Creepy - Adrift & The Message

Episode Date: November 9, 2023

Adrift***Written by: Julia LaFond and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***The Message***Written by: Juan Cardenas and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***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. Creepy presents. A Drift.

Written by Julia LaFond. And narrated by Heather Thomas. I wished with all my might that I had never won the lottery. When I opened my eyes, salt water still lapped my waist. The sun was still beating down on me, burning, wrinkling, and blistering my now tomato-colored skin. My arms still ached from clinging on the bamboo, rules of mini-golf sign. My throat was still so raw and dry that I couldn't laugh at the desperate part of me that had convinced itself that I could change the past if I'd just manifested hard enough.

Not that any laughter could have made it past my swollen tongue and cracked lips. Nothing could change the fact that I was floating in the broad blue Pacific, rocked by gentle waves. After paddling for so long, I wanted to rest, to sleep. But if I did, I would lose my grip on my makeshift life raft, sinking down, down, down, into the cold depths. As far as deaths went, it would be a peaceful one, unless the thing that lurked in those depths found me first, which meant I couldn't let myself give up, with nothing. nothing else to do, my mind replayed everything that happened over and over, looking for anything

I could have done differently, or anything I could do to save myself. I bought a powerball ticket every Monday. I knew the odds were against me. Mom and Dad always said I'd be better off setting my money on fire. God, the one time I should have listened to them. I didn't, though because the reason I played week after week wasn't really to win. Each ticket was a promise to myself. A promise that, someday, somehow, I would have the life of glamour and luxury

plastered across the tabloids at my checkout counter. I would leave my crappy town and dead-and gas station job behind and never, ever, look back. When I won, it all came true, with thousands in the bank and millions more to come. The entire world was open to me.

I booked a cruise. I could have gone anywhere, done anything. And I picked a cruise. For all my dreams of travel, I was terrified of actually following through. I didn't speak anything but English, and I'd never even left the state, let alone the country. A cruise seemed like a good introduction. a little bite-sized adventure, surrounded by friendly tourists,

I could see everywhere from Tahiti to Fiji without having to worry about what to eat or where to sleep. And if we stopped anywhere I liked, I could come back whenever I wanted. When I first arrived at the port, it felt magical. The ship towered above me, taller than any building I'd ever seen. Gulls and pelicans circled in the clear blue sky, Their cries welcoming me aboard.

A smiling porter grabbed my shiny new suitcase, escorting me to my cabin. I shoved a handful of bills into his hand without even counting, proud not to have to worry about whether I had enough to spare. Then there were the buffets. The memories of each mouth-watering meal blurred together. Seafood risotto, fresh-steamed lobster, pan-seared tuna, caviar, coconut shrimp and pineapple skewers, fish tacos with pico de gallo.

There had been burgers and pizza as well, of course, to cater to the least adventurous guests. I, however, had tried each new delicacy with gusto, washing them down with flutes of champagne. Several flutes, the first night. My first day was wasted on the ensuing hangover. The second day was when I explored what there was to do a boy, I started with the arcade before moving on to dance classes.

Once I discovered I had no rhythm and less coordination, I tried the deck. I spent a lot of time up there, leaning against the railing, gazing at the green-blue expanse of the unbroken horizon. Occasionally I was joined by other tourists, and sometimes we chatted. And whenever I got bored, there are plenty of activities up there. shuffleboard, the water park, and mini-golf. Mini-golf. I'd enjoyed how unabashedly campy the tropical theming was, from the Easter Island heads to the final hole being a volcano you had to sacrifice your ball to.

Now, the teaky mask that grinned at me from the corner of the sign, looked less cheeky than eager. As if it were waiting for me to lose my grip, and smiling in anticipation of that thing getting me at last. I tried to turn my thoughts away once I realized where they were taking me, but it was too late, and my surroundings blurred away as I lived through it one more time. A light breeze ruffled my hair while I waited in line for the diving board.

The poor kid at the front had frozen at the top, crying. His mom urged him to climb down, but his brother's repeated cries of, Chicken, walk, walk, chicken, glued him in place.

One of the staff hurried toward him. Hopefully they would be able to get the line moving. When I looked up at the cloudless sky, I was surprised to see there wasn't a single bird circling overhead. There were always at least a few. None were perched on deck either. Not that I could see anyway. It was a big ship.

Maybe they were hiding somewhere else. The temperature dropped as a shadow passed over me. I blinked in confusion. Was it about to rain? Why hadn't I seen any clouds, or felt the wind picking up, when I looked up again. I wished I hadn't. A dark green, suckered tentacle rose from the water, towering above the ship.

Twice as tall? Three times as tall? More? I couldn't wrap my head around it. The tentacle, meanwhile, had no problem wrapping itself around the middle of the ship. Someone screamed, snapping me out of my stupor. I ran away as fast as I could, toward the back of the ship. Everyone else did, too.

Bodies pressed in around me, crushing me beneath the sense of sweat, chlorine, and sunscreen. I could barely keep my footing as the deck creaked and buckled. Others weren't so lucky. The stampede continued regardless. Everyone screamed so loud I couldn't hear myself think, until I was shoved against the back railing with nowhere else to go. The screech of metal filled the air, accompanied by splintering wood and a dull, deep roar.

I didn't realize I had been flung from the deck until I plunged into the salty water, enveloping me in silence. When I thrashed to the surface, my ears were once again assailed by screams, shouts, and cries. The tentacle uncurled, releasing two halves of the ship. They slipped into the water like a broken toy sinking in the bathtub. The ripples, it sent out, were massive waves, tossing me up and down like a rubber ducky. By the time it died down, and I could look around again. It was gone.

In its wake there was nothing left except flotsam, jutsum, and crowds of panicked tourists. Tourists like me. We rushed for the fraction of lifeboats that had either been flung away or had gotten knocked loose and risen up from the shipwreck. The sheer mass of body swamped the first one. After that, anyone who got one fought to keep it. They slapped outreached hands. hands with oars and kicked the heads of anyone who got too close. A determined few kept trying.

Most, like me, swam away, searching for something, anything else to cling to. I thought I was lucky when I found the sign. It was barely big enough for one person, so no one would try to fight me for it. I didn't realize how lucky I was until later. With the sun beating down on us, panic gave way to dull exhaustion. We sat in our boats, clung to our wreckage, and treaded water, waiting to be rescued. I was confident we would be rescued, and everyone else probably was, too. Aside from the fact that cruise ships never just disappeared, some of the survivors had salvaged phones and radios. It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for us. We just needed to survive until then. After a while I noticed the tide was carrying me further away from the others.

I didn't fight it. As long as I was close enough to see an approaching ship, I'd be all right. It was better than exhausting myself when rescue could still be hours away. But as I continued to drift, the others looked less like people and more like a dark froth on the waves. That's when I started wondering if I'd made a mistake. I was trying to decide whether to start paddling back when I noticed the water rippling around them. The tip of the tentacle shot into the air, instantly crashing down on the closest lifeboat with enough force to form a whirlpool. Distant screams echoed across the horizon as suddenly the other survivors tried to swim away,

only to be pulled under as the tentacle lashed out again and again and again. clamping my eyes shut, even as I prayed I was too small and insignificant to draw the creature's attention. I turned my back and paddled away. I didn't want to. No, didn't need to see what happened to the others. Not when I could hear at all. No matter how hard I tried, nothing could block out the cries of terror. And the dull crunch, whenever another lifeboat was destroyed.

until at last my breath came in shallow gasps, and my legs trailed uselessly behind me. As I drifted across the placid ocean, I suddenly realized that the only sound was my blood pounding through my veins. There was no one and nothing else in the water or on the horizon, no boats, no survivors, and no creature. I was truly, utterly, alone. I took a deep breath and started swimming again, using the sign like a kickboard. I had no way to know

if I was heading towards shore or away from it, but I couldn't bear to stay still. When that tanical could drag me down to the depths any second, my legs gave out again. There was nothing to do except drift, nothing to distract me from being so thirsty it hurt. If I could get a single mouthful of fresh water, I would pay every cent of my lottery winnings for it. If it meant returning to the dingy convenience store in enduring customer's smoke-ringed insult, I'd go with a smile. I would do anything to soothe my throat and wash away the taste of salt. Now the Tiki Masked smile was downright mocking.

A glimmer on the horizon roused me from my haze. It grew bigger and bigger. But I couldn't let myself get my hopes up. It must be a mirage, or maybe a hallucination. The dull whine of a motor cut through the air, rousing me from my stupor. A boat. The rescuers were finally coming. My legs might as well have been led.

I paddled forward anyway. No sound would come out of my mouth, the attempt only mingled blood with the taste of crusted salt. So I ripped off my swimsuit. suit top, waving it in the air. Its bright orange should stand out against the endless blue. The boat turned. Tears slid down my burning cheeks as it drew closer and closer. I was saved. They'd bring me ashore and I would never, ever leave dry land again. Someone on the deck waved and shouted,

We see you. Grab on! and flung a red and white life preserver. It fell right next to me. I grabbed hold with all my might, abandoning the bamboo sign. They hauled me aboard, but even with a reassuringly solid deck beneath me, I couldn't bring myself to pry my fingers loose. You're safe, a woman assured me, passing me a water bottle. I'd lived. The ocean had tried to claim me, but I'd lived. lived, it was over. I tucked the life preserver beneath my arm and staggered to the railing, shaking my fist in triumph.

My own reflection smiled back at me until ripples formed around the boat. Creepy Presents The Message, written by Juan Cardenas and narrated by Danielle Hewitt. My boss shuffled the marketing team hurriedly into the conference room. I remember thinking that morning, how I felt ill in my stomach and didn't want to come in. That's not what grown-ups get to do. Everyone was making the jerk-off motion to my boss behind his back. It was literally 4 p.m. on a Friday. But he called a general meeting of the whole team and said it could go past 6 p.m.

But that it was vital, absolutely vital, to the conference. Even Catherine, with her pregnant belly and her older kids calling her to take them to their various activities, was obligated to stay. She made a few calls and made her way in right as the presenter was starting. He was from some R&D branch. I hadn't really started taking notes at this point. My boss was beaming. He had straight up dollar signs in his eyes. My boss introduced him as Dr. Loring, and he started with a question about what we knew about quantum entanglement and the like. Nobody raised their hands. He decided to make it as simple as possible.

He told us that the company was given a contract to research possible ways to grant extreme distance communication for NASA. The technology had become so good that they were able to send messages using the odd time and space properties that occur in the realm of quantum mechanics. Or the science of teeny tiny objects. This made it possible to send messages to the edge of our solar system, but a new wrinkle appeared. The messages were arriving sooner than they were sent, which was baffling. The lab went crazy with the possibilities, and as of three days ago, the department was ready to retrofit some cell phones to take advantage of the technology. It only worked for the very recent past, and the shorter the message, the further back in time it could

go. There were no set rules. but apparently you could set the message to arrive 30 minutes ago or less, but it had to be short, a phrase, a few words, etc. It was then my boss handed each of us a phone that only had a text feature on it. Our job was to market these phones, product names, tagline, and key features to highlight. Everyone was shaking their heads in disbelief. Our manager showed us a sleek new phone and said, soon, you would be able to get this technology on our latest models.

He was so excited and kept going on about how we were going to bury Apple and Samsung. The pitches were flying hard and fast. Did you forget to ask your husband to pick up diapers at the store? Regret that late-night text. What are you doing? Well, I've already told you. We all got a message on the phone. Mine just said, Apple, banana, coconut.

The doctor smiled and winked at us. then stated that he would send us a message retroactively, and he correctly guessed each of our phrases. Okay, I thought. This is so easily bogus. But I played along. Even after I got a quick stop message from an unknown sender. I guess my boss read my face and could tell I wanted to mouth off.

I was on thin ice after our last campaign, so I relented. our boss was running down the specifications that would go with the phones, the potential licensing deals and who they were eyeing for a celebrity endorsement. The boss was thinking Flava Flav. With the big clock? Yeah, he is quite behind on the times. The team was busy huddling into different breakout groups when Catherine, hauling a stack of papers,

stood in the middle of the room and beckoned us to sign a non-disclosure agreement. We were tasked with keeping the phones safe. and we were allowed to take them home. But the NDA was very, very binding. And we were held to it, at the cost of our jobs and monetary damages. So when my husband asked what I was working on so much on a Friday night, I said I couldn't tell him anything,

not without having to kill him. And then gave him a playful gun gesture. He gave me a wink and went to bed. He found me the next morning, hunched at my desk, still scribbling, falling asleep, waking up to scribble. He nudged me. I smelled the morning breath on him. I hated it, but I loved it too. Cassandra, Cassie, casserole, he kept trying to wake me.

I was nodding in and out of existence when finally heaved me up to my bed and whispered that he was going to the store with our daughter. I slept like a log for a bit. The draw of the desk was too much. I got up and kept trying to write more and more ad, copy. My stomach growled, so I decided to fix myself a snack and went to the fridge. I made myself a peanut butter sandwich. We were out of jelly. Then my husband arrived with Priscilla. Priscilla was munching on corn chips and getting the dress I spent almost $70

on, dirty. I wiped her front clean, and as we were unloading the bags, I realized he forgot the jelly. Well, maybe next time I thought. Then a thought came to mind. If, and I mean if, I was to really sell this thing I should use it, right? I was not sure what would happen, but the excitement gave me goosebumps. Never taking my eyes off of them. I grabbed the special phone for my briefcase. I punched in my husband's number and set it to 30 minutes ago and just wrote, buy jam, then put the phone down. I didn't know what to expect. They were still right in front of me, unpacking more and laughing and talking through mouthfuls of corn chips.

I felt a little shift. Like when a plane gets in the air and your ears pop. I thought the lights dimmed, maybe even turned off, but just for a millisecond. Then there it was. On the countertop, one of the brown bags sagged like it hadn't been emptied. I looked inside. strawberry jam sweet tasty delicious suddenly materialized i quickly added it to my sandwich now that is convenient i thought why save time when you can just make time no that needed work i spent the rest of the day and even into the night working i slept poorly and woke up to continue working i got into all the applications i got into all the applications

the lives that could be saved, the way we could warn others, warn ourselves. It was like giving every person in the world a quick do-over. Imagine texting yourself warnings. Avoid all manner of unpleasant situations or circumstances with just a text message. Don't go to work. Hug Grandma. Pooch is missing. Giving everyone a head start in disasters before they become disasters. I worked this in. I was making a PowerPoint and guzzling my fifth coffee of the day when the phone buzzed. This was not cool, I thought. It just stated, stay home, as one word. I had the same hair standing on edge feeling that I had before, but it was joined with a knot in my stomach and a feeling of a cold sweat. God, the coffee wasn't helping either. Suddenly, my husband poked his head in.

I almost shrieked from the surprise. He apologized and said he didn't mean to startle me. He was taking Priscilla out to the park and wondered if I wanted to join. I thought about the message I just got. I looked at it. I looked at him. And I said, Couldn't we just stay home?

I'll make us some popcorn and we can watch a movie. He considered it. He looked at me with my pleading eyes. He then nodded. He went downstairs saying that he needed to get the mail and then let Priscilla know. I breathed the sigh of relief, shut down my computer and went to the bathroom and freshened up.

I looked like hell. The stress of this project really reflected in my baggy, bloodshot eyes. I washed my face, brush my teeth, then started to comb my hair when I heard the screech of tires and then a loud thud, followed by a series of screams. Priscilla. That's Priscilla's voice. My mouth went dry and I ran out of the bathroom, vaulted over the bed, almost twisted my ankle, and scrambled down the stairs.

Priscilla was screaming at the top of her lungs, cradling my husband's head in her arms. Only his head. There was a geyser of blood flowing in a crashed car in front of the house. It had left two long tire treadmarks across the lawn. and bits of my husband on the porch. On the lawn. The geyser of blood coming out of the stump torso on the lawn. The vehicle had been totaled, and the driver was a splat on the side of the house.

My daughter was weeping. She was broken beyond imagination. Her tears, the grief in her voice, the shattering of her home in psyche, as she cradled the lifeless head of her father. As its blank eyes, stared out at nothing. She looked to me for comfort, but I ran. I ran to my briefcase and opened it. I sent myself the message, but I couldn't even remember what it was, because all of a sudden,

I was holding my husband's hands. Both feet planted firmly on the ground, in the room. He was confused, and calmly trying to get me to explain why I was keeping him captive in the bedroom. I was panting. I heard Tyre's screech. I heard. heard the same screams. Where's Priscilla? I let go of him. We both scrambled to the stairs and nearly tumbled down the stairs. Priscilla was there. A large piece of wood beam was embedded through her chest. She was bleeding profusely, onto the shoes at the net trace of the house.

I saw the same red sports car embedded in the front of our house, with the driver in a splattered pool in the front seat. I watched as my daughter's eyes rolled into the back of her head. My husband cradled her dead body in his arms. If they had left the house, neither would be dead. If he had been there, he would have died. If he's not, then she does. I went to the briefcase again before the grief could overtake me.

I wasn't worried about what I was doing. It was absolutely vital. Both of them were sitting in front of me now alive and well, looking at me with confused searching looks. I barricaded the bedroom door with my body. The memory of their deaths was fading, but I could feel it, as if it had been me under the car. I could feel the slam of the brakes,

the car skidding out of control. The impact that took my husband's head off gave me a pain in my neck. My daughter's gaping chest wounds sucked blood and air in my own, at least metaphysically. I stared daggers at them as they prodded me to let them out. until it happened again. The screeching tires, the loud thud. But no screams.

Just the startled gasps of my family as I collapsed to the floor and they went downstairs to investigate. The insurance company gave us a hotel to stay in. The repairs on our home would be a while, and the trauma we all went through seeing the wreckage was embedded in our minds. Still, it was less than the trauma we would have encountered had I not kept them with me. That night Priscilla asked to sleep with us in the same bed. She was scared.

I held her tiny body against mine and breathed in her smell. I doaded over them as they slept. I tucked the blanket on her. I passed my hands through her hair, and I even stopped to caress my husband's balding head. I was sitting up on the couch staring at them on the king-size bed when I felt the same shift from when I first used it to get the jam. It was like the moonlight flickered, and I saw them both. Their bodies shredded with pools of blood

dripping off the bed and onto the floor. I could smell the burnt rubber and the iron stench of blood and death. My husband in pieces, the gaping wound on my daughter was there. I could touch it. I could see it happening and breathing, air passing out of her and her life flowing out of her. But only for a millisecond. Then it was gone. They were back. I couldn't sleep. I felt like I was holding on to them, wrestling them away from the universe

and my time was running out. I couldn't let them go. I guarded them. I barely even blinked. When my phone rang, it was 6 a.m. My boss was adamant that I get to work. He knew my situation, but that without fail,

I needed to go in with the phone. I could leave right after the morning meeting. He was sorry, but this was a safety concern. And if I refused, he would be forced to terminate my position. Grumbling, I packed my things, took a shower and went into the office. The staff all had tired and morose faces. Catherine was holding her stomach. She told me the baby was kicking.

I gave her a loving glance, but then got back into my sour mood. Dr. Loring was back. evidently having not slept at all either. He was red-eyed and seemed to be ready to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. We were told to return the phones and to scrap the project. That's when I got the message. Don't. I worked the case off of the phone and dropped that into the box.

That's when Dr. Loring perked up. He said that the team had been doing its due diligence on the safety of the phones. It was becoming evident that the use of the phone, phones was doing something. He really couldn't explain what, but that at present it was no safe way to roll this type of thing out. Our boss quickly interjected that all work done will be scrapped, but that it would be compensated as usual for any home office hours logged. He even threw in the rest of the day off as a bonus. We all looked at each other. Some of them organized a quick brunch get-together. I, feeling guilty about holding my phone still,

but also wary that my previous self needed to keep it. I made an excuse and started to head for home. I turned my head to see them board the bus that went downtown. I waved as the bus ambled out of view. There was a storm brewing, winds picking up violently. A whistle through the tiny crack of my open window warned me. I closed it. As I drove, the rain picked up and there was lightning.

I got a call from one of my friends. I picked it up to hear her screaming. There was an accident, he told me. Catherine is slipped. She's unresponsive. They're calling 911. Her water broke, they said. She's suddenly bleeding, blood running down her tights in a river.

Catherine's baby. I thought. I went for the phone. I thought this was why I got the don't message when I saw my phone blink with one notification. No. I hung up and drove home. The phone rang and rang, but I couldn't pick it up. The guilt was eating away at me. I went to my kitchen and started to stare at the future phone. It was sitting there as heavy as a brick. Well, maybe not literally, but it felt like it was a black hole in my kitchen.

Then my husband came in. He was a dead body walking that would blink back to his normal self. What's wrong? His severed head asked, as blood poured out of its mouth and its lifeless eyes stared blankly. My daughter came in, skipping. The blood from her gaping chest wound left a trail of blood as she hopped over and sat down on a stool. I felt the dizziness from this sight, or from something else.

They were normal again, but then dead bodies, animated and walking around. It was a rush, like the first time I used that damn phone. The lights blinked in and out and I saw my husband and daughter a thousand, a million times over like the reflection in a hall of mirrors. I felt for the phone and grabbed it. I fell to the ground with it. I don't know why it took so long to hit the ground.

I couldn't see straight. The light was blinding then all dark. I could see my hands blink in and out of existence. They were my hand. They were stumps, they were rotten corpse hands, they were old lady hands. They were everything and nothing laid atop each other. I could feel myself duplicated, then triplicated, then shuffled over the top of one another. I was like a cubist face.

My eyes and my nose. My mouth, my teeth, my ears. Floed like a river outside of me and into me. The pain was so richly, intensely satisfying. The excruciating nerves. burning joy of the entirety of existence. Experience became a singular block of nothingness than everything. I could see my husband and daughter doing the same, dying, reviving, expanding, and contracting. And then the spaghetti vacation began. Their limbs stretched out like terrible strands of dark hair

that began to swirl and evaporate. I needed to stop myself. I worked what was left of my hands and tried to send myself a message to never leave the house that last Friday, to never go in for work that day. I wrote, stop, stay home, don't, no, as four messages, realizing now that I had got those and didn't understand them, but I didn't mind. I couldn't mind. As the last bit of actual consciousness oozed out of the many variant skulls of mine, and my timeline collapsed into white nothingness. 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.

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