Creepy - Aunt Claire & Remember

Episode Date: September 10, 2026

Aunt Claire***Written by: Angela Sawyer and Narrated by: Alicia Atkins***Remember***Written by: Jay Huver and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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.

So, how's everyone doing out there in farmland and beyond? I've just been chilling here at the station, working off my post-Mnesota State Fair food hangover. As I understand it, state fairs aren't nearly as popular, basically anywhere else in the country as they are here. That makes me sad. That means there are people out there who rarely,

if ever, eat foods on a stick. For the record, Pronto Pups are superior to corn dogs. I don't take a lot of stands on hot button issues, but I will die on this hill. So I'd just been sitting here with a jumbo bottle at Tums while wrestling with Roco's Basilisk. And if you aren't familiar with that, feel free to Google it and thank me later. Because we'll all be meat in the same grinder anyway. That's R-O-K-O's Basilisk. It's been called the most terrifying thought experiment of all time, but really?

They might be right. See y'all in the grinder. Man, just thinking about meat is giving me heartburn. So let's get today's stories. First up, from writer Angela Sawyer and narrated by Alicia Atkins. Creepy Presents, Aunt Claire. The first time I met Aunt Claire was when I was 17, and she came to support us after my mother died. My father and I came home from our camping trip,

my father's attempt at a transition between our home with my mother and our new home without, to find her waiting on the front porch, a long smile on her face. She didn't pretend to help us as we moved in. She just spent the whole visit silently watching. The entire time, she kept that smile that never shifted in the slightest. But what stuck out the most to me, the thing my father always claimed he never noticed was the sickeningly sweet and somewhat foul smell that clung to her clothes. Or maybe it emitted from her flesh?

Either way, I recognized it easily from the night before. I'd snuck away from our campsite after my father had fallen asleep. I can't remember why. Maybe I heard a sound. But something had me walking through the woods until I found that bear's nest. It was a hole dug in front of a boulder that was too shallow for the bear sleeping inside. Black fur stuck out and caught in a bit of the light. It was enchanting.

I was already halfway towards it when I noticed the rest. Surrounding the boulder, and me, were half-eaten carcasses, dears, rabbits, and coyotes. I had no idea that bears even ate those. The decaying meat mingled with pale organs and stripped bones, forming a perfect circle. I gagged. I ran. And the smell from that was what poured off of Aunt Claire.

Her visit lasted for two days. I only knew her for 48 hours. But that was enough to make it so that when the police showed up looking for her three years later, I wasn't surprised. While my father paled and was shocked to hear that they'd found ten bodies disemboweled in her basement, I barely blinked. They asked me questions, trying to determine where she could have gone, but I knew nothing about her.

My father ended up being just as useless as me. The two had never been close, and despite being her brother, he barely had any memories of her. They stayed for half an hour, and then we were alone. I tried to talk to my father about it, see if I could help him through the same. the shock he was obviously experiencing, but he just told me to go to bed. I listened. And then I woke up at 3 a.m. to that awful smell. I didn't move at first.

I figured it had to be some remnant or whatever my dream was. But it settled into my nose, curled its way into my throat, and made a home there. The decay was real. The first place I checked was my father's room. He never bothered to decorate it after we moved in. That would have been my mother's job if she hadn't died. With the room being nearly empty, it didn't take long to see that nothing had happened in there,

or to see that my father wasn't inside. My steps quickened through the halls. I checked the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, every inch of the house. Each room was the same. There was that smell, but there was no sign of my father. The few things that were solely my father's, his phone and workboots, were both gone. Any call I made to him immediately went to voicemail. So I did the only thing I could.

Contact the police. It took them a week to take me seriously, and that was only after one of them suggested that investigating my father might lead them to Aunt Claire. During that week, the smell grew worse. Every day, I'd wake. up in my bed, make some food, and sit in the living room with my phone next to me. My gaze would lock onto the door, hoping for any sign that he was going to walk through. I'd sit, the smell keeping me company, until my eyes started to droop, and the decay escorted me to bed. It infected

every aspect of the house until it began to sink into me. It was a month later, when the smell started to grow faint, that I finally broke. I forced each piece of furniture out of the house and scoured them for the smell. My only reward, though, was cobwebs and some non-offensive mold. The inside of the sofa, the pillows, and the beds were all clean. So I went further. Buying a hammer wasn't hard, nor was breaking through the walls. Taking out the insulation was annoying,

and lifting up floorboards made walking around the house difficult, but I was dedicated. Even if I had to destroy the entire house, I'd find the source of that damn decay. I went through the rooms one by one, starting with the rooms that didn't matter, until the only one left was my own. Covered in dust and plaster, I sarted on the walls.

One by one, they came down. There was nothing. The insulation was clean. Then I worked on the floor. Half of the boards broke as I used the back of the hammer to force them up. But that didn't matter because finally, finally, the smell was getting stronger. I'd found the source. Surrounding the space my bed had once been were bits and pieces of carcasses.

A deer's leg rotted on the left. Rabbit skins on the right. A coyote's tail near my feet. and my father's severed head, placed under where my own would rest each night. The cut wasn't clean. The tendons jutting out of his neck were frayed, and the bone sticking out was cracked and uneven. His skin was gray.

All of the blood that would make him look alive pulled underneath him, congealing into a makeshift pillow. A part of me thought to call the police. It's what I did when I'd come home from school, to find my mother dead in her bed. But another part of me wanted to take the head and run. I held my phone and thought about the situation. How would this scene look to another person?

Who would believe that I didn't notice someone removing and then putting back the floorboards in my room? To an outside observer, it would be an open and shut case. And then whatever had actually happened would be lost alongside the other half of my father's body. I grabbed a garbage bag, a pair of gloves, and stuffed his head in with the animal limbs and guts. I took it to my car, and I drove.

The old campsite was exactly as I remembered it. Even the small fire pit we'd made three years ago was still there, the ashes resting among the stones we placed. It was the perfect spot to lay him to rest. But for some reason, I kept walking. My feet followed a path that they remembered, and I didn't. Like the campsite, the bear's nest was exactly the same. There were the same carcasses at the same level of decay surrounding the hole.

But instead of the fur I'd seen peeking out that night, there was a naked woman. She didn't look indecent. Her chest was covered in so much blood that it looked like she'd look. she was wearing a tight shirt. Her thighs were covered with a makeshift blanket, the other half of my father's body, that had deflated without any bones or organs to hold it up. Aunt Claire smiled at me. She raised her hand towards the bag I was holding. Before I could think better of it, I stepped into the circle and gave it to her. The plastic of the bag tore easily under the force of her hands. While the animal parts fell to the ground. My father's head landed on what had once been his own stomach.

It was horrifying to look at, not because of the image, but because of how unhorrified I was. I should have done something when she started to suck on the nub of the spine protruding from his neck. I should have run when she turned it towards me, and I definitely shouldn't have indulged. thinking of it now makes me want to puke. But at the time, I enjoyed it. I drank the last remnant of bone marrow before turning to the veins. With Aunt Claire holding the head, my own hands were free to pull at the meat.

I ate each bit that I could, then forced the skull out so I could break it open and get just a bit more. At some point, one of Aunt Claire's hands found their way to my head. She ran her fingers across my scalp and whispered encouragement and praise. It all felt so good. Once there was nothing left but flesh, she gently led me over to the hole and helped me lay down. She took off my shirt and then my pants, both covered and bled.

even though there hadn't been any left in my father's head, and then pulled something over me. It was warm, soft, a bear's hide. From my place in the dark, I could hear her start to walk away. The part of me that was still me wanted to throw the fur off and run. The part of me that was in control closed my eyes and purred in contentment. It made. made me doze through the rest of the night, not even letting me react when someone stumbled onto the nest, gagged, and ran away. I didn't regain control until the next morning,

after it was too late to vomit up the contents of my stomach. I was left with no choice but to navigate the woods in my underwear. It was hard. I'd have already been on high alert, but without clothes I felt more exposed. It didn't help. that retracing my steps never took me past the campsite. I was sure it would be coming up, and then that I had passed it,

but the path just took me to my car. I shook the entire ride home, as I thought about all I'd need to do. I'd have to clean up the blood, put the house back together again, and appear normal every time I left the house from now on. But most of all, I needed to have the memory stop repeating in my head. They flashed in my mind the entire car ride, up until I pulled up to the house and noticed that all of the lights were on. Had I done that? Or was there someone inside?

Did the police already know? I thought about running away, but ultimately decided against it. Jail was what I deserved. I walked to the door. Inside, I almost tripped over my father's work boots. They fell over as I balanced myself on the wall. The sound of them toppling woke up the house. Someone, multiple someone's, was running towards me.

An officer rounded the corner first. His eyes scanned over me as he turned to the walkie on his shoulder and called for an ambulance. A second officer came around and stalked towards me, an easy task to do since the floorboards were all in their proper place. It didn't make sense. I was already struggling to understand how the house was repaired when the third person came around the corner. My father stared at me for a second, then let out a cry.

He rushed past the officers to pull me into a hug. His body was warm, solid, and oh so full. He nestled his face into my shoulder, placing my lips right to the side of his neck. He sobbed and I shook, thinking about how I'd bitten down just beyond that bit of flesh, devouring the muscles underneath. Apparently, I'd been missing for four weeks. My shoes, phone, every sign that I'd ever existed had all disappeared with me.

The officers had all but given up until my father had received a text in the morning. some unknown number promising that I'd be home soon. The ambulance arrived. They found nothing wrong with me, but I still had to go to the hospital. After the doctor scanned me over, I was questioned. And I lied. I told them I didn't know anything. With the truth, they'd either send me to a mental institute,

or label the last month as some bender. While the latter probably would have been fine, the thought of being in an institute made me uneasy. I'd heard they weren't too bad anymore, but I couldn't handle the idea of not being in control. Not right now. I was surprised that Aunt Claire never came up into questioning. When I brought her up to my father, he was confused. He held my hand and asked who I meant. In his mind, he was.

She was an only child. In the end, the police closed the investigation. Without any leads and with the victim safe, there was nothing driving the search. I still don't understand what happened, but Aunt Claire has yet to come back. Walking the woods doesn't help either. The bear's nest is gone. I can't crawl back into that hole. all I'm left with is the taste of human on my tongue and the occasional whiff of decay that

tempts me more than I'd like to admit. From writer Jay Hoover and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer, Crippy Presents, Remember. June 2nd, 2026. My therapist said I should start a journal. And honestly, at this point, it doesn't sound like a terrible idea. She thinks that I've been overwhelmed with everything going on in my life. And that writing things down will help me process it all. I hope so.

I forgot Jason's name at work today. One of the managers, who I've done for at least two years now. He's a nice guy. It's not like I have anything against him. We work at a theater, and he just wanted to buy a ticket from me. I had to put his name on the order, and I totally blanked. Not even just his last name, but his first one too. I could feel my face burning red.

I just stood there, staring at the keyboard. Eventually, he muttered it. Jason. Jason. I know his name is Jason. How could I not? I work with him pretty much every day. It's not like we're best friends, but he's a good guy.

He totally covered for me last week when I mixed up my schedule and missed a shift. He just told everyone he let me have the day off. I've liked having him as a manager for the last few years. I've never done anything like that before. I mean, I've gotten high and forgotten the names of my friends, friends, who were just introduced to me. But I was totally sober this time. I just don't know.

My therapist says it was probably just a combination of anxiety and life stress. I've had a lot going on with my dad. And that kind of thing can mess with your memory. Maybe she's right. June 3rd, 2026. About a week ago, I got a text from my dad, saying that he was going to be stopping chemo and entering hospice. He's had lymphoma for years now.

And over the last couple of months, it's been progressing a lot faster. I can't say that the idea of his cancer killing him never occurred to me. But it was still a shock to find out that it actually is happening. He told me that he's made his peace with it. But I don't know if I fully believe him. How could you make peace with losing literally everything? My parents have been divorced for years. and since the split I haven't seen my dad nearly as often as I see my mom.

I love him, but I've been pretty satisfied with getting dinner with him once every few months. I never used to question our relationship, but now I feel like I'm running out of time to fix things. I want him to know that I love him before he goes. The doctor told him. He only has a couple of weeks at most. It's just weird that he's dying. On one hand, I want him to have as much time as possible. But on the other hand, I just want this to be over.

For both our sakes, it's just this constant limbo where he's here for now. But he can suddenly be gone any moment. Every time my phone rings, I wonder if this is it. It's torture. I wonder how I must feel for him. I hope when I die, it's completely sudden and unexpected. I'd rather just rip the Band-Aid off. It seems easier for everyone that way.

June 4th, 2026. I don't feel like riding today. I don't feel like doing anything. I barely been eating. It's easy to forget stuff like that. I keep reading the text from my dad. It keeps hitting me over and over again. It's almost like I forget.

Then suddenly, something will remind me. It doesn't seem like anyone else is taking this as hard as I am. June 5th, 2026. It was nice out today. The last couple of days since my dad's stopped treatment have been rough, but I'm managing. I saw him earlier today. I went over to his house to grab some paperwork, just my birth certificate and stuff. He couldn't even get out of bed.

He'd been waiting all day for my stepmom to get home and bring him a glass of water. I was kind of afraid to see him. But it was nice to be able to help, even in a small way. I wish there was more I could do. Even with how sick he is, he still seemed pretty much like himself. I wish I knew how long he has left. He doesn't seem like he only has days. But he also doesn't seem like a man who's going to make it to a hundred.

His birthday's coming up on the 12th. I hope he at least makes it until then. I'm not sure if I should get him a present or not. I don't know what he would even want at this point, other than to maybe not die. Can't exactly get him that. Maybe a comfy sweatshirt. June 6, 2026. I was a couple of hours late for work today.

I totally forgot to set my alarm. My boss Aaron was pretty understanding, but I think that's only because of what's been happening with my dad. It's always so awkward walking in late to work. You can feel everyone staring at you, and you know they're annoyed that they've been doing your job while you were at home sleeping. I couldn't even remember to bring my stupid badge. So I had to get someone to come like me in.

It was a rough day. June 7th, 26. I really need a haircut. It's getting super shaggy. And it's making me feel gross. I've had plenty of time, but I just keep forgetting to schedule it. I'll try to get it done tomorrow. June 8th, 2026.

I was late to work today. Again. I swear I need to start setting an alarm reminding me to set my alarm. The whole dying dad thing is only going to take me so far. I wish I could take a leave of absence until this is all over. But I can't afford that shit. It's not like I'd use the extra time to hang out with him. I'm too awkward for that.

I just don't know what I would talk to him about anymore. I can't exactly talk about plans for the future because he's probably not going to be there for them. I definitely don't want to talk about the fact that he's dying at cancer and I'm sure he doesn't want to either. June 9th, 26. I saw my therapist today. I told her about how I've been feeling

and she says that I'm experiencing what's called anticipatory grief. It's basically when you know, know you're going to lose someone, so you start mourning ahead of time. She said everything I'm going through is normal. The depression, the forgetfulness, feeling that my world is coming to an end. It's all just part of the process. I just need to appreciate the time I have left with my dad and stop worrying about what it'll be like when he's gone.

His birthday's in a few days. If everything goes well, I'll see him then. We're going to have a movie night if he's feeling up to it. June 11, 26. I'm feeling good today. It's hard to remember what I've even been so down about lately. It was super nice out too, so I went out for a little walk. I think the sun is good for me.

I've had a few days off of work now, so that'll be nice. I could use a break. It seems like it's getting. harder and harder to get through the workday. I just keep making stupid mistakes. Like selling people tickets to the wrong show or putting orders under the wrong person's account. Maybe having a few days off will clear my head. June 12, 26.

I haven't done anything today, except get way too high and watch Yellow Submarine for maybe the eighth time. It's kind of a comfort movie for me. My dad's a big fan of it. He's the one to introduce me to the Beatles. I've been thinking about him a lot today for some reason. I hope he's doing all right. We haven't really talked in a while. My parents split up years ago,

and ever since I've been a lot closer with my mom than my dad. He were married, though. So it's not like he's completely alone. His new wife is nice enough, but she's just not really my kind of person. I'm glad he has someone to grow old with at least. June 13th, 2026. I don't know what to say.

I got a call from my stepmom as she told me that my dad died around 5 a.m. this morning. I didn't even know he was sick. I don't understand what happened. I never got the chance to say goodbye. I haven't seen him for months. How could he be gone? Everyone says that when you die, you go to a better place. I don't know if that's true.

It feels like he's just gone forever. It feels like part of me is gone now too. June 16th, 2026. My therapist said that they think I should see a neurologist. I told her how suddenly my dad died. She seemed kind of confused. She said that the last couple of visits I talked about, how my dad was on hospice, and how I didn't think he had much time left.

I'm getting kind of worried. All I remember is talking to her about general work and life stuff. I don't know how I could forget something like that. I'm worried that it might be the weed. Everyone says that it can mess with your memory, and I've been smoking almost daily for a good few years now. I'm thinking it's time to try and quit. Maybe that'll fix whatever's wrong with me.

And I won't even need the neurologist. I just wish there was a way to unwind that doesn't involve frying my brain cells or giving me lung cancer. June 17, 26. My dad's wake was today. It was super weird. I have never understood the problem. point of open casket. I already know he's dead. They don't need to rub it in. A bunch of people came to town for it, but I didn't really know anyone, and I didn't really feel like talking to anyone anyway.

I mainly just sat and drank coffee, watched the slideshow of pictures of him. There were a few with me in it, but mainly it was a lot of people I've never seen before. I never knew he had so many friends. Outside the viewing room there was a guest book you could sign. And a little basket of those black remember bracelets. I took a bracelet and signed the book. I didn't recognize a single name other than my own. I would have thought some of my relatives would have come. But I guess everyone was too busy.

Maybe there'll be more of them at the funeral. It'll be nice to see some familiar faces. I feel like I haven't talked to a single person I know in forever. June 18th, 2026. I woke up at one in the afternoon today to about 20 missed calls from my stepmom. And even more texts. Apparently my dad's funeral was this morning and I totally missed it. I was supposed to be a pallbear.

So they had to get one of my cousins to do it. I feel like such an asshole. It was my last chance to say goodbye to my dad and I fucking blew it. All I have left of him is a stupid bracelet. I've been wearing it non-stop since I got it. I need the message, apparently. Remember, oh no, why it's so hard for me. I guess I really should see the neurologist.

June 24th, 26. For the last few days, I've been getting texts from someone named Aaron asking if I'm okay and if I'm ever coming back, whoever she is. She keeps saying that she's not mad, just worried. I guess it's nice to know someone's worrying about me, but really I'm fine. Just today, she texted me asking me to meet her in person. She says this was my last chance. I finally just texted her back that I don't know who she is.

She would please stop texting me all the time. Then I blocked her number in case she got all mad. I don't need to hear all that. June 29th, 26. I saw some kind of doctor today. She was nice. She did some scans and said everything looks good. She almost seemed confused that my brain looks normal.

Not sure why I wouldn't. She really wanted to do more tests, but I said that I don't think I need them. I feel better than I have in weeks. It was such a beautiful day today. July 1st, 2026. I've been wearing this bracelet lately. It's black. And it says remember.

I wish I knew what it was that I'm supposed to be remembering. Maybe it's a reminder to finally text my dad for once. Ever since my parents split last year, I haven't really talked to him much. I think his birthday's coming up soon. Maybe we'll see each other then. June 4th, 2026. I found this journal today. Whoever wrote it seems nice.

I hope whoever they are, that they're doing all right. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons Sherrillite licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.