Creepy - 50 Foot Ant's First Story Chapters 1 & 2

Episode Date: April 21, 2020

The first story...***Written by 50 Foot Ant and narrated by Atticus Jackson***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is the bloody disgusting podcast network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make me. graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Whoopi presents 50-foot ant's first story. Credited to 50-foot ant on something awful and narrated by Atticus Jackson. Chapter 1. I gave permission for the Humber Monkey's story to be used, as well as my epilogue to the whole saga. Is he dead? Yes.

He died during a particularly brutal year on our family. We lost two of my sisters, two of my brothers, including monkey, an uncle. My mother suffered multiple strokes, and my son got his leg blown off by an IED. We had to sell the family property to cover medical bills, funeral expenses, and make sure the widows and the kids were all taken care of. Monkey's son died of an overdose not too long ago. Was the second of the 19th story true? There were only 20 of us in the barracks when it burned down.

Tandy vanished to be found that spring during Artape. The barracks that replaced the burned down one was plagued by electrical and heating problems. The unit suffered several disappearances over the years that were listed as AWOL or training accidents or death by misadventure after a cursory investigation. We had suicides, murders, disappearances, and strange deaths. Winter was the worst. When the snow would pile up, the road would be impassable for several weeks, and the noises and lights would start again. We had our own little mini post, away from the main post that most people didn't even know existed. We had our motor pool, our chow hall, and our dispensary and our barracks.

That was it. Our unit, unlike most companies, was over 200 strong and run by a full bird colonel. And even though we were listed as a company on the T.O. and E for the battalion, we consisted of over a third of the battalion's manpower. It was really confusing when I went stateside and went to my first formation to find out that a common company size at the time was the size of one of our platoons. I was sent to a different post and spent most of my Germany tour on TDIY and drunk with my friend John Bomber working at various ammunition sites where nuclear and chemical weapons were stored. Me, Sal and Grebenheim topped the list.

Whenever I was recalled back to the unit, I spent as much time as drunk as possible. But was Tandy real? Yes. Where some of the dead found looking like they were a victim of the Joker toxin? Yes Were some people never found again enlisted as presumed victims of foul play? Yes Was that place haunted?

If any place on earth was haunted, it was the second of the 19th company area. Finally, my stories are all about drunken stupidness, women, and general stupidity of the immortality of youth. I keep it that way deliberately. I don't like to think about second of the 19th. I don't talk about second of the 19th. Not even to my mental health tech, my wife, or my friends.

I don't have pictures from back then. And I didn't keep in touch with anyone but Nagel, Bomber, and a few others. Although Stokes came to Monkey's funeral and cried. I hope you enjoyed the ghost stories. Some things were changed to keep anyone. from figuring out where he was stationed. Names were changed to protect those who, like me, probably just want to forget about second of the 19th and what happened there.

But Tandy is real. Out of the first 20, 11 of us have died. More than one of those who died became paranoid that Tandy was stalking them or claimed to have seen his twisted visage outside the window in the days before they died. Do I believe he stalks the first 20s? You decide. Chapter 2 My 13-year-old kid woke me up screaming at the top of her lungs last night.

When I went into her room, which is in the back of the apartment on the second floor, she was huddled in the far corner of the room, covering her face and crying. Her curtains were open next to her bed, and the window was cracked slightly. As soon as she saw me, she ran to me and threw her arms around me, lying hysterically. When she'd calmed down, she told me that she'd woken up because someone was tapping on her window. And when she rolled over and looked, that's when she saw it. Fingers had reached in and were slowly drawing her window open further and further.

In the darkness was a white face with deep sunk eyes that hated her. And a smile like a jack-o'-lantern. That's when she screamed and threw herself into the corner. I told her it was a dream. God damn second of the 19th. The second of the 19th company area, restricted area, Western Europe. Christmas season, 1988. The names have been changed to protect the participants.

I woke up on the top bunk with the usual glaze of ice on the ceiling above my head, shivering from the cold. I had to piss pretty bad, so I climbed down, careful when I put my weight on the floor. Sure as hell, a thin patina of ice coated the tile. The room was silent, dark, and lonely. The lights on my stereo system were dead, so I didn't even bother with the light switch.

The power was out, again. I took a leak, then got dressed, long john's underneath T-shirt, jeans, and a flannel shirt with nice warm socks and my combat boots. Shivering, I grabbed my keys, flashlight and knife, then headed out the door, locking it behind me, and walked down toward the double doors that separated the hallway into two halves. The hallway was as long as a city block, pitch black with just a dim glow from the emergency lights, and had ice glittering on the walls. I thumbed on my flashlight and clipped it to the pocket of my flannel, so I didn't have

to bother holding onto it. Something banged and screamed behind me. I hunched my shoulders and pushed my hands into my pockets, ignored the low moan as I passed the laundry room and pushed my way through the double doors. A whiff of decay, rotting meat and the unmistakable subtle scent of rotting blood was whipped away by a cold breeze, and my breath plunded out in front of me. My boots thudded on the tile as I headed toward the far stairs passing by people's rooms.

People I knew. People I drank with, fought with, and worked with. People that had gone back to the States are deployed to Graf or Bramerhaven, leaving only a skeleton crew of 24 mission essential personnel behind. I'd been recalled from Folda, where bomber, Nagel and I had been TDIWI to 11 ACR for around three months and denied leave. Which was the reason I was opening the door to the main stairwell, which went two stories above me and two stories down, the last underground. A shriek sounded from upstairs, followed by a low sobbing moan.

I shivered and went down the flight of stairs, keeping one hand on the ice-slicked wall in case I hit a patch of ice over the grip strips and went down the stairs. Two days ago a new E5 out of Fort Hood hadn't listened to our warnings and went too fast on the steps, hit a slick spot, and fell a flight of stairs. He broke his leg, a couple of ribs, and had a compound fracture of one arm as well as knocking him out cold. And he froze to death in a puddle of his own blood before anyone found him. I pushed open the door to the CQ area, noticing that the door to the first floor rec route, was closed, along with the day room, and of course the unisex bathroom that nobody used.

The same bathroom that Tandy vanished out of before the building had burnt down and been rebuilt according to the same floor plan. Jakes? I called out. No answer except for the emergency light behind the desk, giving it up and slowly fading out, pulsing slower and slower before finally being nothing more than a faint red glow, more felt than seen. No CQ, no ACQ, no duty driver, no assistant duty driver, no nothing.

Just me, shivering and breathing out plumes of steam. Curious, I walked around behind the desk and opened the log. If the clocks on the wall were right, and they were all off between five and 15 minutes, jakes had answered the phones when the ammo sites called about half an hour before to let the unit know that they were all clear, but nothing else was written outside of the hourly checks from the FSTS sites. Parkas, cold weather masks, trigger mittens, all were laying on the table against the back wall.

Shit. I dug out my keys, locked to the back of the CQ area, and opened up the closet, where the breakers were in the weather readouts, and flicked the switch out of habit, getting nothing. My flashlight revealed that all the gauges and dials were dead. Water pressure was about all we had, and the power had been out long enough that the water heater temperature was down to about 50 Fahrenheit. Outside temperatures were well below freezing. Wind speed was above 50 miles per hour.

Humidity was bad, and the barometer was going south, dropping while I was watching. Shit. I went back out into the CQ and checked the lines. Two were dedicated lines. One to V-Corps, the other to the Rangers. The other four lines were standard phone lines used to make normal calls. The other two lines were only for emergencies. All but one of them were dead, nothing but an echoing silence.

The dead one gave a steady, crackling hiss. I heard a low chuckle behind me and the door, to the closet slammed shut, making me jump. Damn it. I dug out the morning report and cross-checked the names with room numbers in the alert roster. Only 13 of us in the barracks. The rest either lived off-post or in on-post housing. From the sheet, Jakes was the highest ranking, according to the morning report from the day before,

with me, Balmer, and Nagel coming in second, third, and fourth, respectively. Opening the rest of the drawers didn't turn up the keys, the vehicle dispatch, nothing that should have been there. I checked the log again. Nothing about the duty driver or the ADD having to go somewhere. No emergencies. Only standard all reports logged in times, along with First Lieutenant Jackson calling in that he was heading to Frankfurt, but no reason why First Platoon's platoon leader was leaving us without an officer against SOP. But then, Lieutenant Jackson had only gotten to the unit two months before,

and in the week I'd been back to the unit, I'd heard him wax poetically about how everything that had happened was either bullshit or how if he'd been here when everything went up in flames, things would have turned out differently. I sat down, lent a cigarette, and turned the chair so I could see the door outside, the double doors to the hallway, and the stairwell door. Plus, I could see the clocks if I just turned my head instead of turning all the way around. I'll give them 15 minutes. It was almost 2 a.m. Somewhere, four men were wandering around.

Had they gone outside? Without their cold weather gear and in the weather that the gauges were reporting outside, they would be dead within minutes. When the hypothermia kicked in, they'd get confused and who knows how far they'd wander. If they went outside, we'd find them in the spring. If The 15 minutes went by and I opened the logbook, took a piece of paper out of the drawer, and wrote that I'd be back. I was checking the barracks, and if anyone needed anything, I'd be back before 3 a.m. I glanced outside through the two sets of double doors and saw nothing but white. White out. Fuck. I hated the barracks. I begged, bribed and threatened to get put on TDIY or unit support rather than be back in the barracks.

Nagel, Bomber, and I managed to wheedle our way into field exercises for over nine months, only returning to the unit for an afternoon or maybe a weekend here and there. If I wasn't at a field exercise or TDY, I preferred to stay out at the FSTS and away from the unit. The shriek that echoed down the hallway reminded me why I'd rather be training CDATS how to inspect the APDSFS DUTs and watching them to make sure they didn't lick them or something. I used my key to open up the day room, the wreck room to find nobody inside. In the day room the TV was on, displaying only static, and through the windows I could see

nothing but swirling white, with faint hints of something dark moving out there that I told myself was just my imagination. Taking a few deep breaths, I went in and checked the bathroom, It was ice cold inside. The sinks and stalls still looking like nobody had ever used them. There was dust on the sinks, and the floor tile was dull with no black streaks from soldier's boots on them. Nobody had been there for weeks, months, maybe not since the building was built. Another scream sounded out from behind me, and I shivered and headed out of the bathroom. A shame that I was shivering for more than the cold after being in that bathroom.

The last place anyone had seen Tandy before Artap. I half expected to see a shaving kit still open on the sink. The double doors between the CQ area and the first half of the ground floor hallway screamed when I pushed my way through them, my flashlight beam dancing around, sparkling on the frost that covered the walls. My breath plumed out in front of me as I walked down the hallway, my boots thudding. Sergeant Swope had slipped on ice in the hallway a week ago and broken her elbow.

I stopped outside Nagel's room and knocked on the door. It took a few minutes and a few more knocks, but Nagel answered, wrapped in a nightgown, fuzzy robe in a blanket with her fuzzy bunny slippers, wearing a look that combined irritation and sleepiness. What the fuck do you want, Aunt? She snarled slash yawned. Go beat off. I'm sleeping. CQ crew is gone. Can't find him. Powers down. I told her.

Go away. Don't care. She answered and went to slam her door, but instead bounced it off my boot. Get dressed, Nancy. I'm going to go grab bomber. I smiled and held up my key ring. Don't make me come in there. She grumbled behind me as I walked off and she closed the the door. Through the double doors take a left, up a flight of stairs, take another left, and head toward the end of the hallway. Ignore the screams, ignore the sobs, ignore the cold chill down the back, ignore the whiff of burning flesh and jet fuel. God, I want to drink. I didn't bother knocking on bomber's door. I just used my key and walked in. For some reason when keys were handed out, I came back after everyone else had moved into the barracks.

They'd handed me a key which turned out to be a master key. You named it in the barracks. My key opened it, if it wasn't a secure area with a heavy security door and locks. I should have turned it in. I should have reported it, but for some reason, I kept it. Bomber was curled up under his blankets, so I just grabbed the edge and whip them off. Second of the 19th was required to be extreme cold weather survival certified by order of the post commander. Before you could move into the barracks, you had to attend the class.

You learned how to survive in the cold, and one of the most important parts was how you sleep. While a person is sleeping, they have a tendency to sweat. That sweat can create ice between the blanket layers in the sleeping bag or on top of your blanket slash fart sack, so you had to sleep a simple way. naked and bombers sucking his thumb like always get the hell up you texas retard i yelled at him throwing the blankets back on top of him in order to spare my eyes any more full view of texas he came awake pretty quick and i filled him in on what i had and hadn't seen he cursed both at the situation and me but he didn't refuse to come with me, just bitched and called me a chicken shit for not doing it all by myself.

While he dressed, I stood and looked out the window. It was nothing but swirling, thick white. If it wasn't dumping snow on main post already, it was going to smash the fuck out of him within a few hours and dump a few feet on him. A ski resort would be thrilled with all the powder. We were cut off and isolated. Again. was waiting for us at the CQ area, her flashlight in her hand, picking up the phones, listening, and slamming them down. How the fuck did our dedicated line go down? She asked. The dedicated lines ran to the main post, the cables wrapped in foam and in pipes that were

then buried into the ground. By all rights, there should have been nothing short of a nuclear weapon able to knock them out, and then only if the line itself got damaged by the burst. or sabotage. It was zero two-thirty. The logbook was unchanged. The cold weather gear was still there and the clocks were still ticking away. The amount of time they were all off had shifted, but that was normal.

Rumor control said that no two clocks in barracks kept the same time. What do we do, Aunt? Balmer asked, rubbing his hands together. All of us were in jackets. Bomber and I wore fleece-line Levi jackets. Nagle wore a goose-down jacket. But it was getting colder in the barracks, and the chill was starting to soak into our bones.

First things first. You see if we can get the generators fired up. Straight out of the handbook. We hit the middle stairwell and went down to the basement. The darkness seemed to get thicker as we went. My flashlight started to dim, the beam getting more and more yellow the further down the same. steps we went. Our footsteps sounded muffled, and the wind had managed to slither into the stairwell

and pluck at us with icy fingers. The generator room was down in what used to be the sub-basement, which we had to access by going into the furnace slash water heater room. I unlocked the door, and my flashlight, and Nagle waited for me to switch the batteries in my flashlight. Never go anywhere in the building without extra batteries, and always store the batteries wrapped in paper, and then wrapped with tinfoil, before we opened the door. The massive hot water heater sat silently against one wall. The two furnaces were silent. The oil tanks squatted between the water heaters and the furnace. The room felt claustrophobic despite the size, all bare unpainted concrete. Palates of covered warstock, like,

find the far side of the room, and the door to the stairwell to the sub-basement was at the halfway point across the room from the oil tanks. He should have stayed in folder. Nagel bitched. I'm so cold my fucking nipples are going to fall off. I grinned at her and we went in. We stopped by the switch boxes and moved the big handle switches from external power to internal. Bitch for a few minutes about how cold it was, then walked over to the door, quickly unlocking

it. When I hauled the door open, the smell washed over us. Decay. The sub-basement always smelled like there was something dead down there. No matter how much time had passed, no matter how well it was searched with nothing found. It always smelled like death. We went down the stairs and I unlocked the door to the generator room, ignoring the other three doors in the short hallway. All of them contained additional war stonks for use in the barracks. According to the inventory sheets and rumor control, the generator room contained four 5K generators and two 60K generators. Six fuel tanks were outside the building, two down in the sub-basement. Like the oil tanks, they were inside the building to prevent slurry or freezing in the pipes or lines. The generator room, like the three other rooms,

could be accessed by the large hallway that ran behind them. The barracks sat on a hill, which meant that the ramp from the hallway to the doors that opened out into the surface was fairly gentle of an incline. The war stocks and the generators had been moved in through the doors, into the hallways, then into the correct rooms via large double doors at the far side of the room. I never seen them, but I checked the door a few times on CQ to make sure it was still locked. You just checked it. If it was locked, you signed off on the sheet by the door. If it was unlocked, you locked it, and noted it on the sheet before signing off. We'll fire up the generators, then sweep the barracks and see if we can find Jakes and the others.

I said, bomber grunted and Nagel just nodded. I pulled open the door to the generator room, already thinking about what order I'd need to fire them up. Looking forward to then getting the water heaters and furnaces running. My brain ticked through that the water heaters needed to be the priority. since living areas were heated via radiators, and the oil furnaces would be used to warm up the rest of the big-ass building. At the rate the temperature was dropping, we'd need to wake everyone up, or at least check on them, and make sure we didn't have any cold-weather casualties. I flashed my light in while thinking over the steps I'd need to take.

The cables that led into the ceiling or walls glimmered, black under the frost. The fuel tank sat solidly, full of deep. diesel fuel, coated in frost. The doors looked like they were frozen shut. The chain looked like it had been coated with pixie dust by Tinkerbell. And... No generators. The smell of decay rolled over the three of us.

What the fuck? Balmer said. A scream ripped down the stairwell. For more information, including pictures and videos. of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us at Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook,

or email us at creepypod at gmail.com. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wiki.com. and are protected by a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.