S24 Ep4: NoSleep Podcast S24E04

Summary

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The NoSleep Podcast

Season 24, Episode 4 (S24E04)

Date: February 22, 2026
Host: David Cummings
Produced by: Creative Reason Media Inc.

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Episode Overview

This episode of The NoSleep Podcast, S24E04, submerges listeners into three original horror tales, all tied together by the chilling theme of consumption—both literal and metaphorical. Whether it's a monstrous presence feeding in the night, an entity born from decades of suffering in an abandoned hospital, or the corrosive burden of guilt and memory, these stories reveal how horror emerges wherever there is hunger, emptiness, or something waiting to be filled... and how nothing is ever truly left uneaten.

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Key Discussion Points & Story Summaries

Introduction: The Allure and Horror of Consumption

[00:08 – 04:13]

• Host David Cummings reflects on the word "consume," noting its rarely positive connotations and its natural fit for horror stories.
  • “Anywhere we look, the act of consuming things or being consumed is something that rarely has a positive outcome. Perhaps that's why the concept of consumption is so well suited to horror.” — David Cummings [02:08]
• The concept sets the tone for the episode—each story centers around entities, emotions, or people who consume, or are consumed by, something far darker than mere appetite.

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Story 1: "My Wife Keeps Feeding the Thing That Comes at Night"

Written by: Marcus Walbring
Performed by: Peter Lewis and Sarah Thomas
[04:13 – 23:49]

Summary

• The narrator and his wife Joan are drifting apart after his confession of infidelity.
• Joan begins a new ritual: setting dinner leftovers on the back stoop every night.
• Strange, heavy, clawed footsteps visit at night, accompanied by unnatural breathing and laughter.
• As the narrator grows physically weaker, Joan grows more vibrant; he eventually realizes his life force is being drained and fed to the lurking creature.
• In a harrowing climax, Joan—her eyes black and cold—drags the now-skeletal narrator outside, taunting him before the monstrous, bird-like beast consumes him alive.

Notable Quotes & Moments

• “Her tone was odd, like there was some kind of veiled threat behind the words, but I didn't think much of it. I was just happy she was talking to me at all.” — Man (narrator) [05:02]
• “You hungry, little bird? Come on, eat it all up.” — Joan [15:09]
• “I wake up again in the middle of the night, but not because I hear the thing outside this time. It's because I've been pulled out of bed onto the floor. Someone in the shadows has me by the ankles... It's Joan.” — Man (narrator) [17:57]
• “That's it, little bird. Not a lot of muscle left on it, but there's plenty of organ meat inside.” — Joan [21:53]

Themes & Insights

• Consumption as both a supernatural and emotional act: Joan literally feeds her husband to a monster, but she is also transformed (or corrupted) by his betrayal.
• The narrator’s guilt and emptiness are made literal as something monstrous “fills the void” created by their broken marriage.

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Story 2: "Residual"

Written by: Simon Bleakin
Featured in: Hospital of Haunts anthology
Performed by: Nicole Doolin, Danielle McCrae, Matthew Bradford, Jesse Cornett, Kyle Akers
[26:53 – 59:17]

Summary

• Litch Hurst Hospital is infamous for tragedy and strange phenomena; in its labyrinthine tunnels, something unnatural is born from decades of pain and death.
• The entity—eventually known as “Tom”—forms from accumulated negative energy, assembling itself from discarded hospital detritus and scraps.
• After absorbing the essence of ghosts (which disappoints), it eyes the living. When two maintenance workers enter the tunnels, Tom hunts and feeds on them, finding true satisfaction only in living energy.
• The story ends ominously as Tom begins to hunger for the world above, moving toward the occupied levels of the hospital.

Notable Quotes & Moments

• “All hospitals were haunted, of course... But still, few hospitals felt like Litchhurst. The scent of death lingered in every breath taken by the living.” — Narrator [27:18]
• “[Tom] spoke with the wheezing cough of the tuberculosis victim and chuckled with the wild, throaty gurgle of a restrained lunatic.” — Narrator [28:53]
• “Steve's eyes were wide and a squeezing pressure was spreading painfully across his shoulder and neck...” — Narrator, as Tom kills Steve [51:17]
• “Why had it waited so long before hunting these creatures? This was ecstasy.” — Narrator (on Tom feeding) [57:00]

Themes & Insights

• Consumption here is spectral, existential, and horrifyingly physical—a monster literally “feeds” on trauma, ghosts, rats, electricity, and eventually human life.
• Blending of haunted hospital tropes with a fresh “origin” for the ghost/monster—something born from residual suffering and eager to claim more.

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Story 3: "Bring Your Slaughter to Work Day"

Written by: Abby Vale
Performed by: Graham Rowett, Wafia White, Sarah Thomas, Nicole Goodnight, Danielle McCrae, Jeff Clement, Kaia Lakers, Dan Zapula
[62:07 – 76:39]

Summary

• Barnaby, a private, introverted custodian, brings his daughter Claire to his workplace for “Bring Your Child to Work Day.”
• The story unfolds in poetic, melancholic narration, reflecting Barnaby’s struggles with guilt and deep sorrow. Claire, five years old, is seen only by him.
• Through memories and internal monologue, it’s revealed that Barnaby accidentally killed Claire in a fit of rage (throwing a lava lamp that spills hot wax over her) and has preserved her body, hidden in secret, carrying her (both literally and figuratively) everywhere he goes.
• On this ill-fated work day, overwhelmed by memories and the longing for rest, Barnaby’s grip slips—he snaps, bringing about fresh horror in a river of wax and violence as guilt is finally “unloaded.”

Notable Quotes & Moments

• “She weighed me down, tugging at my arm in that moment, and just the same as she did whenever she wanted to be picked up, I was always carrying her now.” — Barnaby [62:10]
• “No you don't, I said. Said you can do anything in the world. Pick anything... ‘I want to be wherever you are, Daddy. By your barn.’” — Barnaby and Claire [68:22]
• “I’d thrown the lamp at the doorframe. I didn’t know she was there... her bubbly body had left the tub to check on Daddy. Be a barn. And then she was gone, covered in shattered glass and hot paraffin wax.” — Barnaby [73:22]
• “As soon as the doors parted, a river of orange burst out, and so did I. I waded through the wax, no longer hardened or holding back my rage.” — Barnaby [75:30]

Themes & Insights

• Guilt as a form of consumption—Barnaby is “eaten” inside by what he’s done, and ultimately becomes the monster to which he’s always been compared.
• The story uses poetic refrains (Barnaby’s name, songs, colors) to blur reality and delusion, making the horror as much psychological as physical.

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Notable Quotes & Moments (Selected)

• “Perhaps that's why the concept of consumption is so well suited to horror.” — David Cummings [02:08]
• “You know who I think you should call? Maybe you should call, Claire.” — Joan, weaponizing knowledge of the narrator’s affair [20:20]
• “Tom practiced saying it [the boy ghost’s name] over and over for months, a rasping wheeze in the darkness.” — Narrator [38:12]
• “I want to be wherever you are, Daddy. By your barn.” — Claire (Barnaby’s daughter) [68:34]
• “I sang, Barnaby me a be a barn a lot. To slaughter. To slaughter a lot.” — Barnaby, at the climax [76:34]

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Timestamps for Key Segments

| Timestamp | Segment Description | |------------|-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 00:08 | Introduction: The theme of consumption in horror | | 04:13 | Story 1 begins: “My Wife Keeps Feeding the Thing That Comes at Night” | | 23:49 | Story 1 concludes | | 26:53 | Story 2 begins: “Residual” | | 59:17 | Story 2 concludes | | 62:07 | Story 3 begins: “Bring Your Slaughter to Work Day” | | 76:39 | Story 3 concludes |

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Episode Tone & Style Notes

• Language & Tone: Classic NoSleep—lush narration, immersive horror, bleak emotional honesty, and measured, atmospheric pacing.
• Atmosphere: Dread is ramped up by rich detail: domestic loneliness, crumbling hospital decay, the surreal routines of everyday workplaces warped into nightmarish tableaux.
• Themes: Consumption, guilt, the predatory nature of emotional wounds, what’s left behind after loss or betrayal.

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For Listeners: Why You Should Listen

This episode perfectly exemplifies the NoSleep Podcast’s enduring appeal: chilling original horror stories, brought to life with evocative writing, first-rate voice acting, and an atmosphere that lingers long after the tales conclude. Whether you crave monsters, ghosts, or psychological horror, S24E04 delivers fear in forms you won't soon forget.

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Transcript

[David Cummings]

Water. It gives us life. We are drawn to it, yet it holds immense power over us. It can bring unspeakable horror to the most familiar places. Your morning shower, A tranquil riverbank or the endless ocean. It's time to dive deep into the abyss. From the dark waters of the Cape Fear River. Immerse yourself in horror as you brace yourself for the no Sleep Podcast. Welcome to the no Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. Have you ever considered the word consume? It recently dawned on me that it's a word not often used in a positive sense. We get consumed by something which means we're so fully focused on it at the expense of other things. In the old timey days, the disease of tuberculosis was called consumption because it consumed your body as you withered away into death. We acknowledge that our consumer society, the ongoing desire to buy things, to consume products, is doing a lot of damage to our culture, our environment and our financial well being. Anywhere we look, the act of consuming things or being consumed is something that rarely has a positive outcome. Perhaps that's why the concept of consumption is so well suited to horror. We know of stories where a person person is consumed by some sort of beast, like a great white shark chomping someone to death with a few quick bites. There are ghosts and spirits which seek to consume your energy, your life force from you so they can gain more malevolent power. There are serial killers who are consumed with killing to the point where they not only can't stop their heinous acts, but they in turn are empowered to kill more and more due to their all consuming evil desires. On this episode, we have stories for you which we hope will consume your attention and make you good consumers of horror. Because in them you'll hear about people and things that are striving to consume all they can. So settle in and fill your mind with this all consuming horror. Now it's time to plunge into the horror of our sleepless tales. In our first tale, we meet a man and his wife, Joan. The man assumes Joan is consumed by anger, considering he confessed to having an affair. But in this tale shared with us by author Marcus Walbring, Joan seems to be preoccupied with other things, like making sure the leftovers don't go to waste. Performing this tale are Peter Lewis and Sarah Thomas. So let's hear the man explain why he he tells us My wife keeps feeding the thing that comes at night.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

It started a few weeks ago. One night my wife Joan and I had just finished dinner when suddenly she pointed at the scraps on my plate.

[Joan]

Are you all finished with that?

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

I shrugged. I guess so. Thanks. With that, she grabbed my plate and instead of taking it to the sink as she would have normally done, she turned toward the back door and walked out into the night. Sounds of crickets and windy trees on the back stoop. She set both of our scrap covered plates on the bottom step. I wouldn't do that. You're going to attract possums and raccoons or something.

[Joan]

I don't think we have anything to worry about.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

Her tone was odd, like there was some kind of veiled threat behind the words, but I didn't think much of it. I was just happy she was talking to me at all. It was big of her, I thought. I'd recently told her about a woman at work, Claire. When I told Joan that I'd been with her only once, which wasn't necessarily true, per se, she didn't say much. She just kind of stared straight ahead, fiddling with the napkin she'd had in her hand. Look, I'm. I'm not proud of it. Needless to say, I'm not Husband of the year. I admit that. And I mean, I'd be lying if I said it was the first time. As far as Joan knew, it was. But there's been a rift between her and me for a long time. The affairs started around year five of our marriage, which was when Joan suddenly decided she wanted to have kids. But she knew from the start that's not what I wanted. I don't know. Kids are just complicated, I guess. Complicated and messy. Not to mention time consuming. See, I'd had a screwed up childhood. I didn't have the best par with dad. You never knew what mood you were going to get, though usually it was the bad one. The back of the hand, you know, sting of the belt one. And with mom, she just didn't care. Moms are supposed to instinctively know where you are, or so I've been told. But it seemed like the only thing she could ever locate with assured accuracy was her most recent bottle of vodka. To put it mild, I knew I wasn't equipped to be a father. I barely knew how to be a husband. But suddenly it was all Joan talked about, day and night. Can we just try? Just for a month or so, See what happens? I had to put my foot down then tell her there was no way we were going to have kids. She cried herself to sleep that night, and the next day a dark cloud hung over. I wish I could say I felt bad, but I wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

Right?

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

She'd signed up for a marriage. San's kids. As far as I was concerned, she was the one moving the goal line. Or however you want to put it. What I mean is, when it comes to marriage, you should get what you pay for. And Joan was trying to change the terms of the contract. Anyway, after that, every time we started to get intimate, she'd give me this hopeful look. And then I'd reach into my drawer for a condom. Her eyes would sink. I got so tired of that look, of the cold air that ran through me when I saw it. Even with my terrible upbringing, I didn't realize how empty another person can make you feel. And when you feel empty, you know, you try to find ways to fill the void. That's when the affairs started. I'm not going to make excuses, but I will say I just didn't know what to do with Joan anymore. I guess maybe I missed the old days. We met at a furniture store, of all places. I had just moved into a new place and I needed pillows. Downy pillows. I'd grown up with those. That's what I was used to. I was walking out with my arms full when the pillows snagged on the door, ripping them open, covering me in feathers. Behind me, I heard someone just dying of laughter. I turned around and there was Joan. Tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

[Joan]

You look like a little bird.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

Very funny. There was so much possibility in her eyes back then. They made the whole world brighter. I took her out to dinner that night. We laughed the whole evening. We liked the same music, the same movies. At the end of the evening, I walked her to her apartment door and kissed her goodnight. She walked through the door into her living room and then stopped, turned around and waved me in.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Come on, little bird.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

I don't know where she got the little part of that, you know. She hadn't seen me below the waist yet, so it wasn't. Whatever the case, I didn't mind the nickname. And from that day forward, she called me Little Bird. But things didn't stay that way. Things rarely do, I found. Especially people. When people spend a long time together, they. They can't help changing each other like some kind of chemical reaction. But back to that first night a few weeks ago, as we were getting ready for bed, I asked Joan if she'd brought those plates in from the back stoop.

[Joan]

I'll get them in the morning.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

She was lotioning her face.

[Joan]

Don't worry about

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

was Hot.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

So we slept with the windows open. I woke in the middle of the night because I'd heard something outside. From what I could tell, it had heavy footsteps that scratched the pavement with large claws. I could hear it breath, like a chainsaw that wouldn't start. It wasn't a bear. We don't have bears around here. And this sounded larger, stranger. Also, bears, they don't laugh. Honest to God, when that thing scraped its heavy body up to the plates, it let out a low, gravelly laugh that made my spine shiver. I shot up in bed. What the hell is that, Joan? She shushed me and told me to go back to bed. But I got up anyway and I ran down to the kitchen, almost breaking my shin on one of the chairs. I was running so fast. But by the time I came peeked out the back window, the thing was already gone and the plates were clean. The next morning, I could barely get out of bed. My whole body felt so weak. My eyes hurt. I felt cold. Somehow I managed to roll myself off the mattress, stand up, and saunter downstairs to find Joan sitting at the table. She looked rad. Probably the happiest I'd seen her in years.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Good morning.

[Joan]

How'd you sleep, honey?

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

Honey? She never used that word. I slept. I slept okay, I think. But I don't know.

[David Cummings]

I don't.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

I don't feel right. I can barely move.

[Joan]

Oh, probably caught that flu that's been going around. Why don't you call into work and go back to bed? Maybe you'll be better by tomorrow.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

Flu in the summer was possible, but not likely. Besides, I barely ever got sick. I figured she was right, though. I crawled back into bed and slept the rest of the day. Joan shook me awake that evening.

[Joan]

Do you want some dinner?

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

I don't know. I don't have much of an appetite. Maybe. Maybe I could come down and try to eat a bit. Spaghetti, My favorite. And Joan knows just how to make it. She sautes mushrooms in garlic and puts them in the sauce. My stomach growled at first, but I could only choke down a few bites. Suddenly I felt nauseated. I told her I was sorry, but I didn't think I could finish.

[Joan]

That's no problem.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

She was still in her sprightly mood. She picked up my plate and walked once again to the back stoop and set it down on the bottom step. I went back to bed. After having a few glasses of water and some vitamins before bed, I took my temperature and was shocked to find it was normal. 98.2. I woke up in the middle of the night again, and I heard the thing in the backyard. Only this time there was this loud, leathery flapping noise. Then a loud thud before I heard the thing clamoring up the steps, breathing like an engine. It chuckled to itself again as it climbed the porch, scraping its claws across the pavement. I wanted to get up and try to catch it this time, but I was just too weak. Then suddenly I heard something else. A familiar creaking sound. The back door opening.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Hello?

[Joan]

Come on, little bird.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

What the hell?

[Joan]

You hungry, little bird? Come on, eat it all up.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

I didn't get out of bed at all the next day. Just moving a little made a sharp, unbearable pain shoot through my arms and legs. That evening, Joan asked if I wanted some dinner. She'd made a meatloaf. I said I just wanted a glass of juice, maybe, which she brought me.

[Joan]

I'll save your plate.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

I thanked her, forgetting that of course she didn't mean she'd save it for me. Every day I got worse. For a while, I could manage to maybe get out of bed once or twice, to use the bathroom. Every night. Joan would set the portions of my dinner I didn't eat on the back stoop.

[Joan]

Come on, little bird.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

At first I thought maybe Joan had been poisoning me, but that didn't make sense because I wasn't eating anything. All I can conclude is that it has something to do with that thing. It's like the more she feeds it, the dinner intended for me, the more it drains me of life. The last time I was able to get out of bed, I looked at myself in the mirror and I nearly screamed. I looked like a skeleton. My face and eyes were sunken in where deep shadows formed. I lifted my shirt and looked at my ribs that were sticking out like bars in a cage. That's how life has been for the past few weeks. I. I can hardly speak now, let alone move. I mostly stare at the ceiling when I'm awake, and I trace the tracks in the ceiling like I'm searching them for some kind of answer. But even to doing that makes me so exhausted I eventually pass out. I wake up again in the middle of the night, but not because I hear the thing outside this time. It's because I've been pulled out of bed onto the floor. Someone in the shadows has me by the ankles and starts to pull me. It's John. I'm. I'm so light now. She barely struggles to drag me all the way downstairs. A scream dies in my throat and comes out as a low pathetic gurgle. Joan stops dropping my ankles. She leans into my face. Her once bright eyes that could dissolve all the darkness in the world are suddenly black. I keep thinking she's not Joan anymore, but whoever she is, whatever she is, I'm the one who changed her, who made her into what she is now. Her voice is cold.

[Joan]

What's that, darling? Did you need something?

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

I move my lips into some kind of configuration so they can produce a single word. I push out just enough air through my vocal cords to form it. Please.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Please.

[Joan]

Please what?

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

She stares cruelly into my eyes. Then she laughs.

[Joan]

Oh, police. You want me to call the police, darling? Is that it? You want someone to come save you? Sorry, but I don't think so. You see, the police already came because I guess people at your work hadn't heard from you and they were worried. But I told them you'd skipped town, that we'd grown apart, and you told me you didn't want to be married anymore. I guess the second half of that is true, though, right?

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

She's about to grab my ankles again, but she stops and turns around to face me once more.

[Joan]

Oh, you know what, though? You know who I think you should call.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

She gets in my face again. Her eyes are like dark volcanic glass, like something from the depths of the planet.

[Joan]

Maybe you should call, Claire.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

She nearly falls over, she's laughing so hard. She drags me through the kitchen. I don't know where she's taking me, but she'll she opens the back door and pulls me down the stoop stairs, knocking my head on every step. She takes a long, content breath as she leaves me on the porch.

[Joan]

Come on, little bird. Come on, dinner's ready.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

And then I see it, dropping out of the darkness, its wings flapping like tents made of flesh. It lands in the yard in front of me, still hidden by the shadows. When it finally steps into the glow of the porch light, I make a small, trembling scream in my throat. It's almost nine feet tall, its beak, if you want to call it that, and its wings are wrapped in a pale, almost yellow skin. Its eyes are as black as the night from which it came. It laughs again when it finds me lying here. I hear Joan call from behind me.

[Joan]

That's it, little bird. Not a lot of muscle left on it, but there's plenty of organ meat inside. It just might be a little cold.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

It stands over me, licking its beak. Inside there are teeth the size of kitchen knives. They tear me open like I'm a pillow. I can't move but I feel everything. It's like some in sense a lit my body on fire. I weep. I try to cry out, but the last of my strength is gone. I am alive. As it starts to eat me once it gobbles up everything in my abdomen, it bites off one of my legs and swallows it, bones and all that. When it takes the other, soon there will be nothing left. Until then, all I can feel is the pain and the absence of what used to be me. I don't know how, but through all of this my heart is still beating. It sits in the cold cage of my protruding ribs like a starved bird that, though it's nearly dead, keeps on singing. Foreign.

[David Cummings]

Let's take a short break for our sponsors who help us keep our heads above water for waves of ad free horror content, join our sleepless Universe by going to sleepless.thenosleeppodcast.com if there's one thing I don't mind being consumed by, it's my love of the amazing apparel sold at Quince. I'm a genuine Quince customer because a well built wardrobe is about pieces that work together and hold up over time. That's what Quince does best. Premium materials, thoughtful design and everyday staples that feel easy to wear and easy to rely on even as the weather shifts. Quince has the everyday essentials I love with quality that lasts. Organic sweaters, Polos for every occasion, lighter jackets that keep you warm in the changing seasons. The list goes on. Quince works directly with top factories and cuts out the middlemen so you're not paying for brand markup, just quality clothing like the Australian merino polo I got a while ago. It still looks great and is holding up so well. Quality that Lasts Everything is built to hold up to daily wear and still look good season after season. Plus, they only partner with factories that meet rigorous standards for craftsmanship and ethical production. So refresh your wardrobe at quince. Go to quince.com nosleep for free shipping on your order and 365 day returns. Now available in Canada too. That's Q-U-N-C-E.com no sleep, free shipping and 365 day returns. Quince.com nosleep now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. When we think of old abandoned hospitals, we find them creepy and horrifying. Because of the pain, the suffering and the death experienced therein, the entire building can feel consumed by dark energy. And in this tale shared with us by author Simon Bleakin, a tale, I might add featured in the Hospital of Haunts anthology. Check the show notes for more details. We learn about a particular hospital and how it may be abandoned, but it's certainly not barren. Performing this tale are Nicole Doolin, Danielle McCrae, Matthew Bradford, Jesse Cornett, and Kyle Akers. So be forewarned about entering those dark halls. There are remains inside, and it feels like residual.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

1986 in the last dwindling decades of its active operational life, Litch Hurst Hospital, a place that had seen more than its fair share of births over its long and troubled history, gave one final and unexpected existence to the world. Although constructed as a sanctuary of healing, scandals and tragedy had clustered around Lichurst since its founding in 1844. Most who came through its doors felt a shiver, as if aware on some deeply subconscious level that something was terribly wrong with the place, even if they couldn't say why. All hospitals were haunted, of course, being transitional portals where souls entered and left the world each day, and where grief and trauma, joy and hope were focused within a single structure like nowhere else. But still, few hospitals felt like Litchhurst. The scent of death lingered in every breath taken by the living, and visitors and patients alike reported feeling watched constantly. Voices could be heard drifting faintly through the vents, from within empty rooms or down the long, gloomy stairwells. Locked doors had a frequent habit of swinging open. People dressed in clothing styles decades out of date were frequently seen getting into elevators, only to never exit on any of the floors. Objects and equipment rarely remained where they had been left, sometimes even disappearing entirely, and hollow echoes of disembodied souls whispered along the dark hallways each night, or were glimpsed as curious shadow figures caught by the flicker of the lights as they flitted through the wards. The hospital had been an abnormal thing from its beginning. Set out in a basic cross shaped floor plan, it should have been easy to navigate. But somehow, once inside those doors, everything seemed to shift and warp, becoming a confusing warren of rooms and hallways, as if the internal structure existed in open defiance of any outward plan. It soon acquired a sinister reputation among those living nearby, but few could have suspected what lay within the miles of tunnels that ran like a dense warren beneath it all, in that gloomy maze, far from the bright lights and sterile rooms where the miracle of birth and the release of death occurred so often, another secret miracle had taken place, albeit a darkly twisted one. It was a newborn of sorts, not actually a life, nor created in the darkness of the womb, but something conscious that was born out of the shadows beneath the ground. It was the only thing the Hospital had truly given to the world. It began as a residue, gathering for decades down in the darkness. There had been no midwife to oversee the arrival of this new entity. Its soul was stillborn. It had floated aimlessly for decades, not a physical thing, but a festering accumulation of dark emotion, lost and confused, rats and roaches scuttling in terror as it traveled the tunnels. It had no former life to recall, nor any true understanding of the feelings and thoughts flowing through it. The lessons and experiences of childhood and those learned through interactions with others were utterly alien to this entity. It operated solely on instinct. It gathered and rested in the cracks between the bricks, lurked behind the boards, and coiled greasily about the cables that riddled its hidden domain. Though it spent most of its time around the old death chute that had once ferried bodies down to the hearses, in times gone by, it took the energy it needed from its environment, absorbing everything that came close to it, even pulling the heat from the air and drawing power from the cables and emergency lights, often burning them out. It didn't grow, not exactly, but it used the energy to become stronger and to manipulate the world around it in lieu of a physical body. Eventually, almost imperceptibly, it became aware of itself, consciousness awakening like a smoldering ember, gradually being stoked into a flame. It spoke with the wheezing cough of the tuberculosis victim and chuckled with the wild, throaty gurgle of a restrained lunatic. It stretched out, reaching through the tiny spaces and forgotten gaps of the tunnels. Brooding in shadow, it began to think, and then, finally, to hunger for more. Here it had gathered, stitched and sutured into itself all the broken and diseased fragments of spiritual energy filtering down into this neglected recess deep below the hospital. Like some Frankenstein's monster, cobbled together from the energies of dozens of different beings, it had slowly formed an amalgamated whole. Not a true gestalt. It had only one consciousness, and like an infant, it had taken time to grow, learn, and absorb knowledge of the world and its place within it. Gradually, as it explored its subterranean domain, it learned to better interact with the physical environment around it, discovering how to move and collect objects, drawing them around itself like armor. Within months, it had crafted a crude physical shell to hide within. A nightmare conglomeration scraped together from the discarded pieces it encountered. As with any infant, its first steps were slow, clumsy, and faltering. But it soon learned to master this new form and reveled in it. Its hypodermic fingers scratched the walls as it patrolled, and its Mouth bristled with discarded scalpel blade teeth. It lumbered on constructs of old crutches, broken wheelchairs, and twisted fragments of rusting beds. It could abandon this artificial body at will if it needed to be quick or silent or wanted to hide. But it liked the feel and weight of the metal limbs as they scraped and clanked and dragged. It also used them to crush the rats that weren't fast enough. It didn't eat them, of course. It felt no physical hunger. That impulse belonged to the realm of the living. But it understood the need for energy. So instead it absorbed something from the rats, some sort of life essence that gave it renewed vitality. It was different from the power it stole from the lights and the cables. It was delicious and far more satisfying. The rat soon grew wise and became cautious, but it was patient. It had learned to wait, to listen. It knew all of the tunnels in its network, every corner and alcove, every crevice and hiding space, but it never left this area for the strange, clean lights above. Its empire ended at the long, narrow staircases that stretched up toward an alien world of muffled sounds and constant activity that was unknown territory and filled with uncertain dangers. Down here, hidden alone in the dark or wrapped in its armor of discarded junk, it was safe. Or so it thought. Until a stranger entered its world, it had been the pale spirit of a small boy, lost and lonely, dressed in a hospital gown of a style from several decades past. In one hand the boy clutched a yellow ball. His other arm was gone, lost to injury and amputation. This ghostly child had just wandered quietly into the tunnels one evening, as if exploring the echoing patter of his bare feet announcing his presence seconds before his willowy frame turned the corner near the top of the death chute. It had screamed at the sight of him, recoiled in startled terror from this tiny specter, shedding its accumulated armor across the tunnel floor like leaves in a fall breeze as it fled down the hallway in panic. Hello? The boy had followed, his hollow eyes filled with curiosity. He found it curled in the darkness, trying to hide.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

Do you live down here? Don't be scared. I won't hurt you.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

It had quivered, curling itself up tighter into a dense pool of shadow.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

My name's Ton.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

The boy sat next to it, watching with hopeful interest.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

I got so bored up there. I've been waiting for ages for someone to talk to. I've been here so long, but nobody ever talks to me.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Slowly it began to relax, to listen and uncoil.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

So what are you?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

The darkness spread itself Out a little more.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

Do you want to be my friend? Nobody upstairs does. Well, none of the good ones. I mean, some of them are scary and bad. I stay away from them.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

The boy's energy was weak and shimmered like sunlight through the water, smelling of residual life, an echo of existence.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

Can you talk?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

It extended a slender black arm, spread inky talons wide, and cocked its head, appraising this curious being that was smiling so innocently at it.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

Do you have a name?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

It wondered how this one would taste. It pounced, drawing the terrified and screaming child into itself, absorbing the boy's energy just as it fed on the rat rats and the power cables. But if it had hoped for some marvelous new source of sustenance, it was sorely disappointed. The boy's energy was weak, as insubstantial as the child itself had been an echo of life rather than something that held any vitality. It let the rest of the essence dissipate into the environment, unsatisfied, and went back to drawing on the energy from the rats and cables. It retained one valuable thing from the encounter, though. It took the boy's name and kept it for itself. It practiced saying it over and over for months, a rasping wheeze in the darkness. Over the following decade, several more spirits found their way down into the tunnels. Tom had stalked and hunted them, observing them with interest before drawing them in two, hoping they would provide better nourishment than the boy had. But again, it felt hollow and unsatisfied by the weak residual energy they provided, and vowed to leave any other spirits well alone in future. Even so, there were many voices crowding inside it now, but Tom learned to strangle them into silence, to shape and funnel the chaos of its creation into a single thought, a single mind crafted from half remembered impulses and shards of stolen memory. Tom had grown so much over the years and had expanded through the darkness of the tunnels, but that wasn't enough to satiate always wanted more. It lay in the dark, listening to the noises from the world above, feeling the life and death energies that rippled through the hospital, some ebbing, some growing, and it wondered what was up there, though it was too afraid to explore. From time to time, different invaders entered its realm. These were physical creatures, clad in hard hats and dirty clothing. They smelled of sweat and life and substance, Tom came to learn. These were people sent down from the unknown above to check on the pipes and wiring. For a long time, Tom hid whenever these strangers appeared, studying them from the cracks and nooks. But just as with the dead child so many years earlier. It gradually grew bolder and curious about these fleshy beings. I began to wonder what these new entities would taste like. They seemed far more vibrant than the specters infesting the hospital, closer in nature to the rats on which it fed as often as it could. Only these creatures were far larger, curiosity finally beating its fear. Tom decided the next time these humans entered the tunnels it would find out. That day came several weeks later.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

It's a real maze down here.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

The voice echoed through the darkness, followed by the sweeping beam of a flashlight and the sound of approaching footfalls.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

And watch your step, Nick. Not all these lights work.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Intrigued by the new voices in its domain, Tom stirred and moved closer, readying claws of inky blackness lest it need to defend itself. It thought about donning its armor, but decided stealth was better than force to assess these new arrivals.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Thanks for the warning, Steve. This'd be a hell of a place to get lost in.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Always carry spare batteries or a backup flashlight.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

That's my motto.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Nick swallowed nervously as he shone his beam down the seemingly endless stretches of tunnel.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

Jeez.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Yeah. Can you imagine being down here in the dark?

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Don't even joke about that. These tunnels go quite a ways.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Nick tapped a dead light bulb attached to the wall.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Isn't this something we should be fixing? I mean, isn't it dangerous having so many of these out with our budget?

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

You're kidding, right? Look, we replace them as often as we can. Damn things just just keep burning out. There's a limit to what we can spend on these non essential areas.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Seems pretty essential right now.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Hey, don't let this place get to you.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Steve swept his flashlight across the old walls.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Oh, sure, it's creepy, but that's all. I've never once seen anything odd down here. Well, that's more than I can say for the hospital.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

What do you mean?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Steve stared at Nick in surprise.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

You don't know Lynch Hurst's reputation?

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

What reputation?

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Ah, I forgot you're new in town. Well, let's just say that stuff goes on up there you wouldn't believe.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Like what?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Steve shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but kept a careful eye on his colleague to gauge the reaction to his words.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Oh, you know, strange noises and stuff moving around by itself. You name it. There's some really messed up stories connected to this place. Some odd deaths, too. Seriously, Give it a few months, you'll have plenty of stories of your own. Everyone does.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Yeah, but have you ever actually seen a ghost?

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Tell you what, you free later. We'll grab a beer after work and talk then. But not down here, okay?

[David Cummings]

Why?

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Do you think someone's listening?

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

No. Jeez, at least I hope not. Look, it's bad enough having to come down here in the first place. I don't want us getting spooked and distracted because then I have to come back again to fix your mistakes. And I hate coming down here.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

I'm already spooked. How can you not be? I mean, look at this place.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Don't go doing a half assed job. I'll send you down here all the time if you do.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Tom approached the men, invisible in the gloom, needle fingers clicking in anticipation and a thin wheeze echoing from its throat. Nick tensed and glanced around.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Did you hear that?

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Ah, see, that's what I'm talking about. Don't let your imagination get the better of you, kid. We've still got a half dozen cables to check and I want to be done by five. Yeah, but I tell you what. You go take the east tunnel and I'll check south.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

You better be kidding me.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

You want to get this done faster, we need to find the faults quickly.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Yeah, but splitting up is always a bad idea.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

I knew I shouldn't have told you about the ghost stories. Go on. You'll be fine. There's never been anything down here.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

You sure?

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

I swear I just heard.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

That's probably just rats. We get them down here, but don't worry, they're more scared of you. Just watch yourself, okay? The lights are real bad down here.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Wait. Are you giving me the short straw?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Steve nodded.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

You're the newbie. It's the rules.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Nick moved off down the tunnel, muttering under his breath, the flashlight beam sweeping quickly left to right as he went. The light played across the walls and danced through the forests of old pipes, sometimes plunging into the hearts of abandoned storerooms and forgotten spaces filled with sinister hulks of broken equipment and furniture. Thick black gray veils of ancient cobwebs hung from the wires overhead, tickling his hair as he passed. The floor beneath his feet was heavy with grime that had accumulated over the years in places. Broken glass crunched underfoot and there was a foul rankness to the stale air.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

I can't believe they can't even get the fucking lights working.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

He turned off down a side passage and past a thick cluster of dusty pipes that loomed out of the blackness. Tom followed him curiously, noting the way the man's smell grew stronger. He was perspiring, nervous. His breathing was faster too. Tom waited until the man had gone far enough down the tunnel to be suitably separated from his colleague before drawing closer. The lights here were broken, the shadows deep enough to conceal its inky manifestation. It was interested to see how this one would behave, how it might react in places. Parts of the walls had crumbled slightly, and it seized a small fragment of stone and threw it along the passageway. The man tensed, the flashlight snapping around as the debris skittered past his foot.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

Steve?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

His voice sounded choked as he stared down the empty tunnel.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

That you messing around?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

The sweat stench grew stronger. Tom smiled. It enjoyed toying with the rats. They tasted better when they were scared and gave off more energy, too. It hoped this human would be the same. Playfully, it edged closer and whispered its name in a drawn out, guttural wheeze.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Steve, I swear to God, if that's you.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

The man glanced around anxiously, light flicking across walls, the floor momentarily passing over a darker shadow that seemed to be clinging to the pipes, a shadow that the light didn't banish. The flashlight beam snapped back on the spot, but the shadow had already moved. Not ready to give the game away just yet.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

No, no, that's just those stupid ghost stories. Get a gray. There's nothing here.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Tom held back, watching as the man carried on his pace a little faster, the flashlight beam moving quicker too, as if he were trying to light every part of the corridor simultaneously. Then Tom rushed past him, going deeper into the tunnels. It was time to don the armor. The first Nick knew of this was a heavy clanging from up ahead, as if a dozen metal bed frames were being beaten against the ground like oversized drums, drumsticks. It was a sound that drew rapidly closer and sent a cold shudder of alarm through him.

[David Cummings]

Steve.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

He took an unsteady step backward, tripped over a pile of old bricks, and landed heavily on his backside, eyes wide and a thin whimpering wail escaping his lips. His flashlight rattled as it rolled on the stone floor, the light glinting on something metallic for a second second before darkness took it again, leaving him with the impression that there was some kind of twisted metal skeleton looming in the blackness ahead.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Steve.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Tom lurched out of the darkness and into the beam of the flashlight, clanking clumsily forward, needles and blades glinting as they swept through the air, excitement and hunger for living energy stripping away decades of careful control. Nick sprang to his feet and tried to bolt down the hallway. The metal shape lashed out with its arm and swept his legs from under him. Nick landed heavily, knees and nose cracking against the stone floor as the shape lumbered near. Nick forced himself upward with A warbling shriek, his lower face a mask of blood. He staggered down the the passage, confused and shocked, plunging into half darkness where lights flickered and fizzed. The impossible conglomeration of broken parts crashed after him, gaining speed as it went. Its heavy bedpost foot stuck the flashlight as it gave chase, sending it spinning in a circular motion, turning the stretch of hallway into a wild dance of light and shadow and further inherited, enhancing the disorienting nightmare quality of the moment. This was better than hunting rats, Tom decided. It channeled the effort with which it maintained its physical armor into increasing its speed, causing parts of its shell of rusting debris to fall away as it bore down upon the fleeing man, scattering twisted pieces of metal, glass and equipment behind it in a clattering riot of sound. Nick stumbled through the darkness, aiming for the distant glow of lights up ahead that still worked. His lungs burned and his broken nose was a white hot mass of pain, but he barely felt any of it in the adrenaline fueled race for survival. The clanging of the monstrosity behind him rang in his ears above the frantic pounding of his own pulse, but he didn't dare look back. He didn't. He didn't even waste time screaming, pushing every ounce of energy into moving as fast as possible. He knew the stairs were nearby, but where? There were no discernible landmarks to guide him, and he could only guess at how many branching tunnels he'd blundered past already. He turned to the left and found himself emerging into a well lit section of tunnel, hesitating for a moment at an intersection. It took far longer than than it should have to spot the sign on the wall. Ancient and dirty, but just still legible. The nearest stairs were off to the right. He could still hear the entity pursuing him. A hellish scraping and clattering, the pained squeal of metal grinding against metal and dragging against stone. It seemed so loud in the enclosed space. Nick wondered why the entire hospital hadn't come pouring down here to see what all the noise was was. But then he remembered how thick the tunnel walls were and how deep. He had never felt so isolated before. Up ahead, a beam of light flashed down the hallway. Steve came hurrying into view, red faced and out of breath.

[Steve (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Nick, what the hell? What's all the.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

His voice trailed off, his eyes widening at the sight of the impossible method. Mass of accumulated items moving like a living body as it thundered along the hallway.

[Nick (Worker in hospital tunnels)]

Run.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Nick barreled past him without slowing, but Steve didn't move. He just stared, slack jawed and frozen, flashlight locked in a trembling grip. That was when Tom shed the rest of its armor, the massive objects tumbling away in a clamorous crash as icy shadows seeped like black fog from around those collapsing artificial limbs. It kept a hold on the scalpel blades, though it would need claws for what was to come. Steve's eyes were wide and a squeezing pressure was spreading painfully across his shoulder and neck, clenching like a clamp across his upper belly. He didn't realize it was his heart giving out. He gave a gasping wheeze and then that inky mass descended upon him like a dark wave, sweeping him into oblivion before the heart attacker had finished the job. Metal savagely parted flesh and cloth and frenzied and violent strokes as Tom ripped into the man's physical form with its scalpel blades and burrowed inside those bleeding lacerations. It coiled within that still warm shell, drinking deeply. This was what Tom had been craving for so long. Living energy. It swallowed it all like a rich and nourishing elixir, a burst of pure energy far more satisfying than anything ever leached from the cables and pipes and rats. Energy filled with the glorious vibrancy of life took what it needed, leaving behind the desiccated and torn remnants of anything that was of no use to it. Then sloughing off the rest of that shredded meat. Tom turned its attention to the other man. It could still hear him crashing and lumbering through its domain, lost in the semi dark maze of flickering lights. Nick staggered down the passageway, aware on some distant level that Steve hadn't followed, but too terrified to look back. Everything down here felt endless, as if every path to the world above had simply vanished. Then up ahead, he saw the door to a stairwell. A glimmer of hope flared in his heart and he forced himself onward, heels stinging as he coaxed more speed out of his legs than he ever had before. His body, more accustomed to delivery pizzas and blockbuster rentals than running, protested painfully, and he blinked sweat from his eyes as he gasped for air in the suffocating confines of the tunnel. The now seemed chokingly hot and narrow. His racing pulse flooded his ears, blocking out all other sounds. He almost cried out as his fingers closed around the cold handle of the door. He tugged it open and raced through, a faint smile forming on his bloody face. He could see the exit door high above, the one that opened into the staff corridor where the storerooms, mailroom, and facilities offices were housed. With another uncharacteristic burst of speed, he started up the steps. That was when the door behind him crashed open. Something Black and icy slammed into him and driving him against the wall and slugging the air from his lungs. He gave a gasping, reedy shriek as a jagged shard of rusted metal pierced his shoulder like a knife blade. Then he slipped, tumbling down the stairs to land in a heap at the bottom. Painfully groggily, Nick lifted his head over the frantic pulse of his heart and the coppery taint of blood where he had bitten his tongue. He could feel a coldness spreading through his limbs and torso. His shoulder was a mass of hot agony, more painful than his broken nose. The fall had plunged the shard more deeply into his flesh, and blood was trickling down his chest. In a panic, he touched the end of the metal with shaking fingers, trying to decide if he should pull it out or not. Then, too late, he remembered the inky shape that had pursued him. He turned, and it was upon him. Tom pressed its cold, ethereal claws against Nick's skull. The man trembled as he tried to scream, but Tom didn't allow him to waste any of that energy. It plunged down his throat, seeping through his nose and ears, flowing inside his warm, living body. Nick clawed weakly at the bottom step as the alien present and suffused him. He wanted to cry out, to scream, but something was blocking his throat, cutting off his air. He felt weak and giddy, and the world around him was getting darker. At first he thought the few remaining lights were going out. But somewhere deep in his spinning, confused consciousness came the shocking realization that he, he, was the one that was going out inside its victim. Tom explored every inch of this incredible feast, feeling the fast pulse of the human's heart, the warm rush of blood, and the sparking impulses that danced along nerves and flickered in the brain. Why had it waited so long before hunting these creatures? This was ecstasy. Tom closed its eyes, bathing in the rich sensations. And then it drank deeply. The body bucked and thrashed, muscles twitching and limbs trembling, fists and feet beating a final drumbeat against the stone. But Tom kept a tight rein on his prize. Nothing must be wasted. Within moments, it was all over. Nick lay dead and cold on the floor, all life and heat absorbed by the spectral shadows now pouring from his mouth and nose like some ghostly death veil. Tom stretched and smiled as it left the body. Its hunger sated. Then it quickly dragged both of the bodies away and hid them down in the deepest parts of its domain. It knew that these creatures would be missed, that other people would come looking for them.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

Them.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

And it didn't want to give itself away. But Tom knew all the best hiding places. After carefully disposing of the remains, Tom crept back to the stairwell, drawn by an insatiable curiosity to that distant door so far above. This was entirely new territory, further than it had ever dared go before, closer to the lowest level of the hospital. It listened and marveled at the sounds from up there. There was a new world just waiting for it to explore at the top of that staircase, a rich cornucopia of energy to be savored. There would likely be even more delicious humans to feed upon, and who knew what else. Curiously, hungrily, it studied those stairs and cautiously growing braver, Tom began to creep upward.

[David Cummings]

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[Barnaby (Custodian)]

Whispers ebbed and flowed in the lobby as I scanned the children of various heights. I'd been dreading today's event, its impending arrival casting a shadow on each day. I'd been debating whether to bring Claire now that she was 5. No one at the bank ever had the pleasure of meeting her. In fact, no one here knew I had a daughter, a blessing and a curse in equal measure due to both Claire and my private nature. I'd never felt I'd met anyone deserving to know me. But Claire, she deserved to be known. No more debating. She weighed me down, tugging at my arm in that moment, and just the same as she did whenever she wanted to be picked up, I was always carrying her now.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

Morning, Barnaby. Ready for chaos?

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

The teller gestured at the employees kids filing in a line and laughed.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

I'm sure they'll give you more work.

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Like you don't already have enough to do.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

Candy wrappers and pizza party plates and rolling crayons were a bigger part of my job. The fourth Thursday in every April, it was clear which kids cared and which ones would rather be flicking boogers on their desks during a math test. Some dressed up in fancy attire while others dressed themselves in the dark. Some beamed with pride at the sight of their parent planted in the chair keeping them away from home each day, while others pulled out their phones and numbly scrolled. Most of them were too young for phones, in my opinion. What started as Bring your daughter to work day turned into Bring your child to work day for the sake of inclusion. Their shoes always squeaked, threatened extra scuffs on the lobby floor. Their fingertips relentlessly touched, pressing prints to the glass. It hadn't bothered me much before, but now Claire gave me more to do than any of them. She tugged at my arm again. I don't mind the extra work. I brought my daughter today, too. She's a bit of a mess, really.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

You have a daughter?

[Narrator (Hospital story)]

Geez.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

You think you know a person? Which one is she?

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

You think you know a person? The words stuck to the wax in my ears and I wanted to dig them out. The big black maintenance bag in my hand shifted. I white knuckle gripped it, making eye contact with a little blonde girl in line, jumping up and down. She caught my stare, held it, and kept bouncing on the balls of her feet. From her parted lips, thick orange goo poured, trailing down her chin. It raced down her unicorn shirt, the mystical sparkly horn hidden behind a landslide. An orange syrupy puddle gathered at her feet. The first spill of the day. I'd be cleaning. I shook my head. Already a mess, I moseyed toward the elevator, relying on it to take me away. The teller's eyes pierced my back as Liza from HR spoke to the children.

[Joan]

Our theme today is Aspire Higher. We're instilling a mindset that you can choose your own future.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

Claire galloped over my heart on her stick horse with yarn for a mane. I'm gonna be just like you, she'd said. No, you can't. I scolded her under my breath. We've talked about this. Liza announced they'd be doing a scavenger hunt for people and things throughout the building that was new. She listed off things like conference rooms, the loan officer, the vault, the peppermint dish on floor three, so on and so forth, stressing the importance of staying with their group leaders and not running off. I imagined it was to avoid getting hurt. We didn't need a lawsuit on our hands. Coloring the logo was a far safer activity, both for the bank and the children. But it wasn't my call. No one had asked me for input. I tried letting my arm rest as the elevator doors closed us off to the busy world and we lowered underground, Claire and me. But Claire begged to be carried. Even then it was as if she felt the ground above our heads and panicked. She really thought I'd bury her. The bag weighed twice as much on the the way down. She never let me rest. Not when we were apart, not when we were together. And she was right not to. She deserved rest far more than I, but she didn't want to find it in the dirt. Aspire Higher. I slung the bag over my shoulder, kinking to the right. We entered the maintenance tunnel to gather supplies for the Orange Festival, clustering in the lobby, working its way from puddle to stain. I couldn't tell if I hoped the children would be gone when I returned, or if I fed off their presence. Claire certainly seemed to. From the other end of the room. The vault called my name in sing song. It used Claire's voice, our bedtime melody,

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

Barnaby, to clean the cleans a lot.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

The night Claire had learned my name. Not Daddy, but my real name, because Claire did deserve to know something of me. She'd found it funny to play with saying be a barn rather than Barnaby was comedy gold to a four year old. One night, when reading a book about dinosaur fossils, she'd interrupted to ask what I do for work. I'm a custodian, I told her. I clean a lot of things.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

I want to clean a lot too. She sang, Barnaby a bee a barn a lot to clean a cleans a lot.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

The lava lamp on the dresser danced. That's how it started the melody. No you don't, I said. Said you can do anything in the world. Pick anything.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

I want to be wherever you are, Daddy. By your barn.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

I looked down at the fossils on the page and asked, what if I was a paleontologist? I sang Barnaby a be a barn a bunch of bones a bones a bunch. I bounced around my knees with each syllable. A toothy bridge spanned from cheek to cheek. Or what if I was a dentist? I sang Barnaby a bee a barn a slough a smiles a smiles a slew. It had become our favorite game, but now I didn't like the way the tune came to me when we weren't playing. It followed me wherever I went. No rest. I wheeled my supply cart to the vault. Following its call, Susan lifted her head from the security desk.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

Hiya, Barney. Buzz you in?

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

Yes, please. My hand cocked the sign in sheet and entered the cage. Susan unlocked the left side while I unlocked the right. Dual control. The black bag jiggled on the cleaning cart as I pushed it into the vault. I hovered in front of the safety department deposit boxes. Number 109 was ours. It was mine as much as it was Claire's. A mess as much as she was Barnaby up be a barn a ton to hide a hides a ton. Orange liquefied paraffin wax leaked through the cracks on the top, bottom, and sides of the locked box. It ran in impossible directions gravity never agreed to. Thick and slow, the goo spread like butter climbing like veins, trickled like rain and dripped like blood. I grabbed a sponge and spray from the cart and got to work. The regurgitation in the lobby would have to wait. I wrung my goose oaked sponge in a bucket and watched the substance rise, watched it push and pull. A living, haunting matter, restless and wanting.

[Peter (Loan officer)]

And here is the vault.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

I poked my head out to discover who spoke. Peter from Loans stood with a group of kids outside the cage. He told the group briefly about vault policy, how no person in the building knew the code to both sides and you always needed a buddy to open it. Their faces varied in interest, some having been there every single year since they started school. Yeah, yeah, yeah, they'd seen the vault. Nothing impressive.

[David Cummings]

It's even bigger than I thought.

[Peter (Loan officer)]

Pretty Cool, huh? And there's the custodian, Barnaby.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

He's on our list.

[David Cummings]

We can mark both.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

Barnaby, Peter's son covered his mouth, chuckling. With his dad as their group leader, he was the most comfortable, most likely to try to impress.

[David Cummings]

What kind of name is that?

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

The group followed his lead with laughter.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

Claire sang A Bunch of Boys a boys a Bunch.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

She liked my name, Jonathan. Enough. I remembered Jonathan from last year. Here he ripped up Rashida's son's picture in the logo coloring contest. I squeezed the sponge without knowing my mind on the song, on the dancing lava in Claire's room. Mocking my name was mocking our melody. Goo dripped on my shoes. No rest. As the group left for the elevator and waved goodbye to Susan, the urge to follow them overcame me. It filled me the way anger did that night in January when I'd added bubbles to Claire's warm bath and she told me about the kid at daycare who'd pulled her hair and pushed her into the snow. Tears streamed down her face as she told the story, and I couldn't clean them quick enough. They kept sliding and sliding. They didn't so much as slow. When I'd called upon her stick horse trotting in and out of the sorrowful bathroom on the toy, saying nay, more tears. I had to take a breather in her bedroom, retiring the horse in a corner and plug in the lava lamp to watch it dance. It had always calmed me, calmed us. But when I'd seen it glow that night, it reminded me of our melody, her smile bridging cheek to cheek. It angered me how anyone would take my Claire's smile away. It boiled over and saw red, then black, then in the next minute I saw orange, a sea of it. I'd thrown the lamp at the door frame. I didn't know she was there, no idea her bubbly body had left the tub to check on Daddy. Be a barn. And then she was gone, covered in shattered glass and hot paraffin wax, her future chosen. No paleontologist in my arms, no dentist, no doctor, no artist or chef, no banker, no baker, no waitress nor pilot. I'd held her all through the night, tears streaming and wax hardening a shell encasing my cruelty. It created a coating for my anger, heavy enough to pin it down for a while. But I never stopped seeing it, never stopped cleaning it, never stopped learning what I'm capable of. Claire learned a lot about me, too. I scooped the weighty black bag with both arms, holding it tight against my chest. A light scent of decay seeped through the zipper. A bunch of bones A bones a

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

bunch al den burn.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

I didn't answer. Floor numbers cycled through my head. 2. 4, 5. I left the cage, glancing back at the broken lava lamp in 109, gripping Claire.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

5.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

I went with 5 because that's how old she should have been by now. The number lit up yellow and the elevator lifted us above the ground where Claire belonged to aspire higher. The higher we rose, the stronger the smell of pizza goo soaked the bottom of the bag, the sleeves of my jumpsuit stickier and stickier. I laid her gently down in the corner of the cramped elevator and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as Clara lay there. A bag of bones. I towered over her. A monster.

[Claire (Barnaby's daughter)]

I want to be wherever you are, Daddy Ba barn A load, a guilt.

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

A guilt, a load.

[Barnaby (Custodian)]

As soon as the doors parted, a river of orange burst out, and so did I. I waded through the wax, no longer hardened or holding back my rage. I'd been hot enough to melt all the wax today. It was time to clean with Claire, teach her how to be like me, as she insisted, an angry little bag of bones. First the blonde girl with a mouthful of goo. I saw the orange, of course I saw the orange. Then red. In the next moment I saw black, a welcome color, the color of rest. I sang Barnaby me a be a barn a lot. To slaughter. To slaughter a lot,

[Man (Narrator of first story)]

Sam

[David Cummings]

as our stories sink beneath the waves, we claw our way back onto dry land. Join us again next time when we plunge into the chilling depths where water hides its darkest secrets. The no Sleep Podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical scores are composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornett, and Claudius Moore. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley McAnally, Ollie A. White, and Kristin Samido. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings. To discover how you can get even more sleepless horror stories from us, just visit sleepless.thenosleeppodcast.com to learn about the Sleepless Universe. Ad 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 taking the plunge into our dark waters. This audio program is copyright 2026 by Creative Reason Media. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media. No part of this audio program may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. All rights reserved.

[Peter (Loan officer)]

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[Narrator (Hospital story)]

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[David Cummings]

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