S23 Ep22: NoSleep Podcast S23E22

WNSP

Welcome back to The Darkness of the Night, WNSP's overnight programming. I'm your soggy host, DC at the Mike, hoping to keep you entertained and engaged all night long.

Now, since you're probably wondering, I said I'm your soggy host because there is some flooding in the studio. No, it's not from a burst pipe or an overabundance of rain.

We're not actually sure of where the water is coming from. Fortunately, all our electrical gear is kept high off the floor and is well shielded from any danger.

But my feet are not liking this, nor is my nose.

Whew, I'll tell you, the sense of smell is overrated when you have to sit in this kind kind of murky, mucky water. I swear it's coming straight from the swamp.

It's a putrid, rotten, vegetal smell with hints of decay, waste, and slimy detritus.

Our station manager, Rosemary, suggested I take the night off, but there's no way I'm gonna keep my avid listeners from one of my shows.

So just consider me DC DC the swamp thing for this show, and I'll do my best to keep you from smelling what I'm smelling.

And to be honest, I'm still concerned about what's going on with the swamp in Cryptid Valley. First, we start talking about it, then we get what seems to be its putrid water flooding our station.

I'm starting to think it's.

What a coincidence.

Well, let's put this stink out of our mind and noses and kick things off with a new episode from the sweet-smelling folks over at 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 and wild.

Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast.

Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings.

Well, it's December, and I was all set to talk at length about how this is my birth month and how excited everyone must be to celebrate my birthday and send me presents and well-wishes and all the joyous things my advent shall bring about.

But then it dawned on me: no one does or should care about that nonsense, And that's what it is, nonsense.

And that got me thinking about how nonsense is bettered by common sense. And using common sense means using our brains and even our senses to experience things correctly.

And when it comes to our senses, we rely on them to work properly so we can process the information our brains receive day in and day out.

And if our senses aren't reliable, or even if they're too acute, that can mean we're in for a disturbing time. Think about our senses in the realm of horror stories.

We might see or hear something horrifying. We might touch or smell something that makes us instantly afraid.
We take a bite of some food that's rotten and

panic and revulsion. And that's if our senses are working well.

What if our senses start lying to us, making us see, hear, feel, smell, or taste things that aren't real, or worse, deliberately meant to disturb us. I'm sensing you know where I'm going with this.

On the episode this week, we meet people who are experiencing things that don't seem right.

Whether it's what they hear, or see, or taste, or feel, they're going through stuff that makes them wish they could rely on good old-fashioned common sense.

But these stories do have a very real point to them. One thing they can't be accused of is being senseless.

So keep your wits about you and your senses sharply tuned to reality. You'll need them working properly as you get ready to tune in, turn on, and brace yourself for our sleepless tales.

In our first tale, We meet a man's suffering by hearing horrifying things in his ears. I know what you're thinking.
Sounds like a no-sleep podcast listener. But no, this man isn't so lucky.

You see, in this tale, shared with us by author Todd Murgatroyd, the man suffers from tinnitus, or tinnitus, if you prefer. An unbearable and unending ringing in his ears.
And what he discovers is...

Well, let's just say, you gotta hear this.

Performing this tale is Jake Benson.

So hopefully it's just the silver bells you're hearing. You don't want anything else to make your ears hear.
The ringing.

I've always hated the quiet. Every noise in and out of the house is exaggerated tenfold, my mind racing with a multitude of possible deadly sources.

For a while, there's been a ringing in my ears that seems to turn itself up as high as possible, just to remind me it's still there.

Some petulant kid determined to show you the thing they learned to do six months ago. I had chalked it up to a love of good headphones and loud concerts from a young age.

Doctors have tried their best with no results. Some say it's psychosomatic.
Others probably think a loner like me is there and happy for the attention. I didn't care what was causing it.

I just wanted it to stop.

On nights like that one, where sleep eluded me, the ringing usually got worse. It would feel close, almost as if the source was in the room.
But it never hit me like this.

That night, it was unbearable. Like the internal microphone crept a little too close to the speaker and no one was around to move it out of the way.

Usually the ringing could at least be ignored by turning up the TV or even sticking a fan or a heater on for a bit of white noise. Still there, just competing for my attention.
Not tonight.

A thousand brass bands couldn't drown out what was no longer just a sound. This was something much more tangible, something that made my skull vibrate.
It felt like my head wouldn't last the night.

Like the police and paramedics would find me brains decorating the bed, unsure whether this was self-inflicted or a rare case of a head literally exploding. Either one would be feasible at this point.

Physically and mentally, the noise was going to tip me over the edge. I should have bitten the bullet there and then.
I know where the painkillers are, but I've never been one for tablets.

With my mother being a nurse, we always adopted a stiff upper lip and manage mentality to any form of illness and pain. I'd ride it out, or die trying.

I laid on the same side of our bed that I always had. facing away from the center.
Even in times of quiet where I wasn't debating tearing my own head off, I couldn't face looking inwards.

It had been nearly a year, but not having her there when I turned over was unbearable. Burying my head in the pillow seemed like the best form of action in some vain attempt to stop the ringing.

I was almost cartoonish in the way I wrapped it around the front of my head, half expecting to make a perfect imprint of the painful expression across my face. It carried on.

Not getting louder or more intense, but feeling as if it was getting closer to me.

I know how ridiculous this sounds, but it was encroaching on me, slowly creeping from the outer reaches of the room, purposeful but methodical in its movement. I know what you're thinking.

A sound in your head can only get louder, not closer. I know how insane this sounds, but there was a distance to it that was changing.
If it followed some logic, it might have settled me.

But this was beyond definition.

I knew two things. The noise was getting closer, and my head couldn't take it.
Without sounding dramatic, I was sure this was how I was going to die.

The dull ringing through sporadic moments in my life, an admonition of things to come. It was on top of me, a pressure that I'd never felt before and was absolutely prepared to never feel again.

A ringing that surrounded my head, pulsating, infiltrating. There was nothing but this horrible noise.

Then, something cut through. Not a noise this time, a feeling.
Not feeling like an emotion, an actual physical touch on my arm. The way she used to.

Even in her sleep, wrapping her hand around my bicep. A reminder that she was still there.
A comfort. I leapt up to see her side of our beds still empty.
The ringing had stopped. Silence.

Actual...

Silence.

She couldn't be there. I try and remain as logical as possible as often as I can, and that part of me was screaming that she isn't here.

That she won't be again.

I laid back down in my usual position, putting the feeling down to some visceral rebellion against the ringing, bringing me back down to Earth.

My body trying to give me something to cling to that wasn't a high-pitched ring. I laid down, and without any coercion, My eyes started to close.
I could feel myself nodding off.

Desperate to stay awake in case she...

I reminded myself not to be so ridiculous and let it happen. Take the silence.
Take the gentle pass to sleep. It was over.

I used to love my job and would happily regale anyone that would listen with the stories of my day or the intricacies of what each shift entailed. That went away the day she did.

In terms of the things I did and the way work went, my day was like any other. I won't bore you with the banality of it all.
I was on autopilot with one simple directive.

Get home and see if it would happen again. Normally, hearing about someone's weekend and the bullshit they filled it with was boring.

That day, I wasn't even sure I responded with my trademark smile and, oh, no way.

That day, I kept looking back to my arm. To where I felt it.
I needed to feel it again, regardless of what I put up with in the meantime. Back home, I couldn't wish the night away quicker.

I shoveled half a leftover sandwich into my mouth and cracked a can of coke to wash it down with. Less eating, more sustaining myself to face an onslaught.

I found myself laid as I had, facing away from the center of the bed. Couldn't tell you the time.
The dark winter nights had made time irrelevant. I was laid, just hoping.

I couldn't tell you how long for. Desperate for a repeat of the evening before.
I laid there, like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa to deliver the one thing I had on my list.

I was laid for what felt like an eternity. I could feel my eyes getting heavier.
The energy I'd expended in hope knocking me further into sleep. The right brain taking over.

It was just a pain and the body's way of dealing with that pain. I was resigned to the fact I was overreacting.

As though it had waited to mock me, I accepted sleep as my fate for that night, when it started again.

This time it was distant, not necessarily quiet, just felt far from where I was laid.

I kept still, listening to the ringing move from the corner of the room, this time over the ceiling, pausing as if to take stock of what I was doing, maybe perplexed by my lack of reaction.

It moved until it was hanging above me. Whatever it was, It was barely three feet above my head.
I dared myself to look and immediately second-guessed the urge. This all seemed very silly.

It was something in my head, a physical manifestation of stress, loneliness, grief. Surely?

How utterly pathetic that a grown man won't turn his head to look at an empty room. Honestly, I'd have felt justified in my feelings if not for what happened the night before.

It was so real, I ended up throwing my principles to the wind, questioning my enduring demand for sense.

If I could just feel what I did last night. The ringing was now inches away from my face.
Again, the pain that came with the constant, singular tone ringing around me became unbearable.

I laid there, taking it, facing the audible torture head-on for the relief that never came. I can't tell you how long it was, but I laid for an age.

The ringing almost mocking me, my head in sheer agony. I'll never forget her encouraging me and laughing at me simultaneously in the past.

Take some bloody paracetamol. Stop being so stubborn.
I'll never be able to take her advice again. And against everything I've ever believed in, I decided painkillers were my only option.

The short walk from the bed to the door caused the ringing to become more distant again. I stopped in my tracks, as did the change in the noise.

I took a step back, and the ringing almost mirrored my movements, prompting me to move towards the door, slam it behind me, and march through the house.

The ringing got further and further away until it stopped. The pain was still there, a remnant of their time I'd laid under the barrage of ringing.
The pain was subsiding.

But forewarned is forearmed, so I rifled through the bits and pieces drawer of the kitchen, searching for the paracetamol she left behind.

I chucked them back with the half-finished can of coke and took a breath. She wouldn't believe it if she saw it.
I landed both hands on the cold kitchen counter and bowed my head.

I reveled in the silence for a second, my head no longer hurting, my breaths deep and collected. And there it was again.
Incredibly distant, almost indistinguishable against the hum of the fridge.

But it was there.

Ringing. I switched the fridge off to make sure.
There wasn't another sound.

It was the ringing. I made my way back through the house, checking each door as I passed it.
The closer I got to our...

to my bedroom at the end of the corridor, the more the volume rose. Opening the door, my attention was taken by a sharp jab to the sole of my foot.

I can't remember being that audible in my own house for a long time.

It was agonizing. Trying not to stand on whatever it was, I completely lost my balance, clumsily landing on the bed.
I gripped my ankle and was stunned into silence. It was a stud diamond earring.

An earring that I would have seen on the way to the kitchen, an earring that I would have stepped on a hundred times before.

A very familiar stud diamond earring. I went numb.

I'd swear that if it wasn't literally lodged in my foot, that it wasn't there. They were missing the night she went.

The night some prick decided their drive home from a night out was more important than her life.

Than our future together. Those earrings had been thrown from her and never recovered.
I broke down. I sobbed.
Not from the pain, you understand, just an overwhelming sense that she was

here.

The touch on the arm and now this.

In some capacity, she was back in our house. I just looked at it.
I was there for so long, the tears stopped. A wave of gratitude came over me.
Another link to her was in my head. Well, my foot.

But it was here.

Any sane person would have taken it out immediately. Not me.

I just sat refusing to touch it in case it went away. Minutes passed.
Jesus, it could have been hours. I have no clue.
That period of flawed tranquility was brought to an end all too abruptly.

There was no ominous voice, no neon sign. Just a need to take out the earring.
The second I placed my hand on it, the ringing began again. Blisteringly loud.
The ringing.

Fuck, had there been a ringing sound this whole time? I was so engrossed in what was stuck in my foot, everything around me seemed arbitrary.

I could tell you now the ringing was back, and I knew what the source was. She was

here.

The touch of the arm, the earring, I couldn't explain how or why. I've always been a skeptic, but she was in that room with me.
Calling her name seemed futile, but I did it anyway.

The moment I made a noise, the ringing stopped. I panicked.
I gripped the earring, desperate desperate for that connection again.

If she was there and the ringing meant I could feel that, I'd take the pain. Fuck, I'd never leave this room.
Never hear anything but that whine.

But there was nothing. I took the earring between my fingers and began to jam it into the sole of my foot.

Over and over again, trying to reignite what had just happened. I continued scraping and stabbing.
My foot no longer looking like human flesh. I used that tiny needle to tear strips from my skin.

I landed the earring deep into my thigh in frustration and collapsed onto my back. Maybe I fell asleep.
Maybe I passed out. Next morning, I was met with searing pain and an all-new desperation.

From then on, I became obsessed, numb to everything other than that night. The ringing had gone away.

For something that started out as an annoyance, I was clinging to anything that could make it come back.

I surrounded myself with the things that belonged to her, notebooks, a necklace, the pound coin she kept for emergencies.

Nights were spent just sitting with my hand pressed against them, digging them into my skin, burning pages. One night, I took a small knife from the kitchen and opened a small area on my bicep.

I took her emergency pound coin and tried to push it in the opening. I know what you're thinking, because I think it too.
What an absolute psychopath.

Over the weeks that this occurred, I became a tapestry of trial and error marks and openings.

Where sleep was often fleeting, surrounded by the reminders of her, I crushed out easily every time. At the opposite end of the night, my body clock would wake me up.
I've never been a morning person.

I was always the type to set four or five alarms and still struggle to get up. Over the time of my obsession, I was up every morning at 7am, ready to start further research.

I've been vague about which night is which, and I'm sorry for that. The reason is I couldn't distinguish one from another.
To me, this was a singular event. An event that ended with me being woken up.

Much earlier than 7am.

It was still pitch black outside when I was woken up by a noise. Not a ringing.
This was a loud scratching that was definitely not in my head.

Through tired, squinting eyes and the lack of light in the room, it looked like a bug frantically scurrying around the room. I focused up, my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

There was no mistake what it was.

Her pound coin.

Her emergency pound coin, covered in the evidence of my futile attempts at bringing her back, spinning intensely across the wood floor. Not spinning in one spot.

This coin was shifting across the floor. The same pattern, over and over again.

I should have been scared. I should have kicked the pound coin, burned down the house, and turned my back on whatever was going on in there.
Instead,

I watched. The pattern was purposeful.
It didn't slow, it didn't stop. Maybe I'd had my eyes opened.
Maybe I was just desperate. But there was a message in the movement.
I was sure of it.

I rifled through the drawers and grabbed a pen. I began to follow the coin with the pen.
The coin moved so quickly it was impossible to keep up.

I managed to get what looked like an S written on the floor when I was slapped with a wave of sickness.

The more I managed to transcribe, the more nauseated I became. Like a fever on steroids, I began to go hot and cold as actual words spelled out on the floor.
Less handwriting, more a scroll.

She is.

Every part of me wanted to stop. She is what? Fine? Happy?

Alive?

Any of them would have been welcomed. I could have made the assumption and been happy.
Instead, I continued to copy the coin's movements.

In my haste to complete the phrase, I accidentally knocked the coin with my forearm, just for it to regain its course.

It span. I followed.

She is

ours.

I started pushing the coin, begging for it to stop. I'd had enough.
I didn't want to know who they were. Clearly, this wasn't her.

Whoever they are, it was them responsible for all this, and I just wanted it to end. I gripped the coin.
It couldn't keep writing if it wasn't on the floor.

The spinning continued within my grasp, burning against my palm. I persevered, gritting my teeth as the pain seared through my hand.

Her belongings, her things, the reminders I'd had of her started smashing against the walls, taking aim at the memories we'd created together.

The rooms span, a literal whirlwind of a past together and future that never was.

The bracelet I bought her that she never dared wear because it was too expensive, smacked me across the head and landed on the floor.

The shirt she stole from me because it suited her better stopped inches in front of my face and dropped. It was taunting me.
The damaged photos of us smiling landed on the etching below.

I had to let go. The coin dropped to the floor, covered in fresh blood, and resumed its movement.

I briefly looked at the bloody mess that was my right hand before giving my attention back to the message on the floor. The coin span past grins that once meant so much.

It made its way through the items that had landed in front of me. The path it created completing the message to me.
I could see the pattern. Despite wanting to look away,

she

is ours now.

The ringing started again.

It began to change and shift frequency. It wasn't just a ringing.
It It was screaming. A constant, never-ending wail of pain.

Didn't take me long to recognize it. It was her.

It must have been.

Every bit of me knew it was. Wherever she was, she was in agony.

And there was nothing I could do.

I began screaming her name. Every syllable causing the scream to get louder.
I begged. I pleaded with whatever was doing this to stop.
to let me speak to her.

There was nothing there and yet the room had never felt so full.

A million invisible eyes watching me, taking in my pain.

And then it shifted, the noise. The frequency changing all over again.

Back to the ringing, and then shifting to a pulsating, high-pitched laughter.

It was never her.

They made me think it was.

They drew me in, had me at their mercy, and let them invite themselves into my home, into my head.

This was my own doing.

And they knew it. For the rest of the night, I was taunted with the ringing, shifting from laughter to screaming and back again.
I grabbed the knife, put it to my throat. Maybe I could be with her.

Or maybe the ringing would just stop. As I mustered the courage to slice across my neck, the volume of the laughter rose.
The knife was taken from my hand and thrown deep into the wall.

It wanted me there.

It wanted me to live.

It wanted me to suffer. The last thing I remember of that night was the ringing.
And then it went dark.

People scoff with disdain when you tell them time is meaningless. Like it's some overused scholarly expression.

I say when you're laid in the same spot day and night, every day exactly the same, not allowed to get off this relentless roundabout, it really is.

meaningless.

The piercing ring is louder and closer than it ever has been. I haven't moved from the bed.
I don't know how long it's been.

The curtains make the room perpetually dark and when you don't really sleep, you don't even have your own perception of time.

i don't think i need to sleep anymore certainly don't want to

even if i could move i couldn't carry on with life as i know it the ringing overtaking every other noise

i haven't heard a knock at the door haven't heard the phone i assume people think i'm dead i wish i was but there's no let up I don't really think about anything else.

If there is a time where my head isn't filled with that high-pitched mocking, the respite I get is another constant noise.

The scraping across the floor. The coin still mocking me, never changing its course.

I don't have to look at it anymore. I can hear each letter form as it spins ad infinitum.

She is ours now.

She is ours now.

She

is ours

now.

WNSP will return after a word from our sponsors. 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.

Let me assure you, creative people love critics and reviewers. You pour your blood, toil, tears, talent, and sweat into a project and hope beyond hope that someone will say something good about it.

So let's meet just such a person. In this case, a film reviewer.
And in this tale, shared with us by author Vill Numenpa, Emmett has just finished watching a movie to review.

The only problem is, he can't remember a damn thing about it.

Performing this tale are Jeff Clement, Alante Barraquette, Atticus Jackson, Ash Millman, David Alt, Sarah Thomas, and Jesse Cornet.

So enjoy the movie, but please pay attention when you're watching the film called Haven Noir.

The TV was off again.

Emmett was soaking wet, but it felt so good to be able to breathe properly. How's that for intensity? Phew, what a movie that was.

Gotta give credit where credit is due. The film certainly had its moments.

But critically speaking, he had some issues to address. The trouble with modern horror movies was a persistent lack of...

lack of what?

Emmett lost his trail of thought for a second. Lack of something?

What was it?

What was he supposed to write for the review?

This damn movie was troublesome. It was hard to wrap one's brain around.

Yes, it had been unpleasant and effective throughout, that much was certain. It was more of a feeling than a thought.
But he wanted to rid himself of the movie and get this review done.

And he needed a shower. He felt almost embarrassed for being so freaked out.
Had it really been that scary?

Wait a minute. What was it called again?

Dark something.

Great. Now he forgot the title.
He actually had to reach for the DVD case.

Haven Noir.

That was it.

There was a picture of a dark forest on the cover with a set of bat-like wings hovering over the trees. Funny.
He could swear he'd seen a set of creepy eyes on the cover earlier. Hmm.

Maybe he could still see them there, sort of.

Anyways, reviews don't write themselves, and he had to send this one out by midnight.

Okay, the opening line was obvious.

The trouble with modern horror movies is the persistent lack of

persistent lack of

it was always a safe bet to say something about depth and character development, but now it really bugged him.

A lack of what?

What was missing?

So much was missing. Come to think of it, how did the damn movie end?

Wait, what really happened in the movie?

What an odd thing.

Thinking of the film felt like trying to grab smoke in your fist. What was the film about?

Emmett stared at the cover. which again looked a little different.

He didn't notice earlier the wings were somehow connected to the trees, as if the movie's title was feeding off the forest.

This was getting ridiculous.

Okay,

he was pretty sure there had been a demon or an evil supernatural being of some sort.

And a forest?

Or was Emmet just thinking of a forest because of the cover?

Jesus, he had just watched it. Why was this so hard?

He needed a quick revisit for a few key scenes. Since the disc was still in the machine, he turned the TV back on.

As the DVD menu came to life again, he got cold, as if a dozen warning bells started ringing in his head.

He really, really didn't want to watch the film again and wasn't sure why.

But he didn't need to watch the whole film, just a few clips to remind him of what went down.

But there was no button for chapter selection. Just two choices.
Play movie and die.

Only now he remembered having laughed at the die button on the first go.

After this, he would have to find out what it did, but first, play.

The movie started in a foggy forest. There was no mention of a production company, just the title of the film, Haven Noir, and the most curious opening credits.
Written and directed by you.

He remembered having snorted at this at the first viewing and did it again now. How pretentious.

The camera stayed at an image of the trees. their branches rustling ever so slightly, elevating the image just a step above a still photo.

It was captivating. Emmett remembered now having made a mental note about the quality of the cinematography.
He had meant to write it down, but never did.

The movie looked gorgeous. He certainly would not forget to mention it now.

A lonely melody played over the image. Played on an instrument Emmett couldn't name.

That was also strange.

Surely he knew the instrument, but just couldn't place it now.

Actually,

he couldn't name a single instrument right now, but it didn't feel important.

The music was so soothing, it gave him something to grab onto, something to follow. The melody felt comforting at first, but soon took sinister turns.

Emmett felt a peculiar deja vu,

like he had seen the film stoned years ago. He knew what was happening, but had no idea what was about to take place.

A hooded character appeared on the right side of the screen. You could make out its eyes, but nothing more.

The figure just stood there and stared at the camera. But it felt more personal.

It stared at him.

It went on far too long.

Emmett felt a familiar unease and decided to stop.

He reached for the remote, but a hand grabbed his wrist.

His own hand.

It took a long time to realize he was choking his right wrist with his left hand way harder than necessary.

Now Emmett remembered. It was about to reveal its face.

Oh, please don't take off the hood.

But of course, it did.

Under the hood was an old-timey court jester who smiled at him like an old friend. The smile said, I'm back.

Did you miss me?

That was a smile Emmett did not want to see.

Not the yellow teeth or the glint in its eyes. This jester was sick, lepros and insane, and more than happy to spread his disease.

The leper jester didn't want the movie to be fast-forwarded or stopped. It raised its finger to its lips with a devilish smirk.

Emmett found himself doing the same motion, no longer grabbing his own wrist. His right hand was now free, but the thought of reaching for the remote felt forbidden, somehow criminal.

He simply would not dare.

He wanted to cry out, break the tension, but that felt wrong, too.

Like blowing a trumpet in a cemetery in the dead of night. Making noise right now would have been blasphemous.

Then it happened. Exactly like before,

and Emmett was powerless to stop it. The leper jester stepped out of the TV and sat down on the couch by his side.

Emmett could not move and did not dare to look at its eyes. He fixed his gaze on the TV, barely breathing.

The leopard jester placed its hand on his shoulder and moved closer.

Emmett could feel its breath on his ear.

It felt cold and somehow venomous. As if the venom could spread in his mind through its breathing.
He could smell its rotten breath in his brain.

And it started saying things to him. Things that felt wrong, but started to make sense.

They were not so much words as they were thoughts.

Warnings, lies, threats.

Things to startle the very foundations of his sanity.

Come in it.

Find the black place

in your heart.

It's safer

in the dark.

This

is our haven.

This

is where

you

belong.

He didn't know what the words meant. He just knew they were poison.
The leper jester was taking over, infecting his mind, his imagination, more than that, his essence.

His soul was being violated, and there was nothing he could do about it. The leper jester was reading his mind, replacing all that was well with something sick.

Turning memories, the traumas, comfort into fear, hope into despair.

He saw a lepros hand touch a flower, making it sick, killing it slowly.

Did that happen on the screen or in his head?

He couldn't tell anymore.

The image of a foggy forest was no longer on the screen. Now Emmett remembered.
It was the sad people's turn to appear.

Oh, please. He didn't want to see the sad people again.

But the sad people were already on the screen, standing by a pyre in the dead of night.

They were from a different century. They were poor, starving people with sunken cheeks and rags for clothing.
They were from an era where joy was scarce and laughter forbidden.

Emmett had seen people like that in old photographs.

These sad creatures just stood by the pyre, holding what looked like baby dolls in their embrace. Emmett remembered being genuinely freaked out by the sad people before, but why?

Why were they so unsettling?

No one had said a damn word in the movie. It hadn't even properly begun, yet still it felt like it had run forever.

It hurt to watch them. What were they grieving over?

And what did did they want from him?

That was the worst part.

Deep down, Emmett knew exactly what they wanted, but refused to think about it.

The baby dolls were alive. He knew that already.

He knew what was going to happen and he didn't want to see it again. He wanted to close his eyes, but the leopard jester would not let him.

The sad people, one by one, kissed their dolls dolls goodbye and placed them in the pyre.

The dolls...

No.

Babies.

Screamed and twitched in the fire. The screams filled the room and each burning baby screamed for what felt like a small eternity.

Burning their babies made the sad people even sadder. Emmett knew, even if he could stop the movie, it wouldn't end their sadness.

Somehow he knew even if he could smash the disc to pieces, the sad people would still be there, somewhere sacrificing their babies and making themselves even sadder.

Emmett wished he could throw the movie itself into the pyre, but that was beyond impossible.

Emmett felt the sad people would never leave his thoughts and never stop being sad.

The sound of the baby screaming was opening old and new wounds wounds in Emmet's mind. He was involved now, connected with them, and definitely didn't want to be.

What's worse, the sad people burning their babies made the leper jester feel stronger, happier.

Was the leopard jester feeding on their misery or his?

As if to answer the question, one of the sad people raised an ancient black and white photograph for him to see.

It featured Emmett on the couch, now, in this moment, with the leopard jester beside him, its icy claw inside his head.

He saw sympathy in the sad people's eyes, but there was no help coming from them.

After all, they were only characters in a movie. What could they do?

But the leopard jester was out of the film, in the room next to him, squeezing his very existence, choking his will to live.

Why was it doing this? How was it doing this?

Couldn't it just stay inside its movie?

Emmett wanted to ask, needed to ask,

and gathered all of his remaining courage and strength. But the sad people on the screen warned him not to.

They looked at him and made it known that speaking out loud was the worst mistake he could ever make.

They raised their fingers to their lips.

Emmett found himself doing the same motion.

Shhh was right.

It was better to be quiet.

As long as he didn't say a word, at least the sad people were on his side.

They understood him and he felt bad for them.

The space in his mind, once reserved for logic and common sense, was now occupied with panic and despair. There was no way out, no resolution.

His only reality was a movie he didn't want to watch.

Surrender was the only option. What do you do when the roller coaster ride starts?

Ride it out.

The lap bars have locked, and you can't leave until the ride is over, no matter how badly you want to.

Ride it out. Endure, survive.
That's all Emmett could do.

The film couldn't possibly last forever, right?

He found himself imploring an answer from the sad people.

They would not meet his eyes. They were now more sorry for him than he was for them.

What did that mean?

Tell me, please tell me. He begged for them with his eyes, but deep down, he knew.

The sad people stood aside to pave way for someone else.

Kim.

Emmett was there himself, in the movie, with the sad people, looking just as sad.

He was also cradling a twitching baby doll in his arms. His eyes met his doubles in the movie, and then he knew for sure.

He knew the film would never end.

This was a never-ending nightmare, unless he did something about it.

The sad Emmet on the screen kissed the baby doll on the forehead. Emmett on the couch knew what it meant.
If sad Emmett placed the baby in the fire, all would be over. The movie would have won.

Haven Noir would have won.

He wasn't sure what it meant, but he could not, would not let it happen.

This time, Emmett did scream out loud.

It felt wrong at first, but he had to.

The sad people on the screen covered their ears, and the leopard gesture gripping his brain was furious.

It lashed out its anger at him, spewing its warnings and insults directly into his brain. It was squeezing tighter than ever, which made Emmett scream louder than ever.

The sad people were in agony, too, except for sad Emmett. The sad Emmett in the movie nodded at him and walked closer to the pyre.

He had to do something. Anything.
This was his last chance.

His hand gripped the remote, no matter how hard he tried to stop it with his other hand. The leopard gesture warned him, promised to kill his soul for good if he dared press a button.

The sad people shook their heads and moaned, begged for Emmett to not do anything.

Stop, stop.

Emmett focused all of his might into a single movement of his thumb. It took everything from him, but his thumb finally moved and touched a button.

The last thing he saw on the screen was Sad Emmett looking back at him, shocked, mouthing a single word.

No.

But his thumb hit menu on the remote.

The screen went black for a ghastly second that felt like an hour, but he was back at the menu. Play film and die were his only options.
But the first one was not an option at all.

Highlighting die and hitting OK on the remote felt nothing like he had experienced in his life before.

The leopard chester screamed one final insult directly to his brain and then vanished in an instant.

It was like coming down from a high fever in a fraction of a second. Thoughts disappeared, images faded, feelings.

what feelings?

There was only relief, like someone or something had just stopped strangling him.

He turned off the TV.

He was soaking wet, but it felt so good to be able to breathe properly.

Phew, what a movie. Gotta give credit where credit is due.
The film certainly had its moments.

But critically speaking, he had some issues to address.

The trouble with modern horror movies was a persistent lack of...

lack of

what?

Wait a minute.

What was the film about?

What

was it

called

again?

WNSP will return after a word from our sponsors. 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.

If you have kids, you probably recall the first time you had to be away from them for an extended period of time. Oh, you missed them terribly.
Felt so homesick, worrying about them.

It must not have been a pleasant time.

And in this tale, shared with us by author Sill, we'll meet a mom experiencing that separation due to a business trip. But her husband is home looking after their daughter, so things are fine.

Except for that music he's hearing.

Performing this tale are Penny Scott Andrews, David Alt, Erica Sanderson, and Ash Millman.

So let's hear what this woman has to deal with when she tells us, Someone sings to my daughter at night.

Lila is the prettiest little girl you've ever seen. Frosty grey eyes flecked with ebony, curly brown hair, and the thickest, longest eyelashes.

When she smiles, her eyes form little rainbow shapes and dimples speck her cheeks. When she first called me Mommy, My heart swelled with so much love and joy, I thought it might burst.

Every night, for as long as I can remember, I read her a bedtime story. She loves the one about the panda and the tiger.
We've been reading that every day for the past two months.

She never gets sick of it. Recently, I had to go for an overseas work trip for five days.
It broke my heart to leave my family.

I know it's a short time and shouldn't be a big deal, but I hadn't taken a single trip without my family ever since Lila came into our lives five years ago.

It was heart-wrenching, saying goodbye to Lila. My husband promised he would take good care of her, and I believed him.
He's a great dad.

But I couldn't help but worry. My husband texted me throughout the first day overseas, updating that Lila was happily distracted by a play date and a new stuffed toy.

She seemed to have forgotten about me, he joked. Once I was done with a mind-numbing slew of meetings, I hightailed it back to the hotel and hopped on a video call with my husband and Lila.

Lila was so happy to see me. She smiled and chatted happily about her new rabbit stuff toy and her new friend.
But after a while, she cried and asked when I'd be home.

I tried to cheer her up and read her a story via the call, but she just got more upset and cried louder. She kept saying she wanted her mummy.

We had to end the call call so my husband could soothe her. My heart sank when I realised that my video calls would only trigger her, remind her of my absence.

With a heavy heart, I told my husband to moniker how things are and let me know if a video call would be helpful or unhelpful the next night.

We did another video call the second night to the same results. Tears, pleading and shouting.

We agreed that I would just send her night-night voice messages messages and hold off on seeing her until I was home. The third day, my husband kept me updated frequently, knowing how worried I get.

We skipped the video call, and an hour after her bedtime, my husband told me that, apparently, Lila had gone right to bed and fallen fast asleep.

Part of me was relieved that she wasn't having a hard time.

Another part of me felt hurt. I know.
It's dumb. She's a child with a short attention span.
It's easy to forget about pesky things like your mum for a night.

The fourth night, my husband's updates were a lot less regular. I figured he had his hands full juggling his work, household chores and caring for Lila.

He did say everything was fine, so I held on to that and busied myself with work. We both agreed to skip the video call that night as well.

The fifth night, right before I left the hotel to catch my red-eye flight home, my husband video called me.

It was about an hour after Lila's bedtime, so I figured maybe he had some trouble putting her to sleep. Maybe she wanted to see her mummy before she slept.

Excitedly, I swiped to answer the call, grinning ear to ear.

The sight of my husband's pale face doused my grin. His black hair looked limp and unwashed, and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles that made his dark brown eyes look almost black.

What's wrong, love?

Everything alright? Is Lila okay?

Do you hear that?

Hear what?

He held a finger to his lips and mouthed. Listen.

Fear and exhaustion etched his face. Dread churned my insides.

I kept quiet and tried to make out any sounds. I could only hear his breathing and mine.

Love, you're scaring me. Where's Lila?

He looked defeated.

She's okay. She's asleep.
What was I supposed to hear?

Nothing. It's not there now.

What's not there now?

The.

He broke off, and his eyes widened. Listen.

He held the phone close to his lips so I could only see his nose and the lower half of his eyes. I was about to tell him to knock it off when I heard it.
Singing.

Someone was singing. It was a beautiful voice.
Sweet and gentle. Yet somehow it sent chills stabbing through my spine.

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.

The faint notes wafted from somewhere to my husband's side. It's the child monitor.
I switched it on the last couple of nights. Someone's been singing to our daughter.
Oh my god! Get to her now!

Go!

He pulled out one side of his earpiece. I've tried.
Last night and just now, I ran in every time. There's no one in there with her.

I don't give a damn. You get in there right now.
Protect our little girl now.

He stood up and walked to Lila's room. I wanted to smack him, to tell him to run.

He hesitated before pushing open the door, and I hissed in his ear.

I could still hear the singing and make out the words.

No one's as dear

as baby to me.

The door swung open and my husband stepped in the room. He held his phone out so I could see.
The room was dark, but Lila's nightlight was on. There was no one there.

Lila was asleep in her little bed, a small smile on her face. The singing had stopped once he entered.
There was only the sound of Lila's gentle snoring.

He backed out of the the room and shut the door. You see?

He walked back to the living room. No one.

There's no one there. Did you check the windows? I knew there couldn't have been time for anyone to climb out of the room.
Still, I had to be sure. They're locked, grilled as usual.

No one was in the cupboards, too. Last night I checked.
I felt a cold vice tighten around my neck. I hadn't thought of checking the cupboards.
Check it again. Now!

He sighed and went back in. He opened the cupboards.
Nothing.

It's really cold here.

He looked everywhere and I supervised, pointing out possible nooks and crannies. Nothing.

He showed me that the window was still locked. When he went out to the living room, we were both quiet for a while.
I've got to go. I've got to catch that plane, fly home to you guys.

Take care of Lila. Just sit by her bed.
Sleep in her room, all right?

He nodded, and a touch of relief lit his eyes. I can't wait to have you back.

The four hours on the flight were torturous. I spent the time researching online to see what I could find.
For the first time, I splurged on the plane's Wi-Fi service.

Everything seemed to point to spirits, but that made no sense. We'd been living in our house for a decade, long before Lila's arrival.
Nothing like that had ever happened in our house. What

was singing to my daughter? The thought hammered away in my mind. My chest squeezed painfully and cold sweat began to seep from my forehead and hands.

Are you okay?

I looked blankly at the lady next to me, then excused myself to the bathroom on board. My reflection startled me.
My jet black hair was in a wild tangle.

My hair claws must have loosened in my mad sprint to the taxi and from the taxi to the departure gate. I had no reason to run.
It wasn't like the flight could take off earlier, but I ran anyway.

I redid my hair and stared at myself in the mirror. Calm the fuck down,

I instructed myself, staring into my dark brown eyes. I took a few long, deep breaths, then returned to my seat.
My husband had sent sent me a short video.

I clicked on it, but it took forever to download on the plain shitty Wi-Fi. I had to restart the download multiple times.
Can't see vid. Text? I sent to my husband.
No response.

I kept clicking on the download button, hoping that the Wi-Fi would be stable enough for the video to go through. It was a relatively small file, so I had hope.
The video loaded.

I tapped on it multiple times, like shaking with impatience. It was an eight-second video.
It showed darkness. Then the vague lines of Lila's room took shape.

Over the cradle, Mother will sing.

My chest tightened painfully. The view shifted to Lila's face.
She was awake, staring at something above her.

Mama?

My heart sank. The video cut off.
I nearly screamed. It finally

hit me.

What could be singing to my daughter? My heart in my throat, I typed in a name I'd forgotten about for the past years, but will always remember.

Haley Bowdoin. Lila's birth mother.
It was a semi-open adoption. I knew who the girl was, met her once, but never again.

She never contacted me, and neither did my husband and I want to contact her. We would only let Lila know of her if ever she expressed the desire to know her biological mother.

A selfish part of me wanted to be the only mother Lila knew. Hayley was a drug addict.
She'd stopped using for the most part during her pregnancy.

Her family had wanted her to abort the baby so she moved out to a shelter for young mums. My heart ached for her when we met.

A petite, skinny 17-year-old with a belly that looked grotesquely large on her small frame. Her eyes were set in deep hollows, and her cheeks were deathly gaunt.
Still,

there had been something beautifully innocent in her lovely, grey eyes. She spoke in a childlike way, which I guess she still was, in a way.

She wanted her little girl to have a good life. One unencumbered by her.
I cried when she said that. It ripped my heart open to witness the love this girl had for her unborn daughter.

There was a naivety in her actions and words that made me grieve for her circumstances. A sweet young mother to be, accepting separation from her daughter before she was born.

All over damn drugs. I wished Haley well, told her that if she needed help staying clean, she could come to us.
I gave her my email and a slip of paper. My husband jabbed me sharply in the arm then.

Haley never did reach out. We didn't see her again, only had Lila handed to us by the adoption agency.
I had no idea what had happened to Haley.

I tapped the enter button, and the results took a few seconds to load. I didn't have to scroll long before I found it.
22-year-old Haley Bowden, dead from a drug overdose.

Her body had been found tossed out on the streets. She had died just three months ago.
My heart sank, and a hollow blossomed within my chest. Haley was dead.
I should have reached out.

I should have offered help, shown some compassion for Lila's biological mother. I read all the articles I could find about Hailey.
There were few.

From what I could gather, she'd left home six months before her death after a huge fight with her parents. They were sick of her drug habits.
She had to clean up or get out. She got out.

Why didn't she reach out? I would have helped. Something clicked in my mind, and I went to my email.
I typed in Haley in the search box. Nothing.
Breathed a sigh of relief. Then I tensed up again.

I went to my spam folder and typed in the same search term.

There it was.

An email from Haley.

Hi, Joanne. Haley here.

I have no right to ask for your help, but I'm in a really bad spot. I don't need much, just a place to stay.
Or just to see Lila once. Seeing her would mean so much to me.

It would be the motivation I need to get clean. I won't tell her I'm her mother.
I just want to give her a hug. Talk to her.
Sing to her. Please, Joanne.
I have no right, but I beg you.

I need to see my daughter. Love.
Haley.

A warm, sour sensation welled up in my eyes. She had reached out, and I had missed it.
She needed help, and no one gave it. Tears spilled over, streaking my cheeks with guilt.

I froze as I reread the message. Sing to her.
A wave of nausea swept over me.

She was back.

Singing to Lila. Did she want to take Lila from us? Did she want payback for my failure to help? Despite what I told her those years ago? I've been quietly losing my mind.

I have another 20 minutes to go before touchdown. My husband has not been responding to my frantic messages.
What is going on?

Is it really Hayley? Singing to my baby girl? Is she gonna take Lila from us? Am I losing my mind? What if it's something else? Not Haley, but something else.

19 more minutes. I'm crawling out of my skin.
I can't take this. No.

No, no, no. My husband just texted.

It won't stop singing.

Fuck!

The plane's finally descending. I'm making a run for it once I land.

Oh, God.

I can't lose Lila.

I can't.

Welcome to Goat Valley Campgrounds.

Looking for a place to escape your busy life and reconnect with nature? Goat Valley Campgrounds features 300 acres of quiet forest and peaceful scenery for you to enjoy. Come meet Kate.

She runs the place like her parents before her.

We know you'll enjoy your stay as long as you behave yourself and follow the rules. Your survival depends on it.

The No Sleep Podcast presents Goat Valley Campgrounds, Season 2, by Bonnie Quinn,

the final chapter.

Rule number 10: Keep track of what time the charge on the solar lights typically runs out. If the solars go out before then, do not leave your tent until sunup.
Do not open the tent, not even to look.

Stay in your tent, try to sleep, and wait for daybreak. I once asked the thing in the dark what it wanted.
To be left alone, it said. To not even be looked upon by mortal eyes.

It took those that disobeyed its wishes, and when it did, everyone on the campground would dream of dying in whatever manner they feared most.

I would dream of the beast. I assumed that the people that looked upon it died.
Why else would we dream as we did?

Well, standing there with my hand on the bones of the beast, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall, I realized that I was wrong. The missing campers were swallowed up.

They wound up in here, trapped, left to starve to death in time, I suppose.

Just as we were now trapped. I'd ordered the campground emptied, but my aunt and uncle lived here and wouldn't have left.

And there were a handful of other extended family members that also made this their permanent residence.

I wondered what they would dream of tonight.

Despite the darkness, I had a sense for where the man with no shadow was. My eye itched whenever I looked in his direction, in the corner where the splinter resided.

He was watching me more intently than his surroundings.

How about a truce for today?

We'll both get out of here, and then tomorrow we can go back to trying to kill each other. I hurt you.
Your friend shot me. I think we're even.

You're helpless here, aren't you? There are no shadows.

Yes, I am.

But before you get any ideas, you can't hurt me either. Without shadows.

I can't interact with the corporeal world at all.

I exist.

And he touched my hand to illustrate his point. Nothing about his fingers felt any different from a normal person's hand.
But if he tried to apply any sort of pressure, I didn't feel it.

But I can't influence it.

This is humiliating to admit, isn't it? Why are you telling me this? Because I need you to realize I'm harmless, so you don't waste time trying to get rid of me.

I might need someone that can interact with the physical world to get me out of here. And why would I need you?

Do you think you can find the way out?

I was about to answer that yes, I could, but then I hesitated. My initial thought had been to simply follow the right-hand rule until I found the exit.
But this was not a maze.

This was the body of the thing in the darkness. I could hardly hope to navigate the veins of my own body and find a way out after all.

While I can't guarantee we'll escape, I can at least lead us to the creature's mouth. I sense it.
The head and the heart. The domains of thought and life.

Creatures like me recognize these on instinct, honing in on them much like a cat hones in on the scent of a mouse. Okay.
We have a truce. Until we get out of here.

I might have been willing to die in the woods, but now now I wasn't so convinced that I wanted to spend what time was left to me wandering the corridors of some unspeakable creature with my worst enemy until I perished of thirst.

I wouldn't make a good martyr. We walked along in relative quiet.
I kept one hand against the side of the corridor, my fingers sliding from rib to rib. The flesh was woven branches and dry leaves.

Small bits of debris cracked under my feet as I walked. Not all of it was wood.
Small bones, mostly from rabbits and squirrels. Sometimes my feet slipped on something larger.
Perhaps a deer.

And there were a handful that felt like they could be human.

I don't suppose you'd tell me what you're trying to do, seeing as I still have a shot at killing you. But will you tell me if you've harmed the lady with extra eyes, like you said you would? Not yet.

I intend to kill her, though. Once you're dead.

I don't understand your affection for her. That's because to you, everyone is a tool to be used and discarded.

As if you're any different.

We walked a bit further. I had to pause and catch my breath, pressing a hand to the spot just below my ribs where the man with no shadow had stabbed through my shadow.

I need a minute. Perhaps you aren't as resilient as I thought.
I'll have to take care not to kill you prematurely when I have you in my grove. Could you just not? I'm so tired of your threats.
I.

He quickly fell silent. He heard the noise too.
The crack of branches from ahead of us. I shrank into the recess between ribs, my back against the matted debris.

I felt the man with no shadow crouch at my back, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. Whatever is coming our way is human.
Best to let it continue on past us.

You don't know what this darkness has done to them.

I held still, scarcely daring to breathe. Their footsteps drew closer, and then they stopped entirely, and for a moment, all I could hear was labored, halting breathing.

Then bony fingers latched onto my wrist. Fuck! Let go! I jerked away, thrashing in an attempt to throw them off.
Their grip was unrelenting, and they drew closer.

I could smell the stink of them, stale sweat and rot. And then their fingers caressed my face.
Feeling the flesh of my cheek and the line of my jaw. Please help me.

I've been here for so long.

One of my lost campers. Someone I'd tried to find, but never did.

She's not begging you to save her. She wants to die.

He spoke from a safe distance away. The asshole had abandoned me the moment she grabbed my wrist.

How do you know? I know her thoughts. I know everyone's thoughts.
I know you want to kill me. You can read minds?

I was still trying to pry her fingers off my wrist. She continued to beg for help, an endless litany of pleas.

I'm inhuman. I just know these things.

You really want me dead, and she really wants to die.

I reached up and seized her by the shoulders. She finally let go of my wrist and fell silent, reduced to a trembling, shaking wretch before me in the darkness.

Her skin was stretched tight across her bones, like even her very muscles had wasted away. How long have you been here? I don't know.
It was... I...

I...

I followed some lights and then...

And then I was lost. And then I was trying to find one of the patrols.
Lost Camper is usually just called the emergency line. If she'd been swallowed up before cell phones were commonplace,

I didn't want to do the math on how many years she'd been here. Too many.

This is what I faced, I realized with horror. This is what would happen if we didn't escape.

Condemned to wander the body of the thing in the dark for eternity as my body shriveled for want of water and food and light.

Okay,

come with us. We're gonna get out of here.
This is a mistake. Sentiment only gets you hurt.
Haven't you realized that by now? What can you tell me of this place, huh? How did you end up here?

It swallowed me up. There were others wandering in the dark with me.
Some have given up and laid down and stopped moving, and the wood and the leaves cover them up.

They aren't dead. I found one cocooned in the wall and put my hand through the branches and felt their breathing and the beat of their heart.
But you've kept moving. I don't want to be like that.

I never stop.

Always

And her breathing grew quicker, and I went silent for a little while so that her panic could subside enough for her to remain coherent.

The man with no shadow gave us directions when we came to forks in the corridors, and sometimes he hesitated or even told us to turn around and take the other passage.

It was clear he was struggling to tell which way to go. But it was better than directionless wandering.
I hated to admit it, but I was glad he was with us.

One of the others tried to kill me once. He hadn't been here long and was mindless in his terror.
He wasn't himself and he lunged at me.

I know this darkness better than he did.

And then I...

I shoved him to the wall. That's not all you did, is it?

I can hear it in your voice. No.

I...

I took a sharp length of wood from the ribs and stabbed him through the stomach with it. I thought he died, but he just

remained there, pinned to the interlaced branches. They eventually grew to cover him up and muffled his screams.
There's no death in here unless the creature wills it.

Sometimes I find myself in that corridor again. By accident, I can still hear him screaming from his tomb.

Sometimes

I sit and I listen listen to his cries just to hear another human's voice for a little while. Don't think about it.
Just think about how we're gonna get out, okay? I want this to end.

But if he can't die, then neither can I, right?

I...

I should have died a thousand times over from deprivation, but

something

is keeping me bound inside my bones. I dropped back a few paces so that I could talk to the man with no shadow.
Do you think she'll die as soon as we escape this thing?

Probably, but that's what she wants. I was quiet.
I wanted to disagree. I wanted to save her, like I'd failed to do so many years ago.

Yet after so long in the darkness, perhaps there's no way to come back from this. Perhaps if I were trapped for so long, I would feel the same.
You're afraid. Aren't you?

I know you can feel that emotion. I saw it in your eyes once.
No,

I'm not afraid. Because I will find the head of our captor, Kate.
And then you get us out.

He told us to turn again and then stopped. He asked me to put my hands against the wall and tell him what I felt.
I swept my palms along it, to the left and right, then up and down.

And when I reached up, I felt a ledge. My heart sank.
This maze was in three dimensions.

But the man with no shadow sounded more confident confident now, saying that this was why he kept getting turned around, and maybe we could make some real progress now.

I boosted the young woman up first, and then she turned and helped pull me up into the tunnel. Then I reached down for the man with no shadow.

He was as light as a feather, and it took almost no effort at all to pull him up after us. Then we kept going.

Onwards and up along the slope until it opened into a new passageway. Our progress was better now that the man with no shadow understood more of what we were looking for.

I hate to say it, but I do think we wouldn't have found our way out without him.

We had a few more passageways leading up, one so steep we had to half-climb, pulling ourselves from rib to rib.

We need to be careful, we're going to pass by the creature's heart. What's in the heart? I have no idea and no desire to find out.

Those places aren't meant for lesser creatures like myself,

and certainly not for mortals.

It was tense going after that. I was on edge, every part of me straining to hear some sort of sound other than the snap of branches and bones beneath our feet, and fearing that I would.

Then my hand slipped off the rib and found only empty air beyond.

The man with no shadow said to keep going and I stepped out into the open space, expecting to find another rib just a few paces beyond. Nothing.
This passageway was wider than the others.

I opened my mouth to warn the others and tell them to move to the other side of the tunnel when a whispering raced up out of the gulf and I froze. Like the rustle of leaves.

The ground beneath me shifted. I let out a cry of surprise and then everything was sliding.

The leaves and the bones and the branches rolling and tumbling under my feet and I went down and slid with them, the carpet beneath me turning into a river of debris.

It pulled me down into into the hallway and then everything stopped.

I tumbled a few more feet and hastily picked myself up, listening intently, hearing only the startled cries of the young woman and the swearing of the man with no shadow as they came after me.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then the floor began to slide again. I lunged this time and my hands closed on a rib.

I put one arm over it, locking my body in place as the floor rushed past me, drawn exorably further down the tunnel towards what I now realized was a vast, empty chamber.

The heart was beating, drawing everything in towards it. And then I realized that I could see.

There was light coming from the heart. Pale gray, diffuse,

but light nonetheless and more than enough for my sun-starved eyes. I turned to look inside once the floor settled in the low between heartbeats.
The beast waited for me.

The one that will someday kill me. I saw the glow of its white eyes in the darkness.
I felt its presence. Felt its patient desire.

Whenever someone goes missing, I know that the thing in the dark swallowed them up because I dream of the beast. I dream of my death.
And that was what waited for me inside its heart.

The lost camper reached me first. She slammed into the wall, having kept her feet despite the shifting terrain.
Her fingers clawed at the rib.

She couldn't find purchase and then slid slid back towards the heart and I reached out and her hand closed on mine. My arm trembled to hold onto the rib, keeping us both anchored there.

Then the floor's flow slowed and stopped. I saw her face, white like bone, impossibly hollow with hunger, lips cracked and peeling, her eyes narrowed against the light.
Her hair was almost gone.

Just a few tattered patches clinging to her scalp. Grab a hold of the wall.
That heart is going to beat again.

She looked back at the archway and the chamber beyond.

The beast waited for me, its double set of eyes opening and closing as it blinked patiently, knowing it was only a matter of time before I died under its claws. My heart pounded painfully in my chest.

There's nothing in there.

She resisted my hold, stepping towards the heart. I tightened my grip around her hand, crushing it between my fingers in desperation.

The heart would beat again soon and she'd fall away and I'd lose her like I lost her years ago. No, grab hold.
Don't do this to me again. Not again.
I'm I'm so tired of losing people.

I can't watch you die.

And she looked up at me and I saw that this was what she was yearning for. It was exactly as the man with no shadows said.

And she saw nothing inside the heart because there was no death that she feared. A heartbeat.

And I let her go. She half fell, half ran into the heart, and it swallowed her her up and there was a burst of light, like the birth of a star.
And I shut my eyes tight against the brilliance.

A hand closed on mine. The man was no shadow, given form by the presence of light.
And this time, I felt strength in his grip. Move.
She made her choice.

We need to get away before it pulls us in as well, because I know you're not ready to die. You're damn right I'm not.

We fought our way up. There was a cadence now.
I flattened my body to the wall against a rib and waited for the river of debris to pass and for the floor to grow calm.

Then I ran forwards until I heard that whispering approaching from the chamber behind me, telling me to seek an anchor once more.

And the entire time, the man with no shadow didn't let go of me, refusing to lose me to the beast that waited inside the heart, just as he refused to lose me to the little girl.

We emerged into the T intersection and threw ourselves to the side, huddling against the wall in a recess between spars.

The heart whispered, and the debris beneath us shifted, but faintly, and only a few pieces rattled their way into the passageway. I watched them dance and roll in the light cast by the heart.

I was too numb to even weep for her death. I can't believe I saved you.
The pleasure of killing you with my own hands had better make up for this.

I had no indication of what he was going to do, not until there was a wrenching sensation in my side and then blinding pain. I remember screaming, and then I remember nothing.

And then I was flat on my back, waking to pain, disoriented, and feeling like I would slip away back into the darkness at the slightest movement.

It hurt to breathe, like one of my lungs was filled with fire. I took shallow, halting breaths, and my eyes filled with tears.

You should still be able to walk.

I can be precise when I want to.

Why?

I only need you alive to get out of here. I don't need you whole.

And you are far less of a threat with a maimed shadow. Now get up.
I've dragged you as far as I can.

The light is gone again.

I didn't.

Not right away. The man with no shadow sighed and crouched nearby.
I heard the rustling of his clothes. I suppose you could just lay there and hope to die.

But we've we've both seen that death wouldn't come here, haven't we?

Besides, that wasn't in your nature. I admit, I've made some mistakes in all of this.
No plan goes flawlessly.

But my biggest mistake is underestimating your capacity to keep fighting, even when you should have given up long ago. Now get up, and let's go.

As he spoke, my fingers curled on a piece of bone. It broken in two, leaving behind a jagged end.

I slipped this into my belt as I got up, letting the noise of my struggles to stand mask the sound of me concealing it. Yes,

I was still willing to fight. I struggled onward, guided by the man with no shadow's directions.
I needed light in order to kill him after all, and for that, I needed to escape.

That was the mantra that kept me going. I needed light to kill him.
Humans might be prey, but prey can still fight back, even to its last breath.

Weakened by pain and injury, I drove myself forwards, fighting that urge to sink back to the ground because I knew that if I rested even for a moment, I might not get back up again.

The bone stake I carried with me was what kept me going.

It and the promise it represented. One last chance to fight back.
The passageway sloped upwards, a long, gradual climb, but one that left me drained nonetheless.

I stumbled the last few steps through the winding mouth and into an open space that echoed with my ragged breathing. See, just as I'd promised, I found the head, the seat of reason.

Now it's your turn to contribute. Beg it to let us go.
That's your plan? It's all I have.

You're the campground manager. It might actually listen to you.
It certainly won't listen to me.

I didn't ask what we'd do if this failed. I knew the answer.

We'd wander the corridors, desperately seeking a way out until our will broke and we sought the heart and the death that waited for us within. I wondered what was waiting for the man with no shadow.

What kind of death he feared. Hello?

It's Kate!

I'm here!

You swallowed me up!

I held my breath and waited. Silence.
I've tried to do what you told me. Remember? You told me you didn't want people looking at you.
I've tried to get others to do the same, but we make mistakes.

And all I can offer is a plea for you to release me so that I can keep trying.

The ground beneath us lurched. I stumbled and fell, and then a body landed across my legs.
The man with no shadow, cursing under his breath. The thing in the dark was waking up.

Its voice came from all around us.

You gave me a home.

You gave the land near me

to people who are kind.

They leave me offerings in the summer of food and drink, of which I cannot partake.

But it is an offering nonetheless.

The senior camp. They had an excellent cook who also brewed her own beer, of course.

I forgive for this

transgression.

Just this once.

The blackness in front of me split open and light poured in. Sunlight.
And after the hours of darkness, it brought tears of pain and relief to my eyes.

An opening yawned in front of me like the mouth of a cave, jagged with branches and roots like teeth. I saw the blurry outlines of trees beyond, shining in the light.

We were inside the thing in the dark's mouth, I realized. I stumbled forwards and a hand seized my arm.

The man with no shadow was by my side, his fingers digging into my flesh and his face tight with fear. He stayed close to my side, and I realized this was why he wanted me alive.

So that he could slip out unnoticed with me.

But the thing in the dark was not naive and it had its own designs.

You

I do not

forgive.

I felt liquid trickle out of my right ear as I lost all hearing in it.

Behind us, the branches and leaves whispered and converged, rolling into a ridge, and then they engulfed the man with no shadow's feet.

He jerked like a fish on a line and toppled as the thing in the dark began to drag him back into its maw.

He screamed in incandescent rage and threw out his hands, and even though I tried to step away, I was weak and slow, and his grip closed on my leg.

I began to slide, being pulled back into the darkness, and the opening before us began to close.

The thing in the dark was not a patient creature, and it would only afford me one chance to claim my freedom. The weak perish.

There is no mercy here in the forest. I twisted.
I seized the bone from where it rested in my belt, and the man with no shadow's eyes widened with horror as he realized my intention.

But it was too late. He was already holding on with both hands while the carpet of branches and leaves continued to engulf him, already covering his body up to his knees.
The corner of my eye itched.

I saw, for one brief instant, where his shadow lay. I drove the sharp end of the bone through his shadow's wrists.

This campground is mine!

He screamed and I jerked hard on my leg and was free.

Then I was half running, half crawling towards the narrowing gap, and I grabbed hold of the broken half of the tree and pulled myself through, squeezing between its teeth.

And then I rolled down the mound and came to a rest on the damp soil of the forest. Beside me sat the mound that housed the thing in the dark.

It was silent and still, but for a moment, I thought I could hear the man with no shadow.

Screaming. I think it was only my imagination.

I believe I fainted after that.

I next remember being carried. There were arms under my shoulders and under my knees, and when I looked down at them, there were plain metal rings around the fingers.

I'm taking you home. Nothing to be concerned about.

How did you find me? You refilled my cup, didn't you?

Now go back to sleep.

I slipped away again and next awoke in my own bed. The old sheriff was there.
Kate,

you've been out for almost a full day. I...
Oh, I feel like crap.

Let me get you some water. I've been keeping watch over the house in case you came back to it while Brian searched the forest with the dogs.
I'll give him a call and let him know you're safe.

Oh, and whose

remains did I find in the kitchen?

I cleaned cleaned it up while you were missing, but there wasn't enough left to ID them on. The buyer.
The little girl got him. He was free of the man with no shadow's control before the end, but...

I left him behind. Your family has never been able to stop the little girl.
You know this better than anyone. I didn't even try to save him.

What happened to the man with no shadow?

I lost track of him after he chased you into the woods. He's gone.
I.

Left him behind.

Inside the thing in the dark. He's

not gonna come back.

Ever.

I'm

relieved to hear that.

What happened to the campers?

The ones he was holding hostage? I used your registration records and called some of them. They remember what happened.

They heard the man with no shadow call them and tell them to come to the campground, so they did. Some were told to come with a gun, and they did.

If the man with no shadow is still alive, can he control them still?

Call one up again and ask.

Yeah, I need to check in on that.

Yeah, I wanted to get an idea on exactly what was going on with you guys.

Well, I'm not sure. I haven't heard much since, I don't know four o'clock well i'm still waiting just let me know if you hear anything else of course all right i'll talk to you later goodbye

he's gone the person i talked to already knew not dead just gone

like a weight was off their shoulders the thing in the dark refused to let him go

I've never had any indication that the thing in the dark was anything other than indifferent towards the other creatures it shared the campground with.

I think he was angry.

Those hostages.

I don't recognize a lot of them.

They all tend to blur together over time.

But there were a couple in there that were part of my senior camp. The ones that camped near the thing in the dark.

It's said that they'd leave offerings, and the man with no shadow would have killed them. He knew what he'd done would anger the thing in the dark.

That's why he needed me alive.

I was the only way he could have gotten out.

And I stabbed the bastard in the hand and shoved him right back in. I hate saying it, but you got lucky.
The senior campers were among the hostages.

But still, out of everyone that camps here, they should really have known better than to talk to him. We all make mistakes, I guess.
I took some time to rest.

My staff returned to the campground and things continued on as if nothing had changed. I called a family meeting today to update everyone on the situation.

I got everyone up to date with what had been happening around the campground. People took it in stride.

And that's about it. I apologize for being secretive about all of this, but I didn't know who I could trust.
Though I do want to know if anyone was aware that this person was related to us. I did.

I.

I think this was my fault. I did one of those online genetic things.
Oh, no.

It told me I had a relative we didn't know about, so I thought it'd be wonderful to connect with him and invited him out to the campsite.

Oh, no.

Did you at least tell him the rules first?

I

planned to meet him at the gate. He never showed and never messaged me back, so...
I assumed he chickened out and decided to leave him alone after that.

Or he got there early and something else else met him at the gate. New rule! No more online DNA tests, no more ancestry, anything.

We don't need to be bringing more surprise relatives here that don't know what they're getting into.

Technically, I can only make rules for the campsite, not the whole family. But no one disagreed with me on this one.
The meeting broke up after and everyone mostly filed out. My brother stayed behind.

It was unusual that he was there. He rarely attended family meetings like this.

Hey. Hi.

Does you being here mean all is forgiven? Does you inviting me mean you're sorry for what you said? It does.

I'm sorry.

It was a lot that I was dealing with, but

I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I guess we're good then.

Um, I want you to know

my wife is expecting.

I'm gonna be an aunt? So whatever you've got against my wife, you need to figure it out if you want to be part of their life. I'm gonna be an aunt.
Okay,

good talk.

I'm a campground manager. I've still got a lot of work to do.
I'm not convinced that getting rid of the man with no shadow is going to keep this from being a bad year. I'm going to be wary.

I'm going to keep watching and doing whatever I can to keep my town and my campers safe. I'm going to keep telling you about my land and my rules and why they exist.

Because really, my land isn't that much more dangerous than all the other bits and pieces of old land in the world. It isn't any more dangerous than all the forests you've ever trespassed in.

I'm just a bit more upfront about things hiding in the shadows than everyone else. You should come visit.

And when I send you my How to Survive Camping pamphlets with the list of rules, they will be shorter by just one. Rule number 17.

Be wary of a friendly man that may approach you in shaded areas. Try to convince him to move into the sunlight.
If he casts a shadow, you can assume it's another camper and proceed accordingly.

Otherwise, end the conversation immediately. He is trying to earn your trust.

That was the man with no shadow. And he will never escape.

Goat Valley Campgrounds, Season 2, was written and adapted for audio by Bonnie Bonnie Quinn.

Produced for the No Sleep podcast by Phil Mikulski.

Musical score composed by Brandon Boone.

Starring Lindsey Russo as Kate, Graham Rowett as the man with no shadow, Peter Lewis as the thing in the dark.

Mick Wingert as the man with the skull cup, Danielle McRae as the lost camper, Jesse Cornette as as Russell, Sarah Thomas as the family member, and Jeff Clement as Tyler.

This concludes the No Sleep Podcast production of Goat Valley Campgrounds season two.

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. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone.
Our production team is Phil Michulski, Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornett, and Claudius Moore.

Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley McInally, Ollie A. White, and Kristen Samito.

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

Add free extended episodes each week and lots of bonus content for the dark hours, all for one low monthly price.

On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for joining us and seeking safety from the things that stalk us in the night.

This audio program is Copyright 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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