Creepy - Burgrr Entries

Episode Date: August 27, 2018

Sometimes it seems like fast food is everywhere. But, what if it was everywhere?***Originally from Burgrr.com. Written by Jonathan Wojcik***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Produced by Steve Blizin, Puzzle Audio***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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A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypasters and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain

graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. Burger entries. Originally from burger.com. All credit goes to Jonathan Wosick. Entry one.

I don't know if anything is going to get through to anyone. If it does, it's probably because they wanted it to, in which case, I'm really sorry. Maybe they just don't even care. Maybe it doesn't matter because there's nothing we can do. If you're anything like me, you've seen some weird new shit around town. And more importantly, you've realized it and you've remembered it while everyone else goes about their day in ignorant bliss. I don't know how far it goes.

But so far, nobody's shown any capacity to register what I'm saying. I can spam it up and down the internet. and I don't get one relevant response. Nothing. I've considered that I might just be crazy. But even crazy people can get some sort of reaction. Someone will at least try to humor them, calm them down. I've tried doctors, police, professors.

They all just stare off into space when I start to describe this shit. Like something's actively blocking the exchange of information. My biggest fear isn't even that I'm all alone. My biggest fear is that I might still only perceive bits and pieces is something bigger or worse than my capacity to perceive all this is shrinking. I can write it down. I can record every last detail. But it's not going to matter if I become like everyone else.

I could wake up tomorrow and look at my journal entries and only see a pile of mysterious cake recipes. Who the hell knows? The first thing I ever saw was one of the pickup windows. It was just like any other you might see at a fast food place. But it was right on the side of my own goddoll. damn house. Nothing I miss indoors, but outside, half the block was lined up on my front lawn, reading over a glowing menu full of scribbly-looking gibberish and receiving their meals, if you want to call them that, almost instantaneously. They'll act like this was their usual

mundane lunch stop. Even while the male lady sucks some rancid-looking glop out of a plastic pouch, congealed blood dripping down her chin. She told me it was the best she'd ever had. All my questions were met with those blank stares and stupid smiles. I couldn't tell who or what was actually handing out the food or where it was coming from. I can only see blackness. At least that's how I remember it. Maybe I saw something else, but it's gone now. God. and it was only the beginning. All the restaurants in town, the real ones anyway, are typically deserted. Employees still show up to some of them, but they don't even realize that no customers are stopping in.

Some of them even host new windows, parasitically siphoning off all their business. Things seem to multiply constantly. I've seen them indoors, outdoors, on houses, on trucks, even one on a tree. A window to nowhere. on the trunk of a fucking tree, dispensing deep-fried slop to an ignorant giggle of hikers. Near as I can tell, all the products are meat, or some vague semblance thereof. I can't always tell what kind of animal or even what kind of body part it used to be. I've seen things that could have been dredged from some black godless deep-sea trench,

gelatinous slabs of flesh and blindingly unnatural colors. fried bugs just slightly larger than any I thought existed. It isn't just the windows either. I've started seeing this shit right on supermarket shelves. Foreign-looking packages with the same gibberish language on it. Occasional bouts of quasi-English like, number a million taste, or it can dream a great flavor.

It hollows the same stupid logo on it, too. Sometimes burnt right into the cuts of meat. A bug-eyed cartoon hamburger and a little chef's hat. Sometimes it's winking. Sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it only is after I've looked away. There's even people sucking down this shit on live television. The talking heads come back from commercial licking blood and grease off their hands.

The weather lady shows up looking like an extra from a slasher movie. Red stains increasingly thick on a blouse. I don't think she's changed in weeks. Nobody else cares. Nobody thinks anything is odd or new or different. Nobody but me. My appetite for meat is thoroughly dead, to say the least. I don't think I could ever trust it again.

But I've noticed non-meat products are growing steadily rarer. Fruit and vegetables are sitting out longer between restocks. A lot of things are just getting phased out to make room for all the new items. I shouldn't have to say this if you could already read and comprehend this far. But for the love of God, don't eat it. Don't taste it, don't touch it. Try not to even smell it. The more people eat, the less they act like themselves.

The funnier they talk. If you know something's up but you can't see what I'm seeing, I advise you to stick to cereal. I haven't found anything fishy about any of the cereal yet. I can't begin to postulate what's behind it all. Aliens, terrorists, Illuminati reptiloids. I could believe damn near anything at this point.

Entry two. The ads are everywhere. Flyers, neon signs, billboards, all of them written in some weird foreign language I can't find any match for, plastered with goofy artwork of bug-eyed hot dogs and steaks and less identifiable things. People stop and stare at them compulsively. People's dilating while their clouded mind register. there's God only knows.

A lot of people say the exact same thing, in the same exact tone and rhythm every single time. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-mm, mm-mm. That sounds good enough to eat. I hear it 100 times a day, when I risk going out anyway. Then they'll head straight to one of the impossible windows, the infected supermarkets,

the rapidly multiplying vending machines, or one of the green doors. those awful fucking green doors. I don't know if they're actually new or if I'm just newly capable of seeing them. The first one I noticed had grown, for lack of a better word, on the back wall of our local shop right,

an ugly faded seafoam affair, smeared windows shaped like their burger logo, chrome handle flecked with rust, same as all the others I've seen since. People were coming and going at a steady pace. But even when I staked it out for a good six hours, I never saw the same patron come back out again. I guess that should have been a big warning sign,

but I couldn't take it. I had to know. It didn't lead into the store, of course. I knew it wouldn't. As soon as I stepped inside, I was assaulted by the sound of Eden. Feasting, wet, breathy chewing sounds drowning out everything else. tugging by gig reflex There were bars, tables, and booths

scattered and disorganized patterns around rows and rows of buffets. Many seats were occupied, but the bulk of the customers were eating on foot, wolfing shit down right out of the bars as they went along. I knew none of them could comprehend what they were really doing.

Why they really were. The decor was almost, but not quite in the style of a retro 50s diner. maybe with a dash of Dr. Seuss. A lot of the furnishings look chunky, soft, plastic. Like they were designed for children, though I can't imagine any child with such a depressing taste. Blues were lined with putrid off-green cushions.

Tables were a hideous yellow tanlet, chipped chrome trimmings. The floors were pale blue tile, like in a public restroom. Many pieces missing are disheveled. The walls were more that tacky chrome interrupted by fake wood, paneling, giving away to glass windows from about waist height to the ceiling. Yes, windows. Not visible from outside. I had stepped through a door in the middle of one plain, solid, brick wall. But from inside, it was glass all around. They were so thick with grime that I could scarcely see through them, but I could tell that it wasn't the correct view from behind the shop right.

It looked more like some murky storybook vista. Simple, blocky houses on rolling green hills. Despite the steady stream of people coming in through the door, I couldn't see a single sign of movement or life out there. I began to wonder if I might look suspicious, just standing around and gawking while everyone else was heading straight for the food. I thought I might as well make some effort to blend in. Mistake number one. Most of the offerings were typical of the shit coming out of those takeout windows or invading the grocery shelves. A heap of raw red steak set on a bed of black clotted blood.

Oversized pasty white drumsticks, dribbled cold yellow juices. Long trough a chunky pinkish slop jiggled like pudding as people scooped it onto their trays or straight into their grease kicked faces. I think I pulled my shirt up over my nose around this point. I thought I recognized a lot of exotic fair. Frogs legs, chicken beet, beef tripe. But I couldn't be quite certain. I wasn't sure if chickens had that many toes or any frogs I knew of exactly that large. There was a tray of what I thought were fat, segmented seed pods until one of them abruptly curled and uncurled twice, like a beckoning finger.

Absolutely made my skin crawl. There were tongues. There were brains. There was something like clear yellow spaghetti and a pasty brown sauce. At least that's what I'm going to keep telling myself it was. There were fish fins and goad eyes and even bones, just steaming hot, perfectly bare, white bones. I could barely take the sight of anyone eating.

Mrs. Faber, a grim and crotchdy old bag from down the street, was digging like an excited child through a big heap of what looked like horse teeth, sucking off whatever scraps of gum tissue she could find. I felt my stomach shudder. We made eye contact, and for a moment I almost thought I saw a look a horrified clarity. Like a fog was almost lifted from her mind, and she was just about to ask me what in God's name she was doing. Instead, her eyes glazed over, and she smiled that chillingly idiotic smile. Just like mommy used to make.

She said in a hokey, sing-songy tone, she'd have never been caught dead. using, popping another gnarled yellowed molar into her mouth and sucking noisily. I could taste my own bile by the time I backed away from the godless orgy of culinary depravity. And that's when I saw it. The thing I've come to think of as an egghead. It was wobbling around the bars, arms flailing blindly. A chalk white, naked, sexless human figure dominated by a featureless beach ball of a head. a head. A stick figure made flesh. The alien invasion theory was already sounding better and

better. The thing was working its way down one aisle at a time, and didn't look at first like it had any particular goal in mind. It occasionally clutched at someone's hair or clothing, almost as though desperate for attention or even to need a help. Nobody so much has blinked in its direction. I assumed I could get away with ignoring it like everyone else until it finally. hobbled its way down the opposite aisle and crossed my direct line of sight. It froze there. The blank, smooth egg face turned directly towards me. I don't remember the sprint home, but I do remember it was a dead in night when I exploded out of that ugly, greasy green door. It couldn't have been later than noon when I first entered, and I couldn't have been ogling

the horrors therein for more than 40 minutes? From my perspective? I don't know if anything followed me, but I barricaded myself in my bedroom that night just to be safe. The doors and the windows are everywhere. If you can hear this, only go out when you must, and don't go anywhere new. It might be newer than you think. Entry 3. They used to be people. The eggheads.

I've seen it a lot in a week since the buffet. Not everybody shows the signs, but some people, the ones who get hooked the heart. hardest on that sick foreign meat slop only seem to gain weight from the neck up hair falls out the first thing to disappear their eyes then the mouth seals shut and the whole head smooths over they start to wander aimlessly invisible to everyone else forgotten by friends and loved ones they do nothing but mumble groping their arms around like they're hunting for their lost eyes i killed one today I spent my afternoon scroung around town for normal things to eat, an increasingly challenging task.

Avoiding the overtly weird shit is only half of it. I have to be careful of anything that boasts a new formula or improved flavor. Sometimes I have to scan the package for a hamburger logo or check the ingredients for some new gibberish like extracted bone jellies or natural life parts. Some of the untainted stuff is skipping the shelves Going straight into dumpsters Which I'd been digging through when the egghead got the jump on me Cornering me in a one-way alley between a safe way and a Walgreens

Its head was bigger than most Impossibly bloated globe that almost brushed the walls on both sides I don't know how its feeble chalky body could have held it up It's barely more than a skeleton Thin skin shrink wrap tightly to its bones All the remainder of its former identity was a black dress tie, swinging like a pendulum from its pencil-thin neck. Its incoherent mumbling sounds at once panicked,

apologetic, and threatening as its staggered towards me, limbs outstretched. I had nothing to defend myself with but a bag of stale bread and a warm can of Coke. I screamed at it, told it I didn't know what it wanted, that there wasn't anything I could do, but it just kept coming. mumbling. The moment went back at the wall behind me, I snapped. Grabbed the nearest garbage can, lit, and swung it with all my strength. Slammed me straight into the fat, bulbous face like a battle axe.

It felt like striking a huge, taut basketball. The mumbling grew more frantic, more confused as the things stumble backwards, gravity tugging at its awkward cranium, arms whirling cartoonishly as it fought to regain its center of balance. It was like some bent slapstick routine, like someone struggling not to drop a wedding cake. I charged, screaming like a banshee as I struck again. And the thing finally toppled. slowly I think it was filled with air

As it hit the ground The massive Noggin exploded like a swollen tick A wet splash Pinkish gorn hunk's a rubbery white flesh Gushed out of the alley and under the street For one terrifying moment I wondered how this scene would look to the rest of the world They'd just seen some random senseless act

A murder against a completely normal innocent human being The people already nonchalantly step over the scatter piles of gore would have used my mind, if it weren't for what happened next. One of the piles started moving. Something about the size of a baby was squirming out from the pulverized sludge, a fat, slightly oblonged shape with a lot of thin wriggling appendages underneath. Still too thick with gore for me to make out any details.

There's still between me and freedom, and I could only watch in a couple of. confused stupor as it unfurled a pair of big transparent fins and abruptly took flight, buzzing off in the afternoon sky like a bloated, fleshy bumblebee. Thankfully, you never seemed to notice or care about me. Funny how I settled on eggheads. I just thought they looked like eggs. I didn't know they literally were. A woman stopped dead in the crosswalk to smile and wave at the things that disappeared into the skyline,

then continued on our way with only a momentary look-up puzzlement, the, What am I doing? Look, followed by the, well, whatever, one I've grown so accustomed to over the past few weeks. When I got home, I started reading up on diseases, parasites, bugs, puzzle pieces dropping into place. There's a kind of wasp that lays its eggs in a live caterpillar. When the larvae hatch, they modify the host's entire metabolism, them to suit their needs. The caterpillar eats more, grows bigger, all to provide the developing wasps with more sustenance.

This kind of shit is everywhere in nature. There are microbes that make mice suicidally attracted to cats. There are flies that grow inside the heads of ants who keep on moving even after their brains are eaten. It all makes so much sense. Maybe they're from space. Maybe they're from hell. Maybe they've always been here, toppling, one species, one civilization after another. Who knows? They feed us so we can feed them.

So they have a nice, warm body to keep them safe and nourished until they don't need us anymore. We're just a herd of cattle. Oblivious to our position in life as we're fattened up and slaughtered by something that looms just above our understanding of the natural order. I don't know why I can see them. Why I can see what they're feeding us. I'm like a cow who grasps exactly what goes into the slaughterhouse. And I can't stop thinking about what a cow would ever hope to accomplish with that knowledge. Your guess is as good as mine. Entry four.

Today I followed one of those flying things. They eventually break out of the eggheads on their own, often taking 30 minutes or so to wipe the gore off their slimy bodies with their squiggly legs before they take to the air. They've never shown any aggression or any acknowledgement that I exist. I just flutter away like they've got somewhere to be. And apparently, they do. I was in a Walmart parking lot when I witnessed another hatching.

The egghead was stumbling between cars, clawing at its own face, reaching feebly out to passers by like it still thought it could be saved. It hadn't even hit the ground before its featureless face started to crack audibly, pink goop dribbling out like raw yolk. It collapsed against the minivan and slumped limply to the paved, as a big hunk of its scalp plopped off with a wet, solid crunch. The thing inside was throbbing, swelling like a pufferfish to push open what was once a human skull.

It throbbed and squirmed its way out of the ruptured cranium, looking like nothing so much as a wet, rubbery horsefly made a chewing gum, or an inverted brain with membranous wings. Its branching limbs rise like nightcrawlers, barely supporting its bloated of ghost body. The wings trembled, almost cautiously at first, before it took its first blind leap into the air, and smacked wetly into the ground.

It was a dud. Took another shot of flying, awkwardly bobbing for a few feet before it dropped like a rock with another pitiful wet smack. I laughed pretty hard. When invisible monsters are devouring the human race and nobody cares, you tend to take whatever entertainment you can get. It took off again in the same direction, landing itself on the hood of a Jeep.

A little guy was determined. That's when it dawned on me. The opportunity I'd stumbled upon. They'd always disappeared into the sky before I could even get a sense of their direction. But I could easily tail this one on foot. I figured, worst-case scenario, I'd see nothing new and have to take the bus back into town. As luck would have it, the destination would have it, the destination. wasn't far. I came close to giving up, waiting for the damn thing to collect itself every

10 to 15 feet, watching a plummet like a bent paper airplane and flounder like a dying fish for minutes at a time. But not an hour had passed before I learned its little secret. Half a mile from the crumpled remains of the egghead. A port-a-john. Between the magic doors, garish advertisements, mutant snack food and odd shit I can't even begin. to get into. I'd never stopped to think about the bright blue port of toilets that seemed unusually common as of late. I'd never needed one, and with the seemingly perpetual road work guzzling our tax dollars

for as long as I've lived here, it's not as if they were all that strange a sight. The grimy plastic door quietly swung open as the brain bug flopped closer. I feigned this interest, doing my best to pass by as obliviously as everyone else, but it's a quick glance into the open honeypot. The brainfly, as I've decided to dub them, was already careening down a long dark tunnel, stretching as far as the eye could see. All somehow contained in a single, small, portable shithouse.

Nothing unusual these days. As I made my way back to the car and drove the rest of the way home, only one thought persisted. I had to know. Reality was unraveling around me, Former neighbors were fighting in the streets for rancid mouthfuls of fish guts. Giant hamburgers were lighting up the night sky on neon signs that dwarfed entire buildings. They were eating people from the inside out and all I wanted was an answer.

Even a hint. Any lead I could find. I didn't suspect there'd be anything I could do. In any day now I could wake up another deluded zombie, another gluttonous slave to their deep-fried maggots and pickled eyeballs. they could grind me up and serve me as a buffet for all I cared. I just had to know where the damn tunnel went, where the brain-eating bastards were really going.

I laid awake that night, my mind racing with images of alien motherships, parallel realities in subterranean cities. Tomorrow? I'm going in. Either I die knowing one more piece of the puzzle or I somehow kick their gooey little asses. Who's to say they'll even be prepared for an intruder?

if they think they've got us all fooled. I don't expect to be some kind of hero. But so far, I'm the only one I know who even has a shot at trying. Entry 5.1. I was not prepared for what I found in that tunnel. It stretched on for over a mile in the back of what should have been a three-by-three interior of a porta-pot. I've been led there by a flying brain. And what I found still succeeded in surprising me.

I'd plan to come prepared, but there was ultimately little I thought would be useful. I packed a store-bought survival kit, ropes, flares, and whatnot, and a heavy metal snow shovel. The only weapon I really thought would accomplish anything. The eggheads only responded to bludgeoning, and even then, that only seemed to speed the hatching process. No way could I have hit one of the brainflies with a bullet. But in a closed space, I suppose I could give one a good thwack. Besides the fundamental impossibility of its existence, a tunnel was wholly unremarkable. A slightly rounded concrete corridor interrupted only by squareish rusted grates.

The distant droning escalated as I progressed, and soon enough the tunnel gave way to what I suppose I can describe as a sort of factory floor. I don't know how long I spent just standing slackjod. My brain fumbling over itself to process everything I was seen. seeing. Think of everything that comes to mind when you hear machinery. Turning cogs, conveyor belts, churning pistons, whirring fans, mechanisms of every conceivable design and then some cranking and pumping away in a space so vast that no floor, ceiling, or walls could be seen in the distant darkness. Now, imagine somebody threw all that away and hired clowns' dream models. 50 or 60 years of neglect later, you might have something close to the Burton-ass-hell I'd stumbled upon.

Everything alternated between cold, grimy steel and a sort of candy land motif, with vividly striped plumbing and polka-data duct work. I jumped as a shower a spark flew from an immense robotic arm overhead. Its rusted metal casings and tangled red wiring a stark contrast with Mickey Mouse glove hand. I found myself retreating a few steps into the tunnel as it reached out, joints groaning with neglect, and pulled a tremendous lever with a shiny pink knob, an action inexplicably punctuated by a sound like a quacking duck.

Instantly, a checkerboard-looking conveyor belt squealed the life, issuing forth a procession of what may have been dead pigs. I couldn't see their heads, or even the ragged stumps where any may have once been attached. with a ridiculous slide whistle sound, another huge object grows into view, an angular pink and purple funnel the size of a swimming pool. One by one, the mystery carcasses tumbled off the belt and in the huge trumpet, each followed by a tortuous rending sound and a brief but volume as geyser a thick brown blood.

This stink was overpowering. Mesmerized by the spectacle of Willy Wonka Sausage Factory, I nearly fell on my asses. as a large object shot over my shoulder, a brainfly. It had come up through the tunnel behind me, and narrowly dodged my head by a few inches. As my heart cautiously restarted itself, I filed away the knowledge that I was still of no obvious concern to the things, even intruding as I was into what may have been their headquarters,

or at least an extension of it, I wasn't sure whether or not that was reassuring. A parasite had banked sharply upwards as I left the tunnel, but I could still hear the distinct fluttering of big membranous wings between the whirring, grinding, and occasional goofy honking of the factory. I craned my head, waiting for the irregular crackling of the equipment to illuminate the gloom. Sure enough, I could see hundreds, thousands of glistening pinkish shapes passing a good 10-15 stories overhead, all in the same direction. I followed. A network of catwalks made navigation

relatively easy, and I was usually able to keep sight of the concrete wall I'd emerged from. Tunnel entryways were frequent, brain flies periodically zipping through to join their brothers and sisters above. Even if I lost my way, I was confident that another tunnel might empty back into the real world, and probably in a populated area. They need of bodies, after all. I shuddered. Not at the thought, but occasionally the thought it came. I was growing too used to this. Uncomfortably comfortable.

The Asusian slaughterhouse offered no shortage of grotesque spectacles. Rivers of meat slush ooze their way along metallic shoots as wide as city streets. To dress in corpses bobbing sluggishly in the current, sometimes against it. towering circular saws loom like macabre ferris wheels chewing her way through slabs a solid fresh meat that could have fed whole towns what living thing could even have that much flesh on it a steady splattering turned out to be a blender the size of a small house literally just a scaled-up household blender

it even had a giant-sized dial albeit with only one labeled setting Excite. I suppose you could describe the endless truckloads of live white mice pouring into it as excited, in a sense. I passed bubbling lakes of entrails, fermenting tanks of gasping fishheads. Mountains are broken, bloodied bones. An endless procession of meat hooks ferried a bizarre menagerie of carcasses along a tangled railway system. From skin cattle to things I doubt you would have found in a textbook. There were insect-like forms as big as a man,

tentacle masses, dribbling oddly colored acre and something I can only describe as a hairy swordfish. Their cargo was so twisted. There was some time before I even noticed what was wrong with meat hooks themselves. They had no wheels, but clung to their rails by metallic spider-like legs, tip-tapping along with blinding speed.

The further I advanced, the louder the wet, slimy flapping of the alien flock. More and more streams were converging into single mass migration. Their collective wings nearly drowned out of buzzing, grinding, and splattering of the factory. I still wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I knew I was getting closer. Entry 5.2. I had ascended six levels from my starting point when I had my first run-in with non-brain fly life. My mind almost tried to brush it off as a rat, burst, a tiny white-shaped scurrying in my

peripheral vision. We both froze when I moved in for a closer look. The odd little being was only a few inches tall, pale, vaguely humanoid, with a large and nearly spherical head. It reminded me strongly of one of the egg heads. There's a little chance this thing would have ever been human. Where there should have been eyes, there was only a pair of gaping, bloody, looking holes, and its mouth was a simple circular hole. In its pale, translucent little hands it had carried a hunk of meat. It didn't look dangerous, but it could have breathed fire for all I knew. I cautiously raised my shovel and took a step back, not wanting to arouse any aggression,

and the diminutive imp jerked into motion. In an instant, it crammed the meat into one of its empty eye holes and took a flying leap off the catwalk, landing with a soft wet splat on a lower level and scampering off into the darkness. From that point on, the tiny creatures seem to be everywhere. I catch them watching me from around corners or busily snatching scraps of food from the conveyor belts. I suppose the rat comparison wasn't that far off. But if the brain flies flew and the little goblin things are only vermin, exactly who or what had the catwalks been constructed for?

I would get my answer soon enough. Entry 5.3. Following the airborne river of winged brains, was ultimately brought to what seemed at first to be a steel wall, and together with colossal beams and ribbons. To either side it appeared to gradually curve away. An exterior were a roughly circular structure. High above me, my stream of brainflies were pouring through a grated porthole 100 feet wide.

Gap's just large enough to have come. their wingspans. I can make out additional portholes to my distant left and right, more slimy flocks streaming end. This had to be it. Home base. The mother's ship. The catwalk continued through a significantly smaller porthole into something like a vast stadium, distant electric lights confirming a circular shape about a mile across. Its floor was solid polished concrete, while its ceiling was obscured by a torrential storm of living bodies. Dozens of brainfly streams converging in an open roof of a looming concrete tube at the center of it all. A good 20 stories in height and eerie green globe poured from the top of the monolithic tower like some doorway to another realm.

A wormhole back to whatever obscure universe that things truly called home. A three-dimensional web of suspended pathways encircled it all. intertwining with a network of immense grimy pipes as semi could have driven through. It was all so magnificent, so horrific. I almost didn't realize I was still moving forward, my jaw hanging in dumb fascination. Nor did I immediately grasp the significance of the metallic sound from behind me. It sounded like the gate being shut. My brain mulled over at the thought for a few more moments before I wheeled around in a rush of panic.

A tunnel had been closed off. The soft roar of the brainfly tornado was joined by a news sound, not unlike the bleeding of an alarm bell. And then came the meat. I had the good sense to start moving as soon as the nearest gaping pipe began to shudder and gurgle, trickling a thin stream of red-brown slime for a few moments before finally erupting with a torrent of chunky sludge.

All meat. Meat and meat juice. A few yards away another pipe, vomited a delight. At first I thought the intention would be to drown me. I didn't doubt for a second that there was enough meat in a factory plumbing to fill this place completely,

but it was quickly apparent that my demise wouldn't be so simple. The meat seemed to spread out much further than mere gravity would dictate. Wherever I ran, it seemed to flow directly towards me, winding its streams like pseudopods with an enormous amoeba.

Not my imagination. It was the worst-case scenario, but at this point, far from surprising. I'd already seen moving, twitching things come off from takeout windows, things that couldn't possibly have been alive but wriggled frantically even as they were torn apart and devoured by the increasingly fatter-greased your mouths of my neighbors. A chain of green-tinged sausages rose shakily from a nearby heap like an intoxicated cobra. And I gazed a little. emerging mostly from the outer edge of the chamber that living flesh was forcing me closer towards a tower

where I'd have no choice but to assemble catwalks. It was probably going to die either way, and it was probably going to be hideous. At least I might sleep a glimpse at an alien world on my way out. Entry 5.4. By the time I'd climbed only three levels I couldn't see any empty floor space below me, only a solid lake of meat. Rippling with unnatural life like a pit of defecided defecers. formed blood-soaked maggots.

I could see pieces beginning to climb after me, questing blindly until I figured out the stairwells or simply creeping snail-like up the side of the tower. A few managed to catch up to me or even cut me off momentarily, but the shovel turned out to be an excellent choice. What I couldn't smash or sever, I heaved over the side. Something like an inside-out penguin toddled up to my feet down the fourth level. One could smack in it crunched.

wetly into a perfect comical disc, still wiggling uselessly. Rancid brains burst like spoiled pumpkins under my wrath, a writhing mass of intestines inexplicably squealed and died. Once I chopped off what it was loosely employing as a head end, a giant heap of pinkish slime gave me some momentary trouble on the sixth level, shrugging off one blow after another, until I was stricken by its overwhelming comical stink and brandished one of my flair. hoping it might be flammable. As though it knew exactly what I was thinking, it retreated like a snail into a rusted metal

drum it had been lugging around. Though individually pathetic, the meat creatures were persistent and increasingly bizarre. Somewhere on the eighth, possibly ninth level, I turned around to find a big fish hat attempting to sneak up behind me, tiptoeing comically on a pair of eerily human feminine legs. It froze up when I coughed. A-ham. Is though realizing too late that had been watching it for a good four or five of its exaggerated sneaking steps.

Some fat white bug, like a wood louse, tumbled out of the fish's mouth, chittered angrily and fled on its hind legs before knocking the fish thing over the edge. Huh. The further I progressed, the weird are the things emerging from the factory's plumbing. Things that must have grown and festered far longer in its lightless, meltless, bowels. I could barely liken some of them to any animal or body part. Pulsated yellow tubes looped along like inchworms, and tentacle black blobs floundered like stranded fish and pools of their own yellow green secretions. I was waging war against hot dog scraps from Planet X. Entry

5.5. I was beginning to get cock. No matter how horrendous, every neat beast had an easy weak point. I was increasingly confident I could make it home alive, wondering if perhaps they had only put the world under some sort of hypnotic spell because they were simply too powerful, too dangerous for them to defend against. I was beginning to feel like a hero after all, like I was living my own video game. This self-important high was cut short on about the 15th level when the first real wrench was thrown into my hit things with a shovel strategy. The thing blocking my The path was not made of meat. Not on the outside, at least.

It appeared to be made entirely of iron, rugged and nearly black. The torso, like a department store mannequin, stood atop the top three jointed knobble of legs, and its single arm terminated in a pair of jagged tongs sporadically clinking shut. The oversized head resembled some sort of huge pot or boiler, with a pair of cartoonish painted on eyes. An orange-yellow glow could be seen through its many cracks and vents. I didn't suspect there was much a shovel could do to this one, and it neither backed off nor approached. Simply stood there, waiting, daring me to make a move. I could see a dense river of meat bodies surging along the path only three levels below,

making the same slow spiral around the tower as I was. Fragile or not, there's no way I could keep their numbers of bay forever. I wondered if I'd be taken alive. A dozen images flashed through my mind. The aghads. The things I'd seen here. The things I'd seen in PETA propaganda videos. Any one of them could be my fate.

Let's just talk about this, honey mom. The voice snapped me back to reality. If you could call this a reality. It had come from in front of me. From the robot cook or whatever it was. What? It spoke again. It doesn't have to be this way, Missy George.

Besides its mingle grasp of pronouns, it spoke English with remarkable clarity. Its voice was soft and feminine, the slight metallic quality. I'm sorry? Was all I could manage, still dazed. We can put you right back where you belong, a little thingaduck. We can even fix you up like the rest. You'll never. I know.

I know exactly what I was talking about. The brainwashing. As far as I knew, I was making first contact with a non-human intelligence. I had a billion questions about what they were doing here, where they came from. What else was out there in the universe or multiverse or whatever we might be living in? One thing actually came out. Fuck yourselves! It sighed, a hollow metal sigh.

A little smoke escaping from its feet. face vent. It seemed to sink a little of my response. If that's how you wanted, but you'm a wasall. It rose threatening on its three legs and I realized what it reminded me of. A barbecue grill. In the blink of an eye, its clawed arm shot out and clamped around the handle of my precious shovel, effortlessly tearing it from my grip and dropping it to the walkway. Fuck. It shot out again. This time got me by the neck.

It slammed me by the ground, taking apparent care and had to choke me just yet, but at least caused considerable pain. Its legs clanged noisily as the position itself directly over me and planted its metal ass directly onto my stomach, pinning me down even tighter. Lines of black grease began to roll down the thing's artificial face, sizzling furiously. I screamed weakly through the creature's grasp when a single, tiny droplet met the exposed skin on my arm. It felt like being branded. The monster giggled. It spoke with a laughter like it was reading from a bad script. If its eyes had been real, it must have been looking directly into mine.

And if it had lips, I'm sure it would be smiling. It bent forward. The grease now cascading in a thick curtain, threatening any moment to start raining and hissing streams onto my exposed face. The claw around my neck tight. I was tightened, finally pinching shut my airway. It was going to burn my eyes out as it strangled me to death. I let go with the things armed to shield my face as best I could,

wishing I'd had the foresight to wear heavier grayed gloves as I awaited the torrent of boiling grease. The things giggling reaching a fever pitch. Huh? Stopped. The grease didn't come. Removing my hands from my eyes, I saw the monster's head had turned away from me. It shrieked. I couldn't tell what I was looking at until I'd unexpectedly loosened its grasp on my neck and lurched to its feet.

I could see small white shapes out the corner of my eye. Gross. Gross. It wailed like a child as a rubbery hobgoblin scrambled up its metal body like boneless gecko lizards. It started to stumble about, trying its best to pick off the teeming pest with its single arm, but I slipped through the claw like jelly. I wasn't sure how long it would be distracted, and I dove from my shovel before teetering painfully to my feet. I could see the swelling legion of meat just one level below. Bile things! Bile!

They're in my boots! I was almost too fascinated to act. The hobgoblins have pried the lid off their rusty green. grill, exposing an oily black and little form beneath. It was too tangled and burnt to make out, but I could see various limbs waving frantically to keep the gremlin things at bay. I raised the shovel. Prep to strike.

All at once, the little creatures snapped their heads in my direction, dropped like flies from the metal being, falling to the path and scattering out of sight. The grill face, too, turned towards me. Thank you. You have no idea what? I let out a berser howl as I brought down the shovel squarely in the black twitching body, splatting it with a wet crunch and a deafening bang against the white-hot grill it rested upon. The metal construct stood still and silent for several agonizing moments

before it finally began to pitch backwards, creaking like a rusty door before banging into the ground, dead or asleep or whatever the shit I just did. I prodded it a few times before cautiously stout. stepping around it and continuing up. Something didn't want me to reach the top. And I felt pretty good about it. Entry 5.6.

The rest of my climb was relatively uneventful. Broken only by the odd hot dog squid or scuttling pork rinds. It was a full 23 flights up that I was at roughly level at the top of the tower, to walkway branching around in a perfect wall-to-wall spider web. Up close the side of the brainflies was more awesome and more hideous than I could have imagined. Bathed in that alien light, the roaring funnel of unearthly life was almost too beautiful to have burst its way from formerly human skulls. The death toll they represented must have been staggering. That terrible beauty rather harshly

clashed with the figure standing a few yards ahead on a raised rectangular platform. Back turned towards me as it overlooked the tower and appeared to fidget with a large control console. I blinked hard, trying to register its strangely familiar shape. It had no apparent head or neck. Its body was only browed, rounded mass, like a squirish barrel. A pair of dark, mushy limbs extended from its side. A white object bubbled around its upper surface. I didn't want to accept what I was looking at.

It was... It was too much. Even now, it was... It was just... It was just fucking stupid. It was a hamburger. In a chef's hat. Like the logo.

If I could sneak up on it, I could purge my muddy blade straight into its big stupid breadhead. There was no way it could hear me coming above the team in bugs. I took my first light, cautious step. It whirled around. For a long time, we just stared at one of the ones. The rancid-looking beast regarded me with bulging bloodshot eyes the size of soccer balls. Oozing and twitching as it looked me up and down.

I didn't know what else to do. I was going to finally break the staring contest. I lowered my shovel and raised my hand in greeting. Hello? The moldering sandwich stood still for a few more moments before those slimy eyeballs rolled in their lid-less sockets. As if I just said or done something even more ridiculous, in the thing's very existence. I almost began stammering for a follow-up statement

when one of its slimy appendages suddenly reached for a huge bright red switch on its console and nonchalantly pressed it. It raised one sludgy beef hand and gave a sort of Toulou finger wave as its entire platform abruptly plunged through the floor and disappeared out of sight. The elevator shaft sealed off behind it

and moments later, the catwalks began to flood his activity. Entry 5.7. From somewhere on the opposite side of the glowing, flying brain tornado came dozens of new shapes. Meat beings were pouring from some unseen new opening, already looking larger and meaner than any of the oozing re-jacks had been mowing down. I didn't suppose my little gremlin friends were waiting nearby with any flamethrowers. The first thing to reach me was a squiggly, bare-sized yellow mass of soft tangled limbs,

rolling along at a seemingly abnormal speed. It looked almost like an octopus, until a long necks snaked out from its worldly folds snapping at me with an orange beak. A giant boneless chicken. Why was this my life? With a surge of contemptuous bloodlust, I hacked mercilessly with the abominable thing

long after it had ceased moving, only for something else to whistle just over my head. I spun around in the shredded remnants of the octobird, coming face to featureless doll crotch with a pair of skin legs six feet high infused at the hips. I staggered back, foolishly slipping in the scattered chicken guts and landing flat on my back. The legs terminated and needle-sharp laces of bone, precariously balancing on the metal mesh of the walkway. They raised one wicked lance in the air again, aiming straight from my eyes. and it was a miracle I put the shovel between as quickly enough. The legs seemed to momentarily vanish with the speed of its strike.

It took a moment to regain its balance as it bounced off the shovel, the thin tip of its bone holding up distressingly well. I barely managed to sit upright as it took a stab from my heart and I scrambled to my feet just intended to deflect a third strike. Enraged, I swung the shovel like a barbarian's axe and the legs toppled. While they flailed over to the guardrail, I swear to God, I heard them utter a soft high-pitch. Uh-oh.

From another direction came a throbbing heart the size of a small car, ambling along on its branching veins, an equally gigantic steak-knife protruding from its center like a metallic snout. It reared back, raising itself a full eight feet on its tendrils and let out a high-pitched rat-like squeak. Nope. I attempted to flee down another branch to the metal wall. lap, but my course was soon interrupted by a clattering scarecrow-like assemblage of bone shards and flimsy

sinew, chattering its many fractured dog-like skulls as it swung a large sawtooth jawbone at my stomach. I struck back with my own weapon, its skulls splintering even further beyond recognition. My adrenaline surged. I demolished one twisted child of Satan's deli after another. I toppled shuffling golems of pork scraps, wailing ghouls of dripping. lard, a serpentine mass of fused chicken feet, and even that giant squeaking heart. Its arteries dousing me with geysers of hot blood as it's throbbing and less subsided. I was almost disappointed by how easily it had all been. I shouldn't have been.

As I stood in a puddle of mashed viscera, blood, and who knows what else streaming off my face, I heard mysterious clane go through the vast space and felt the walk of the walk of the way shutter under my feet. It was followed by another. The shaking intensified. Clang. It reminded me rather uncomfortably of huge heavy footsteps on the grated floor. Two guesses what it was.

Come on. I dare you. Entry 5.8. As the stomping grew louder, the even larger figure emerged from the other side of the flying brain tornado. The shape looming 15 feet tall in the deep. dim, flicker in green light. Like the pressure cooker bitch, or whatever that was, it had a large metallic appearance,

but at the same time, strangely organic. Its spinny, nearly skeletal body didn't seem like it should have been heavy enough to rattle the floor so violently. Its long, bony feet terminating, thin, sword-like talons. Most of its weight was likely concentrated in its head, immediately recognizable as the shape of a sausage grinder. slowly wavering with each laborious step. A pair of slimy eyeballs, like the burger man's,

stare down at me from one side of this huge contraption. And where there should have been a handle was only a black-skeld arm, ending in one of those white cartoon gloves. Its worst characteristic, by far, was the way of breathed. A hollow metallic wheeze of increasing speed and intensity. The panting of some starving dog just caught wiff. fresh roadkill. It stepped effortlessly and one can't walk to another, like a spider scrambling and slow motion

along the strands of its web. And as it drew closer, something unimaginably worse began to happen. All the meek I had just slaughtered for at least its second time was beginning to move once more. As one, the mutilated horrors around me began to ride, stumble, and drag themselves towards a grinder headed giant, whose single arm shot out the moment one groping rolling pile of giblets came within its impressive reach. It lifted this shining, sticky mass up to the filth cake funnel on top of its grinder head and dropped its straight in. It continued to stomp its way in my general direction, scooping up more monsters and dumping them into its upper orifice until they were nearly spilling

over the sides, turning a bathtub full of flesh in its. The thing is the thing is the thing is was slow. But as I ran from one end of the spider's weather than next, I found every possible exit sealed tight. And by now, the neat rising from below, it almost reached my level. There was nothing to fight. I could only keep running. I turned to look back at the grinder being, still ponderously, but relentlessly pursuing me in a straight line as I was forcing to zigzag. It snatched up the last straggling monster. Some sort of spider-legged white pod resembling nothing. I really recognized and dumped it in with the rest. Without slowing down, the monster clenched its now blood-soaked,

and began spinning its entire arm in its socket around and around with a ratchet-like noise. The collective mutants churning and twisting as they were sucked deeper into the grinder. I turned to continue running, but made it only a few more yards before a sickening, flagellent, sputtering sound echoed through the chamber, and something thick and warm and wet slammed hard onto my back. The catwalk dropped away as I was swung through the air and brought to face the grinder man's unblinking gaze. I was being held tight in an enormous, pulpy pink hand, wavering on the hand of a tentacler limb comprised entirely of raw ground meat.

It had formed the limb from every walking nightmare I had spent the last of my energy putting down, and it flung it like a lizard's tongue with pinpoint accuracy, instantly subduing me from a good 20 meters away. I screamed and thrashed desperately, but only felt further mired in the dense, tarry muck. The crank-arm continued to twist, and more squirming noodles of processed tissues slithered along the length of its makeship appendage, cocooning me more layers of raw flesh.

I was reminded yet again of a spider. As I sank deeper into that stinking, sloppy mire, I suddenly found myself transfixed by what was directly behind the metallic giant. I could finally see into the tower, into the vortex, down into where the wretched alien brain hatchers were all going in such a herd. At first I was only confused. Significance of what I was seeing almost didn't want to register. Bitter, rancid meat juices were beginning to flood my mouth.

Tendrils of beef sludge were probing my eyes and nose. My world was going black. I was being smothered to death. On the inside? I just couldn't stop laughing. Entry 5.9. I awoke the following morning on the floor of my own home. Alive.

My body was caked with meat gunk. My clothes sticky with blood. Not a dream. What little must have been in my stomach? promptly emptied itself onto the carpet. I guess I'd be tearing those up soon, if there was any real point. I staggered the shower,

my mind racing with all I had seen in the meat factory. They had, apparently, neither wished to kill me nor erase my memories. I guess they knew, as well as I did, that there was nothing I could do to them. After all, if cattle couldn't do much to change their fate, What hope could there be for the cattle feed?

Entry 6. I tried to get a fountain coke at the 7-Eleven, some sort of pinkish gunk coiled out like softserv, smelling like hot baloney. I cut open what I thought was a watermelon. The inside was a lot like a brain. I unwrapped an omen joy, got nothing but a length of bone,

filled with a clear yellow mush. Put money into a Coke machine. I saw the bottle tumble to the bottom. I reached through the door. All I pulled out was a heart. Still beating. I hurled it to the pavement and stomped in into nothing but a red sticky stain. Came home starving.

Not even surprised by the flock of chickens hobbling around my front lawn. Plucked in headless. I staggered in my kitchen and cracked into another box of cereal from my dwelling stash. Cat food stink. Cartoon hamburger. The words, superior food matter had replaced frosted flakes. Tony the Tiger was just a grainy photograph of a bobcat. A box of Lucky Charms now said, added tissue rind.

Above some shitty JPEG stock arc of a nobody leprechaun. The Cheerios had some organism part, add fluids. The rest of the box was dominated by a close-up, a clammy gray intestines. I rummaged through the whole supply in a days. Red blood materials. Marvelous food nugget. None of this was there when I bought it. I didn't bring home anything with a single letter out of whack.

The last box of cocoa puffs. My favorite. Fred Flintstone still look like Fred Flintstone. Just far too real. I could see every pore on his lifelike base, fleshy nose. This was now apparently a box of flavored meal substance. Whatever.

What the fuck ever. I ate it. I ate it and it was goddamn delicious. So was the mysterious can of your favorite meat pasts. Waiting for me on my coffee table. So was the cup of what looked smelled and tasted like liquid bacon. straight from my own tap. The black thing in the refrigerator was as sweet as maple ham,

even if it looked like the bastard child of a caterpillar and a starfish. The best thing, by far, was the steak. The huge, red, juicy steak ready for me in the seat of my car. It wasn't even the flavor that made it so good. It was the screaming. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At CreepyPod on Twitter, Instagram.

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