Creepy - Burnt Black

Episode Date: September 2, 2021

Be careful...***Written by Jason Mount and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer***Content Warning: graphic violence***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors 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 books. violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Burnt Black. Written by Jason Mound. And narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. Scorched red. Every movement is dry, searing pain. Stretching from the small of my back to the burgundy tan naked of my neck, ready to burst.

The skin tearing open to reveal boiled deposits of evaporated beef. Another scoop of dry earth. Another seven centimeters closer to another disappointment at the bottom of a six-paced hole. I've been on this goddamn K for what feels like a year. I lost track of the days. After working under this cursed star for five days straight in the heat of this unrelenting midsummer sun, nightfall comes as a wash of pure serenity. With the moon comes a chance to rest and regain some vitality. Time to sleep, but not for long, the sweat dripping down from my forehead into my eyes and my mouth tells me the sun has come again.

It's time to get the shovel and get to digging. I worked out a system that allows me a hole a day. About three paces around and six paces deep. And so it goes. Wake up. Piss, shit. And dip into my ever-dwindling rations of magin infested hardtack and salt pork. At night, I boil enough water to get me through the day.

There's a small pool of. of fresh water near the center of the quay, but the parasites will leave me blind. And with the blood and my gut within half days' time, no. I have to boil the little demons out of the water before I drink it. Water sears my blood and chaps what's left of my scabbed lips. Thinking of the treasure that brought me to this quay brings me a grin. My dried flesh cracks. and soon i taste a salty trickle creeping in through my yellowed teeth how long have i been on this god-dam kye i find blossoming crimson in my morning shit must have been too eager to start the day's digging to boil water properly last time around i hope i find my prize soon or else dysentery will be the end of me i think as i surveyed the clearing pocked with deep halls the sun-induced delirium lets the pits full of empty promise dance the waltz around the valley exchanging pleasantries with stride

Deep in my latest attempt, I think of home. I think of her. My true love. My Isabella, when I come back with the gold of a thousand plundered ships, she will have no choice but to marry me. Larsony charges be damned. Another trial full deeper. I will toss a bag of coin, the judge's way,

and the charges will be dropped forthright. The steel of the shovel hits something solid. Despite my better judgment, my heart races. Dropping to my knees, with the slightest of hopes, I force my hands into the dry clay, and grasp the something solid, bleached, white, not the first of numerous bestial skeletal skeletal remains I found on the gay. But this is the first time I've stumbled. across remains of this nature. I hold the off-white object up, dusting off the dirt, a skull,

sun-bleached and grinning. I playfully jab my finger into the perfectly round hole in the center of the forehead. I grin back, wincing as the corners of my maw, split and blood-gushes. I place my found friend on the edge of my ever-forming hole, a companion. Not before long I am pouring my heart out to the sun-stripped fellow. Her smell is that of fresh lilacs on a sweet spring day. Isabella, my heart beats to the rhythm of her breath, color of cherry stain and skin, not unlike freshly yielded cream. She lights my soul and guides my passions.

Everything I do. I do for her. I do it for her love and adulation. I sigh and pause my excavation. Wiping my brow, I take a swig of rum. A voice birthed from naro vocal cords chokes. The last sounds like a... Sounds like a right fine fuck.

I dropped the flask in the dirt and turned toward the skull. My eyes pierced the hollow void where the eyes likely once sat. And I stare, opening my mouth, I let out a soft, rusty cackle. As the sun ate away all rational thought from my worm. addled brain, slow-cooked like a stuck pig. A skull replies, though, do not taunt me with ye appraisal of illusion or mirage. I'm as real as the bloody blisters on your back, ye salty jack-tar. Maggots peel the last flesh of my bones, whilst ye father was rearing into ye mother's book by And so it goes.

The two of us become fast conversers. For we are the only two on the aisle to speak, as I dig hole after a hole, sweat burrowing into the open, cracked sores on my back. The school and I exchanged words and tales. The first several holes were mostly jokes and insults spat at one another. But eventually, they turned it a year. Yarns and personal histories. Smell fungus.

You look as though ye were burnt shot out of the arse of a foul demon. Beaselbub himself, he spits at me as I fumble and drop the towel on my foot. I realize now why I found you in that pit back there, you scrape-bone prick. If I had a sidearm that worked, I may very well put an extra hole in that dome of yours. but it seems as though someone has beat me to it. Blasted, Gobramoke, if ye must know my pitfall, I will tell ye. Twas six decades ago,

I was privy to a crew which shucked the nature of our land's gentlemen and took what we saw fit. Buccaneering, me and my brethren plundered our way from the serpentine sea, up through the Gulf of Barbados, all the way to the Greenlands beyond. Our spoils weren't matched by a single man, or even that of a fleet of the finest imperial ships. But follies were set upon us,

and all but myself in the foreman Jack were dead to the depths. We decided our best days of rich making were behind us, and twas the time to lie low and live out our days on wealth and dignity. Of course, after a fire, Final bowed of merry-making at the Dread Tavern, Maloy, where the corks were loose and the cots were looser. After getting plenty of the elephant's trunk, I set up upon a local lady, shining brighter than the

moon and deadlier than the rising tide. Should have sniffed the rubble on her neck, but I was blinded by the brandy and provoked by the heat in my loins. After the night of old bending flecks, in an outing, I decided to bring her along on mine and Jack's closing journey. Twas this very aisle, to which we set sail for, in a stout, sturdy schooner. Purchased off a shambling wreck outside the tavern. We dropped anchor.

While the last stayed aboard, old Jack reckoned he'd kill the bitch, then let her know where our riches were hid. We took shifts digging, a whole five-pahed. Hases deep during my shift. When we were near reaching our goal, I heard Jack stand up. He said, your curvy wench is a mighty fine one. I reckon I'll tell her you were dragged off by a crazy Gilberbabi. Before I take to Totten the bitch.

Before I could turn around, I heard a donkey crack and everything went black, but only for a moment. Four thought went through my head. T'was face down in the dirt. All foreman Jack took the treasures back on his boat. Had his way with my lady before dumping her off somewhere and hauling away my hard, earned, riches. A backstabbing bastard. Curs his name and damn his seed. May his offspring be sterile, and his lineage shrivel up and die without making a splash in the pond.

I stopped digging in my last effort. Hold on the base of a great oak tree. And I look up at the skull. Beg your pardon. It sounded as though you said your partner left without leaving any treasure buried on this aisle. I dropped the shovel on the floor. Am I to believe that I've wasted these past weeks playing a fool?

A better part of ten years, obsessing. Are you telling me that the blisters on my back and the cracks in my bones are in vain. Climbing out of the hole and sitting back on my heels

in front of the grinning skull. I point my finger at him and I yell. You goddamn twit! You insulin ape! Fuck your eyes and smite your soul. You've been to my side for no less than five days,

spinning your yarns and telling me your woes, letting me toil away my days and act a fool. My back is raw, burnt, and infested with larva. I've been shitting blood. For nothing? On blood, flex-formed foam that dribble down my chin and drip into the sand below. I stand to my feet and look down at the skull. You're a fool and a coward. You deserve that fate. that has befallen you. Every moment of your scum-sucking life that has led to this moment, slain by a partner that acted turncoat,

as soon as he had a chance, last tender moments shared with a filthy street whore, ridden with fleas and disease. You were a waste of flesh then, and now you are a waste of bone. You dare judge me. I've lain under the sand for an eternity, secluded in for long. I needed another soul to end the loneliness, to abate the.

With the last of my strength, I punt the talking head as hard as my worn tendons would allow. The skull rips through the cool dusk air and ricochets off the trunk of a great tree. falling backward towards the ground. Sand coats the open wounds on my back. I taste blood, and my chest heaves. Realization hits me. Coming, I suppose. And so it goes.

Movement, shifting sand, and rustling leaves. Roots to move freely. And as the roots tear apart the earth, and rays out to salute the pain, calls out to me. calls out to me in the mess of tubers and tabroot. It hits me over the head. Shaw, slack, and eyes crazed. With a rush of newfound vigor,

I stand to my feet and reach into the tangle, pulling out a golden medallion encrusted with jewels. Holding it to the moonlight, I let loose a bellowing howl. And get at it with a saw. I exhum over 400 kilograms of golden de blooms, silver ten pennies, royal gems, a jewel-encrusted cutlass, and a plethora of otherworldly treasure. I wipe the sweat off my brow, but the work isn't over yet. I need to get off this k before the sun rises and finally burns me down. Using the roots of the tree, and a tarp as a sail, I create a raft, which I pile high with burlap sacks, filled with my earned treasure, all towards the shoreline, calcium.

Let an unfathomable curse be upon thine head. May death seek ye out, boy, hark, hark the great demon of the sea, awaken from the depths of the trench. The great Leviathan, rise up to the pernicious shallows, bringing brine and filth and pus and slime. Emerging from the blackened water, may it wrap its jagged and writhing tentacles around thy torso, and plunge its serration into your gullet, tearing you apart limb from limb. The spewings of the skull and continue dragging the vessel to the one. Let the oceanic beast make ye his oblivion set upon thy body, parting out each bit of thy flesh to the ends of the sea. Neither God, devil, or man, will commemorate or recall of thy name.

Ye will be forgotten to the depths, nor part of thy caucus, will ever be resembling the sniveling man ye once were before. I give the raft one last shove, scrambling on, and push into the night. Damn thee! Damn thee! Ike with sweat dripping into my eyes. The sun is full fury, and I have meager supplies. I will be lucky if I don't find my demise and dehydration before I reach the nearest imperial port.

I really have enough hard to act to live. last me till sundown. And my leather will be dry in a day and a half. My outlook is grim, but my vitality is unquestionable. My spirit is revitalized by my find. The riches of a king. Throwing my thoughts drift in and out, those of Isabella linger. Has she thought about me since my departure?

Has she found another? It doesn't matter. I passed the time with an old shanty. Come back to me, Isabella, here tonight. You, my rose, with your Lindian lyre. There hovers forever around your delight. A beauty desired. Even your garment plunders my eyes.

I am enchanted. I, who once complained, to the cypress-born goddess, thou beseech. Choose my grace and touch a dab of water to my lips. The sun sets and the moon glows with patience and elegance, of satisfaction and homecoming, staring out melody, feel something. In damnation, follow ye. Ye cannot escape. Ye are doomed to oblivion, nothingness, death.

Shut up! Shut up! Splenders, cluster of shards and white powder, disturbing nervous. A fear strikes my heart as a crown of cockleshells rise from the agitated waves. A steaming maw images from the salted black form, forming whirlpools of miasmatic eyes. The entire way he is crested impungent, mucus through the roots, breaking apart the raft, reach from me, and I am frozen in absolute dread. As the tentacles begin to push into my gut, I snap out of the horror spell, taking

a hold of the ornate sword, and I sever a tip from the teratoid limb. Cutless, I hoist two of the larger burlap sacs up and around my neck and leap. Nightmare, perhaps I can swim to land. Frididge's sea consumes the rapt and with the rafts attention to me. Muscle spasm as I thrash around, unable to escape the weight of my prize. Air leaves my lungs. A shadow even closes in on my vision. consciousness fades.

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