Creepy - Body Farmer

Episode Date: March 29, 2021

Mind where you dig...***Written by Jacqueline Gifuni and narrated by Alicia Atkins***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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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 Body Farmer Written by Jacqueline Gaffoonie. Narrated by Alicia Atkins and produced by Steve Blizzin. One.

It is too dark in here. The lights are dead. No. I think I am dead. Cannot see or feel anything around me. But I am thinking, actively using my mind. So what does that mean? Everything about me feels distant, like I'm standing at the edge of the ocean and I see a ship off in the horizon.

I am on that ship, but my mind is stuck alone on the shore. This must be the afterlife, but have I really crossed the threshold between the living and the dead? And why can't I remember how I got here? Is there supposed to be this much internal dialogue while you're dying? If this is truly death, is this all there is? Am I just doomed to be here, eternally, in this darkness? It's not just dark, like the lights were shut off. This is more than that.

This is an existence completely devoid of sense or comprehension. Here forever, with my swirling thoughts and unanswered questions. It is too dark in here. It is too dark in here. It is too dark in here. It is too dark in here. It is too dark in here. It is too dark in here.

It is too dark in here. Two, I jump at the sound of my alarm. Sweat trickles down my temple as I gasp for air. I open my eyes and take in the light. The beautiful sunlight seeping into the blinds. I have never wanted to see it more in my life. The dreams are becoming more frequent now. The dreams about...

Well, I am not sure what they are about. I never actually dream about death or dying. No, I just dream about darkness. but it must be more than that. I'm in the business of death, and the thought of my immortality does not scare me. I understand the mechanics of how and why we all die. There's no shortage of ways to reach your final fate.

But what happens after is what I cannot seem to come to terms with, and it's getting worse. I prepare for my day. I put on black scrubs, pull my thick, dark hair back in a tight ponytail, and go to grab my back. It is a sweltering Tuesday morning in Knoxville, Tennessee. Even though it's already October, the summer heat lingers on.

I walk out of my dormitory and across the campus towards Nalen Stadium. My friends back in Jersey get a kick out of where I work. They buy into the dead bodies and the football stadium myth. And although they are wrong, they're not that far off. I make my way into the annex behind the University Football Stadium. The forensics department's insignia looms in the doorway. It's an orange and black circle with the words Forensic Anthropology Center, in white, encapsulating the profile of a skull.

Though not as menacing as a skull with crossbones, it just still give all ye who enter a fair warning of what type of room they are getting themselves into. Our day begins when yours ends. I muttered to myself as I unlock the door. It's the unofficial slogan for us anthropology. students. We tend to make light of death, not out of cruelty or malice, but purely necessity. Being surrounded by such doom and dismay can eventually get to you. Only those with thick skin and coping mechanisms, like humor, can stomach it. When I first started working at the lab, I felt like a kid

at Chucky Cheese, just with bones and skulls instead of mechanical rats and ballpits. I had always loved the dark and morose. My mother and I shared. that love. We'd seen all the classics from Silence of the Lambs, so the less serious, but equally fucked up when you take it out of context, weekend at Bernies. Death has fascinated me in a way I could never really explain. At the young age of nine, I declared I wanted to be an Egyptologist after watching the mummy. Yes, I knew mummies did not come back from the dead like that. But something about bringing the dead to life through research was exhilarating. I became enthralled with everything surrounding how humans have buried, preserved, and honored their dead.

In elementary school, I even led a small clan of kids at recess who would find dead bugs and give them a proper burial, Egyptian style. We would wrap the bugs and leaves and blades of grass, and bury them in small dirt mounds we'd try to shape like the pyramids of Giza. The crew took a turn when some kids went out of their way to kill innocent bugs and bees for the sole purpose of burial. Needless to say, I had to disband our group of misfit kids, but I digress. Then when I hit high school, I learned about the forensics field, and that I didn't have to travel all the way to Egypt to study the dead. Instead of summer camp, I begged to be sent to forensics camp, where I spent the summer learning about the field, solving a staged murder, falling in love, with both the forensics field and a boy, but the latter is a story for another day. and, the best part in my opinion, studying the decomposition of a rat.

Not your average summer camp, I know. It was way cooler. So that's how I got here, the Forensics Anthropology Center at the University of Tennessee. Also home to the body farm, as it is lovingly called, where bodies who have been donated to science are placed in countless scenarios to simulate crime scenes. All in the name of science and to better understand, decomposition. Once the body has gone through its several stages of decay and just the bones remain, they are sent to the lab at the Forensic Anthropology Center, where,

you guessed it, I have the honor and privilege to clean the bones so that they can be safely handled without fear of contamination. I won't go into detail about how we clean them, but let's just say I will never look at crockpots the same ever again. Bones are easy to understand in my mind. They tell a story, and as a to you to bring it to life. Depending on what bones you look at, you can pretty accurately determine age, sex, and ancestry through morphology and cranial measurements.

Bones are tangible and scientific in nature. They are straightforward and make sense to me. I understand them. What they do at the body farm, on the other hand, is too fleshy and messy for my liking. Three. I woke up sweating again. Same dream, nothing but utter darkness.

I know I probably should talk to someone about this, but who exactly? I don't want to let on to anyone that maybe this isn't the field for me. Even as I think this, the words sound ridiculous. This is what I've always wanted, and I can't back out now. I just need to work through this, and I'll be fine. Besides, this is probably normal to be dreaming about the things you are surrounded by in your waking hours. The more I thought about it, the less of it. urgent getting help felt. In fact, it was starting to feel preposterous. I start the same morning

routine I have Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Wake up, put on scrubs, hair and ponytail, and make my way back to the forensic center for my lab hours. Before I head out, I glance over my shoulder to check myself in the mirror. I fix my ponytail and realize I forgot makeup. Not that I plaster my face with it, but I normally try to hide the dark circles under my eyes. These damn nightmares have been making me lose substantial beauty sleep, and it definitely shows. I go from my usual dark eyeliner, but take a beat after I realize I don't really need it. Today I'm working alone, the first time since I took on this internship, and I'm dreading it. I'm not sure why. It really shouldn't make a difference.

But the thought of being alone with the bodies, I shake my head, angry with myself. I work with bones, not bodies. There's no one in there anymore. They're just the remnants of what used to be a person. But still, I stare at my face and finally see just how bad I truly look. My cheeks are sunken in, skin pale, and heavy raccoon circles contrasts my otherwise pasty face. It's not just the lack of sleep.

It's the constant work and studying that's doing me in. I work in the morning, then change. for classes, go to the library to study, and sometimes don't get back to my dorm until one in the morning, then to wake up at 6 a.m. to start it all over again. I know this is the normal rite of passage for most college students, but my naturally milky skin and dark brown hair just accentuates any blemishes and dark spots that may appear. It's at the point where the longer I stare at my reflection, the less I recognize myself. My bronze, usually luminous eyes, just look dull, like the life has been sucked

out of them. I take a deep breath in and head out the door. It's hard to look at myself in this state of disarray. As I approach to the lab, my heart quickens. I remember that yesterday we finished processing the bag that had been sent to us from the body farm, which meant today there would be a new bag. A bag I would have to open alone. God, I really wish I did not have to do this. Not today. I enter the lab as I think about all my bad past experiences with processing new arrivals. Each bag is about what you might be imagining right now. A large black plastic bag containing the remains from one body that has ended its journey at the farm. The last time I opened a new bag, beetles crawled up my arms and fleshflies flew at my face.

That's really not the worst part, but it is something I have yet to get used to. No matter how long it's been, I still can't. get used to the living things that can crawl out of the otherwise still and silent bags. What if I find more than just bones? Once I pulled a shoe from the bag, thinking they made a mistake at the farm. The old leather shoe was falling apart at the seams, but there seemed to be a sticky, hard substance still inside. Upon further inspection, and to my horror, that dark sludgy goo was soft tissue from the foot

that had fused to the shoe, leaving the metatarsals and phalanches inside. Or this would be like the other time when I was cleaning a skull, and I thought there was a pebble lodged inside, only to find it was the brain that had shrunk to the size of a rubber ball. Worse still. What if I found a personal belonging to the bones owner? Like that one time I found dentures in a pale blue glass eye? I stared down at the bag, filled with fear,

but mostly with disappointment directed towards myself. I have done this a dozen times. And just because I'm alone now, I'm having these thoughts. It is childish and foolish, and I must push through it. Because if I don't, how will this reflect on my abilities to my advisor? Sorry, didn't get anything done today. Little baby got too scared to open the big, scowly bag by herself. I sigh and began scrubbing up for the day's work.

As I said before, we clean bones so they're safe to handle in the classroom. They are a biological hazard until we have processed them, so we have to wear protective gear in the lab. Goggles, mask, gloves, surgical gown, another pair of gloves. I grab a scalpel and go to open the bag. I am shaking, but trying to calm myself. At this point, I'm just flustered that I cannot compose myself long enough to study my hands. Is this really going to be the end of my career in forensics? A silly black bag full of bones.

A deep breath, followed by a long exhale. Back straightened, hunched down. I slowly make the first incision at the top of the bag by the knots. Hey. Is this the zoology lab? A disconnected voice that sounds eons away snaps me back to the room, followed by a dull pain. Fucking shit!

I mutter as I look down at my hand. I jumped when I heard the voice. and the scapple blade penetrated both layers of gloves. Blood had started to pull on my finger and drip on the floor. I look up to see a young man awkwardly peeking his head in the doorway. My first thought is that he's another gawker. We get them all the time. Students or local high schoolers that have heard the rumors about bodies in the football stadium.

They sometimes get lucky in find our lab and try to make their way in to take pictures on their cell phones. We're supposed to lock the door behind us, but I must have forgotten to do so today. Oh man Did I make you cut yourself? Oh geez, sorry I was just looking for the...

This isn't the zoology lab. Don't you see the human skull logo on the door? It's down the hall to the right. I snapped back. He glanced back, cheeks flush red as he apologized and quickly closed the door behind him. Just great.

Now I have to decontaminate my hand and scrub in all over again. I go through the whole process again. and I must say I think it calmed my nerves a bit. I feel bad for snapping, but I brush the intruder off and bring my focus back to the task at hand.

Second time's a charm. I tuckled to myself and crouched down to open the black bag yet again. As I began to pull and tug at the knot, I notice it's heavy. Could they possibly put two sets of remains together? Unlikely, but the weight just felt off. I work at the top knot again, and finally get a small opening.

As the bag slowly begins to open, a putrid stench wafs in through my mask and assaults my nose. I scrunch my nostrils and stumble back. Whoever packed this up back at the farm made a huge mistake. The only thing that could produce that smell is a decomposing body. It's the smell of rotten eggs, spoiled milk, and sun-soaked cabbage. The remains sent to us typically do not smell. Bones don't secrete gases or chemical compounds that produce such odors. Whatever is inside is definitely not fully decomposed, at least not to the point where I can start working on it anyway.

Irritated. I reached down to close the bag back up, but something inside catches my eye. It looks like a class ring is still on the partially decomposed hand. I want to turn away. Every fiber in my soul tells me to. This is not what I signed up for. I can't handle bodies and flesh that well. But the ring just looks so familiar. Something in me won't let it go.

Covering my nose with my arm, as if that will shield me from the stench, I crouched down to get a better look. Of course I recognize the ring. It's the same class ring I have from my high school. Christ. I either know this person or at least went to school with them. I know I shouldn't pry any further.

This is already becoming too personal for my own comfort. But again, despite my instinct to turn away, run out of the lab and never look back. I'm drawn closer and closer to this body. Who is this person? And how did someone get here all the way from Jersey? Better yet, how did someone so young from back home die without me hearing about it? And why would their family donate their body to science? Not that it would be so improbable.

It was just unlikely. From what I know, most bodies donated to science are either loners with no families, or adults who have devoted their lives to science and wanted to make one last charitable act to the field in death. I lean in closer and peel back the sides of the bag to see the hand with the class ring is covering this person's face. Hesidently, I pushed the hand down to see something I do not comprehend it first. locks of thick dark hair resting atop the parsley decomposed skull.

Even with the caved-in cheeks and empty eye sockets. I know exactly who this is. I stare at this face every day in the mirror. I gasped, stumbling backwards and right before I faint, falling down into the abyss. It all becomes clear to me. My dreams. The darkness.

My second home. It is and always has been Me I have always belonged here To this darkness To this quiet place Though I am no longer afraid I still do not want to be here

It is too dark in here The lights are dead Four I am jolted out of my nightmare And find myself in my room once again How did I get here so fast? I was just in the lab with the body with... I stopped myself mid-thought.

Of course that was a nightmare. How could I possibly be inside the body bag? Deep breath in. Hold it and count down from five. Five, four, three, two, one, exhale. This is becoming too much for me to handle. I seriously need to find a way to get more sleep. Or get help.

Get help and run far, far away from here. I am unsure as to why that thought crawled into my mind. But as quickly as it crept in, I swiped it away and rose out of bed. I crossed my dorm room to the conjoined bathroom and reach for the door. I'm about to open it, but here's someone stirring inside. Knocking lightly, I stand there, waiting for a response. My sweetmeet isn't usually up this early, but she must be in there, because I can see the light is on through the cracks of the doorway

and can faintly hear water running from the sink faucet. Kayla? You in there? I knock louder, but still no answer. I press my ears of the door and hear wet footsteps pacing slowly towards me. Kayla? Are you all right? Can I come in?

Still, no response. I start to get worried. She normally is responsive, and I know her boyfriend is out of town. Could she possibly be in trouble? Grabbing the doorknob, I declare sternly that I'm coming in, and slowly open the door. The moment I do, that familiar stench penetrates my nostrils immediately sending me back to the nightmare. Rotten eggs, spoiled milk, cabbage. Now I hear the voice in my head, screaming to run, commanding my legs to go.

any which way but forward. And still, I find myself ignoring all reason and going against my better judgments by entering the bathroom. No one is in there. The light is on and the faucet is running. Kayla must have been here this morning and just forgot to turn the water off. Was she in some type of hurry? Maybe she was running late for class? I faced the sink to turn the faucet off and stare at my face in the mirror. I looked like I lost ten pounds overnight. sunken in cheekbones and pale white face. As I stare at myself, I see movement behind me. It's the shower curtains.

They look like they just rustled, and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. Kayla? Is that you in there? I whip my body around to stare at the shower. It takes all my might to move towards the curtain. Both my legs suddenly feel like they've been filled with lead, weighing me down and making each step. slow and heavy. I have goosebumps all over my body and can feel the unmistakable shortness of

breath that comes along with an anxiety attack. Please say something, Kayla. I reach my arm out, and grab the curtain, fully expecting for something to reach out from the other side and drag me in. I hold my breath and pull the curtain back. Nothing. To my amazement and utter euphoric relief, There's nothing inside. The horrid The horrid smell is gone now too. And I'm beginning to relax. This was all in my head.

I had just woken up from a terrible nightmare and needed a few moments to come back to reality. I turned back towards the sink to splash my face with some cold water. It was not only refreshing, but grounding. And I finally feel awake. Out of the dream world that has been plaguing my very existence. I grabbed the hand towel. next to me and pat my face dry. I look up at the mirror and open my eyes to the worst sight imaginable.

Rotting flesh, hanging off my cheek bones. Eye sockets empty, devoid of life. Maggots and beetles crawling in and out of every facial orifice. Bottom jaw barely hanged onto my skull by spendly muscles and tendons. This is the same face from the bag. I am still here. I have never left this place. And why would I? This is my home. Just as the lights around me began to fade,

I realize I no longer have the swirling thoughts or unanswered questions. I am oddly at ease with my fate. Maybe because I finally accepted it. One thought does enter my mind, though. It's too dark in here. For more information, including pictures and videos Please visit creepypod.com. If you'd like to submit a story for consideration or recommend a story, please see our submission page at creepypod.com

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