Creepy - Amanda's Story & Monoculture

Episode Date: August 14, 2025

Amanda's Story***Written by: Jessica Valerie and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Monoculture***Written by: Theodore Snapdragon and Narrated by: Cole Burkhardt***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. Creepy presents. Amanda's story.

Written by Jessica Valerie and narrated by Danielle Hewitt. My name is Amanda Prentice. This is my confession regarding the events that led me to my disappearance. I hope you believe me. I truly wish I could take it all back. But now, it's far too late. It all began about two months ago. My brother was in town.

His name no longer matters. He had driven here from Colorado, where he was attending university and studying to become a biologist. We had always been close, spending our holidays going on trips where we would rotate our choice of destination. I was more of a city girl,

so I always picked out the popular tourist spots. One week in New York City, buying tickets to every Broadway show I could afford, another time we caught a plane to Miami where I spent most of the time there, sunning myself on the beach while he surfed and tried to chat up local women. My brother, however, was more outdoorsy and always chose to go camping, angliding, and other adventurous activities in the wilderness. This time it was once again his pick. So after he arrived and we discussed how we were going to spend our spring break,

He smiled widely and asked how I felt about Whitewater Rapids. I was a bit hesitant. But he was just so excited that I agreed. And off we went into the deep woods of Pennsylvania. He had apparently only asked if I was comfortable with the ideas of formality. Since he had already researched a place to rent a raft and had, of course, already acquired all the necessary permits. We arrived at the public campgrounds and I immediately began to regret agreeing to this. The mosquitoes were already out of hibernation and were hungry.

I slapped my arms and legs while unloading my tent and other equipment from my brother's Jeep. We set up our tents and got right back to hiking a couple miles to the river, where we would rent our raft and start his big adventure. As soon as we were out on the water, he was like a little kid again, laughing his carefree laugh and beaming ear to ear. I was too busy fighting off motion sickness to do much laughing. But I admit it was fun. We followed other campers along the river until the moment it forked.

Now, let me just tell you a little bit about my brother before I continue. He's always been there for me and I love him dearly. But once he gets an impulse, he absolutely has to follow through. So when he saw that the fork to the right looked like it led to dangerous-looking water, he began to paddle toward it. The others on the river began shouting, that we were going the wrong way, and it wasn't safe, but he ignored them. Our raft began to pick up speed, pulling forward by the current that was gaining strength

with every minute. He grinned like a madman as we hit the first rapid, and our raft bounced into the air, almost a full foot above the water. I screamed partially out of fear, but also with a tinge of shared excitement. My brother whooped from in front of me, as he was splashed upon impact, and paddled us out of the way of a large rock protruding out just a couple feet from where we whizzed by. He turned to face me for a second and gave me a big thumbs up as we gained more speed. I could tell he was having the time of his life,

but I was growing more anxious at this point, the river getting increasingly rough and we started hitting some serious bumps. I could feel my heart beginning to pound heavily against my chest, and I dropped my eyes for just a minute when I heard him shouting something back to me. I could barely hear over the roaring and splashing of the raft, but it almost sounded like look ahead.

I lifted my head just in time to see him pointing at an upcoming dip that had sharp rocks jutting out at all sides. I screamed in terror as we struck one of them, and I pitched hard to the left. All I can remember about that moment was a terrible feeling of impending doom as our raft ripped open, and we were both pulled into the icy river. I remember feeling the currant.

pull me with a power only found in nature, and my vision blurred and then faded to black as I found myself falling. The thick rubber of the raft wrapping itself and tangling around my waist, the next thing I knew, I was on my back blinking and coughing up water. I rolled over, and found dirt and leaves caked on my palms, and mud embedded in my hair. I tried to breathe but instead invoked another coughing fit. I gagged, then wretched up gallon. worth of fluid. I choked a bit more before steadily gaining my senses. I looked around and saw the shredded remains of the raft piled up a dozen yards to my right. There was no sign of my brother or anything else, but the empty bank of the river and a small pool of red all around me. I must have

been in shock, because I could feel no pain. But when I glanced down, I screamed at the sight of my ankle. The skin had been severed by the shattered bone that stuck out at a diagonal angle. My calf was also sliced neatly, straight up to my waist, and was a mottled purple from bruising. We must have gone down a waterfall, but I couldn't see one nearby. Just the river lazily drifting through thick woods. I screamed my brother's name over and over between deep sobbing breaths. Where was he? He knew. never would have left me alone, not with injuries as severe as these. I tried to calm down and think of a way to stop the blood leaking out of my leg. At this rate, I would only have minutes before

I bled out completely. I surveyed the environment and decided in desperation to use the rubber band that had once been our joyful vessel as a makeshift tourniquet. As I dragged myself slowly towards it, the pain came like a bolt of lightning. My nerves were on fire, and I screamed and gritted my teeth tightly as I dragged my body onwards, getting closer and closer. Ten more feet. Five more. My ankle screamed along with a silent song of agony. I reached the crumpled mess and collapsed onto my stomach. I cried as I reached back to take the pocket knife I carried in my cargo short pocket at all times. My hand found the cold plastic of the handle, and I winced as my body shifted, causing a sharp stinging sensation

that felt as if it would tear the rest of my foot clean off. I tugged at the rubber and felt something heavy move within it. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I thought, as I pulled the raft upwards and made a quick but clean incision. Pulling it apart, I found exactly what I expected,

but so desperately feared. My brother's lifeless body lay wrapped inside the thick torn rubber like it was a body bag. His eyes were blank and his neck was broken, leaving his head at a sideways angle that caused me to once again even vomit. I cried like a child that night. After I had closed up my exposed wounds with several strips of the raft, I laid there in misery next to my now dead sibling.

I was alone and I couldn't feel. find sleep, even in my utter exhaustion. The next morning, as the sun rose I dragged myself to the river and drank handfuls of the fresh water to cool my aching. I had screamed and cried for hours when I thought there was any hope of someone coming to our aid, and my throat was devastated. My stomach felt like it was filling with acid to compensate for the emptiness within. I dragged my way back to my brother's body and laid my head across his cold, stiff chest. I had taken him out of the rubber coffin the night before so I could bury him in the morning, but I had no strength left.

So I just laid there, tears trickling down my cheeks. Together, we waited for three more days. On the seventh day, under the hot sun he began to bloat and smell horrific. I had created a small nest by the bank, and laid there curled up like an air. animal. The hunger was growing more intense with every passing hour, no matter how much river water I drank. There were no fish, no rabbits or deer, or even wolves to put me out of my misery by making me their meal. The entire forest seemed devoid of all life, with the exception of the mosquitoes that continued to bite and add to my torture. My ankle and calf were swollen and turning bright red

with infection. I knew I was going to die there soon, but my instinct to survive was intact, and I held out hope that someone would eventually find us. I spent the next couple of days trying to dig for worms, remembering survival of shows on the Discovery Channel where men would eat them for protein. I was unsuccessful, but as my hope died, I suddenly heard a loud, wet, popping noise and was hit with a wave of the most disgusting smell I have ever experienced. I looked towards my brother's body and saw that he had burst open like a balloon. Inside him, a blanket of small white things

wiggled and twitched and cascaded out of his sides and waves. Maggots, I thought, and I felt repulsed. It was another day before my starvation drove me to do the unthinkable. I dragged my soul. away from my nest and toward him. His eyes now gone, and the hollow socket staring straight at me. I sobbed, but persisted despite the odor, propping myself up on one elbow. I closed my eyes, and I reached inside his open chest. I felt a soft, wet mess of squirming creatures in my hand,

and with one final decision, grasped them and shoved the entire, or handful in my mouth. The taste was beyond any bitterness I could describe. But I chewed and swallowed, and felt my stomach ease with the relief of the first morsel in a week. After that, I lost all sense of reservation and ate fistful after grotesque fistful of larvae. When I had eaten my fill, I made the arduous trip back to the river and gulp down the water greedily. Everything felt better suddenly. My leg even seemed to stop its steady drum of pain. And for the first time since I had woken up on that cursed embankment,

I slept soundly. For the next few days, I ate like a damned queen. After losing my disgust and accepting this fate, I ventured further into my departed brother's innards. I found other insects and worms burrowed deep inside his intestinal. track and ate them all. I thought in an odd way he would have been happy. After all, the less there was to eat him, the longer we could stay together. Time went on. I stopped counting days or caring. My wound on my leg had closed and no longer ached. And as for my shattered ankle, I had cut it off

completely at one point and eaten that as well. I remembered that meal through the fog of my brain, and it was wonderful. I had torn off my own flesh in large chunks and paired it with beetles I had dug out of his neck. The stump had closed remarkably fast, and I eventually was able to remove the improvised rubber bandages completely. I had thought about attempting to traverse the woods, but I had grown oddly fond of this new way of life. As long as he rotted, I had plenty of you to live off in the squirming, burrowing things that lived with us now. I forgot about my previous hope for rescue for weeks, and it came as an utter shock when one morning I heard a new sound, the sound of twigs snapping and feet approaching from within

the trees. I had been napping after a feast of fly larvae and beetles when it came. I looked up blinking and saw a bright orange vest making its way toward us. Hello? The voice came gruff and twinged with a gravely voice of a smoker. I'm with Park Rescue Services. We had a missing persons report come in, and Holy Mother of Christ! He shouted as he came within distance to observe our home.

As he ran toward me, I thought about letting him take me away from here. He could take me back, back to civilization, and back to my old life. But I didn't want to leave my brother all alone, even if he was barely there anymore. So as he approached, I'd just. gently picked up a fist-sized rock from the edge of the water and hit it behind my back. As he lifted me up, speaking soothing words, I used all my strength to strike him in the back of the skull. A beautiful crunching sound came along with a small splash of blood. As he fell forward, I tumbled out of his arms and began laughing.

I brought the rock down on him again and again, until his head was hollowed, and his brains exposed in the dirt. This would be a good week. I thought gleefully to myself as I rolled him over, letting his blood soak into the soil. He was much heavier than my brother. He would draw out much more of my tasty, tasty little friends. I did feel a bit of remorse. This man must have had a family of his own after all. But then again, a girl's got to eat.

Creepy Presents Monoculture written by Theodore Snapdragon and narrated by Cole Burkart. I was always unwilling to go near the fields even when I was young, when the corn was full-grown. I'd trounce around in winter and early spring when the field was brown and mostly flat, but the tall expanse of corn in summer was just weird to me. My parents were fine enough with this, especially since, my older brother got lost in there for hours once when he was small?

He was crying hard when they finally found him. Even though I never went in myself, I can't shape the memory of being trapped within the stalks. My family makes fun of me. My friends do too. I mean, why shouldn't they? It's ridiculous. Who would be afraid of corn?

It's not really really. the corn, I protest. I eat corn all the time. It's delicious. It's just how much of it there is. The huge field covering the horizon? It's a bit eerie, right? They just laugh. My brother forces a smile. I know he's afraid, too. He's felt the way it moves. He tells me late at night about getting lost in the cornfield. His descriptions are modelled. He tries over and over to describe the way it felt. Not exactly like being watched, not exactly like being followed. Not exactly like hunger. Like being consumed. Being overwhelmed by a mass of sameness that will not tolerate the dissimilar. I refuse to know in the cornfield, and these days my brother does too.

He tries to be subtle about it to make sure that people don't notice and laugh. But he tells me, late at night, after all the movies and TV we watch, it's long after our parents have gone to bed when he admits the truth. Sometimes when I was in there, brushing my hands through the stalks, I'd twitch and pull back, he says. Like how you jerk when you think a bug is on you, you know? But it wasn't a bug, not really. It's like...

He hesitates, but I watch him seriously. It's my hand. Sometimes when I brush my hands along the stringy texture of the corn, I feel my hand turned stringy too. like he falls silent and shakes his head it's dumb it's nothing sorry i shouldn't be saying this i'm going to bed i listen though i hear when my brother leaves for school he never comes back when the corn is at its height there was a forest on this land where there is now corn there are still pockets of it I visited them, camping, hiking. The dappled sunlight through the trees never fails to be beautiful.

The air is always pleasantly pooler with the moderating effect of greenery. Trees reach up as bushes, creeds, and moss spread across the ground. Rustling and chittering sing through the air. I check on the bird's nest that I find every time I rewalk the same path and watch the treats for fish-toes' d'ed. and proddads. In elementary school, they taught us that, at one time, a squirrel to go across the state from tree to tree without touching the ground, I found it amazing. These places are alive with sound and movement. Sometimes I close my eyes and feel what the land was before acres of

flat monoculture. Porn was once grown in small patches, smaller darting. bits of hard-wirt crops given personal attention. It's not profitable enough to grow corn like that anymore. It's not efficient enough to meet the bottom line. So there are rows and rows and rows. It eats the land. The cornfields are silent. They move, but not with the life of a forest.

There aren't the rustles and twitters of a vibrance of lively creatures living in balance with plant life. There's only the swaying with the wind. There are only the same plants moving together, the one organism that has consumed all the others. Things consume each other in nature, too. It can be brutal. The big eat the small and the small feast on the fall. and bodies of the big. It's part of a larger cycle, a moving web of time, seasons, and species. But there is no web of life to the corn that spans far into the horizon. There is only it,

and it will leave only death in its wake. The palm oil monocultures in Southeast Asia replace rainforest, and, when they're gone, leave death. Even when they're there, they leave death. One kind of plant can't maintain an ecosystem. There are no chittering voices or soft movement. There is only the single, silent kind of life. Dead forests, dead fields, even as they live. I looked at the cornfields, and I think of consumption and death, consumed completely, not to live.

lead to another cycle of life, but to truly end. My fear of it only grows as I age. One summer, the corn grows higher than it ever has before. It reaches and reaches, six, seven, nine, ten, twelve feet tall. The local news does a story on it. It's the summer. It's the summer. It's the summer, my parents go missing. I wait, watching the corn and listening. I'm 18 now, and they can't make me leave my house. I force myself to drive back here from school every evening through the pathway of the corn. I watch and listen desperately hoping to see some sign of them. I think I see my mother. face for a moment through the window? When I look, it's only a cornstalk, shorter than the others, about her height.

I wait for months until the end of summer. I never see any sign of them again. The night before I leave for school, I cover as much of the field as I can in gasoline, and I let it burn. I donate the burned land to a land trust that grows full. forests. I try to leave the monoculture behind. I hope it leaves me behind too. 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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