Creepy - A Girl At My School Started To Decay & The Birdcage

Episode Date: April 7, 2022

A Girl At My School Started To Decay***Written by: WithBite and Narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***Content warning: Bullying***The Birdcage***Written by Melody Grace and Narrated by Rissa M***Content warning: animal death, infertility***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea 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.

Welcome to the Bloody Disgusting 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 may contain graphic depictions of books. Violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy Presents. A girl at my school started to decay. Written by With Bite and narrated by J.V. Hemp and Van Sant. I've always tried to treat people like I would want to be treated. With a little compassion and respect. not judging and always looking for the positives. As I sat alone in my room at night thinking about the names I'd been called at school that day, how I'd been pushed against walls and had my locker superglued shut,

it was obvious that I was the only one who did. Which was the problem in a nutshell? I'm different. I'm tall for my age, and, super skinny, and my face looks like someone threw a bucket full of zits over it. I'm shy, and I'm nervous. All of these on their own are nectar to small-minded people. Put them all together in one screwed-up teenager, and I might as well have the world's biggest sign painted on me. bully me.

So, yeah, my life sucked. I wasn't going to give up, though. I was going to keep trying to treat other people well. Maybe, just maybe, one day, a little of it would rub off and someone would be nice to me back. The day she came into my life, there was no sign yet that my one-man campaign for mutual tolerance was working. My shoes had been stolen, literally pulled off of my feet by two boys who'd targeted me before. They were jocks. They had girlfriends. People liked being around them.

They were everything I was not, and they treated me like dirt. I was left standing there in my socks, not matching, of course, as the boys walked down the corridor, each waving a shoe and laughing, calling me names. I don't want to say what, obscene, hurtful, anatomically bizarre things. It was raining outside, a summer shower, but steady. And I wondered how I was going to walk home without getting my feet soaking wet. Finding two plastic bags from somewhere and taping them around my ankles was the best solution I had come up with when she appeared, making her way slowly, hesitantly, down the corridor, heading my way. This should not have been a big deal, only she was looking at me,

She was getting closer, and it looked like she was going to speak to me. Girls don't talk to me. They ignored me. They laughed when I walked past. Sometimes they gave me dirty looks. But this girl, hey, she said. Her voice was as hesitant as her walk. Are you okay?

Blushing bright red when you already have an acne-hit complexion is not a good look. That's what I went with, though. Not only was a girl talking to me, she was being nice to me. Uh... I said, then added, Uh, just in case I hadn't been clear enough the first time. She looked embarrassed, found something at ground level that needed looking at for a moment, and then said,

As long as you're okay. Then she kept on walking. I was left, scarlet-faced on top, mismatched socks below in a complete days. She glanced back. Now was my chance to do something cool. I lifted my left foot showing the heel of my sock. I have no idea why I did this.

Possibly my brain thought a foot wave was a good idea. Possibly I was just mentioned. meant to die alone and unkissed. The latter is a much better wager to place. She turned away, kept going. I put my left foot back on the ground. I had no idea who she was. I'd never seen her at school before.

So, I figured, she must have been a new, girl. She was medium height, slim. Her hair was brown and kind of middle length, cut in a style I could not name. Her clothes were smart, but subdued. I noticed all these things when I saw her around school over the days that followed. I really wanted to speak to her again, and this is time, I would use some actual words. I guess, and I guess this also shows how utterly lonely I was, the fact she had shown the slightest bit of interest in me had made me fall in love with her. I daydreamed about her walking up to me and asking.

Are you really okay? I only ask because I think you look tormented, and that's something I find really attractive. This leap of imagination ended with her asking me if I was doing anything later. Being a loser was the honest answer to that question. About a week after our first and only encounter, I saw her leaving a restroom. Two other girls were propping up a wall, and as she passed, they both looked disgusted.

Have a shower! One of them called out and held her nose to emphasize her point. The girl I adored lowered her head and began to walk faster. She walked straight into me, looked up, flushed. with embarrassment and said, I'm sorry. I could see she had tears in her eyes. I wanted to say,

It's okay. Do you want to talk? Do you want to go get an ice cream soda? Something, anything to make her feel better. I stood there with my mouth open and she started walking away. I kicked the wall. My head was spinning.

I was so frustrated with myself. And I was also confused. Because she had smelled funny. More than funny. She smelled bad. Like something had gone rotten. I saw her at school one more time after that. She was trying to open a locker.

I took a deep breath, told myself it was now or never. My legs turned to jelly as I walked towards her. She hadn't noticed me. I was only a few feet away. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a patch of darkened skin on her neck. A handful of flies swarmed around this patch. They were so small, like specks.

I was staring. I didn't mean to. I hadn't realized I was till she looked up and saw me. Saw me gopping at the strange discoloration on her skin. and the insects drawn to it. She flinched, almost as if she had been struck. Her hand moved towards her neck, and her eyes filled with tears.

She turned away from the locker and started to run down the corridor. I lost sight of her, then saw her through the window hurrying towards the school gates. I swore under my breath and ran after her. I was desperate to apologize. Somehow I needed to make this all right.

I had no idea how, but I had to try. I followed her through the streets I recognized. Past the end of the estate where I lived with my parents, and then onto an area of town I knew by reputation only, I began to pass boarded-up windows, graffiti-strewn facades. A man sat in a doorway drinking from a bottle in a brown paper bag. I almost leapt out of my skin when a dog threw itself at me barking wildly. Thankfully, it was chained to a gate.

My heart beating like crazy. I looked back to where the girl had done. been. She was still there, away down the street. I quickened my pace, but I'd left it too late. As I turned a corner, I saw her letting herself into a house. Its front yard was overgrown, fast food containers mingled with weeds. There were used needles as well, I saw as I came closer. The house was small. Paint flaked from the front door. A crack in one of the windows had masking tape stuck over it.

I was shocked that she lived somewhere like this and stood there wondering what to do. A half dozen times I walked up to the door and raised my hand to knock. then I'd lose my nerve and take a few steps backwards. Eventually, I lowered my head. It was no use. I didn't have the courage, and even if I had, I thought as I made my way miserably home,

what would I have said? Sorry, I stared at your neck, and by the way, what on earth is wrong? wrong with you? I felt like crying by the time I got home and went straight up to my room and locked the door. It was a Friday, and the weekend that followed seemed endless. It was stiflingly hot, and the small aircon in my room rattled constantly and seemed to make no difference whatsoever. I actually welcomed the suffering in a total messed-up kind of way. I deserved it, I figured.

I had hurt the only girl I ever loved. I was a coward, a jerk. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling and wished the world would end. It was Sunday evening before I decided I needed to do something. It was either that or lose my mind. I forced myself to leave my room and walk out the front door. I felt a bit dizzy, a bit nauseous. I had decided, you see, to try one more time.

I found myself standing back outside her front door. I didn't give myself time to think this time. I strode up and knocked. Something moved from behind the window. I couldn't make out what. Was it her, I thought? My heart began to drum inside my chest. I knocked again. It felt like I stepped off a precipice. The door opened an inch and a voice inside said, Go away. I don't want to see anyone. It was the girl, though her words jarred with all the dreams I had of how this might go. Please, I managed to say.

I just want to speak. An awkward silence lingered. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the sound of a car's engine misfiring. Then the door opened up all the way. I guess, she said. Come in. Feeling like I was floating, I went inside into a short hallway. On the left, there was an open door.

It was dark and hot. Sweat began to trickle down my face. I wiped at it with my sleeve and squinted into the darkness. I could just about make out a figure standing on the other side of the room. I knew it was her because of a horrible reason. The smell. It was sickly sweet. Why are you here? She asked.

I swallowed. You cared about me, and I don't know. I just wanted to repay the favor. I said. No one cares about me, she replied. I do. Those two words came out so easily in the end. I was elated.

No, she said. You can't care for me. You have to leave and forget about me. My elation crumpled. I can't do this. that, I said. I can't leave you here. It's disgusting. She finished for me while I search for the right word. I know that. I needed someplace to stay and this house was empty, so I broke in. Why were you homeless? I asked. I was on the run. I was a part of an

A Secret Program, but I escaped. My head was spinning. This was crazy, like something from a TV show, but she sounded deadly serious, and I wanted to understand. If I did, then I could help her. What kind of experiment? I asked. I heard her sigh.

in the darkness, and then she spoke. I was in an accident. I remember the impact, the car I was in spinning round and round. It was out of control, and then I hit my head on something. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up in a room I didn't recognize. There were people dressed like dark. doctors. They told me I had died, but that they made me into what I am now, dead, but still here, still thinking, still feeling. The word zombie forced its way into my thoughts. I said nothing

as she went on. After I escaped, I just wanted a chance to be like other people again, so I found somewhere to live, and I stole some clothes, and I went to school. I never registered or went to any classes. I just hung around. It was fun for a while, and then. Then I started to decay. I've spent most of my life not knowing what to say

or saying the most stupid things imaginable. I hadn't changed. Do you want to eat my brain? I asked. A little bit, she replied, then asked a question of her own. Do you want to kiss me? Yes, I said, though there was a distinct possibility that I would pass out at any moment.

She walked towards me, and I began to be able to see her face. There were more dark patches on her skin. The largest on her chin looked to have eaten into her flesh. I could see a sliver of white, bone, I thought, and crawling around it were larvae, feeding, growing, I imagined. As she moved, what looked like an aura surrounding her entire body moved with her. I realized it was swarming flies. The few I had seen on her neck before had multiplied into this horrific mass. Fear, ice-cold, and insistent trickled through my body.

She looked at me. I could see the apprehension in her eyes. She was scared as well. Of what I would think now that I could see how she had deterioration. I started to shake, gritted my teeth. I know how crazy this sounds, but I loved her before, and in those moments I loved her even more. I moved towards her, lent closer for a kiss. She looked me in the eye and asked,

Are you doing this because you pity me? No, I answered. I'm doing this because I try and treat people like I would want to be treated. Her voice was close to a whisper when she asked, How do you want to be treated? I want to be loved, I replied. She smiled, and then we kissed. Her breath was fetid, her lips desiccated,

and it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me. Afterwards, she took me by the hand and led me to the sofa, where we sat. Flies brushed against my face, but I did not care. They'll find me. She said. Who? I asked. The people who made me part of their experiment, and then they'll take me away, what's left of me.

The certainty with which she said this left me in no doubt. Until then, though, I asked. She rested her head on my shoulder. Until then, Hold me and don't let go. Your embrace is the last perfect thing in this world of tears. Creepy Presents The Birdcage, written by Melody Grace and narrated by Rissam.

I was always my grandmother's favorite. We often had afternoon tea together at her home, where we would gossip away about our daily lives and love interest. After my grandfather passed away, grandmother had become quite the lady of the night, new suitors every week, always with flowers in hand. I, however, never had much luck with men. When my grandmother passed away, our whole family gathered to listen to her last wishes. Being her favorite of the grandchildren, I was hoping I would possibly inherit her house.

That, sadly, did not happen. Instead, I received her old rusty birdcage while my cousin Philip was left with her home. To say I was bummed would be an understatement. My mother, however, wouldn't stop staring at it as if I had been given a large sum of money. As the evening went on, my mother continued to smile at me in a cringy way. Given the fact that I was an only child, my mother and I should have been closer than we were, especially when my dad passed away when I was five. But it just never happened. I think I blamed her for not having more children, and maybe even a little for my father's death. The night of his accident,

they had been fighting before he stormed out of the house. I was too little to understand exactly what the fight was about, but it was probably my mother's doing. When the party was over, I packed up my rusty cage and made my way to the car, avoiding my mother at all costs. On the right home, I couldn't help but feel a little sad that this was all Gammy left me. I thought we were closer than that. I guess I was wrong. I lugged the rusty cage up the steps of my house, still mumbling to myself as I set it on the kitchen counter. When I started to walk away, something in the bottom of the cage caught my eye, a letter. With quite a bit of effort, I opened the latch and stuck my hand slowly inside to grab it, avoiding the spikes at the bottom.

Once I successfully retrieved it, I opened it up. My dearest granddaughter, I know you are probably wondering why I have given you such an odd gift. And you should know it is my most prized possession. You see, long ago the women in our family were cursed by a witch. With her last dying breath, she took away our fertility. For years, our ancestors looked for a way around the curse. Their dreams came true when they heard of a man that could grant such wishes. That is when our family inherited Tully, a fertility demon.

You may not see him, nor will you probably ever. But he is right there in the cage before you. I stopped reading. and looked at the open bird cage. I was pretty sure my grandmother was delusional at this point, but just in case, I closed the latch and continued on with the letter. I know. You are thinking your old gammy is a crazy person. Trust me, I thought the same about my mother,

as did your own mother when I told her. Now, when the time comes that you find a man that you would like to settle down with and possibly start a family with, you need to follow my instructions very carefully. One, go out and buy yourself a bird. The exact species does not matter. Two, place the bird inside of the cage. and never feed it, not one speck. You hear me? Three, invite an enemy over for tea. Four, introduce your fiend to your new pet bird and ask if they would like to hold it.

Five, do not be alarmed when Tully bites them. It needs to happen. Six. Once they have been bitten, you must have intercourse with your husband. Within 24 hours. I know how this all sounds. But when the time comes, you will be thankful.

All my love, Gammy. I stood in my kitchen for a good 20 minutes, just staring at the empty birdcage. Had Gammy really believe this? I shook my head and forgot all about the rusty old cage and the letter for many years. Then, I met the man that would be my husband. Jake was a caring man, a gentle man, and he loved me with his whole soul. One year into our marriage, he asked me if I was ready to

start a family, and I could not have been more excited. We tried for my. We tried for my months on end. But every pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. I was heartbroken. And so was Jake. There was no way we could afford IVF, and even if we could. Would it really work? I remember the day I called my mother sobbing. It was the lowest point in my life, and honestly, I was desperate. She was silent on the other end of the call. all, waiting for me to finish my sobs before replying. Birdcage. Memories of my gammy's letter flooded back to me as I glanced at the old rusty thing on top of the bookshelf.

Quickly hanging up the phone, I walked over to it. Could this really be my answer? The next day, I went to the local pet store and bought a damn bird. He wasn't anything special. A small parrot with green and yellow feathers. Kind of cute, actually. I brought him home and placed him in the cage as instructed. That night, I heard Pea Green squawk frantically and then go silent.

My husband woke up confused, and he had no idea I had acquired him. But when I gave him a sad look, he sighed and fell back to sleep. Thinking back, he probably thought I was trying to find a replacement for a baby. Surprisingly, Pea Green survived for weeks without food or water. I couldn't understand why, but it gave me hope. A month later, I invited Emily over. Boy, did I hate her. She was our town gossip and I always seemed to be the topic of choice.

When are you going to have children, Becca? Why don't you just adopt? Why don't you shut your fucking mouth, Emily? I'll admit, when Pea Green bit her, it was very hard not to laugh. The look she gave me was very satisfying. When she stormed out of our house, I immediately called Jake and begged him to come home. The second he walked through the door, I pounced. It was the best sex I had ever had in my entire life.

The next day, I walked into the kitchen feeling refreshed and excited for the possibilities to come. As I made my way to the bookshelf to check on Peacreen, my heart sank. He was dead. I wasn't sure if I had done something wrong and began. to sob uncontrollably. Jake quickly ran into the room. Terror washed over his face. Becca, we need to talk. I stared up at him through my tears and sniffled. Pea Green is dead. I wiped my nose and waited for him to say something. But he just stood there, eyes wide. Should we get another one? I tried to spit out, but Jake interrupted me.

Becca, there's been an accident, he whispered. I know, my bird is dead. I shouted, angry at him for not paying attention to me. No, honey, not P. Green. I don't know how to tell you this, but Emily is dead. She was in a car accident this morning and died at the scene. I'm so sorry, baby. He reached for me.

pulling me close while I stared up at the cage in shock. Was this supposed to happen? Is this why Gammy told me to pick someone I didn't like? Tears slid down my cheeks, but I wasn't sure from which emotion they came from. It's been three months since the passing of Pea Green and Emily. I'm still not sure how I feel knowing that I ended two lives. but as I look down at my growing stomach,

I can't say that I wouldn't do it again. Maybe. I'll invite our mailman over next time. He's been a real jerk lately. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at CreepyPod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons Shera-like licensing

or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.