Brace yourself for The NoSleep Podcast Greetings sleepless friends. Has the Halloween month of October passed us by already? Are your pumpkins rotting? Is your ghoulish makeup worn out and faded? Are those skeletons decaying in your yard? I mean, hopefully just the plastic decorative kind of skeletons? Yes, the post-Halloween period can be a rough one for us horror fans. Thoughts turn to the days of Thanksgiving and Christmas leaving the creatures of Halloween to be forgotten until
next October. But fear not, or should I say, be fearful because we do horror and Halloween year round in the NoSleep Podcast universe. And while the team and I are technically taking a bit of a hiatus after the busy Halloween season, as we always do, there are sleepless tales ready and waiting for your ears. For this week and next, we'll have stories from our season 21 premium episodes. Tales which, until now, only our sleepless sanctuary members
have heard. So consider these tales to be like full-sized candy bars being dropped into your trick-or-treat buckets. And since we are most grateful for the sponsors who allow us to give you all this free content, I want to give a big shout out to CB Distillery for making this episode possible. And while we love being sleepless around here, not being able to sleep can be a real problem. One, most of us deal with from time to time. Your
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started. Visit CBDestillery.com and use code NoSleep for 20% off. That's CBDestillery.com Thanks to CBDestillery for making this episode possible. Now let's get the show started. Are you ready? Then let's keep Halloween rolling deep into November. And for that, you'd better brace yourself. In our first tale, we ask, would you like to play a game? No, no, none of those fancy new video games and apps. Grab some friends and sit around bringing
back fun memories while playing an old Dustyboard game. And in this tale, shared with us by author, Lissel Jones, a group of friends recall a certain game with some bad memories, ones that shouldn't be brought up again. Performing this tale are David Alps, Ash Millman, James Cleveland and Penny Scott Andrews. So stick to monopoly or scrabble. Anything is better than playing Box O'Screams. Padius Death hit Mac the hardest. He was with her when it happened after all. He was
the one who watched her struggle in the mangled car seat. The one who listened to her final pleas as the flames spread. The one who couldn't pull her out in time. I'm not sure I could live with something like that. So it wasn't a surprise he wanted our company after the funeral. He and Kim agreed to go back to his place even though none of us were really close friends anymore. Mac and Nadia had stuck around in our little hometown while Stuss II had left
years ago to start our careers, no looking back. But we still felt a sense of duty, I guess, a thin but abiding bond that stretched back to our school days. As I pulled up to the rundown block that housed Mac's apartment, I spotted Kim waiting in her convertible. She stepped out to greet me. I gave her a reassuring grin. Mac had always been the weird one in our group and it looked like he hadn't completely outgrown that. I pressed the buzzer and Mac answered immediately.
His apartment was on the ground floor but the dark overcrowded decor gave it a subterranean vibe. Postures of the gloomy bands and movies Mac apparently still loved plastered the walls, the smell of greasy food and an earthy vape mixed unappetizingly in the air. Can I get you a drink? Kim shook her head firmly. That would do but I'm driving. Of course, Dr. Sensable. Mac lifted his glass awkwardly with a bandaged hand. Anyway, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable in my lovely little hovel.
Kim and I perched ourselves on his sagging couch. So, how you doing? Sorry, that's a stupid question. I guess we're all cut up. An idea was such a lovely person. I'd always regretted breaking up with her if I'm honest. You were lucky that you two were still close. Mac flopped down in a chair. We weren't really that close. Only me out once, twice a year tops. It was like she was keeping tabs on me, you know?
Making sure that poor guy she knew from school was okay. Like she felt sorry for me or something. I exchanged an awkward glance with Kim. I'm sure it wasn't like that. Nadia genuinely cared about people. I patted his shoulder. Mac pulled away. It made it so much worse. We saw each other so rarely and it had to happen when I was with her. Kim leaned forwards. It was just bad look, Mac. Could have happened any time. Don't put yourself down. But I am responsible. What do you mean?
He planted his head in his hands. I held back from reaching out again. Nadia was driving her own car, wasn't she? And you hadn't been drinking. Just coffee. There you go. So what is it then? Did you argue or do you feel guilty that you weren't able to get her out? Psychology isn't my specialism but I can tell you that's a perfectly normal response. It's nothing like that. Tell us then. It'll help. I do need to tell you to about it. That's why I asked you back here. But it's not what you think.
Kim Frowned. Go on. Mac reached for his e-sig and fumbled to flick it on. You're going to think I'm nuts. We've always thought that, dude. So don't worry about it. Okay. Okay. Do you remember that party around Halloween when we were 17? Kim Grind. You need to be more specific. Things tended to get hazy. How about that box of screams we messed with? You always thought we'd shit to show us what an edge lord you were. Band in the shooter games. Obscured, jump-scarred, and gore videos.
Guilty is charged but box of screams was different. Made weegee boards look like toys which technically they are. I remember the toy coffin that made us yell into it. It really wasn't a toy. I realized that too late. Kim rolled her eyes. You lose in me. You must remember it. It had a creepy skeleton inside that you held up to your mouth. You'd turned a handle and it gave you an electric shock to make your scream. A tide of disgust washed over her face.
Ugh. Got it. That's one memory I'd have been happier keeping repressed forever. Mac blew out a mouthful of vapor. That was only part of it. The point was that if you screamed the box would play your last words. The last thing you'll say before you die. Seriously? So what's that got to do with Nadia? You're not going to tell us some stupid speaking box predicted what was going to happen to her. I've never forgotten the things it said. Just like I'll never forget what Nadia said before she burned.
Exactly the same words. Kim moved to stand up but I touched her arm and mouthed. Please. Something told me Mac needed more help than we thought. Get me out of this thing. That's right. You remember, don't you? Mac leaned towards me. That's what Nadia said in the car. And that's what the box predicted she'd say. Get me out of this thing. Yeah, I remember my own supposed last words too. They've kind of haunted me for years. How about you, Kim? She shrugged.
I guess I can. Now we're talking about it. It was something like, I want this to stop or I want this to end. By kind of thing. We had how it had an impact on us after all this time. Kim frowned. Okay, even if we accept that Nadia might have said something similar at the accident scene, then so what? There were pretty generic lines. Mine weren't. I shuddered as a faint memory trickled down my backbone. But like I said, what does it matter? Just put it down as weird coincidence.
Mac took another draw. That's what I thought. But it kept bugging me in. I did some research. Kim sighed. You need to see it. He pulled out a laptop from under the couch and set it on a battered chest in front of us. Natch is not the only one who had this type of coincidence after playing with a box of screams. There's other weird things too. Mac opened several bookmarked sites on his browser.
He tapped a finger on a childhood toy nostalgia forum on the screen, a thread titled, I of Kabbalah, Voice of the Mummy, and other creepy vintage rarities. It goes back decades. This guy says one of his friends had one in the 80s. My mate, Jim Robson, owned a box of screams. Never tried it myself because his parents took it away, because it gave him nightmares. He couldn't stop thinking about what it told him his last words would be. I can't hold on, Marty.
We didn't know anyone called that, and Jim kept away from guys with a similar name. We took the piss out of him about it at school, but it helped him go over his martyphobia. We lost contact, but here's the weird thing. Jim died young, on May 24. He was a builder and tripped over a cable high up on some scaffolding. He apparently clung on for a while, but his fingers slipped. The last person he spoke to was his foreman, who ran over to try to help. His name was Martin Howell. Kim Scald.
Sounds like bullshit to me. You're not the only one who thought that. So, the guy posted a link to a newspaper report of Jim's death. Look, all the details match up. Kim scanned the article. Okay, but what's to say the poster didn't make the whole thing up after reading the report? Or twisted his story to match the facts? He could have, but there are people all over the world with similar stories. All on different forums, different social media, ranging from the 1970s to the 2010s.
The sum with, undeniably, specific phrases and circumstances. I found almost 30 of them, completely unconnected apart from the fact that they knew one or more people who died young, saying the same words that came out of the box of screams. I'm not convinced. Could be mythology building to promote an ARG or something. She's got a point. And okay, it is odd and something could be going on, but at the end of the day, so what?
What does it matter if some obscure toy predicted what could be our last words? Max stood up. You wouldn't feel so relaxed about it if yours were terrifying as mine. You just need to try to get it out of your mind. What the? Kim had been browsing the site's mac had left open. Her face was pale. What is it? You better not be messing with us, Mack. Some of these people, they're talking about what their friends were like before they died. You mean the future blanking effect? She nodded. The what?
There are some detailed reports that say at some point, before the person died, they stop being able to visualize the future. Like, they go blank if they try to make plans that fell after what turned out to be their death day. Someone able to picture themselves coming on vacation that summer. Others couldn't even imagine what they'd be doing next week. It was like black emptiness filled their heads when they wanted to think about it. And that's exactly what I've been experiencing.
Shit. It gets worse. I didn't want to bring us down even more after Nadia, so I wasn't going to mention it, but a few weeks ago I started getting these skull-crushing headaches. I fainted a few times too. I waited to see if it had passed, but it got worse, and I went to see a doctor. I've got an appointment for a brain scan next Thursday. I'm sorry to hear that, but it could be any number of things that aren't serious. Yeah, I know. But it could be something horrible too. Couldn't it, Dr. Ray?
I'd suggest you just wait to find out. Yeah, yeah. I've been trying to look at the bright side too, but now I find this future-blanking shit is a thing that happens when people are about to die. Fuck. Only last night Sandy asked me if I was going to Mom's birthday party. I couldn't answer her. It was like this thick black curtain had fallen in front of my face. The birthday is only two months away. Two fucking months. Is that all I've got? She started sobbing. It's not going to be quick, is it?
What did the box say would be my last words? I just want this to stop. Sounds like agony to me, and there's nothing anyone can do. I put my arm around her, and grasped for something soothing my medical training should have taught me. Maybe there is something we can do. We looked at him. Okay. There aren't much details about the box of screams out there, but what there is suggests there's more to it than I thought.
I just found mine at Oxfam, and the label had faded, but I've seen photos online of ones with instructions. It turns out it's a kind of game, not just a toy. Seems he aims to turn the handle to its end point without giving in and screaming. If you can manage that, then maybe it doesn't play your last words. I'm not sure, but maybe if we can beat it, then maybe it'll change what happens to us. That's a lot of babies. Yeah, but maybe it's worth a try. So, have you still got the box?
He shook his head. My folks threw it out after they threw me out. Kim sobbed. Oh, God. Oh, please. Hmm. Maybe not. The theory is that all box of screams are connected. It's the same spirit or whatever inhabiting all of them. It's a spirit! Look, I've done a lot of research. You can dismiss it as a cult BS if you want, but it's all we've got. Go on. The people who claim to be in the know say this type of thing goes back to the original talking boards in the 19th century.
Weird games aimed at kids that corrupt them. It's a powerful phenomenon, apparently. They think it was unintentional in the early days, but later occultists with bad intentions realized a potential and created stuff like box of screams. Nobody sure who it was, probably just a small private production run. Likely sold them through small ads in old horror comics or donated them to junk shops. Some would fall into curious hands and give them the results they wanted. And those results...
Again, nobody sure to collect souls, destroy lives. All that evil cliché shit is apparently way more real than most of us want to believe. Kim sat up. All right, I'll go along. Gotta be worth a try. So where can we get one? Max Mild. I'm ahead of you for once. He moved his laptop off the chest, opened it and pulled out an object wrapped in a black cloth. There was one available on eBay, a cellar called SC Cheap Import. Although it was anything but cheap.
Mac closed the chest and pulled off the cloth. A weird deja vu sensation raked the back of my neck as the object was revealed. A black coffin-shaped box about a foot long with box of screams printed on its lid in jagged orange text. A pair of curled skeletal hands protruded out the sides and its surfaces were decorated with moon and star shapes and the phrase, here your last words. Kim shuddered. Oh, but things still give me the creeps.
Mac turned it upside down to show the silver label underneath and read out the instructions. Can you beat the box of screams, seek and turn the hand further than it seems? If you cry and it catches your breath, it'll own the last words you speak before death. Going to show us it in action? No point in me doing it again. Must have tried and failed at least ten times. That's why I need you. You've both always been more determined, more hard-headed than me. I wouldn't say that. Really?
It's always been pretty clear to everyone that you two would go on to big things once I'd end up bumming around here. I changed the subject. So the box still works okay? Yeah. But it's worse than I remember. Can't stunt myself screaming. Still get the same last words too. Exactly the same after all these years. How could that happen if it wasn't supernatural? He placed the box on the chest. The area next to its left hand was marked with three words, sleep, seek and speak.
With a shaky finger, Mac clicked the hand from the sleep position to speak. There was a moment's pause before words started looping out of the box, crackly and distant like an old turntable. Please. No. I don't want a bad. Please. Mac, I'm wince and shifted the plastic hand back to sleep. No. Kim shivered. Creepy eyes. How does it do that? Does it need batteries? Mac shook his head. Could be a dynamite or something powering it when you turn the handle?
Maybe there's a minicissette in there like an old answer phone. No idea how something that age could generate different phrases though. I'm a software girl, not an engineer. Sorry. So, you were me first. Remember how we decided who got the last beer in the old days? I nodded and we leaned back on the sofa. Three, two, one. We launched ourselves towards the box, but Kim was faster and whooped as she grabbed it. Woo! Yes! Mac looked away as she twisted the skeletal hand to the seek position.
The coffin clicked and its lid creaked open. A miniature skeleton with an oversized head lay inside, arms outstretched with its hands outside. The jaw of its enlarged skull was fitted with thick lips made from greyish foam. It reminded me of a sensory homunculus we'd laughed at in a basic biology class. Gross. Kim rubbed her fingertip over the mouth. Okay. There he goes. She pushed her face towards the skull and fumbled for its right hand. She found it and began to turn.
Kim's face blinked and twitched as she clutched the box, nails digging into its surface. Her eyes closed and gutter all noises rumbled in her throat. She wrenched and the mumbling became frantic, loud. She stamped her foot on the floor desperately trying not to give in. The room lights blinked and the posters on the wall fluttered and rippled as if something shadowy was circling, closing in. Blood started to drip from Kim's right hand as she strained to turn the handle.
She couldn't take any more. With a muffled shriek she hurled the box to the floor. The lights stopped. Fucking filthy thing. She glared at the box of screams as I put my arm around her. You okay? What the hell is that, Mack? What did you do those things? Let me get something for your hand. Mack turned to a drawer. What the hell? Kim looked down at her sliced fingers and thumb. She sucked her hand before looking back at Mack. You knew this would happen, didn't you?
He silently handed her a tube of antiseptic and addressing. What did it do? She looked away. It was disgusting. What's going on, Mack? I remember the box gave electric shocks but it looks like there's more to it now. I'm sorry. I wanted to warn you but I was worried that you wouldn't try it if I did. I'm getting pretty desperate here. You should have said something. I applied the dressing. Kim's fingers were torn with jagged cuts. Look like she'd need stitches but it should be okay for a while.
I don't know why it's different. Maybe because it's a different box. Maybe because time's passed. I gestured at his bandaged hand. So it cut you too. He nodded and slowly pulled down his dressing. Shit. His hand was grayish, almost black. The deep ragged cuts in his fingers were raw, red and pulsed luminously. I'd never seen anything like it. You need to get that looked out right away. How long has it been like that? He shrugged. A few days. I'm hoping it'll clear up if one of you beats the box.
Oh great. Some my hands are going to be wrecked too. I need it for work, you know, Mark. We've got a major project coming up. We need to finish but... She stopped and stared into space. Kim? She blinked and rocked her head. I can't see it. I've gone blank. It's... there's only a few weeks away. What's this fucking thing done to me? What have you done to us? She snatched the box of screens off the floor and drew her arm back taking aim at Mark. Kim, wait, let's try to...
No, I just want this to stop. I reached over but she was too fast again. The box flew towards Max's face. He sidestepped. It sliced past him and hit a shelf. The box bounced back towards Kim and struck her forehead with a sickening crack. Her mouth slackened. She slumped to the floor. Kim? I rushed over and brushed her dyed hair away from the blooming gash on her head. Shit! No! I followed procedure but knew it was too late. Is she gone? Max eyes were watering. I nodded. What should we do?
Why'd you always expect me to know everything? He edged closer to tears. I'm sorry. I'm as stressed out as you. We'll attend to formalities later but right now I need to find out... I picked up the box of screens and pushed its left hand from seek to speak. A distorted voice crackled out of the speaker. I just want this to stop. I just want this to stop. I shot it off and looked at Mac. So it's real. I've been trying to tell you. Sorry. I inhaled and pushed the hand to seek.
The lid slowly opened. Okay. Let's see what you got. I snarled at the skeleton. I moved my face closer to its skull and started rotating a hand. A weak suction sealed my mouth against the cracked foam looks. A vile sensation still familiar from years ago. As I cranked something wafelike slipped out and touched the tip of my tongue. An electrical pulse shot down the back of my throat. I recoiled but kept turning. Another shock stronger than another and another each more painful than the last.
I closed my watering eyes and kept going. Rumbling, shifting noises filled my head, shutting off my surroundings. Felt like I was trapped in a small dark space. I pushed on and spun the handle. It sharp fingertips digging into mine as if they were gripping me back. I recoiled as something slimy slid out of the skull. It was impossible. How could a cheap looking old toy produce this effect? A cold wet-shape uncoyled in my mouth, pressing against my teeth in the roof of my oral cavity.
I fought the urge to cry out and drop the box. Something emerged in the blackness behind my eyelids. It crept towards me, moist, thick lips, smacking. Bony fingers clicking and snapping as it pulled its skinless fray the wowser. I pressed my fingers into the handle to disperse the vision. Then a different sensation began to pour from the skull and earthy, gritty substance. It filled my mouth but somehow didn't choke me, leaving open the option to scream.
Rodden tasting stuff twisted and scratched, pulsed and roiled in my mouth almost unbearable. I wanted nothing more than to rip that fucking box off my face. What kept me going was remembering what the box of screams had told me years ago my last words would be. I was too late. Regret and anger fueled my determination. Guilt at losing to Kim so she ended up using the box first. Guilt about being too slow to stop her throwing it.
I kept turning that handle, forced it on and on against the shit spewing into my mouth as blood cascaded over my hand. The box of screams somehow sensed my resolve. The stream of squirming slush stopped. What it was replaced by was a sense of utter despair. Pure negativity, total hunklessness somehow flowed out of that box and flooded my mind. My grip loosened the seed of a scream formed in my throat.
A sharp pale finger scratched the base of my neck, a damp, repugnant mouth murmured against my ear. I saw a vision of Kim's blood-streaked face. I so wanted to apologize. I saw Mac and Nadia too, their faces scornful, terrified, desperate. My confusion grew as they faded, replaced by the tip of a glinting blade. A scalpel held by a quivering hand. My own hand. Guilt and the urge to apologize overwhelmed me again was eye for seeing my own death.
My predicted last words echoed as the scalpel edged closer to my jugular vein. I was too late. The strength in my hands faded, the budding cry in my throat strained to erupt. I so wanted to let go, but I didn't. With my last tatters of willpower I swallowed the stillborn scream. I wasn't too late. I twisted the handle, it clicked and locked. My mouth emptied the foul taste evaporated. Anguish lifted. Panting I'd tested the handle to make sure I'd succeeded. It didn't move.
I tentatively opened my eyes and saw Mac cowering against a wall. Ray? He clambered to his feet. You back? You okay? I pulled the box of screams from my face. Think so? I put down the box and reached for the dressing to wrap my bleeding hand. So you've done it? You didn't scream. I nudged the skeleton's right hand to show Mac it couldn't turn any further. Oh God, thank you. Do you think we're okay now? There's something we can do to check. He pointed at the skeleton's left hand.
Probably best if you do it. I picked up the box. It's lid was jammed open so I stood it upright on the chest and moved the hand from seek to speak. The skeleton's oversized jaw dropped open. The noise it spouted was deafening, agonizing, like all the screams ever screamed were blasting from that little box, shattering and splintering as they hit the walls. We covered our ears and closed our eyes as the streets bombarded us, jared our bones. Eventually the cries stopped.
Their echoes drained from the room and I opened my eyes. The coffin had collapsed, leaving behind a pile of what looked like soil. A sprinkling of tiny bone shards gave the impression of a fat-lipped skull grinning on its surface. I ran my fingers over the remains. There's nothing else inside it, Mack. No wires, no mechanical parts. I knew it. A moan rose behind us. Kim? I spanned around. Kim was pushing herself up off the floor. Wait, wait, don't move. I crouched beside her.
If it wasn't for the night's events, I'd have called it miraculous. The wound on her head had vanished. Her frontal bone felt like it had never been broke. I don't get it. I was sure you were gone. I guess I didn't just want it to stop after all. She grin. But drinks still offer, Mack. We ended up crashing at Mack's place, mainly reminiscing rather than trying to work out what the hell had happened. Next day, we decided we'd all go to pay our respects to Nadia before going our separate ways.
It was a bright morning, and other than some construction work interrupting the bird song, it was pretty pleasant for a graveyard. The grass glistened with dew as we walked to Nadia's freshly filled grey. Wish you were still here, girl. Miss you. Me too. More than I realized. We should all make more effort to keep in touch, you know. How about the last weekend this month? There's this great local band. Shit! What is it? Kim wrapped the side of her head.
I can't see her head. I'm still going blank. Oh God. No, I thought we'd... I stopped. A break in the construction noise uncovered a faint thudding sound and a muffled, panicked voice nearby. What the... What the... Mack tilted his head towards the ground. Sounds like it's coming from down there. Nadia? Kim threw herself down and began to scrape away the earth. She winced and shook her wounded hand before restarting. Mack dropped down and began digging, too. What's happening, Mack?
I fell to my knees and joined them. I don't know. I don't know, but if Kim came back, then maybe shit. He drew back his bleeding hand. Clawing the soil was agony for the three of us. Our wounds tear and stretched as Nadia's cries and strikes got fainter and sparser. Help me. There's something in here with me. This is hopeless. We're too slow. I'll go to the construction site and see if I can get some help or tools. Mack, you call 999. And tell them what? For once in your life, fucking try, Mack.
Kim ran towards the site. Mack had despondently pulled out his phone and I restarted digging. My hand was the least hurt and I should have realized sooner, should have worked out what was going on. Nadia must have spent all night screaming inside that box whilst we partied. How could I let that happen? I kept pushing through the pain, kept scratching and scooping the dirt, telling myself it wasn't too late, it wasn't too late. But then I heard something that told me it was.
Nadia's crumbling voice drifted up through the last few inches of earth that covered the head of her coffin. How does this thing, how does this thing, how does this thing, how does this thing, that day was the last time I saw Mack. The cops eventually turned up but there was nothing to investigate as far as they were concerned. A dead body in a coffin not exactly unusual. They didn't think anything of the little mound of dirt and bones inside that looked like a skeletal grin.
Told us we were lucky they weren't going to arrest us for disturbing a grave. It wasn't the last time Kim saw Mack though. She confessed all to me in her hospital bed, how she blamed him for everything, how she broke into his apartment, what she did with a can of petrol. Apparently the boxer screams was right about his final words. Please know I don't want to burn. I wasn't with Kim when she died, but I've no doubt her last words were exactly as predicted too.
The pain from her condition, the distress caused by losing her health, her friends, her career, seeing everything she thought she knew about the world fracture to reveal cruel, chaotic, mystifying shit. I know how she felt. I just want this to stop too. But I'm not going to give up, I'm going to keep fighting, overcome my guilt. Would it have been any different if we'd left the boxer screams alone? Are we doomed to die, saying its words one way or another, whatever we do?
I can't shake the feeling that something's getting closer, some small gaunt, mumbling thing, creeping behind me wherever I go, whatever I do. It used to joke that I was the responsible one in our group, the grown up one, the wannabe doctor who cared too much. But my only chance is to change that, to keep telling myself I'm not sorry, I wasn't too late. It's still not too late. Please don't let it be too late. Let's close that box for a quick word from our sponsor.
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For free shipping on your order and 365 day returns, that's q-i-n-c-e.com slash no sleep to get free shipping and 365 day returns. quince.com slash no sleep. You'll be glad you did. Now back to our friendly show. In our final tale, we meet a man who's been sent a series of bootleg VHS tapes from an old TV show. These days we have streaming services which have full episodes of popular old shows.
But in this tale, shared with us by author Chris Evangelista, we learn that the man is a paranormal investigator. And the tapes he's been sent are anything but friendly. Performing this tale is Graham Rowett. So the theme song might tell us, I'll be there for you, but you'll ask yourself, could these tapes be any more bizarre? You know, the one with the haunted Friends episodes. The tapes took the kids to her mother's house in Vermont, and that's for the best.
Our bickering has gotten out of hand, and some time apart we'll do as good. I haven't been sleeping, and if I'm being honest, my moods have grown erratic. The other night I actually saw fear in her eyes after one of my outbursts, and it made me feel lower than low. It's not who I am. I know who I am, what I'm capable of. Plus, this temporary separation gives me more time to examine the tapes.
Although I don't know how much more there is to examine, every watched all of them dozens of times at this point, my headaches are getting worse, and the nightmares. Just the other night I tried to... Oh, never mind. Background on the tapes, the tapes came my way courtesy of Mr. Gourmet, who discovered them while cleaning out the basement of his late mother's home in upstate New York.
The VHS tapes, three in all, were stacked neatly in a small water-damaged cardboard box, tucked off in a far corner of the unfinished basement. Each tape had one white label announcing a number, one, two, three, in red marker. And while Mr. Gourmet considered simply tossing them into the trash, he eventually popped the tape labeled one into his mother's ancient videocassette player. He immediately recognized that he was watching Friends.
The hit American sitcom created by David Crane and Marta Kaufman, which ran for ten seasons on NBC from 1994 to 2004. Mr. Gourmet admitted to me that he wasn't exactly well versed on the show. More of a cheers fan, he confided, so it took him more than a moment to realize something was very wrong. He left the tape running in the background while he continued to clean out his dead mother's home.
However, when he turned his attention back to the screen at one point, he was horrified at what he was watching. His wife, Mrs. Gourmet, stopped by the house later that day to help. Unlike Mr. Gourmet's, Mrs. Gourmet's was very much a fan of Friends, having watched every single episode when it aired, and then binge watched them all again several times on Netflix.
When shown random clips on the tape, Mrs. Gourmet immediately recognized that the footage was not from any episode of Friends that had ever aired. At first, Blosh, Mrs. Gourmet's thought they had stumbled on some sort of media goldmine, lost episodes of a wildly popular show. However, as they continued to watch, they became more disturbed at what they were seeing. Mr. Gourmet's reported that eventually he had to shut the TV off. At which point, he and his wife became violently ill.
They never made it past the first tape, probably for the best. After browsing the internet, Mr. and Mrs. Gourmet stumbled upon my personal website and contacted me about the tapes. I agreed to pay for the couple to ship the tapes to me, which they promptly did. I've tried several times since to contact them, but with no luck. The phone number they called me from has been disconnected and the email address Mr. Gourmet's used is no longer active.
Any email I attempted to send bounced back undelivered. The tapes themselves are unremarkable. They're standard black Super VHS, S VHS tapes, which gained popularity for consumer level video recording usage. After purchasing a battered and well-used VHS player off of eBay, I began to pour over the footage. I try not to make assumptions when I begin an investigation, but I confess that my initial thought was that this was some sort of elaborate hoax.
If not, concocted by Mr. and Mrs. Gourmet's then by someone else. Mr. Mother, perhaps? I no longer feel that way. Friends. Some background on friends. Friends is an extremely popular American sitcom about six friends in their late 20s and early 30s who live in New York. The show is divorced from reality. The New York City, the Friends Inhabit, looks nothing like the real thing. And several of the friends dwell in apartments the size of grand ballrooms, despite working low-paying jobs.
When not the most nuanced show, it has its charms. The Friends consist of Rachel Green, Jennifer Aniston, Monica Geller, Courtney Cox, Phoebe Buffet, Lisa Cudrow, Joey Trebiani, Matlabla Blanc, Chandler Bing, Matthew Perry, and Ross Geller, David Schwimmer. Fans of the show all have their own individual favorite, friend, but one thing seemingly everyone agrees on is that Ross is the worst of the bunch.
For ten seasons and two hundred thirty-six episodes, the Friends fall in and out of love with each other and others, and navigate their daily lives in comical situations. I confess that I never watched the show when it aired, but my wife was a fan, and so I showed her some of the footage. I know that this was a mistake. What she saw made her incredibly uneasy, and she ordered the tapes removed from our home.
I told her I took them to my office at Dern University, but I confess here that that was a lie. They're still in my home office, locked in my filing cabinet. There are ten episodes of what appears to be Friends stretched throughout the tapes Mr. Bound, and through my research I have indeed confirmed they never aired. I tracked down several cast and crew members of the show, including...
David Schwimmer. While I took care never to mention the existence of the tapes themselves, I was able to confirm through several interviews that their content is unknown to anyone directly involved with the series. Before each episode on the tape starts, a title card of plain white letters appears announcing the name of the episode about to play, along with a time code and a proclamation that the footage is a work in progress and not final. This itself isn't abnormal.
Raw footage that's sent around internally to a TV show's production often has these sorts of markings. It's the footage that follows that's disconcerting. Below, I have done my best off for a brief recap of the episodes in the order they appear on the tapes. The one where Joey gets lost. The first episode is the most normal of the bunch. Following out of work actor Joey as he gets lost in an IKEA store.
The name of the store is never actually mentioned, but the layout and furniture within looks distinctly like IKEA. Joey and Phoebe head to IKEA to buy a new couch, but at some point during their excursion, the two get separated and Joey wanders the sprawling furniture store calling out Phoebe's name with no luck. The laugh track on the episode is slightly off, with the audience laughter arriving a few seconds too long after the joke.
This is a possible editing glitch, and sometimes it's barely perceptible. The episode ends with Joey still trapped in IKEA after the store has shut down for the night. Here the footage cuts back to the apartment shared by Rachel and Monica. Phoebe is there too, sitting on the couch and strumming her guitar. Chandler storms into the apartment and asks if anyone has seen Joey today. He seems both furious and genuinely concerned.
All three women say no, even though Phoebe was clearly with Joey earlier in the episode. Good riddance! Chandler suddenly says, at which point the laugh track explodes. The sound of laughter is so loud that the audio becomes fuzzy and continues over the end credits. While there's no doubt a surreal quality to the footage of this episode, it's not altogether abnormal. The same can't be said for the episodes that follow. The one with special guest star Ted Bundy.
In addition to the title card, this episode also flashes the words, special guest star Ted Bundy as himself, at the beginning in thick white text. This is of course impossible. Bundy, notorious serial killer, was executed in the electric chair in 1989 at Florida State Prison, Bradford County, Florida, whereas the first episode of Friends didn't premiere until 1994. However, the person meant to be Ted Bundy looks identical to the real man.
Is it an actor covered in heavy makeup or an actor who just genuinely looks like Bundy? He sounds like Bundy too. I took snippets of the footage, completely out of context and edited to remove any hint of the show Friends, to several experts in voice and facial recognition. And all told me they were 99.9% certain this was the real Ted Bundy, which again is impossible.
As the episode begins, Rachel has just clocked out of Central Perk, the coffee shop in New York City's Greenwich Village where she works as a waitress. While walking home, she spots a man with a plaster cast on his arm trying to load a box into the back of his yellow 1968 Volkswagen Beetle. Rachel asks if the man needs help, to which he replies yes, with a big warm grin on his face. It's from this angle we see that the man is Ted Bundy, appearing as he did in the late 1970s.
When Rachel moves to help Bundy with the box, he produces a crowbar, seemingly from thin air, and bashes her on the back of her head with it until she's unconscious. It's worth noting this scene is unfolding on what's supposed to be a New York street, although obviously a sat on some back lot in broad daylight. Several extras playing New Yorkers walk by the scene of the attack, but none of them acknowledge what's going on.
Nor does anyone intervene when Bundy produces a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Cuffs Rachel's hands behind her back and loads her into his car. A low, barely audible laugh track accompanies this sequence. Bundy drives Rachel to a wooded area somewhere in upstate New York, where he proceeds to strangle her to death. From here the episode turns into a series of montages, with Bundy returning to the secluded spot where Rachel's body lies.
Rachel shows signs of decomposition every time Bundy returns, although her famous haircut, dubbed the Rachel by the media, remains pristine. The episode ends with hikers finding Rachel's skeleton. The skeleton still has the Rachel haircut. The one with the empty apartment. For 23 minutes, the camera remains in a fixed position in the interior of Rachel and Monica's apartment. The apartment is empty of people, and none of the characters appear during the 23 minutes of runtime.
In the background, through the apartment's huge window, New York City can be seen engulfed in towering flames. There's no laugh track, but soft, unsettling sobbing can be heard somewhere off camera. The sobbing lasts the full 23 minutes. The one where Ross has no eyes. Curiously, this episode is exactly the same as the second episode of season 3, titled The One Where No One's Ready.
The original episode is what is referred to in TV Parlin's as a bottle episode, in which all the action takes place primarily in one location, the location in this case being the living room of Monica and Rachel's apartment. The episode on the tape unfolds identically to the episode that aired with one distinct exception. The character of Ross has no eyes.
Instead, it appears as if his eyes were recently scooped out of his head, leaving a pair of empty sockets that proceed to leak blood throughout the entire episode. None of the characters, including Ross, acknowledge this. The one where Monica has to clean up. Monica is excited to throw a dinner party at the apartment she shares with Rachel. She busys herself cleaning the apartment and pouring over a cookbook to make sure the meal she's making is just right.
None of the other friends are around for the first five minutes of the episode, which consists only of Monica moving about her tasks in the apartment. Monica is interrupted by a knock on the door. The visitor is Richard, her ex-boyfriend, played by Tom Selik. Note, I reached out to Selik's agent multiple times and never received a return call or email. Richard begs Monica to take him back, but she refuses.
The scene escalates into a physical altercation, with Richard growing furious, snarling and snapping his teeth at Monica. Just when it appears Richard has the upper hand, Monica grabs a frying pan off the stove and smashes it hard into the man's skull. She does this repeatedly until Richard's skull caves in on the left side at an impossible angle. Alarmed at the mess she's made, Monica rushes to clean up, fisteriously scrubbing the blood from the walls and floor of the kitchen with vigor.
A montage unfolds with Monica dismembering Richard's body with an electric carving knife. When done, she tosses the bloody remains off the balcony. Although in her frantic hurry, she kicks Richard's head under the couch and does not realize it's not included with the rest of the body parts she has just thrown away. At this point, the rest of the friends arrive, causing the studio audience to roar with applause. I'm starving! Joey Bellos, as everyone sits down to eat.
The friends begin chewing their food loudly, to the point where the show's soundtrack is nothing but chomping teeth, knowing it food. It is a feral animal sound, and at one point Chandler even growls while chewing, as if he were a wolf tearing apart a fresh kill. Meat juice dribbles down his chin and stains his shirt. While all this happens, Richard's dented blood-drenched severed head rolls out from under the couch on its own accord.
While the friends continue to chew loudly, Richard's bloody head begins to chant, now we'll see some teeth, now we'll see some teeth, now we'll see some teeth. The chanting grows louder and louder, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of all that chewing. As the chewing continues, the teeth in the friends mouths begin to fall out and clatter onto the porcelain plates. They don't seem to notice and continue to eat, biting down on meat and vegetables with bloody gums.
Now we'll see some teeth! Richard's head continues to chant, before the episode fades to black. The one with the broken bones. In their shared apartment, Chandler and Joey are having an argument about how dirty the refrigerator has become. Chandler is angrily chastising Joey for letting the situation get out of hand, while Joey is comically trying to downplay it. In the midst of this argument, some sort of unseen force starts breaking Chandler's bones.
First, his right arm pops out of its socket and bends the wrong way at the elbow, all of which is accompanied by a wet, crunching sound. Next, the fingers on his right hand begin bending back one by one, and then are twisted into corkscrew angles. The velocity of the action is so severe that we can see the fingernails on the hand fall off. While all of this is happening, the argument about the refrigerator continues, and Chandler doesn't even seem to notice what's happening.
Meanwhile, his left arm snaps backwards with a sudden jolt of force. The action causes a compound fracture, with Chandler's radial bone tearing through the flesh of his forearm, and glistening beneath the setlights burning overhead. Like Chandler, Joey also seems to ignore or not notice what's happening, and still the crunch and pop and smashing of bones continues.
Some of Chandler's ribs begin puncturing through his shirt, both of his femur bones crack, causing the man to fall to the floor, and still, the argument continues. But whatever Chandler and Joey are saying to each other is now drowned out by the sound of all those breaking bones. Note, at this point I had to stop the tape and run to the bathroom to vomit. I'm not squeamish by nature, but the sounds alone made me feel extremely queasy. It was almost akin to a feeling of sea sickness.
On the floor, more and more of Chandler's bones are shattered and blasted apart within the suit of his flesh. His body has become this malformed, misshapen thing, a bag of loose, bloody skin that continues to writhe, even as more broken bones keep stabbing their way out into the light. The floor beneath Chandler is soaked with blood and other bodily fluids. Can I possibly have any more broken bones? Chandler suddenly asks with dry sarcasm.
At this point his jawbone cracks in half and pops completely out of his mouth. It clatters against the tile floor and then suddenly begins to move of its own accord. Several of Chandler's teeth fall out of the broken jawbone. Immediately after, small bisected legs, like the legs of a spider or a crab, slither out of the holes where the teeth once were, resulting in the jaw scuttling across the floor and up the wall like some sort of bony insect.
Chandler is still trying to talk, but as he has no jaw now, all his words are garbled and choked with blood. Joey inexplicably can still understand what Chandler is saying though and continues the argument. The one where the void is growing and it still calls to you. In Rachel and Monica's apartment, Phoebe sits on the couch hugging herself, squeezing her body tight and whispering, you know what you did, you know what you did, you know what you did.
The whispering is so low that I had to turn the volume up on my TV to its highest point. Rachel and Ross enter the apartment, at which point Rachel says, hey Phoebe, what's up? You know what you did, Phoebe continues to whisper. Rachel and Ross either don't hear her or refuse to acknowledge her. She comes in grinning, how you doing? He asks, then adds, I have something I want to show you guys. Here he walks over to Rachel and Monica's TV and turns it on.
They're static on the screen at first, but then the image becomes clear. The footage on the TV is the same footage the episode began with, with Phoebe rocking on the couch and whispering, you know what you did, you know what you did, you know what you did. Ross and Rachel watch, transfixed. A single tear trickles down Rachel's cheek. Phoebe, still on the couch, remains oblivious to her own visage on the TV screen.
While Phoebe on the couch continues to chat to herself, the Phoebe on the TV screen looks up and appears to be able to see the friends watching her. The void is growing, TV Phoebe says. And it still calls to you. The room grows dark as if the lights have been turned down via a dimmer switch. Soon the only light is from the TV screen. The room is still in the dark, but the light is still in the dark. The room grows dark as if the lights have been turned down via a dimmer switch.
Soon the only light is from the TV screen. Which is now pulsating and bulging as if it were made of soft material. Flesh, meat, rather than glass. Note, well nothing else happens in this particular episode. This was the point where I had to take a break from my research upon my first run through of the tapes. My head was throbbing and I felt chills all over my body. As if I were coming down with a fever. I crawled into bed and slept for 17 hours.
At which point my wife finally woke me up, concerned. He were talking in your sleep, she told me. What did I say, I asked, groggy and confused, and a little annoyed at having been roused from slumber. The void is growing, she recited. And it still calls to you. The one with the flies. Rachel Monica Phoebe Ross Chandler and Joey have filled Rachel and Monica's apartment with raw meat. There's raw meat everywhere. Carelessly strewn on the floor, nailed to the wall, covering tables and chairs.
The red of the meat is bright to the extreme. It hurts my eyes. The six friends stand directly in the middle of the room and look straight into the camera, saying nothing. They never blink. They never move. They don't even seem to breathe. After a long, silent beat, the raw meat begins to quiver and split apart. At which point hordes of buzzing fly as come exploding out, filling the room, creating a thick black pulsating cloud.
The friends do not react to the flies, even as the insects begin to swarm about their bodies, covering them, making it appear as if the friends are wearing suits made of flies. The first time I watched this episode, I started weeping uncontrollably. And I can't say why. I couldn't control myself. I doubled over with something akin to grief or heartbreak. I fell onto the floor sobbing and biting my fist to keep the sounds of my sob's away from my wife and children.
They heard them anyway. They came into my office. They asked what was wrong. I started screaming at them. Screaming that they should get the fuck out of my office. Don't ever come in here while I'm working. I screamed from the floor. My wife ushered the children out. I continued to sob. My sob's so hard I vomited all over myself. The flies on the TV buzzed and buzzed and buzzed. I could not stop crying. I'm crying as I type this. I can't seem to stop.
The one where I cook my family. This episode is different now. This wasn't here before. I swear it wasn't. I swear. The footage doesn't feature Rachel and Monica's apartment. Nor Joey and Chandler's, nor Central Perk, nor Ross's office, nor any location glimpsed throughout the entire run of friends. The footage is of my house. My kitchen. It's my kitchen plane is day. There's the self-cleaning wall of an which I can see is on.
There's the stainless steel ring should. There's the large oval window that casts circular beams of bright light in the afternoon. The rolling kitchen cart overloaded with spices and cookbooks we never really use. The pot rack chandelier with the copper-williams Sonoma cookware dangling from it like mutated metal fruit. And there, simmering on the stove top is the large artichoke colored enameled steel stock pot. The camera slowly zooms in and we can see.
I can see. There's a human head floating in the pot. Surrounded by cut up carrots and celery. The flesh on the head has been boiled away to bone, but the hair is still attached at the scalp. Strans of it spilling over the side of the pot. The hair is the pale red of my wife's hair. The camera pans to the oven door. And while it's foggy and smeared with blood, I can see the dismembered bodies of my children beyond that stained glass.
I can see their little legs with scabby knees. Their chubby little fingers. Their faces locked in silent screens. I can somehow feel the heat of the oven radiating off the TV screen. Somewhere off camera I can hear someone laughing. Then weeping, then screaming, then talking softly to himself. I'd know that voice anywhere. It's my voice. Sonoma told you, life was gonna be this way.
I whisper. This isn't real. This can't be real. This is impossible. It's as impossible as everything else on the tapes. My wife and children are fine. They've gone to my mother-in-law's house. They are there. Safe. I called my mother-in-law just now and even though she claimed they weren't there and that she hadn't heard from them in days, I know she's lying.
I know what's real. I know who I am. What I'm capable of. The stockpot starts to bubble over. The meaty, bloody water within running down the sides and hitting the flames, causing the sizzling sound. The one where something is at your door. One last tape. It's location is familiar. Your home. And there you are. At the center of the screen, listening to this. And there's something at the door. It's pounding, shaking the door in its frame.
There's mad gibbering laughter on the other side of that door. It's a sound that does not emanate from human vocal cords. Suddenly it starts to sing. That's me there for you. It wants to get in. It's hungry. The void is growing and it still calls to you. As the train pulls into the terminal, we ask that you gather what's left of your sanity and depart the train. Thank you for traveling with us on the Sleepless Express.
The No Sleep Podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Micolsky, Jeff Clement and Jesse Cornett. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy and Ashley McAnelley. To discover how you can get even more Sleepless Horror stories from us, just visit sleepless.theno sleeppodcast.com to learn about the sleepless sanctuary.
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