Narrator (8:48)

What?

Landon's Friend (8:49)

What's wrong, man?

Landon (8:51)

There.

Landon's Friend (8:52)

What?

Landon (8:53)

There.

Landon's Friend (8:54)

Landon raises his hand. It goes up like a slow elevator and points his index finger over my left shoulder. I follow it. There's something over there and that sends chills through me. Electric icicles. That thick fear in his voice. It strokes the nape of my neck. Has he ever been this scared? When we watch the Sixth Sense, I'm pretty sure he was. But not really. Not in real life. His finger guides my eyes to the street, over the low stone wall that perimeters our school to the sidewalk. Across the ever busy East Woodbine Avenue, a white Subaru races by. Late sun sparkles in the dash and then it's gone. A gold Volkswagen convertible with its black canvas top up replaces it, zooming the opposite direction, its hum like a well thrown spiral. The school's speed light doesn't flash too late in the day.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (9:57)

Do you see it?

Landon's Friend (9:58)

And yes, I do. I see something. A man. He wears dark jeans and a dark gray hoodie.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (10:08)

They're here.

Landon's Friend (10:09)

What? I see that Landon's ready to bolt. His cool water eyes say it First I catch it there, then grab his wrist. Have I touched his skin before? It's soft, smooth, cold. I don't like gripping it this way, tight and hurtful. I wish I didn't have to. His arm is pale on the underside and freckled on top. I've seen pictures of leatherback turtles swimming in blue water. I think they have freckles like Landon's. The veins in his forearm twitch. He wants to break for it. Landon, what's wrong? But he doesn't answer, just tugs fast and gets loose. And of course he does. He's stronger and doped on adrenaline. I shout after him, but he's already hit blacktop. His legs pump, as in the pool, pat, pat, pat. The rubber soles on his buck oxford's, the suede tan we all wear echo off the pavement and carry to me. I'm furious, impressed. I don't want to look back to the street, but I do, and I see him there. The man. Not a man. Closer, just beyond the low stone wall, it's crossed Woodbine. Its features are more definitive now. It's not clothes that are gray, but skin, which is scales. Gray scales head to toe. But its eyes are wide and white. Its long, sharp snaggle teeth are white too. Its mouth protrudes slightly from the rest of its face, a bit like a horse's muzzle, some anthropomorphic monster. Where its fingernails should be, lengthy gray tendrils wire out even more, snake out from around its neck, a sick skin, frilled collar. I parrot Landon and run. The junk field has become massive, stretching miles, not yards. I check over my shoulder and the monster's clearing. The low stone chasing. Its gray feet are immense, human like in shape. The veins there bulge. In lieu of toenails, there are claws. I hear its hard boned heels beat the ground. Weighty. Each hit rips traceable vibrations through the earth to its core. The quakes are enough that I'm thrown from my own feet and tumble into the high grass. It brushes my cheeks, my ears, stinging the skin that is sensitive. I'm among the weeds now, ready to die beneath the heavy heeled gray foot, which rattles, rattles, rattles. I regain my run. It's awkward, clumsy as Landon as wide receiver. But I'm up, moving, not looking back. I know how close it is, the monster. The ground shakes, tell me I'm bound onto blacktop. There are no cars in the parking lot, no tykes in the wood chip playground, though I think a black rubber swing seat rocks, nominally without breeze. I can't be sure. Everything's shaking in my vision as blood wells up in my eyes and I beat feet. Faster, faster. Hurry. Landon's at the school, holding one of its hollow metal doors. The doors that gasp open, that lead us after schoolers, out into sunlight, to yard football and freedom. But the outside is compromised now.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (13:43)

Come on.

Landon's Friend (13:45)

I do. I am. I try to disassociate, to imagine rounding third base, pounding chalk line and needing to score and needing to run. I can't waste a second craning my neck, checking the throw, checking the monster. I need to get inside. I hustle in. Landon drags the door closed behind me. It clicks shut. Did you? But I can't finish. I'm bent over, huffing. There isn't room for words. My lungs are greedy for air and I do my best to comply. Sucking, wheezing. The walls shake. The monster battering. Its efforts come like atom bombs on a fallout shelter. Its dark gray body flashes across the door's small cut window. Landon and I stumble back. We race the checked linoleum hallway that holds eerie glimmers of the overheads. Fluorescent spirits ripple beneath our schoolboy shoes, red rubber shoes. I look back. Landon won't. In the window, the monster lowers its gray muzzle. It might be grinning. It might always look that way with saber teeth long enough they don't fit its face. It whiffs its equine nostrils and fogs the glass. Its eyes are pupil less, white marbles. Can it see? The lights blow. One of their frosted panels falls, smacks the tile floor. It's the sound of a large textbook dropping and it's followed closely by a bulb. The glass tube erupts on impact. I wince uselessly. I cover my head as in a war movie. We duck inside the nearest room. I swing the door shut and I lock it. We're in a kindergarten classroom. There aren't any windows and with the lights now blown it's tough to see it in the dark. But after a minute my eyes start to adjust. It's imperfect, but I can make out the traces of things. Our parents sign us out in this room with the aftercare staff, but there are no aftercare workers here now, no parents or kids. We're alone and have been. The floor is a bright orange carpet and there's an avalanche of well loved purple and navy beanbags stockpiled in the corner. Opposite those there's a jumbly AV cart. It trophies a bulbous Sony television and a line of family friendly VHS tapes encased in thick, thick Plastic. Where is everyone? Early tears puddle in my eyelids. I feel their weight, their density.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (16:35)

Come on, help me move this.

Landon's Friend (16:37)

Landon's behind the long and hefty hardwood desk. The infamous three ring sign out binder lays open on it alongside a gaggle of walkie talkies that stand upright like toy soldiers. They teeter but refuse to fall as he tries shoving the desk. What the hell's going on? I whisper, shout. It's becoming part of a new dialect. Survival. Landon sighs, abandons desk and comes to me. He grabs my bicep. Our faces are close. Have they ever been this close? His is severe.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (17:12)

I don't know.

Landon's Friend (17:14)

There are tearlets in his eyes too. I thought his bright pink lips tremble. It's also how they go when he's holding a laugh down. But he's not laughing, and I might be more scared if he was. I wish we could laugh in blue May in late throne spiral sky.

Vivian (17:34)

What?

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (17:35)

This morning my parents were fighting about something. My dad was picking me up. I couldn't hear really. I was in the car. But my mom was saying something to my dad. It sounded serious. I don't think she wanted me to come in today.

Landon's Friend (17:49)

Landon averts his eyes. The tearlets flatten. One brims over and falls. It stains his freckled cheek. I want to wipe them.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (18:00)

Something really fucking bad is happening, man.

Landon's Friend (18:03)

He spaces the words out. It's how adults talk sometimes on grave matters. He brushes the tears away himself.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (18:12)

Just help me move this desk.

Vivian (Narration) (18:15)

Shit.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (18:15)

Come on.

Landon's Friend (18:16)

I'm staring at the locked door, through it, envisioning the nightmare outside. Each charge more ceiling tiles falling. It's just a matter of time. What? What if it can still get through those tendrils? What?

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (18:34)

It won't. We need to block the door, dude.

Landon's Friend (18:38)

Now I Before I finish, we hear glass break. It patters back there, down the hallway.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (18:47)

Jesus, man, help me move this desk.

Landon's Friend (18:50)

Landon commands the instruction through gritted teeth, exerting all his energy. His face is flush. The desk budges, then catches momentum on the carpet, which hisses under its legs. The walkies tumble, some slide to the floor. Landon, we can't stay here. What happens when it gets in?

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (19:10)

It won't. And where the hell else are we going to go?

Landon's Friend (19:13)

I sketch a mental map of the first floor, scan for the exit routes. It's an odd power bolstered by years worth of aftercare. I imagine that everyone has these places, rooms we can mind walk uninhibited, that we know intricately, even the dark, cobwebbed corners. Most of all Those corners. I know. This room opens onto another classroom, and beyond that is the music room. I see bathrooms there. I see a water fountain, and across the hall a stairwell where we can take one floor down to the basement. An idea which doesn't thrill me, like locking yourself in your own funeral casket. Or up to more hollow metal doors which lead outside. We can go out of that room and into the stairwell.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (20:05)

How's that better? It'll just get us out there.

Landon's Friend (20:07)

I stop wheeling through my mental map, indulging in the fantasy of re knowing sunlight, and I consider that he's right. It isn't better. It would just get us out there. You're right. When the hollow metal doors outside finally crash open, they do with a gun blast. It shakes the classroom walls, the whole school. We're huddled in the corner. We've hobbled together. A makeshift fort of beanbags, built it up around us. It won't do anything when the time comes, but it distances us from the nightmare, I guess, just a bit more. The footsteps follow the flat feet and heavy heels. I already know running. And then it's a pounding on our door. That's how it goes this time. The door gives marginally on each blow. The desk bracketed against it, shifts a millimeter at a time too. It goes on like this. I'm not aware exactly how long. Seconds and minutes, like reason and logic, dissipated on East Woodbine, as did reality. Landon staring at the door, maybe through it, as I was before. I'm certain now that it was the sixth sense we watched together. His face is the same as it was then. Horror struck. It was September, the night after our first mixer. I slept over at his dad's house. I got halfway through the movie before falling asleep. When I woke up later, Landon was still awake. Watching his expression like it is now, I had missed the scenes that could do that to your face. Freeze it, and your spirit too. Ice it. Eventually the battering stops. Landon looks at me. We hear a single short equine huff. Then the creature walking off, flat feet, heavy heels, further into the school. I lose it. I don't want to cry. It's a reactionary emotion I've come to hate. But occasionally, as with any other body function, it just breaks through. Part of the design we have to emote. It's survival based. Crying is a signal, a warning sign with brazen red letters spelling danger. Has Landon seen? Seen me cry? I'm ugly doing it. I prefer how he does, like when his parents split. It's a temperate act, like his laughter, his swimmer arm slips behind my neck. His fingers light my shoulder. Hey. I think he's been crying too, in his solemn way. He drags me into a hug. I hear his muffled sobs, feel them in the crook of my neck. I'm doing the same on his.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (23:11)

We have to get out of here. We have to.

Landon's Friend (23:14)

And with the admission of that, something passes through me. It's hard to say what it is. It's dark, though, or at least akin to darkness, an emulsion of guilt and selfishness. The thought if we never escape, I'll always have Landon. It fills me with sadness, soul deep. I cast more tears into his clavicle. Two days we've hooked the Sony up. The television runs a microstatic tingle and an enduring digital blue glow that travels far in this darkness. It colors part of landing profile as he contemplates the walkie in his hand. We've tried it, but it just buzzes. I think it might be afternoon outside, but that world's a thinning dream slipping slowly from my conscious mind. I think to start counting new time in here as you do on distant planets during the early trapped hours. We raided the closet. Besides the packs of Ticonderoga pencils, layers of construction paper, and a fleet of orange capped glue sticks, it offers sustenance in the forms of Chips Ahoy and Goldfish crackers. Not a long standing diet. More importantly, we rustled out the six mini water bottles, lukewarm in their half empty plastic case. Treasures from a mermaid's purse. We've had two each. Two remain. I know we'll have to make it to the water fountain soon. Neither of us are excited by the prospect. The thuds on the classroom door had come once more. I don't know how long ago. A while yesterday, but not since. Come on. No one's picking up, man.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (25:13)

Who's the last person you remember seeing?

Landon's Friend (25:15)

I take care to answer, replaying images of 48 hours past Ms. Ruth on the walkie.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (25:24)

Yeah, I thought I saw a couple second graders on the swing, but I know I saw Ms. Ruth, too.

Landon's Friend (25:29)

From the far end of the hall there's a crash that still happens intermittently. There are hushed whimpers. Landon's crying, and it's my turn to console. I drape an arm over his broad shoulders. He falls into my lap. Where I hold him, he shakes like a thunder scared pup.

Landon's Friend (Dialogue) (25:50)

What if we never get out?

Landon's Friend (25:53)

I rock him.

Narrator (25:54)

I don't know.

Landon's Friend (25:56)

And it's all I can think to say, because the dark shadow that feeds my intrusive and selfish desires is growing has been growing in here. I hug Landon tighter and it won't allow me to say anything more.

David Cummings (26:35)

Foreign 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 nosleypodcast.com since we're stuck at school, let's get educated about the premium fashions from Quince. A thoughtfully built wardrobe comes down to pieces that mix well and last. That's where Quince shines. Premium fabrics considered design and everyday essentials that feel effortless to wear even as the seasons change. I hear you trying to school me. You just like Quince because they're a sponsor. Ah, not true. My skeptical friend Kelly and I keep shopping at Quint because they have the everyday essentials we love with quality that lasts Lightweight cashmere sweaters, short sleeve Mongolian cashmere polos, linen bottoms and shorts, tees in 100% Pima cotton and European jersey linen. These are the versatile pieces that make a wardrobe actually work season to season. Their clothing is rated between 4.5 and 5 stars by thousands of people wearing it every day and they only partner with factories that meet rigorous standards for craftsmanship and ethical production. And Quince cuts out the middlemen. So you're not paying for brand markup or or fancy retail stores, just quality clothing. Listen, when an ordinary dude like me can fall in love with a great clothing shop like Quint's, that tells you how great they are. Get yourself to Quint and find out for yourself. Right now go to quints.com nosleep for free shipping and 365 day returns. That's a full year to build your wardrobe and love it. And you will now available in Canada too. So don't keep settling for clothes that don't last. Go to quince.com nosleep for free shipping and 365 day returns. Quince.com nosleep now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. If you live life always feeling guilty, always thinking you deserve to be punished for your actions, you'll be able to relate with Marlena. She feels cursed and in a way far more extreme than you might imagine. And in this tale shared with with us by author Christine Lajeschi, Marlena and her partner find disturbing ways to deal with air conditions. And the solution is rather hard to swallow. Performing this tale are Mike Delgadio, Lindsay Russo, Graham Rowett, Danielle McCrae, and Nicole Goodnight. So Marlena tells us why her blood pressure rises when she has her heart in her throat.

Narrator (29:57)

Almost every day for the past decade, Marlena ate her own heart. The tissue would tear free from arteries and veins and squirm up her throat. She'd hold the lump in place, hoping this time she would choke. It always sprouted hooks and heaved itself into her mouth. She surrendered and ate it slice by bloody slice, because what waited for her was much worse. On the 3,000th day, Marlena felt the oversized muscle squeeze its way up. She shut her eyes as shards of pain stabbed her chest. In the blackness she saw the cavity left behind and the rim of light marking the abyss within. The black hole tugged at her lungs, diaphragm, intestines. Rather than consign herself to the bottomless void, she took a bite and swallowed. Then another and another, until once again it congealed into a pulsing mass in her chest. It tasted like a slimy body dredged from the bottom of a green lake. Like Danny. Like Debbie again, babe. Hadley poked his head in from the bedroom.

Landon (31:19)

It's so not necessary. I haven't done it for months.

Vivian (Narration) (31:23)

I know, I know.

Narrator (31:27)

Marlena sank to the floor and pressed a fist into her stern open. Over the years she had learned that eating someone else's heart staved off the horrible disgorging for a week. But she never liked doing it. She already had too many lives to account for. Hadley, on the other hand, enjoyed his craft. He was like her, a sinner with a singularly terrible punishment. In the past year they'd found comfort in each other's shared experiences, although she wouldn't call it love. Marlena's unforgivable was a sin of omission. Hadley admitted to multiple sins of commission stretching back a century. Although he didn't look a day over 40, he was elusive on the details, but she did some research and suspected he was a con man who married multiple women at the same time. All of them disappeared. It seemed several of them were pregnant when it happened. A two for one. Hadley was a rent a nurse, moving from hospital to clinic to assisted living, picking off the vulnerable and moving on if he had any hint that someone had become suspicious. Marlena worked in the kitchen of a nursing home, where she could do the same if she was clever enough, desperate enough. It was one of dozens of jobs she'd held across the country.

Hadley (32:50)

Still living tomorrow.

Narrator (32:52)

He helped her to her feet and nodded.

Landon (32:55)

A clinic in Nome. I probably won't be gone long. It's only a four week gig, although it has potential to go much Longer. Some of these areas are so desperate for help.

Narrator (33:07)

Alaska. Of course, she thought. A lot of indigenous women went missing up there with only perfunctory investigations. She'd eaten hearts of stone before she suspected one beat in Hadley's chest. He was good to her, however, and she had learned most of what she knew from his vast experience. To be honest, he was an improvement over the men she had hooked up with in the past. She would miss him. He wrapped his arms around her.

Landon (33:37)

Seriously, you look terrible. I know what you need.

Narrator (33:42)

He kissed her neck and pulled her toward the bedroom. They lingered after lovemaking.

Landon (33:53)

You're still depressed. You keep inflicting this pain on yourself, and you should just go with the remedy.

Hadley (33:59)

I'd just rather not kill.

Landon (34:01)

And when you can't stand it anymore, you'll eat someone else's heart anyway.

Hadley (34:06)

Has it occurred to you that all this. This as a test. I mean, sure, I failed so many times, but if we could withstand the temptation, maybe we might get to go someplace better.

Landon (34:16)

Like the abyss.

Narrator (34:18)

Hadley always denied it, but he couldn't tolerate the pain of the disgorgement. He was even more terrified of the black hole in his chest.

Landon (34:27)

There's no instruction manual for our situation, babe. If I found something that works for me, I don't want to screw around with it.

Hadley (34:35)

I meant we might be allowed to die. Didn't you ever try killing yourself?

Landon (34:41)

Once, when I did the first. Unforgivable. But I don't dwell on the guilt anymore.

Hadley (34:47)

I lost count of how many times I tried. Jumping, shooting, burning. None of it worked. I'm still here.

Narrator (34:54)

Hadley suddenly grew very quiet. Then he squeezed her close to his chest.

Landon (35:01)

You know, there's one thing that might do it. Someone would have to eat your heart.

Narrator (35:09)

The pit of her stomach turned cold.

Vivian (Narration) (35:13)

We'll see.

Narrator (35:14)

Her temples pounded as she pulled away from him. Even if it did kill her, finally and forever, the thought of Hadley turning on her frightened her. She didn't want him to have her heart anyway. He didn't deserve it. As she dressed, Hadley prattled on about his next chosen victim. A young man about to be released from the hospital psych ward and transferred to a rehab facility.

Hadley (35:40)

So you'll pretend to be his Uber driver?

Landon (35:42)

Something like that. I need a heart before I travel. Don't want to barf up my guts at tsa.

Narrator (35:49)

Marlena scowled. She never chose the innocent, or anyone who had a chance at recovery when she could no longer bear it. She took people who were terminal, were those who didn't deserve to live. In fact, she had one picked out. An orderly she caught molesting a bedridden old woman. He would be meeting her that night, buying her silence in return for $5,000. She caught the orderly's eye in the hall that afternoon. Town Forest, 11pm Marlena arrived an hour early and hid her car off road. She hid and listened to the wind. It always carried the voices of children, never laughing, always weeping with the ache of broken hearts. When the orderly reached the designated trailhead, she stole up behind him, stabbing him in the kidneys. He barely had time to register a shock before he dropped to the ground. His heart was black, bathed in its own blood. It tasted meaty and sweet, like justice. She sighed, anticipating days of relief from the rotten burden of her sins. She pocketed the money, then dragged his body deep into some heavy brush for the scavengers to enjoy. Hadley was pacing, chewing on his fingers, when Marlena came through the door.

Hadley (37:22)

He got away.

Narrator (37:24)

He leaned his forehead against a window, rocking side to side.

Landon (37:31)

I can't fly tomorrow if I don't get a heart.

Narrator (37:35)

He was such a baby. Just anticipating the pain made him frantic.

Hadley (37:41)

You could go hunting.

Narrator (37:43)

She watched him from the corner of her eye.

Hadley (37:46)

It's not like you've never done it before. I have to clean up. I got blood in my hair.

Narrator (37:51)

She knew what was coming. She slipped a chef's knife under her shirt. She ran the shower hot, steaming up the the bathroom. He was nude when he entered. He got into the tub, kissing and fondling her. She slid her hand outside the curtain, pulling the knife from the folds of a towel on the back of the toilet. As his hands moved to her throat, she thrust the blade under his ribs. He cracked his head on the faucet as he fell. Pulling her down on top of him. She quickly cut out his heart before he could could revive. In place of cardiac muscle was black stone, the sign of a truly evil man. She soaked it in the blood pooling in his abdomen. Kneading it with her fingers to soften was one of the most delicious things she'd ever eaten. Two hearts in one night. That would last her a while. Marlena packed Hadley's sectioned remains in a big suitcase, cleaned the apartment, and in the gray light of dawn, left town. She was almost too exhausted to drive.

Vivian (Narration) (38:59)

I'm so tired of this life.

Narrator (39:06)

Ten years earlier, Marlena's husband deserted her. Along with four year old Danny and two year old Debbie. He started an affair with someone on the town council. Marty swore he loved her, that he would gladly leave his wife except for one snag. He didn't want kids. The relationship was going nowhere. But she loved him too much to send him packing. Every time he walked out the door, she wondered how different, how much better her life might be if she had no children. Then she would panic at the very idea of losing Danny and Debbie.

Hadley (39:43)

Never, never, Never. Don't listen to me. I don't mean it.

Narrator (39:47)

She was driving the children home one December night after a tree lighting ceremony on a dark back road, she hit a patch of ice, spun around, and shot down a bank into the icy river. Her face smashed into the steering wheel. Dazed, Debbie and Danny whimpered softly in the backseat. Marlena squeezed through the window into the black freeze. It stabbed like a hundred knives, yet somehow she made it to the riverbank. Wind rushed across the river, carrying a faint, plaintive cry. It was the first time she ever felt her heart in her throat. She waded into the killing waters to save her children, felt the crippling pain in her bones, and froze. She stepped ashore. In an instant, her decision was made. The wind sang, Mama. The car sank and Marlena screamed. The morning after the funeral, her heart tore loose for the first time. Marlena vomited it into the kitchen sink, staring as it pulsed. It was white, a flag signaling cowardice. She saw the black hole inside herself. In agony and terror. She could only think of one way to return the organ where it belonged. Panic stricken, she crammed it into her mouth. Gnawing, gagging, chewing, swallowing. Even as the muscles spasmed, the heart reconstituted itself in her chest. Marty never called, never even sent condolences. She saw him coming out of a restaurant with his wife. The woman must have been eight months pregnant. Her face was rosy, luminous as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He patted her swollen belly and smiled fondly. Marlena stumbled into a deserted alley and regular regurgitated her heart for the second time that day. It was the first and only time she had to do that. She quickly snatched it up and wolfed it down before a hungry rat could pounce on it. She haunted Marty's steps until he asked her to meet at a hotel far from town. She waited on the side of the road instead, where he would see her in his headlights. As he pulled over, she turned and fled. He chased her down a wooded gully where Marlena stabbed him. Overwhelmed with hunger, she consumed his black heart. She left him on the tracks to be dismembered by the next speeding train. Marlena replayed the crimes, first and last, that brought her to this latest escape to a new town in a new state. She wondered, not for the first time, if she should have just let that rat eat her heart. She took a job at a soup kitchen. It was there that an idea for a final exit came to her. If it didn't work, it would be nothing she hadn't earned. One morning she broke in and waited for the final disgorgement. The organ had flushed pink, a sign, she hoped, that her gift was acceptable. Hands trembling, she diced the heart into bits, then added it to a stock pot of soup in the refrigerator. As the void opened in her chest, she lurched into the alley. A wind, alive with the cries of children, swirled trash around her legs. Marlena's intestines were the first to disappear into the widening interior chasm, followed by stomach, lungs, abdominal muscles. It hurt like hell, and she wept. Faint voices welled up from the abyss.

Vivian (Narration) (43:51)

Mama. Mama.

Narrator (43:54)

As eyes and brain and skull caved inward, she saw her children waiting for her. There was a bottom to this hell after.

David Cummings (44:27)

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Ryan Seacrest (45:08)

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David Cummings (45:47)

I'm sure you know what it's like being one of the beautiful people, those gorgeous stars who people can't take their eyes off. I assume you do, because I sure don't. And those people may be pretty, but they usually need a bit of help to look that way. And in this tale shared with us by author Hannah Mescon, we meet an La esthetician who makes pretty people beautiful. And her inspiration requires requires her to be on the cutting edge of beauty performing this tale are Marie Westbrook, Danielle McCrae, Dan Zapula, Catabel Ansari and Nicole Goodnight. So even if she's not real, there are real reasons why you won't find much beauty within Cynthia.

Vivian (Narration) (46:48)

Nothing says true love like giving a sloppy blow job after you've finished your skincare routine. The saliva mixes with the moisturizer, the cum with your serum, and the next thing you know you've got to wash your face and start over. It's at least $30 worth of product completely wasted.

Landon (47:06)

Wasted.

Vivian (Narration) (47:06)

That's why I always tell my clients to exhaust their libidos before they do their regimens. This is how I know Alex must be in love. She hasn't taken my advice and even worse, seems to not cleanse at all after the deed. Which is why I'm presently vacuuming her sebum jammed pores with a PMD microdermalite pro. She winces when I carve the tool into the corner of her nose. In ancient Greece we spackled lead based makeup over our blemishes. In China we cracked the bones in little girls feet. All across Europe we traded regular bowel movements and full lung capacity for a 15 inch waist. Now I stab and squeeze and scour and scrape and suck and singe the skin of the luckiest girls in la. I won't tell you my fee. There's a wait list you'll never get off anyway. But there are pros pleasuring the geriatrics of Beverly Crest that would trade myriad body functions for my hourly rate. After my last client of the day, one of the housewives, I bought some excess oil from my nose and slick on a tinted plasma lip compound. I do it all. The injections and the lasers, the exfoliating acids and the slugging. But I'm not beautiful. I'm not fishing when I say that I'm okay with it and have the professional experience to say so objectively. Some things you just learned to live with, and my enduring plainness is one of them. I swap my scrubs for jeans and a vintage Brittany tee and head out to meet Cali for one of the great transactional Angeleno pastimes. The estate sale. Callie is my best friend and like every 35, 2235 woman worth her 95 pounds of body weight in gold. She's an actress. We met when I was still an employee at a corporate spa and she was still self taping to play law and order prostitutes. We'd go to the den every weekend, find Some finance bro to pay for our vodka sodas dance until we could barely walk and end the night at the McDonald's drive thru. Now I have my own studio and Callie is on that billboard above the Sunset Coffee Bean. Neither of us drink to excess or eat fast food because it makes for a peaky complexion. It's packed so Callie parks her Tiffany Blue Bronco on Cerro Crest and we walk.

Vivian (49:30)

Oh Jesus fuck Viv, look at this place.

Vivian (Narration) (49:34)

Callie may have a Blumhouse movie coming out but she's not la real estate rich yet. The house mansion is Spanish colonial, the kind that was popular back in the 20s with white stucco walls and a red barreled tile roof. We passed through the courtyard with its arcing fountain and colorful tiles, finally slipping past the metal stud door.

Vivian (49:57)

She was so elusive it's weird to be in her house. It's like a violation.

Vivian (Narration) (50:07)

Ruby Delmar was a noir actress from the 40s who had a Norma Desmond like trajectory but with even more death. She had a string of hits but in something like five years lost her husband, her mother and her daughter. After that she never did another film and became a complete recluse reminiscent of a red headed Veronica Lake. She's considered one of the all time great beauties. I'm still of the opinion that women were more beautiful when they didn't do too much to their faces. I think Kelly overfills her lips but at this point it's too late to say anything.

Vivian (50:42)

I feel like that whole seductive but mysterious thing is impossible now. My team rides my ass if I take a compelling shit and don't post about it.

Vivian (Narration) (50:54)

Gross. I pick up a brass candlestick and I'm shocked at how heavy it is.

Vivian (50:59)

Ooh, clothes.

Vivian (Narration) (51:02)

Kelly yanks me into the living room where there are rows of wardrobe racks hold holding vintage couture. She throws a mink coat over her shoulders.

Vivian (51:10)

Okay, I know fur is obviously a no go these days, but it's secondhand kel.

Vivian (Narration) (51:18)

It's 75 degrees out and I think it's about not like perpetuating animal cruelty.

Vivian (51:24)

I'm just saying he's already dead.

Vivian (Narration) (51:28)

She pouts as she hangs it back up. My gaze drifts outside to the pool where vultures pick over what's left of the wrought iron patio furniture. I realize I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm about to ask Callie to leave when I see it. A mannequin. She's unlike anything I've ever witnessed. Poreless porcelain skin, blonde lustrous hair in a victory roll. Multi strand pearl collar Above a bias cut dress with a creamy lace cape. Her lips are painted oxblood and her lashes are dense and glossy. A line from one of Ruby's films wriggles into my brain. Beauty is never free. Someone always picks up the tab. It's a currency like any other. I reach out to touch her, my fingers just gracing her arm as she feels strangely warm, like she'd been sitting in the sun.

Jake (52:26)

Whoa.

Vivian (52:27)

Creepy.

Vivian (Narration) (52:28)

I'm buying it.

Vivian (52:30)

Uh, why?

Vivian (Narration) (52:31)

I could put her in the studio as decoration.

Vivian (52:35)

Okay, Bates Motel. Whatever you say.

Vivian (Narration) (52:40)

It's not until I set her at my dining table that I realize she has freckles. A light dusting of them across the bridge of her ski slope nose. The estate liquidator had filled me in on her history.

Estate Liquidator (52:54)

Her name is Cynthia. She was made by a soap sculptor in the 20s who wanted to make a more realistic mannequin. The traditional ones were made of wax heavy, prone to melting. So he made Cynthia out of plaster.

Vivian (Narration) (53:08)

I could have sworn that skin was porcelain.

Estate Liquidator (53:11)

When the sculptor passed away, he gifted Cynthia to Ruby. He said she was the only woman whose beauty rivaled his creation.

Landon's Friend (53:19)

What the fuck?

Vivian (Narration) (53:21)

I turn to see Jake Scotta to go back from his restaurant, a gastro pub on Melrose with $20 burgers and $30 Negronis. His jaw hangs open and he can't take his eyes off her. It's for the studio, I offer, hoping that's enough of an explanation.

Landon's Friend (53:37)

You sure that's a good idea?

Vivian (Narration) (53:39)

He cautiously approaches the table.

Landon's Friend (53:42)

Won't it scare your clients?

Vivian (Narration) (53:45)

It's chic. I got her at the Ruby Delmore estate sale. Okay. Jake unpacks a plastic container filled with Pennella vodka.

Landon's Friend (53:55)

She's not gluten free, is she?

Vivian (Narration) (54:00)

My nightly ritual takes about 40 minutes. There's the dental, including tongue scraping and oil pulling, tying my hair around a satin rod for heatless curls. Jake calls it a Muppet intestine. Then, most importantly, the skin triple cleanse. BHAs repair, serum snail mucin, retinol, and finally a peptide moisturizer from my own line of products. Tonight I'm plagued with a brewing pustule on the left side of my chin. So I dab on a mandelic acid and sulfur spot treatment. Most of my clients couldn't handle a routine this rigorous, but my skin has trained like an Olympic athlete. Sometimes I record the whole ordeal for my socials, but today took it out of me. I tuck into bed and scroll through Instagram. My clients like to tap me post facial and I try to repost. Sure enough, the housewife has shared a selfie slicked backed pony, the sunlight bouncing off her glass skin. My poor receptionist is going to be slammed tomorrow. Jake slides in next to me, also glued to his phone. We are the worst type of cliche. Okay, we cannot be this couple. I plug in my phone and set it on my bedside table, but Jake won't look up. Come on, tell me about your shift. He's been the chef at this new restaurant for about three weeks, so he's still settling in. One sec he's typing away. Probably notes for the menu. Inspiration will strike him at the oddest hours. He's always jotting down a new reduction for the doc or a clickbait idea like a $50 martini served with a caviar topped deviled egg. He's been especially distracted since he started the new job. Either that or he's planning a proposal. I have a feeling it may be the latter. I can sense these things. Hmm. Fine. No talking it is. I give him a kiss on the cheek and slap on a piece of mouth tape. The apartment is quiet save for the hum of the H vac and the occasional creak of the bed as Jake shifts. But twice I hear something softer, like a rustle or an exhale coming from the dining room. Probably the neighbors or the wine. Micro needling changed the game. The fillers and tox are great, but if you really want to see a change in the quality of your skin, you have to needle. I always recommend upgrading to prp. I draw your blood, then whir it around in a centrifuge until the white blood cells separate from the red. We call those white platelets liquid gold because the resulting product is a cytokine and growth factor packed substance more valuable than any precious metal. Then comes the needle adjob. Tiny holes from hairline to jawline, then smear the plasma over the raw stippled openings like putty over a nail hole. A little bit of trauma. A lot of results. But like any effective beauty enhancing modality, the whole process hurts like a bitch. I recommend numbing cream, but today Emma says she doesn't want it.

Estate Liquidator (57:08)

Mental toughness. We have to increase our tolerance to life's unpleasantries. Today this is my unpleasantry.

Vivian (Narration) (57:17)

Beauty is never free. I flip on the luminous Legend Pro and its mechanical hum drowns out my thundering pulse. Something about this feels dangerous, illicit. Powerful. I begin to trace the fat needle tipped pen over her temple. Pin prick. Drops of blood beat at her skin surface, a snail trail of crimson blooming in the pen's Wake. Son of a I freeze, caught like a teenager with her first pack of cigarettes. Do you want me to stop? I have to ask. Emma swallows, fortifying herself.

Estate Liquidator (57:54)

No, keep going.

Vivian (Narration) (57:57)

Someone always picks up the tab. I continue guiding the device over her cheekbones, her nose, her chin. Tears pull in her eye troughs and I wipe them away so they don't seep into the trauma sites. By the time I'm finished, Emma looks like she's leaned too close to a hot stovetop, her face a latticework of blood bright pinholes. What are estheticians and their clients if not sadists and masochists fueling capitalism and the patriarchy's ideal of beauty? Once I've sent Emma home with some Advil and Aquifer samples, I head back to my office. When I open the door, Cynthia is sitting on a large box in the half dark, and I swear a slight smirk shocks her lips. I flip a switch and the overhead lighting snickersnacks to life. There's no smirk, of course. She looks exactly as she did when we first met. I catch my reflection in my minoti standing mirror and have to double take that zit on my chin. It's gone. Not a spot or scab or a scar in its seed, just even, smooth, supple skin as if it was never there at all. It's a currency like any other. Since it's Jake Snidel from the restaurant, I decide to make him tapas for dinner. Hunks of rustic bread with fresh tomato jam, anchovies, iberico ham, tuna carpaccio with lemon zest, briny olives, white beans, pickled guindillas, glugs of peppery olive oil, flaky salt, and a chilled verdeo to wash it all down. It doesn't really involve cooking, that's his domain, but I know he appreciates the gesture.

Landon's Friend (59:39)

You're an angel, Viv. You should come to the restaurant already. Let me return the favor.

Vivian (Narration) (59:45)

Well, you are excellent when it comes to returning the favor. I swallow a sip of wine, a lascivious smirk curling my mouth. Later we lay in bed above the sheets, sweat cooling our worn out bodies.

Landon's Friend (59:59)

That kitchen's gonna reek of anchovy carcass in the morning if I don't do something about it. Be right back.

Vivian (Narration) (60:05)

No way. The whole point of tonight was for you to relax. Eventually we agree to tag team it. I rinse out containers for recycling, an olive jar, the wine bottle, then the anchovy tin. But when I pass in the can, he grabs it without looking and the curled, gilded aluminum slices into his palm.

Vivian (60:25)

Shit.

Vivian (Narration) (60:26)

Blood seeps out of the fresh wound. Oh God. I'll get the kit. Hang on. I fish under the bathroom sink until I find our first aid kit. When I return, Jake has a wad of paper towels pressed into his hand. Confusion pinches a line between his brows.

Landon's Friend (60:43)

Did you just put on makeup?

Vivian (Narration) (60:46)

I laugh at the absurdity of his question and hurry to manage the cut. But later, when I look in the mirror, I notice my flushed cheeks, my be stung lips. A dark thought emerges from the wet loom of my brain. Then, for a crazy moment, I imagine Cynthia's eyes burning through my sternum like cigarette holes. Work gets weird. Madison gets a liquid rhinoplasty, the viscous hyaluronic acid filler worming between the hollows of her imperfect nose. No anesthetic. She wails. My body jolts. Cynthia thrums with satisfaction. I lose an inch and a half from my waistline, the Morpheus 8, a tool that wouldn't be out of place in 2004. Abu Ghraib dances across Isabella's all feeling jowls. Her whimpers shoot through my body like heroin. My lashes grow longer, denser, darker, hundreds of little scythes reaching skyward. I fill Valerie's shriveled lips with a cannula only Groupon slinging strip mall mid spas inject directly with a needle. She blinks back tears. I'm alive. Cynthia is too. My pores shrink, invisible to the naked eye. I zap varicose veins from Francesca's thigh, the network of blue Sharpie lines blitzed into oblivion. A CO2 laser sears Ella Michele's cheeks, raw as rugburn. A chemical peel melts the outer dermis of Mariah's melasma ridden forehead. They groan and gasp and cry and whine. My body sings, chants, howls, celebrates this dark energy that crackles through me like charged air before a storm. Cynthia is proud, slaked, fulfilled, anointed. And I've never looked fucking better. Callie has a red carpet event tonight, so I'm doing her pre glam skin a facial. The day of an event is a world away from a typical appointment. No moisture stripping chemicals, no overly abrasive exfoliation. The goal is to calm and hydrate, not to batter and abuse. I'm painting the final strokes of a colloidal oatmeal clay mask under her decollage when her phone vibrates on the bench beside us. Mmm, let me guess. Booty call from the guy you've absolutely been seeing and definitely not telling me about based on the collection of hickeys on your neck. Callie can't speak since the gloppy mask is smeared across her lips. Glue like. Huh huh. I ignore her, hovering the plastic brick in front of her sludge covered visage despite the witch hazel pads resting on her eyes, a modern Coron's oval. The facial recognition still registers and her phone unlocks. It's from Daniel. I don't recall hearing about a Daniel. How about right now? Ooh, commanding. I narrate as I type a flirty response for Callie since she's otherwise occupied. Can't right now getting a Brazilian winky face. How about later tonight? Send Daniel types. Ellipses, ellipses, ellipses. The response comes through and a sickening truth nails my stomach to the floor. No go. Viv is coming to the restaurant. My tongue sweeps my mouth dry and bitter. I assess my tools, ablating lasers, dermaplaning blades, black head extractors, lancing needles. My fingers hum with anticipation. I crank the skin act facial ozone steamer to its max. Beauty is never free. I slam the hot mist outlet into her cheek and scalding vapors blister her freshly laundered skin. She screams, finally breaking the clay mask seal. It drips and globs back toward her tonsils, which ring like alarm bells. Her epidermis bubbles and pops like a witch's cauldron. A tangy mix of sulfur and meat rides the air, coating my throat.

Vivian (65:17)

Vivian, what are you doing?

Vivian (Narration) (65:19)

She thrashes, but I pin her down, securing her body to the table with a spare electric cord. The cotton pads slip from her sockets and her eyes glisten with terror like the cold belly of a slug. The CO2 laser beckons me. I flip it on and aim the focused beam of light right at those slugs. I recall a childhood afternoon when I once fried a family of ants with my mom's reading glasses. Someone always picks up the tab. The electric blue light sears Callie's enviable emerald eyes. At first they turn cloudy, then they char and blacken before there's a wet pop and they rupture like an overripe grape left in the sun. Her screams are hoarse now, scraping against her throat.

Jake (66:07)

Throat.

Vivian (Narration) (66:08)

Which gives me an idea. The dermaplaning blade. Ideal for ridding dead skin cells and unwanted peat fuzz. Today I have another use for it. I jerk the petite blade across Callie's neck in a wet sweep and the taut skin breaks loose, spilling syrupy blood down her cleavage. The snap of her fascia and the squelch of her flesh are Ode to Joy and I am Beethoven. Cynthia looks on with a Pennywise smile as I slough off Callie's pretty face. I sit at my vanity and admire my cosmetics as though they are precious jewels. I twist open a topaz tube of mascara and coat my lashes inky. I snap open a moonstone cabochon, dusting my cheeks with the pressed blush. Finally, I glide a ruby gloss over my pillowy lips, kiss my haunting reflection. When Jake walks in the door, he finds me on the couch and nothing more than crimson lingerie and the wolfish smile. His breath catches in his throat at the sight, my hair in a 1930s victory curl, fish nets crawling up my thighs, breasts lifted to the heavens. It's as though someone retouched me with a flesh and blood filter, smacked me with a pretty stick. His growing need is obvious from here. He dry swallows and drifts toward me as if pulled by an invisible thread. He wants to reach out, touch me, feel me, take me. But then he goes still, like he's seen a bear and isn't sure if he should back away or run. He's seen her through his peripherals. Cynthia. She's on the other length of the sectional, which is why Jake didn't notice her at first. He cranks his head notch by notch so he can drink in the full splendor despite the rigidity of her plaster limbs. Cynthia sits in a new pose now, her legs crossed, wrists too flicked sassily over the hump of her knees. Her head is cocked, but the scene stealers her face, her lips carved into a sneer. But I believe what's caught Jake's attention is her veil. Like a piece of stuck baloney. Callie's flayed skin is stretched taut over Cynthia's face, Callie's once delicate features now nothing more than a macabre mask, Cynthia's glass eyes staring through the gaping holes, frozen in eternal, silent torment. A scream boils out of his throat. It's a currency like any other.

David Cummings (69:08)

It. 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 Reasons and 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 Writer 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.

Ryan Seacrest (71:42)

Hey, it's Ryan Seacrest for Albertsons and Safeway Cold weather can wreak havoc on your skin. You don't want to miss out on this month's great savings on all your favorite skincare essentials. Now through March 31, earn four times points when you purchase participating skincare items like Dove Soap, Dove Body Wash, Dove Beauty Bar, Soft Soap Body Wash and Irish Spring Body Wash. Points can be redeemed later for discounts on groceries or gas. Offer ends March 31. Restrictions apply. Promotions may vary. Visit albertsons or safeway.com for more details.

LifeLock Advertiser (72:13)

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Jake (72:43)

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Landon's Friend (73:16)

Com.