Creepy - 50 Foot Ant's First Story Chapters 7 & 8

Episode Date: April 24, 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 creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make important. retain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Coupie presents 50-foot ant's first story. Credited to 50-foot ant on something awful and narrated by Atticus Jackson. Chapter 7 Back, back, back! I hissed and bomber led the way. Nagle following him. him and me pulling drag.

We hurried as fast as the frost on our boots let us move quietly, ghosting down the hallway and into the stairwell. Balmer turned off the flashlight and we moved quickly and quietly down the stairs. The stairwell door was open still, but at least the door crossed from it that led outside was still chained shut. The inn stairwell didn't go any further down than the ground floor, so when Balmer waved Nagel and I back, we didn't go up the steps, but instead ducked down. and scooted toward the back of the stairwell, hiding under the steps.

Balmer knelt down, then peered around the corner slowly, careful not to move too fast. After a moment, he waved us forward. Nagel squeezed my hand for luck. We moved as quietly as we could back to Stokes' room, slipping in and checking the room thoroughly with the flashlight after we put a chair under the handle again and locked the door. We sat down on Stokes' bed and wrapped her quilt over our shoulders, snuggling up close together. Nagel was shivering the worst, so once again she was between Bomber and me. The cold was getting worse.

We had six men upstairs who were counting on us to do something, one of whom was suffering from hypothermia already. He's one step ahead of us. Nagel whispered, her teeth chattering. This is insane. I noticed. Bomber answered. He had both hands jammed down his pants, and I followed suit, cupping my genitals and hissing in pain at the contact of my ice-cold hands on my already sore genitals.

You've got to do something, I said. Otherwise, we're just sitting here waiting to die. Balmer checked his watch and cursed. It's not even 0600. Are you sure? I asked. It seemed like a lifetime had gone by. It's 0500. He told me, and I stifled a groan.

Sunrise wouldn't be until 0800, and the whole time it was just going to get colder. And sunrise wouldn't help. All it would do is turn the entire world white. If we tried to go outside during the daylight, we'd be in even worse shape. Put the blue lens in and hand me the flashlight. I'm going to toss stoke. Stokes's room. I said, holding out my hand. Balmer took a moment, then handed it to me. I slipped out from under the heavy quilt and began checking over everything. Stokes was on leave, not at Graff or Brimmerhaven.

Her T.A. 50 would be here at least. And if we were lucky, her two roommate stuff would be here. I hit jackpot in a dresser drawer full of panties. Keys. It looked like the the three women had taken the spare keys for their locks and agreed to hide them in the room in case someone came home and had forgotten their keys or one of them had asked another to get something out of their wall lockers and bring it to them in the field. I opened the wall lockers shivering in the cold and almost started crying with relief. Their extreme cold weather gear was there. To top it off, one of Stokes' roommates worked in the motor pool, so her heavy coveralls were hanging in the locker.

I brought out the coveralls, the parkas, the cold weather masks, the field jackets and liners, the parka liners, and the pants. In Stokes' and her roommates' rucksacks was the mandatory roll of 550 cord. In Stokes' three-drawer chest, I found her leathermen, and their flashlights were on their rucksacks. When I found the vibrators, I gave a silent thanks for big-pussied women. Three of them were D-cell hummers. I silently promised I'd never make any jokes about deep or wide women again. I promised that if I got out of it, I'd find a big-possied woman and worshipper for an entire weekend. Any woman who used a D-cell vibrator was my personal goddess from here on out.

I promised to sacrifice a virgin to a big-possied woman. I promised to build an altar to them and dance naked around it on the full moon. We got dressed silently, layering on the cold weather gear, everything but the boots, which didn't fit any of us. We split up the flashlights and Nagel carried the extra one along with the batteries. My knife got transferred from my belt to hers. Balmer and I were both going to carry entrenching tools. Not because we thought we were going to do any digging, but because you can kill a man with one. Something that had gone from drunken, BSing theory to a seriously real possibility.

What if he's in the hallway? Balmer asked. Doesn't matter. Nagel said from behind the mask. Why not? I asked, clenching my fists. My fingers were burning and tingling. A good sign, but a painful one.

We're going out the window. Nagle told us, and Balmer and I nodded. We opened the window and jumped out, landing in the snow outside the barracks, trying to keep our balance. We were tied together by about five feet of 550 cord. One end of the cord was tied to the cross brace on Stokes' window, and I fed it out as Balmer led the way across the yard. We climbed over the picket fence, and I took care of something real quick. Across the street Zero visibility

The pressure of the wind was forcing a soft step Breathing was like a knife in the chest It was so cold I was letting the 550 cord run between my fingers Keeping tension on it And I heard bomber curse as he ran shin first Into the bumper of a car I could tell he was moving around

Checking something And then he came bumping back Pulling Nagel into the clinch so she could hear what he had to say. Flat tires! He yelled. Roger! I yelled back.

We went past the cars and started up the short incline that led to our motor pool. Fifteen or twenty feet up, maybe ten feet from the end of the car. The incline was brutal, but working together, we managed to climb it. I kept tension on the 550 cord in my right hand, my hand dropping down to the D-ring I'd clip to the parka to reassure myself it was there while I kept my shoulder against the chain-link fence. It was all that was stood between us in the motor pool. Finally, I felt Nagel yank on the cord that connected us

and knew that Bomber had managed to cut through the fence ties on the ground and had lifted up the fencing far enough for us to get underneath. I ducked underneath the poncho that bomber had put down to keep the ends of the chain-link fence from tearing through our cold, weather gear while we crawled under it. I gave thanks to Bomber's innovation and kept feeding out the 550 cord, keeping tension on it. Every few steps I checked the D-ring, just to be sure. Finally, the wind suddenly eased, and I bumped into someone's back, stumbled to the side and felt the side of the motorpool garage against my body. We'd gone less than 500 yards, and I felt like I'd

run 10 miles in full combat gear. My muscles were trembling with exhaustion. I could feel the sweat running down my back, and I couldn't seem to get enough air. We skirted the motorpool building, looking for the door, until I bumped into Nagel's back. I stood there in the howling darkness, my feet freezing in my combat boots, so cold that they just painfully throbbed with shooting pains in my toes. Finally, I heard a crash over the wind And saw light pour out of the suddenly open door All three of us rushed into the building

Balmer threw down the entrenching tool It was bent wrong The blade twisted and buckled But it had done its job I tied the 550 cord off on the door Then unsnapped the D ring and set the assembly aside I kicked the door shut And breathed a sigh of relief

We'd made it. It was warm in the building, and we quickly peeled off the cold-weathered gear, anxious to stand underneath the vents that the huge heaters pushed hot air into the motorpole building through. All three of us stripped naked, standing beneath the blowers. Nagel still held my knife. I still held onto the entrenching tool, and Bomber kept a lookout, the flashlight's still in his hand. It took a while, but we were finally warm. and we got dressed in the clothing we'd started with,

leaving the heavy cover-alls and the cold-weather gear laying out on a tool bench right under a blower so it would dry and warm up. Of course, I watched Nagel out of the corner of my eye. I could tell by her smile she shot me that she knew I was watching. My balls still hurt, but have probably gotten hard right there. Four CUCVs plugged into the wall to keep the fluids warm and circulating

were sitting in the motorpool bays. The side of them made me breathe a sigh of relief. A quick check of them showed the steering wheels were still locked and they didn't have keys in the ignition. But that wasn't a problem. There were two sets of keys for every vehicle. One back at the company, the other in the motorpool sergeant's office. We're fucking golden, aunt.

Balmer grinned, rubbing his hands together. We'll grab one of these, load Carter. into it, we all pile into the other, and we go down and tell the MPs what's happening. Whoa? And I grinned. Nagel was looking around, shining a flashlight into the dark or shadowy areas of the bay as we headed to the office. She was frowning while she did so, chewing on her lower lip.

What's up, Nancy? I asked her, slowing down and looking around. The motor pool bay was big, but it was largely open. Anyone coming at us would be seen quickly, and between the three of us would get royally fucked up. We're forgetting something, but I don't know what. She told me. I just know it. Does it matter?

I grinned, pointing at the NCOIC's office door. I think so, she said softly. We moved up to the door and checked it. It was locked, but I slammed the point. point of the entrenching tool in between the door and the frame, right at the lock, and with a wrench tore it open. We went in, grinning, and I opened the keybox with one good whack with the entrenching tool. It was empty. Just a piece of paper that someone had written, missing something, and red ink. The lights cut off, and the blowers went dead. Between the time the

lights went out and the emergency lights cut on, we heard running feet, that dark and evil laughter and a loud booming noise. He was still one step ahead of us. Balmer jumped away from the door cursing, and I felt Nagel grabbed me when I went to run into the bay. Her fingers dug into my arm, and she pulled me back with surprising strength. Don't, she whispered. He probably knows you're the type to charge in. He might be waiting. The realization that my anger and fear had almost pushed me into making a terminal mistake washed over me. Exhaustion, fear, and pain were driving me toward making mistakes, and mistakes were something we couldn't afford. We need to get better weapons, Balmer said. We'll grab axes and head back to the company, haul up in Lewis's room till

someone comes for us. Won't work, I said, shaking my head. Why not? Balmer asked. We'll freeze to death by this time tomorrow. Nagel said, and I nodded. Fuck! Balmer looked around.

Wait, I've got an idea. I said. Let's hear it. Nagel said. I'm out of ideas. I told them quick. quickly, and they nodded. Are you sure you can do it?

Nagel asked when I got done explaining it. I'm sure, I told her. Well, I'm pretty sure. I went out the door first, entrenching tool in my hand, my nerves hyped up, but nobody jumped us. We stuck together and gathered everything up, then made our way back to where we'd left the parkas and the other cold weather gear. to where it had been. The empty toolbench silently mocked us. God damn it!

Balmer yelled. No worries, I told him. He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. Follow me. We went back to the offices, past the emergency showers, and into the locker room. While Nagel stood watch, Balmer and I began ripping open the lockers one after another, pulling out the winter coveralls, any gloves left behind, anything we could use to replace our missing stolen cold weather gear.

I watched the door while Balmer and Nagel layered four sets of coveralls on and put some of the motorpool guys' lucky work hats on. Once Bomber was done, I went over and did the same, layering them on. More than a few of the motorpool guys had left socks in their lockers, and we pulled them on over our hands until we had makeshift gloves. Before I pulled on the socks, I smeared thick grease over our faces, rubbing it onto our lips and around our necks. It was thick, bulky, and hard to move. The grease felt sticky and gross.

The socks stunk, but it reminded me of childhood, and the memory of throwing snowballs with my siblings made me smile. We waddled back out to the motorpool bay, the emergency lights only giving off a dull yellow glow that was barely enough to see while. we retied ourselves together. Bomber fished the compass he had taken from Stokes' room out of his shirt and let it hang from the string. We'd use engineer tape to fashion makeshift loops on our belts for the axes we'd grabbed. I opened the door, and we drug our supplies out into the howling storm. I reached down, found the D-ring with a smile, and clipped it to the rope around my waist.

This time I took the lead for a little while. Balmer and Nagel dragging the heavy part of the load until Nagel tugged on our tie to stop me Then she took the lead while Balmer and I drug it through the snow and gravel We were almost to the fence when Nagel took Balmer's place We pushed our supplies under the fence Squirmed under it and wrapped the poncho around Nagel tying it off with a rope Ready? I shouted

Ready! They shouted back I grabbed a 550 cord from where I'd looped it into the fence to keep tension and tugged. And felt it give. Cursing, I reeled it in, coming up with the end in only a couple of minutes. Our lead back to the barracks was gone. Without a lead, our chances of missing the barracks and tumbling down the hill or getting turned around in the snow were almost assured. Once again, whoever it was thought they were worried. one step ahead of the three of us.

I tapped Nagel, who tapped Balmer, and they gathered close. When Balmer turned on the flashlight and shined it in my hand, we could all see that the end wasn't cut, wasn't snapped, but had been untied. We had to get back. It was more than just us. The wind howled with glee and whipped the snow around us. Chapter 8 The cut line snapped against my glove, driven by the wind, and I could see bomber shake his head.

The blue lens over the flashlight gave him and Nagel's faces a bruised look in the darkness and the snow. I draw the line, reached down and grabbed the D-ring, and tugged on the line threaded through it. It held firm. Not this time. I snarled, and the other two nodded in agreement. You two grab it. I'll lead. I said and led the way down the hill.

They lost control of the package and it slid down the hill, coming to a stop when it slammed into the bumper of a car. Even over the wood, we heard the sound of crunching plastic and breaking glass. Still, a quick checkover in the dim light showed that it was all still good. Bomber Nagel grabbed it and picked it up, carrying it across the tarmac. The line on the D-ring was tied off to the fence, and I quickly used the axe to chop through the little white picket fence. After that, Balmer led the way, using the compass, and led us to the edge of the building.

Stokes' room? Nagel yelled out. Negative. He was in there to untie the line. We'll bust in the center fire escape, and then we'll have to take the middle stairwell. Balmer answered. Back me up. I answered, and started in on the door lock with the axe.

Three hits to rip through the seat. steel lining of the door, and a few more to smash the lock up good enough to pull open the door. The smell of death and decay rolled over me when I opened the door, the darkness beyond it more absolute than the darkness I stood in. Snowflakes whirled and danced, vanishing into the gaping maw of the door. I clicked on the flashlight I'd stolen from Stokes' room, the being muted by the snow howling around us and stepped into the barracks. It was somehow colder inside the building. To the right was the stairwell access door. Ahead of us, we'd have to go up three steps, but we'd be inside the barracks proper, in the center hall that went the entire length of the

building. Nagel and Bomber followed, Nagel coughing at the stench that rolled over us. The wind outside didn't break it up, but seemed to compact it, to concentrate it somehow in the small emergency hallway. Once they got the package in, they shut the door, and we stood there for a long moment. When I find that bastard, I'm stomping a mud hole in his ass. Balmer said, cracking his knuckles through the socks. At ease that shit, I said, reaching down and grabbing the package. Nagel, you lead. Palmer, let's do this.

Bomber and I lifted it up and Nagel led the way through the side access emergency door, which opened with two quick hits with the axe. Then we moved carefully down the stairs with the package, trying not to lose our balance with how heavy and bulky it was. Our sock-covered hands wanted to slip, and the grease on my hands made the socks both tacky and slick, the metal biting into my fingers. The cold of outside having numbed up my fingers

and making them feel like stiff clay. Nagel opened up the bottom door, and we ignored the shriek of rage from above us, ignored the sobbing wail that rolled down the steps, and pushed into the short hallway, stopped in front of the door of the furnace room. Did you lock it? Nagel asked me, and I shook my head.

Balmer was standing next to me, shivering, his teeth chattering loud enough for me to hear it. I pulled the door open, revealing the cavernous black beyond. A third of a city block long and wide enough for 20 men to stand at arm's length from one another. It was supposed to be designed for our unit to hold formation and during the winter. Now it was menacing. Something could be in the blackness.

Someone could be waiting in there, wearing a pair of NVGs with a knife, pistol, or rifle in their hands, watching us in the doorway with a dark and evil smile. Let's go. I broke the silence. bending down and lifting up the package. Bomber nodded and grabbed his side, and with Nagel leading the way, we headed back into the furnace room. It took us about ten minutes to locate the water heater we were after.

According to the data sheet next to it, the big fucking oil-fired heater was responsible for only one thing. The radiators. We set down the heavy load and stood in the darkness for a minute, stomping our feet and smacking our hands together to get circuiters. moving again. John, go through the breaker for this heater on the wall. Nancy, come here.

John clicked on his flashlight, the red lens making everything blood smeared and disappeared into the darkness. Nagel came up as I stripped off the socks and glove liners. This is going to hurt. I grinned at her. Shut up and do it. She said, unzipping the coveralls one by one and tearing open the two vets. we'd been layered in till I could see her t-shirt. I slipped my hands under her shirt,

sliding my hands underneath her breasts instead of cupping them, and the soft wade enveloped my hands. She hissed in reaction to the cold, and I gritted my teeth as the explosion of painful tingling engulfed them. I couldn't feel my pinky fingers, and I hoped the flesh wasn't blackened and dead. Done! Came Bomber's voice from the darkness after a few thumbs. I couldn't feel and a loud clack noise. How are you two doing? He's fucking freezing. Nagel bitched.

I can kind of feel him, I answered. You still got the leatherman? Yeah, I'm coming back. His footsteps drew closer, the swinging red light of his flashlight bobbing in the darkness. Okay. I said, pulling my hands out from under Nagel's shirt. She quickly buttoned up while I kept talking.

This thing is supposed to be a 440 system, but let's hope that this thing can provide enough power to get it to work a little bit. I kicked the side of the one and a half kilowatt generator we'd hauled all the way down, with two and a half gallon cans of mogas strapped to it. We had two coils of electrical cord on it, along with one of the mechanics' tool kits that had been left outside of the tool truck. I was never so glad someone had broke rag in my life. Nagel, you act as my light. John? I said, accepting the leatherman from him. Yeah? He turned and was looking in the darkness. Don't fuck around. Anyone comes at us? Kill them. I told him.

The reflected glow of the three flashlights was enough for me to see him nod. His jaw clenched. I used my knife and the leatherman to rip the housing off of the bottom of the water heater, cutting the wiring that led from the junction box to the heater itself. and then tracing it. Wyn howled, creatures in the snow gibbered and screamed. Something off in the distance and the dark menace of our barracks kept slamming. And once we heard laughter echo through the room. The whole time I worked as quick as I could, tracing the wiring and figuring what needed

to be connected and what could be abandoned and deciding eventually that I didn't know enough about what the fuck I was doing and had to leave everything hooked up. Niggle and Bomber were silent, only the sound of their breathing once in a while audible over the wind. I started losing track of time. Once aware, I'd closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. It was then that I realized that I had to get off the pod and hurry up, or I'd freeze to death laying on the floor, and John and Nancy wouldn't even know. John, my best friend. I remember drinking beer with him at Octoberfest. watching the German women dance, and now he pulled me into the crowd

and pushed me at a thick-set blonde woman who caught me. She spun me around, dancing with me, and her lips were sweet when we kissed. Nagel. What? Nagel had been sitting at the table, and when I looked over at how she'd yelled my name, whistled and clapped.

Her clapping rose to a roar and... Fuck! I lifted my hand and bit between my thumb and pointer finger, the pain pushing everything back. Working quickly, I took the three-phase wire I'd cut away from the wall and drug it to the next generator, using guesswork to figure out which wire to put into the threaded connection, and tightening down the nuts with my fingers. That's it, I said. I was shivering from laying on the concrete floor,

my core temperature having leaked away into the bones of the building. I was sleepy and swaying on my feet from having tried to trace all the wires. All that time laying on the concrete for nothing. Aunt, here, Nagel said, wrapping me in her arms. She warmed one hand in between us and then zipped my coveralls, then hers, and pressed her bare chest against mine, the heat off of her taking my breath away. John, he's freezing, she complained. I felt another set of arms go around me, and the chill of the wind was cut off even as my cold clothing was pressed into my back.

Gand damn redneck moron, John muttered. I felt kind of bleary. Come on, man. Wait the fuck up. I'm okay. I said after a few minutes. I think I'm okay. Is it hooked up? John asked, looking at the lash-up job I'd done on the generator. Yep, fired up, I told him. He nodded, bent down, and wound a rope he'd taken from around his neck onto the generator. It took six tries before it fired up. Something under the water heater began clicking, and John knelt down, reaching out and pressing his thumb against the bright red rubber button.

The water heater clicked. There was a thin whine of the fans coming up to speed, and then pale light erupted from the bottom, as the whole oil trail rails lit up. The generator was making sputtering noises, and John bent down and began fucking with the top of it. This thing isn't built for this, he muttered. Then we'll get another one in a couple hours if it burns out.

I chattered. Let's secure the room. I muttered, still holding on the Nagel. She felt like she was burning up with fever, like she was made of hot coals. I'd almost killed myself. Wait, Aunt, you're not ready, she told me. I felt Bomber's hand touched the back of my grease-covered neck.

You're still really cold, brother. He told me. I just nodded and leaned forward slightly, letting Nagel hold on to me. I heard John pick up the McKita drill and watched him vanish into the darkness, only the bobbing of the red-lensed flashlight giving him away. After a few moments the drill whined, and Nagel pulled her hands from under my arms and shoved them down my pants. I almost screamed at those red-hot hands made of lava or burning iron cupped my genitals. Christ, your cold, she breathed in my ear.

Can't think. I told her. I knew that I should like her hands cupping me, but all I could think of was how badly it hurt. I knew that the warmth pressed against my chest was important, but for the life of me I couldn't remember why. Once John's done, we'll go upstairs and I'll warm you up. She promised, then flicked her tongue out and touched it to my earlobe, and sputtered as she licked the grease I'd speared my ears with. There was a loud groan that made the air vibrate, as if the building was giving birth,

followed by a couple of loud snapping noises that made me jerk back from Nagel, sure that the support beams had broken and the building was about to collapse on us. Then the water tank gurgled loudly. Feeling better? Nancy asked me, zipping up the front of her coveralls. Yeah, I told her, following suit. The adrenaline had helped. The drill had stopped and I could hear boots coming towards us. That you, John?

I asked. Uh, yep, he said, flicking the red light up to his face and smiling. Got it done. Good. Let's get the fuck out of here. Nancy answered. We grabbed the axes, dragged the extra stuff over to the second platoon's war stocks, and hid them under the tarp,

and hid one can of Mogus under HQ platoon's tarp, and another one under motorpool platoon's tarp. We headed back into the small hallway, and bombers shut the door. I slapped all four hasps shut, and Nagel threaded the heavy-duty vehicle locks into them. That should give us a little time, I said. John nodded, reaching up and tucking the two-way radio behind the emergency light. The transmit button was taped down. Let's set upstairs. Check on the others, I suggested.

Another long-grown shook the air, this time followed by the sounds of a hundred men hammering on the door, and the air inside the stairwell seemed to shimmer with the enormity of the sounds. The stench of decay rolled over us again. CQ area. I want to check the barometer and temperature. Niggle said, and we all nodded. We moved carefully up the stairs, the ice glittering in the lights of our flashlight, and by unspoken ascent we ignored the red ice that glittered with malicious glee on the wall. The hallway was dark, and we could.

hear something moan and rattle down the length of the hallway. Somewhere there was the tinkle of shattering glass. John led the way, pushing through the doors, and we walked carefully down the long hallway, pausing at the double doors that led to the CQ area. We all glanced at one another, knowing good and damn well anyone on the other side of the glass would be able to see our colored flashlights. All of us nodded, and John pushed the doors open, snow piling up as the door swept it away in an arc. Flashlights had been set in the snow to perfectly illuminate the three snowmen sitting in the middle of the CQ area, surrounded by wind-driven snowflakes.

All three of them had BDU soft caps. One had a rodeo buckle, another a black lace brawl, and the third had a pair of broken knife hiltz jammed into where the eyes would be. Fucking bullshit! John yelled, falling up his fists and taking one step forward. That was when the dark figure who had been standing by the stairwell doors stepped around and swung an axe. And hit John in the stomach.

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