Dead Man Floating by Tobias Wade (NoSleep)

I found the first floater when I was seven years old. It had washed up on the shore about a hundred yards from my family’s summer house. It still looked mostly human – a bit swollen and decomposed, but whole enough for me to immediately recognize what it as.

Even as a kid, I was never very squeamish. I used to watch my father skin the deer he caught on his hunting trips, and I would clean my own fish whenever I reeled one in from the salty lake. Finding a human body was the best thing that could have happened to me that summer.

I thought about telling my parents, but there’s no way they would let me play with it. Heck, they might even ban me from going down to the water at all, a thought which my seven-year-old brain equated to nuclear holocaust, an asteroid destroying the earth, or other disasters of similar magnitude.

So I did what any clear thinking seven year old would do. I gathered up all the other kids I knew and charged them 5$ each to poke it with a stick. The salt water preserved it well enough for us to stomach the smell, but poking it would release some of the bloated gas still trapped in the carcass. I told them they could have their money back if they could lick it without throwing up.

No-one got their money back. I made 60$ before one of the little snitches told his mother and she called the police….


Click here to read the rest

The podcast is running late…

Sorry friends and followers. The last three weeks have been busy, wife and kid had heath issues rear their ugly heads and my passenger side window on the vehicle shattered from the heat.


So, we are still here, we are still chugging away and the ‘Sign of Ninazu’ will be wrapping up shortly.


Thank you for your patience.



Part One
Another roadside distraction.

Part Two
How to annoy a librarian without really trying.

Part Three
The old switcheroo.

Part Four
The house that follows.

Part Five
The obligatory voicemail installment.

Part Six
Twizzlers and beer.

Part Seven
Everything you know is wrong.

Part Eight
Mandatory exposition.

Part Nine
Mr. Croad and me.