Creepy - An Unpaved Road

Episode Date: August 31, 2020

Keep your eyes on the road***Content warning: child death***Written by NM Brown***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***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.

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graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents An Unpaved Road Written by N.M. Brown. Sometimes there's no better feeling than getting off the road and stopping somewhere to take a piss.

I've been driving for over six hours now. It's a refreshing sense of relief and normalcy. A break from the incessant parade of white lines blaring against black pavement. They must have repaved the road recently. It's smoother in silk. I pull off at a random exit and drive to the nearest gas station. Debris from human neglect. travels across the dark parking lot.

Cellophane from the top of a freshly open pack of cigarettes blows over my foot and across the threshold of the building as I open the door. Waves of stale beer and cappuccino powder invades my airways the moment it closes behind me. It's about as busy as you'd expect any place to be in the middle of a Wednesday night. I'm not sure what county I'm in now, but it doesn't matter. All these places are the same. I do my business, grab my beer, and walk up to the counter. The two customers over there when I arrived are now at the front,

shooting the shit with a creepy graveyard shift cashier. His face flushes as they lean over and press their tits against the glass, protecting the scratch tickets by the register. Hey there, the redhead coos. Can I get two packs of L&M menthol one hundreds, please? The clerk straightens after she speaks. even going as far as to make sure his shirt, collar, and name-taker straight. Buckley.

The guy's name is Buckley. Can I see your IDs, please? He asks. They look at him quizzically. I know it's dumb. But law mandates that I ask for everyone's IDs to look under the age of 40. The taller girl shrugs her shoulders and reaches into a purse for identification. handing it to him along with the other girls.

A smile peels across Buckley's face. He scans the IDs a little longer than necessary, in my opinion, before valiantly handing them back over along with the cigarettes. He begins to ask them where they're from, saying he hasn't seen them around before when I decide to intervene. Hey, Buck! Listen, kid, I know you're trying to get your dick wet here, but I got places I need to be.

I snarl through gritted teeth. All three of them look at me like it was the worst thing anyone has ever said in their entire lives. And with that, they walk out of poor Buckley's life, likely never to be seen by him again. Now it was my turn to smile. I just ruined whatever chances the loser thought he had it getting laid. My wrist shook slightly with relief as I placed the 18-pack on the counter. He didn't show me the same customer service as the two women got. But that's okay.

I'm having fun all the same. I go to hand M.I.D. before paying for the beer and he waves it off. Saying it's not necessary. What? Not going to try to memorize the address M.I.D. and make small talk? Buckley's not amused by this whatsoever. He looks from the 18. packed at the empty fountain cup in my hands suspiciously.

Yeah, yeah, all right. I mumble and walk towards the door. Have a good one, bud. Some people are just too damned uptight. Interstate I settled back into my own head, driving a semi-state autopilot. I threw my phone out the window going about 75 miles an hour or not too far from my house.

It'll be nice. It's not to worry about the barrage of calls and messages once the sunrises. After reaching the backseat and ripping open the box, I finally have my prize. Thank God for cold beer on hot nights. The click of the metal tab and that first sip give me the second wind I desperately need. I still have a long way to go before I can even think about stopping anywhere for the night. Well, day now, I guess you'd say. I need fortification.

Alright, I'll be honest with you. I'm not exactly sure where I'm headed. I just need to get the hell away from where I've been. The last traces of darkness are just starting to bleed from the sky when I decided to get off the road for a while. My eyelids are getting heavier with each passing mile. The beer I'm holding slips from my hand, landing in my lap and soaking the front of my jeans as I had a bump in the road.

Damn it! I shout at the peace sign air freshener dangling from my rear view before looking down to assess the damage. The large and unexpected jolt makes me miss the exit I wanted to take. Looking in the rear view reveals nothing but a smear or red leading off into the guardrail. Must have been a damn pothole. All I can think to do is pull out at the next one and double back. I turn left after the exit, seeing as I have no idea where I want to. go anyway. Nothing but a long, stretch, deserted road is laid out before me. There are no gas stations,

no coffee shops. Now one fast food joiner stopped light in sight. It stands a reason that if I just keep driving, I'll come across another one. The same wretched songs have whined over the radio every half hour since I left yesterday evening, adding to my already irritated and mentally exhausted state. I clutch the volume knob in my fingers as I turn it down to a dull roar. I need to get the fuck off this road. The clock reads 20 minutes later than when I got off the interstate and there's still nothing in sight. Just gnarled trees in a neglected highway. I find myself wondering what kind of trees they are when I come across a startling discovery.

It's not multiple trees. It's the same one. the same damn tree over and over again. It has to be. To be sure, I make a three-point turn on the side of the road and begin to drive the opposite way as before. Sure enough. After the same smudge line in the road, there's that damn tree. Can't be right.

How can I be driving in circles if I'm traveling in a straight line? What's more concerning is the clock on the radio now reads two hours later than it was the last time. I checked it. I'll admit in some ways it feels like I've been driving forever, but I know I haven't been on the road for two and a half hours. If I could pull over and get out my phone, I could have used GPS to see how far away from civilization I am. I guess I shouldn't complain.

I just feel so damn eerie. The sky hasn't even gotten any lighter either. And the sun should definitely have risen by now. If I hadn't had those drinks, be living panic attack right now. As it is, I'm not too far off. My mind reaches the precipice of madness. When I see in the distance, I can finally see an off-road.

It's not an interstate exit. Maybe it'll lead to someone who can tell me where one is. The road turns into a narrow dirt road after about half a mile. I have no idea where this will lead to, but I'm probably pretty sure I've just wasted my own time. Good thing I have a sickening abundance of it. It narrows the longer I drive on it, making nearly impossible to turn around. After a few more miles, I start to hear music and children's laughter from outside my window.

Only it sounds closer, almost like it's coming from the car radio. But it's on the same shitty music channel and the volume's not even turned up. I quickly scan the floorboards in my passenger seat. I've only had five beers. It's not enough to make me experience hallucinations. Further down, the dirt path reveals a brightly lit area. There are cages with animals, tents, food, even amusement-style rides. What the fuck is this?

You think that have signs or a billboard or something advertising it? How are they supposed to get any business if no one knows they're here? Also, why would something like this even be open this early in the morning anyway? My heart drops to my gut when a parking attendant's white glove knocks loudly on my window. It's hard to look him in the eyes from the driver's seat. At first all I see is a dirty clown suit with buttoned pom-poms larger than my fists. Some people are scared of snakes, others of insects. But there isn't anything on this earth more alarming to me than a clown.

The fact that it's just a grown man like me in a suit and makeup makes it all the more frightening. The attendant leans down to reveal a roll of broken brown teeth and slaps a green sticker on the silver hood of my car. Park right over there. No charge. Hang on. I interrupted, narrowly avoiding his eyes. I'm just looking for the next exit. I got turned around back there. I have no idea where I am.

I'm sure this is nice and all, but I really should be getting back on the road. He leans further into the car in response. His breath smells like rotten meat and cotton candy. I said, park over there. He sneers at me before turning around and disappearing through a cloud of fellow attendant cigarette smoke. The tone he used his borders unaggressive. threatening even. But even if the clown wasn't helpful, that doesn't mean someone inside wouldn't tell me what I needed to know.

What's the alternative, though? To go back on to that black void of pavement for God knows how long? Swirls of dust to salt my face the moment I opened the car door. This wasn't like any carnival I'd ever seen. Instead of the funnel cake and popcorn smell that usually greeted you at the entrance, The ears were placed by an acrid smell, like boiled, rotted meat. Sounds of a warped calliope and accordion sank foreboningly in the stale breeze. Carnival workers wearing what looked like butcher's aprons jeered from behind their registers.

A sign above a food cart closest to me read. Fried hearts, livers, and tongues. Something about the way the employees looked made me feel like whatever parts they were frying. definitely didn't belong to an animal. A dirty tent looms to the left of me, labeled the Tainted. I made quick work in making my way through the flaps at the entrance, if nothing else to avoid the dust and head pounding smells outside. The first platform inside reveals the silhouette of a young woman, but her frame looks

bent and broken. There are jagged edges where smooth skin should be. Maybe she was wearing a special suit. All moisture evaporates from my mouth as I try to choose between disgust and fear. A placard over the area she's in reads, The invisible girl. Invisible. I'm looking right at her.

You mean you can see her? A man's voice asks from a nearby room. Yes, of course. I reply confusedly. How convenient. You only choose what you want to see, Paul. It's wonderful you see her now. But where were you when she needed you the most?

I shake it off and walk to the next area. My mind moving slow like a dream. This booth shows a silhouette that obviously belongs to a child. The sign above her entrance is eerily blank. Her body's smoother than the young woman's, but her skull is grotesquely misshapen. She starts to sway back and forth in rhythm and flail her arms in a silent tune, like she's trying to dance but doesn't quite remember how. A gentle tug of my arm brings my attention back to the hallway.

Before me stands a girl of about 16. The main gold mess that should have been her body shows me that she definitely isn't wearing a suit. My heart races as she's silent, leads me to the back area of the tent, placard above the first booth reads. Robert Peter, the child eater, enormous in stature, with hands bigger than catcher's mitts. He wore a disgusting bib, marred to the point of stiffness with red blood and glitter flakes. Various discarded children's items and strands of blonde hair surround the floor of his cage. He storms the cage in the moment he sees me. I draw a coil and disgust involuntarily.

What? He smiles through bloody teeth. You think you're so much better? Everyone's here for a reason. He tries to lunge an arm at me through the bars, only to get caught at the wrist. Luckily for me, his arm isn't small enough to reach. Afraid that if I look back, I'd shit myself. Sally, raise her hands, is a girl sitting alone and a man.

alone in the corner of her cage with her hands jammed under her arms. Streaks of red, soak her clothes from where she holds him against herself. The sign above her door so she was born with actrodactedly lobster hands. It says she tried to surgically fix herself and failed. She approaches the boundaries of her cage with impressive speed, disturbing the pool of blood that's formed at her feet. The woman reaches her. arms towards me, revealing infected, mutated knobs of flesh.

She clutches one of my hands with both arms, staring wildly into my eyes. There's no love, hope, or joy. Only madness staring back at me from behind the reflection of my own eyes. The instant her flesh came into contact with mine that was flooded with sensation to experience another place. A shadow of a different world laid me into the inner. this over top of reality. My mother's flowered wallpaper transposed the back of her cage.

An acrid smell of burned food floods my airways as I hear my mother sobbing in the distance. The memory hits me instantly. It's the night I ran to her for help after the accident. Flashes of her begging me to turn myself and ran through my mind. Shaking my head or at least my nightmare, I look back into Sally's eyes. However, they aren't hers anymore, but my mother's. Tears of blood are streaming down her weathered faces I hear invisible officers question her about my whereabouts. Horrified, I jerk away from her and usher the little girl away.

Once we lose contact, our surroundings morphed back to normal again. The last booth is mostly empty. A few bare hub cabs and a bent steering wheel lay inside. The sign above the door is blank, but smeared with gore and bloodied strands of blonde hair. Apprehension and dread in my heart weigh me down, like I'm walking through wet sand with lead shoes. What happened to the person who's normally in here? I asked the little girl. She holds a stiffened finger to her split lips in a shh.

And gestures for her. me to move forward. She continues to lead me back towards the front of the tent, returning to the figures of shadows. The figures in the booth next to hers was now still, standing towards the edge of the curtain around her booth while gazing out at us. My blood chills the see that the sign above her isn't blank anymore. Now it holds a name, a name that I've seen in newspapers on television, along with the description of my own vehicle. And I'd imagine on a death certificate. But it's a name that belongs to a face that I see every time I close my eyes at night.

A name that makes me continue to throw back those cold beers. Hannah Martin. Hannah took her last breath under the weight of her Toyota Camry's front column nearly six months ago. She was six years old, just entering the first grade. I'd side-swiped her family's car trying to pass on a narrow road on my way home from work one night. My driver's side hit the back passenger side of their car. The little girl in the back said whipped violently before the car flipped. She either wasn't wearing a seatbelt or failed.

I was able to drive away from the scene and, well, They weren't in more than one sense, unfortunately. Again, I know what you're thinking, but I barely had anything to drink that night. As I said, I was just getting off work. Hannah rips through the curtain and stumbles towards me, whistling the tune that was playing on my radio as I hit her car through a bloody gash in her neb. Each time she rises an octave, spreads of blood and cartilage fly from her throat covering my face.

She reaches her hand out, to which the teenage girl graciously accepts. Laughter begins to resonate throughout the tent. The sound terrifies me, but seems to delight all the other occupants. The two girls before me both join sets of hands begin to skip in a circle as the laughter warps and slows the sinister temple. The lights flicker, and when they come back on again, I find myself. in a seemingly empty tent. Only it's not.

All the residents of the oddities tent are now gathered at the front entrance and beginning to advance towards me. I turn on my heel and run as fast as I can manage. The temp becomes overwhelmingly hot the further I travel into it. I continue running forward until I reach the last booth. This one sign is no longer empty. It now reads a name. The exit leads to a smaller area than what I entered from.

Similar to an open field. Rotted creatures hang from hooks as prizes at the gameboats. Horned beings shouted vile things in me using the voices of once that I love. The end of the game area reveals a line of fetid corpses is formed leading to something I can't see. I walk past the line right to the front. It's a take a swing at a car line. An all too familiar vehicle sits in the middle of the line.

A silver sedan, green sticker on the hood. A peace sign air freshener. Only now there's fresh blood smeared across the dent in my bumper that I didn't notice before. There's no reason whatsoever for a teenage kid to be wandering the interstate. What I was a deer or a bear? No way I would have missed a girl on the road. Through the spider webbing of cracks. I see empty beer cans, litter the floorboards of the passenger seat.

My broken body lies slumped over the shattered. dashboard. The king's skin gives off a crimson sheen against the glittering bits of glass. I turn on my heels and push past the walking corpses. My hands stay raised by my face like makeshift horse blind just as I rushed through the oddity stent. The laughter from earlier was now at a deafening volume, attempting me to abandon my eyes in order to protect my ears. I don't, though. A handful of painted faces sneer at me with wild eyes as I search for my car. have expecting not to find it. I pressed the key into the ignition with shaking hands.

The repetitive thought that this is mere miles away from being in my rear view permanently gives me the courage to peel back out of the now-empty parking lot. The AC is I pull away, not chancing with breath until I'm back on the small dirt road. The air is hot as it blasts in my face. The lower I turn the temperature is more unbearably warm the inside of the car gets. I turn it off, disgusted and defeated as I rolled down my front windows. A car approaches from a distance as I feel in all-consuming heat and invade my airways. They're going to have to go in reverse. I've got to get the hell out of here.

I flicker my brides and wave my hand out at the window for them to back up. That place is already out of my rearview, but I won't relax until I stop hearing its music. Just a mile more, and I'll be clear. The other car ignores my signal completely, lurching in my direction as it picks up speed. Looks like I'll be the one backing up. I shift the gear into reverse, but they hit me just the same. Our flip was disorienting. It's also fast-paced, but slow down at the same time.

My head ricochets off the steering wheel and its descent to my windshield. Stopping by my seatbelt. I regain consciousness in my car, thankfully right side up. I barely have time to check my surroundings or injuries before rotted bodies, hurl hammers at the hood and side doors in my car. And it stayed like that. Every time I try to leave, a piece of me burns away each time I try to leave the parking lot, even on foot. But if I attempt much more, I'll look just like the ended souls to bash my car. Decided to stop fighting it.

I didn't survive the drive. Neither did the teenage girl I hit. Hell's Carnival is my home now. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit you. us at creepy pod on Twitter Instagram all stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com

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