Creepy - A Sinking Feeling & Wanna Make A Deal?!

Episode Date: February 3, 2022

A Sinking Feeling***Written by: Warren Benedetto and Narrated by: Cole Burkhardt ***Content Warning: Death, Mentions of Drug Use***Wanna Make a Deal?!***Written by: Paul Caseley and Narrated by: Nate DuFort***Find our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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.

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 not simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of. violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. A sinking feeling. Written by Warren Benedido and narrated by Cole Burkart. How long before help comes? Andre asked. The two of us were sitting on a sodden mattress that was semi-submerged under the water. It wasn't exactly a life raft, but it was buoyant enough to keep us somewhat dry. Without the mattress, we'd be in the water up to our necks. With it, the water was only up to our

ribs. I glanced at Andre. Wet hair stuck to his face in thick, matted strips that looked like rotted seaweed. Beads of water clung to his spiny, rust-colored beard. The chattering of his teeth reminded me of the clicking of scrabble tiles in a velvet bag. I don't know, I replied. A few hours? They'll probably need to wait until the sun is up. But they'll come, right? I nodded. They'll come. I tried to sound more certain than I was. The ship had an emergency beacon. That much I knew. When triggered, it was supposed to send a distress signal, along with GPS coordinates and a bunch of other data that could be used to help locate the damaged vessel. If it worked, help should be on the way. If it worked.

In the meantime, we were on our own. I have no idea what hit us. We were asleep when it happened. Both of us were thrown from our bunch, sliding across the suddenly slanted floor, and crashing painfully into the opposite wall. I managed to stand and stumble over piles of fallen debris towards the cabin door. Before opening it, I paused to peer through the peephole into the hallway, and it was a good thing I did.

otherwise we'd be dead. An irregular gash, maybe 15 feet long, was gouged through the hull right outside our cabin. A torrent of water, the color of graphite foamed in through the breach, transforming the narrow hallway into rapids that roared angrily towards the front of the ship. My stomach cartwheeled when I saw it. The ship was nose down. It was taking on water at an incredible rate. That could only mean one thing.

We were sinking. The descent was rapid. At first I did hear the streams of others in my crew echoing through the ship, overlapping with the sounds of rushing water and rending metal. Some were begging for help. Others seemed to be praying. Others wailed inconsolably. Then, one by one, each of them fell silent.

Even after the streams ended, there was still some banging. metal on metal as if someone was hitting a wrench against a pipe. The pattern was unmistakable. S-O-S. Soon, that two subsided, growing weaker and weaker until it tapered off to nothing. Andre and I called for help until our voices were raw. After a while, we lapsed into silence as well. There was no use in wasting our breath.

we were too far gone. We both sat quietly on the crooked floor, each of us lost in our thoughts, and waited for the end to come. I mostly thought about my mother. She was an addict who'd go missing for days on end, taking off with whoever was supplying drugs to her at the time. She'd stumble home for a few days,

burn a cassidia or two, and a half-hearted attempt at mothering, and then disappear again. Nighttime was the worst. I had sit in the dark for hours, huddled on the filthy mattress in our tiny one-room apartment waiting for her to return. I always left the door unlocked in case she forgot to bring her keys. As I grew older, her absences grew longer. Hours turned to days.

Days turned into weeks. Eventually I started locking the door again. A few months after I last saw her, I found out she had OD'd in a hotel room in Arizona, 350 miles from home. The police found her with a needle in her arm and a baby in her belly. I was 12. I guess my mind went there because it's the last time I remember feeling so scared and alone. I had the same sense of being completely powerless.

There were no good options, no good outcomes. No matter what I might do, I was doomed. The funny thing is, I was wrong about that. I turned out all right. I moved in with my grandmother, finished high school, took some community college classes, and ultimately ended up finding a life as a ship's cook. I knew being at sea was risty.

intellectually it made sense, but I never felt like I was in real danger. There were some close calls, sure, some wicked storms that made me puke on my shoes, but I always felt like, ultimately, everything was under control, until we sank, that is. When the ship hit bottom, I was sure I was dead. The hull let out a mournful groan that sounded like a whale song. Then there was a series of bangs, one after another, like a ten-car pile-up on the freeway. Second later, the whole room turned upside down, sending Andre and I tumbling ass over elbows. It was like being in a snow globe thrown from an airplane.

Our cabin ended up almost entirely inverted, with the angle where the floor met the wall now steepled overhead. We were trapped in a triangular pot of air that was maybe five feet wide and ten feet long. From our position on the floating mattress, we only had a few inches of headroom. It was tight. Andre's voice broke me out of my thoughts. He sounded far away. Lost. Numb.

Marla had her ultrasound last Tuesday, he said absently. Oh, yeah? Boy or girl? Girl. We're going to name her Ripley. Ripley? Like from Alien? He looked up and smiled a little.

Pretty badass, right? Pretty badass, I agreed. I looked down through the murky brown water. I could dimly make out the shape of the cabin door far below us. An emergency beacon over the door frame flickered erratically, filling the space with an eerie glow that reminded me of a vintage horror film. Diffused through the filthy liquid, the light had a sickly yellow cast. It made the whole scene feel like a literal nightmare.

I shook my head bitterly. That door was supposed to have been watertight. It wasn't. It had been closed and locked. It still was, but the cabin had flooded anyway. The damage to the ship must have been. deformed the doorframe enough to compromise the seal, allowing water to rush in around the edges. Within minutes, the space filled up to our waist, then to our armpits, then to our shoulders.

And then, it stopped. I don't know why. Maybe the pressure equalized somehow. Maybe there was something about the way the air was trapped, like when you put a glass into a fish tank upside down. or maybe something wanted to keep us alive until it was ready for us. Suddenly, a hollow clunk resonated through the ship. The surface of the water rippled and sloshed, distorting my view of the door below. That sound was followed by another, one that my concussion dulled brain had trouble processing. What was that? André asked. He looked around nervously. I held up my hand to silence him, then placed my ear against the wall. The metal was cold and slimy against my face. I don't know how long we had been underwater at that point. We had no way to measure time. But for however long it was, we hadn't heard any noises outside of our own movement and the occasional groan of the ship's structure as it settled into the ocean floor. But this? This noise.

was different. Something was moving, and it was close. I listened in silence for a few seconds. Then I heard the sound again, louder this time. It was a dissonant squeal that reminded me of a garden rake dragging slowly across the pane of glass. I didn't know what was making that sound, but I wasn't taking any chances. It could be a diver, one of those underwater drones with a camera on the end. I thought maybe we were being rescued. Maybe we had been found. I wasn't wrong. We had been found, just not like we'd hoped. Hey! I shouted. The sound was explosive in the enclosed space. It was startling even to myself. I began pounding my palm against the wall. Hey, we're in here! Andre bawled up his fists and joined in the ruckus, drumming on

on the wall as hard as he could. Help! He yelled. Hey, hello, can you hear us? Hello! We kept at it for a solid minute, making as much noise as we could. And then we stopped and listened.

The water around us had grown still. I could see to the bottom again all the way down to the door. And as I looked, I felt my heart stall. My breathing stopped. and everything seemed to slow to a halt. Somehow, during the short time while Andre and I were pounding on the wall,

someone, or something, had opened the door. Where once there had been the unmistakable architecture of the door's horizontal handle and criss-crossing support straps, there was now nothing but a yawning black chasm, opening into the lightless depths below. Andre, I said quietly. The door. Andre looked at me with a quizzical expression.

What? The door, I said again, more urgently this time. It's... That's when the lights went out. I wish I could say that the bulb died. That would have been upsetting, but understandable. I mean, after all, the ship was submerged deep under the ocean. The emergency electrical system probably wasn't designed to withstand such brutal conditions.

It would have been totally reasonable for the wiring to short out or for the battery to run out of juice. But that's not what I saw. What I saw was a long, black appendage slithering in around the top edge of the doorway. It was smooth and featureless, and so black it seemed like a tear in the thicker. fabric of reality itself. Even the ink-black depths of the water beyond the door looked pale and gray in comparison. The thing snaked along the edge of the doorway, coiled around the emergency lights, plastic housing, and squeezed, crushing the fixture in its grip.

The light hadn't just failed. It had been extinguished. The resulting darkness was total. Not a single photon of light remained. It was as if I had gone completely blind. There was a loud sloshing noise, like something moving across the surface of the water. I whipped my head around trying to locate the source. It sounded like it came from the far end of the space, past André.

It was hard to tell, though. The way the sound bounced off the angled ceiling made every noise seem to be coming from everywhere at once. What was that? I whispered. I don't know, he answered. I can't see anything. You heard it, though.

Yeah, his voice was thick and heavy with fear. I did hear his throat click as he swallowed. There's something in here. My mind raced as I tried to picture what it could be. A shark? Maybe, but sharks didn't have... What... What the hell did I even see?

A tentacle? No, not really. Tenicles had suckers on the bottom. What I saw was completely smooth. It was more like a worm or an eel. It didn't move like one, though. It wasn't slithering or swimming. It was reaching. That's the impression I got. It was reaching for the light. And then it snuffed it out. It wasn't an accident or a coincidence. It was intentional. What do we do? Andre asked. His voice was coming in short, panic gasps. Just don't move. Maybe it'll go away. But, shh. I listened intently for any indication of where this thing might be.

Was it getting closer to us, closer to me? Was it under us swimming along the bottom? Or had it slipped silently along the surface, circling between us, winding and figuratively, and figure eights as it tried to decide who to attack first. I tried to reen in my panic. This thing could be harmless, just a curious fish, exploring the new artificial reef that had so rudely intruded on its habitat. The water was calm, quiet.

Nothing made a sound. The only thing breaking in the silence was Andre's labored breathing. There was no attack, no movement, no nothing. Then a voice spoke. It was smooth and pleasant. A woman's voice. Andre? It said. My eyes went wide. What the hell was that? My mind streamed. Before I did say anything, Andre answered. Marla? His voice was full of awe. Come home, Andre. We've been waiting for you. Ripley and I.

Andre had sailed a shuddering sob. I know. I know I'll be back soon, I swear. Andre, I said, my voice wavering on the edge of total breakdown. That's not Marla. Of course it wasn't. It couldn't be. We were trapped.

God knows how far under the ocean, dozens of miles out to sea. There was no way his pregnant wife could be there with us. And yet, I had heard the voice, too. It was as real as my own, as real as Andres. It even echoed off the walls of the space just a little, just like ours. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe it was some sort of auditory hallucination, a shared delusion manufactured by our oxygen-starved brains.

Or maybe it was sensory deprivation. The darkness was so complete that our minds had started to make, up sounds to fill the void in our senses. What are you? Andre said to the not Marla. How are you here? It doesn't matter, the voice replied. Come on, let's go home. I realized suddenly that I could see again.

The dark wasn't quite as absolute as it had been a moment before. A barely perceptible luminescence was pulsing in the far corner of a the room below the surface of the water. It gave off just enough light for me to see Andre silhouetted against the dim, blue glow. It wasn't just an auditory hallucination. I could see her just under the water, her pale porcelain skin, her eyes sparkling like blue topaz, her black hair rippling behind her like a sheet of silk in a bath. I could see the curves of her breast and the roundness of her belly. It was Marla.

It really was. She began to drift closer to André. He leaned down towards her, reaching for her. Marla. His tone was almost reverent. His fingers dipped into the water. Andre, I hissed. Don't!

Suddenly, Marla disappeared in a burst of brilliant, white-hot radiance. The searing light stabbed through my eyes, blinding me. At the same time, the air was filled with a terrifying screech. It was the same metal-on-glass stweil we had heard only minutes before, except now it was a thousand times louder. I reflexively covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could, Then I opened one eyelid just enough to see what happened next. I wish I hadn't.

The light was emanating from a fleshy orb attached to the end of a smooth black appendage, similar to the one that had extinguished the emergency beacon over the doorway. It protruded from the center of a gaping mouth, lined with rows of clear, crystalline fangs, pin sharp and glistening. The mouth was at the front of an undulating, boneless body midnight black and lined with a dozen eel-light tentacles. Above the mouth was a single enormous eye, the size of a volleyball. An oily black eyelids slid over it as it blinked. The light began to strobe, turning the creature's fluid movements into hellish snapshots of jerky, uneven motions.

Its tentacles elongated, then lashed out of the water with whip-light speed, seizing Andre and yanking him forward. The famous octagonal mouth flared open like the underside of an umbrella. The inside was lined with rings of barbed hooks that slanted inwards, the kind of adaptation that evolved to prevent prey from escaping as they were swallowed alive. Last thing I saw before I closed my eyes again was Ander, Andre being dragged into that horrifying maw, his body folding in half backwards, his spine snapping like a tree branch in a summer storm.

He never made a sound. I fully expected the creature to grab me after it was done with Andre, but it didn't. Not yet, anyway. As far as I can tell, it's gone. It'll be back, though, I'm sure of it. In the meantime, I sit here in the darkness alone. and stared, waiting. My eyes are open, but it doesn't matter.

It's just as dark with them open as it is when they are closed. Time passes. My thoughts return to my mother. I'm 12 again. I'm sitting on the siding mattress in her tidy one-bedroom apartment waiting for her to come home. It's after midnight. The electricity is out. The room is pitch black.

except for a faint blue glow flickering in the corner from the street light outside. I hear her voice just beyond the door, Billy, she says. I'm home. I slide off the mattress and walk across the apartment, water sloshing around me as I move. I can see her silhouetted through the screen, her black hair flowing behind her in mesmerizing waves. I unlocked the door, open it, and step out into the brilliant, blinding light. Creepy presents, Want to Make a Deal, written by Paul Casley, and narrated by Nate Dufort. I didn't even notice being taken.

I can't understand how that could happen. Was I so deep asleep that someone could just come in and snatch me? Is this all some elaborate dream? Was I drugged? Is there some strange supernatural power at play? I just don't understand how I got here, in this dark room seated in the most uncomfortable plastic chair I've ever encountered. I feel like people are around me, but no one's saying a word.

There's a thick veneer of anticipation resting on the unlit room I find myself. in. I feel a haunting prolipsis resting over others in the room and try to speak only to find that I cannot find my voice. What is going on? Suddenly the lights come up and I try

not to gasp and surprise and fear. Someone has stuffed me into a bizarre costume of some sort. Fabric made to look like wood wraps around my head and moves down my neck before broadening into a large square board below me. I see more fabric so did the board, made to look like meats, cheeses, and fruits.

I've been dressed as a charcutory board. How bizarre. I glance around me at people in similarly strange costumes, a man with a large flowing beard and a pink fairy costume, a woman as a mustache police officer, someone else as a Nordic red fish gummy candy. All the people look surprised by their situation, and more than a little alarmed. As I look around, I notice that everyone is in uncomfortable plastic chairs like mine. Straightforward from me is a stage dressed in a pute green hue, and they're what looks to be three

large-letter doors, as well as what appears to be a giant, garishly wrapped gift bag. At this point, a series of intensely hot lights come up to full intensity, and loud music starts to play happily. However, I feel nothing resembling happiness. Instead, a stark dread begins to climb inside my stomach, as I wonder with renewed fear and concerned how I found myself in this place. Soon, a booming voice interrupts my thoughts and fear. These people have been dressed up to win cash, cars, and amazing prizes. It's time for, want to make a deal!

And here's TV's big dealing, Shane Brady. The music and the lights are overpowering as a familiar-looking handsome and well-dressed man walks on stage. He's grinning broadly, almost too widely, as he comes out and greets us waving broadly. No one in the audience moves or speaks. Instead, canned applause and cheering fills a studio. I swear I have seen the game show before, but Something feels off about the presentation, and I believe that I would feel that way, even if I weren't forced to be here against my will. As I was trying to consider my own situation, Shane Grady begins to speak.

Thank you, Anthony Beretta. Hello, everyone. Welcome to the show that allows you to make deals for amazing prizes. Just avoid the zoinks. And one lucky winner will have the chance at today's big deal worth 25. million dollars. The top prize is way more than what I saw on the television show that this seemed an eerie mirror image of. I can't help to think that if the reward is so great, the risk must be as well. The first game is pretty typical as a woman dressed as a butterfly tentatively leaves her seat

when she's called on and guesses her way to a $5,000 piece of jewelry. She returned to her seat, her adrenaline starting to return to normal amounts. The look of fear when she was first chosen had been replaced with both relief and a slight amount of joy at walking away with a decent prize. I noticed that as she sat down, Anthony presses a button and she stops moving.

These chairs were obviously rigged with something, maybe an electrical current that disrupts muscle movement. The next contestant's wearing one of those inflated dinosaur costumes. Their arms flail wildly as they had to try and match popular songs with the years they were produced. They did fairly well, getting more right than wrong, had a couple thousand dollars to play with. At this point, Shane asked them if they would rather keep the money or try for what was behind Door B. It was fairly obvious that the dinosaur had forgotten they were taken against their will as they gambled a sure thing for Door B away.

Shane leads the faux dinosaur to the front of Door B, steps back, and demands that it open. Oh, look, you in a giant fly swatter! You got zoinked! he shouts out while laughing. The music changes to a jokey rendition of March of the Gladiators as the large and I might add very thick metal replica fly swatter, comes down squarely on dino contestant and swats them flat. blood and other bodily fluids seeped from under what looks to be a rebar netting. At that point, Shane turns to what I assume is the cameras and says we're going to commercial while the mess gets cleaned up. A second later, Anthony yells out for a cleanup in front of Door B.

Myself and the rest of the contestants can only watch horrified as the blood, the quite flattened remains of the dinosaur costume contestant, are dragged off stage and mopped up. It is at that point that I noticed that, unlike the real show, the host hasn't even asked the contestants their names or anything about them. I felt a wave of sadness as the nameless, faceless, and unknown captive is just wiped away like a bug smear on a windshield. Was this the fate that we all should expect?

At this point, I determined to play it safe if I'm chosen to play one of the demented games. The rest of the morning, afternoon, evening, in truth, I have lost track of time and no natural light entered the studio, continue in the same maniacal vein. A contestant's called up, made to play a game. If they win, they walk away with cash or a prize, and if they lose, the zoink is deadly. After a while, it became clear to shame that people are playing it safe. If he starts them out with $500, the contestant would keep it to avoid the chance of death. This necessitates a change in the games by our lunatic hosts. From this point forward, all contestants start with a zoink, but the zoink must be traded at least one time.

If you try to hold on to the zoink, well, you know what happens. There is still a chance you could trade for a zoink or win a zoing, but you also could win fabulous prizes. shouts. I have little doubt that a collective groan would have emanated from the captive audience had we not been electrically prohibited from movement or speech. I notice as the odor of urine and feces starts permeating the air in the room as the show continued and the abductees more regularly lose control their bladders. I wonder if any of the bodily excrement has the risk of shorting out the equipment, but I'm fairly certain that the psychotics who plan and carry out this farce have accounted for that possibility. As I'm pondering this, I heard my name called out by Anthony,

and I feel a light shock on the seat of the chair which forces me to stand up. I slowly walk over to the mark on the stage that indicates where the contestant should stand. I have to admit, feeling a bit of shock at this point, and the world is passing me in that strange, ethereal way that occurs when fear overtakes reason. I know that Shane is asking me something, and when the world around me finally refocuses, it's clear that my name and occupation is the topic at hand. Maybe he had been asking every contestant all along, but my fear caused me to miss it. I'm Jordan. I'm a personal care aide. I responded, knowing that a great deal of hesitancy is apparent in my voice. I won't lie. I'm shitting bricks.

All right. Let's hear it for Jordan, doing a very important job. Welcome to the show. Today, you are going to play the silver mine game. The game is simple. You pick the mine cart you want. As long as it has money, you move up on the money scale to possibly win $500,000. If you hit the zonk twice, which you'll see is represented as dynamite, we blow you up with the low-yield explosives wired to the spot you are currently standing in. They're designed to blow you apart, but no one else. Isn't that creative?

I shudder as Charity and Anthony move forward and strap my feet to the floor and padlocked me down. Now, in this particular game, we aren't going to start you with the Zoink, but you'll notice there are 10 or cards. You have to at least pick six before you can take the money and run. I mean, there has to be some chance of you being blowed up real good. Got it? Yeah, I don't like it, but I understand it. I'm humble. Maybe I can just go home?

Oh, no, no, no. First of all, you don't have to like it. And secondly, you can possibly go home $500,000 richer if you pick well. Let's get started. Despite the attempt, I knew that Shane wasn't going to let me go, and I suppressed an urge to start to cry as I look at the numbered ore cards in front of me. Six out of ten without two zoinks is pretty tough going, and I know it. In fact, on my third pick, when I picked my first zoink,

I thought I was going to be done soon. but somehow I manage. After the six-pick, I quit, and am far enough up the prize ladder to walk home with $50,000. No reason to get greedy. A cash prize in my life seems like a pretty amazing thing. I thank Shane,

pledged to take the money and go back to my seat after the restraints are unlocked. At that point, I find myself glued to my seat once more. In the time that follows, the formula repeats itself, A player's called up, quickly introduced, given a game to play where the odds were obviously against that person, and then they would either win or lose. If they win, they walk away with money or prizes that are far above the classic televised version of the show.

If they lose, they die in a horrible way. We watch people get crushed, boiled in oil, submerged in acid, given poison, you name it. The only thing that was consistent is that the method of death in each other. needed to be fast and easy to view. The poison, for example, is fast acting, but it also shows noticeable signs that the person has been poisoned as their face turns red and then black before they expire. Everything's obviously being recorded for someone to view at a later date. We seem to be caught up in some kind of entertainment where our lives are more than slightly disposable for the enjoyment of whoever is paying. It seems that they expect those of us who win to be so pleased with the huge prizes,

that we walk away and don't inform the authorities of our plight. Those who lose the games won't be telling tales. The premise makes me feel ill, but there's little I can do. With the current running through me, I can neither move nor speak. Suddenly, I'm snapped out of my trance. Now it's time for the mega deal, shouts Shane. The glee in his voice makes me shudder. The system seems to be very similar to the classic game show,

but there's a deadly twist. Starting with the person who wins the most cash in prizes, we have the option to try and pick between three doors to win cash and prizes worth up to $5 million. Two of the doors are worth more money than any prize we've won. One door is worth less. While we wait for the mega deal to be revealed, a tank very similar to the famous or perhaps infamous

Houdini water torture tank starts filling up with water. If we win the mega deal or the deal worth more than our prize, the water will be flushed out, and we walk away very wealthy. Otherwise, we drown. The other variation was that we are told what each of the three prizes is worth, and to be more clear, that is how it would work for me. For some of the prize winners with larger wins than me, the two lower-priced deals are less than their winnings, giving them a one-and-three chance of survive. as opposed to my two and three chance. Needless to say, the biggest winners are proficient enough at mathematics to know that their chance of survival is not in their favor, and they declined to take the chance. I don't blame them. They're already walking out with their lives and a great deal of cash and prizes.

It'd be stupid to be greedy. I do feel some concern, though, about what would happen if no one wants to go after the mega deal. To say I don't trust this game, the process or the hosts minimizes how I feel. I have little doubt that the survival of the entire group relies on someone accepting. As for that reason, that as the chance for the mega deal rolls around to me, I took the chance. I'm shackled to the bottom of the tank, and it is set up to start taking on water nearly immediately. The water trickles in at first, but as time goes on, the flow of water,

begins to increase steadily. I'm ankle-deep when I'm asked to make my choice. As Shane goes over my choices, full of theatrics for whoever would be viewing this, I study his face to see if there's any betrayal at all as to which door might be the one with the Megadil Prize. The face is smiling and yet still granted, betraying no true emotion nor any clues as to which door I should choose. I dither a bit as I try to decide. I can't give it a little. good reason like some people do as to why I choose door number two. It's just a gut feeling. The time that passes before I find out whether or not I'll survive is the longest of my life. The water is now knee-deep and seems to be picking up speed. I have little doubt that they're

trying to get the maximum excitement out of the moment, and they probably will let the water progress to at least neck-deep before flushing it out if I win. Door three is revealed first, and it is something that would have saved me, as it is worth more than the prizes I started with, but it definitely wasn't the mega deal. I ruminate about how I would have enjoyed a year-long round-the-world tour at the best hotels and restaurants in the world, but still, I'm in the running for millions of dollars. I hold my breath and hope. Shane is asking me how I'm feeling at this point, and I could only croak out, nervous, which he says is a fair response. I hold my breath as they open door one, and the want-to-make-meek-a-deal vault is revealed.

This is potentially a good sign. Through watching the actual non-deadly version of the show, I know that often the mega-deal is the last thing to be revealed. However, I also know that the vault can go either way. Again, as the water climbs past my armpits, I need to remind myself that the show is theatrics. They want whoever is watching To be on the edge of their seats with anticipation Some would be cheering for me to win Others to drown

I don't think Shane in the cast of social misfits acting as host cared one way or the other The value of the vault is about to be revealed And I hold my breath in anticipation It has to be less than $50,000 in order to survive And I breathe a sigh of relief When the vault dials in at $25,000 At this point I start to cheer

I'm about to be a millionaire. Not only were all my dreams about to come through, but I'm about to survive this terrible game. The relief coursing through me as palpable until Charity walks to the front of value carrying a cardboard sign, and I hear Shane say, But that's not all. Charity, show our contestant what else they could have won.

With that, the sign flipped, revealing $5 million. I'm lost in fear. As Shane starts talking about the prize behind my door, some bizarre patio set worth a lot of money, but nothing near the 50,000 that I had walked in with. I'm right about them increasing the flow of water as time goes on. As the water climbed quickly past my chin and mouth, I'm now mere seconds from being submerged.

I can't even give any last words, as the water makes it impossible to speak. The last words I hear before the water fully covers my ears are. From Charity Anthony and Panther, I'm Shane Grady. See you all next time right here on Wanna Make a Deal. Keep on dealing. Bye. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

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