transcript

Speaker 1:
[00:08] 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 river bank, 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 NoSleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. Well, we're glad you're back this week to hear more horror stories. But as a bit of a change of pace, I thought I'd use this opportunity to try out some of my new standup comedy routine. It won't take long, so get ready to laugh. Hey, have you ever noticed... Hey, have you ever noticed that airline food is...

Speaker 2:
[01:58] is...

Speaker 1:
[01:59] Wait, wait, wait, hold on. Damn it. Sorry about that noise in the background. My neighbors always play their music so loud. It's really annoying me. They're nice people and all, but truth be told, they're like pests in the neighborhood. Now hold on, let me close this window. Okay, well, so much for my comedy. But in a more serious vein, I'd like to make you aware of a new project from one of our voice actors you know and love, the delightful Jake Benson. Jake is creating something special, so here's the man himself to let you know all about it.

Speaker 3:
[02:42] Hey, NoSleepers, I'm Jake Benson. Some of you might recognize my voice, and if so, I hope in a good way. I just want to quickly tell you some incredible news. I'm about to make my debut film, a folk horror called Draugr. When Ben, a recent widower, escapes to the Scottish Highlands to process his grief, he stays in an old bovey, a Highland cottage, only to discover that something else is trying to get inside. As he uncovers the area's folklore and meets the locals, he's given just one piece of advice. Don't let the fire go out at night. But NoSleep, I'm sorry to say, that it's very hard to get independent film funded. It's even harder to get horror independent film funded. And that is why I'm talking to you now. We're running a Kickstarter from the 7th of April for 30 days, and if we don't hit the target, we don't get to make the film. But if we do, we get to create an exciting new horror short film and take it around the world. So we need your help. And any help would be incredible. If you're in a position to pledge money and backers, we've got some insane rewards for you. From exclusive t-shirts, signed posters, you can cameo in the film, come and spend a day with us on set, executive producer credits, and even just having the ability to see the film long, long before the public ever will. Share the Kickstarter page with whoever you can. Go on to Kickstarter, Drowger, folk horror short film. But from the guy who creeps you out every so often in stories, thanks No Sleepers. Now go and enjoy your spooky stories.

Speaker 1:
[04:23] Check the link in the show notes to learn more about Drowger and how you can support this very cool project. So as I was saying about my neighbors, we all have people and or things in our lives we might consider to be pests. And they're not just things like insects in our homes. Pests can be anything that won't leave you alone and that seem intent on ruining your day or your life. And it's a good thing pests make for good horror. Because on the show this week, we're going to meet people who have to deal with things that go from annoying to deadly with a lot of torment in between. So at the risk of bothering you, let's plunge into the horror of our sleepless tales. In our first tale, we meet a family dealing with a worldwide mystery. Something is approaching the planet from outer space, and no one seems to know what it is. But in this tale, shared with us by author Ren Segers, as reality sets in, the family has to deal with the threat, despite having no idea what's causing it. Performing this tale are Lindsay Russo, Wafiyyah White, Mary Murphy, and Nichole Goodnight. So sometimes danger approaches slowly. Sometimes you get all of it at once.

Speaker 4:
[06:05] We both hunker over the countertop in the kitchen while we prepare dinner. It's something made of apples and bread, since that's about all we've got left until the next ration allotment. And it's all gonna spoil soon anyway. It's early evening, midsummer, so we have the windows open, and the air creeping in from outside is warm and sweet. We can hear Lily and Amelia while they play, dancing among the trees in the grove, running in and out of the open hatch of the bunker. They're pretending it's a castle with secret corridors and a dungeon. I hope they remember that whimsy if we do have to lock ourselves away in there. Pulling myself away from the picturesque image of our two girls carefree and laughing against the backdrop of a wooded valley and low-hanging sun, I turn to Laura, intending to ask if she's had a chance to double-check the air filtration system. I still, as her gaze meets mine, and my voice dies out before I can ask anything. I struggle finding it again. Your eyes. Laying down the knife I'd been using, I reach for my wife's face and palm her smooth angular jaw as I brush a fingertip over her eyelashes. Her eyelids flutter in reflex as she wraps my wavering hand in hers. Over the course of our lives together, we've often held each other close and stared into each other's eyes while things like anxiety and fear coursed through us. This wasn't like that, because something I've never felt in her arms before is panic.

Speaker 1:
[07:37] What is it?

Speaker 4:
[07:39] Her soft voice is low and unsteady, edged with concern. The wrinkles on her forehead grow deeper as she pauses to search inside herself for signs of something amiss. The slightest shake of her head and shrug of her shoulders tells me she must not feel anything. It must not hurt. They're changing. They're blue. I attempt to explain to her what I'm seeing, but it's like describing a tsunami. You can get all the right words out, but the magnitude and implication of what you're witnessing aren't heavy enough as the warnings roll off your tongue. I watch silently, stunned as a deep sea washes over the whites of my wife's eyes, tinting them a dark blue hue which drowns out the fiery brown of her irises, a wave extinguishing a flame.

Speaker 2:
[08:28] What?

Speaker 4:
[08:29] Laura softly tosses my hand aside as she makes for the bathroom. Glaring into the mirror, she tugs on the skin around her eyes and rubs her fingers over them repeatedly as if pressure and desperation can change them back.

Speaker 1:
[08:42] What the fuck?

Speaker 4:
[08:44] How does that? Her voice trails off as she turns to me.

Speaker 2:
[08:49] It's here, isn't it?

Speaker 5:
[08:51] This is what they've been talking about.

Speaker 4:
[08:54] We stare at one another for a moment, breaths shaky and composure faltering, as we silently nod and agree. It's here. We don't have a way to communicate with anyone outside of when we visit the town center, so we can't know for sure right now. We actually won't ever know for sure. We can feel that something is wrong and it must be what they warned us about. We can feel that some uninvited thing has finally arrived. Some intruder is encroaching upon our tiny, perfect world that we carved out for ourselves here in the valley. Even though we knew it was coming, we're still not ready. It's hard to prepare for something that you don't understand, something that never fully takes shape. It's like we've been attempting to arm ourselves to fight a thundercloud. My concentration on what's happening to Laura is broken when maternal panic smacks into me and pushes me out onto the back porch. Lily? Amelia? I run out the back door and dash down the steps of the deck as I yell across the field toward the small grove of trees surrounding a fresh hole in the ground. They're in the bunker we've spent the last few months building and stocking with food and supplies. They've both been making sure it's loaded with all their favorite things to keep them busy while we wait out something that may never end. I rush towards them, but I'm stopped dead at the railing when I notice the sky. A blurry dark blue and black mass displaces the soft orange and yellow of the warm evening air with eerie force as it tumbles over the horizon. The sky around it vibrates and blurs like a mirage. There is a dull low pulsating hum that makes it feel as if the softest parts of my head are throbbing wildly against my skull. This thing reverberates. I see it, I feel it, and hear it, and it terrifies me. The cloud that scientists have been tracking for the past seven months finally enters our atmosphere and descends over us like a murky gray pall. No one was ever able to figure out what it was. Everything they sent into it came back empty. Everything they shot at it went straight through. Some cosmic mass has been careening towards us for months, and we've had no idea how to prepare for it or what would happen when it finally got here. The only thing we could be sure of was that it was definitely going to hit us. And now it's actually here. A flash of light in the sky startles me out of my stupor. I blink hard because it's incredibly bright. It flashes again, and this time I see more of it. It's a blinding neon green with soft wavy lines that feather out from the bottom of the cloud. I would call it lightning, but I have a feeling there are no words for what I'm witnessing. This cloud is bringing a whole new world with it as it spills itself over ours, slowly snuffing us out. For weeks we'd been planning, and now I feel like it's not been enough time. We didn't know what to expect, but something in the air gives me the feeling that we're not prepared for whatever this actually is. As I call for our girls, two tiny heads pop out from the entrance of the bunker, and for a moment everything stops as my heart rings with a pained confusion. I have two little blonde headed babies, but even through the trees, I can see there is now a redhead and a brunette staring back at me. My vision kaleidoscopes as water swells in my eyes. I always knew my babies would grow and change. I just never thought I'd see it happen in a matter of seconds right in front of me. I push myself forward, sprinting across the field toward them as air rushes over my face. There hasn't been rain in days, yet Petrichor surrounds me. Maybe the cloud is bringing it. Maybe the air is changing too.

Speaker 5:
[12:51] Mommy!

Speaker 4:
[12:53] Lily calls to me as I run. Her voice is still the same high pitched squeal as always, even if the face it's coming from is not the one I'm used to seeing accompanying it. I fight past tree trunks and branches and drop to my knees as I finally get to them. I reach for Lily, an instinctual action that's been a natural part of the way my body has moved for the past seven years. But now is the first time I ever felt hesitation as I embrace her. I take her tiny face into my palms and watch in shock as she changes before my eyes. The trim of eyelashes around her typically almond eyes morph and stretch into perfect circles, turning her eyelids into halos that perfectly match the shape of her blown out pupils and darkening irises. Her once freckled button nose elongates and hooks at the end, and her skin, oh God, her soft sweet little skin, it molts as blotchy mob spreads over her body. The tendrils raise, creating rigid fleshy spider webs that squish and move beneath my fingertips. I glance at Amelia. Somehow she still looks like herself, but Lily absolutely does not. I pull Lily into me, smashing her face into my chest, as if I can use my t-shirt to wipe away everything that's happened in the last few moments and bring my baby back. Lily, honey, look at me. Does it hurt? As I raise her off my chest, I feel it, her skin undulating beneath my fingers. It's heaving beneath my touch, waves of transformation rippling over the bones. It makes me sick to feel it. And I see tears swell in her blue, no, black eyes.

Speaker 6:
[14:35] It doesn't hurt, but I can feel it. It's like popcorn inside me.

Speaker 4:
[14:42] I pull her to my chest again and squeeze even tighter. Maybe this time it will work. Is it too late? What good would the bunker be now? Whatever is causing this seems to be in the air. Or maybe it's something else entirely. I reach for Amelia, but stop when I see what's finally happening to her. Tears swell once again. Her thin, once blonde baby curls are now blurs of brown tufts as they break away from her scalp and float to the ground in clumps. There are no lesions or sores on her head from where the hair falls. It's simply as if it never belonged there in the first place. Some of it catches her eye as it drifts past her shoulder. And as she reaches a hand up to touch her now nearly bald head, I see that her fingers are doing the same. The skin at the base of each digit constricts as if it's caught in a wire that's pulled taut around it. The skin shrinks in on itself until there is a tiny snap, and the finger simply falls to the ground and rolls in the dirt. I gasp loudly before swallowing my concern down in a painful, choked gulp. It's as if her body is rejecting everything that is an extension, like it wants to shrivel in on itself as a form of protection. I wonder briefly how much shriveling she could take before there was nothing left. Her eyes are wide and she's scared. She's looking to me for comfort, for reassurance. But I can't give her either. I take a deep breath and pull her into me, placing my hand on the cold, smooth skin of her head as her tears wet the front of my shirt. Laura, come on! I yell out into the air, begging for her to get out here to the bunker, out here to us. My heart is pounding with the kind of desperation and uncertainty that can make you sick. Beating so fast, it's lurching my entire body forward and back in dizzying, uncontrolled motions. The pounding drums in my ears, and I don't hear Laura answer me. I turn around to scan the lower level of the house, the windows, the doors for a sign of her, but I don't see anything. I squint to look higher, to the second floor. Still there's nothing. As my eyes continue to roam upward, I glance to the sky opposite of where the cloud is coming from, and tears prick my eyes again. Washed in a brilliant fiery orange with fluffy pink and yellow clouds that hang lazily just above the setting sun, it's devastatingly, painfully, and beautifully right, like an old photo of yourself as a child laughing, being tickled while held in your mother's lap. It's as things should be, but to look at it in the present moment, you're speared in the chest with the reality that it is not how things truly are. I take the hands of my girls and each of mine and let myself cry as we begin walking toward the house. I cry because I'm scared. I cry because I don't know where Laura is or why she's not answering me. I cry for what's happening to Amelia and Lily. I cry for that perfectly right twilight sky that will soon be smothered and snuffed out by the very wrong thing that's slowly swallowing us whole. We only take a few steps before the back door slams open and finally Laura stumbles out onto the deck or what used to be Laura. Whatever is swaying at the top of the steps, breathing heavily and barely standing on limbs, I can't call legs, moans out some garbled version of my name and I'm not sure if it's in pain or panic or both. I quickly spin the girls around with me and grab onto their heads, burying them into my stomach, obstructing their vision and covering their ears with my hands. I feel hot streams careen down my face and I swallow hard as I take deep breaths and fight to think clearly. Finally, I squat down in front of them again, making sure to put my hands near their eyes to keep their view on me and not what's behind me. Get in the bunker. I speak slowly as if the thing behind us, something I can't call Laura anymore, might hear and come storming after us, chasing us underground forever. I gently nudge them along, turning them around and guiding them down inside where I don't even know if it's safer. But at least they won't have to witness what's happening out here. I'll be there in just one minute. My voice is shaky, but I try to reassure them.

Speaker 5:
[19:17] But, Mommy...

Speaker 4:
[19:19] I force myself not to look back as I close the hatch to the bunker behind them. I stand and brace myself against a tree as I pause to take a breath before attempting to face what's waiting for me at the house. Grasping onto a knot in the tree trunk, my fingers spread out over what feels like flesh. Turning, I see that the bark on the tree is changing too. Some sort of dark brown, velvety membrane is slowly spreading over the trunk and its branches. And I've grabbed hold of a hairy, pulsating lump of it. It's soft and warm and as I shudder and jerk my hand away, I swear the tree shudders too. I look out over the field as the mass rumbles closer. I scan for animals to see if the same thing is happening to them, but there are none. They've gone. They've sensed what was coming and they fled while they could, before their legs and wings morphed into things that would leave them stranded here. Like us, the grass is pulsing different colors as the cloud moves to hover above it. Green, gray, brown, deep-burnt orange. Clumps of earth bulge up in random places, pushing trees and rocks higher toward the sky. Something like rain seems to fall from the cloud, and I'm sure if I stayed long enough for it to pass over me, it would burn or suffocate or tear through my flesh, or maybe even all of it at once. I finally let myself accept it. There's no point in being scared. There's nothing we can do to stop this. We couldn't have prepared more than we did. Whatever this is, it's going to happen however it's going to happen, and that's it. I wrap my arms around myself, and as I do, I finally notice my own change. My skin is loose, drooping, sagging from the muscle and bones like it's been stretched thin by eons of a well-lived life, when in reality, it's only been a few moments of torture. I stop and close my eyes, breathing in deeply to let myself take stock of my body. I feel it too. No pain, just tiny little bursts within the walls of each cell, explosions of change at a molecular level. It reminds me of when I first started to feel each of the girls move inside me when I was pregnant with them. I dreamed of how they'd grow up, what they'd look like, all the things we'd do as a family. My dreams never once looked like this. But I suppose anything can change in the blink of a terrified, tear-filled eye.

Speaker 1:
[22:20] Let's take a short break for our sponsors, who help us keep our heads above water. For waves of ad-free horror content, join our Sleepless universe by going to sleepless.thenosleeppodcast.com. We're grateful that BetterHelp is sponsoring this episode. We're celebrating women, not just this month, but year round. And women contribute to the horror genre in so many important ways. I'm always surprised by dudes who seem shocked by how many great horror creators are women. The NoSleep Podcast wouldn't exist without the women who not only make this show, but who create the nightmares we experience through their stories. Women don't get an easy pass through life, so take a moment to celebrate a woman in your life. Reflect on what they've done for you. And equally important, encourage the sense of balance and boundaries that can be discovered through therapy, like the kind of therapy you can get with BetterHelp. BetterHelp 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 stars for a live session, based on over 1.7 million client reviews. So listen, your emotional well-being matters. Find support and feel lighter in therapy. Sign up and get 10% off at betterhelp.com/nosleep. That's betterhelp.com/nosleep. Now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. I admire people who can choose a career in pest control. You won't catch me dealing with bugs, roaches, vermin, all in a day's work. But Liam seems capable of handling it. And in this tale, shared with us by author Helena Castellan, Liam is being kept busy these days, and oddly enough, his calls are all coming from the same neighborhood. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, Jeff Clement, Peter Lewis, Jesse Cornett, Mary Murphy, Elie Hirschman, and Wafiyyah White. So no, this isn't an ad for Liam's company. It's just their motto when he says, heard something in the wall or ceiling? Call us.

Speaker 2:
[25:14] Heard something in the wall or ceiling? Call us. Hello. We are an independent organization with one purpose, to make you feel good in your own home and restore the peace and quiet. We deal in all kinds of intruders, from cockroaches to rats to raccoons, all sizes and shapes and colors. Safety and comfort is one call away. We offer a high variety of services, accommodated to your needs and inquiries, and have a flexible schedule. Call us anytime. That's the job I work at. For privacy reasons, I won't say the name of the company. The pay is decent, the hours are flexible, and I get uniforms on the house and meals. Yes, I do have to deal with all kinds of infested homes. From termites, to roaches, to bees. And even intruders, like raccoons, foxes. Once even a snake. It can be dangerous, but I take my precautions. I can also take phone duty if I'm feeling particularly lazy. Like last week. Don't imagine we're working non-stop. We rarely get any calls. Not a lot of incidents happened around here in this town. Last week, however, I had three calls. Which was interesting enough by itself, because I rarely get this much activity. Three calls also meant that I had to go do ground duty. Because we didn't have enough personnel for three interventions in one day. The first call happened at around 6 p.m. Hello, this is Exterminators. With the safety of your home is our priority.

Speaker 7:
[27:14] How can I help you today?

Speaker 6:
[27:41] The scratches started yesterday around midnight, and at first I thought it was the rain, you know, the way you could hear each individual drop fall on the roof of your house. And I imagined it must have been the birds, but I ended up realizing it was coming from the attic, because I, um, I, uh, I heard the scratches, like coming from right above me. And I thought something had gotten into the house. I live next to Helene.

Speaker 7:
[28:48] Are you hearing the scratches now?

Speaker 6:
[28:51] They're really faint, but persistent. Could be rats.

Speaker 7:
[28:57] Okay, Emily, we'll be on our way soon.

Speaker 6:
[29:01] Thank you.

Speaker 2:
[29:04] I sent the team over there, but they couldn't find anything out of place. No insects, no animals, no rats. The next call came around 10 p.m. Hello, this is Exterminators. Where the safety of your home is our priority.

Speaker 7:
[29:25] How can I help you today?

Speaker 8:
[29:27] Hello?

Speaker 7:
[29:28] I keep hearing these scratches and thuds coming from the ceiling, and I think it moves to the walls. I'm not sure though, but there's definitely something in there.

Speaker 2:
[29:38] Could you describe the issue with a bit more detail?

Speaker 7:
[29:41] The noises started like three hours ago. At first I thought it was the pipes, but they're too rhythmic, like footsteps, or more like something dragging its limbs through the walls. I don't understand, and I can't identify the animal. It sounds big. This is an old house, and it's relatively easy to dig through it. I've never heard anything like it.

Speaker 2:
[30:18] My stomach tensed. Could it be a coincidence? Maybe some raccoon was making its way through the homes, and...

Speaker 7:
[30:28] All right, thank you. We'll be on our way.

Speaker 2:
[30:32] I sent the team to the location, and was left alone with Andrew, a coworker. The night had fallen, and I hated night interventions, so I hoped the phone wouldn't ring again until they came back. Honestly, I was pretty relaxed. There wasn't a very high chance that I'd get any other calls for the day. I lifted my head from my lasagna. Me and Andrew stared at each other. It had been, what, like 30 minutes since the last call?

Speaker 5:
[31:08] The?

Speaker 2:
[31:10] Andrew raised his shoulders. I stood up and lifted the receiver. This is, um... How can I help you? There was a pause in the other line. Then, heavy breathing. Sir, madam, are you okay? What happened?

Speaker 8:
[31:40] It dragged something into the house.

Speaker 2:
[31:44] What do you mean? Who dragged what? Sir, can you be more precise? Andrew's eyes widened.

Speaker 7:
[31:52] What?

Speaker 2:
[31:54] I shook my head in motion to him to be quiet. Sir, what's going on?

Speaker 8:
[31:59] Something broke into my house, sir, but there's two of them, two distinct bodies. Not a raccoon, not a bird, no?

Speaker 2:
[32:34] Right.

Speaker 8:
[32:36] No, I'm not done. I got scared shitless because I thought it was a person. At first, it sounded big enough to be a person. I was like, shit, it's a murderer. But that was until I heard it...

Speaker 5:
[32:50] eating.

Speaker 8:
[32:52] Eating?

Speaker 2:
[32:53] What do you mean? Andrew frowned. He mouthed the words, the fuck?

Speaker 8:
[33:16] hell, please, just come. I wanted to call 911, but I know it's not human.

Speaker 2:
[33:23] All right, I'll send someone right away. Address and name, please.

Speaker 6:
[33:29] Who are we going to send?

Speaker 9:
[33:31] There's just us.

Speaker 8:
[33:32] Finnick, Galen, 11, Pauline Street.

Speaker 2:
[33:36] me. OK, sir, we'll be on our way. After I hung up, a moment of silence followed, where me and Andrew just stood there, perplexed.

Speaker 9:
[33:50] You know it's us that have to go there, right?

Speaker 2:
[33:54] I'd really rather not.

Speaker 7:
[33:56] Then call Walt.

Speaker 6:
[33:58] Ask him if they finished at the last place.

Speaker 9:
[34:01] Are the houses close to each other?

Speaker 2:
[34:03] All three calls came from the same street. Paulin Street. You're the forest.

Speaker 8:
[34:11] Yeah, call them.

Speaker 2:
[34:15] I dialed Walt's number. It took a while for him to pick up. Hey, Walt, you done there?

Speaker 7:
[34:23] Because I got another call, and Liam, there's no one in that house.

Speaker 2:
[34:29] My hand was shaking on the receiver. What do you mean?

Speaker 7:
[34:36] There was no creature, no person, nothing. However, the scene is rather interesting. I'm afraid we'll be busy here for a while.

Speaker 2:
[34:50] Why?

Speaker 7:
[34:51] Well, the windows are broken, the furniture destroyed. We're searching the property.

Speaker 2:
[35:13] Right. The third call had mentioned something dragging something else. We need to find your caller. I had a good idea of where he was. I had never been so afraid. As me and Andrew put on our uniforms, I couldn't help but wonder if I should get the police involved. There was no snake, no fox, no bear. The most frustrating thing was that I didn't know what it was. We took a deep breath and drove into the night. We reached our destination pretty fast. I know what you're going to say. If the house's numbers were so close, why couldn't Walt just take a look at number 11 too? Well, the numbers were really far apart. This area of town wasn't exactly populated. Neighbors could be miles apart. I reached the house with its lights on. We hesitated. Then, got out of the car and knocked on the door. I got an instant response. Finnick opened, pale and shaking.

Speaker 8:
[36:38] Hi, I am so, so glad you came.

Speaker 2:
[36:43] I was used to clients being afraid. Finnick, however, was deeply shaken. His eyes were glossy, and his movements irregular. He sensed the same thing I had, that something sinister was going on, But we couldn't quite label it yet. I tried to remain calm. Sir, you can wait in the car if you would like to. It didn't need to be told twice. Me and Andrew made our way upstairs to the master bedroom. The house looked pretty normal. Nothing out of place and nothing broken like in number 7. The bedroom had old creaking furniture and floors. It was undeniable that something was in the ceiling. I could hear the sound of something being torn apart. And scratching. So much scratching. The ceiling was old, too. Looked like it was just made of some old slabs. Andrew and I took out our equipment, gathering our courage to go inside the attic. Had the slabs always had this red tint? I raised my hand and felt them. They were humid and smelled like metal. Andrew, get your gun. Pulling the attic stairs down, I tried to be as quiet as possible. I didn't want to make our presence known. As silent as we tried to be, the stairs creaked obnoxiously. And I closed my eyes. The sounds upstairs stopped. Okay, you go first.

Speaker 8:
[38:38] Oh, you.

Speaker 2:
[38:41] With that, he disappeared into the darkness. I heard his footsteps, then a loud, echoing scream that turned into an inhuman whale. My first instinct was to crouch and stay on the ground with my hands on my ears. Then I heard two gunshots and Andrew cursing. More gunshots followed than glass breaking and something batting its wings and wailing. The voice was not human, but it had some inflections like a woman. It made my skin crawl. The attic window had broken, and the thing had flown away. I don't know why, but I pulled away the curtain to the bedroom and looked outside for any signs of what it could have been. When Andrew came back down, he was crying. I had never seen him cry.

Speaker 3:
[39:49] I saw it. I saw it.

Speaker 8:
[39:54] I saw hell, Liam.

Speaker 2:
[39:57] I looked right at it.

Speaker 3:
[40:00] I saw it happen.

Speaker 2:
[40:03] The sweet smell from the attic made me gag. I put on my mask and went upstairs, leaving Andrew frozen, staring into a corner. The light didn't work, so I had to use my flashlight. The floor was wet and darkened and blood, and the smell lingered, putrid and overwhelming. I couldn't understand at first what I was seeing, and it had no impact on me. I didn't realize I was staring at what would turn out to be the second collar. I had never dealt with such gore before, so my head didn't know how to take it. I guess I knew in some sort of way that the inflated shape was supposed to be the head, and what was above it were the limbs. And the stomach lay somewhere farther away, and the torso had been dug into. That was in shock, and the images just didn't seem real. Above the body, the creature had carved something onto the wooden wall. Some symbol. My face felt numb. Remaining in the same position, I made a call. Hey, Walt?

Speaker 7:
[41:30] Yeah?

Speaker 2:
[41:32] Are you guys done there? Are you okay?

Speaker 7:
[41:37] You sound weird.

Speaker 2:
[41:39] I blinked a few times, then cleared my voice. Yeah, um, are you done there?

Speaker 7:
[41:48] We didn't find anything. Did you guys do the other intervention?

Speaker 2:
[41:53] Oh, yeah.

Speaker 7:
[41:54] We did. And?

Speaker 2:
[41:58] We found the caller. Not all of him, though. And the thing is gone now. Probably resting.

Speaker 7:
[42:09] Yeah.

Speaker 2:
[42:10] You might want to come. Since then, I've been giving interviews non-stop, as to describe the three calls and our interventions, the creature. I told them everything. Well, almost everything. That night, I had looked through the window on instinct. I don't know why. You know how the most horrible things have a way of drawing you in? I pulled the curtain. I placed my face close to the window. I hadn't heard it fly away yet. I should have waited for it to leave. In the darkness, I saw two eyes shimmering a few inches from mine. Two eyes that looked so human. Behind the head were large wings. It smiled, it had no teeth, just more skin, not even gums, or a tongue, then it flew away. The rest of its body was stretched out, The limbs curved and molded from the gray flesh. I watched it disappear into the night, leaving nothing but a bloody stain on the window where its forehead had been. I didn't get a lot of sleep after that. I was hesitant to return to the job, But I had no better option. It has been exactly a week since then. At almost midnight, I got a call.

Speaker 7:
[44:54] Hello, this is.

Speaker 2:
[44:57] Exterminators, where the safety of your home is our priority.

Speaker 7:
[45:01] How can I help you today? There is something in my ceiling, scratching. Address? You didn't even let me finish. I'm on Pollan Street, number 13.

Speaker 8:
[45:13] Ma'am, get out.

Speaker 7:
[45:16] Just leave. Trust me.

Speaker 8:
[45:19] What? Yeah, no.

Speaker 2:
[45:23] We ain't helping you with that. It's beyond us.

Speaker 7:
[45:27] That shit needs a priest.

Speaker 5:
[45:29] Are you kidding?

Speaker 2:
[45:31] Nope. As I hung up, I knew we couldn't run from this thing forever. And there's also this other thing I know. My address is 34 Hamney Lane, right across from Pollan Street.

Speaker 1:
[46:19] It ain't easy scraping out a living as a horror storytelling podcaster. You want the big bucks, you host a video channel as a paranormal investigator. Like Marcus and Kayla do, they're developing a big audience by visiting supposedly haunted places, like a photo museum. And in this tale, shared with us by author Melissa Mason, this particular museum seems to be infested with a ghost. And let's just say it's not a pretty picture. I'm in this one alongside of Matthew Bradford and Nichole Goodnight. So stop making that duck face and put the phone away. This is the last place you'll want to take a selfie.

Speaker 9:
[47:17] Wake up, angry ghost lady. I panned my phone's camera around the empty museum lobby. Dozens of framed black and white portraits frowned down on me.

Speaker 5:
[47:27] She's not angry, Marcus.

Speaker 9:
[47:29] My best friend crossed her arms over her flowered blouse, a tinkling collection of charms hung from her wrist.

Speaker 5:
[47:35] She's sad. Grieving maybe, but not angry. Still too quiet for me to receive a message, though.

Speaker 9:
[47:43] My least favorite charm, a bright blue glass eyeball, fixed its pupil on me. I lowered my phone. Seriously, Kayla, you're telling me we drove up to the ass end of nowhere and camped out at this old museum all day for nothing? I pointed at her bracelet. And now your evil eye is judging me. She grinned.

Speaker 5:
[48:03] I told you a million times already, it wards against evil.

Speaker 9:
[48:08] Cheerful off-key whistling interrupted us as a wiry man with tufts of white hair and a shirt proclaiming Heartwood Photography Museum and faded gold stitching rounded a corner. I held up my phone. Hey Joe, still good? The elderly security guard beamed.

Speaker 1:
[48:24] Closest I'll get to bein a celebrity. Still can't believe the famous Detroit ghost hunters responded to my letter. Film away.

Speaker 9:
[48:35] Our little video channel hardly qualified as famous, but the praise fired me up again. Viral video, here we come. I pointed my phone's camera toward the nearest set of black and white photos. Closer inspection revealed them as tin types, thin pieces of metal used in 18th century photography. They hung behind panes of thick glass below the words, Amazing Elizabeth. My voice assumed a Carnival Barker's cadence. Stay up right up, spook hunters, and learn all about the lovely Elizabeth Hardwood. In death, vengeful ghost. In life, famous Victorian grifter.

Speaker 5:
[49:10] Spiritual healer?

Speaker 9:
[49:12] I zoomed into the image of a woman seated on a wicker chair. Dark hair pinned into a neat bun, with a knitted shawl draped around her shoulders. She clasped the hands of a sickly man covered in boils. All your ill is cured by the power of psychic energy and the low, low price of a single photograph taken by the amazing Elizabeth's amazing husband.

Speaker 5:
[49:33] Who killed her?

Speaker 9:
[49:34] Deader than a doornail. Motivation? Why, it's the tale as old as time. Murder for money and your side piece.

Speaker 8:
[49:42] Side piece?

Speaker 9:
[49:43] I turn back to our channel's mystic for clarification. What's the Victorian term?

Speaker 5:
[49:49] Mistress.

Speaker 9:
[49:50] Right, right. Murder for money and your mistress. But then what happened, Kate? She rolled her eyes, so I swung focus over to the security guard. Then what happened, Joe? His face lit up.

Speaker 1:
[50:04] Elizabeth returned from the grave and stopped her husband's traitorous heart.

Speaker 9:
[50:10] Nice. Very dramatic. Joe gave a cheesy thumbs up and shuffled off, probably to guard another room filled with yellowing newspapers and old photos. Not sure why, the place felt better than the hardwoods. Then their belongings moved here to Michigan from England in the 1970s. Cue flickering lights and cold spots and the typical ghost shenanigans. I stopped recording and sighed, none of which we experienced today. Can't believe it's already the last week and to qualify for the horror convention panel. Ate tilted her head at me.

Speaker 5:
[50:43] You don't think Elizabeth's story is strong enough to push our channel over the subscriber count?

Speaker 9:
[50:47] A ghost hunting video with no ghosts. I shook my head and chewed a fingernail, thinking. We could tweak it. Kayla's face clouded over.

Speaker 5:
[50:58] Tweak how?

Speaker 9:
[51:00] Blowing red eyes on Elizabeth's portrait, maybe.

Speaker 4:
[51:03] No way.

Speaker 9:
[51:04] Just for the thumbnail image.

Speaker 5:
[51:05] When we started making videos, we promised we'd never lie.

Speaker 9:
[51:09] Promised we'd never lie to each other. And after we get on the panel, we'll finally have enough exposure to turn ghost hunting to a full-time gig. Kayla set her jaw.

Speaker 5:
[51:18] We left the laptop upstairs.

Speaker 9:
[51:21] She marched toward the elevator. Come on, Kay. I know you enjoy our stunning minimum wage careers and retail as much as I do. The elevator doors creaked, but I managed to race inside before they shut. Kayla and I avoided each other's eyes, writing upward in silence until a shaky ding reverberated around us like an underwater doorbell. The elevator opened to reveal stacks of tools essential to Victorian-era photography, but now mostly rusted junk. I'll grab it. I jogged to the large bay containing our equipment. It sat near a wooden cabinet of warped glass bottles containing various chemicals. Think one of these is the cyanide cocktail Elizabeth's husband used to poison her? Kay pushed chunky purple frames up her nose, but said nothing. I snagged the heavy duffel and paused for one final look at the museum's best feature, Mr. Hartwood's photography. Not his scam work downstairs. No, the good stuff. Framington types of unsmiling families circled the walls. Women in bustle dresses, men in suits, children clothed in their Sunday best. And in each photo, one of these elegantly dressed people was dead. Most times, the corpse looked obvious, closed eyes or a sagging head. But I knew another tell. Tint-type exposure time could take 15 seconds or more. It was difficult to remain perfectly still that long. People breathed and shifted, causing their outlines to appear subtly blurred in the developed pictures. But the dead? The dead looked solid, like photography from the underworld. The corpses appeared more real than the living. But one photo stood out by its absence. The last picture Mr. Heartwood took of his wife. Post-humously. I glanced at Kay as I returned to the elevator. Anyone would have a heart attack if their mistress caught them developing their wife's murder trophy photo. Vengeful ghost or no.

Speaker 5:
[53:17] Not vengeful.

Speaker 8:
[53:20] Sad.

Speaker 9:
[53:21] I hit the lobby button and opened my mouth to cram my foot even further inside. When my phone dinged, I tapped the notification, expecting to see another warning about the convention deadline. Instead, a picture slideshow began. Offensively cheerful music played over a photo of me as a teenage discount goth with spiky hair and a ripped proud skeptic t-shirt. My gap-toothed grin looked huge and happy. One arm slung around Kayla's shoulders. Cursive over-the-top red memories remember this day. I turn the screen to Kay. Who's that goofy-looking guy with you at Detroit Ghost Con? And he's a real jerk. She shrugged her shoulders.

Speaker 5:
[54:01] Only 90% of the time?

Speaker 9:
[54:03] Ouch. I grimaced, placing a hand over my heart. You should go solo. Probably get more views.

Speaker 5:
[54:10] Oh, I definitely get more views.

Speaker 9:
[54:13] She finally looked at me, lips twitching.

Speaker 5:
[54:16] But skeptics make great fodder. Something spooky tries to nab us, it'll get your dumb ass first.

Speaker 9:
[54:23] I smiled back. I see how it is. So, food, tell our followers where to dine out here in lovely Sticksville, Michigan.

Speaker 1:
[54:31] You kids leaving already?

Speaker 9:
[54:34] We'd arrived back at the lobby, and Joe looked crestfallen. Yeah, sorry, man. Appreciate you reaching out, but we haven't seen anything truly scary all day. I think Elizabeth's asleep.

Speaker 1:
[54:45] Lizzie. The staff all call her Lizzie.

Speaker 9:
[54:49] He glanced around the still empty lobby and looked me dead in the eyes.

Speaker 1:
[54:54] Want to wake her up?

Speaker 9:
[54:56] I exchanged glances with Kay and grinned, punching record on my phone. Hell yeah! Joe motioned us back into the elevator.

Speaker 1:
[55:04] Gotta be careful. Could lose my job if anything gets busted down there.

Speaker 9:
[55:10] He winked at the camera.

Speaker 1:
[55:12] Or any guests die mysteriously.

Speaker 9:
[55:16] Our guide produced a shiny metal key and slid it into an unmarked slot on the bottom panel. Sweet adrenaline flooded my veins as we descended. The watery bell announced our arrival as the door shuttered once and opened to darkness.

Speaker 1:
[55:32] Welcome to the basement.

Speaker 9:
[55:35] Joe stepped out, and fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead as I waited impatiently for the big reveal. The illumination finally settled, revealing a large concrete walled broom. My heart plummeted at the set of frames hung every few feet along the walls. Oh, great. More pictures. Kay gently punched my shoulder.

Speaker 5:
[55:58] It is a photography museum.

Speaker 9:
[56:01] Joe strode toward the nearest image.

Speaker 1:
[56:03] The basement ain't available to the public, because Lizzie doesn't want anyone down here.

Speaker 9:
[56:09] Kayla fell into step behind him.

Speaker 5:
[56:11] Did her ghost tell you that?

Speaker 1:
[56:13] Nah, I'm not tuned into the spirit world like you, Missy. But after the last death, Lizzie got all riled up, had a bunch of spooky occurrences until these pieces moved to the basement.

Speaker 9:
[56:26] Last death? Joe stopped beside a color photo of a balding man in a powder blue suit and jerked a finger at it.

Speaker 1:
[56:34] Distant relation of the Hartwood family. Brought over their effects from England for the museum. I was only 17 on opening day when Lizzie took her revenge on him. Saw it myself.

Speaker 9:
[56:48] The security guard clutched his chest and convulsed.

Speaker 1:
[56:54] Like that. Died in minutes.

Speaker 5:
[56:57] But that doesn't make sense. Elizabeth wanted to cure people, not kill them. Those photographs in the lobby weren't taken to make money. They acted as healing tokens for her clients and they worked. Everyone pictured with her upstairs recovered.

Speaker 9:
[57:11] Did her ghost tell you that?

Speaker 5:
[57:13] No. An article in London's 1873 Spiritualist newspaper, which I read during the museum tour while someone looked at cat videos on his phone.

Speaker 9:
[57:22] I held up a hand. Guilty. Joe stepped to another picture, partially blocking it. The visible portion showed a familiar dark-haired woman, but without the telltale shawl. Elizabeth?

Speaker 1:
[57:36] Nope. This here is Lizzie's daughter.

Speaker 9:
[57:39] Joe's eyes grew bright.

Speaker 1:
[57:41] Murdered by her own mama. More proof of a vengeful spirit.

Speaker 9:
[57:47] Wait, wait. She killed her kid, but not her husband's mistress. That's cold. Kate frowned.

Speaker 5:
[57:54] Why do you think she died because of Elizabeth?

Speaker 9:
[57:56] With a flourish, Joe moved aside, revealing the rest of the picture. Lizzie's daughter stood close to a wooden stand, holding up on an ornately framed portrait. My eyes swam. I'd stared at pictures all day, and waves of dizziness washed over me at the image inception.

Speaker 5:
[58:13] That's it.

Speaker 9:
[58:15] Kayla's urgent whisper cleared the fog.

Speaker 5:
[58:17] The death photo.

Speaker 9:
[58:19] My heart kicked into high gear. In the portrait within a portrait, a man sporting a Van Dyke beard stood behind a wicker chair, one hand on the occupant's shoulder. Jill Grin.

Speaker 1:
[58:40] You betcha. And her husband, of course. Evil bastard.

Speaker 9:
[58:46] He got his, though. He ate the bucket before his murder trophy photo finished drying.

Speaker 5:
[58:50] Then how did their daughter die?

Speaker 1:
[58:52] Same way Mr. Hartwood did. Same as the original owner of this place, too. Though his family burned the Polaroid.

Speaker 9:
[59:00] Polaroid? I exchanged confused glances with Kayla until the security guard huffed impatiently.

Speaker 1:
[59:09] They died because they took a picture of themselves with Lizzie. Or with her death portrait, anyways.

Speaker 9:
[59:16] The pieces of Joe's story finally snapped into place. A killer selfie. What a clickbait title. Our video will go viral for sure.

Speaker 1:
[59:26] I told you.

Speaker 9:
[59:28] Joe sounded smug. I snapped a still of the unfortunate daughter and her charlatan parents, turning eagerly to the security guard. Please tell me the original death photo is down here.

Speaker 1:
[59:39] Oh yeah.

Speaker 9:
[59:41] Joe spun on his heel and bowed like a maitre d, ushering us to the best table.

Speaker 1:
[59:46] Right this way, good sir. Madam.

Speaker 9:
[59:50] Kay grabbed my arm.

Speaker 5:
[59:52] Mark, wait, that feeling of sadness? It's stronger here.

Speaker 9:
[59:58] That's great. We're finally getting somewhere.

Speaker 5:
[60:01] No, you don't understand. It feels wrong.

Speaker 9:
[60:05] I half-dragged us after the security guard as she struggled for words.

Speaker 5:
[60:09] It's heavy, like quicksand.

Speaker 9:
[60:12] Kayla skidded to a halt and fell silent, her gaze fixed over Joe's shoulder. I gently pried her fingers from my sleeve and stepped forward. Details stood out more clearly in the original death photo. The painted floral backdrop behind the couple, the smirk beneath Mr. Hartwood's mustache, Elizabeth's stiffly curled fingers. I stared at her closed eyelids. Something about the photo felt off.

Speaker 1:
[60:39] So, you gonna do it?

Speaker 9:
[60:41] Joe gave me an expectant look.

Speaker 1:
[60:43] Wake up, Lizzie?

Speaker 9:
[60:45] Kayla furiously shook her head. From her worried face, I knew mine was lit up like a kid's on Christmas. Take a killer selfie. Absolutely. I'd live for this shit.

Speaker 5:
[60:56] Did you not hear a word I said?

Speaker 9:
[60:58] Kayla stepped between me and my destiny.

Speaker 5:
[61:01] This picture is cursed. I think it channels Elizabeth's death into its victims.

Speaker 9:
[61:06] I thought you said Lizzie is not the murdering type.

Speaker 5:
[61:09] I don't think she has a choice.

Speaker 9:
[61:11] Kind of a stretch. Besides, think of the horror convention. More subscribers, more exposure, remember?

Speaker 5:
[61:17] No one needs internet clout, you dork.

Speaker 9:
[61:20] The fact you're so keyed up makes me want to debunk it even more. I waved a hand. Can't you just do your protection thing?

Speaker 1:
[61:27] Gonna work a spell?

Speaker 9:
[61:29] Joe eyed Kay's bracelet eagerly.

Speaker 3:
[61:32] Something like that.

Speaker 9:
[61:34] She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, fingers shuffling through the charms until he separated one from the rest, the cobalt blue eyeball. Fantastic, the creepy one. But I remained still while my best friend circled me, muttering words in a language I didn't recognize and occasionally punctuated by my name. Satisfied?

Speaker 3:
[61:56] No.

Speaker 9:
[61:57] But Kay raised her own phone to record. I stood next to the photograph and mirrored her. She and Joe appeared in frame, a portrait of anxiety and eagerness. I flipped to the selfie camera and they disappeared, replaced by my excited gaze. I leaned in so my head hovered near Lizzie's. Tiny crinkles creased her eyelids. The outline of her dark hair were against the wicker, slightly blurry. Goosebumps peppered my arms. That's what seemed off. I stared at the woman's outline. Not the sharp, solid stillness of death, but soft and unsteady. Elizabeth spent her last moments alive during this photograph. Did Mr. Hartwood grip his wife's shoulder to keep her in place while the poison finished its work? My hand wavered.

Speaker 1:
[62:44] Getting cold feet, Mr. Skeptic.

Speaker 5:
[62:47] It's okay, Mark. Let's just leave.

Speaker 9:
[62:50] My friend's eyes met mine over the camera. Despite my teasing about her beliefs, I always felt steady around Kay. Safe. We got this. Everyone froze. The creepy-eyed charms swung gently back and forth from Kayla's wrist. I couldn't help but watch it. The pupil once again fixed unerringly toward me. Five seconds passed.

Speaker 7:
[63:13] Ten.

Speaker 9:
[63:16] I let out a breath and grin, finally tearing my gaze away from the evil eye. Still alive. Joe looked a little green.

Speaker 1:
[63:25] Honestly didn't think you were gonna do it. Looks like your mystic is as powerful as the rumors say.

Speaker 9:
[63:32] He beamed at Kayla. That or the Heartwoods had a genetic heart condition. I punched the air triumphantly. Killer Selfie officially debunked. Kay sent me her video proof of my victory and I motioned her over. We need a picture for the episode thumbnail.

Speaker 5:
[63:48] I am not standing there.

Speaker 9:
[63:51] A pastoral landscape of what I presumed to be the Heartwoods grounds hung kitty corner from the death portrait. I pointed to it. Kay, that boring enough for you? She relented and we stood together with our arms round each other's shoulders.

Speaker 1:
[64:04] I'll take it.

Speaker 9:
[64:06] Joe pulled out an honest-to-goodness clamshell phone, potted it a few times, then scowled.

Speaker 1:
[64:13] No, that's not right. I hate these dang things.

Speaker 9:
[64:17] Kay covered his smile while I handed him my phone. Here, just hit the big round button. Joe squinted and held it up like a poisonous snake, arm stiff and straight.

Speaker 1:
[64:28] Uh, like this?

Speaker 9:
[64:31] Mr. Heartwood's face smirked at me from behind the security guard's shoulder as he passed back the device without even checking the picture. I suppressed a sigh. Thanks, Joe. His bushy white eyebrows waggled.

Speaker 1:
[64:43] You know, my granny always swore Bigfoot stole chickens out of her coop. If you want to check that out next.

Speaker 9:
[64:52] Kay politely declined as I inspected the picture. He drew in a sharp breath. The others crowded around to see. The image looked like someone snapped it during an earthquake. Kyle and I weren't in it. Elizabeth's head drooped next to Joe's. I'd forgotten to flip the camera's view back. No! The security guard yanked the phone from my fingers with a shockingly strong grip. Panic covered his face.

Speaker 1:
[65:17] She's gonna kill me. You tricked me, and now she's gonna kill me.

Speaker 9:
[65:23] Kayla held up her phone in a soothing gesture. Easy, man. It's okay. We just proved it's not real.

Speaker 2:
[65:29] You don't understand.

Speaker 1:
[65:31] I saw the owner die. Oh my god.

Speaker 2:
[65:35] She's looking at me.

Speaker 9:
[65:38] His eyes locked to the screen.

Speaker 1:
[65:41] She's looking at me.

Speaker 9:
[65:44] He went bridge hit his glass crack between his fingers. I reached out. Stop. You're gonna break my phone. But the device clattered to the floor before I could grab it. The security guard's thin frame jerked as though attached to a live wire.

Speaker 5:
[65:58] Joe?

Speaker 9:
[65:59] The man collapsed, hands clutching his chest.

Speaker 5:
[66:02] Call 911. I'm gonna get help.

Speaker 9:
[66:05] Kayla ran for the elevator and I scrambled for my phone. But with shaking fingers, I dialed emergency services and knelt beside Joe's convulsing body. Just hang on, okay? Four hours and a few police interviews later, Kayla and I slumped in my beat-up Wrangler parked outside her apartment building on a sack of fast food untouched on the dash. My stomach coiled into a miserable contradiction of hunger and nausea. Joe was dead. Just drop it already. I'll delete anything with him in it.

Speaker 5:
[66:39] No, it's all got to go. Every photo, every video. No exceptions.

Speaker 9:
[66:45] My best friend looked shrunken, dwarfed by the passenger seat. Kay, I feel awful too, but the guy was like 80. And I'm still fine, right? I cradled my phone, marred by a single hairline crack across the top. Kayla already deleted her video, so my device held our last chance at hitting the convention deadline. Posting this will push us over the subscriber requirement for sure.

Speaker 5:
[67:10] Joe died. If we post a video, our fans will dare each other to take a selfie with Elizabeth. You know they will.

Speaker 9:
[67:21] She rubbed her arms.

Speaker 5:
[67:23] And she's awake now, very strong and very awake.

Speaker 9:
[67:27] I decided to sidestep her supernatural comet. No one can get to the basement and need that special key, remember?

Speaker 5:
[67:34] Seriously? We broke into places all the time investigating his dumb kids.

Speaker 9:
[67:38] Her jaw set so hard her chin trembled.

Speaker 5:
[67:41] Delete those pictures, Marcus, or I'm done. No more investigations.

Speaker 9:
[67:47] Shock washed through me. I opened my mouth and shut it. My fist hit the steering wheel. My shoulders drooped. Fine. I selected everything I'd take in that day and jabbed delete, feeling like I'd been punched in the stomach. Then a notification popped up. Delete media from cloud storage. I hesitated. Then tapped no. Kay was just emotional right now. Hell, I was emotional. We'd watched the power of magical thinking take someone's life today. I handed the phone over with a twinge of guilt. Everything's gone. She checked it while I tried to look upset.

Speaker 5:
[68:30] Thanks, Mark. We'll get to the convention another year.

Speaker 9:
[68:34] She gave me an awkward hug across the center console and got out. I drove aimlessly until sunset, wrestling with my conscience. Joe was dead, no changing that. Other ghost hunting channels would catch the story fast. Didn't our viewers deserve a first-hand account? Kayla would see that after she got some rest. I pulled into a strip mall. The cafe here had terrible coffee but surprisingly strong Wi-Fi. Not the first time I'd edited a video in the piece of an empty parking lot. The light pole above my car flickered as my phone rang. Kayla. I ignored it and retrieved my laptop, relieved at the full battery. Cloud storage and editing software open. I burned through the video intro. My phone chimed. Got that quick sand feeling again. You okay? I swiped Kayla's text away and silenced my phone. Of course she felt terrible. Nothing supernatural about that. I kept working. Museum background section done. Morning investigation section done. Loud pops split the night and white sparks hit my windshield as the light above burst with the parking lot plunged into darkness. Cut that out, Lizzie. I joked aloud to slow my racing hard and continued my editing by my laptop's glow. Text snippets from Kay flashed beneath a crack across my phone. Can't find you. She's awake. I gritted my teeth and let them fade out. Finally my mouse hovered over Kay's basement video. Time for the main event. Accurate smoke hit my nostrils as my laptop screen went dark, its internal fan whirring to a stop. My heartbeat thumped loudly in total silence. I felt around for the ignition and yelled like a superstitious idiot. I have a computer at home, you know. A battery indicator burned orange on the dashboard. I stared at it in disbelief and shivered. Suddenly freezing cold, a pang of icy loneliness settled in my chest. If Kayla were here, she'd chant some nonsense that wouldn't fix the car but would somehow make me feel better anyway. My phone flashed briefly in the dark. Relieved, I scrambled for it. Even angry words from my best friend felt like lifeline. But instead of expected text messages, music blared. Offensively cheerful music from my silenced phone. The whole screen lit up and I blinked in a sudden glare. Memories remember this day appeared across the top. Beneath it, K and I stood under a rusted Hartwood Photography Museum sign. I thought nagged in my mind but the photo changed before I could grab it. A wrinkled face smiled up at me, delighted to give his favorite amateur ghost hunters a tour. Guilt burrowed into my stomach as I stared at Joe's happy face, remembering how it contorted as he screamed, the panic in his eyes.

Speaker 1:
[71:24] He's looking at me!

Speaker 9:
[71:27] All the air left my lungs as realization hit. Joe didn't show heart attack symptoms until he grabbed my phone. Mr. Hartwood survived until he developed the original photo. As if to confirm my thoughts, Lizzie's daughter gazed solemnly at me next to the frame of her dead parents. Just taking the selfie didn't kill you. Looking at it did. Like all Lizzie's patients witnessed their photos, but in death the healer's gift twisted into something terrible. Revelation struck too late, and my face appeared on the screen beside the death portrait. Biles scorched the back of my tongue as the bubbly music surged to a high-pitched whine. Frantic text flashed and disappeared. I tried to respond, but my body felt paralyzed, pinned in place. My shoulder burned as though invisible fingers dug into the skin. No warding charm protected my eyes this time, and I felt them widen, locked in voluntarily into another gaze. Elizabeth Hart would stare directly at me from her wicker chair, eyes a startling bright green in her black-and-white face. Kayla was right, I thought, as my throat closed, hands clenching voluntarily as the first tremor ran through my body. She really did look sad.

Speaker 1:
[73:22] 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 Michalski, Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornett, and Claudius Moore. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley McAnally, Ollie A. White, and Kristen Samedo. 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. Add free extended episodes each week and lots of bonus content for The Dark Hours, all for one low monthly price. On behalf of everyone at The No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for 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.