S24 Ep13: NoSleep Podcast S24E13

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. Oh, that was wet. Hi. I literally didn't see you there, because this is not a visual medium. Welcome to the No Sleep podcast. I am your temporary host and media director, Peter Joseph Lewis. My apologies. It is however my privilege to introduce this, our 13th episode of season 24. As we've slipped into that celebratory stretch of our 15th glorious year, an achievement that rests squarely on your shoulders, dear listener. Now you may already know me from so many savory, robust, and sinful tales over the last 13 years or so. And though I'm here today in a mostly-hostly capacity to deliver under your fine years the latest in our horror anthology, I'd like to take just a moment to talk about my least favorite subject, me. Now, the root of my deepest vulnerabilities, if I had to sum it up in just like a tight little package, the thorn as it were in my paw, I would say, the ache at the core of the emptiness where I once, um, oh no, I've gone too deep to quickly find a shallow angle. Um, so my love of horror stems largely from those books and films that I was able to sneak home from libraries and video rental stores. A sentence that now feels weird in the mouth, like okra at any consistency, contraband then consumed in the high branches of swaying pine trees or under the protection of a blanket fort, clothes pinned on an alarmingly thick and staticky television. You haven't lived until you've watched a jump scare-laten horror film as a child inside what amounts to an inverse Faraday cage if the slightest friction should be created. Good times, some horror films are more personally meaningful to me than others, and those already privy to my dark secrets will be aware of my strange love of the changeline, the Exorcist 3, and later that of Emily Rose. So horror has always been in my blood, though doctors assure me that a cure, as well as perhaps a name for the disease, may be just around the corner. Oh, speaking of corners, what a lovely high traffic spot that would be to have a merchandise store where you could gather with your pals or just yourself and your guilt and peruse a fine selection. Well, we here at, um, what is it, naus, nausleep have launched a new merch store in jolly cooperation with Void merch and designer Jordan Shively, which dare I say boasts, classic logos and brand new designs, all available in various shirts and stickers and tanks and totes and even buttons. Oh my, give it a peek if you'd like, link in the show notes. But we're really here to celebrate 15 years of you all, not just tolerating, but at times actively encouraging the particular magic and madness and sadness that we practice here. The shouting, the sobbing, the gleefully slaying into all manner of densely coat packed closet corners and makeshift pillow forts hastily bundled motel bedding in some cases, you know, the act of telling stories to each other in the dark, no matter how far flung we may be a flickering fire to give the shadows shape, whether it be of a literary auditory or cinematic nature, I have found great comfort in facing the darkness together through these stories, navigating the monstrous tidal ways of grief, finding where the sharp edges are within the sickly dark surprise of sudden loss of love of sanity of safety snuffed out. In that sense of losing one's innocence, one's family, home, it provides the worn, softly patinaed music box in which spins our quartet of tales this week. Also, Brandon Boone provides the music that goes, you know, in the box. Yes, home is always, always supposed to be safe, a sanctuary, and your guardians are supposed to do their very best to take care of you. But sometimes, that's not how the story goes. True stories from real people sharing their eerie experiences with the paranormal. From ghostly sightings to encounters with strange creatures, this show dives into the unknown and leaves you questioning everything you thought you knew. The tales are told in the witness's own voice from callers all around the world, like a story about a homemade Ouija board, or the one about the child with no eyes, or the deliciously alliterative tale about a mystery mammal in Maine. These tales of the supernatural are carefully collected and curated by host Derek Hayes and shared in the form of audio recordings that get straight to the meat of each terrifying story. Derek cultivates an atmosphere that is equal parts spooky and nostalgic. Think Unsolved Mysteries meets Art Bell. There are over 500 episodes already waiting for you, so if you're into the paranormal, or even just a little curious, this is a deep rabbit hole. So, be ye a skeptic or a true believer. Monsters Among Us is the perfect podcast to fuel your fascination with the paranormal and send shivers down your spine. Go check out Monsters Among Us on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. In our first spoiler, maybe I shouldn't be telling you now, at the start, like which way the story does or does not go, I guess. Anyway, in our first tale, we meet Rowan and Ace, a pair of siblings out for a hike, out searching the woods for traces of a missing family. But in this tale, by author Quincy Lee, it soon becomes clear that rescue is not as straightforward as it seems. Performed by Matthew Bradford, Izzy Bronberger, Peter Joseph Lewis, and Jeff Clement, produced by Jeff Clement, the table is set. But who will claim the last chair? We never expected to find them, the family that were missing, the trails that had been combed over the past week and a half. And we were, after all, not experienced hikers ourselves. My sibling Ace and I had never really ruffed it, never detoured from established trails, at least not intentionally. Somewhere in the pines, the official trail markings vanished. Our phones lost all signals, and the narrow track we followed wound upwards along a steady slope through the trees before finally peatering out into nothing. We were about to turn back when we spotted, just ahead, a clear, smooth patch of land with the remnants of a stone circle for a campfire and some discarded soda cans. Ace grumbled and went to collect the cans, only to call out to me when they found a bright pink backpack. Inside was a notebook, a crumbled paper lunch bag, and a sloth plushie. Found a snack for you. Ace tossed me the lunch bag. Dude, that is foul. Catching the bag, I caught a whiff of the rot inside, remnants of a sandwich now still in furry, and a mushy apple. I plucked out the mushy apple and flung it at my older sibling to the swore and ducked. Then, together, we both examined the backpack. The same thought must have crossed both our minds then. What if the backpack belonged to the family that was missing? We'd strayed off the path, and what if this was the same way they came, only then they got lost and they never found their way back. According to the news, the Bolger family, Patty and Joel Bolger, their daughter Emily and Patty's brother Mike, all went missing during what was meant to be an overnight backpacking trip. Witnesses saw them park their car at the trailhead and hike into the criss-crossing, well-worn trails of the pines. But that was over a week ago. Now, I squeeze the sloth plushie. It's firmatted from being cuddled so long. I mean, could this have been the daughter's? A's flipped through the notebook, showing me a long-haired stick figure sketch of smelly Uncle Mike. We both smirked, but stopped smiling when flipping to the inside cover revealed a scrawled name. Emily B. Emily and her Uncle Mike. Those are the names, right? Oh, shit. Yeah. Yeah. A's turned to eye the woods around us. We need to let the authorities know. The afternoon sunlight slanted down on us. There were no other traces of the family around the campsite. They'd clearly packed up and trekked on from here, but which direction? I scoped out the woods, wandering through the road. Something pink fluttered in the distance. Rowan, don't get lost. I clambered up through the bramble and over dead leaves and snatched up the pink fabric, caught on a fallen trunk. It's a girl sweater. Nearby, a trail wound up the slope. A's's lanky figure remained rooted far below for several moments. Then, they rifled in their bag and wrapped some blue tape around a branch by the campsite. They disappeared further downwards, probably to mark where the trail we've been following petered out. Finally, they clambered up to me. I stood waving the pink fabric, impatiently. Don't go running off. Look. I turned the collar of the sweater inside out to show the tag, on which was written in Sharpie, Emily B. Looks like there's a trail that goes up that way. I added, pointing along the slope. That's not the way we came through. They squinted up the slope and back toward the campsite. We are way off track. They tore another piece of blue tape from the roll and added it to a branch nearby. We have to find them. We could get just as lost as they are. Nice. We can't abandon them. Rowan. Ace's eyebrows drew together. We need to call this in. If we wander off into the woods, we might as well just put ourselves on the missing person's list. Back and forth, we argued. Now, I'm the rash and stubborn one, and Ace is the analytical, equally stubborn one. Ever since we were kids, I was always the dreamer, ready to set sail on some grand adventure. On my wrist, I wore a bracelet reading, all who wander are not lost. Whereas my older sibling followed only carefully charted paths, leaving only in hard facts and never in airy possibilities. Today, the moment they suspected we were off trail, they'd started marking branches with their blue painter's tape and building piles of rocks alongside the path. After assessing the facts of a situation, they made their mind up, solid as bedrock. You'd move a mountain before you could move Ace. But you'd stop a bullet train before you could stop me. Think of Emily Bolger. I pointed into the woods. She's out there, and she needs her sloth. And if we leave and lose all trace of that lost little girl forever, I will never forgive you. Hesitation on Ace's face. The sun was sinking lower in the afternoon sky, chills starting up my arms. The rays of burning orange that turned Ace's mop of brown hair into a golden halo, but darkened their features so I could barely see their scale. If we were going to find this family before nightfall, we had to start looking now. Ace made a frustrated sound in the back of their throat. Finally, they swore, took out their roll of blue tape, and slammed it into my hand. This is the stupidest thing you've ever done, but fine. You do what you're gonna do, and I'll go call it in, and then I'll come back for you. I'll follow your trail. If you get lost and starve out here and die, I will never, ever forgive you. Mark every fucking tree, Rowan. I will, promise. I will. My siblings hug me hard, and they spun on their heel and left, not before calling over their shoulder. And for the record, you're a total moron. I flipped them the bird. Without even looking back to see this gesture, Ace was already raising their arm to flip me off in return. Then I turned and scoured the slope above. There, it was right there, a well-trotten path winding upwards. I marked it with a tape and started hiking. The temperatures seemed to drop as I ascended, as if the air up here was thinner and colder. The trail itself was wide and free of debris, the afternoon sunlight filtering through the pines and dappling the leaf-strewn trail. It was an easy, uneventful climb. It's so easy, I nearly forgot to mark the trees. I mean, it seemed pointless with the path being so clear. I only put up the tape because I'd promised my sibling, making sure that each blue ribbon was an eye shot of the last. I'd been hiking for about 40 minutes when the path opened up suddenly in front of me, the slope leveling off. And there, amidst the trees, the small, clear patch, there was a cabin. A pink thermos sat on the front steps. I rushed over and snatched it up. The surface was covered in stickers of anime characters. Emily's? But then a question entered my mind. Why isn't the cabin on our map? I knew it wasn't on the map because they said check the map relentlessly the moment they realized we were off trail. Maybe it wasn't there because the map was too old, or because the cabin was privately on it, or we'd strayed so far that both the path I'd hiked in this cabin were in an entirely different area. But none of that would explain why the Bolcher family had found this cabin, entered, and remained missing still. They must be inside. With that thought, dread bloomed inside me. If I opened the cabin door, what would I find? Suddenly, I very badly wish that my sibling was with me. I've always been the superstitious one who gets nervous about walking through graveyards at night. Ace never worries about flickering lights or haunted cemeteries or unknown horrors. Ace sees only electrical problems or soil filled with decaying organic matter. Their fears are always practical. Unpig bills, authoritarian laws, muggings, or violence. Never ghosts, curses, or whatever was waiting in that cabin. I glanced down at the plush sloth in my hand and back at the ajar door. The windows were cracked and dark. Grime caked the glass. The steps creaked as I reached for the door, and I felt my nose wrinkle and my stomach clench because of the smell, a terrible smell. It came wafting on the air like garbage and sewage and meat left to fester. An unbearable chill numbed my arm the moment I gripped the knob. I braced myself and thrust the door open. To my surprise, not only was the cabin brightly lit, but several faces turned toward me. A thin, tired-looking man raised a hand to his lips for silence. Wait, are you Joe Bolger? The man motioned to his lips again, more desperately. A woman at the seat across from glared at me and shook her head. Her mouth had strange markings across her lips, like she'd drawn stitches over them. A little girl next to the woman looked at me anxiously, her eyes widening as she noticed the tattered sloth in my hand. The last person, a long-haired man seated next to the tired-looking man, did not turn around in a seat or move at all, and I could barely see the back of his head. All four of them had their hands holding each other's on the table, except for the finger that Joe Bolger had raised to silence me. He motioned me to sit down in the chair to his left. This was so strange. I had so many questions. I came over and pushed the sloth toward the little girl before sitting down. Are you the Bolgers? People have been- Again, the finger at his lips in a stern reprimand, and the door to the cabin slammed open. I yelled, gasping as a hand gripped mine firmly. Joe Bolger had a hold of my arm. He jerked me closer and pointed to himself, to his eyes, and closed them. I glanced to his wife and his daughter, already with their eyes squeezed shut. That was all the warning I had before I heard the footsteps, and I started to turn my head. His fingers dug into my arm. I squeezed my eyes shy. Something stepped inside through the open door. A scuff of footsteps and the wooden slats, and the sound of shuckling. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice. I couldn't place it, but the longer I listened, the more familiar it seemed. Like a word on the tip of my tongue, a name I couldn't quite remember to a familiar face. The footsteps and the soft cackling drew closer. There was also something unpleasant with the footsteps. A smell. A waft of something rotten, or maybe body odor. And then a whisper in my left ear as the flips were just snacks to my skin. A cold, rotten breath. I think it whispered my name. The fingers in my arm tightened in warning. The whispering moved, now to my right ear. The footsteps moved around the table. I almost opened my eyes to see who or what was in the cabin with us. My instinct told me not to look. The steps circled around the room, and then receded out the door. Which clicked shut. The pressure on my hand eased, and I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was four faces turn towards me. Three of them anxious and worried. Joel, his wife Patty with her stitched lips. Oh god, were the stitches real? And their little daughter Emily. With a fourth face, I gasped, and Joel's hand squeezed mine again, hard, reminding me not to speak or scream. Sitting next to Joel was the long-haired man who must have been Uncle Mike, in a worn jean jacket, recognizably the long-haired stick figure drawing from Emily's notebook. But where his eyes should have been were gaping, bloody sockets, and his mouth was also stitched with thick black thread. Joel tapped a finger on the table and pointed to the center. For the first time, I saw the words etched into the wood. Speak and be silenced. Look and be blinded. Leave and be bound. When the last chair is filled, you will be free. My gaze lifted again to Uncle Mike, and then passed across the faces of the other three, looking at me with anguish. I bolted upright, but Joel seized me, shaking his head fiercely. He jabbed a finger at Emily, and at first I thought he was saying, don't you dare abandon my daughter, but I realized he was pointing at her hands. She had not reached to pick up her sloth, despite having looked longingly toward it. Then I saw the little girl's frightened eyes drift from me to her hands, her hand holding her mother's, and her other hand on the table. They weren't holding hands. Their hands were nailed to the table. Joel Boulder squeezed my arm again and mouthed towards. Leave and be bound. All the air left my lungs. I collapsed back into my seat. The wheels of my mind ground to a halt with panic. Impossible. It was all I kept thinking. Impossible, impossible. Terror numbed my brain, blocking all rational thought. Who was keeping them captive? Why? And why did their captor sound so familiar? Next to me, Joel Boulder still held a grip on my arm, but used his other arm to push the sloth to his daughter. She later head down on the plush fur. Thank you, she mouthed to me. I nodded numbly. I couldn't speak, so I carefully freed my arm from Joel's grip and mouthed slowly. Are there cameras? How is he watching you? Confusion on Joel's face. I repeated the mouthed question, and then I started tracing out letters on the table. His gaze followed and he nodded. In this painstaking way, we were able to have a conversation. Joel, we don't know. Me, how long have you been here? Joel and Patty shrugged. Tears from Emily who only shook her head. Me, does he always know if he tried to leave? More helpless shrugging. Joel eventually conveyed to me that Emily and Uncle Mike were the ones who spotted the path and found the way to the cabin. It looked elapotated to Joel, but Emily and Mike thought they heard someone calling from inside so the whole family entered, and that's when they noticed the writing on the table. They were trying to decipher what it meant when it came inside. Uncle Mike had looked, and it had taken his eyes while he screamed at everyone else to run. Patty took Emily one way while Joel ran the other. Joel tried to lead their pursuer off, but he got lost in the woods. Patty and Emily somehow got turned around while fleeing and wound up back at the cabin with it on their heels. They tried to hide inside and barricade the door, but it forced the door open. By the time Joel returned to the cabin, he found his wife and daughter with their hands nailed to the table. His wife with her mouth sewn shut. Now, he traced out his message on the table with his finger while mouthing the words, I can't leave them. I pointed to myself and mouthed the words as I traced back. You don't have to. I'll escape and get help. Joel, but you would need a distraction to even get out of the cabin. Me, can you distract it long enough for me to get clear? Joel gave me a pain look. It was obvious he was afraid of bringing even more harm to himself and his family. Me, I'll bring help. It's the only way to save Emily. Joel shook his head inside, but his wife, who could neither speak nor move her hands, stomped her foot and caught his eye. She gave a fierce nod. Emily looked at me with shining eyes. Thank you for my sloth, mouth, the little girl. Please save us. Joel exhaled and pressed his palms to his eyes. I didn't know if he was scared or just in despair, but he sat like that for a long time and finally he turned his head to me and actually shouted, Run! His booming voice startled me out of my chair. Behind me, the door burst open. Don't look. Joel lunged past me, putting himself between me and the intruder, and I don't know if his eyes were open or not. All I know is he screamed. And Emily let out a sob, and I felt my way blindly to the wall and along it tore the door, even as the sinister chuckling passed right by my ear. Joel groaned, and there was a loud wham as he was slammed back into his seat, and then the thud, thud, thud of hammer. Then I was outside, pulling the door shut behind me. I opened my eyes and bolted for the trees. The sky was deep purple, just enough light for me to see. How many hours had passed? How long ago had the sun set? I ran down the slope and ran and ran and ran and not even caring which direction. All I thought was away. My legs and lungs burned as I flew down the slope, and stumbled to a halt because in front of me was the cabin. To turning away I sprinted back into the woods. I now had a stitch on my side. This time I went upwards. I was still stumbling through the bracken when the chuckling, which had been behind me, was suddenly in front of me. No matter how many times I tried to go deeper into the woods, the laughter of that maddening, familiar voice kept returning, too close, hurting me back and sometimes calling my name. And then I was at the cabin again, all the wind gone for my lungs, and the voice whispering my name just behind me. No. I rushed inside and slammed the door shut. I was in the cabin. Joel's hands were nailed to the table. His eyes were squeezed shut. Patty and Emily looked at me in despair. I took my place quickly. Then the door burst open. Footsteps clunking fast after me, and then that rotten breath wafting in my ear, heavy and close, fingers squeezing into my shoulder. Panicked, flailing, I fought blindly against my assailant's grip. My fist connected with a smack against skin and bone, but the thing, person, was unfazed. The grip tightening stronger than ever, and the thing was laughing, laughing in my ear. No! It's eerily familiar voice growled in my ear. It didn't sound human, and yet I knew its voice, familiar in the way a tune is familiar when you've forgotten the words. A tune like a lullaby, like I'd known this thing before I was even born. Let me go! I screamed, I spat, I fought with everything I had. But its powerful grip only dug in harder, more painfully, like talent. I felt myself drag writhing for my chair, my heels scraping across the floorboards as it hauled me across the cabin floor. Rowan! Rowan, stop it! It's me, Ace! And suddenly, it was just a voice, a human voice, barking at me over and over as I was hauled down the creaking steps and into the dirt. Ace's lanky silhouette leaned over me, their face plushed as they panted with exertion. Gasping, I blinked up at my sibling. The sun was so low in the sky that stars shone through the skeletal branches. Ace? Yes! Thank fuck! Ace dropped down in the dirt beside me. Oh, thank fuck! Oh, I think you broke my nose! What happened? What happened? Hell if I know! Why were you sitting in there holding hands with rotting corpses? Corpses? I whirled to look back at the cabin. We were in the dirt just below the front steps. The door hung open. The inside was dark, but the smell that wafted out made my stomach buck. Ace snatched my arm and pulled me towards the trees. Let's get the fuck away! I jerked back instinctively. But Emily, I was too confused to do much more than cast a quick look behind me as my sibling tugged me. The cabin looked even more dilapidated than I remembered. The windowpane cracked and missing, the roof sagging like it was about to collapse. Through the darkness of the open door, I could make out vague shapes, still in solemn position around the table. And then Ace was pulling us into the bramble. I asked why we didn't take the path back down. There's no path! I was barely able to find your markers. It felt like I was lost between dream and wakefulness. In some strange limbo, while Ace shined their phone flashlight around, trying desperately to catch the beam on an occasional blue tape wound around branches. Or in piles of stones or pieces of clothing tied around trees. Apparently Ace had supplemented my trail with their socks, a headband, and other items from their pack. Even so, it was heroin trying to find her way through the darkening twilight. He reached the campsite just as pitch black descended. Are the police coming? No. Ace still had a hold of my hand as if afraid to let it go. I didn't get very far. Before I decided I'd rather die being stupid with you than go for help and risk losing you. Oh. So there are no authorities coming to look for us. We built a small fire and huddled together to wait for dawn while Ace told me slowly, haltingly, what they'd seen. They followed my blue tape trail to the cabin and found me sitting at the table. Eyes squeezed shut. When I didn't react to my name being called, they noticed that the family appeared to have simply died sitting around the table holding hands. And I was holding their hands too. I had freaked them out. Then they saw one of the family had no eyes. That the eyes had been wrenched out and one of the eyeballs was held in the free hand. The man had apparently plucked out his own eyes. Between this and the reek of decomposition, Ace rushed out and threw up. When they finally stopped being sick and came back inside to get me, apparently I came bursting up past them and ran. Ran, hand ran and ran and they chased me around the cabin two or three times before they found me, sitting back in the chair holding hands again. That's when they grabbed me and I punched them in the nose. Oh. And then, dreading the answer, did you see anything on the table? Ace was silent for a long time. Yeah. Something about when the last chair is filled and it was freaking shit because all the chairs were filled except the last one. You know, I almost felt like sitting down. Weird impulse. Ace's total lack of imagination. Their dismissal of that thot is nonsensical. That probably saved them and me. We waited until the sky turned gray and then we finally staggered to our feet and found our way to the deer trail and back to civilization, where we reported our finding of the missing family. But the bulgers are still missing. The authorities got as far as the campsite before being unable to follow our markers. The family is still there. Their spirits trapped within that cabin, nailed for eternity for as long as their souls will have to wait, waiting for me to bring help. I'm sure I could find my way but I'm too afraid. I don't know what happens if that last chair is filled. I know something will change but the thought of it happening fills me with the deepest, most terrible dread. Look, if I tell you where to look, will you go and save Emily Bulger? You wouldn't be stuck forever, I don't think. When the last chair is filled, you will be free. 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.theknowsleeppodcast.com. When the weather gets warmer, it's time to rethink what's in your closet. And it's not just looking for cooler clothes. For me, it's looking for fewer clothes, but better ones. Pieces that are well made and easy to wear all the time. That's why I keep coming back to Quince. The fabrics feel elevated, the fits are thoughtful, and the pricing actually makes sense. Kelly and I both love Quince. We do. And we recently picked up a couple more items. I got myself some 100% European linen drawstring beach shorts. They are super comfortable and make my trips to Ritesville Beach stylish and smart. And my latest purchase was a pair of Bella Stretch Straight Jeans. This is the second pair of jeans I've purchased from Quince and they don't disappoint. They fit perfectly and they look great and the quality is unmatched. The best part is that their prices are 50 to 60% less than similar brands. How? Well, Quince works directly with ethical factories and cuts out the middlemen. So you're paying for quality, not brand markup. Everything is designed to last and make getting dressed easy. Refresh your wardrobe with Quince. Go to quince.com slash no sleep for free shipping and 365 day returns. Now available in Canada too. Go to quince.com slash no sleep for free shipping and 365 day returns. Quince.com slash no sleep. And if there's anything worse than not finding what you need in your closet, imagine not finding what you crave in your fridge. I'm not organized enough to be a meal prep person, but with Home Chef, my meals are on point every time. The meals are wildly impressive and so easy to make. I count on the Home Chef weekly delivery to stock my fridge and take care of meal planning. I've not only saved time, but also reduced dishes and cleanup. That's something we both appreciate. And we're like other Home Chef customers who say we spend less time planning, shopping and prepping meals. Plus it's affordable. Home Chef customers save an average of $86 per month on groceries. And people like us really love it. Home Chef is rated number one by users of other meal kits for quality, convenience, value, taste and recipe ease. You finish up the ad. I'm going to go prep dinner. We're having Home Chef's pork and pineapple stir fry with rice. Delish. So friends, for a limited time, Home Chef is offering sleepless listeners 50% off and free shipping for your first box plus free dessert for life. Go to HomeChef.com slash no sleep. That's HomeChef.com slash no sleep for 50% off your first box and free dessert for life. HomeChef.com slash no sleep. Must be an active subscriber to receive free dessert. Now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. Meet the Millers. Our second tale introduces us to Trevor and Vanessa. Seeking sanctuary for their growing family, they've moved into an older home built on swamp land. Though in this tale, from author Sean Seaback, they'll soon realize the murky old bones of this place hide more than water damage. Performed by Mike DelGorio, Dan Zipula, Lindsay Russo, Nicole Goodnight, Danielle McCray and Jesse Cornette produced by Phil McColski. It's not just the outward signs that must be considered. Always check underneath. Trevor never really wanted children anyway. It was Vanessa who'd insisted it'd be the best for them, what with their circle of friends already having kids and all. But before he could refute the idea, Vanessa started to show. First, there was a girl, Tanya, and moments later, a boy, Jonah. And just before the twins started first grade, Vanessa and Trevor had outgrown their starter home, so they took their equity and offspring and escaped to the countryside. The as was home sat on five acres, three of which was wetland, meaning you couldn't grow or build on it, but it provided a wall of privacy secure enough to justify the taxes. The first few months, Trevor recalled, were paradise. The twins were going to bed on time, Ian and Vanessa relaxing inside their outdated living room and finding places otherwise reserved for the bedroom. Then the scurrying started in the attic. The gutters began sagging and Vanessa had discovered a snake in the bathroom. In other words, the expenses started adding up for the house that hadn't seen a repair in decades. Then for good measure, the AC went out and couldn't be replaced until Monday because technicians worked expensive on weekends. With no end in sight, Trevor slapped at a mosquito as the reverie of blissful ignorance in home buying melted away. The McFarland's don't even come around anymore. He waved an errant hand at a sweat bee wishing he were in an air conditioned bar getting shitfaced with his buddies. Can't say I blame them. Vanessa had her feet on Trevor's lap, sipping a mojito from a ribbed glass, watching the twins run through the sprinkler. Trevor tracked her gaze. The backyard opened to the south where the sun was at its brightest, glinting the water arcing heavenward into diamonds. We've just had a lot of rain and lately is all. Vanessa sighed, spritzed her neck with off. I'm drunk. Let's go inside and fool around. A bead of sweat dripped from Trevor's nose as he looked at Vanessa. Her sunglasses made her looked insectile. How they were in style was anyone's guess. Too hot. The humidity. But his fingers began to slide up Vanessa's thigh. She adjusted a leg, scooted her hips closer to him, and his fingers were almost inside when she screamed. Ah, Trevor jerked his hand away. His mouth twisted in confusion as Vanessa creep crawled away from him, fanning her sunglasses at something long and gray on her leg. Jonah was there too. His hands shaped like lobster claws. It took a moment for Trevor's eyes to adjust for him to lean forward and unpitch his tent in his Bermuda shorts. Vanessa's chest heaved as she dug her heels into the outdoor sofas cushion before she went full on scream queen. Jonah opened and closed his hands, unperturbed by his mother's shrieking. It stinks. Get it off. Vanessa continued backing away as the lobster like thing curled its tail along her thigh. Jonah giggled, pinched the crustacean by the tail and observed it with peculiar curiosity. I'll be. It's one of those. Trevor flinched. If Vanessa registered the uninvited person the voice belonged to, she didn't give any indication. Rather, she just stared at her son holding an apparent crawdad. Got him in my backyard too. The owner of the voice stepped forward into the shade of a maple, appearing as though he belonged on a high pole up in a cornfield. He smelled of wood and gasoline. He tipped his straw hat and spat from the corner of his mouth. Yep. Got us an underground river running through my front yard there across the street, into your backyard. He flicked his chin to the saplings in the wetland. And into the Hoover's property over a ways there. He offered a hand to Vanessa who placed her mojito down. Drop it, Jonah. Jonah was now holding the crawdad at waist level with both hands, analyzing each slow movement of its claws. The mom. Do as your mother says. And you are. Vanessa took a single finger and lowered her sunglasses, her eyes suggesting the nerve of this guy to parent her son. Yeah, who are you? A horse. Call me a horse. All my friends do. His gaze diverted from parent to children because now Tanya had joined in on the commotion. He leaned close enough to cover her in a shadow. Man, who might you be? Tanya kept a watchful look and sidestepped to her mother's side. Oh, yeah, they burrow up through the ground. Hoss looked around, nodding, as if approving this backyard, this home for the Millers. He turned back to Jonah. Oh, they're harmless critters, really. Jonah squinted up, flattened a palm against the red sash above his brow. What river? I don't see any river. The polar ice cap smelted thousands of years ago. Most of it, the land drank up. And what it didn't, well, it went underground and stayed there, among other things. But just wait. More rain and your sump pump will be working double over time. Hoss pointed to the water spewing from a pipe jutting from the foundation. It disappeared into another pipe somewhere underground. And well, now, Hoss stared off into the distance, feeling the salutations coming to a close. Now, the history lesson's free. Well, fixin' a flooded basement. He shook his head and fished for a business card from the chest pocket of his overalls. Vanessa kept her hands on her hips. Trevor did the same, but he was stuck on what Hoss had said, among other things. Hoss waved a dismissive hand, dropped the card on the wicker table. Ah, well, you have water gettin' in. Well, now you know who to call. He flashed his dentures, bowed his head. I'm just up the way here, blue house, with a stubborn rooster. Then he trumped away. Vanessa shook her head. What a creep. Meanwhile, Trevor gazed at the backyard, then to the foundation of the house, as if for the first time noticing the discharge line from the sump pump. The home inspection team had explained that the sump pump itself, which rested in a crock inside the basement floor, takes accumulating water from around the foundation away from the house. Trevor didn't understand the complexities of it, just that if the pump failed in any way, the basement would more than likely flood. An itchy sensation pricked along his back then. He slapped at his shoulders. An underground river. Vanessa lifted Tanya and hooked her on her hip. Ugh, girls are going to shower. Then she nodded at the grass toward where the crawdad had been displaced. And get that thing outta here. The idea of the basement flooding kept Trevor up most of the night. He folded his hands behind his head and watched the ceiling, willing the white noise from the fan in the corner to lull him to sleep. Images of the basement wall crumbling to a great wave of groundwater ruled his mind. Trevor reached for the nightstand, for Haas's business card. Free estimates, it said on the bottom. He turned it over in his hand, leaning into the yellow light of the lamp, considering how much would such a thing set them back? Biting his lower lip, Trevor decided too much, then smirked at the memory of the crawdad riding up Vanessa's leg. He dreamt that night of a kaiju destroying small towns and cottages along an ocean side town. Great claws and a mighty tail eviscerating military, police and the like. He awoke almost immediately after it started with Vanessa at the foot of the bed. A red bandana wrapped around her head, a twin at each side. Her shirt was soaked, almost see-through. A business card was sticking between her fingers. You're calling today. Then she let the card slip away and disappeared down the stairs. Turned out while Trevor slept through the storm of the century, water had seeped in and through the foundation block and cracks in the floor like a fresh paper cut. A musty odor already dominated the entire basement. The flood came up just past the soles of his sneakers, when he went down there to inspect the damage. Brackish water pulled around the twins' cribs and oversized stuffies they'd outgrown. Various boxes were darkened and beginning to bulge. Each time Trevor moved, the water rippled and possessed the quality of a dead ocean smell. Trevor folded his tongue in half and cocked his head, embracing the heat racing up his throat. Went for a spone but thought the better of it. Just another expense if it were to fall, and met Vanessa at the top of the stairs, where she was holding Haas's business card. He plucked it away from her and dialed the number. Haas picked up on the first ring. Vanessa's brow furrowed and she pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, stuck out a hip. The twins knew what that meant, so Jonah sliced the air with a chop, leaning back into a crane kick while facing Tanya. She waved a fist before smacking it into an open hand, and they disappeared out into the yard to play karate and explore. Meanwhile, Trevor nodded along with his Haas and Ices, scratching the nape of his neck and pacing. Vanessa had widened her eyes, twirled her fingers during this long expanse of suspense. We'll have to talk about it. Then, Trevor ended the call, plucked at his shirt to unstick it from his chest. The tower fans they'd set up seemed to only move the heap from room to room, rather than cool the air. He looked Vanessa straight into the eye before bowing his head. Can't afford it. We can't afford not to. We have a ton of equity in this place. We can borrow it from the bank. Trevor winced, hearing his pulse in his head. They had just paid off the balance of the last credit card before they moved in, but they still owed on the accord and were upside down on the Hyundai. Line cooking at the Olive Garden wouldn't cut it, not with this new expense. He'd either have to go into management or take a second job. Neither prospect thrilled him. Lemon, the college funds for the kids. He shook his head, too stubborn of an idea, too immediate of an idea, and looked up at her with a pallid face. Silence hung between them, lingered in the constant humidity. They looked at the floor together. When Tanya came from nowhere and hugged her father, probably sensing the dread swimming inside the kitchen. Trevor squeezed her back, feeling mighty ashamed for ever thinking he never wanted these two almost exact replicas of himself and his wife. At this age, their love seemed unconditional. They were good kids, Tanya and Jonah. And even though the house was expensive, they were safer here than they would have been in the old neighborhood, which was turning into an apocalyptic wasteland with each passing month, according to the news reports. Tanya pulled back and met her father's eyes with a pouty face. I'm sorry you're sad, daddy. Is it because you miss her old house? Vanessa was happy frowning across the way near the sink. No. No, I don't. Good. Tanya smacked her lips against his cheek. Because I love it here. Trevor hugged her again, angling his face away so he could see Vanessa. I'll call the bank in the morning. That night, high gusts rattled the wind chimes on the side porch to life. Their ting ting tinging carried all the way through the open window of the main bedroom. Here, the sheets on the bed were kicked to the side. Trevor was reading a book about a girl caught between two realms in some old mansion. A nice escape from the reality breathing heavy just beyond the cover. When the lamp flickered and the power died, cold sweat beaded his face as darkness engulfed him. Visions of water rising through the basement floor flashed through his mind. He laughed then, chuckling the way one might after witnessing a ghost only they could see. His stomach nodded and flipped, his strumming pulse loud and obnoxious in his head. Trevor sighed and closed his eyes, relinquishing himself to the chimes and the wind, to the debt piling up, then to the mattress swallowing him. As it always did, time passed. Just as soon as sleep welcomed him though, the twins screamed. Vanessa galloped across the floor and down the stairwell, stopping halfway when the light above the stairs clicked on. What is it? The additional footsteps that followed told Trevor she had ignored him and finished her way downstairs. The notion that there was an intruder out here in the country, breaking into a Cape Cod style home that hadn't seen a coat of paint or any significant upgrade since before he and Vanessa were even born, left him quickly. So it wasn't that he had taken us time to join her, it was just that he knew the twins were safe in their mother's hands. Still, he did his duty by hurrying toward the stairs, descending them carefully, both from the shock of waking to his children screaming, and from the bizarre way the light in the room threw itself. Vanessa had Tanya and Jonah wrapped in her arms, with her back facing him. Feeling Trevor's presence, Vanessa met him with a frown. They said they saw a monster outside their windows. In between sniffles and wiping his face, Jonah confirmed. It was glowing like a firefly and it was naked. Trevor put on his best detective voice, not wanting to patronize his son. That it? Tanya nodded as well. I'll take a look. You guys want to sleep upstairs with me and Mommy? Before the twins could answer, Vanessa had one in each arm, rising like mothers do, casually lifting 30 pounds of dead weight on each side. Heavy footsteps carried her back upstairs, while Trevor removed the flashlight from the junk drawer in the kitchen. He'd been meaning to put one in each of the twins' rooms in case of emergency, or like now, in the face of a monster that wasn't really there, so they could hopefully, wishfully, lull themselves back to bed without parental interference. Trevor clicked on the flashlight, but kept the hallway and bedroom lights on so he could see better. It wasn't until he was standing in Tanya's room, hearing the sounds of trickling water through the floor vent that it dawned on him that she had nodded at Jonah's description of the supposed monster. The twins had their own rooms, and the likelihood of them conspiring with each other before both of them screamed was miles away from likely. Trevor shook away the idea of ESP, splashing LED light along Tanya's bedroom walls. The circular beam captured a dollhouse tinged with red, thanks to the glow of the nightlight, her gymnastics bar, and a bean bag in the corner. The idea of telepathy remained fresh in his mind. Could be. Could have been a book I read. He touched the ice cream-coned patterned curtains and parted them, laced the flashlight right up against the window, and scrunched his brow at the reflection of a huge white spot. Huh. He'd assumed the beam would feed through the window glass cleanly, allowing him to see the backyard out into the night with clarity. Hovering somewhere above that white circle was his own reflection, followed by something else entirely. Trevor leaned in, his nose kissing the glass, and narrowed his brow. As gently as a snowflake, a face with prehistoric eyes encroached and peered back at him. Trevor choked on a breath, felt a pain in his chest at the sudden hitch in his lungs and drew back, pointing the beam where that awful face had been. He prickled on Trevor's skin as he placed a hand to his knee and used the other one to guide that beam at the window like it was a powerful lance. Then, from the knee, he flipped his hand repeatedly, like shooing his family that wasn't there away. Maybe that gesture was for him. Maybe Trevor was undergoing an out-of-body experience. Meanwhile, the wind chimes clanked together, ting ting tinging away. Trevor swallowed hard and lowered the beam, leaned in a second time and cupped a hand against the glass. He studied the window and what lay beyond it before committing to a closer look. Once there, he steeled his nerves, aware of his erratic breathing, looking at the spaces between the Goliath maples in the backyard. Slow moving clouds revealed a gray moon quartered by shadow. Below them, a patchwork of silver maple and pine. There, in the distance, something moved. Trevor pulled away and crossed the hallway, entering Jonah's room, the whole time wondering if a coyote could stand and lope on its hind legs. Although the outline of the figure wasn't shaggy like a feral animal, the movements reminded him of one, like a werewolf caught in mid-transformation. Trevor turned the flashlight off, set it on Jonah's desk, and parted the dinosaur-patterned curtains behind it. Brambles and overgrowth dominated the marshy wetland at the back of the property. Through the floor vent came an odor of mildew and algae. Trevor sniffed by the windowsill, unsure now if the scent was emanating from the backyard or if the basement had indeed taken a turn for the worse. He kept his gaze locked out there, first scanning the yard, then the wetland, while images of naked, glowing creatures interloaked through his mind, watching him with their slitted eyes, fogging over in the way a shark's does when preparing for a kill shot. But eventually, his mind relaxed and logic took over. He had seen his own reflection within a trick of the light. But it still didn't explain the twins seeing the same monster, unless Tanya just agreed with Jonah because she was too upset having been woken up by Jonah's scream. Trevor checked the lock on the window anyway, then went to Tanya's room for the same, where he stayed until morning. The next day, Jonah fell into the backyard. As it was, Trevor was rolling wieners on the grill, thinking of the standing water in the basement lowering at a snail's pace when he heard the blood-curdling cry of his son. That scream shook Trevor to the core, and in his mind flared the scene from the prior evening, of him holding the flashlight against Tanya's window, of the flat nose spread out against a glowing reflection. This rewind filled Trevor with dread, especially when he turned spatula in hand. Jonah's arms were flailing as the boy looked to the sky. ESA! It was a courtesy yell, one of those things you do because you should, not because you expect an answer. Later, Trevor wouldn't remember when Vanessa had arrived, or if she had even helped dislodge Jonah. That would come later, after therapy. But even then, he couldn't be so sure, because once Jonah was free, Trevor lay belly down on the damp ground, clutching dewy blades of grass while looking into the sinkhole, watching a river rush underground. For a moment, the phenomenon had cost Trevor his sanity. He had to laugh the idea of it was so absurd. He got up and told Vanessa to call their realtor and went back to grilling wieners. But then reality slapped his face, and he went running back to his wife and daughter, back to his son, who was still a little shaky from the ordeal. Trevor gripped them in a loving embrace, told them how sorry he was until the word itself sounded ridiculous, as if it were a verb from a Dr. Seustale. We're out of here. Cut our losses and start fresh. I do not care. Vanessa squeezed him back. We'll make it like we always do. If family had ever felt the way family was supposed to feel, to Trevor, it was in that moment. The following morning, the twins were not in their bedrooms. Because the house was small enough to hear someone sneeze from anywhere, Trevor and Vanessa had cleared the entire square footage of it in about a dozen panicked breaths. Outside? They bolted through the door leading to the side porch. I'll take the front. Trevor peeled away from his wife, who went in the opposite direction. The sweep of the yard took longer than the sweep of the house. Brambles grew over several tree stumps on the acreage closest to where the main gravel roads met. Wedged behind those stumps lay a drainage pit responsible for holding water accumulated from excessive rainfall. The pit was sandpaper dry, which made sense considering the flooding of the miller's yard and basement. It also wasn't housing the twins. Trevor ran up the incline calling their names in tandem with Vanessa's voice, letting thorns rip through the soft fabric of his pajama pants. He spun away, loosening their hole as their sharpness gripped onto his skin and happened to see a figure on Haas's front porch sitting in an oversized rocking chair, denim from head to toe. Trevor gritted his teeth, unable to shake the feeling that Haas knew what happened and what the current state of Trevor and Vanessa's life had become. Trevor! He hopped on one slipper, pulling further from the weeds and the thorns, turned to his wife, who was waving a red sash. Trevor's breath hitched as he tore free, ran to her while mud spritzed up his legs. When he met her, she was pointing at the gaping hole Jonah had fallen in earlier. Her eyes were wet. She covered her face into the crook of her arm and leaned into Trevor's shoulder. By the time Vanessa and Trevor were fully dressed for what lay below, Haas had made it to the edge of his property, watching them with a coffee mug in his hand. Trevor gripped the flashlight while Vanessa held the rope and some tent stakes she'd found in the garage. The, I'm coming with you, oh no you're not, debate in the garage, added quickly. Every miller would survive this or none of them would. The stakes went in easy enough and the river was loud, which meant to Trevor that the crevice could not have been that deep. Problem was, how far did the stream carry? Logic told him it should have emptied into the drainage pit, but he'd already checked there. He shook images of floating bodies out of his mind, held the rope as Vanessa climbed down first. She gasped instantly, then held up a thumb that barely broke the surface of the hole. It's freezing Trevor, be careful. He brought the flashlight into the hole, felt fingers trace his wrist before gripping the flashlight and taking it. He braced himself for the cold and nearly went into shock when the water ran over his cabs up around his knees. Vanessa already had the light beam pointed to what would be the road if they were on the surface. He followed her on a bank of sand and rock, running along each side of the river. After a few paces, Vanessa hugged him. He could be anywhere. We've got to call the cops. Trevor took the light from her and flashed it the other way around, getting low. The water drops off. Waterfall? That's why the drainage ditch isn't full. The river drops into something much greater. He crept low to the ground, getting on his hands and knees, approaching the crest of the waterfall. Tree roots brushed against his hair. His nostrils flared against the dankness of the tunnel where he felt openings, extra tunnels along its walls. Trevor turned to Vanessa. Another small drop. She nodded. Trevor gave her the flashlight and she's shown it where the waterfall met a rippling stream. On his belly, Trevor edged himself along the sides of the tunnel. He extended his arms, scooted himself forward and down. A sudden jolt of solid ground against his hands, unable to anticipate it, made his head woozy. He shook the airiness away and turned. The flashlight beam caught a scattering of berries and half-eaten apples, round from age and where they'd been bitten to the core. He followed the light guided by Vanessa to where the falls splashed over the rocks and shale, jutting like nature-made steps. As Trevor distanced himself from the falls, his hearing tuned to a whimpering. Instantly, the hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end. A rush of adrenaline filled his heart. Over there. His breath clouded as he pointed across the stream of water. The beam tacked to a cage made of sticks and vines. Two small forms were inside, bundled together to keep out the cold. Trevor started, rushed forward. But instantly, he was under icy water. How the stream was so deep, he couldn't fathom. But the shock of the coldness around him, wrapping into his bones, brought him to the surface, fast. He found the other side in only a few strokes, ran to the shoddy cage and gripped the sides. Thorns, aid into his palms, sliced at the tender meat between his fingers. His hands warming and slicked with blood, Trevor lifted the cage. It's all right. Mommy and daddy are here. But his hands were stuck to the cage. After a spell, he pried his hands free, taking with them broken pieces of thorn. Tanya and Jonah hugged his legs. Come on. Trevor wrapped his arms around them, heads swiveling in anticipation of someone or something peeling itself from the shadows to reclaim his children. They hurried along, with Trevor maintaining the position closest to the stream, ensuring that if anyone fell into its deep icy depths, it would be him. His only thoughts were of daylight, of getting the children up and out of there. Later, a hotel and law enforcement could be arranged on their way to the hospital, probably to get the kids a good once over, make sure they were okay, that they hadn't been violated with anything dangerous down there, like the inhalation of radon gases. Were they showing signs of early onset pneumonia? Were they feverish? He couldn't tell. He was too busy pushing their bottoms up where the water sloped down and spilled into an impossibly deep chasm. The light blurred, shook in Vanessa's hand as she pulled Tanya and Jonah out of the water one by one. Trevor gripped roots and hoisted himself up on the bank, first seeing pale light coming from the sinkhole. Then he turned, feeling a threatening presence. The glowing faces of the species inhabiting this place calmly stood there by the cage, watching as escape. Trevor, on his knees now, ushered his family forward with his back to the impossible. In one fluid motion, Vanessa was already on the surface. Her hands found Tanya first, Jonah next, and before Trevor's circuits completely overloaded, they also found his collar. Trevor squinted against the brightness of the sun, bending over and panting as if he'd been doing laps around an Olympic-sized pool. Then he remembered the monsters. He looked at his bloodied palms. He remembered the cage. Up ahead, Vanessa ran toward the house with the twins in her arms. Car! Get in the car! He stumbled forward. No, that's not right. I felt other entrances down there, multiple channels. Pathways making up an ant farm sizzled in his mind, along with where the underground channels in the backyard might lead to. Vanessa disappeared through the back door of the garage. All the while, Trevor focused on tracking a straight line with his feet, failing miserably. His breathing grew heavy again. He glanced back, shaking his head, watching the sinkhole while backpedaling, almost daring those creatures to come out in broad daylight, especially now that he was so close to home. Soon, Trevor spilled into the open garage, swaying his arms and reaching for nothing. He focused on the cornfield across the gravel road, with Haas's home looming in the borders of his vision. His mind was telling him to look there, took up his hands around his mouth and call out for an ambulance. But the sky was darkening above Haas's and jagged lightning was fragmenting gray clouds into segments. Vanessa had left the kitchen door ajar and through the space between the door and the jam came a whisper. A sort of comforting sound that told Trevor the twins were okay. And of course they were. They were in their mother's arms, the one who had wanted them all along since before the beginning. But Trevor wanted them too. He just needed to meet them first, go through this crisis as a family to realize how special it was being a father. He tried to prioritize a plan, their phones, a key fob, alternative shelter. But when he entered the kitchen, he gassed, pulling on the rain jackets on the coat rack to keep from falling and shrink back. He bit his tongue, warming it instantly, dug his nails and those pieces of thorn deeper into his palms until they were flush with the surface. Vanessa's back was to him. She was bent down, heels to bottom on her knees, embracing Tanya and Jonah. The twins stared over her shoulder. At their father, who had wrapped his arms around his knees and scooted himself into the corner, as if hiding behind the raincoats would somehow alter their reptilian eyes. Thank you for joining us here on the No Sleep Podcast. Speaking selfishly, as I typically do, it is a privilege to perform these stories, to make these silly jokes and share them with you all. Thank you for the gift of your time. All right, is that it? What was that? You get back in the fucking basement, Kyle, you've had your pudding already. All right, bye, love, love, love. Fucking nice. 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 Mykulski, Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornette, and Claudius Moore. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley McEnally, Ollie A. White, and Kristen Sumido. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings. To discover how you can get even more sleepless horror stories from us, just visit sleepless.thenosleeppodcast.com to learn about the sleepless universe, ad-free extended episodes each week, and lots of bonus content for the dark hours, all for one low monthly price. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for taking the plunge into our dark waters. This audio program is copyright 2026 by Creative Reason Media. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media. No part of this audio program may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. All rights reserved. No copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or copyrights or哎