Creepy - Between Ice and Stars

Episode Date: February 20, 2023

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Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents Between Ice and Stars Written By Mr. Dupin 1905, Antarctica. The hull of the ship moaned and groaned under the strain of its frozen enclave. HMS Stargazer and its crew had initially set out into the deep unknown to map uncharted territories,

but winter descended quickly upon them and they found themselves trapped between stars and ice for months. Supplies were running thin, and the captain of the ship, a tall, clean-shaven gentleman by the name of Gerald North and, had assembled groups of hunters to venture out in search of seal meat. The most recent hunting expedition had yet to return, and Northington was pacing anxiously up and down his quarters. A knock on the door. His first mate, William Ward, called him. He was a gruff man with the strong jawline,

harsh mutton chops and dark eyes, and the hard-boiled personality to match his rough looks. Sir, the hunting party's returned. John Hopkins is dead. The rest are in the bridge of the ship. The two men made their way up to the bridge, where they were greeted by the shivering and mumbling hunting party. The most resolute of the group stood up and took it upon himself

to report the happenings of the tragic excursion. We spotted a seal on the other side of the big frozen lake, the one near the ship. We tracked it down. We decided to split in order to flank it. We managed to ambush and wound the seal. But John was nowhere to be found. We searched for him across the northern coast of the lake, and we eventually found him near the opening of a cavern.

The sailor took a moment to regain his composure. It was too late. He was already stiff, clutching in his hands as damnable statue. We did the decent thing and carried him to this ship so he can rest under British sails. He's now in Dr. Edgar's office, getting an autopsy. William the first mate interjected. All right, gentlemen, my condolences. It's a much-deserved rest now.

Captain Northington motioned to the hunting party. With that, Northington and Ward made their way to Dr. Philip Edgar's office. The two men entered the infirmary, a claustrophobic, dreary old room. The dim light from a lone candle revealed neatly shelved flasks and vials and a collection of leather-bound worn books stacked upon a chairless desk in the corner of the small room. Hunched over a pull-down table was Dr. Philip Edgar, a tall, lean man with pale white skin and gray eyes. He had a solemn look on his face as he examined John Hopkins' corpse.

The body of the deceased sailor had taken a hue of an otherworldly light blue and his skin was frigid. The sailor bore the singular mark of inexorable insanity, with wide-open eyes and mouth. at the gape. His face carved into a mask of abyssal dread. Most peculiarly, the man was clutching in his hands a crude statuette. The idol was jet black and depicted some anthropomorphic creature in the fetal position. The man's fingers were frozen in place, and removing the object, risked breaking the fingers off. So, what is the verdict? The captain asked as calmly as he could muster. He died from a heart attack. Extreme shock and exertion, I imagine. No signs of ill health or struggle. The captain nodded gravely. Put him in the storage bay, and we will bury him

first thing in the morning. That night, a hazy mist of unrest fell upon the stranded ship. The creaking of the hall, the scattering footsteps, echoes of whispers and the death of one of their own loom tall over the crew. Sleep did not come easy. And when it came, it was restless and riddled with nightmares of empty skies and bottomless seas. The sunless morning found HMS Stargazer and its men in a bleak state, feet draking across the floor and paces stooped low and haggerly. The crew gathered in their dining area for a miserable breakfast of dry bread and olive paste.

Then they went on their usual business of general ship upkeep. Captain Northington watched over them as the crew pressed on, the plague of their situation weighing heavy on their sloughed shoulders. They were all his responsibility, and he had vowed to return each and every one of them safe to their homes. Last night he had come to grips with a crushing realization. This was a failing endeavor. With heavy heart, he ordered two crew members and Dr. Edgar

to go fetch the body of John Hopkins. He was to be buried with the honor and dignity this god-forsaken land allowed in a shallow grave of snow and ice. Northington and the remaining crew had gathered outside, waiting in sepricle silence to pull one of their own under. The minutes passed excruciatingly slow. The crew were throwing sideways glances at each other, growing increasingly uneasy and agitated. Then Dr. Edgar appeared above back and made his way to the gathering. With trembling feet, he moved up to his his captain, leaned in, and whispered something in a frail tone.

The rest of the crew watched as the captain's face morphed into a grimace of confusion. Show me, he ordered the doctor. The two men left the group and made their way to the storage bay, where John's body rested. The door was open, and the two men sent alongside Dr. Edgar were stood at either side of the doorframe. Sir, this is how we found it. One of them uttered, feeble and pale. The captain entered the storage bay and was greeted by the image that shook his men. The bay was in a state of disarray.

Crates were broken, sacks were cut open. Barrels were flung around the room and the floor was riddled with stray apples, potatoes, and an assortment of vegetables, fruits, and meat. Most distressingly, John's body had vanished. After a fruitless search for the body, the crew retreated below deck as nighttime rolled in. Haunted by the mystery of the missing corpse, the sailors laid sleepless on their swinging hammocks, with eyes darting around and peering into the impenetrable darkness. Dr. Edgar, in his cabin, was sitting up on his bed.

The squeaking of the ship was grinding his composure to a pulp, and every time the ship settled, his heart would jump to his throat. But worst of all was the scattering of footsteps, echoing unnaturally outside his room, as if crabs were skipping their way across the wooden floor. The doctor had his eyes fixed intently on his door, almost expecting it to fly open any moment in ghouls of the deep to storm his room. Then, the footsteps abruptly stopped, and the night went silent. Even the moaning of the ship had ceased. The stillness of the night was broken only by hushed voices. The doctor, bewildered by the strange whispers,

slowly got up and approached the door. He placed his ear upon the wood and listened carefully. Harsh voices speaking an alien and arcane tongues filled his ears. He stood there for it felt like hours, eavesdropping on the maddening serpentine chants, until the whispering stopped and their footsteps trailed off into the distance. Edgar, either by devilish curiosity or divine vigor, grabbed a lantern and opened the door.

The fierce darkness outside greeted him. The doctor stalled himself and lit his lantern, the light sending flickering shadows dancing up the walls and walked down the way he thought the figures outside his door had gone. The narrow corridors seemed to be getting narrower and narrower. and from the cabins on his left and right, Edgar heard no sounds. He felt perfectly alone in his bubble of light

until the clacking of footsteps echoed on his left. Edgar went completely still, covering his lantern as best he could with his robe. From a corner further down the main corridor, a faint light broke the darkness. At its center, Edgar spotted the cook who looked at him and sighed in relief. You heard them too?

The cook whispered. Edgar nodded. They went this way, come! The cook urged him on. The two men made their way down to bowels of the ship, which creaked hoarsely under their trembling footsteps. The light of their lanterns illuminated the dark corridors, which seemed to close in on them the further down the abyss they delved. They soldiered on, side by side.

their determination to put an end to this trumping their growing fear. When they reached the stairs leading down, they noticed a peculiar clue, snowy footsteps and puddles of water. The men looked at each other, and without uttering a word, descended further down. They were now at the storage bay, which was made up of a large corridor with small rooms, once filled to the brim with supplies on either side. A low rumbling sound reverberated from the end of the corridor, and almost imperceptible mumbling. The men looked down the bay, and they could just make out the quivering candlelight escaping one tiny room. Slowly they made their way towards it, the sound of rhythmic chanting getting louder and louder.

The door was slightly ajar, and the cook pushed it open. The duly illuminated room was a sound. scene of unfathomable horror. Five sailors were huddled in a circle, raving in unpronounceable tongues. The one at the top of the circle wore a tight leather bag over his head, while the rest sported piercings of teeth across their faces. Behind them, propped up against the wall, was the corpse of John Hopkins. His skin was stretched across his face and his hair was frozen in thick patches.

His eyes were wide open And his mouth was stuck in a toothless grin On the floor were scattered symbols drawn in blood And candles that burned with an unholy light In the middle of the ritualistic patterns Was a small black statue Of an anthropomorphic creature The same infernal statuette John Hopkins

Was found gripping in rigomortus The mad sailors had broken off the cadaver's fingers Which were strewn across the roof room to rip the idol from his grasp. At once the sailors turned towards the two intruders and hissed with rabid fervor, saliva dripping on the floor. The man in the impromptu leather mask raised his arms in the air and shouted in his forbidden language.

The other pack members jumped on the cook, scratching and biting in a primal assault, subduing him and dragging him down. A blood-curling scream escaped the cook's lungs. The doctor, in a haze, turned and ran away, shouting for help. The captain was sitting at his desk down in a glass of brandy when the shrieks broke the silence of the night. He immediately grabbed the gun sitting at his side and strode out. There, he met William Ward, his first mate. It's coming from below deck, sir!

Ward spoke, and the two men ran after the sound. Stay put, all of you! Ward shouted at the sailors, who were peeking out at the corners trying to discern what was going on. As they were reaching the stairs of the storage bay, the doctor fell on them. His eyes wide with horror. Compose yourself, lad! What's going on? Captain Northington grabbed Edgar's shoulders trying to shake him out of his days.

The doctor tried to speak, but no words came out. He could only point faintly towards a source of his terror before collapsing on the floor. The captain and his first mate stomped down the stairs, guns shining with fiery justice. Munching and crunching sounds abruptly stopped when the two men approached the candlelit room. A sailor, his clothes rugged and torn, walked out on all fours and stared at them, his eyes bright with madness, before galloping towards them with a wild screech. The captain could only stare with Malser Gabe at this monstrosity. But Ward found the courage to take a shot, which hit the sailors straight between the eyes. Then, the first made move forward, followed by the still-shell shot captain.

As they got closer, three other men walked out, licking their lips hungrily, blood and gore spilling from their mouths. Ward shot one of them in the torso and aimed for the next one. At the same time, the bulkiest of the sailors made a run for the captain and tackled him to the ground. Northington struggled with the beastly man who bit and clawed him, the stench of fresh meat emanating from his mouth. Finally, Northington broke free and hit the sailor with the butt of his pistol again and again until he was hardly recognizable.

At the same time, another shot echoed in the storage bay, and with a flash, the last sailor fell. The two men composed themselves and stared at each other with disbelief before moving to the entrance of the room from where these demons had come from. There they found the half-eaten and disemboweled corpse of John Hopkins. And behind it, the leather-mast man on his knees clutched the black statuette, reciting unearthly psalms. The man didn't react to the intrusion, and when a bullet was shot through his skull, he fell backwards in silence, his diabolical monologue reaching an abrupt ending.

The statuette fell. down hard, making a dent on the wooden floor. The two men stood on top of it in silence. The small items seemed to have a strange pull on their psyche. Their minds were filled with blurry images of Cyclopean cities and fallen stars, of shadowy figures and unearthed tombs. Then, an image rose above the others with crystal clarity, that of a frozen cave, throbbing with tantadiluvian malice. No word was exchanged, for the men knew what they had to do. They had to return the wretched statue to that abhorrent cave.

When they reached the upper deck in eerie stillness enveloped them, they took tentative steps forward when they felt movement on their side. Ward grabbed a lantern and shone it down the corridor. A group of sailors scattered away at the shining of the light. The captain and his first man were in his first man. made their way across the deck, Northington holding the statue and white-knuckle grip. All around them they could feel eyes staring at them from the darkness.

In the middle of the deck, the doctor, lantern at hand, was waiting for them, fidgeting and jumping at each and every movement and sound. Sir, the men, they've gone mad, the doctor whimpered. Come with us, lad. We're going to put an end to this foulness, the captain said sternly. The three men walked down the main corridor. The possessed sailors surrounding them from the oppressive darkness. Some were moving alongside them, bodies twitching and twisting.

Others were speaking in raspy voices, whispering on natural incantations, while others were simply leering behind a fish-eyed mask. When the group got closer to the stairs, the whole group had gathered around them. Eyes frenzied with hunger and drool dripping from their mouths. The light seemed to keep them at bay, but they were getting more and more confident with each step. Every time a sudden movement was made, the crowd would jolt and get closer. With the captain in the lead, the men pressed on. Edgar, despite the clattering of his teeth,

had managed to stay composed up until one sailor called out his mother's name with a grave growl. The doctor shivered and jumped, which caused a ruckus in the crowd, the men wailing and shivering in anticipation. A man broke from the rest, and with a feverish yelp jumped for the statuette. Ward plucked him from the air and punched him violently on his nose, which exploded into a bloody mess. The first mate shot a vicious look into the crowd and swung the lantern around. forcing them to recoil back into the shadows.

The three men hastened their pace and moved swiftly up the stairs to the top deck, the crew trailing behind them lethargically. They made their way to the bridge, and from there they left the ship. The crew, as if stunned by a spell, stopped their pursuit. Amidst the snowfall, their unmoving figures peered down at the three men from atop the ship. William Ward led the group under the frozen lake towards a cave. The elements raged around them. Nature itself bent on preventing passage.

The men fought through, pushed on by unnatural and unexplainable forces. Upon reaching the entrance of the cave, exhausted and beaten by the harsh wind, the pull on their self had grown far too strong, unblinking and unfazed by the imminent danger ahead. They entered. The entrance, much akin to a maw of a great beast with slag-tight teeth and jaws made of rock, swallowed them whole. The descent into the depths of this hell was an arduous one, for the hostile terrain kept slashing and stabbing away at them. At times they had to move sideways into the claustrophobic corridors, or move crouched close to the ground.

The silent arteries of the cavern led them further down. where they would occasionally spot a torn cloth from John's peril, confirming that they were indeed on the right path. After a particularly narrow passage, the men stepped foot in a gigantic opening. The ceiling of the cavern was shrouded in darkness, and the light of their lanterns didn't even reach the walls of this opening. Led by their captain, the men moved towards the center of this abyss.

There an altar was revealed. Two large sarcophagi, one black and one white, sat in the middle of a perfect circle drawn in a crimson powder. An array of books and small statues, much like the one John Hopkins carried, were neatly placed at the feet of the sarcophagi. This was a tomb from out of time, which pulsated with malignant energy. The captain stepped forth and into the circle, letting the statue at drop on the floor. He moved up to the black coffin and observed it closely. The resting place of whatever was within was adorned with elaborate carvings of stars, cities, and ruins. What caught the captain's attention, though, were depictions of bipedal creatures.

Some were standing in fields, others above the walls of a divine palace. Others were riding chariots and others were operating machines of technology far advanced. He ran his palm over the intricately engraved lid, feeling the chiseled stone under his skin and letting the wave of aeon's past wash over him. His trance was broken by a loud thud, which echoed like thunder around the cavern. Northington looked over and saw Ward eyes wide and I'm blinking, looking into the open, white sarcophagus, its lid resting on the side. In a fit of madness, the first mate had pushed it off. Cracking was heard from within the sarcophagus, and a white talon shot up and stabbed

ward in the chest, retreating back inside, letting the poor man fall to the ground. The two remaining men could only stare, drenched in dread as a white, slim figure rose up from its resting place. The anthropomorphic bipedal creature was standing tall above the men. His head elongated and its eyes whiter than snow. It moved clinkly towards the black sarcophagus, and with a swift motion, it threw the lid away. Then it waited. A black hand with sharp claws grabbed the edge of the sarcophagus, a beast similar to the first one but black. and bulkier stood up. It towered over the captain

who could only stare in disbelief as a long claw struck his neck, cleanly cutting flesh and skin. Blood spurred it out of the wound as the beast grabbed the captain from the shoulder and lifted him up to meet his gaze. Then it brought its face closer, its ma opening wide.

A fleshy tube emerged from the creature's mouth approaching the newly opened incision. Then it spilled a myriad of black insectoids down the wound, which crawled under Northington's skin and disappeared in his body. The captain's lifeless corpse was dropped to the ground. At that, the doctor started running, his heart pounding heavily against his chest. He ran through jagged grounds and narrow passages, the hard edges tearing at his clothes and skin, pushed on by a fear most primal. He flew up to rough terrain and reached the opening of the cave, his mind in shambles. He stumbled out, his knees buckling under the weight of the horror in the cavern and his eyes burning with a travesty that had unfolded.

Outside, no snow was falling and no wind was blowing, as if nature herself cowered away from this damned corner of the earth. The sky above laid bare and starless, a heavy veil of blackness over the pale ice. In his derelict state, Edgar stepped on the ice and started walking aimlessly further down the maw of nothingness. He must have been walking for ages towards the monochromatic horizon. When a crack echoed across the ear and some shockwaves down the ice. Then another cracking sound. And another. And another.

When the sounds merged into one crescendo of cacophony, the surface in front of Edgar exploded. When the storm of ice shards settled, a gargantuan head was revealed. A perfectly symmetrical hairless head. Much to the image of man but distorted and corrupted. Its onyx black skin seemed to eat away at the surrounding light, while its lidless eyes beamed a malevolent white. With a creaking sound, its mouth opened. A murky ooze dribbled out and from the pits of this monstrous creation.

A tendril like appendage appeared. At its top stood a single white eye, with its black as midnight iris darting around binaically. Suddenly the infernal eye locked its gaze on Edgar, boring into his very soul like a cyclopean drill. A wave of primal dread washed over the doctor's body, relegating him to mere vermin, cowering under an apex predator. He tried to run, but his shattered nerve.

Failed him. He collapsed on his back, his eyes glued to the third eye of this unholy giant staring down at him. Then it turned away from him, uninterested, and rose towards the sky. Edgar's sanity slipped away in an instant, as if a grip on his mind had been loosened and his thoughts all spilled out into a heap of incoherent drivel. His eyes trailed upwards, where they got lost into the infinite darkness of the sky, just before the overwhelming tyranny of black was broken by a streak of red, followed by another, and another, and another, wounds of crimson opening on the sky above, fireball spiraling towards the wretched earth below. He was calling them down, his children, his outcast angels.

He was calling them all down. When Edgar regained his senses, he was in the middle of the glacial light, snow falling heavily around him, and the stars shining bright from above. He tried to get up, but he slipped back down. Here, grab my hand. Captain Rutherington shouted through the wind. No, Edgar shouted as he stumbled to his feet. It cannot be. He whispered, strands of in.

insanity beginning to slither in his mind. He stood bewildered in front of the once-dead captain. And that's when he saw them. The captain's eyes. They were blank and gray. All the color drenched from his irises. Then with a blink. They went back to normal.

Teetering on the brink of madness. Dr. Philip Edgar ran into the snowstorm. His screams echoing in this frolicing. an antechamber of hell until the eternal night claimed him. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, The Escape, written by C.M. Harrigan, and narrated by J.V. Hemp and Vansant. I sit crouched in the ferns, eyes wild and unnatural. I can see clearly into the night, despite the utter blackness that encompasses the

the forest around me. I swivel my head side to side in panic as I assure myself I'm alone. My mind is reeling with the events that just unfolded. I'm trying to piece together all that happened to me, but everything is a blur. My head aches as I desperately try to remember something that could explain what is going on. I looked down. I looked down. at my hands, they're strange and alien, bigger than I recollect and covered in thick hair that is caked in blood. In frustration, I attempt to curse under my breath, but all that emanates from my mouth is a deep, guttural moan. I wait a moment to catch my breath, and slowly I'm able to calm my breathing. A faint memory comes to me. I'm sitting in an alley, slumped over myself, chin to my chest,

a cheap bottle of bourbon still gripped in one hand and a burnt-out cigarette in the other. A group of men forcefully wake me, but my world is still spinning because of the alcohol. They pull me up to my feet, and I drop the bottle and my cigarette. Before I can reach for my smoke, they push me forward and guide me down the alley. My world spins around me as I make my way forward. I'm being forced into a windowless van, but I'm too powerless to fight them off in my drunken stupor. Reality comes back quickly as a twig snaps in the distance. Someone must have followed me.

me into the forest. I crouch down lower and peer beyond the thick tree that conceals me and listen carefully. I hear a voice, not too far off in the darkness. He had to have come this way. Look at these broken branches. Something big came barreling through here. Follow me and keep tight formation. Suspect is highly.

dangerous. Orders are to shoot on sight. There are four men in camouflage quietly creeping through the trees in my direction. They all have assault rifles with flashlights and are intently scanning the forest in search of something, in search of me. They continue slowly walking closer and closer to the massive tree that is hiding me from their sight. I try to become invisible to blend into the brush and ferns around me, but my body is too massive. I can tell my attempts will be useless. They're still coming down the path directly towards my hiding spot. I start to panic because it's now only a matter of seconds before they round the corner and catch me here, haphazardly buried in the brush. My mind is racing, and I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't want to hurt anybody,

but it's clear these men don't care about hurting me. I have no choice. I'm going to have to have to defend myself. As they draw nearer, just on the other side of my hiding spot, I reach down and grab a log off the forest floor. It's a big log, but it seems small in my giant hands. The first of the four men start to walk past the tree that has been concealing me all this time, and just as he sees me, he knows it's too late. Before he can even fire a shot from his rifle, I swing my enormous branch around and it connects with the side of his head, making a horrible cracking noise as his head caves in under my brute force. The other men immediately shout in surprise and start firing rounds in my direction. One of the bullets grazes my left side and another whooshes past my head, missing me by a mere inch.

I pull my bloody branch above my head and swing it down forcefully on the next man nearest to me, crushing his skull as easily as my previous victim. He crumples quickly, his head resembling a smashed pumpkin on Halloween. I dart around the massive tree to flank the last two men before they have a chance to run off or fire in my direction again. As I rounded the tree, I grabbed the tree. I grabbed the closest man by his hair and smash his face into the bark of the tree as hard as I could over and over and over until I'm holding nothing but a mangled piece of flesh, blood, and bone in my hand. I let his lifeless corpse drop at my feet.

I proceed to the last man in my sight. He raises his rifle, but I'm too close to him, and I smack a little bit of the last man. away with my huge hairy arm. This man is much smaller than me, and it doesn't take much to disarm and overpower him. I pick him up by the collar of his uniform, his legs kicking wildly, and push his back against the tree. The same tree that I had just used to mercilessly murder his comrade only seconds ago. I bring my face close to his

and let out a barbaric, animalistic yell that sends spit flying into his face. A warm liquid covers the front of the man's jeans as he pisses himself in sheer terror. I speak, but my voice is low and animal-like. It doesn't sound like me at all. What have you done to me? I screamed in his face.

I haven't done anything to you, the man squeaked. Why am I like this? I garbled out in my unusual voice as I looked over my abnormally large, muscular, and hairy body. I pull him towards me and smash his body into the tree once again, before screaming instinctively at him again. Why? He cried out in pain. You're an experiment.

They've been trying to make super soldiers for the military. You were a test subject that escaped. That's all I know. I swear, I swear, I was just told to bring you back, dead or alive. At this moment, another set of memories flooded into my mind. I wake up in a white room. My hands are bound, and my mouth is gagged. There are multiple tubes running different liquids into my veins via IVs.

I struggle and try to break free, but it's no use. The thick leather straps holding my arms and legs are too strong, and my attempts at escape are useless. A nurse wearing green scrubs comes in holding a syringe. She ignores my cries for help and injects a needle full of clear liquid into my IV, and I quickly drift into sleep. I wake again, struggling against my restraints.

This time, a doctor in a surgical mask is standing over me, talking to another nurse. Give him 100 cc of the serum and 20 cc of fentanyl and make sure his restraints are secure. The nurse does as she is told. And as the second syringe is pushed into my IV, I drift away again into blissful blackness. I awake again, and I'm alone in a dimly lit room. My body feels different than nigh. normal, and I have a sudden urgency that I need to escape, to run away. I look down at my body

and cannot recognize it as my own. It's huge and covered in thick hair with muscle my slender frame didn't have before. My clothes are gone, but I don't worry about my indecency. I can't can only think of escaping this nightmare I'm in. I start to pull against my restraints, and they start to loosen. I continue to frantically work at them. Strength I didn't have before aids me in my escape. I'm able to rip my arms away from the gurney I'm strapped to and undo the leather straps around my legs before sitting up. Everything is quiet. I shakily move and stand from my bed.

I want to make my way to the only door in the room on giant unfamiliar legs and peer through the tiny window embedded in it. I look left and right. There's nothing but an empty hallway outside the room. the door. I try the handle, and it's firmly locked. I push down with minimal force. The handle snaps in my hand. I'm able to push the door open without any resistance now. I toss the broken door handle onto the ground and hesitantly make my way into the hall, my monstrous body wobbling as I try to steady myself against the wall. I make my way right. Right seems to be the way out. I can see an exit

sign. It's my only thing to go on in this unfamiliar environment. I stumbled down the hall and pushed my way through a set of double doors in front of me. A woman in camo fatigue sat at a desk looking bored as she mindlessly swipes at her phone. She doesn't even notice me as I approach the desk. I reared my fist back and punched her in the face as hard as I could before she had time to react to my presence. Her face caves in under my fist with a horrible squelching noise and an excessive amount of blood's flatter.

I grabbed the remnants of her head and smash it into the keyboard, in front of her, decimating her skull in my palm as I did so. Alarms start blaring from every corner of the building. They know I've escaped. I began blindly running towards the next double doors with an exit sign above them, desperate for safety. I come back to reality, and I'm still holding a man by his calls.

against the bloody tree in the dark forest. I understand now. I remember everything. A blind rage engulfs me, and I see nothing but red. It's not fair. I didn't deserve this. My vision blurs, and the red that is consuming my consciousness deepens and becomes all-consuming. Without hesitation or second thought, I take the man who is still helpless in my grip and throw him onto the ground.

He tries to crawl away desperately, but I am upon him quickly. I position my enormous foot atop his head as he squirmed in the dirt, and slowly I deliberately put more and more pressure onto his head. His eyes begin to bulge out of their sockets as blood and brain matter ooze out of his ears, mouth, and nose. I lean forward just a little more, and his skull cracks underneath me. My big foot is now ankle-deep in a puddle of blood and flesh. I feel no remorse. I start to walk away from the bloody scene I find. myself in. In sheer disbelief of my situation, what the fuck am I going to do now? I proceed into the

forest alone with my thoughts. I am utterly alone. I can hear the sound of more men heading my way as I walk deeper into the forest, away from the heinous crime scene I just created. I look down at my hair-covered disfigured body, and I realize I can't go to anyone for help. I'm a monstrosity now. How could I even ask for help without someone running in terror from me? Even if I make it to a town somewhere, I can't show myself to anybody. They'd shoot me on sight or call the authorities, both equally terrifying options. I can hear the second wave of men getting closer.

I have no other options. I make my way into the forest ahead of me. I will hide. I don't want to hurt anyone else, and I don't want anyone to hurt anyone to hurt. me. This is my only option. I quietly and covertly weave between the trees into the darkness of the night, into the forest that will now be both my home and my prison. 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. Thank you.