Creepy - A Mouthful of Legs

Episode Date: November 10, 2025

A Mouthful of Legs***Written by: EM Otero and Narrated by: Nate DuFort***Content warning: spiders***It Came from the Inner Woods***Written by: Thomas Folske and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Manpig***Written by: Bikram Mann***Content warnings: bullying, child death***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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 are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Yep, still here. And believe it or not, my laptop and desktop are back and working again, for the most part,

which doesn't really explain why you're hearing what you're hearing right now, does it? That's because I'm still at the radio station. And I sort of work here now. So I got to talk with the station manager about podcasting, and he asked for my help digitizing old episodes. Kind of like what NPR does for shows like Radio Lab in this American life. I guess in the hopes of drawing a bigger, younger audience.

I can't speak to other radio stations around the country, but when I was telling them about other local radio stations that turn their daily episodes into podcasts, they got interested. There aren't that many employees around the building anymore, and those that are still here really don't have that much experience with podcasting. They still do stuff pretty old school around. here. Most of their stuff is still analog. I'm talking real to real tapes, cart machines, the whole

nine. So I need to use an analog to digital converter. The only problem with that is that technology has spoiled me. To convert from analog, it's a one-to-one ratio. By which I mean one hour of analog, takes an hour to digitize. Unfortunately, I can't speed up the process, so I'll be spending a good chunk of time here at what's going to amount to be in my side job for a while. On the plus side, the station manager did say that they had some good overnight shows back in the 90s. And as a kid who grew up listening to shows like Love Lines back in the day, I'm looking forward to a walk down memory lane. Just hope I don't scare myself too much working here overnight since they need their working studios for their normal broadcast day.

And these are the only places that I've worked in tech for me to use. Plus, I'm still waiting to get a new digital voice recorder. So maybe I can convince them into letting them use their recording booths so I can get some new stories. there. Too long didn't read for our Reddit audience. I'll be working at the radio station for a while. Hopefully all the time will give me a chance to figure out what the hell else is going on with the feed in the old episodes that keep popping up and disappearing. But hey, this none of them have ads in them, right? Anyway, let's get on with the show. First up for tonight. A plumber stumbles on a subterranean nightmare full of parasitic isopods, secret rituals, and a monstrous cult.

inexplicably thriving beneath a small town. Written by E.M. Otero and narrated by Naitou Fort. Creepy presents. A mouth full of legs. I have a fairly eclectic background. I worked all the trades before becoming an engineer. Although at the time of the incident in Oneyare, I was working as a plumber. Being somewhat new to the area, I was out of the loop on some things.

I'd only lived there for five or six years and didn't know the history and situations within the area. You know how small pounds can be, full of secrets that only the townies are privy to. There were signs, though, and I told the sheriff's office, but they brushed it under the rug. After a while, though, it became undeniable. Don't get me wrong, it was a real shame about those kids, but I will say I, told you so to those shitheads at the sheriff's office. Who's paranoid now? The whole goddamn world was ending over this. Not that believing me and investigating would have stopped the uprising, but we could have saved some lives in Oneyare and perhaps other places. It was like

barking up a dead dog's ass, though, trying to get through to anyone. There are always a lot of variables with these kinds of cover-ups, and the forces of darkness have their fingers. and a lot of pies. The thing about Oneyare was that a lot of the infrastructure was old, copped up, and about as organized as a pile of 10-day-old laundry. So in the nursing home, what was it called, Hillview or Hillock or something like that, was having issues with their sewage? They had to call me.

I worked for Oniare water treatment for a while and worked on every major line in the town. If someone took a shit on Maple Street, I knew the route it would take. I didn't work there anymore because my boss and I had some irrevocable differences, mostly about him not knowing a goddamn thing and, well, words were said. I will not try to sell you a turd and call it a brownie. There'd be quite a few folks that would testify that I can be a tad difficult and sometimes a disagreeable guy.

A lot of variables really why I helped him. I owed that man a lot, and he lent me some money when I was low. That still didn't change the fact that you couldn't pour piss from a boot if the instructions were on the heel. So when he called asking for help, and I showed up. They called me out to the lion's den, so to speak, for a little bird-dogan, you know, sniffing out the problem. Now, I was not a formally educated guy, but I could troubleshoot pipes like a native can read the wood. wind. The nursing home sat on a hill at the edge of the Oneyri forest and, like everything else, that way, was a relic. It had a gravity-fed sewer system that had been around since God was a boy

and it was fickle, especially since they started using garbage disposals in the kitchen and installed motion flushers in the rooms. I thought these changes were a lot more water than the system could handle and it was backing up. My first thought was that the their muffin monster busted and the system got clogged. The muffin monster? No, that's actually what the thing is called. It's a grinder, and it's a mean-looking thing, too. Anything that goes through that system gets ground up to little bits to be pumped into the primary system.

The only problem is it's only rated for a certain volume, and it can be overwhelmed. The strange thing was when me and the two other guys popped that manhole cover to open a and check out that grinder, there was nothing there. The whole thing was dry. When we checked their pit, it was dry too. So that meant there was a more serious obstruction. I opened up the next few manholes until I got to the older part of the system on the hill. The sewer lines don't need to be huge, but there will be systems around them for ease of maintenance.

Onieri had some quirks, and this was a little. was one of them. This part of the line actually ran through an old tunnel that was used for transporting laundry and stuff to the facility and had some of the old lines from a defunct steam plant near the river. When I talked to the head of maintenance, he said they didn't use these tunnels at all for anything, and they weren't connected to the facility anymore that he knew about. Of course, this guy came out there in his fancy tucked-in shirt and shiny shoe, so I knew he didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. So I had to find out for myself. I got suited up because I would rather not die and being in a confined space meant I got to do all the fun stuff. I got my gas detector

because dead air, methane and all that nasty stuff was serious business. When I climbed down the ladder and checked my gas detector, all within safe limits. The others were taking their time and I walked up the incline on my own and I'd tell you what, I was sweating like a pito and a playground. All that hot water running through those pipes got that tunnel hotter than two cats and a wool sock. I was no stranger to work in these kinds of conditions, though. I had my headlamp going, checking out the pipes as I went. If the pipe burst, this tunnel would have filled up. Something else had to be causing the issue. Thankfully, whoever replaced the pipes made sure they were clean outs every so often, so if there was a clog, it'd be easy to fix.

I continued, and two other guys followed me, but I moved quickly, and they fell behind. So, this is where shit started to get weird. I realized I was stepping on something crunchy. When I looked down, there were bones, like lots of them, small animals, mostly, but there are some larger ones. A few, I thought. Looked a little too human, but I told myself it was most likely from a deer. I don't know why I thought there'd be deer bones down here, but you rationalize the strangest things at the moment, I guess.

I went further with my light down the sewer line, looking for any signs of damage. If there wasn't, then I'd have to check the cleanouts. The thing about tunnels, man, or any underground passage is noise travels. Anything at all. You could drop a penny 200 yards away, and I'd hear it. That fact made the crunching of small bones under my feet so much worse. Every step was an echo of the snaps. I'd stop every so often, because it sounded like I wasn't alone. I knew I wasn't, but the other two knuckleheads were so far behind me. They couldn't be stomping on the bones yet. I couldn't see anything until I got near the top, and then movement darted across the tunnel. I didn't get a great view because my flashlight beam was on the pipe, but it was definitely large. My stupid mind thought it might be a worker, and I shouted out to him.

The only answer was my echo. I walked to where the shadow darted and found three things. First, I found the problem with the sewer. Second, I found a manhole missing its cover. And three, I found a hatch and ladder going up. Something crushed the sewer line, as if someone had stepped on and flattened it. The line was a ten-inch black iron pipe, and if someone stepped on it, they had to be huge,

I mean large enough that if they were hauling ass, they'd have to go back for a second trip. I put my boot to the area and the size of the dent was larger. I looked around for any sign of what else could have collapsed it. There was nothing. It was like someone stepped on it to get out of the alcove where the lidless manhole was. I inspected the manhole. The rungs were old but sound and descended.

I went about ten feet down and I found the remains of the lid. It scattered pieces were like a broken plane. on the tile floor. Rust must have done a number on it. The dark passageway leading from the ladder was strewn with small bones and other detritus. I walked into the unknown, my headlamp guide in the way. That first, my curiosity outweighed any fear, and I scanned the walls and ceiling. It was all brick and looked far older than anything else down there. And I kept going, leaving all my good sense behind me. I checked the gas meter, and it wasn't great, but it could be worse. The brick tunnel widened and then opened up to a large pool, a cistern, I assumed.

Other passageways forked outwards to who knows where. This town had a lot of old infrastructure, and this was obviously a relic, cool and definitely worth noting, but ultimately not my priority. I turned to leave until I noticed something blue on the ground. The color so vibrant against the myriad shades of shit brown stood out in stark contrast, like when a dog shits out a Lego. I leaned down and could see it was fabric. When I picked it up, I noticed the white rubber grippers on it. This was a grippy sock, the kind they give out in hospitals and nursing homes.

I figured in a facility where folks with dementia were much, of its population, weird things were bound to be flushed. Then there was the other part of my brain, the one that had primal survival instinct, made me rethink. There was no way that a sock, especially one this vibrant, was flushed, and there was no way it ended up down here.

I dropped it and looked around the room again. Things I inherently ignored were coming into focus. There were other articles of clothing, and when I shine my light into the water of the cistern, there was a thick-souled orthopedic shoe floating. My eyes fixed on the protruding white that looked like a femur. Now, I am no lightweight. I could, and I still can handle myself.

My knuckles aren't just scarred from labor, my friend. This, though, scared me. I ran faster than a Kentucky virgin, and the way my footsteps echoed, I could have sworn there was a group of people chasing me. When I got up that ladder and threw myself on the ground in front of the other guys, I was shaking like a dog trying to shit a bone sideways. I told them what I'd seen, and after grabbing a few tools to act as improvised weapons,

we three descended the old ladder and into the cistern. We pulled the floating foot from the water, and much to my relief, it was a prosthetic. No flesh and bone. although still found it strange that this ended up there of all places, as well as all the other articles of clothing and small bones. The guy said it was nothing to worry about and left to go back and repair the pipe. I lingered, staring into the other passageways and inspecting the chamber. There was something wrong there. I knew it.

No one else did, though, and when I tried to tell the others, they blew me off. I started off by checking out where the... that hatch went, and when I pushed it open, I found myself in the boiler room of the nursing home. The hatch was situated behind some boxes and shelves as if deliberately hidden. I even pulled myself out to inspect the area. The hatch opened and closed quietly on well-greased hinges, which if no one knew it was there, why would they be maintained? I walked up the metal stairs and opened the door to leave the boiler room when a man in cover-alls and a surgical face mask stopped me. He asked me who I was and all those questions, you know, as he should have.

I didn't blame him there, but he had a strange way of speaking, like he had a mouth full of marbles. I explained who I was, why I was there, and he didn't like that answer. So much so that he spoke into his radio, calling for the others to come into the boiler room. Three more guys with face masks showed up and escorted me from the building. I looked around the place and had a weird feeling about it. My grandmother was in that place for a bit. She was supposed to be recovering from surgery, but she deteriorated, and after a month or two, she passed.

They cremated her on site before contacting us and buried her in a cemetery they had for people to use for free. I was pissed. I may have had a conflicted relationship. with the Lord, but my grandmother wanted to be buried intact. Sure, the on-site cemetery was convenient, but I doubted whether the whole thing was legitimate. I didn't have a working theory at the time, only a hunch. Just because you put a puppy in the oven doesn't make it a biscuit, you know what I mean? A lot of variables to consider. So, after some scolding, I went back and

fix the pipe. Of course, by the time I got back down there, the other two knuckleheads were getting scared. They claimed they heard strange sounds coming from that open manhole. They were too busy being scared that I had to do all the work myself. I would rather work alone, honestly. Those two, I could replace with a good pair of clamps. I heard it, though, gurgles and grumbles. than the strangest of all. Clicking, like tapping nails on teeth. It went back and forth. I thought maybe an echo,

but it sounded more like two things were conversing. After finishing the work and following the two guys out, I knew right then I had to go back. I did my homework first. I wanted to back up my hunch. Having years of bad luck, I learned to be this way. If it was raining tits and I stepped out in the downpour, I'd look up and catch a dick in the face.

So, being prepared, cut down on the reliance of luck. I called asking about getting her room for a made-up relative and got the names of the security guard. Then I showed up, offering to volunteer, and got a tour of the place. It roomed 200 residents, and I noticed that a lot of the states, had face masks on. I asked if there was an outbreak or something,

and the lady giving me the tour said no, that some of the staff just preferred them. I watched these folks. It seemed to be only housekeepers and what I took to be maintenance staff. At one point, I stopped to ask a man who was mopping the floor of the dining room how the people here were treated.

Told him I figured he'd know better than the lady trying to sell me on the place. This man didn't want to say, speak at first, but he eventually gargled that it was good. His voice sounded like the other one that found me in the boiler room, like he was talking with a mouthful. There's something about the way his mouth moved under the mask that made my skin pimple. This wasn't right, like his tongue was trying to escape from between his teeth.

And as I walked away, I heard something that gave me an icy chill. He clicked, just like the sound coming from the tunnel. I researched the security guard at the front desk, Spencer Schultz, and, like most guys in that position, he's often at the bars. Spencer's favorite spot looked to be a local hole in the wall, Taylor's. I knew the place well and stocked it out from a bar stool. It was two days before he showed up. I bought him his drinks and got him talking.

Only once I asked about the nursing home, Spencer clammed up. The more I pried, the more he stonewalled me, till I slid a dozen 20s his way. Told him I was investigating the place, and the look he gave me said he doubted it. Either way, the money got him talking, and once he did, it was like opening the floodgates. Spencer told me how he was incentivized to wait a day,

to inform the families about deaths, to also overlook any of the special staff, which was anyone who wore a face mask daily. Unprompted, he explained the worst part about these people was how they clicked at each other, like they were talking in some weird language. My face had given it away because you asked me if I heard it too. Never been much of a poker shark, so I told him I did and asked where these people were from. This was when Spencer leaned in close enough I could smell the beer on his breath and the cheap Coloni wore. He whispered as if someone might overhear us and said that he followed one of them home once.

They drove deep into the Oneerre State Forest and then turned off into a seasonal dirt road. He followed but stayed a long way back with his headlights off. They drove deep into the forest, further than Spencer had ever been. ventured before. Not once in all his years of hunting, hiking, and fishing. The forest had seemed endless, but when they turned off the dirt road onto a narrow path, that's when he got out of his car. He walked through the woods and there were about two dozen dilapidated trailers and thrown together houses, all next to a modest waterfall. Spencer explained he knew there's a good-sized stream that came from the center of the only area forest, but no one traversed it. The banks were

treacherous and the water was deeper than it should be. It was one of those local taboos that was explained in the home's privacy but never talked about in polite company. When Spencer crept up to the rundown village, the sun was sending its last warm rays. He sighed and ordered a shot. After downing it, he looked at me glassy-eyed and a voice so serious I had, no doubt of its veracity. He explained there were giants there that came out of the water. Spencer immediately backpedaled, saying he couldn't see them very well, but he could tell they stood at least three foot taller than any of the other men. He was quiet for a while before continuing. The phantom of the past ridicules for telling this story haunted him. He was patiently waiting for me to laugh or

tell him he was full of shit. I did no such thing. The terror was ever. It was ever, evident on his face, and instead, I encouraged him to continue. Spencer ran back to his car, and there's a bunch of them waiting, with machetes, axes, and other weapons. Each of them had scarves and bandanas over their mouths covering something writhing beneath them. They threatened him and said if they ever saw him there again, they'd feed him to the fish. Now, Spencer never went back, and once again, leaning in after surveying the surroundings, he continued.

Strange things kept happening, like the village people were trying to kill him. The brakes went on his car, the lines cut. There's a gas leak that turned out to be his gas line being disconnected in his basement. The most disconcerting thing was that his home was constantly being broken into. Nothing was ever stolen, but the trespassers wrecked the place the first few times. The cops did nothing, and after a while it slowed down. except every so often he'd find a fish nailed to his door, a reminder about their promise.

Spencer's hand shook. The tremors I knew were not alcohol-induced because I was getting them too, and I was stone sober. There were stories about the Oneyere's State Forest. People went missing all the time, but they said it was because of sinkholes and other normal occurrences. I knew a couple of those kids went missing the previous year. There had to be a connection.

I connected the sheriff's office, but they blew me off. With no property authorities on the case, I gathered up some gear and talked to a buddy of mine, Steve, into going with me. He was super into urban exploration, and I kind of told him that's what this was going to be, at least at first. I got my gas detector and other supplies like my respirators, some glow sticks and extra flasked. flashlights and my trusty K-bar. I also brought two handguns, one for me and Steve. He was a soft-handed hippie type and never held a gun, but just in case a granola muncher wanted it, I brought it. We went under the cover a night since this spot was on private property. We geared up, masks, boots, and all. They used the pry bar to lift the man's hole up and we climbed in.

The tunnel alone, Steve thought, was awesome and I was going to fill him in, When we heard a sound. We shut off our headlamps and held completely still. A moment later a shaft of light illuminated the ground ahead of us, and a man descended the ladder. Then someone lowered something large to him. At first I couldn't make out what it was. It looked like something wrapped in a blanket.

And then I heard the moan. Steve gasped and I knew he was seeing it too. They were bringing down a person. We watched if the man at the bottom of the ladder accepted the blanket-covered prize and held them in his arms like he was carrying a child. He clicked as if to say he had him. Then the old man wrapped in blankets groaned and complained in a delirium either from dementia or medication.

We watched as a few more came down and handed another person into the tunnel. This one didn't look like a resident. They were younger with matted dark hair. I wondered if they were a homeless person or someone else like that. You know, a junkie that wouldn't be missed if they went missing. O'Nieri is a small town, but we still had plenty of those hanging around. Meth is a hell of a drug. Anyway, we watched these guys carried these two people to their other manhole and descended.

We heard their conversational cliques fade, and Steve turned to me and demanded an explanation in an angry whisper. I told him a heavily abridged version of the story, enough to let them know the odds. but not so much to scare him off. He reluctantly agreed to continue, and that earned some respect from me. I handed him the pistol, and I could see the gravity of the situation land on his shoulders. He slumped under the figurative weight like he was Atlas, carrying the world. We approached the second manhole, and I waited till I couldn't see more light below before I decided it was our turn.

We flicked our headlamps off and climbed down. The two of us walked softly And as soon as we saw any light ahead of us And waited I was calm but felt the fear inside I was jumpier than a long-tailed cat And a room full of rocking chairs We made it to the cistern

And had to look at the muck on the ground To see which way the group went Even as soft-footed as we were The crunch of bones here and there Were like gunshots in the tunnels It was going well at first We stayed just far enough away that the light of their lamps was just barely out of sight.

Ours were set on low so we could use ours to traverse. We're so focused moving forward, we didn't pay any attention to what was behind us. I heard a grunt and Steve's light dropped. I reeled in a man with a monkey wrench in one hand and a surgical mask over his face loomed over my friend. The wrench-wielding man clicked furiously at me while Steve groaned on the ground.

The clicking man stepped towards me. and I reached for the K-bar on my belt. The clicking man searched forward, but Steve wrapped his arms around the man's leg, and he'd topple forward. I kicked him in the head with my steel-toe boot, and he went limp. I asked Steve if he was okay,

and he said that the mask took most of the hit, but he'd be fine. Even though the man was unconscious on the ground, he was still clicking. I flipped him over and pulled the mask down. Spidery limbs moved between his lips, and I reached down to open up his mouth to see the creature inside.

His jaw opened slowly and my hand hung in the air. The writhing limbs of some creature inside his mouth grew longer as it emerged. I cursed loudly and Steve probably did too, but I couldn't say for sure. The creature attached to the limbs began to show itself, and I admired more of it as it emerged. It had a set of pinches on its forelimbs like you'd see in a crayfish. I will snag the creature, but thought better of it. After a moment of quiet appraisal, the creature's legs retreated,

and something that looked like a bug, fucked a crab, crawled out from between his teeth, its limbs reaching around like a snake, taste into the air. I moved forward, and the movement caused it to retreat into its mouth again. Steve mumbled something about an isopod, and I made him explain. Apparently, they're these parasites that ain't the tongues a fit, and replaced them. Only this looked like it happened to a person, not a fish. I know.

It's more fucked up than fingering your wife and finding your dad's wedding ring. Steve wanted to pull it out and send it to a college. I said I didn't want to carry a tongue-munching parasite on us, especially because I had nothing to put it in. So we tied the guy up with some paracord I had, and we tied the rope around his head to hold his jaw shut, hoping that little critter wouldn't chew its wet. out. And we continued on, and I knew we should have turned back at that point. We were attacked,

and I knew it would get worse. I could feel it in my bones. Stephen started whispering to me about those creatures they found in the Arctic and that he thought this could be related. I'd seen the reports, too, and at the time, I didn't think they were a big deal. Some weird fish thing in the ocean so far away from people? What did that have to do with me? As you know, as we all know, I was incredibly wrong. The tunnel intersected another larger one, and we followed the distant lights across the tunnel that eventually exited next to the water.

We could see their flashlights in the distance and followed with ours off. The woods were eerily quiet, even for night, and I tried to place where we were. There's a creek that fed in the Oneeri River, and I was certain this was it. It was infamous for claiming the lives of fishermen and anyone else that wanted to venture into those waters. I, for one, swam like an anchor, so I was not planning on going anywhere near it.

We followed behind them as soft-footed as a married man coming home after a night of whoring. After getting as close as we dared, we watched the group as they entered a small settlement of shacks and trailers. The group we followed brought the two victims and placed them on a large slab of stone near the stream. An old man shambled out to greet and inspect them like they were cattle. There wasn't a lot of light, mostly just gas lamps and a couple of fires, but we could see well enough. The old man from the nursing home was speaking incoherently, and the other one was still unconscious. Steve said something to me, but I remembered what that security guard said. Giants came from the water.

The people clicked loudly, and more of them came out from their trailers and shacks. all given off the same sound. It reminded me of this broad I was dating. She was a reader, and as she read, if the scene was tense, she'd tap her acrylic nails on her teeth. It was a cacophony of nails on teeth, and I was having a misophonic reaction more than anything else I ever experienced.

Then, a hand grabbed me, and I turned, ready to scold Steve. But it wasn't him. A man in overall stood over me, carrying a short-barreled shotgun and gestured for me to get up. Steve was in a similar situation, but his yokel had a rusted revolver. He pressed the gun into my chest and said through a mouthful of legs to go. We both moved and my back bunched up knowing that any second some inbred hillbilly could

put a hole through me. We entered the dim sallow oil lamp light and the people turned to us. Each one of them had these spidery legs sticking out from between the their lips. Some even opened their jaws wide and the creature inside poked out like a lollin' dog's tongue. I didn't realize I froze until I felt the barrel in my back again. They were ugly enough to derail a train, and I sat there staring at them, shaking like a dog-shitting razor blades. They guided us to the water, the crowd clicking in a horrible chorus. Sound vibrated, fluid in my eyes, inducing intense nausea. Steve whimpered and I said it would be

okay. They didn't even check us for weapons and we both still had our pistols. I didn't know where he kept his, but mine was in an ankle holster. The clicking yokel hit me with the butt of the gun right between my shoulder blades and I fell to my knees. They did the same to Steve. We stared out into the water while a man who wore long robes emerged from a ratty trailer. At first, I thought it might be some kind of revenant or vampire since his skin was ghostly white and his frame skeletal. There's something strange about his face, but the low light made it hard to lock in on exactly what was different.

The clicking intensified, becoming unbearable before suddenly going silent. I thought I'd gone deaf, either from the noise itself or because one of those creatures crawled up my back, inserting its insectile legs, to puncture my ears. Only I could hear the water gurgling in front of us. Something sloshed in the black water as dark shapes moved, working their way to the shore. The robed man, a priest, I assumed, chanted.

The others joined, and I waited for a moment to tell Steve to jump into action. Only my gaze remained on the stone with the two men. The priest grabbed the old man by the wall, white wisps of hair, produced a small knife and cut the man's neck. Blood spilled all over the stone, but ran in intricate patterns that were imperceptibly carved into the slab. The red traveled into intricate whirls until it dripped into the water. Steve began rocking and repeated,

No, God, no, please, no, over and over. It's funny how horror can turn a man religious. Then the water stirred. and the clicks grew loud again. I watched as a giant emerged from the water to grab the old man's body. Its frame was massive, like it could fuck up an anvil in a hayfield,

only it was obviously not human. Its eyes were on the side of its head, webbed skin between its talent fingers and toes, while also having a strange textured skin, like scales. It grabbed the old man and dragged them into the water. Another of the creatures walked past the homeless man silhouetted by the moon. It walked towards Steve and I knew I had to do something. It got closer and the clicks flowed into a horrid rhythm.

The man with the shotgun behind me was clicking along with a cacophony, his gun by his side. I pulled the pistol from its holder and it was in my hand now, heavy with possibilities. And I didn't know what to do. Shoot the monster, shoot the priest, or shoot the man behind with a shotgun. It was paralysis by analysis. The people who had a hold of Steve brought him forward into the center of the group. It grabbed Steve's head as he thrashed and kicked at the monster, but he was stuck in its iron grip.

The monster held his face for a long moment while the priest walked over and opened his mouth wider than any human should go. I heard his jaw pop and go slack as the isopod in his mouth extended out. The crustacean was larger than the others, and in its legs it carried a small pale white ball. It dropped it into the creature's palm. With his clawed, webbed fingers, it held the white ball up inspecting it,

while Steve, still in its clutches, stared in horror. In that moment, I remembered I had my gun, and I stood up, raised my pistol. The man behind me clicked loudly, but I ignored him and fired as the now squirming white ball was being placed in Steve's mouth. I fired. The noise was like thunder and the flash like lightning.

The creature jerked, but I swiveled towards the shotgun man and shot him in the face before he could raise the weapon. Then I heard gunshots behind me. Steve was firing blindly at the towering creature in the crowds of people. Blood covered his face, and I wondered if it was his or the monsters. Certainly I thought a creature like that wouldn't have such human-looking blood. The group all backed away, and some dropped from injuries. all clicked and hissed at Steve. I raised my pistol and tried to figure out what to shoot first. Listen, I was no Marine, no cop, or anything like that. I grew up around guns, though, and did some of

those courses where you run around and shoot at targets? That made me an excellent shot, but shooting under this kind of stress is something else entirely. I wasn't just scared I was going to be shot. I was scared it was going to be torn apart and eaten. People make fun of folks in horror movies for making poor decisions or even in real life when people just watch someone get murdered in front of them frozen in fear is a real thing and i felt it as that creature walked towards steve as a gun clicked empty he had another magazine i gave him but instead of reloading he threw the pistol and it bounced off the thing's giant frame my hands were shaking but i took a breath and squeezed off around at that monster the bullet struck true and hit it in the eye

It seemed to hesitate for a moment as if, gauging whether or not this wound was enough to kill it. I held my breath wondering the same before it finally collapsed, and all the clicking people turned towards me. I shouted, Run! And shot at a few of the closest men. Steve ran towards me as the clicking people were reluctantly coming closer.

One raised his rusty revolver to shoot, but put my last bullet in his chest, and we both turned and ran. At that moment, so did they. I swapped out my empty magazine for a full one and kept going, weaved in between the massive old-growth trees. I heard something emerged dripping from the water to my right, and I knew we had to get away from it. There was no going back the way we came.

We kept moving, seeming to run faster than those bug-mouth bastards. When there were no more flashlights behind us, and I slowed down. Panting, trying to catch my breath, I tried to scope out a path to continue. The dark between the trees would have been completely impossible to navigate if it wasn't for the light of the full moon. At that moment, for the first time that night, I noticed the fireflies. Thousands of them blinked all around, and if I wasn't absolutely terrified, I would have found it beautiful. I asked Steve if he was okay, and he gave a thumbs up while trying to catch his breath. Blood dripped from his mouth, and I figured he bit off his tongue, or is it?

injury from our escape. I admired the green natural light and till a dark shape moved through it. Obscuring, twinkling firefly light, like a tree blocking the stars. By panic and looking around me, I'm ashamed to say I came up with the brilliant idea of hiding behind a large tree. About as clever as a brain-dead cow, I know. Only this tree we darted behind's interior had rotted and the entire inside was gone. There's plenty of room for both of us, and we squeezed in.

The creature smashed through the branches, bounding through the woods. I prayed to whatever God that listened that this creature out there wouldn't find us. I had to be ready, though, because I was never a favorite of any God. Placing one hand over Steve's panting mouth, I listened carefully. It had to know we were hiding, before it was charging through the woods, making all kinds of noise, The moment we went quiet, it did too. I heard the snap of a twig and the rustle of leaves and didn't know if it was the thing following us

or some harmless animal. The snuffling that followed told me it was not the latter because it came with the smell of rotting fish and blood. I raised the pistol and Steve whimpered under my clasped palm. Blood from his mouth leaked between my fingers and dripped down my arm. The snuffling and soft steps stopped. in response to the noise.

I waited, knowing it was coming, just not knowing when. I could still see the glow of the fireflies outside the trees hollow and waited for something to occlude them. The smell of rotting fish grew stronger, and the dark shape of the creature blocked the light. I waited till it was close enough that I could see the moonlight reflect off its crocodilian teeth. It stuck its head in close. I held my breath and squeezed the trigger slowly and then felt the gun buck in my hand.

Inside the close space, the sound was thunderous and left my ears ringing, and the flash of light left me blind. Steve screamed and I turned on my flashlight. The scaled monstrosity was twitching on the ground just outside the tree. I didn't take the time to inspect it, and I grabbed Steve's arm and pulled him along. The ringing in my ears made it impossible to know. know if something was coming behind me. I kept turning, but in the dark, it was impossible to tell. We ran until we couldn't, and then we walked till dawn bled onto the horizon. My ears were no longer ringing, and thankfully the forest was silent.

No rampaging monsters, no clicking hillbillies, but I also did not know where we were. I pulled out my phone and checked for a signal. Nothing. Phone was about as useless as tits on a bore. We walked with the sun at our back using our shadows as a guide. After what felt like an eternity, but it was most likely just an hour or two, I checked my phone and had enough service to get a GPS signal. We had another few miles on the road and then even more to get back to where we parked, unless

I called the police. That was probably the best thing to do, actually, considering everything that happened, everything that we saw. I told Steve we'd call when we got to the road, and I pointed us in the direction that the GPS said was a road and walked. Steve was quiet, which was unlike him, but I figured it was the shock of the situation. Not everyone could handle the type of stress we just did,

and maybe it broke him. Perhaps he was still processing. I was wrong. Steve began coughing up blood and collapsed to his knees. Worried, I kneeled down next to him And tried to recall any injuries It might have caused this It really could have been anything

But then something fell out of his mouth A pink bit of flesh Landed with a wet plop Among the blood-soaked leaves Resting on the model brown And viscous red Was his tongue He turned his head to me

And with a scared look in his eyes Before they turned glassy and distant He thrashed at me But I was a fair bit bit bigger, I knew a thing or two about wrestling. Forced him on his back with my knees on both arms. I took out my K-bar knife and forced it between his teeth. A few broke and I used the leverage to pry it open.

The thing inside tested the cold metal with its spidery legs. I twisted the knife, forcing his jaw open wider. The isopod had chewed his tongue off and I could see some of its rear limbs had pinched into his flesh. I checked my pocket for my multi-tool, hoping it hadn't fallen out from the crazy time we had. I felt its cold weight, pulled it out, and flipped it open to reveal the pliers, and put it in his mouth and gripped the carapace of the creature in his mouth. It screeched as I pulled, and Steve screamed in pain his legs thrashing against the ground behind me. The thing wasn't budging, and I looked further into his mouth.

The exposed bone of his spinal cord shone white against the bloody flesh, and those thin legs were between the vertebrae. I cursed to myself and pulled harder. Steve thrashed uncontrollably until one of his boots pounced off the back of my head. I was stars in my eyes. I rolled over on my back. Steve loomed over me, the creature clicking in his mouth.

I could move, scream, fight, do anything, but I didn't have it in me. Then it peaked its little alien head from between his bleeding lips. and I brought the gun up and fired in one quick motion. Steve's head exploded, and the isopod blew apart with it. I lay in my back there for a while, with Steve's corpse twitching a few feet away. I knew I had to plan my next move right.

Another missing person with me as the last witness seemed awfully suspicious, and I knew it. Without corroborating eyewitness testimony, it's my word against an established cultish presence in the community. I weighed my options and walked home without calling the police. There was no way I could find my way back to the monstrous corpse. I had no evidence. I knew I was going to be found out and I was going to be put away for murder. Only when I returned to town, things had gotten far worse. Next up, Viking home past midnight, a man encounters a grotesque voice-stealing creature.

Soon the woods fall silent, but the laughter follows. Written by Thomas Fulsk and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer, creepy presents. It came from the inner woods. Aaron Patrice wasn't a bad guy or anything. He just did dumb shit sometimes, like two months ago, when he got drunk and tried to drive to White Castle at one o'clock in the morning. Fortunately, he was able to get and eat his food. Unfortunately, he drove over the curb as he left the restaurant and was immediately spotted, followed, and pulled over by a board police officer who gave him a sobriety test, which Aaron promptly failed. then administered a breathalyzer, which he also utterly failed.

Or you maybe think he succeeded depending on how you look at it, being as he was three times over the legal limit, and the highest blood alcohol content the officer had seen all year. Aaron was booked, processed, and sent to detox, whereupon he was finally released 24 hours later, into the custody of his roommate. A middle-aged lady whom he had known since childhood, who had found herself in desperate need of a roommate several months ago, at approximately the same time. Aaron had been evicted from his apartment and found himself in desperate need of a residence.

Aaron, not having a great job to begin with, now had to save up enough money to get his license reinstated. Thus that meant biking to work most days of Anne, his roommate, wasn't going into town. Or if he didn't want to pay for gas for her to go to his work and back again twice, which was about six miles from where he and Anne lived. Unfortunately, however, Anne and Aaron were both night owls. And thus, Aaron's job usually started at three and went to 11.

And the gas station he worked at closed for the night. It was Halloween night of all nights. A nice night compared to other years. When Aaron actually hadn't minded riding his bike to work, and was looking forward to riding it back home that night. His job was right next to the freeway, but his house was tucked back up along a lonely country road, predominantly bordered by woods and fields.

Aaron didn't consider himself fearless or a badass or anything like that. He would openly admit that the ride back home in nearly midnight was always terrifying. But there was something about being immersed in the wilderness and the night. That was also almost comforting, despite the terror of it all. Besides, the worst he had ever seen on his trips were deer raccoons and the occasional skunk. At one time he saw a fox, so nothing at all dangerous or alarming. Not to mention there was something empowering about facing your fears four or five nights a week that seemed to satisfy Aaron in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on.

It was during one of these near midnight bike johns that Aaron finally did see something other than the usual menagerie of midnight woodland creatures. And when he did, he very much with. He hadn't. The register had been off at work, so he had to stay later to figure that out. It had been kind of a shit show of a day anyway. It was nice weather and it was Halloween. The customers, mostly people Aaron considered to be one step away from playing and overall wearing jug bands,

were basically non-stop. By the time Aaron, who had been alone for the last two hours of a shift, finally got the drawer figured out in the store looking presentable for the morning shift. It was already 11.30. After finishing the rest of the closing details, Aaron had two cigarettes after locking up. One because of how stressful a day it had been, and one because he didn't like to smoke and bike. Nor did he really want to stop on his way. When he stopped, everything in the woods seemed to amplify, and the feeling made him

feel small and scared, as if he were just another creature of the forest, whose fate rested on the indifferent whims of Mother Nature. It was almost midnight by the time Aaron had peddled out of the gas station parking lot, and after midnight, when he started down the lonely country road that made up the majority of his journey. The first part of his bike ride went as smoothly as any other ride. But about halfway home, during one of the most heavily wooded portions of his trip, Aaron had to screech his bike to a stop. He thought he heard something, something that sounded human. A sound that might have been a woman's cry for help. Aaron froze perfectly still. Though his heart was racing faster than he could ever remember, he looked around him in every direction, wide-eyed.

and both terrified but also a little elated. Aaron had always fancied himself a hero, a savior, just like the characters in the video games he played. But in real life, the chance to be a hero presented itself very rarely, if ever at all. After a minute or two, Aaron didn't hear anything else. He was about to start up again on his bike,

assuming his mind might have played a trick on him when he realized something else something very unsettling that he hadn't ever experienced before he hadn't realized it right away because of his pounding heart but now he had stood immobile for so long he could hear it clearly the sound of nothing That most terrifying sound you can hear when you were surrounded by woods that are supposed to be constantly active and thriving with life and noises. He was immediately unnerved and contemplated calling Annie, knowing she was probably still awake, and having her come get him right there. He was actually in the process of pulling his phone out of his pocket when, once again, He heard a woman's voice. Only now it sounded much closer.

Hello. Is someone there? I'm scared. The voice said, only there was something off about it. Like it was coming from two different people intermittently speaking the same sentence. Somehow continuing perfectly, one after the other, and standing in the exact same spot. There was also something I'm settling about the voices as well. Like, they weren't quite right, almost as though they were imitations of voices.

Aaron froze, entirely uncertain of what to do next, but also suddenly disturbed and inherently frightened on some animal level that he had never experienced before. He began to shiver all over and he knew. knew you had to act. Now, is someone there? I need help. Please hurry. The voices spoke again.

Closer now. Speaking words seemed to lack any emotion. Like the speakers didn't fully understand the language of the words it was speaking. Run or hide. Run or hide. Run or hide. These words flash rapidly across Aaron's moments. line, but what it came down to was that if he ran, he wouldn't be able to see what was

behind him. And the thought of that utterly terrified him. Without any other options, Aaron quickly picked up his bike, attempting to be as quiet as possible and disappearing into the woods, into the densest thicket of foliage he could find, whereupon he crouched down, hiding himself in the leaves and shadow, and watched, feeling mosquitoes and horseflies and land on and bite him, too scared, to even move. Who's out there? A third voice said in fear, followed by one of the previous voices. Go away. I have a gun. There was some rustling in the trees about 50 feet to Aaron's right. before he began to hear what sounded like deer's hooves plodding slowly across the asphalt.

He was shaking all over. The hair on the back of his neck was standing straight up. His spine and hips hurt from the tension of fear. And his ass was clenched painfully tight as the thing that walked like a deer, move slowly closer to his hiding spot. For once again, beginning to start. speak. Mommy, I'm scared. Is that a monster? A child's voice asked from whatever was theirs throat. Aaron felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to barf. Hell, he wanted to faint. He had never been so

scared in his life. Then the speaker of the voices then came into sight. And every notion Aaron had about fear was instantly rewritten as he pissed himself and tried not to go instantly insane. There, in the middle of the road, illuminated by only stars and moonlight, was a deer. Only it was larger than a normal deer, and it was walking on its hind legs. Who's there? Please help me. Somebody please! Oh, God, please, the deer spoke through several voices. As Aaron crouched, too terrified to move, he began to notice the clopping of the deer's huss slowly change to a soft pattering, almost like that of a paw or a foot.

As he watched stunned and in absolute horror, the abhorrent thing that was no deer lurched forward. dropping down to all fours. Only it wasn't all fours. As what looked like appendages of a wolf, as well as the limbs of a human, seemed to sprout and grow from the creature's midsection, or in one case it's hip. The creature continued to change to metamorphose from a deer, but it didn't seem sure if it wanted to take the shape of a human or a wolf. It was in a state that reflected attributes of all three creatures, which taken individually were normal, natural.

But in this state, it looked more like gargantuan. Flesh and fur-covered insect than it did anything mammalian, with the deer antlers replacing the antennae. Its blasphemous physique continued to change progressively as it walked, releasing a number. nauseating, squelching sound, with every new or altered portion of its anatomy. Aaron almost threw up as the deer head, which he now saw had human eyes in its skull that stared wildly around, that he somehow knew and felt deep down were looking for him to change into a human face, partially. Breaking bones, tearing skin, and ripping muscle in an unnatural cacophony that looked incredibly painful.

Then, as if the thing was unclear about what it wanted to become. The head of a wolf or a bear, which was impossible to tell him this light, began to sprout. Musil first, from the creature's neck and clavicle. without knowing it, involuntarily began to hold his breath. I see you. I see you there. The creature yelled. Foe frightened in a man's voice, as it turned in the direction of the foliage in which Aaron was hiding. It took everything in Aaron's power not to scream. Then he had to suppress the urge even further when the creature, who now looked like something from the combined mind of John Carpenter and John W. Campbell,

turned its whole body toward where he was hidden. Come out where I can see you. One woman's voice emerged from the creature's throat, followed by a young girl's determined admonition. I'm not afraid. Aaron was literally scared stiff. His body was a statue, except that it trembled madly.

Then the thing in the middle of the road did something that caused him to let out a small, shrill whimper. The horror before him began to scream piercingly into the night, switching voices and alternating between cries of pain and yells of fear. Luckily, it was so loud, Aaron's whimper went unnoticed. Or at least he thought it did. The creature stopped moving immediately, staring with both heads in all three faces in Aaron's direction. Then skittering rapidly across the road right at him, almost causing him to shriek, before stomping abruptly, right at the edge of the pavement, less than 20 feet away. The thing pointed its head up towards the sky, sniffing with five nostrils, then began to lick the wall.

the air. The wolf's tongue licked nothing. As the forked human deer tongue waggled and probed the night air in front of it, Aaron was squeezing his fingers into his palms so tightly that they were beginning to bleed, and he was close to passing out from holding his breath. But he was conscious of neither of those things. The thing stood where it was a moment longer, seeming to sense, Aaron, to know he was there. But it didn't come forward. Like, perhaps it was uncertain. It began to slowly turn around and skitter leisurely away.

Aaron watched as the creature disappeared from view before ever so slowly, beginning to release his breath. He was just starting to relax the tiniest bed. When the loud clatter of footfalls, paw pattering and hoof-clomping, all sped in his direction at the speed of a hungry predator, Aaron actually tried to scream, but he was, fortunately, so paralyzed with fear. His scream literally got caught in his throat. The creature took one more long sniff of the night air, before slowly turning around. and skittering away again. Aaron waited until the absolute last second,

far beyond when he had started to feel woozy, and his lungs had began to burn, before slowly beginning to release breath again. When he tried to take more in and again, slowly, quietly, and without gasping, that was when he felt like he was drowning, He felt like he needed air and couldn't get it. He began to notice slight squiggly movements in the corners of his vision.

Still, he paced himself, and thankfully he didn't pass out. But it was a good seven to ten minutes before he actually started to breathe normally again, though as shallowly and quietly as he could muster. Aaron waited patiently where he was, breathing and trembling, and nothing else, feeling his back go red-hot in pain, and fade to a dull throb. Feeling his legs go from uncomfortable to asleep, to painful with granny needles, to almost completely numb. It was a full half hour before Aaron garnered up enough courage to move. And when he did, everything hurt. But he forced himself slowly through the agony,

trying to be as silent as possible when he did. Once standing, Aaron began wiggling his fingers and toes, gradually awakening his body until his blood flow was normal again. When Aaron finally got the courage to move again, He left his bike and crept to the edge of the tree line and watched. At first he saw nothing. Then he saw movement. Fear momentarily overtook him before he realized that it had only been a squirrel.

He watched it for a little longer. Listening to the now-returned, natural sounds of the forest, Aaron was starting to calm down to get his heart beat and breathing and stress levels all back down to normal, when an owl suddenly hooted nearby and scared him half to death, thus adding another several minutes to him regaining his composure. Once Aaron was pretty damn sure whatever the hell he saw was no longer around, he picked up his bike and started nervously back in the same journey that he had taken dozens of times before. The journey home. Aaron biked fast.

startled by every loud noise from the forest and expecting it any minute to either see the monster pop right out in front of him on the road or to hear its many legs patter clopping on the ground behind him. Aaron rode his bike like a bat out of hell until his legs felt like jelly. His lungs burn. And he started to get a stitch in his side that made him feel like he had been stabbed. But he continued to pedal on. He was only a couple of blocks from home.

Aaron pushed himself harder than he ever had before, until he felt like he was going to throw up. And his breathing became so loud, he could hear it in his head to the point where it was starting to give him a headache. Aaron didn't care. He wasn't stopping for anything. Had Aaron maybe slowed down

and taken a breather at any point during this journey, He might not have been breathing over the normal sounds of the forest. He might have even heard when they suddenly went silent again. Aaron could see the turn in the road that would put his house in sight. He was pedaling up the last big hill before the home stretch when he finally started to run out of steam. He was almost there. He continued to pedal sluggishly up the hill, no longer able to feel his legs at all. When exhaustion made him stop at the top, with his house visible, just down the block.

That's when he heard it. Like the sound of a deer, a wolf, a man, a giant spider-like monstrosity with too many limbs, indecisive about the form it wanted to incarnate to take its next meal. Prouling at the base of the hill he had just climbed. And then coming up at him quickly. Like a nightmare, an arachnid lion chasing down a tired, defeated gazelle. Aaron didn't have the breath left to scream. So he did the only thing he could do.

He took off down the hill as fast as his bike would go. To his utter disturbance and horror, the thing that was chasing him began to laugh in the voice of a man, the woman, the child. All the voices Aaron had heard in. some he hadn't, and worse yet. Some of the laughter was the laughter of animals, which was somehow the most unnerving. Aaron whitenuckled his handlebars and peddled.

The descent of the hill was helping. His house was growing larger, his sanctuary tediously becoming a reality, as the trailing laughter grew gradually closer. Aaron was close enough. To almost touch his hand, he felt the thing behind him. He screamed once as he felt that thing fall upon. And finally, when a man's son faces horrible bullying at school, he turns to an unlikely ally, a disfigured man whose own torment he saw first hand as a young man.

But exactly what does that kind of bullying do to a person? Written by Bikram Man, creepy presents. man-pig. They called him man-pig, because of the ghastly snout-like cleft in his chin and a chronic lung disease that left him with a raspy voice that tumbled out of his mouth as grunts and squeals. Like a pig. Naturally, it wasn't exactly a term of endearment. See, Man-Pig and I were together in school, so I was a personal witness to the hell he was put through by other

kids. It wasn't strange to see flocks of mean teenagers buzzing around him, stripping away his dignity like woodpeckers with their nasty barbs. And that was when he wasn't busy getting his already unappealing face rearranged by others, all simply for being who he was. Can you imagine what that's like? To have violence heaped on you for simply existing? To be able to be. used as a stepping stone for someone looking to climb the social ladder? Things weren't better at home for him either. A mother who was addicted to meth and an abusive alcoholic father made up his family, and I'm using that term very loosely here.

It wasn't a surprise to any of us who knew him that he couldn't make much of his life at all. In fact, it was a damn near miracle that he survived decades. of abuse and turned into the kind-hearted man people eventually came to know him as. Years after the rest of us had graduated, gone to college and moved on with our lives, man-pig chose to go back to our high school to work as a janitor. He chose to shuffle through and clean the same hallways that it so tormented him. Maybe he was trying to exercise old demons. I don't know.

What I do know is that he happened to be there when my son was going through the most difficult period in his life. It was a cruel twist of irony that my son ended up facing the exact same sort of bullying that I'd been a mute spectator to back in my own youth. And that too, by the children of the very same people who had harassed manpig back in the day. Just a vicious circle of rage and hatred. I was forced to contend with the same apathetic attitudes I and myself had embraced all those years ago. Forced to rage against the same ineffective institutions that had turned a blind eye to man-pig's abuse. Day after day of running around helplessly, trying to put an end to my son's bullying, made me finally understand just how deep the rot was in our community.

Yet I couldn't do anything, but watch this story. bark go out of my son's eyes as he turned into an empty husk. A pale shadow of the bright stream of sunlight he used to be in my life. Believe me, I tried everything I could to bring the torment to an end. I approached the school authorities, his teachers, the school counselor, the principal. But to no avail, they fed me platitudes, assured me it'd stop. But it never did. I spoke to the parents of the four boys who were the worst of them all, pleaded, conjoled, threatened to call the police. But it only ended up making things worse.

My son started hiding his cuts and bruises. My efforts to help him had resulted in him pulling away from me. Manpig was like a godsend at a time like this. He lent an ear to my son when he needed a confidant the most. It was due to the fact that Man Pig had been through the same shit he was now going through, but my son found it easy to open up to him. To this day, I think those conversations were a major part of my son not taking a disastrous step. They bonded well, and my son came to look at Man Pig as an uncle-like figure,

who in turn completely broke down when my son's torment was escalated one time. I was in my office when I got the... the call that day. I remember how the coffee mug dropped from my hands and crashed on the floor, some of its scattered pieces bouncing off the tiles and landing on my shoe. I remember being in a daze as I walked out of the building, got into my car and drove to the beginning of the bike trail in the woods behind the school, now cordoned off by yellow tape. I remember shoving aside uniform police officers and wretching when I finally saw him. How broken and bloodied he looked.

How his skull had caved in at a point, I still have nightmares about my son's body lying in the dirt track out in the woods. We all knew who did it. But knowing something wasn't the same as proving it in court. And besides, those four were kids, juveniles. Even if they were to get convicted, the justice system would just spit them back out on the streets in a couple of years. No. Justice needed to be served here, and it wasn't coming from the varnished furnishings of a courtroom.

Things needed a medieval touch. Once again, it was man-pig who swooped down like an angel and saved me from doing something irreversible. If it hadn't been for him, I'd be rotting in some dark prison cell right now. He showed up at my house two days after my son was killed, crying and blubbering in his usual grunts and squeals. I'm so sorry, he weezed, his chest getting racked with sobbed and hiccups. I couldn't help him. He whistled a breath out of a block nostril.

I should have been there. Should have stopped them. I wiped tears off my eyes and let them in. We talked about my son over a bottle of liquor and through the haze of cigarette smoke quickly hatching a plan for revenge. No. Justice.

We hunted them down one by one. Under the cover of darkness, through the shadows, we moved like dead. Death incarnate, stalking our prey. Once again, I could not have done this alone. Creating alibis, picking the right tools, cutting through chain-linked fences, getting rid of blood-soaked clothes. Man Pig guided me through it all.

Even when I was quaking in fear in my car, vomit stuck in my throat, wondering whether I had it in me to do it or not. He was right there beside me. hiding my back and whispering that I could do it. For my son. For my boy, lost to the abyss far beyond his time. By the fourth one, I was pretty used to it all. The sound of the golf club hitting the back of the kids had.

How my muscles stretched with each swing. The mist of blood and brain matter swirling in the air. The eyes rolling back up into the skull. The way their knees buckled as they collapsed. under the ground. I felt nothing. Fear, sadness, elation, nothing. Just glad that it was done. Over. Little did I know that a lifetime of nightmares was just about to start. He walked into the precinct and just confessed. The reporter's voice blared through the TV. The infamous local serial killer responsible for the murder of multiple kids.

felt a lump in my throat. Manpig's grainy face was plastered on the screen. A hideous, monstrous thing. A breath escaped my lungs. He'd done it. He'd taken the fall.

One last gift for the father of the boy he cared for. He knew the cops wouldn't stop hunting. Knew that we weren't perfect criminals and that sooner or later we'd be caught. So he took it upon himself to put a second.

stop at that bleak future by sacrificing himself, or at least. And that's what I thought. Pictures of the victim started flashing on the TV. Five of them. Including my son. My head swooned, and I almost blacked out. I grabbed my car keys off the counter and ran out the door, each stride sending a knife through my heart. Slipping into the driver's seat, fumbling with the keys, with sweat, soaking my clothes,

I tried to make sense with what I'd just seen. surely there was a mistake. Surely they'd gotten it wrong or just trying to pin my son's murder on him as well to tie up loose ends with a pretty little ball. They let me meet him. A cramped cold, dimly let cell. He stood up when he saw me, walked toward the thick bars, wrapped his bony hands around them. A noise erupted from his throat, a grotesque mixture of grunts and squeals. exactly like the one he'd made when he first saw me after my son's death.

And that's what I understood what that sound actually meant. That when he met me that day, he wasn't crying. He was laughing at me. 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 Sherrillite 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.