S24 Ep7: NoSleep Podcast S24E07

Summary

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The NoSleep Podcast – Season 24, Episode 7: “Wicked Water: Transformations & Offerings”

Release Date: March 15, 2026
Host: David Cummings

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Overview

Season 24’s watery horror voyage continues in this haunting anthology episode—three original tales themed around the shifting of forms, fates, and boundaries. Through tales of vengeance via ancient cacao magic, a soul’s debt on cursed mountains, and a brutal rite of parental abandonment, listeners are drawn into otherworldly reflections on transformation, justice, and the primal hunger of the supernatural. The episode’s rich atmospheric soundscape and immersive narration amplify each story’s journey into unsettling dark waters.

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Episode Highlights and Main Discussion Points

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1. Opening Theme & Introduction

(00:08–04:02)

• Host David Cummings sets the tone: water as a theme—its allure, its terror, and its connection to transformation and the unknown.
• Announcement of “Crime Wave at Sea 2.0” cruise ties into the season’s nautical horror theme.
• He previewed tonight's stories: tales of personal and metaphysical transformations, of people and their worlds shifting in terrifying ways:

“On this episode we feature tales about people who transition to new places or transform into new beings...these new states of being are sure to lead to general madness and mayhem. Just the way you like it.” (David Cummings, 01:19)

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2. Story One: “After the Fall” by Fia Callahan

(04:03–23:27)
Cast: Ashe Millman, Jake Benson

Summary & Key Moments:

• Premise:
  A woman, tormented by her little sister Millie's unsolved murder, performs a magical cacao ritual to enter the afterlife and demand answers from William Mahoney, the convicted (and now-dead) killer.

• Atmospheric Ritual:
  The slow, detailed preparation of cacao is both literal and symbolic—a ritual imbued with ancient magic and personal rage:

  “Chocolate is old magic...It is darkness and passion and blood. Hope that you will never need it.” (Claudette, remembered by Narrator, 07:38)

• Crossing Over:
  Ritual cuts and cacao transport her into a sepia-toned afterworld full of lurking shadows and lost souls. She seeks Mahoney, driven by the unfinished grief of not being able to lay Millie to rest.

• Confrontation with the Killer:
  She finds Mahoney, who doesn’t realize he’s dead and is unrepentant.

  • He taunts her, sensing her rage:

    “Your anger. That’s where it begins...It’s only a matter of time.” (William Mahoney, 16:34)

  • She bargains for answers; he withholds, trying to strike a deal.

  • Shadows gather—the hints of a coming supernatural retribution.

• Climax:
  She threatens to leave Mahoney to the coming darkness unless he confesses Millie’s resting place. He finally reveals the location:

  “There’s an outdoor cellar behind the swimming pool...That’s where you’ll find her.” (Mahoney, 22:11)

• Catharsis & Punishment:
  She marks Mahoney with her bloody hand, refusing the temptation to become like him, and lets the shadows consume him. Her vengeance is both justice and a renunciation of further monstrosity:

  “I am not like him. Goodbye, William.” (Narrator, 23:04)

Notable Quotes:

• “Cacao magic is warrior magic, and the place I am going will have no patience for weakness.” (Narrator, 09:06)
• “All I need to do is find him, speak to him. Just one moment. For that I will brave anything this shadowland can throw at me.” (09:48)
• “You ever kill anyone before?” (Mahoney, 16:02)
• “You took until his land starved.” (Cielo, 37:54 – see story two context)

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3. Story Two: “Fallow” by Pamela Jeffs

(26:48–42:55)
Cast: Ilana Charnell, Penny Scott Andrews

Summary & Key Moments:

• Premise:
  A woman bone collector makes her living scavenging and selling bones from a cursed mountain. One night, she encounters a mysterious woman, Cielo, who challenges the morality and consequences of her trade.

• Haunting Landscape:
  Bones, both literal and metaphoric, are currency and power; the land itself is both resource and casualty.

  “Bones are bones and bones are money, and I am nothing if not a woman who covets gold.” (Bone Collector, 26:49)

• Supernatural Encounter:
  Cielo—revealed as the sky spirit and sister to the mountain’s spirit—confronts the bone collector’s desecration:

  “You took and took the bones from these mountains. You took until his land starved. And then when the mountain spirit, my brother, had nothing left to give and he died, you...boiled them in your pot.” (Cielo, 37:54)

• Judgment and Punishment:
  Cielo paralyzes the bone collector, carries her to the summit, and enacts a magical/elemental vengeance: the collector’s body is fused with molten gold and ground into dust, a sacrifice intended to restore the mountain’s vitality.

• Resonant Closing:
  Cielo scatters the gold-and-bone dust from the mountaintop, praying for renewal:

  “Please let it be that bones are not only bones, but that they hold to deeper magic. Let the Bone Collector’s sacrifice return life to these lands.” (Cielo, 42:41)

Notable Quotes:

• “So you swap bones for gold?... The mountain’s own bedrock... is gold. You sell bones for bones.” (Cielo, 33:27)
• “Now you will give back what you took.” (Cielo, 37:59)

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4. Story Three: “The Devourer of Unwanted Things” by Juan Cardenas

(45:40–69:20)
Cast: Sarah Thomas, Kristen Di Mercurio, Atticus Jackson

Summary & Key Moments:

• Premise:
  A young woman is driven deep into the mountains by her bitter, neglectful mother, only to realize she is being abandoned as a sacrificial offering to a supernatural entity in exchange for “good luck.”

• Realistic Despair:
  The story’s first half is grounded in everyday anguish: maternal cruelty, neglect, and the dread of being unwanted.

  “She was volatile, insulting, and often just cruel at home, complaining of how much she missed out on by raising me...” (46:15)

• Modern Fairytale Twist:
  The mother explicitly references Hansel and Gretel as she leaves her daughter with only a breadman to eat—a perverse echo of the folktale.

• Lost and Hunted:
  Abandonment morphs into terror as she realizes the forest is impossible to escape; a predatory, grotesque “devourer” monster stalks its sacrificial victims. Another castoff, an adult man, attempts to use her as bait to save himself.

• Grim Supernatural Sequence:
  The monstrous entity—part centipede, part infant’s head, bristling with jagged teeth—devours the treacherous man in vivid, disturbing detail.

  “It looked like a porcelain baby doll’s head, only jet black, with shiny yellow and white eyes...a mouth that opened wide, impossibly wide, displaying row upon row of seemingly rotten, jagged yellow teeth the size of kitchen knives.” (58:54)

• Narrow Escape & Full-Circle Justice:
  The protagonist finds shelter, survives, and is eventually rescued. Years later, she repeats the traumatic cycle, luring her thieving boyfriend to the forest as an offering.

  “I handed him the tightly wrapped breadman, giving him a quick hug...I proclaimed to the forest that he was my offering and sauntered back to my car.” (68:40)

Notable Quotes:

• “You’re an unwanted thing. I don’t know why...But I sure as hell know I’m getting out...Whoever brought you here lied to you and gave you a little bread guy and basically made you into an offering. A sacrifice in exchange for good luck.” (Man in the Forest, 57:58)
• “I guess it was for the best that the creature had gone away. No chance of me being able to shove that thing into an oven.” (Narrator, 65:35)
• “I felt a pang of guilt, but I had a bright future to worry about.” (Narrator, 68:56)

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Memorable Moments & Quotes with Timestamps

| Timestamp | Speaker / Character | Quote / Description | |-----------|----------------------------|----------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 01:19 | David Cummings | “Tales about people who transition...new states of being lead to madness and mayhem.” | | 07:38 | Claudette (via Narrator) | “Chocolate is old magic...darkness and passion and blood. Hope that you will never need it.” | | 13:11 | William Mahoney | “Our past catches up with us all in the end, doesn’t it?” | | 16:34 | William Mahoney | “Your anger. That’s where it begins...It's only a matter of time.” | | 22:11 | William Mahoney | “There’s an outdoor cellar behind the swimming pool...That’s where you’ll find her.” | | 26:49 | Bone Collector | “Bones are bones and bones are money, and I am nothing if not a woman who covets gold.” | | 33:27 | Cielo | “The mountain’s own bedrock...is gold. You sell bones for bones.” | | 37:59 | Cielo | “Now you will give back what you took.” | | 42:41 | Cielo | "Please let it be that bones are not only bones, but that they hold to deeper magic..." | | 46:15 | Narrator (Juan Cardenas) | “She was volatile, insulting, and often just cruel at home, complaining of how much she missed out on by raising me...” | | 57:58 | Man in the Forest | "You’re an unwanted thing...Whoever brought you here lied to you and gave you a little bread guy and basically made you into an offering." | | 58:54 | Narrator | "It looked like a porcelain baby doll’s head, only jet black...row upon row of...teeth the size of kitchen knives." | | 68:56 | Narrator | “I felt a pang of guilt, but I had a bright future to worry about.” |

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Structure and Tone

• The episode blends lush, evocative narration and immersive voice acting.
• Each story builds a unique folklore: the rituals around cacao, the legends of mountain spirits, and fairy tales reimagined as parental betrayal and monstrous appetite.
• The tone veers between melancholy, rage, and just a sliver of triumphant self-determination, with horror emerging from both the supernatural and the human condition.
• David Cummings’s framing and outro keep listeners anchored in the “wicked water” motif, using water as a metaphor for change, darkness, and secrets.

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Final Thoughts

Season 24, Episode 7 is a masterclass in atmospheric horror. It uses the motif of “transformation”—physical, psychic, societal, and spiritual—to probe the boundaries of justice, retribution, grief, and otherness, all while delivering the podcast’s signature chills. The episode stands out for its rich world-building, gut-wrenching performances, and memorable imagery.

Listeners are left with unsettling questions about what it means to survive, to forgive, or to become the thing you fear most.

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End of Summary

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. Season 24 is sailing right along episode seven already, and sailing is a good metaphor considering this season's theme of wicked water. I could have said the season is cruising along, but cruising and horror don't go together, do they? Well, of course they do. That's why I'm reminding you about the crime Wave at Sea 2.0 cruise coming up next year. A big thanks to those of you who have already signed up. There are still spots available, but don't wait too long. Check the links in the show notes for more details and sign up for your code to save $100 and get our special no Sleep meet and Greet. It will be a life changing experience. And speaking of things that change our lives, horror has a long tradition of people who transform into things they're not. It's easy to think about people who become crazed monsters after a transformation, but sometimes the person can change into something much more subtle. Except the horror they inflict or experience can be anything but subtle. On this episode, we feature tales about people who transition to new places or transform into new beings. And as you might expect, these new states of being are sure to lead to general madness and mayhem. Just the way you like it. So turn and face the strange as you learn about these cha cha cha changes. Now it's time to plunge into the horror of our sleepless tales. In our first tale, we meet a woman dealing with the tragic, violent death of her little sister. And despite the seemingly unchangeable end of the ordeal, she is seeking more for resolution. And in this tale shared with us by author FIA Callahan, a mystical form of chocolate is used to take her into a lost realm seeking ultimate justice. Performing this tale are Ashe Millman and Jake Benson. So some tales aren't as complete as they seem. There may be more after the fall.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Dried cacao beans simmer on the stove top until they split, the shells sloughing off like dead skin. Their heady, earthy scent mixes with the incense I prepared of cinnamon and motherwort and cacao husks and chili. Together they whisper stories of long forgotten battlefields, of blood promises and old gods. I break the beans into pieces, stone on stone, picking out the frail paper like shells. The preparation is as much a part of the ritual as any spoken word. Roasting the rare criollo beans by hand, grinding the nibs to a paste, each turn of the pestle on mortar like the turning of a cog or a key. The cacao, of course, is not the first food used to unlock doors between worlds. Six pomegranate seeds once tore open a gate to Hades. Nine sheaves of wheat formed a bridge to Avalon. In another time, in another place, a wardrobe made of apple wood linked one world to another. But today there are no apple trees or garnet colored seeds, only the slow, purposeful grinding of cacao by candlelight. It is the slowness that makes me ache with longing and rage. But these things cannot be rushed. The beans have passed through many hands. Between the rainforested Kakawatan region of Mexico and my cramped kitchen in South London, it's dizzying to think of the road they have taken, the road I have taken to arrive at this moment. As the nibs break down into a paste, I hold his image in my mind as I last saw him, Clear blue eyes and a handsome face unlined by the hardships of the world, the smile playing around the edges of his lips, as if somehow, despite everything we'd been through, the world was still one big, beautiful riddle to be solved. Once the chocolate is slick and smooth, I mix it with milk and thistle honey and warm the blend gently on the stove. The stirring soothes my unsteady hands as I pour it into a chipped mug. I whisper a dedication to Quetzalcoatl, bringer of all things, a prayer for his blood to keep me safe. Years ago, before my sister was born, we had a neighbor who would come by while my parents were at work, Claudette, who must have been at least 90 and spoke with a French accent softened by time. How she ended up in the dirty streets of Tulse Hill, I never knew and never thought to ask. She taught me about the plants that grew in the back garden and skimmed the edges of the sidewalks and glimmered in the supermarket. Lavender, she explained, would calm an argument. Dandelions, les danse de Leon would make me brave. Apples, figs, even potatoes had their own earthly magic. What about chocolate? I asked, only half joking. My favorite was Cadbury creme eggs. But the woman gave me a serious look. Chocolate is old magic, she said. It is darkness and passion and blood. Hope that you will never need it. At seven years old, I'd not understood. I understand now. The room grows dim with incense smoke. I sit and pick up the blade I'd set aside. I've never been good at pain, at taking risks. It was my sister, Millie, who was always the fearless one, jumping off the swings too early, coming home with new bruises and scrapes and ready to do it all over again. I grit my teeth and pull the knife across my palm. The wound gapes, raw and ragged against the heel of my hand. I take a deep breath and wait for the pain to ebb. Cacao magic is warrior magic, and the place I am going will have no patience for weakness. I whisper one last desperate prayer to Shoshi Ketzel, to Coatlake Maiden and Mother, and lift the cup to my lips. In some far distant place. I feel the smooth ceramic between my hands and the cool wooden floorboards beneath my legs. The sensations are muted, distant, like viewing them through a dirty window. Here I am on my feet and barren red earth stretches out in every direction. The taste of chocolate lingers on my lips. I hold my hand close to my chest and a perilous flutter of fear climbs up my throat. I don't know how long the drink will protect me, how long it will be until the dead notice a living thing, a bleeding thing, in their midst. All I need to do is find him, speak to him. Just one moment. For that I will brave anything this shadowland can throw at me. I whisper his name into the dead air. William Mahoney. It seems like such a respectable name, the kind that might have an old Irish granny waiting for it somewhere in Connemara, wondering why he never came home. I thought I was alone in this new landscape, but here and there I see flickers of other afterlands. They tangle up together like double exposed photographs. On one side the river Styx glimmers in and out of sight. On the other, the verdant fields of Tir na Nog sprawl across the icy expanse of Hel. And then I begin to hear them. The cries of the damned, their humanity stripped away by their own twisted memories. I think of William somewhere like that, unable to speak, unable to remember, and my heart twists until I cannot breathe. There are other things lurking in the fringes, too. Shadowy, ethereal things, hungry things. I focus my eyes ahead and remind myself of why I've come, the ache to feel him beneath my touch just once, to dig my nails into his flesh and watch him bleed. The shadows hover nearby and examine my hand with curiosity in that distant place. I raise the coffee mug to my lips and taste the smoky, earthy sweetness of Quetzalcoatl's blood. The transition is disorienting, like too much wine too quickly, and I fight to keep my feet rooted in the afterland. As long as the cacao flows through me, the shadows will not harm me. Probably the last and only time I saw William Mahoney. We stared at each other from across a crowded courtroom floor. My mother and father stood beside me. Her face was bloated from tears that never stopped falling, my father's gaunt and grey. I thought I could handle it, being there across the room from him, giving the nightmare a human face. But I was wrong. My father dragged me screaming from the courthouse, screaming until the words no longer made sense to my own ears. Screaming because I didn't know what else to do and didn't know how to stop. In the end, William Mahoney was convicted of murdering three girls, none older than 12. Two of the bodies had been recovered. Millie's was not one of them. My family agreed to a deal. Mahoney would tell us where to find my sister in exchange for a reduced sentence. 15 years instead of a lifetime, maybe less. My father hated the idea, hated the thought of setting a monster loose on the streets. But my mother's tears finally wore him down. I just want to say goodbye. I didn't say anything, but privately I agreed it was a fair price. But then William had been found dead in his prison cell with a switchblade in his throat. I whisper his name again into the air. Rust red dust rises and glitters in the thin sepia light. The landscape is so empty, so vast, and a flicker of uncertainty worms its way in. Just before I crest a sunset colored hilltop and see him. William Mahoney sits alone in the dust, his eyes vacant. Even here in this wasteland of broken souls, he is beautiful. What did he promise those girls, I wonder? What stories did he tell them in the dark? Maybe they made their own promises just by looking at him, the way girls so often do when they know nothing of the world. I know my sister is dead. To let myself believe otherwise would kill me. But maybe if I can learn where she's hidden my family and I can finally find peace, we can say goodbye. The shadows shift at the periphery of my vision, straining towards my bleeding hand. There is no time here, which means there's no coagulation, no healing in my faraway body. I fortify myself with another sip of chocolate. I blink, reorient myself, and go over to William. I sit down cross legged in the dust he looks up. William doesn't look tortured at all. He looks healthy, his eyes still that vivid, disarming blue. I feel a flush of white hot rage, as if he shouldn't deserve color after he'd taken all of it away from my family. But not yet. There will be time for rage after William Mahoney, I say with a soft smile. You're a difficult man to find. His eyes skim me up and down, a series of quick judgments, flickering one after the other.

[William Mahoney]

Ah, well, our past catches up with us all in the end, doesn't it?

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

But he says it with a grin, mocking himself, mocking the world, mocking the great mysteries that brought us both here, face to face. He tilts his head to one side.

[William Mahoney]

So what did I get you with?

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

He must have seen the confusion on my face, because he continues, what did

[William Mahoney]

you do to get stuck in this hole?

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Made a deal with a God? I wonder what he sees when he looks around him. What hell does he believe in? What stories kept young William Mahoney up at night?

[William Mahoney]

You wouldn't be the first to make that mistake, my dear. Don't worry. You're pretty and sweet. I love that kind of thing.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

And he had loved it too. Pretty and sweet, just on the cusp of womanhood, childhood innocence beginning to crack and reveal the fears underneath. How many? I ask, startling myself. It doesn't matter how many. That isn't why I'm here.

[William Mahoney]

How many what?

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I hesitate. How many girls he was convicted of three, but everyone knew there were more. More missing girls, more buried stories. It was only after my sister that he got sloppy. He meets my eyes for a moment, then shrugs and looks away.

[William Mahoney]

I didn't count.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I dig my nails into my bloody palm until the pain clears my head.

[William Mahoney]

Anyway, I won't be hanging around much longer. My lawyer has a deal on the table.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I open my mouth, then close. Takes a moment for it to click. The asshole doesn't even know he's dead. I focus on my hands, those other hands in that other place, and lift the chocolate to my lips. The cup is empty. I'm wasting time. Tell me about this deal. I tried to keep my voice light. Two conspirators locked away. Two lost souls together in the dark. He leans back against his elbows as if he were on a riverbank instead of in a jail cell or the sands of hell.

[William Mahoney]

Yezel Information about the girls.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I wish I had more time. If he senses desperation, he will play with me and spit me out. I will lose him. The shadows gather at the edges of my vision Drawn by the scent of my blood. From somewhere in the distance comes the fluttering of wings. He glances down, noticing my hand for the first time.

[William Mahoney]

Someone get rough, would you?

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

Hmm.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Something like that. I run my thumb across my palm where the blood is beginning to pool. It comes away red. What information. He closes his eyes and a slow smile plays over his face.

[William Mahoney]

You ever kill anyone before?

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I tamp down my frustration. Not yet. Then I amend myself. No. No, I'm not like you. He doesn't look at me, but his smile broadens into a grin.

[William Mahoney]

Don't worry.

[David Cummings]

You will.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I wasn't worried. I want to snap, but his calm unnerves me. What makes you think that? He opens his eyes again and examines my face as though memorizing its contours and angles.

[William Mahoney]

I can see it. Your anger. That's where it begins. Before it becomes game. Before it becomes play. Before it's a game, a hunt. Whatever you think it is. Long before that. It's anger. It's fire, burning so hot it whites out everything else. I see it under your skin. It's only a matter of time.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I stare at him. There is so much I want to say. I will never be like you. I imagine raking my nails down his face, feeling his hot blood sink into my cuticles. The longing so intense it makes my breath catch. Instead I say, you're wrong.

[William Mahoney]

I'll make you a deal.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

He closes his eyes again.

[William Mahoney]

Tell me your secret and I'll tell you mine. I want to know what debaucherous atrocity you committed to get tossed in here with me. Not that I'm complaining. Mind scenery was getting dull.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

His closed eyes give me a chance to study his face. In return, it's the kind that will stay young forever. With full lips I may have fallen for in another life. Hatred makes my vision swim. Someone hurt my family. The police punished him, but it wasn't enough. He opens his eyes and gives me an appraising look.

[William Mahoney]

It never is.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Your turn, I say, smoothing down my voice like I'd smoother wrinkled dress. What information could be so valuable that it'd buy you a ticket out? I'm careful not to look at him.

[William Mahoney]

There was one they were still looking for. They had enough to book me for it, but not enough to find her. I agreed to draw him a treasure map in exchange for an early pass.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I take a deep breath. The taste of chocolate on my tongue. Every step of my preparations have led me to this moment. My mother's tears, the haunted hollowness in my father's eyes. The Sound of my screams still ringing in my ears. Still ringing. For weeks later, I walk through the very gates of hell for one simple question. Where is she? William grins.

[Cielo]

Sorry.

[William Mahoney]

Tree of secret.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Lost. Millie is lost. For a moment. The walls around my resolve tilt. It can't be over. I won't let it be over. I will claw him apart with my bare hands. But the shadows at the edges of the world are stirring. Well, you sure run the police in circles. It must have been somewhere pretty clever. I'd hoped to appeal to his vanity, but my voice sounds thin and desperate to my own ears. My plan is coming apart. It's happening too fast. He gives me a hard look and a shadow of recognition passes behind his eyes.

[William Mahoney]

Who did you say you were again?

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I study him a moment longer. His eyes are clear and blue and shrewd, his nose gently aquiline, like a hunter's. I imagine him taking Millie by the hand, making her laugh. It would have been easy. I imagine all the others who were never found. All of the broken families, all the broken lives. Then I let my eyes flutter closed. I breathe in the world beyond. I tilt the cup way back and suck out the last few drops of bitter chocolate, coating my lips with it, inhaling the smoky sweet scent one last time. Quetzalcoatl give me strength. I open my eyes. Do you know where you are, William Mahoney? He gives me that boyish grin again, though the caution doesn't leave his eyes set East Fairness.

[William Mahoney]

The Ritz was booktaied for the weekend.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

No? He frowns and looks away. You screwed up. Made someone angry. A lot of people angry, actually. I keep my voice steady and slow, even as my heart jumps, but one was all it took. He looks back at me and I see it then, the fear, deep and primordial, hidden behind layers and layers of self delusion. Perhaps a part of him does know after all. Do you see them? I look towards the edges of the dustland. The shadows are beginning to take shape with angles and edges, sharp talons and sheets of darkness that beat against the still air. He tears his eyes away from me, squinting as though looking at the sun. The wan reddish light of the afterland is fading. The they're coming for you. The fear shines brighter in his eyes now, like a shark rising to the surface of the sea.

[David Cummings]

No.

[Man in the Forest]

I have a deal, my lawyer said.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I'll make you a new one. Tell me where my sister is and I'll get you out of here. I watch the wheels turn in his head. His eyes flicker over me. No doubt looking familiar in my face, maybe remembering what she'd been like in her last moment moments. The feeling of her delicate bones beneath his soft, boyish hands.

[William Mahoney]

She can do that.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Think faster. William. He looks around frantically at the darkening sky. I stand, brushing dust off my trousers and turn away, though it kills me. I take a step, then another.

[Bone Collector]

William.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I stop, relief flooding my chest. William stands too.

[William Mahoney]

There's an outdoor cellar behind the swimming pool. They used to keep life jackets and stuff in there, but it's abandoned now. That's where you'll find him.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I turn, my heart pounding. William has gone ash. Pale red dust clings to his clothes. Thank you. I dig my nails into the heel of my hand and force the wound apart. Fresh blood wells up, sticky and hot. I reach out and press it to his open throat, feel it smear beneath my touch. He stares at me, wide eyed for a wild, surreal moment. I'm tempted to kiss him, to make him feel as caged and helpless as she was, to taste the mingled blood and chocolate before his soul is ripped apart. I don't. I am not like him. Goodbye, William. I pull back my hand. It leaves a vivid red stain behind, like a gaping mouth. The air comes alive with beating wings.

[William Mahoney]

Wait.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

We are a deal.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

I step back and watch the shadows descend. His screams echo in my ears as I open my eyes.

[Bone Collector]

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 the no Sleep Podcast Women really do kick ass and we're grateful that Better Help is kicking ass by sponsoring this episode. I'm proud of the fact that women have always played a huge part in the creation of the no Sleep Podcast. Writers, voice actors, editors, illustrators, women contribute to the overall success of this show, and we're taking a moment to celebrate women and all that they carry at work, in relationships, in families, and in the many roles they hold every day. We celebrated International Women's Day this month, a moment to acknowledge women's strength and progress while also recognizing how much they carry every day, especially the ladies who work with me. Between caring for others and managing unseen responsibilities, their emotional well being can easily be overlooked. We want to remind women how much they matter and that therapy offers a space for them to take care of themselves in the way they deserve. Better Help therapists work according to a strict code of conduct and are fully licensed in the US with over 30,000 therapists, BetterHelp is one of the world's largest online therapy platforms, having served over 5 million people globally. And it works with an average rating of 4.9 out of 5 for a live session based on over 1.7 million million client reviews. Your emotional well being matters. Find support and feel lighter in therapy. Sign up and get 10% [e-mail] nosleep that's betterhelp.com nosleep thank you BetterHelp, and thank you ladies. Now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. When a person dies alone in nature, their body returns to the earth. It's considered respectful to not interfere with the remains unless you're a bone collector. As we'll learn in this tale shared with us by author Pamela Jeffs, A woman scours the mountainside for bones she can sell for fertilizer, and a stranger she encounters along the way has much insight for her. Performing this tale are Ilana Charnell and Penny Scott Andrews. So acknowledge the lost and the land they die upon when you seek bones to feed fallow.

[Bone Collector]

It's said these cursed mountains devour men, but I find they eat women just as often. Either way, it matters not to me, for bones are bones and bones are money, and I am nothing if not a woman who covets gold. My horse, Kita, knows these treacherous paths. She navigates the sparse, dead forests with ease, passing the ethereal, silvered trees that stand with shattered limbs twisted by the wind. Sometimes, when the melancholy mood overtakes me, I imagine they are weeping for those who have died in these lands. I hum as we travel, skirting the snowline, letting Kita choose the way. The horse has a nose for finding the dead, and she doesn't fail me. She soon halts, head held high, ears pressed forward. She huffs, her breath clouding to mist in the chilled air. What is it, my love? She tosses her head, front hoof, pawing the barren, stony ground. Death. Bones. Good girl. I slide from the saddle. My pots, tied from the horn, rattle as I knock them with my shoulder. I unhook my collection sack beside them. The bones I've already collected today clatter, those of an eagle and a native dog we found on our way up. I shoulder the bag and circle Kita. I can't see what she senses, but I can smell it, the sweet rot scent of decomposition coming from the tumble of boulders next to the path. A cloud of flies rise from the corpse I find sprawled behind the rocks. The carcass is badly decomposed, but it's human, a male, or at least I think it is the body being far taller and slimmer than anything I've seen before. A nest of long, tangled brown hair still clings to the grinning skull, a skull armed with teeth broader and longer than any human has the right to own. I'm sorry to see the demise of a fellow traveler, but bones are bones. I drop my sack to the ground and pull my filleting knife from my belt. The bones are no use unless cleaned, so I ready to remove the flesh before I boil them down. Heater, picketed by the nearest tree, sidles as I add another log to my campfire. Smoke and sparks curl up into the evening watercolour strokes against the night's indigo sky. I lean back on my saddlebags and watch the pot slowly boil over low flames, the water melting the last shreds of meat from the bones. I ruminate on the strangeness of the man they belonged to. Cleaning them, while typically unpleasant, had revealed a strange vitrified smoothness to their lengths. The bones almost seem crafted of gilded glass rather than the typical porous material I grind down to sell to the valley folk, folk who pay good money to purchase the rare powder to fertilise their fields. I pick up my stick and lean over to stir the pot. The bones clink again like glass. I begin to wonder if these will even grind down properly. I'm not sure what you found for us this time, Kida. The fire cracks and a log shifts. I jump and the mare paws against her tether. The light catches her long nose and casts her eyes into ghoulish shadows. It's just the fire, girl. Rest easy. But she remains vigilant, gaze fixed to a point somewhere past the tree line. Her intensity raises the hairs on my neck. This night has eyes. I'm sure of it. Another crack, this time from the forest behind me. I turn. The tall, bone white trees loom, twisted limbs holding back a curtain of darkness. I recline back and ease the dagger from the sheath at my hip. I lock my fingers on the hilt. The breeze kicks up and the tree limbs rattle. They sound like my collection bag does when I it's full. I keep an eye on the forest. Anyone out there? The dry grasses shift in a sudden breeze.

[Cielo]

Just the traveler.

[Bone Collector]

I swivel, blade up edge, catching the firelight. A young woman walks into camp. Her eyes, luminous blue, seem so much older than her smooth face suggests. She holds her hands up, empty.

[Cielo]

May I share your fire?

[Bone Collector]

My hand tightens on the hilt. People don't just wander around in the dark up here, so close to the summit she smiles and fine wrinkles crinkle at the corners of her eyes.

[Cielo]

Surely you don't fear a fellow woman out past dark and travelling alone?

[Bone Collector]

I take in her tall, thin form, her patchwork cloak. She looks as if she would blow over in a stiff wind. Cautious, I nod to the opposite side of the flames. You can join me to catch your breath, but you can't stay.

[Cielo]

The rest alone is welcome.

[Bone Collector]

The woman circles. She glances briefly at the pot and then sits.

[Cielo]

I'm hungry.

[Bone Collector]

That isn't food.

[Cielo]

What then?

[Bone Collector]

I lay my knife across my knee, close to hand. Bones. I'm a bone collector.

[Cielo]

A bone collector.

[Bone Collector]

I gather them off the mountain to sell for profit. I shrug. Some folk believe the ground down powder brings good luck when tilled into food bearing earth. The woman frowns.

[Cielo]

And what about the mountain? If you take the bones and his good luck from him, how is he to remain? Bountiful.

[Bone Collector]

She scans the dead trees.

[Cielo]

Maybe you have already taken too much.

[Bone Collector]

It's all nonsense. I tap the purse tied to my belt. It's gold that holds power in this world. And the bones bring me that gold? Yes.

[Cielo]

So you swap bones for gold?

[Bone Collector]

Yes.

[Cielo]

And you don't see the irony in that?

[Bone Collector]

What irony?

[Cielo]

The mountain's own bedrock. Its bones are made of gold. You sell bones for bones.

[Bone Collector]

Something about the way she says it suggests I should be ashamed. But outcast women like myself have two options for to make a living, I choose the one that allows me freedom. I lift my chin. I only deal with the dead. Gold is metal. It's not a living part of the mountain. The woman nods and looks to the pot. Her eerie eyes catch the firelight, turning them to moonstones.

[Cielo]

I understand.

[Bone Collector]

I shift, uncomfortable. I wish to be rid of her company. Maybe if I share food she'll leave sooner.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Here.

[Bone Collector]

I reach into my saddle pack and hold out a pouch of dried apple. It isn't much, but you're welcome to it. The woman reaches over and takes the food. Her skin brushes mine. I jerk back my hand. She's cold to touch her fingers like ice. She glances at me and smiles again.

[Cielo]

Thank you.

[Bone Collector]

I rub my palm to warm it, but the more I rub, the colder my skin feels. I hold my hand out to the fire, but the warmth feeds the uncanny sensation. The cold rises, creeping up into my wrist and forearm. It reaches my neck and my tongue. I try to speak, but the words are locked in my frozen throat. Confused, I look to the woman. She sits quietly, eyes gleaming as she chews thoughtfully on the apple. Kida nickers and paws the ground. Why is my mare sensing death? The woman is stronger than she looked. I'm helpless as she lifts my rigid body from the fireside. Kida calls after me as we pass her, but I cannot answer. I try to struggle, but in vain. My breaths quicken as we travel higher up the mountain, up through the dark and over bare stones. Where is she taking me? We hit the snow line and continue on, the woman's footsteps turning from the crunch of dead brushwood into the squeak of new snow underfoot. And still we climb, headed, it seems, for the summit. It's when dawn crests in the eastern sky, a canvas of orange and purple, that we reach the plateau. The woman drops me to the snow hard enough that my teeth clatter. I blink, the only movement I control as the thin, cold air brushes my brow and lips. I again try to move but remain wooden. Humming fills the air, a sweet melody that brings to mind wide blue vistas, heady thunderstorms, and wild valleys that drop into shadow. A quiet rattle underpins the song, the sound of bones tumbling from my sack onto the snow.

[Cielo]

An eagle, a dog, and the spirit of the mountain. Quite the hall bone collector.

[Bone Collector]

My captor steps into my field of view. Her hair blooms around her head, the new rays of morning sunlight crowning her in gold. Her eyes stare into mine, unblinking.

[Cielo]

You took and took the bones from these mountains. You took until his land starved. And then when the mountain spirit, my brother, had nothing left to give and he died, you flayed his rotting flesh from his bones and boiled them in your pot.

[Bone Collector]

Her spittle lands on my cheek and freezes there. Who is this woman? She must read the question in my gaze.

[Cielo]

I am Cielo, the one who owns the wild skies, and I am most unmerciful.

[Bone Collector]

Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. I would whimper if I could. Cielo swings away from me, her cloak swirling snowflakes like powder. She retrieves the fallen bones and lays them around me, the skulls she positions on my chest and abdomen. She leans in close.

[Cielo]

Now you will give back what you took.

[Bone Collector]

My stomach sours. The woman growls and slams her fist through the snow. I hear her knuckles hit the bedrock and crack like thunder. She snarls, baring her teeth, and they are broad and long like those in the last skeleton I found. Teeth not quite human but I see now are at home in the mouths of spirits or demons. This sky woman could easily lay claim to either title. Tears streak Cielo's face as she mutters words, words forming a strange and unusual language like Wind cresting razorback stone. The ground beneath me starts to warm. At first I welcome the heat, a sensation of thawing. But then I begin to burn gold. Liquid gold like blood, seeps from the ground and crawls like man maggots across my arms and chest. My skin blisters at its touch, waking white hot madness inducing agony. My voice breaks free from the prison of my throat. My scream shakes the sky, but is soon smothered as the boiling liquid fills my mouth and burns my tongue to cinders. Cielo stops. Her tears gleam on the porcelain canvas of her face. Those moonstone eyes, those doorways into her ageless soul, are the last thing I see before the mountain's gold burns my eyes away too.

[Cielo]

The gold infused bones of the Bone Collector groan as I grind them between two boulders. The work is hard and my fingers blister with the effort. My blood, clear as rain, wets my palms. But I do not falter. My brother, spirit of the Mountain, was kind and generous when the universe cast me out alone to rule the skies, almost driven mad by that unending expanse. It was he that sang me back from oblivion. A gentle soul he gave to the creatures that dwelt in his domain. And with their depths, the power in their bones sustained him. But the Bone Collector came. I watched from lofty heights as my brother's sustenance was stolen from him. I saw his body wilt, as did the vegetation on the mountain, vegetation that he had since the dawn of time, carefully cultivated. And I wept when he died alone. His corpse, left to rot on a mountainside, turned fallow. Helplessness woke the rage of storms and wild winds in me. And then the Bone Collector came again. She defiled my brother's corpse. I push my weight down and grind the boulder harder. Bone shards splinter and spray across the snow. I carefully gather them back into the pile. I grind, I grind until all that is left is bone dust mixed with gold. I carefully gather it up and move to stand at the precipice at the summit. With pursed lips, I blow the particles into the air. The wind catches them, billows them across the sweeping dead forests that stretch below. As I stand, with the morning sky arcing over me, I send a wish into the vastness of the universe. Please let it be that bones are not only bones, but that they hold to deeper magic. Let the Bone Collector's sacrifice return life to these lands.

[David Cummings]

The horror keeps flowing after a word from the folks who make all this free content possible. The weather is getting warmer as spring approaches and I'm enjoying spending more time outside, even cooking outside. And that's the perfect scenario for Home Chef. Home Chef makes cooking simple, fresh food delivered, easy recipes to follow and meals that actually taste great. Whatever kind of day you're having, Home Chef has you covered from classic recipes with fresh ingredients and 30 minute meals to oven ready trays and quick, quick microwave lunches. There's even a dedicated family menu for easy four or six serving dinners and people really love it. Home Chef is rated number one by users of other meal kits for quality, convenience, value, taste and recipe ease. They've worked with chefs like Gordon Ramsay and there are always new ones to discover to bring restaurant quality recipes straight to your kitchen. Plus, it's affordable. Home Chef customers save an average of $86 per month on groceries for a limited time. Home Chef is offering sleepless listeners 50% off and free shipping for your first box plus free dessert for life. Go to homechef.com nosleep that's homechef.com nosleep for 50% off your first box and for free dessert for life. Home chef.com nosleep must be an active subscriber to receive free dessert now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. We are told there is no stronger bond of love than that between a parent and child. It's unimaginable to think about a parent ridding themselves of their very own flesh and blood. But in this tale shared with us by author Juan Cardenas, we meet a young woman who has been abandoned, cast off into a mystical forest. She's not intended to survive, but she does. Performing this tale are Sarah Thomas, Kristen Di Mercurio and Atticus Jackson. So an offering must be made when you encounter the devourer of unwanted things.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

It was odd for my mom to pick me up. That should have been enough warning. But part of me was happy to see her on that crisp winter afternoon. Maybe she was trying her best. There were times when she'd get out of her funk and put effort in. She typically waited for me at home in her room, writing her blog, angrily slamming something once I got home, as if my arrival meant her free time was over. Looking at her now felt alien. She was blank faced and exhausted, as if she hadn't slept. I was so surprised I stopped mid step and someone behind me bumped into me. I didn't even say anything when they cursed me out. Mom had parked her car on the crosswalk, oblivious to the angry but silent families going around it in a mad dash home. She was smoking and wordlessly gestured for me to go with her. So I got in the car. Her eyes resumed their usual fury and I realized I would not be getting trying Mom. I would be getting angry Mom. I got in and almost forgot to mumble thank you ma' am to her. I appreciated the ride, but the long walk home was usually my escape from her. She was volatile, insulting, and often just cruel at home, complaining of how much she missed out on by raising me, how my father was on easy street in jail while she had to do the hard work of being everything to me. I sat in the back, my backpack by my side, and as usual, stayed quiet. She was big on me, not speaking unless spoken to. I stared out the window, people watching. A growing sense of unease settled into the pit of my stomach now. I was not the smartest child in my school, nor the most perceptive, so suspicion only dawned on me when we had been driving for over an hour. I looked around nervously. Mom had been quiet the whole time. The radio had been turned to static and she didn't bother to adjust it to find a new station. It was only when I realized we were outside the city limits that I knew something bad was happening. There were friendly looking cows standing on the side of the road, gazing longingly at the growing expanse of greenery that our car was driving into. My stomach growled when almost another hour passed. I knew I needed to ask something, but I was scared. Once the road started to get bumpy, I couldn't take it any longer, so I squeaked out a question. Mom, where are we going? My mother didn't answer. She kept driving. Another long moment passed through us until I asked again, this time louder. She looked in the rearview mirror and she mumbled through red wine stained teeth that we were going to the mountains. Indeed, the little car was rising up the side of the thin, winding dirt road that curved around the hills, almost two hours out of town. The bright crisp cold was replaced by the now somber and foggy chill of the mountain. The air was thinning and I felt faint, having not eaten so long and getting a tinge of beer in my gut. The ride went on for what felt like another hour and around several turns of the mountain until we reached a sort of plateau, a flat opening with roads leading down and even more up. It seemed like this area was cleared out specifically for pulling over, but there was no gas station, no vendors, no people, just some sparse foliage and the multiple tire tracks of passing vehicles. Mom pulled over and killed the engine, abruptly ending the radio static that she had been listening to. Stepping out, she made sure to grab from her purse a small item the size of a football wrapped in paper and gestured for me to get out of the car. It was almost evening now. I felt the cold through my thin school stockings and worn out ballet flats. It didn't help that my jacket was ill fitting and threadbare. Mom led me a few minutes walk up an incline to where a large obsidian boulder was. It was the size of one of those big sofa loveseats. The top was smooth as if sanded and ice cold to the touch. I felt an electric unease when I looked at it. Mom asked me to sit with her. She handed me the object. She took a deep breath but neglected to say anything as we sat on the stone together. The item was soft. It surrendered to the little bits of pressure my fingers gave when holding it. So I gripped it lightly. Finally mom spoke, but not to me.

[Bone Collector]

I offer you this and only this. Please bless me as you have the others.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

Then she abruptly got up, attempting to leave. I grabbed her arm. She reacted as if a rat had touched her, but then composed herself. I asked her where we were. Why were we here when I could go home. She didn't answer. I could see the glaze of a whole bottle of wine in her eyes.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Do you know the story of Hansel and Gretel?

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

I nodded.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Two siblings alone in the woods, left there by their parents when they couldn't feed them anymore.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

My back tightened, my jaw dropped, my heart raced.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

They're devastated by the betrayal, but it

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

works out for them.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

No candy house. Kill the witch. And they lived happily ever after.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

It was then that she left. Something compelled me to stay on that rock. Maybe it was self respect. Maybe it was just shock. Most likely shock. She disappeared down the path she had led me on. I opened the item she gave me. It was a little bread man. I knew what this was. It was sort of like a gingerbread man, but not flat like a gingerbread man. It was decorated with frosting and eaten on the holidays. Like a gingerbread man. It tasted bland. Angrily, I threw the bread man on the ground and started to cry. It was a deep whole body cry, the kind that involves a lot of gasps, shaking, falling to my knees, and what I imagined to be quite the spectacle. It took me several minutes to calm down. The sun was setting, the fog was growing. The place was getting colder and colder. I thought about the story again. The breadcrumbs. Of course. I could just follow the path back down the mountain. It took a long time to drive up here, but I could follow the path down. I didn't need Mom. I didn't need anyone. I would go back down. I would get back to town. There would be signs, helpful people. Those people in the church. They have to help people. I could go to a church, get a new family. Things will be great. I had these thoughts buzzing around my head as I started leaving, absentmindedly picking up the bread man and tucking him into my sweater as if he was a near and dear trinket of mine. I didn't make it too far before I felt like I had gotten lost somehow. The path that I took heading down now seemed to be going up again. It didn't make sense. A few more minutes of walking and I found myself back at the obsidian stone, sitting frigid like a block of ice in its own clearing. I ventured again, then wound up back at the stone. And again and again. Every time finding myself back at the stone. I guess I should lay down the crumbs on the road. I dropped bits and pieces of the bread on the ground, first from its head, then its arms, then part of its torso. This time I felt like I was progressing. I wasn't immediately coming back to the obsidian stone. There was a calm in me. Then I heard a little snap, like a twig. It was probably a good 10 minute walk from the big black stone. I froze, not sure what to do. The forest was almost fully darkened and I kept thinking about what my PE teacher told me about the mountains and the animals there. Basically, if you're out here and think a mountain lion is coming for you, your best option is to get down on your knees, pray, and sort out whatever business you got with whatever God you worship. Because you'll be meeting them soon. It wasn't helpful, but it was all I had. There was a sudden blurry of movement. My heart jumped and I expected to see a big cat, claws out, leaping at me. Instead, the brush on the side of the road suddenly exploded into the outline of a man with crazed bloodshot eyes, a filthy set of casual office slacks and a slightly ripped button down shirt. His face was framed by a wool hat and long hair that was matted and tangled. He ran to me like a desperate starving dog for a bone. I froze again. The sight of him had startled me, but even then my body couldn't do anything but hold my hands up to cover my face as he closed the distance between us. To my surprise, he didn't touch me. He just collapsed at my feet, evidently exhausted.

[Man in the Forest]

Thank God. Thank God. Thank God. Oh thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

After several Long moments. He stood up. He was at least a foot taller than me. Much heavier, but there was a softness to him. A weakness almost.

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Listen, kid.

[Man in the Forest]

I'm gonna assume you're in the same boat as me. So come with me, okay? I'm not gonna hurt you. I need you. I mean, I will help you. Okay?

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

He put a hand out as if he wanted me to take it. I hesitated, but then, seeing no other way out, took it.

[Man in the Forest]

Atta girl. Now we gotta go back to the rock.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

I protested. I dug my feet in. Go back there. I wanted to leave. I tried to tell him. But he just tightened his grip and turned to face me. He put on a real steely look, like he was about to tear me limb from limb. But that quickly washed away. He just looked me in the eyes and said to trust him. Anyway, I went. I would wind up at the slab anyway. I thought about did feel like I was walking in circles in this forest. Even when I went in a straight line. And without much effort, we were back at the slab.

[Man in the Forest]

Okay. We wait here.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

He sat tugging my hand until I sat near him. He let out a deep sigh, looking out into the forest.

[Man in the Forest]

Now, I've seen a lot of older people being sent here. A lot of bums, a lot of deadbeats. But this is the first time I've seen an honest to God child out here. You must have been a hell of a bad kid. Don't take offense, sweetheart. I was too. At least my dad always said so.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

I didn't answer. What he said struck a chord with me. Was I bad? I didn't ask my mother for money or for special privileges. I cleaned up. I made my own meals. Hot, fresh tears came down my face.

[Man in the Forest]

Hey, hey, hey. No need for that, kid. We can't all be wanted. It's like they say. Someone's got to be on the bottom. It'll be over soon anyway. Wait a second.

[Bone Collector]

You.

[Man in the Forest]

You don't know what's going on, do you?

[Narrator (FIA Callahan's Tale)]

Ah,

[Man in the Forest]

look, let me be brief with you. You're an unwanted thing. I don't know why. Hell, I don't know why I'm here either. But I sure as hell know I'm getting out. And I'm going to get that two timing son of a bitch that sent me here. Whoever brought you here lied to you and gave you a little bread guy and basically made you into an offering. A sacrifice in exchange for good luck. The people around here give up someone unworthy wanted to.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

The a large snap came from the woods. The man hushed me and reached an arm around me, grabbing me and pulling me up in front of him like a human shield. His sudden strength surprised me. He smelled like sweat and urine. I could feel the moist bits of his body on my neck and face. In this cold, it was like ice against my skin. I felt terror's stony grip tear apart my insides. I wanted to scream out, but my voice was caught in my throat as the man wrapped his dirt covered fingers around my neck. I was wriggling in his grip when I saw rolled like a boulder out of the trees, trampling bushes and pushing away rocks as it began to unfurl. First it looked like it was as big as a car, but it was longer, with a thick black carapace and tail segments that stretched out beyond what I could see in the dark. It rose up easily over 10ft tall. Tilting ever so slightly, it outstretched its sharp and spindly arms, dozens of them, like a centipede. But most frightening of all was its massive head. It looked like a porcelain baby doll's head, only jet black, with shiny yellow and white eyes, no nose, and a mouth that opened wide, impossibly wide, displaying row upon row of seemingly rotten, jagged yellow teeth the size of kitchen knives. It screeched out a disturbing sound like the horrible ear piercing squeal of an animal being slaughtered, growing louder as it started coming for us. That's when I realized what the man was doing. I was the bait. I was to be this man's way to escape the horrible creature. I dug my heels into his feet and his grip loosened just slightly. The creature was raising its baby head high up, its bottom portion curling up like a spring. After struggling some more, I was free. I ran off amidst the panicked screams of the man chasing me as I bolted for the trees. Looking behind me as I shoved my way past the thick tree trunks, I could see him. His panic and rage were coloring his fat face a flushed red, heaving his weight through the low branches and bushes that were in his way. He was gaining on me, though both of us were slowing down as the vegetation seemed to hold us in place. The rumble and cracking of the trees behind us were shaking the ground beneath me. I was kicking my way out of some vines when I felt his thick fingers wrap themselves around my wrist, squeezing it painfully as I went limp, being held up only by his grip.

[Man in the Forest]

I'm done being nice about this.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

He produced a switchblade that shone brightly against the moonlight. The black brambles, vines and branches were encroaching on my vision as I looked up at him. His intense red rimmed eyes focused on me.

[Man in the Forest]

Back to the slab and you get yourself eaten by that thing and I will be free.

[David Cummings]

Free.

[Man in the Forest]

I will be free of this damn place.

[Narrator (Juan Cardenas' Tale)]

The creature erupted out of the trees, somehow having silently crept up on us, rolling out like a massive pill bug, complete with the grooved segments, the hairs, and the shiny black skin. Rocks and branches bounced off of, unfurled and moved like a massive snake, pushing bushes to the side and kicking up dirt and rocks high into the air as it barreled towards us. The man let go of me as we ran. We both sprinted to the base of a massive tree while I attempted to go around it, I turned and saw the man had fallen down. He tumbled onto his side and attempted to get up when a single leg, as thick as a pipe, segmented, hairy, black and shiny, pierced his abdomen. A disgusting, bursting, wet sound accompanied his screams as the leg tore through his midsection. The creature then twisted the leg that had caught the man, viciously digging into its prone victim. I bumped into the tree, trying to get away, eyes still fixated on the dying man. I felt something odd, something horizontal, like a step. I turned around to find a wooden rung, mostly rotten, soft and wet. I looked up. There was a ladder, a rope ladder with some wooden rungs. Frightened out of my mind, but also relieved. I climbed. I moved as fast as my body could, almost falling off and slipping down. The sound of crackling and slurping behind me. It seemed impossibly high. I went into rote movement, moving on autopilot, my thoughts on home, on a life I used to know, on the tiny and few joys I actually had and how bountiful they seemed. Now. A step cracked. I fell. For a brief second I caught myself on my elbow and it felt like it was going to come off. But I tried even harder. The creature was still loudly tearing into the man. At the top, I could finally look down. The massive baby head had opened wide, almost at an obtuse angle. Its spindly arm bent backwards and dropped the body of the man into its maw, where he was impaled by the rows of jagged teeth. His already eviscerated torso was further damaged as organs and limbs were neatly severed. When the maw closed, I peered over the edge of where I had climbed to, lying low on a floor of wooden planks. Fresh blood dripped out of the side of the creature's mouth, and what might have been the man's eye fell from its jaws. I shifted my weight and the remnants of the bread man in my jacket fell out of My ripped clothes landing soundlessly in front of the creature that sat there, a light crunch and squelch coming out of its mouth from time to time. I stared at it for hours. It was sitting still like a sphinx, its blank and expressionless eyes looking forward, occasionally spinning back like a crocodile as it swallowed its meal. It seemed tall enough to come up here without any problem, but instead it sat placidly like an alligator on a riverbank. When I felt like I could turn my back on it, I looked around to where I was. It was like a little tree house. I hadn't realized it, but it was a hunter's tree stand. No walls, just a little raised wooden platform with something of a canvas roof covered in fake leaves. I felt around and found a camouflage blanket and a little tightly wrapped bundle in a mason jar. I opened it to find a candy bar. I almost chuckled as I ate the sweet chocolate. I peered over the edge of the stand, expecting to see the creature, but only finding an empty space where it had been. I was almost disappointed. I wanted to tell the creature how mom was right, how it was going to be like Hansel and Gretel, complete with the failed breadcrumb trail, the candy house, and it the witch. But I guess it was for the best that the creature had gone away. No chance of me being able to shove that thing into an oven. I stayed up there longer than I want to admit. A man found me half delirious with hunger and cold. It was a miracle, he said. I was covered in a thin layer of frost. The hillside was different that day. I could hear birdsong and the fog had lifted. It was explained to me when I was fully cognizant that my mother was gone without a trace and I was now a ward of the state. I didn't tell anyone about the creature, the devourer of unwanted things, as I came to know it by. It was too crazy. And even though I didn't spend a single night without having nightmares about it, I managed to thrive. I started waiting tables. I'm saving money. I'm a grown woman now. In a few years, I might have enough to get my own place to go back to school. Along the way, I found a boyfriend who I felt deeply for. That is, until I found out that he had been dipping into my savings. He did like the horse races. He had taken over five grand from me without me knowing. Probably lost on his gambling addiction and who knows what else. And while I was furious at first, I knew there was a solution. I showed up at his place one Friday night, having stopped by the bakery right before. He seemed put off by my surprise visit, but I was insistent we never do anything fun together. Let's go for a nice drive in the country. He was happy to indulge me. I made my way through the dirt roads and rocky paths that I thought I had forgotten, fully immersed in the songs of birds and the dance of dense fog in the cloudy forest. I was smiling wide, as wide as the baby headed creature was with its victim in its mouth. I led him out of the car, sat him on the now seemingly smaller slab of obsidian and handed him the tightly wrapped breadman, giving him a quick hug. For a second I thought of how my mother must have felt doing this to me and how I felt now. I felt a pang of guilt, but I had a bright future to worry about. I proclaimed to the forest that he was my offering and sauntered back to my car. He called out to me, confused but frozen in place as I had been all those years before, and I got in my car, lowered the window and told him to think about the tale of Hansel and Gretel before speeding off away for good. This time,

[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 McInally, Ollie A. White and Kristen 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. With its two juicy beef patties and three slices of melted cheese topped with tangy Big Arch sauce, the Big Arch is what happens when you start making a McDonald's burger and never stop.

[Man in the Forest]

The big arch.

[David Cummings]

The most McDonald's McDonald's burger yet for a limited time.