S22 Ep11: NoSleep Podcast S22E11

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Your ring, your way.

They're calling.

The phone is ringing.

A message from an unknown caller.

A voice unrecognizable

audio messages from the shadows,

but one message is clear,

and it says

brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast.

We took off across the campus at a dead run, witnessed only by the few blurry-eyed students on their way to morning classes.

When Riley finally came into view, I stumbled on the pavement as my blood turned to ice.

From our vantage point, we could clearly see the windows of the corner room were closed.

Welcome, brilliant people.

Why do I call you brilliant, you ask?

Ah, the inquiring mind is a growing mind.

You are brilliant because you have chosen to listen to the No Sleep podcast.

Only the best and brightest do.

And I assume your intelligence comes from a combination of life experiences and likely some formal education.

You have a curious mind.

Knowledge enriches us.

And during these tumultuous times, knowing how to learn, how to exercise critical thinking is paramount.

And entering the hallowed halls of academia is usually the best way to learn.

Learn about your disciplines, the world, and yourself.

Now, your curious minds might be wondering why old Cummings is nattering on about college and learning.

Well, if we take a horror podcast and combine it with talk of university educations, ipso facto due to the transitive property and the a priori adjunct of non-naturalistic causes, we can only conclude that the stories on this episode feature feature people dealing with nightmarish situations based in or around the collegiate life.

QED.

So let's be smart about it.

Let's learn about the ways horror can infiltrate our lives while we're trying to infiltrate our brains with knowledge.

All we have to do is listen.

Now, do you dare pick up your phone and listen to the voices calling to you?

In our first tale, we meet Kirk.

He and his friends are looking for a place to live close to campus.

It's not easy, but then the perfect apartment comes along.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Ryan Olliman, Kirk knows the place isn't perfect.

And it's all because of a very noticeable stain.

Performing this tale are Kyle Akers, Atticus Jackson, Graham Rowett, Jesse Cornett, Ellie Hirschman, and Nicole Goodnight.

So when you don't feel right about something, it's hard to explain.

It's even tougher when you're put on the spot.

Russ wrung his hands at me in mock despair, but he couldn't hide the frustration in his voice.

What's wrong with it, Kirk?

Private rooms, free cable, free Wi-Fi.

The bathroom looks brand new.

Tell me one thing that's wrong with the place, and I'll walk out that door with you.

But as far as I can see, this place is perfect.

I nodded at each of Russ's points.

They were good points.

This was also the fourth place we'd looked at today, and it was only three blocks from the campus.

There's a stain.

Russ stared at me.

A stain?

On the rug in the closet.

I knew how lame I must have sounded to him.

In that room.

I added, like it would bolster my case.

I pointed to the bedroom closest to the front door.

The stout little apartment owner smiled indulgently at me, but he spoke to Russ, as if he were the parent, and I was the fussy child.

That's been there before I even bought the place.

He spread his hands helplessly and gave an awkward laugh.

I've had professionals out to clean the carpet.

I'm afraid the place comes with a stain.

Russ growled at me.

We're taking it.

I hated when he did that.

We'd been friends since second grade, but Russ always acted like he could bully me into doing what he wanted.

It was the next step after he tried reasoning with me,

which usually meant treating me like a moron.

I know I can be picky and indecisive.

Russ made sure I was painfully aware of my faults, but I'm not an idiot.

Resentment hardened inside of me.

Let's keep looking.

We've been looking.

For this place.

I ain't knocking any more off the rent.

Not for just one to stain, if that's what you're after.

I shook my head.

I hated being put on the spot like this.

There was just something about that stain that I didn't like.

It was dark and looked like a face almost broken in half by a mouth-splitting scream.

Every time I saw it, the stain sent a bolt of cold fear through me.

Russ turned to the owner confidently.

Let me talk to him.

Then he seized me by the arm and dragged me into the small kitchen.

Are you serious?

I don't like it, Russ.

And I don't want to get stuck living here for two semesters when I don't feel right about the place.

Look, let's give it a try.

If this place just isn't right for you, I'll buy your contract.

With what money, Russ?

You don't even have a job.

I said I would.

Isn't that good enough?

Once again, he was manipulating me.

Once again, what could I say?

Can't we please just look at one more place?

Don't beg, Kirk.

Besides, if we go somewhere else, someone's gonna snatch this place up.

I guarantee it.

A bird in the hand, Kirk.

I grimaced.

Fine, but if I don't like it.

This'll work out.

Russ hurried over to the owner.

We'll take it.

Our other two roommates, roommates, both from Russ's and my hometown, moved into the apartment a week later.

John the jock was more Russ's friend than mine.

We got along if I stayed out of his way.

Howie usually dropped his classes two weeks into the semester so he could immerse himself in his gaming habit for hours on end.

His dad paid his tuition and housing, so Howie was in no hurry to finish his education anytime soon.

Despite my best efforts, Russ arranged it so that I had the room with the stain in the closet.

Initially, I'd chosen the room farthest from it.

I had all my clothes unpacked and my laptop and monitor hooked up.

But when I came back from my job that night, all my things had been moved into the room with the stain.

It also happened to be the smallest of the four bedrooms.

Who moved my stuff?

I demanded, stomping into the living room.

Russ and John were displayed on the couch watching some comedy.

Howie was in the kitchen microwaving five frozen beef and bean burritos.

Russ shrugged, looking innocent.

That's where it was when I got home.

John?

Sure.

But one side of John's mouth curled up in a sneaky half-smile.

Howie just shrugged.

I don't know anything.

I'm Switzerland.

I'm neutral.

I stared at Russ and John.

It had to be them, but what could I say?

Cut it out.

You're like some vulture just standing there.

Sit down or get out.

I stormed into my room and slammed the door.

That was the first night I had the dream.

I was in another place where the air felt heavier and thicker.

The ground beneath me squelched and squirmed, a swampy, greenish fungus that made me shudder.

Above me, the sky seethed with every color and no color at all.

There were these large lumbering things shambling through the swampy landscape, scooping up great mouthfuls of the dripping fungus in their camel-like mouths, briny water slithering down their shaggy necks.

Black parasites clung to the thing's flanks, wriggling and jockeying for an artery.

They'd shriek when the lumbering things reached back with their long necks, crunching the parasites between big blunt teeth.

And then the hooting began, deep and echoing from the treetops.

The trees, hideous growths with pitted, scaly bark the color of dried blood, began to thrash, and the lumbering creatures panicked and stamped.

Death was already leaping onto them.

The predators were ape-like, massive with six thick tarantula limbs and spiky purple-black hair that covered their bodies.

They launched themselves from the trees, latched onto the lumbering things, and tore out their throats with ravenous teeth.

Whitish blood stained their purple-black fur and their greenish teeth.

Just as the predators began to feast, some of them turned their eyes on me.

Deep, red, multifaceted eyes.

Six allotted each had.

That hideous hooting rose from their thick chests again.

I screamed and tried to get away, hearing those powerful legs tear through the slimy landscape behind me.

I didn't sleep much that next week.

The dream kept returning, always the same and always starting as soon as my eyelids slammed shut.

I stayed up late studying, reading, playing games on my phone, but I couldn't function without sleep.

Eventually, I started dozing off in class and at work.

I couldn't concentrate on my assignments and I became more and more irritable.

A week later, I confronted Russ in his room.

Okay, very funny.

Now where's my winter box?

What box?

The one in my closet.

The weather guy's predicting 50 degrees is the high next week, and I was going to unpack my jacket and stuff, but the box is gone.

And this is my fault.

Why?

It's the kind of thing you'd do.

I knew those were fighting words, but they had to be said.

To my surprise, Russ didn't light into me right away.

I don't know what I did to deserve that, but I didn't take your box, Kirk.

Search my room.

He gestured to his belongings.

I glanced over the place.

Of course, there was no sign of my box anywhere.

I wanted to insist on searching his closet, but he made me feel petty.

And small.

Russ shrugged.

Or don't.

Suit yourself.

I've got better things to do than to deal with your tantrums.

I bristled at that, but I kept my tone even.

Better things?

Like what?

He smirked.

Well, I've got a date.

One date became two, then three.

Then Russ and Vanessa became boyfriend-girlfriend, and she was over all the time.

She was nice enough, but she laughed along whenever Russ or John poked fun at me.

She was there watching a movie with the two of them, her legs draped across Russ's lap, when I charged into the living room and switched the TV off with a stab of my finger.

Hey!

John rose to his feet.

He towered over me by several inches, but I was too enraged to back down now.

My backpack.

I need it.

So where is it?

Russ lolled his head back and heaved a weary sigh.

No one's been in your room, Kirk.

Just like no one moved my stuff in there?

Just like no one stole my winter clothes box?

I'm sick of this, Russ.

I need to study for my economics exam and I need the notes in that backpack.

I don't have time for this.

John jabbed two fingers into my chest.

Maybe you shouldn't lose your crap and then blame other people for stealing it.

I didn't lose it.

I left it on the floor in my closet and now it's gone.

Maybe the closet monster got it.

I guess Vanessa was trying to cool things off with a joke.

She curled her fingers into claws, wrinkled her dainty nose, and made these muleing, snarling sounds.

As she pawed at the air.

Or underwear, gremlins.

Or the thing under the bed.

Vanessa playfully turned her claws on him.

He gripped her wrists, struggling and laughing.

John shook his head at me in disgust and switched the TV back on.

I stood there, trembling with rage, but I didn't know what else to do or say.

I was always outmaneuvered by these guys.

Angry and powerless, I returned to my room.

But I didn't slam the door this time because a thought came to me.

A connection I hadn't made before.

It was just a coincidence, but I remembered when I set the winter clothes box down.

I'd set it directly over the stain.

I recalled the relief I felt at covering the awful thing up.

It was the same for my backpack.

I'd tossed it into the closet and it happened to land on the stain.

And I congratulated myself like I just made the winning shot at the NBA Finals.

As I stood there, I thought about what Vanessa had said.

Perhaps it wasn't really a closet monster stealing my things, but what if it was something...

weird?

Something associated with the stain or with the space above the stain?

I decided to experiment.

Recently, I'd replaced my old smartphone with a cracked screen with a newer model.

I pulled the old phone out of the drawer where I'd stowed it and carefully set it on the closet floor directly over the stain.

I stepped back and shut the door.

Out of habit, I switched off the closet light.

I counted to five before turning on the light and opening the door.

The phone was gone.

Just gone.

I stared at the stain for a long time, and I thought about my dreams.

I pictured my backpack sitting on a mound of slimy green fungus earth, or my winter clothes box getting crushed beneath the heavy foot of one of those lumbering things.

This shaking started in my hands.

and spread to my whole body.

My teeth chattered.

I felt watched, as if the predators from my dream crouched in my closet, waiting to start their hooting.

I slammed the closet door, grabbed the new coat I'd bought to replace the one in my winter clothes box, and ducked out of the apartment without a word to Russ or the others.

I needed to think,

to sort this out,

to decide if I could ever sleep in that room again.

I walked the streets for hours, the evening turning brisk and cold.

Autumn leaves crunched under my shoes.

I took a bus to the mall

and walked the warm concourse between shops.

But I couldn't bring myself to enter any of them.

Each shop seemed like a doorway to another world, and each of them was next to another, or stacked on top of each other.

I wondered if the stain operated like an opening between the two shops, so that things, if left left there under the right conditions, dropped through into the world beneath ours.

The mall closed around 9, but I still didn't want to go home.

I bought tickets for the latest superhero movie at the mall's multiplex and fell asleep before the previews ended.

This time, I didn't dream of that other place.

Best sleep I'd had in weeks.

I didn't get home until after midnight.

The living room was dark and empty.

I saw the telltale glow of Howie's computer under the crack beneath his door.

Setty's snoring came from John's room.

And the door was closed and the lights were out in Russ's room.

Quietly, I slid into my room and flicked on the lights.

I sat on the bed and took off my shoes.

Something kicked the chair away from my desk and burst out from underneath it, snarling.

I leaped to my feet, but quickly saw that it was Russ.

He crawled out and fell onto his side, gripping his stomach as he laughed.

Good, huh?

I scowled.

It would be funny, I guess, if you enjoyed playing cruel pranks.

If you enjoyed constantly picking at people, always trying to prove how much smarter or better you are.

It came to me that Russ was a social predator, and I was just his docile, lumbering prey.

I'm leaving.

Come on, Kirk.

No, I'm selling my contract.

I want out of here.

It was just a joke.

Russ turned and called out to my closet.

Vanessa, come out and talk some sense into this guy.

A fist clenched my guts and gave them a sharp wrench.

I turned to look at the closed closet door.

There was no reply from Vanessa.

No movement behind the door.

Russ swung to his feet and went to the closet door, rapping on it with his knuckles.

Come on, Vanessa.

We were both supposed to jump out.

No sense trying to act like you weren't in on it.

Still no response.

Russ clucked his tongue and opened the door.

No Vanessa.

Just my clothes on the racks.

My boxes on the shelves above the racks and that awful stain on the floor leering at us.

Russ went inside and checked behind my hanging clothes.

But where did she.

I swallowed, hard.

He turned and stared at me wide-eyed.

Kirk, what's going on?

She.

She went there.

I started shaking like before, but worse.

I fought to keep my voice under control.

The same place my winter box went.

Are you still mad about that?

No, no, no, they vanished.

They vanished just like Vanessa.

Is this supposed to be funny?

Russ gestured to the closet.

Because it isn't, Kirk.

What did you do?

Nothing.

You were pranking me, but you didn't know.

And now.

And now Vanessa's gone.

Where did she go?

I don't know.

If you hurt her,

but then he stopped.

His expression went cold.

I'm calling the cops.

What?

This isn't funny, Kirk.

It's sick.

You did something to her.

And if you won't tell me, then maybe you'll tell them.

Looking back, I know he couldn't have proven anything.

However, in that moment, I felt trapped.

Like my life was about to end.

Russ would pin this on me somehow.

It was what he was good at, always putting the blame on me.

I remembered when he wanted to steal game cartridges out of their cases at Walmart when we were maybe 10.

He made me try to carry them out of the the store because he'd come up with the idea.

When we got caught by my mother, he blamed the whole thing on me.

My mother believed him because I was the one with all the cartridges crammed into my pockets.

Russ later told me that if I was stupid enough to get caught with the cartridges, I deserved what I got.

It would end up the same with Vanessa's disappearance.

Except this time I would go to jail.

Or worse.

Not this time.

I lunged from the bed, slamming both my palms into Russ's chest.

He staggered back into the closet, rage on his face.

I banged the door shut, expecting him to hurl his weight against it, to splinter the door frame.

Russ and I were roughly the same height, but he had almost 40 pounds on me.

I braced myself against the door.

Only no impact came.

Acid bubbled in my throat once I realized what I'd done.

I whipped the door open.

The closet was empty.

I had a cousin living in town, so I spent the night on his couch.

The next day, I gathered all my things and moved out.

John and Howie didn't seem to care, though John asked if the closet monster got me last night.

I said I didn't think it was very funny.

John just laughed.

Could I somehow lure him into the closet?

I stopped myself.

I couldn't do that again, not even to John.

I'm not even sure what happened to Vanessa and Russ.

Sometimes I wonder if this is just an even bigger prank they played on me.

Someday years from now, they'll show up on my doorstep and laugh at how they fooled me.

I'm not holding my breath waiting for them, though.

The police got involved a few days after the disappearance.

They questioned me, but concluded that Russ and Vanessa probably ran off together.

College kids do it all the time.

I haven't dreamed of that other place since I left the apartment.

But sometimes I wonder what would happen if I went back.

What if I somehow talked my way into the apartment and took a nap in that room?

Would I see Russ and Vanessa in my dream?

The thought terrifies me, yet at the same time I'm filled with a determined curiosity.

At least then I'd finally know what happened to them.

Of course, I also started wondering if something could eventually climb up out of that other place and into ours.

Around the same time that thought occurred to me, just before I transferred to another university out of state, I read online that another college kid had gone missing.

The writer of that article made the interesting connection that two other students had vanished from that same apartment, my apartment, only a few months earlier.

Except this time, the police found claw marks on the walls, blood on the floor, and purple black hair in the closet.

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When you're in university, you likely spend a good amount of time in the library.

It's the perfect place to study and find the answers you're looking for.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Hannah Brown, we meet Ava and she's found a unique spot in her university's library and she knows of a way to get the answers she seeks.

Performing this tale are Nicole Doolin, Nicole Goodnight, and Ellie Hirschman.

So, amidst all that knowledge, be careful what you ask for when you seek the demon of the stacks.

There's a study cubicle in the back corner of the Englewood University Library that defies change.

Around it are plush chairs and white plastic desks.

But this study cubicle remains tucked in a shadow, still with its shined cherry wood and lacquer, still with its hard-backed wooden chair.

The original inkwell inlaid into the top right corner, glistening with murky crimson ink, a quill resting against its side.

Only one piece of graffiti is carved into its surface like a prayer.

Prick yourself and write your questions.

Ava stares at the quill as if it is still attached to the bird it was plucked from, waiting for it to leave her.

They were right when they said sitting in the seat was like facing down the barrel of a gun.

The entire world fades away as she wills her hand to move.

To write her questions.

In her pocket, her phone buzzes nastily.

It has been droning from Matthew's messages all week, turning into an angry hornet.

The fear of his sting pushes her her to seize the quill.

She holds it like a dagger ripe for murder for just a heartbeat and then shifts, sliding its plumage between her fingers, settling softly against the notebook paper she had laid out.

A phantom hand wraps around her own, the skin cold and clammy, and pressing just hard enough that she would have to tug to be free of it.

Ava swallows a scream.

They'd They'd warned her about the grasp of the phantom hand, but they hadn't mentioned the cool exhale she could feel at her nape.

The tickle of ghostly hair against her cheek.

Ava holds her breath.

So too the cold breaths halt against her neck.

But the hand around hers only squeezes tighter, knowingly.

Right.

The price.

Holding her right hand over the inkwell, she stabs with her her left.

The sharp end of the quill pricking the heft of her palm.

Bright red blood runs down, mingling with the previous offering staining the font.

And the thing behind her sighs in ecstasy.

Too late to stop now.

Even as her hand trembles, she brings the quill over to the paper and writes.

Is Matthew the one following me?

The hand around hers presses her back to the page.

Yes.

The handwriting is much more beautiful than her own chicken scratch.

Each of the letters are crowned with calligraphic flourishes, sometimes a little heart.

Ava gasps, validation rushing through her.

It had been the promise in his lingering touches.

The violence in the one kiss he had stolen after their only date.

The greed in his conversations.

A tear trickles from Ava's eye.

There is some great feeling of relief to see it confirmed.

To feel believed, even if by this cursed quill.

Ava closes her eyes for a moment.

Will he hurt me?

Again, the phantom hand moves hers.

Yes,

he will.

Ava scrapes her free hand over her cheek, smearing blood with her tears.

Hopelessness rises up on its hind legs, threatening to run her over.

She sucks in another breath and closes her eyes for a moment.

Ava?

Ava's head jerks around, turning to look over her shoulder as Matthew approaches through the stacks.

His eyes gleam, spotlighting on her alone.

The phantom breath is against her cheek now, like the hesitation before a kiss.

For the first time since Matthew wouldn't take no for an answer, there is someone with her, watching and knowing the same as she does.

Ava ignores him, turning back to the page.

Can you help me?

Ava?

Matthew laughs, though there is nothing funny about the way he moves immediately to invade her space.

What are you doing?

This time, the Phantom doesn't jerk into motion immediately, as if weighing some impossible inevitability.

But then, slowly, the hand guides her again.

Yes,

for a boon.

Ava.

Matthew sits next to her, dropping a heavy hand onto her knee and yanking her whole body around to face him.

The quill drives a crimson slash through the page.

A boon?

For a phantom in a writing desk.

The little heart's gleam still wet and bloody.

Matthew reaches for her face, for the blood she smeared across her cheek and mouth.

What did you do to yourself?

Ava yanks her face away, slamming herself back into the seat.

Don't fucking touch me!

And before he can respond, she presses a bloody kiss to the paper.

The phantom hand squeezes her softly, the lips pressing against her cheek.

Again, she adjusts her grip on the quill, turning it dagger-like and brutal.

What the fuck are you doing?

And as Matthew reaches out, grabbing her face in another vice-like hold, Ava's hand lashes out,

drawing another bloody line across his throat.

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There's a lot to learn while in college, and it's not always the subjects you're studying.

It's also a time to learn about social interactions and interpersonal dynamics.

That's just a fancy way of saying learning how to party.

And in this tale, shared with us by author A.K.

Cullarden, we meet Jared, who is on his way to a big party.

It's understandable that he's nervous.

He might not know a lot of people there.

Performing this tale are James Cleveland, Ash Millman, Andy Cresswell, Erica Sanderson, Jake Benson, David Alt, and Penny Scott Andrews.

So he's not crazy.

Remember that as we hear Jared tell us.

I got invited to a party that didn't happen.

My head leveled back.

allowing me a view of the clear night sky.

I'm no astronomer, but I had a childhood fascination with stars and constellations.

There was the Big Dipper.

Ursa Major, Gemini, Orion,

and

I need a double take.

Right in the center of Orion was a big bright star.

Again, I don't know the constellations by heart, but I was pretty sure there were no stars that bright in that particular area.

Nor any with the odd hue it radiated.

I let it go for the time being.

Too much already on my mind.

Inhaling deeply, I looked back down to an empty road and sighed.

My shirt clung to the small of my back, already slick in the muddy, breathless September evening.

Natalie should have been here ten minutes ago.

A reasonable weight, admittedly, but couple that with shock nerves and a dash of heartburn, and it was...

Something unpleasant.

I'm studying social sciences, so it's ironic I'd be this stressed over a party.

Comical, almost.

I spend so much time studying I find myself atrophied of social skills.

An old childhood friend of mine hit me up a week ago with an open plus one.

It was a Saturday, and being ahead of schedule, I decided it couldn't hurt.

Get out of the comfort zone for a bit, you know?

Just before I caved in and went home, Two steadily growing beams drew my attention.

They seemed out of place somehow.

The neighborhood was quiet.

Not even a whisper raked its way through the leaves.

I stepped forward onto the sidewalk, and a wave of self-consciousness hit me as I imagined the street lamps painting my face in their unflattering hues.

Still, I paid it no mind and mopped the shine from my forehead.

The dark sedan whined as it pulled up.

I winced a little and strode over to the rear door.

It popped open and interior lights illuminated a girl with long glossy hair, black as the vehicle

Wow, that shirt's a tad neat for you, Jared.

Natalie grinned, scanning me up and down as I climbed in.

The seat pushed a sigh out of me as I sat, and I chuckled a very awkward chuckle.

Really?

It's a bit creased.

I mean, it's a little more formal than I'd expect.

We're not going to a dinner party, you know?

My heart sacked.

I was going to look like a fool.

Shit.

I knew this was too much effort.

I...

Oh, shush.

I'm kidding.

If anything, you'll impress...

Uh...

stand out.

That made me feel better.

But the uncomfortable idea of drawing eyes lingered.

Right, thanks.

Got any drinks?

Natalie gave me a wry smirk.

Is that a no?

She rolled her eyes and let out a giggle.

God, do you even know me?

Inexplicably, she withdrew an orange bottle from a handbag that could have fit in my back pocket.

Schnapps, by the looks of it.

She held it out, but pulled back when I reached for it.

Whoa, pace yourself.

Tell you what, since I'm giving you drinks, can you get the Uber?

I frowned at the suggestion, knowing full well the fee would be far in excess of the few sips of liqueur.

Please.

Her eyebrows sloped in mock supplication.

I couldn't stand up to those twin pools of emerald.

Not when they shone like that.

Okay,

fine.

Natalie beamed, handing me the bottle and settling with an excited little bounce.

Overly peppy, perhaps, but cute, nonetheless.

I felt liquid courage flush my cheeks, a cloying peach aftertaste clinging to the back of my tongue.

A bit sweet for my liking, but I wasn't drinking for the taste.

My eyes drifted out the window.

On any other night, I might have been concerned at the complete lack of cars, but it didn't matter then.

As much as my mind thrashed against the prospect of socializing, I needed this.

Luckily, with the schnapps on a steady course through my veins, dread lessened, and I actually caught myself looking forward to the function.

I felt a slap on my arm and snapped back.

Don't get woozy now.

I'm not dragging you out of this car when we get there.

Jesus.

All right.

I think I'll stick to the beer from here on out.

The silence laid thick as ever, even when we pulled up to the warehouse on Ibis Street, right on the fringe of town.

I'd expected some noise, muffled beats or a distant chatter, but no.

Whatever weighed on the air was something else.

Then again, I still felt nervous, so it was probably just that.

Thoughts and nerves really go hand in hand, huh?

Like that time Arnold, my dog, shat on a neighbor's front lawn and I watched their house out the window because I was too scared to...

Hey, you with me?

I looked over to the driver, twisted around in his seat.

He snapped his fingers.

It's 20 quid.

I got a busy night.

Don't make me wait.

Yeah, yeah.

All right.

Hang on.

I fished out a tenor, then a fiver, and made the rest up of coins.

The driver seemed unnecessarily crass, almost knocking the money from my hand as he snatched it up.

I scoffed as I followed Natalie into the complex.

Busy night, my ass.

I haven't seen a single car out here for fuck's sake.

Natalie snorted, swinging lustrous hair as she threw a glance over her shoulder.

Don't mind him.

He's always like that.

Hmm.

We continued walking.

Wait, always?

You know him?

I thought the dude was some random Uber driver.

Ugh, friend of my dad's.

You're getting worked up, Jared.

Loosen up, okay?

No one's out to get you.

It was just an ass.

Nothing special about it.

Yeah.

I was a bit worked up, but it did seem a little out of place.

The whatever.

On we went, around the left side of the empty complex.

A large, unlit, grassy area bordered the concrete walkway.

It had no apparent purpose.

More likely the company never got around to building on it.

Perhaps it was a break spot for workers, far removed from the brutalist interior.

Dim starlight suggested a hedgerow on the other side.

No.

Actually,

it didn't really look like a hedge.

More like individual shrubs that had been planted and, while tightly clustered, never grew together.

Though, even then,

they weren't really plant-shaped.

I squinted, but before my eyes could adjust, Natalie pulled open a fire exit.

The door bouncing off steel cladding sounded like mountains collapsing in the heavy, almost gelatinous silence.

The latter won over.

So stubborn it was, an insatiable moor that swallowed noise whole.

Natalie called for me to follow.

Her grin quelled any reluctance I might have had, and I sauntered through the door after her.

At this point, I was itching to hear something other than our own smothered footsteps.

As I had that thought, the fluorescent bars above us flickered.

Surprised they were still functional to begin with, I paid it no mind.

The more pressing matter at hand was to get some goddamn drink in me.

I turned a corner to see yet another long, drab hallway.

How big is this place?

Hell, if I know.

I'm not going exploring, if that's what you're getting at.

I frowned into the back of her head.

Strange assumption to make, Natalie, but okay.

It It was then I noticed the doors.

I paused, wheeling back a few steps to peer back down the way we came.

Yes.

Metal doors lining both walls in a staggered zigzag pattern.

Why hadn't I noticed them?

They weren't much to look at, though I did catch the numbering.

Odd numbers right, even left.

I'd have expected everything in this place to be stained or tarnished, but the doors looked...

How do I put it?

As if they'd been galvanized just yesterday.

Jared, I swear to God if I have to.

Coming!

I think my anxious half likes getting caught up on details.

You know, as a distraction.

I trudged on.

Another corner, making the first dog-legged turn.

A left, a right, a left, ascending stairs.

Descending stairs.

Three more corners, and we'd arrived.

It felt as if I stepped through a veil.

The unbridled racket of a party came out of nowhere, shocking me.

My eyes drifted around the room, myriad neon lights strung up and around steel truss and girders.

An unreasonably large speaker system, a few train carriages' worth of people dressed in odd fluorescent colours, all intermingling.

And, most importantly, Three fold-up tables stacked with drinks upon drinks.

I went to tell Natalie I'd be back in a minute, minute, but she was gone.

One moment she was by my side, the next vanished.

Before I could even shrug it off, I heard footsteps approaching to my left.

Yo, Segre, you made it.

We missed you, brother.

Two guys, about my age, though noticeably well-built, stood facing me.

They looked expectant.

I'd never met these guys before, so.

Suffice to say, I was fabbergasted.

Uh.

Yeah.

Hey, Hey gents.

How have you been?

Damn, that was poor.

Who the hell says gents?

They seemed none the wiser, handing me a four pack of some off-brand piss water.

The taller man scoffed.

Nah, dude, Amy was the last horse girl I ever dated.

They're off-whack, you know?

The other elbowed his partner and stifled a laugh.

Hell of a rider, Ryron.

He looked back at me with a trailing, content content sigh.

Anyway, get some in your and get in your element, man.

The pair strolled off towards the huddled group of girls.

What

just happened?

What's this about horse girls?

That was in no way a natural progression to the conversation.

Did I mention that they too were sufferers of lurid fashion scents?

They wore baseball jackets and jeans.

By itself, that'd be pretty normal, cached even.

That was if they weren't inverted.

Not inside out, but in hue.

It actually kind of hurt to look at.

Electric blues and greens accented by a black so dark it seemed to suck in the light around it.

Hyperbole.

What a coping mechanism.

It helps when I'm at a loss for understanding.

I slithered my way to a relatively quiet corner after that, drinking my beers in excessive gulps, the kind where you swallow too much air and your throat hurts.

I'm starting to feel outgoing, I emptied the last can and crumpled it in my hand.

I'd been eyeing people up for the duration, but had yet to recognize anyone.

Right at the center of the room was a hefty steel truss support, with a large group dancing around it.

A few of them hung off the side of it like monkeys.

Feeling in the mood, I made my way over.

I remember Natalie being there, flinging her hair around while grinding on some blonde girl.

Classy.

Once she noticed me, she beamed and waved.

I tried not to roll my eyes.

Another girl hanging from the framing locked eyes with me and recognition bloomed on her face.

Is that Derek?

We missed you.

Been wondering when you were going to show up.

Raising a hand in greeting.

Several more faces spun in my direction, all lighting up with some unwarranted rapture at my mere presence.

A wave of praise crashed over me.

I was very,

very confused by this point.

I didn't know these people, and yet I couldn't resist the cheer nor the stupid grin slowly stretching my lips.

My brain raced for something suitable to say.

Of course, nothing washed ashore.

I was probably gauging my own thoughts more than all these people combined, with nothing to show for it.

Instead, I smiled smiled and weaved through bustling bodies to the support frame.

A girl with some strange mask covering her head slid in front of me, half a bottle of cognac in hand.

She was clearly drunk, but the way she pressed her body into mine was quite persuasive.

Finally,

I thought you was...

you weren't gonna show.

I could see the glint in her eyes, silvery under a few loose auburn strands.

I went along with it and tried to come up with something on the spot.

Huh?

Yeah?

Her eyes widened.

Wait, how

did you...

Do you like it?

It's gold, silver, and a little sapphire in there, see?

She tugged out a necklace from beneath her crock top.

God, you're like Clark Kent or something.

What the hell was with these people?

It was like they were talking to someone else.

Still, I played along with her quips, but honestly, the party itself was my focus.

All I really wanted was to let loose like the others.

I didn't remember this girl, and I certainly didn't have the time nor resources to invest into a relationship.

So my eyes drifted up, up above us, where three guys hung one-handed off the framing, drinks in their other.

Grey eyes followed my gaze and laughed, pushing me back.

Oh, I see.

Feeling funky?

Like a funky monkey?

Let me pour you one.

No, wait, no.

I'll pass it up to you.

Go on, go.

Go!

With a hand on my back, she guided me to the base of the steel frame.

I jolted when she slapped my ass, but tried to play it off cool, throwing a laugh back over my shoulder.

Even in the heat of the party, the metal bit into my hands, cold and dry.

I remember pulling my hand away and and finding it coated in thick dust.

There was little to none on the framing.

I think it was around this point a true feeling of unease set in.

Nothing outwardly inspired it, but rather a combination of everything that happened that night.

The complex we were in only took up roughly a 400 by 600 foot plot.

Not small, per se.

But the amount of walking from the entrance to this room seemed more fit for a nature trail.

On top of that, I thought this place had been abandoned for a good few years now.

And yet the building didn't look it.

Only the finest layer of dust settled and

any metal seemed untarnished.

And why were all these people acting like they knew me?

And not just knew me, but held me in social standing?

I've never been the gregarious type.

I'm not exactly icand either, and there's this random girl I've never met before looking at me like I was some stud muffin.

And the strangest thing of all...

Don't leave me hanging.

I pivoted, seeing Grey Eyes holding out a cup, which I gladly snatched up and thanked her for.

Small scrap of wisdom.

Don't climb steel pillars drunk and or one-handed.

I hadn't stopped to look down, and when I did, I nearly let go.

I climbed a good 10 or 15 feet, but it didn't feel like I was climbing that long.

Luckily my wits were still with me and I clung fast.

An energy surged through my body then.

I don't really know how else to describe it except good vibes.

With my major, the part of my brain responsible for it had atrophied, so it was an unfamiliar and longed-for feeling.

Chug, chug, chug, chug!

Crowd roared around me.

It was only a cup of cognac, but hey, anything can be chucked, right?

Cheers!

I lifted the drink to my lips and tipped my head back.

Then it happened.

My closed eyes faced skyward when the air itself seemed to gasp, inhaling everything and leaving a vacuum of nothing.

My ears popped and I felt the temperature drop, liquid warmth crawling down my throat.

I lowered my eyes to look down at the party.

And I saw there was no party.

I had to be in the same room.

I felt the steel under my fingers now cold enough to make my bones ache.

It was dark.

Stygian blackness pressed in from all sides, punctuated by dull moonlight barely leaking through grimy skylights.

I...

I...

I didn't...

couldn't understand what had happened.

The immediate silence pounded in my ears.

It was the loudest thing I've ever heard.

My free hand went loose in fear, dropping the cup into the abyss beneath me.

When it hit the floor, a hollow clatter rang out, and then silence.

Figuring I had to at least get down to ground level, I fished out my phone to activate the flashlight.

My finger hovered tentatively over the torch icon.

I don't know why, but

something in me said, This is no place for light.

This is no place for a beacon so easily seen.

In hindsight, it was stupid to climb down blind.

Some buried instinct told me whatever might happen if I revealed myself was worse than falling 10 feet onto solid concrete.

By some miracle, I made it down without a hitch.

Now there was a real issue.

Climbing down a pole in pitch blackness is plausible, but navigating this place,

that would be a shot in the dark.

Literally.

Waves of something sinister throbbed in my veins.

Every step echoed through the room.

I stopped often, because

what if the sound of my footsteps was being used to cover another noise?

I reached blindly in front of me, hoping to meet the handrail running up the side of the ramp we entered...

I entered from.

I stopped dead in my tracks as a new level of terror coursed throughout my entire body.

But not only that, another sensation, lingering just below the surface.

And I got the distinct impression it was behind.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I bolted.

My fear-shrouded mind relinquished control to my limbs, which propelled me forward.

I made it a few good strides before...

My forehead met cold steel.

I let out a yelp and buckled to the side of whatever I'd hit as dull pain rattled inside my skull.

I think I forgot where I was for a moment.

Dark and quiet.

My first assumption was that I was in my bedroom and I'd had a fall.

Then the sensation of cold concrete below my palms brought me rushing back.

No.

It wasn't that.

Another feeling returned first.

Eyes.

I'm not superstitious.

Never have been.

I don't know if there's some additional sense in our bodies, some obscure nerve pattern that fires when observed, but I can say with absolute certainty that I had an observer.

I had to move.

I had to get out of that awful place, and the only way I could was by turning on my phone torch.

Head still spinning, I fumbled with the screen.

It glared and stung my eyes, but I managed to tap the right icon.

Cold light spilled from my hand, illuminating the handrail about six feet to to my left.

The exact moment I turned it on, the shuffling started up.

Frantic, hurried steps closing in around me.

Whatever moved just out of sight wasn't shy like before.

It was bold, and didn't care if I heard it.

I sprung to my feet and barreled toward the railing, not bothering to skirt around the ramp and instead diving between the bars.

I steadied myself with one hand and dragged my body up the ramp, still reeling from the pain in my head.

I don't know why I did it, but when I reached the top, I paused.

With a deep sense of dread, I shifted my gaze to the expansive room behind me.

And when I did,

I made eye contact.

It was then I realized I had not one pursuer, but an entire audience.

Hundreds.

Thousands of eyes I couldn't see, but were surely there.

As if to prove that sentiment, the shuffling began.

Uncountable lumbering steps all started in unison.

I was positively surrounded.

A blur zipped past the edge of my phone's reach, immediately setting me into action.

I wheeled around and flew down the hallway, once bathed in dull fluorescence, now only lit by my phone's meagre flashlight.

This place?

It was a maze.

A vague sense of direction swam in my mind, but it was no help by itself.

I had the sudden idea that if I could follow the door numbering, I'd trace a path to the exit.

Sweeping my light to the side, I read the first number I saw.

Four quadrillion, 3,451.

I was dumbstruck.

I was itching with panic.

What the hell kind of place has a door numbered past four quadrillion?

Still, the numbers appeared to descend gradually, and with no other options, I chose to follow them.

Where was everyone?

Had they played some kind of cruel joke, and if so, how?

It couldn't be possible.

And anyway, why do that?

I'm a nobody.

Why make me the center of some prank?

The more I thought about it, the more wrong the whole situation felt.

My mind went on autopilot at some point.

If nothing else, I remember the numbers.

Oh yes.

One quadrillion.

Keep going.

59 billion, 4 million.

More.

13,920,000.

Further.

67.

32.

After rounding the eighth corner too many, I saw a door at the end of this winding labyrinth.

14.

4.

1.

I slammed my shoulder into the rusted and decayed door, which slammed open on its frail hinges, allowing cool night air to rush past my ears.

The star-blanketed sky above would have been beautiful on any other night, but now it did nothing to quell my unease.

My frozen state of shock was only broken when a phlegmy cough startled me to awareness.

I cocked my head to the side.

A haggard man with a messy greying beard sat huddled against a warehouse cladding.

He seemed...

familiar somehow.

You boy!

What the hell are you doing out here?

Go on.

Forget.

Whatever response I had was lost, because as I squinted my eyes from the cold, I recognized him.

It wasn't possible.

For a moment, tears blurred my vision, and I saw him without a beard.

Without a Fredbear Beanie.

I'd seen that face just this night.

The Uber driver.

He looked back up at me, incredulous I was still there.

Damn it, arsehole!

Can't you feel it all around you?

He's getting impatient.

You can't wait much longer.

You gotta go now!

I recoiled at his outburst and the world came crashing down around me.

I could still hear a tumult of shuffling footsteps from inside.

I could feel their gaze.

In a panic, I spun to my right and darted out across the grassy area, glancing behind me.

There was nothing.

The door bounced lazily in the wind.

If I could just get to that hedgerow I saw earlier, it'd be okay.

I'd have cover.

I could...

There was no hedge.

In fact, there was no row of anything.

Just an open field.

I swear, there was something there before, but whatever sat cloaked in darkness out there was gone.

Like they'd moved.

A cold shiver shot up my spine, spurring me on toward the treeline.

Legs burning, head swimming.

I covered the hundred odd feet in a blink.

When I reached the treeline, I stopped.

Only silence and the blood rushing through my ears could be heard.

The feeling ceased.

The feeling of eyes all around me evaporated entirely.

Hesitantly, I turned back to the building.

Nothing.

Although the door was closed now, the man was gone too.

As my mind pieced itself back together, I had the thought to try ringing Natalie.

Pulled out my phone, found her contact, and called.

You have dialed an incorrect number.

Confused, I tried again and was met with the same detached reminder.

I navigated to her contact to double-check the number.

I'm pretty sure I know what phone numbers are meant to look like, and whatever was listed as Natalie's most certainly didn't look like one.

A gibberish string of Unicode characters.

There were a few digits in there, mostly ones and zeros.

But in no way would this ever be a working phone number.

Trapped in this delirious state, something caught my eye.

Far in the upper reaches of my peripheral, a glint of light.

I snapped my neck back to look at whatever it was.

Pylon, cresting the canopy before me.

It stood monolithic and watchful, but with no signs of movement.

There.

A flash of light.

It looked pink.

Violet?

No, green.

It actually looked more blue than anything, just without actually being blue.

The colour's not important, though.

It looked familiar.

I couldn't tell if the light was a simple reflection of some other night-borne glow.

A plane or nightclub, but no, it...

was it reflection?

It looked more like something behind the pylon, behind and above it, from somewhere far, far above.

Hey, you aren't blending in very well with those stars.

I've no idea what compelled me to say that,

because as the last word slipped from my lips, its implications sent a pang of dread through my already shot nerves.

And to my horror, I got a response.

No words, nothing like that.

I know I've reiterated the feeling of being watched multiple times, but there's really no other way I can describe it.

The difference this time was that whatever looked down at me was absolutely gargantuan.

I don't know how I knew.

Much like the rest of that god-awful night, it just came to me.

The glare upon me now was to my previous pursuers as humans are to ants, no, to microbes.

I took a step back.

It felt so expansive, so huge that wherever I went, it would always be able to see me.

No matter where I hid or to what extent I secluded myself, it could always

watch me.

I took another two steps back.

The idea alone scared me enough to jump right back into action.

That gaze, it drew nearer.

It had squeezed through the confines of our world with one sole focus in mind.

Me.

That focus.

An intent, I could feel it coming in the light that now seemed beaming, powerful.

My shadow cast itself ahead of me, a silhouette bounded by a pool of impossible colors.

The shadow stretched out, distending until it met untouched darkness.

The light brought heat, too.

Tingling hot spots danced on my back, but only for a moment.

And maybe it was never hot to start with because where the light laid its fingers on me became numb.

Sort of like pins and needles cranked up to 11.

My gait turned clumsy as I could no longer feel my calves.

Right when the vestiges of my energy were drained, something changed.

I heard this Really loud sound.

How do I even describe it?

Similar to the hum of an exposed wire, but coherent.

Although not in words, it sounded angry or disappointed.

The light flickered back and forth between me and some other point of interest before a static blast tore through the trees and the grass and made my hair stand on end.

And then I was alone.

I'm not sure how long I wandered aimlessly.

I had no clear destination since I hadn't paid attention to the Uber's route.

The streets were no less empty than they had been.

It could have just been a quiet night, but

not even one late-night cruiser?

That was just absurd.

After an ungodly long meander through the town, I recognized a street sign, and it was relatively smooth sailing from there.

In 15 minutes, I was ambling down my student village and nearly fell face-first over the short brick wall outside my house.

Somehow, I'd kept a hold of my keys during the whole ordeal, and I quickly opened the door and locked it behind me.

And that's about where my memories of last night cut short.

Next I know I'm waking up this morning and when my senses returned I reeled at everything that had happened.

I'm still recovering.

I'm glad to be past it at least.

Glad to have woken up in my bed.

Initially I thought it might have been a nightmare and nothing more, but the swollen bruise on my forehead begs to differ.

I cursed my lack of foresight for not taking a picture or a video.

I'm even upset about going to sleep since it complicates things further.

I can't beat myself down.

I'm alive.

That should be all that matters.

And yet there's another issue.

Several, actually.

Now, I'd like to say I'm sane.

I don't have a history of mental illness.

Perhaps the isolation, the constant studying broke something in me, sent me into psychosis.

Still, that doesn't explain everything.

I check my email.

Not even looking for clues or evidence, and the very first thing I saw was an Uber receipt from last night.

Natalie's contact is still there.

Still a jumbled mess of characters looking more like hexadecimal than anything.

I still remember her.

How I met her in primary school, scrobbling over coloured pencils.

I have all these memories and I can find nothing about this person ever existing.

No Facebook profiles?

No archived text chains?

Nothing.

If I dreamt this person up, who put the contact in my phone?

Did I do it?

Then forgot?

And the same goes for the others at that party.

The masked girl with grey eyes.

Yeah, her name was Eloise.

Though I didn't at the time, I remember that now.

She doesn't exist either, and her number's just a string of nines.

I'm trying not to think about it, but

if these people never were, then...

How can I be sure anyone I know exists at all?

I'm really struggling here.

I don't know what to think.

I don't even know if I can trust anyone now.

In my mind, there's only one solution.

Just one way to bring clarity.

I think it's best if I pay one last visit to the warehouse on Ibis Street.

Our phone lines have been cut.

The cell signals are lost.

But we will return to delve into your darkest hang-ups when the calls will be coming from inside your house.

The No Sleep Podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media.

The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone.

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

Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley McInaule, Ollie A.

White, and Kristen Semito.

To discover how you can get even more sleepless horror stories from us, just visit sleepless.thenosleeppodcast.com to learn about the sleepless sanctuary.

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On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for taking our nightmarish calls.

This audio program is Copyright 2024 and 2025 by Creative Reason Media Inc.

All rights reserved.

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 Inc.

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And Drew and Sue using the rest of the tubes of M ⁇ M's minis as party poppers instead.

I think this is one of those moments where people say, it's the thought that counts.

M ⁇ Ms, it's more fun together.

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