows of the forest.

I ran to my wife.

Heather was hurt, but breathing.

I was trying desperately to remember my Cub Scout first aid when I heard tires crunching on the gravel.

It was an ancient Park Service vehicle, and the woman behind the wheel looked just as grizzled as the car itself.

She couldn't have been older than 30, but her sharp green eyes missed nothing.

Everything all right here, sir?

Her hand was on the pistol at her hip as she stepped out of the vehicle.

My wife, she was attacked by a deer.

And my daughter, she's...

She's missing.

Let me see your hands.

I did as I was told.

I realized that she was looking for blood or bruising on my knuckles.

Signs that I had been the one to slam my wife against the side of the car.

Okay, step back.

She bent down to inspect Heather.

My wife let out a gasp as the Ranger pressed on her right side.

Ribs broken, should probably get her a doctor.

Now what's this I hear about a missing daughter?

I launched into my story,

leaving out the harder-to-believe elements made sense at the time.

I told the Ranger that Kylie had simply run off into the woods after a deer.

Only later would I realize what a terrible mistake I had made.

Time's a waste then.

Most lost kids are found within a couple hours.

The ones who aren't.

She trailed off, bent low over some knobs and buttons in her cruiser, then returned with a frown.

We always get bad reception out here.

Ma'am, are you gonna be alright to rest in the backseat of the cruiser while we look for your little girl?

My wife winced, but nodded.

The old-fashioned pack that the Ranger extracted from her trunk looked bigger than she was, but she hitched it onto her back with ease.

Her uniform, too, wasn't quite what I was used to, but the Forest Service brown color was familiar enough.

Well, you coming or not?

In between shouts of Kylie's name, the Ranger introduced herself herself as Maddie Corvin.

Look, we'll do a quick search of the area, but after that, I'm going in for backup.

Keep the cruiser inside at all times.

You might think you know where the road is, but trust me, it's easy to get turned around out here.

I could see what she meant.

No matter which way I was facing, the carpet of ferns and dead leaves looked the same.

Enormous tree trunks rose up from it like columns in some ancient temple.

Then I glimpsed something that made my breath catch in my throat:

a hot pink jacket.

Ranger Corvin was yelling after me, but I only had thoughts for that sad little jacket laying in the mud.

I ran to it, flipped it over.

A pale, lifeless face stared up at me.

Its eyes were hollow pits, its mouth a crimson smile sliced from ear to ear.

A strangled cry escaped my lips.

It took me a long moment to realize that I was looking at some sort of a doll.

Its head was made of an empty hornet's nest, its grin painted on with what looked like

berry juice.

Who would make something like this?

A bony hand squeezed my shoulder, and I jumped.

Maddie Corbin glared down at me.

I warned you not to run off on your own.

I didn't understand why she was so angry until I looked around.

I could no longer see the parking lot or the trail.

I had no clue how to get back, and from the expression on Ranger Corvin's face, neither did she.

She took out a compass, and we both waited while its needle spun

and spun

and spun.

Ranger Corvin took a deep breath.

The kind you take when you're trying to get your fear under control.

She replaced the compass on the side of her pack, extracted some reflective tape from a side pocket, then wrapped a strip of it around a nearby tree.

Looks like old Higgs wasn't completely full of shit after all.

Huh?

Bert Higgs, my predecessor.

He used to say that all sorts of strange stuff happened on this side of the park.

What did he say?

I don't know.

Never paid him much attention.

I always figured he was just messing with me, you know, because he didn't like women in the service.

I joined up in 1973, and he retired two years later.

My heart skipped a beat.

There was no way that the 30-something woman in front of me had joined the park service in 1973.

The unusual uniform, the old-fashioned cruiser and bulky backpack.

It was all starting to make sense.

What?

What year do you think it is?

It's 1975.

Maddie Corvin stared at me like I was crazy.

Why?

What year do you think it is?

Before I could answer, a snapping twig made us both spin.

The stag.

I had always considered deer to be harmless, innocent animals.

I cried when Bambi's mom died, and hunting had always made me queasy.

But there was nothing harmless or innocent about the beast that was staring us down.

Foam frothed on its black lips, and its eyes glowed with a hateful alien light.

It stomped at the ground, and that's when I realized

it was getting ready to charge.

Look out!

Maddie started to yell, but I was already running.

The primitive monkey part of my brain wanted to scramble up a tree, but the branches were too high.

And meanwhile, the stag's hoofbeats were closing in.

A brown blur passed beside me.

Maddie Corvin.

She was making for a narrow gap between two of the mossy boulders up ahead.

She dived into the narrow, jagged space, and I threw myself in after her.

Seconds later, antlers cracked against the rock behind me.

And again,

and again.

Ranger Corvin and I had backed as deep into the crevice as we could.

The stag's antlers were too wide for it to pass, but it still gnashed at us with its square herbivore teeth, like it was trying to eat us alive.

Blood poured down its forehead, but it kept battering its body against the stone until it finally crumbled to the ground

and lay still.

Maddie and I looked at each other.

She approached and opened one of its tightly closed eyelids with two fingers.

The eerie light was gone from its eyes.

The stag

was dead.

I asked Maddie if this was normal behavior for the deer around here.

She looked at me like she wanted to skewer me on the stag's antlers herself.

I could see why she was so frustrated.

In our haste to flee the stag, we had completely lost sight of the tape-marked tree.

Or so I thought.

Even though Maddie had only marked one tree, behind us were six of them, each indicating that we had come from a different direction.

What the hell was going on here?

Okay, so the tape isn't going to work.

Uh, what about the rocks?

These boulders had to roll down from someplace.

We can follow them uphill until we're high enough to see the road.

I squeezed the pink jacket in my hand.

Kylie loved exploring, loved looking over the edge of high places.

Would she also think to follow the big stones uphill?

It was slow going.

There was no path through the sea of ferns and enormous trees.

No indication of direction apart from the trail of boulders.

No birds sang.

No squirrels leapt from branch to branch.

The quiet made me paranoid.

I kept looking over my shoulder when I really should have been paying more attention to what was in front of me.

I was about to take another step when I felt a weight on my shoe.

Something cold and heavy slithered across my foot.

I heard a rattle.

No.

A lot of rattles.

The ferns around us were rustling, but not because of any breeze.

Are rattlesnakes even native to this region?

I didn't know enough about the local fauna to say for certain.

Maddie Corvin froze.

We made eye contact, and she reached slowly for the nearest boulder.

I copied her.

The feel of the rough stone was reassuring, but would I be able to scramble up it in time?

No

quick movements,

I warned myself.

Do not panic.

No matter what happens,

do

not

panic.

Let's go!

With a shout and a kick,

Maddie Corvin sprung onto the rock.

Something long and writhing snapped at her as it fell from her leg.

She was clinging to the rock by her toes and fingernails, but she had made it.

Meanwhile, the rattling around me intensified.

My blood turned to ice as the thing on my foot began to coil its way up my bare leg, underneath the fabric of my pants.

Its scales were cold against my skin.

The tongue of a second snake flickered against my ankle.

Maddie,

get

going.

Find Kylie.

The look in Ranger Corvin's eyes as she looked back at me told me I was a dead man.

But she understood that Kylie was my priority.

She scrambled up the boulder and out of sight.

The serpent coiled around my thigh, squeezed tighter.

I held my breath, waiting for its bite.

But it never came.

The snake wrapped around my ankle hissed up at the one on my thigh.

With a hiss of its own, it slithered down my other pant leg and out the cuff of my jeans.

It was now or never.

I very slowly lifted my boot and planted it on the rock.

I would only get one chance at this, and if I fell, I was a dead man.

Fangs shot out of the ferns and buried themselves in the sole of my shoe.

It was all the motivation I needed.

I threw myself against the rock face and clawed my way to the top of the boulder.

The ground below looked deceptively peaceful from here.

And Ranger Corvin was nowhere to be found.

I climbed from stone to stone until the slope of the land grew steeper.

Up ahead, a jagged black cave opened in the cliff face like a hungry, toothless mouth.

Several objects hung from the branches around it.

More of those creepy dolls.

The gruesome style was the same as before, but the clothes they were wearing were different.

Where I'm going, there are a lot of kids like me,

Kylie had said.

Did each one of those figurines represent a kidnapped child?

I shivered.

The breeze from the cave was musty and cold.

Whatever was causing the strangeness in this part of the park clearly emanated from here.

The dolls were proof enough of that.

Did I really think I stood a chance against something that could vanish at will, control the minds of animals, and send a horde of snakes slithering down the side of a mountain?

It didn't matter.

My daughter's life was at stake.

So much had changed after Kylie was born, and one of the things things I left behind was my cigarette habit.

I used to smoke about a pack a day, but during my wife's pregnancy, I cut it back to zero.

Even so, I never stopped carrying a lighter in my pocket.

I couldn't have said why.

Maybe I imagined having one last toque in my final moments, like some 80s movie action hero.

Instead, that frail piece of plastic was about to be my only source of light as I entered the cave ahead.

The sloping stone ceiling grew lower and lower as I walked.

I've always been claustrophobic, and soon I was afraid I would have to crawl in the dirt alongside the hand-sized cave spiders.

But the path never grew so narrow.

In fact, I couldn't shake the feeling that something just a little bit taller than me had been moving through here for so long that the tunnels had accommodated to its shape.

Before long, the daylight and fluttering insects of the service world were gone.

There was nothing but me and my lighter, and I had no idea how much juice it had left.

At any moment, it might burn out, leaving me in total darkness.

The flame reflected off of something up ahead.

Dark and rainbow patterns shifted on its surface, reminding me of oily water.

But the stuff was too thick for that.

Glistening strands of it hung mucus-like from the ceiling.

A tiny figure stood at the edge of the weird pool, looking doubtfully into it.

Careless of of whatever dangers might have been lurking in the shadows, I threw my arms open and ran to her.

Kylie!

Hi, Daddy!

My daughter smiled.

She didn't seem hurt, not physically at least.

I asked her what she was doing here.

The man in the woods says that I should go for a swim.

He says if I do, I'll be able to fly and talk to animals just like him.

What?

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

How?

I don't know.

Why don't you ask him yourself?

He's standing right behind you.

At that moment, the flame of my lighter went out.

I hugged Kylie to my chest and fled back the way I'd come.

I hoped.

My foot slipped on a loose rock, and I crashed headfirst into something that was cold, slimy,

and taller than me.

There was an awful, inhuman chittering noise.

Six long fingers grazed my hair as they grabbed from my head.

Kylie screamed.

I dragged us forward along the cave floor, ignoring the spiders skittering through my hair and down the back of my shirt.

The man in the woods, whatever it was, strode slowly behind us, taking its time,

enjoying this.

There was a light up ahead, but that didn't make sense.

Even if we had made it further than I thought, we still shouldn't have been anywhere near the cave entrance.

The light bobbed closer, shone on our faces.

It was a flashlight.

Its beam flickered up to the thing hovering over us.

Stay down and keep moving.

The boom of her pistol echoed deafeningly from the cave walls.

But in the glow of her flashlight, the path to the exit was clear.

There was movement behind us, a lot of movement, as though dozens of child-sized things were scurrying across the cobwebbed ceiling.

Maddie kept firing, and Kylie and I kept running.

I set my daughter down as soon as we were free of the cavern.

To my surprise, I could see the creek and even the cars from where we stood, less than half a mile away.

It was as though whatever disorienting power permeated the place had faded, at least for now.

Moments later, Ranger Corvin backed out of the cave, her pistol still aimed into the gloom.

Did you get it?

I don't know, but I'm not budging from this spot until I'm sure you folks are safe.

Get back to your wife and get out of here.

With Kylie on my shoulders, I staggered back through the ferns.

My eyes swept the ground for snakes, but like the six tape-marked trees and creepy dolls, the rattlers were suddenly nowhere to be found.

At the edge of the creek, I spotted something shiny lying in the mud.

My car keys!

Heather sat up in the back of Ranger Corvin's cruiser as we approached.

You're back so soon.

How on earth did you find Kylie so fast?

From Heather's perspective, I had only been gone a few minutes.

For me and Ranger Corvin, however, it felt like half a day had passed.

I wondered what Maddie would find when and if she made it out of the woods.

My wife's eyes grew wide as she heard three gunshots from the ridge above.

There was something desperate about the sound that spurred me into action.

Ranger Corvin needed help, and we were the only ones who could get it for her.

I told you this was a bad place.

Kylie sniffed, wiping at the cave dirt on her face.

Heather clipped into her car seat as I pulled out of the gravel turnoff and raced back down the two-lane road to a small gas station that I had spotted near the entrance of the park.

Leaving the engine running, I dashed inside.

A dusty bell jingled above the door.

The place was a four-pump store that sold overpriced drinks and firewood to tourists while locals stopped in for bait and coffee.

The woman behind the counter dropped a pot of it when she saw me come running in.

For Maddie Corvin, almost 50 years had passed, but she recognized me right away.

Her forest service uniform had been replaced with the yellow gas station polo shirt, and her hair had gone gray, but her bright green eyes had lost none of their sharpness.

I had no doubt that the woman at the cash register was the same person who had saved my daughter and I from certain death only hours before.

You.

Her voice had been roughened by years of booze and cigarettes.

I always wondered if you'd ever come walking through that door.

After what happened, it's the only reason I stuck around here.

When Maddie had emerged from the woods back in 1975, raving about missing children and missing time, there had been no proof to back up her claims.

My family and I were nowhere to be found and she wasn't able to locate the cave or the grotesque dolls again.

The Park Service let her go less than a month later citing mental health concerns.

She had worked here at the gas station ever since.

listening to the tales the locals told about odd animal behavior and unexplained sightings at the gravel turn off by the creek.

I warn the tourists about the place.

I tell them that there's a dangerous bear in the area.

It's easier than the truth, and

who knows, maybe some of them listen.

Out in the car, Kylie was getting antsy.

squirming and kicking in her car seat.

She'd been through so much.

I made a point to grab a few of her favorite snacks from the gas station shelves, but when I went to pay, Maddie waved me away.

It's on the house.

I don't know how to thank you.

Forget about it.

It's ancient history.

You...

You really want to thank me?

Spread the word.

Let people know that if they notice kids or animals acting strange in the woods,

it might be the only warning they get.

I promised that I would.

She waved as we pulled out of the parking lot, standing just as tall and strong as she had been in the moment we met.

I hoped that whatever was lurking among the tall trees behind the gas station would allow her to live out the rest of her days in peace.

I hoped, too,

that I wasn't taking a part of it out of the park with me.

Kylie was munching contentedly on a chocolate donut in the back seat, but when I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, her bright green eyes flashed up to meet my own.

Keep driving, Daddy.

Her voice

was speaking to me

inside my head.

Keep driving

and act like you don't know.

Our tales may be over, but they are still out there.

Be sure to join us next week so you can stay safe, stay secure, and stay sleepless.

The No Sleep Podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media.

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Our production team is Phil Michulski, Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornett, and Claudius Moore.

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