Creepy - Carcosa Substation 46

Episode Date: January 13, 2025

Carcosa Substation 46***Written by: Kyle Harrison with guest narration by: Nichole Goodnight***The Man in the Library***Written by: Aurora Wolf Star and Narrated by: Alicia Atkins***Downpour***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea 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 creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. For your first story this evening, when a man awakes in an undersea lab, a job he wanted for the isolation, a mystery soon begins to unravel as he realizes that his isolation has far greater implications than he ever could have imagined. Creepy Presents Carcosa Substation 46 Written by Kyle Harrison

With guest narration by Nicole Goodnight I used to get these really bad headaches as a kid that kind that would make you curl up into a ball and wish for death to take you away I stopped having those symptoms the day I decided to stop keeping track of time in this place The sake of anyone receives this transmission

Just know that all of this could have happened in a single day Or a year for all I know That's how everything's blurred together after all this time It's important to recognize that when you've been here as long as I have Nothing feels significant at first It's all just a part of a routine Mine starts with a morning cup of coffee probably a lot like yours.

They do still have coffee above the water, right? Sorry, I should start over. I didn't mention the most crucial detail about this place. I'm stationed approximately 3,800 meters under the ocean. The only place deeper than us is Point Nemo, but we're just as inaccessible as them and maybe even more so. I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to anyone on the surface world for about a year or so.

I think. Honestly, that isn't a big deal for me. I'm an introvert. Work keeps me busy, and I have a lot to do here. Kerkosa is a science substation. We specialize in research that involves fissures and deep sea trenches that no human can reach. That's why we have several remote, operative vehicles, aka roves, that send us data that we have to analyze and reanalyze all day long.

And by we, I mean just me, because no one else is here. I didn't like that very much when I got here. It's funny, after all this time, how significant that first day was. I woke up with one of those headaches I told you about. Except this one felt like a permanent hangover from out of nowhere. because I'm not a drinker. I was disoriented, my body feeling like it had a bag of bricks on my chest.

Then I noticed I was in a room I didn't recognize. It was cobalt metal and dim lights, basic storage chambers and other ordinary necessities that you might have in a bedroom. Except I knew it wasn't mine. I tried my best not to panic as I got up and stepped out. The place I was in felt very cold and empty. It was a wide room with no distinctive patterns and shuttered windows, but it reminded me of

what you might see from a space station tunnel. There was a low hum coming from another room ahead of me, so I went there to try and gather my bearings. My memory of the time before that day is extremely fuzzy, but I still recall the bright white lights in the observation room and the hum of the monitors. Everything was warm and inviting, making me feel as though I belong. A voice chimed from one of those blank screens. Since it was the very first thing I heard down here, it actually made me jump.

Nowadays, I feel like her voice is all I can ever hear. Good morning, Officer Akeley. I am the Habitat Science and Technology Robotic Interface of HSTR. I hope you had a wonderful sleep. What is this place? I don't remember how I got here. I told the artificial voice. In response, the windows in the room slowly rose up and showed me in my surroundings.

The shimmering, endless depths of the ocean stared back at me as HSTR told me a bit about my assignment. You are on board Carcosa Deep Substation 56, also known as Signal Yellow. We are approximately 3,8.000. 846 meters below sea level near to the Cadet Trench. As I'm sure you are already aware, your memory has been wiped to prevent our exact location from being discovered. This was part of a contract you signed with our mutual employer, the Asferia Energy Corporation. The computer told me. It went on to explain that the reason for this privacy was because the research and data conducted here was not officially authorized by any known governments.

But rest assured that this is in fact for the best of the privacy. betterment of the planet above. I found it a bit sketchy to believe that being drugged or kidnapped and sent to such a remote location sounded altruistic, but I soon discovered that leaving wasn't an option. The station was supplied with five years worth of food, all properly stored in a temperature controlled pantry that only dispensed it whenever HSTR deemed I needed it. And there was no vehicle or escape pod to be found. Trust me, I looked. When my initial panic wore off, HSTR told me more about my mission.

The Kadath Trench is a portion of a greater deep sea canyon that has never been seen before by anyone. Our initial data readings have shown that within this region, there are potential mining opportunities, energy reserves akin to fossil fuels, except far more vast and volatile. The five drones we had at our disposal were to enter the canyon and rotating shifts for the first six weeks of my time. here, simply to send back scans and photographs. The quicker we mapped the area, HSTR said, the faster we could determine where to mine. It could, of course, take much longer than that, seeing as we are dealing with an energy source that is undefined. As much as I didn't like the idea of being here, I knew that any chance I had a going home

would involve cooperation. So, I settled into a routine like I mentioned before. coffee, reading data scans, checking the drone camera feed, all of it became very monotonous. HSTR would provide me with feedback from HQ from time to time. The only chance I ever got to know that what we were sending up was of any importance, but the messages seemed so far and few between. Often they were also so precise and professional, I didn't really feel like they cared. about my sanity down here, just that I was doing my job.

One thing that did start to stand out, though, was the insistence that the drones should not return to our substation for repairs. At first I ignored it. Maybe our station wasn't meant for maintenance. But after I got a good feel of the place, I recognized that wasn't true. We had what we needed to fix any issues with the roves. 10 times over. H.S.T.R. explained that there were other research stations closer, so it was simply expedited

to them, but when I asked if we could open communication to those, she'd always change the subject. You must understand, Officer Aikley, that the reason for your isolation is entirely impersonal. The work must come first. In your dossier, you specified you worked better alone. Yet this issue continues to come up, where we wronged a station. Can you hear? Right.

Of course. I actually do better with all this when I'm not disturbed. I just would appreciate a sense of progress. It's been, what, a month now? And yet, we haven't been able to determine a proper mining zone. I guess the robot's on my frustrations because the next day I had good news for me. HQ is beginning drilling, and we'd be receiving a small container the material within the trench to study.

Since we do not know for certain what the substance could be, it is advised that we approach with caution and allow the roads to do the heavy lifting, so to speak. The following day, I got to see how the supply dock worked. From within the relative safety of the observation deck, I saw the bright red robots bringing the rock to the platform below me, using their high-pressure lasers to cut away the formation and reveal a strange black slime beneath the rock's skin. It pulsed and bubbled, even there in the pressure chamber, like it was probably 10,000 times hotter than anything else in the ocean. And the way it slowly melted out and formed a pool of tar unsettled me.

I'd never seen anything quite like it before. The longer I looked at it, the more disturbed I became. The slime seemed to respond to the robot's movements, slinking and slithering downwards against the floor. Then something unexpected happened before my eyes. The screen began to glitch, and I thought for sure I was staring at an empty space. Then it went offline altogether as an alarm sounded. Is everything all right, HSTR? I asked.

The computer didn't answer. So I began a long walk across the station trying to see firsthand what had happened. Except as I made it to almost the halfway point, I discovered the passage was sealed. I'm sorry, Officer Akeley. There seems to be some kind of contamination breach in the docking bank. I'm sending our onboard maintenance drones to determine the situation. Until I can determine what happened, it's best for you to remain here.

It told me. But that was the first time I'd heard a faint hint of worry in the robot's voice. In fact, that was the first time I could even tell it wasn't. simply some script coded in. This artificial intelligence seemed to have some kind of sentience now, and it was making certain I didn't get near that discovery. I wish I'd asked why back then, but I shrugged it off and waited for the report like a good little drone.

About an hour later the feed came back online, but the substance was long gone, and only the cleanup remained. What happened? Did the roves remove it from the station? I asked. I'm afraid so. It's been shipped over to Outpost 17 for further analysis.

It's far more secure than we are, and has three human operatives. I gathered from that short statement that HSTR was worried the substance might be dangerous for a little lonesome old me. So I decided instead to focus on the maintenance of the camera streams. Something had happened during the testing which glitched the systems, I told HSTR. To do a proper maintenance run, I need to reboot you, I told it the next day. And how long will that take? Don't worry, I'm not going to run off, I teased. The robot was reluctant, but agreed, allowing me about six hours of free time to not be monitored.

I went to the docking bay first to see if there was anything left to discover, but much like the empty screen I'd walk. When I got there, I couldn't find any indication that we had ever had anything come inside the station at all, and even a single droplet of water from the ocean depths. It didn't seem possible. It worried me. So I went to the Data Collection Center next to do a bit of my own research. This place is basically a storage room filled with circuit boards of information stored for the entire history of the station.

The system logs everything and dumps it here for some. safekeeping, which would mean I could possibly find details of how I got here in the first place. It took about an hour to find the correct processor and then placed the data card into my personal computer, but that only led to more questions. It was corrupted. And checking out more files to the extent of about six months before my arrival, I discovered they were all corrupted as well. Only one thing stuck out. HSTR was the one responsible for purging this information from the database. The camera feeds were the last thing I checked, because honestly I hadn't been lying to the computer entirely.

I felt something was wrong with the equipment, and a more accurate picture began to form as I did. I went back as far as I could, which was about three years ago to see when the drones first entered the canyon. and I noticed patterns as I placed the video feet on fast forward. Patterns like the same shadows dancing around the rock wall or the same waft of underwater bubbles fizzing past the screen. They were infrequent, but they were the same. HSTR was not sending me new footage at all, I realized. This was all pre-recorded and on a very long loop,

one that was just different enough that I wouldn't notice if I didn't pay attention. Except now that I had, when the computer finished its reboot, I decided to get some answers. The yellow activation light came on and the soothing female voice they'd given to the robot addressed me, asking if I was able to make proper adjustments needed. I was, and I've found a few things I wish I hadn't. Which also need tweaking, I said as I pulled out one of the microprocessors for my coat pocket. You've been lying to me, HSTR.

And there's a little point in denying it. I thoroughly checked the backup data. You haven't been connected to the Rows for almost a year now. About a month before I got here, actually. Or should I say, a month before I guess you decided you need me? I actually have to admit I had to. no idea what the limits were for HSTR. It was entirely possible the AI might view me as a threat and cut my oxygen because of what I just said.

But I had faith that they were keeping me down here for a reason. It was now time for them to reveal that to me. Officer Akeley, you have been down here approximately 18 months and six days. I want to congratulate you for taking the time to ascertain the issues in my memory, as this corruption has puzzled me for quite some time. You see, at the time of your awakening, I too was not aware of any information except the few processors that had not been affected. It would seem, officer, that our past selves altered the data for our protection. I sat forward trying to comprehend what is telling me.

Do you have any idea what might have happened a year and a half ago? If my hypothesis is correct, it is the actual incident where this substation encountered the material that we witnessed on the recorded feed yesterday. HSTR explained So then the feed we saw wasn't actually live at all Just a replay of the past I muttered Trying to understand what the truth of all this was So you're saying that I wiped your memory

And then did the seam to my own On purpose So that we'd be trapped down here Everything in my programming indicates this is the case In fact it would seem that you coded my software so that I would be unable to alter it without your prior knowledge. It is likely the substance is not only able to affect your biological processes, but my technological capabilities as well.

HSTR told me. So how do we fix it? That's the one bit of good news. It would seem when you recalibrated my systems it caused a fragment of the old data to filter back through. I am attempting to piece it together now. I hypothesize if we could continue such regulated system calibrations, it would allow further data to be retrieved.

It told me. I mulled over that issue. I had no way of being sure if the artificial intelligence was even telling the truth. But the more time it was offline, the more time I had to poke around without an interruption.

On the other side of that coin, if HSTR was telling the truth, then I had made sure all this would happen to protect us and most likely the surface world too, meaning that further prompt, fine could be deadly. After a bit of mental deliberation, I decided it was a risk I would need to take.

Fine, we'll schedule another one in 18 hours. In the meantime, we should send a dossier to HQ and let him know the malfunctions. Maybe we'll get lucky and someone will send help down here, I told it. The robot claimed it would comply and I spent the next few hours resting. I wanted to have my full sensors whenever the AI, wasn't active, and even though I was still wary of the computer. My options were limited. I woke to the sound of an alarm making my head ringing with agony as I rushed to the observation

deck. HSTR was providing me with camera feed from a close-by research station. I saw on screen the entire deep-seat platform was collapsing into the trench. Jesus Christ, what's happening? I'm afraid I don't know, Officer Eakley. I just had finished the defragmentation of the data. when we received this emergency call. But I was unable to get any kind of response

when I asked them what was wrong. What has transpired before our eyes took only mere minutes. HSTR explained. How many people were aboard the station? According to the data we have on file, six, and their mission coincided with our own, to procure the energy resources and analyze them. I thought about the black slime that had reacted so quickly to our own scans

and how it seemed to have caused a lot of damage here. Our fate could be the same if we kept pressing for answers. What did you find from the defragmented files? I said sitting back and rubbing my head. For the first time in a while, those headaches were coming back. It would seem that my initial belief that the substance is biological was incorrect. Or rather, according to the file I retrieved, it is able to alter its form from solid to liquid to biological to non-biological, depending on the circumstances.

HSTR said. The way it so coldly explained something that sounded like magic unsettled me, there's nothing like that on this planet, I realized. That was the other portion of the data I found fascinating. The scans of the materials indicate that none of them originate here on Earth, or at least not on Earth we are familiar with. What did that even mean? I watched as the last of the Undersea Platform finished collapsing

and decided that now more than ever, we had to act quickly before something like that hit us. HSTR, I'm going to go ahead and start another recalibration sequence. In fact, I'm going to do several short bursts so that I can give you an opportunity to collect the corrupted data faster. Will that work? The AI said nothing, perhaps calculating the odds, that it answered softly.

Theoretically, yes. What will you do in the meantime, Officer Akeley? I will attempt to send another transmission to the surface and override any protocols that prevent me from leaving this hell. I answered as I shut the computer down before I could object. This time I would have eight hours. I prayed it would be enough. I wasn't entirely lying about my intentions to the computer. I did wish to send a message to the surface.

anyone would listen. But I'm honestly not sure if this will ever reach anyone because of what else I found. I decided to begin defragmenting the data myself, a task that would unfortunately require much longer since I didn't have the speed of the computer. But I didn't trust what HSTR was telling me. As soon as I found a good reason not to, amid the clutter of the processors, I found every single transmission that I had compiled for Asferia. None of them had ever reached HQ.

I'd been thinking this whole time that I was accomplishing something, and the reality was for some bizarre reason. This artificial intelligence was trapping me here to simply do nothing over and over again. The frustration I felt made me dig deeper under the corrupted files. I'm not a skilled hacker, but I knew enough to figure out how to access some of the earliest video files. One in particular interested me showing the roves entering the trench. They were five of them, all gathering the material as they'd been ordered.

But the feed showed something went wrong whenever they attempted to retrieve a larger sample. There was something else alive within the rock face. The entire chasm seemed to move and groan as they mined, and that roves could do nothing but try and retreat as a canyon shifted and moved. This was not a trench at all, I realized. The substance we had been mining for was likely the offspring of some monstrous creature. I recalled what had happened at the other station when they brought some aboard. The monster from the deep had sunk them and destroyed the entire underwater platform.

Eighteen months ago we had these offspring aboard our station, and yet we lived. I was determined more than ever to figure out how that was possible. I started on the next piece of corrupted data and froze as I saw my own reflection in the feed. Realizing this was from a moment before I wiped the station's memory, before I'd chosen, according to HSTR, to blind myself of what I'd learned. I turned up the audio to listen to my shaking voice. This is substation 46, Carcosa signal yellow. Yesterday we finally managed to retrieve the material that we'd been hunting for.

It's a more important discovery than Asperia could have ever hoped for. My old self stood aside and showed the squirming black slime that was trapped inside a sealed-off room. It looked like a million microscopic organisms that it all slithered together to form a single mind bent on madness. The organism adapts and processes information faster than even our supercomputers. and can infect both biological and non-biological agents to spread its will. We've had no choice but to lock down the facility and to eradicate all data related to it. It would seem that it's bent on reaching the surface,

to infect any minds that are sane in the world above, and it would use our technology to do this. Once it takes hold of your body, you have no further ability to think through yourself, although you'll never understand this. You'll believe it's your own body making the motions. But have witness this happened firsthand. My reflection said and showed his hand on the screen.

It was his black sash, like it was about to crumble apart to the bone. I don't have long for this world. But I know that this isn't the end. This thing will use whatever resource it has at its disposal to reach the surface, even if that means occasionally sacrificing a new surface. host. I suddenly saw my old self-attacking and harming his body, cutting at it, slitting his own throat and screaming as he tried to stop it from happening, but it was too late. My mouth went dry as I saw my dead body lay on the feed display and shake like a fish out of water. The black slime moved,

slamming against the glass in the video. I watched as it finally broke me. and then consumed me. The camera died after that, and I felt an emptiness in my gut. Then the station came to life, and the computer spoke to me. You understand now your role, Officer Akeley. Our part to play in the awakening and opening

to the threshold of the true world that exists in the deep. Its mall is wide and endless, and will devour all that stand in its way. We are but brought in corpses program to obey, and obey we shall. Door unsealed and I saw before me the same black substance that I saw in my dreams. The one that swallowed me whole and gave me new purpose. I'm sending this transmission to you to anyone who will listen to warn them of what I am

and what will soon cover this earth. I touched the material and watched as the slime covered my arm, sinking into my skin and into my veins and into my veins and into my body. my mind, the cadetth trench has an energy source unlike any this world has ever seen. Send more resources. We wish to mine further for your second story this evening. Allah's student's quiet life unravels. After unsettling encounters with a mysterious man in the library coincide with a string of disappearances. Is she imagining it? Or is she next? Creepy presents. The Man in the Library, written by Aurora Wolf Star, and narrated by Alicia Atkins.

I got into law school on a whim. It sounds pretentious, like I'm trying to sound all blaz-é and aloof. But I'm not. It wasn't a Daddy-Pay sort of situation, but more of a, I have no idea what to do with these grades. and a, let's apply far-from-home situation that ended with me here. So, on a whim. And now, before you ask, because I know you will, I don't really feel comfortable actually sharing where in the world I am.

After all, I don't want to give you any stupid ideas. I'll say as much that it's somewhere with harsh winters and lots of deep, old forest. See if that'll help you figure it out. At first, I had some trouble adjusting. I knew from an early age I wanted away from home, but actually being away turned out to be quite challenging at first. I felt lonely a lot. I made friends.

I made great friends, actually. But it's more than feeling of loneliness than I was not used to. You know, coming home to a dark apartment and just realizing no one's been there or moved in that space since you last left? There's no one there who turns on the light. just so you feel welcome back. That type of loneliness ate at me for a while. But it got better.

I got a cat. And now there's always someone who screams at me for showing up late or not feeding them quickly enough. Just like home. In school? School, I love. I've always loved it. In law school, I love just the same.

The hours and hours of studying, the books and the seminars, the lectures and the professors, and the library. I adore the library. It is an architectural dream. It spans over four floors, study rooms, reading nooks,

silent halls, sofas for lounging, and computer rooms. It is massive. There's even a basement. Whenever I need to focus a bit extra on my schoolwork, I make my way down there. It is a completely silent floor. No talking, no cell phones, no gossip that I can overhear and pay more attention to than my work.

There are even private little cubicles tucked away amongst the shelves and storage. And that is the best part. The basement is just a keepsake for all the old records and history books. All the maps and old photographs of charts or graphs, I really have no idea. It is simply just all the stuff no one, but very specific strange doctorates come searching for. It even smells old and papery. Just like how you'd imagine an old basement full of books would smell like. It's a silent retreat, perfect for studying into the late hours of the morning.

The rest of the library is just as I described, vast and modern and beautiful. But instead of the concrete walls of the basement, it is encased in glass. For two out of the four walls keeping that library standing, it is only glass. It spans floor floors high, and if you stand on one side of the library, looking in, you can see through the entire building and out again. From the inside, it makes the atmosphere airy and light. From the outside, and especially at night, it makes it look like a gigantic ant farm, or a backlit aquarium full of guppies.

All of the people in there, just milling about, not a care in the world about whether or not they're being watched. I always feel too self-aware, sitting next to the glass walls late at night. Too aware of the fact that I cannot see outside, but everyone out there can see me. Surprisingly, my story is not about any of that. None of those things, although creepy in theory, are actually creepy in my real life. What I wanted to tell you about is the man on the fourth floor. The fourth floor is, in a bad wording,

exclusive floor, only reserved for law students and faculty. When I first started school here, I spent a lot of time up there. That was before I really noticed him and before those girls went missing. I should tell you now that I'm not sure how to approach this story. Approach might be a good word for what I'm trying to do. Approach the subject about the man on the fourth floor who is taking up every waking thought I have. Still, I fear that no matter what I tell you, I'll simply sound a bit, well, like someone who you might think of is a bit off, paranoid, looking for killers in the closet, or some other fitting saying, whatever. I first saw him when I was sitting at the table with some friends.

I had been zoning out, allowing my eyes just to wander wherever they pleased. and that's when they snagged on him. He just looked out of place, out of style. I'm not sure. I'm not sure why my eyes caught on to him. You know that feeling I was talking about earlier? About sitting by the glass wall and not being able to see someone outside at night, but they can see you?

That feeling of just knowing you're being watched? I had the same type of feeling when I looked at him. just knowing something was off. He looked the same as anyone else. Maybe a bit old-fashioned, a bit unkempt, but that was it. I could not have picked him out in a group of ten men dressed the same as him, if so my life depended on it. Maybe not even five.

He just blended in so well. Like it was a camouflage or a reflex of his to try and go unnoticed in a crowd. Just looking at him made me feel like I was doing something dangerous. He didn't notice me, though. He was all eyes on her. A girl. Pretty, but maybe not someone you would exclaim. Oh, yeah, her, yeah, she's so pretty, if she were to be brought up in conversation. Pretty, but not noticeable, if you get me.

But he had noticed her and was looking at her quite intensely, actually. unaware of me watching him watch her. And I cannot explain it. I can't put it into words why there was a sinking feeling in my gut, something sour on my tongue, why the hair stood on the back of my neck. But he was just off. And she was so unaware.

Everyone was. The chattering and laughing of students around us were filled with weakly. in plans and party invites. And no one saw the way he was looking at her. Like he wanted to do bad things to her. I shouldn't have been surprised when she disappeared. But I... I don't know.

I saw him leave. I saw her stay. I didn't think more of it. I studied late. I hung out with my friends. And the whole thing just slipped from my mind. I was up there several other times before the Flyers even made their way to school. When I first looked at them, I didn't even recognize her face.

I just thought it was a shame, such a sweet-looking girl, missing. It was not until I saw him again up there, pacing between the bookshelves, that I was brought back to that moment weeks prior. It had to have been her, I thought. And I again spent far too long watching him. wondering why that feeling of unease coiled around my stomach like a vicious metal spool. He hadn't done anything wrong then, and he didn't do anything wrong when I was looking at him stalking amongst those shells either. He was just looking at that girl for Christ's sake.

I look at a lot of people. I probably look at some people a bit strangely too. Am I not one to judge, I told myself? But up there, amongst me. all that glass and sleek metal lines of the library, I watched him again. Just to prove to myself I was being stupid. He walked up and down the bookshelves, seemingly searching for a book of some sort. Maybe some old law for his paper or something, I thought, since he finally came to a halt

before the printed and outdated laws the library kept for research purposes. For a while, I thought he was just looking for a specific year, or, or date or time span. I don't know. Because he was just standing there, in front of the shelf. I thought he must be looking for something. I mean, I do the same all the time. But then I noticed his expression, alert, almost excited.

And that metal spool in my stomach uncoiled and twisted as I realized he wasn't looking for any dusty old law. He was looking at someone on the other side at the book. shelf. He used the books as cover for himself, so he could peek over the books at a girl, sitting alone. I felt cold as I looked at him. He watched this new girl the same way he had looked at the one before, like he was hungry, like he was toying with someone who did not realize they were in a game of his making. A sick and twisted game if my feelings were any indicators to go on. I watched him watch her, this new girl, until my friends pulled me out of my days. At that moment, I just shook it off again, because it's not criminal to look at someone.

It's not criminal that you made someone feel uneasy. He wasn't doing anything wrong, and I did not want it to mean anything. Him just looking at a girl. So I left. I went to a party. I laughed with my friends. I studied for a huge exam, and I slept in and fed my screaming cat.

Weeks passed, and I didn't think anything of the whole ordeal. Not even when the flyers went out. Not until the next flyer arrived. When three girls were missing, like they were swallowed up and it disappeared into thin air, that's when I remembered him. But even then, weeks had passed. All I remembered really was that some guy, although creepy, had looked at two girls who were now missing.

But so had I. Hadn't I? I really just thought he was looking at something, I told myself. A book, a paper, a printed article, I don't know. Maybe he wasn't even looking at those girls. He was probably just searching for something. Every law student is constantly searching for something. papers and articles and propositions and motions and what have you not. But then again, I didn't even know if he was a law student.

There's no ID card or tag necessary to actually get into the fourth floor. It is simply just not for other students. Which makes it worse, in a way. Because that means he could just be any other student. Technically, I guess, he doesn't even need to be that. He could have just walked in from the street and made his way up. A stranger, a no-one. The thought struck me like a blade in the gut.

Twisting, jabbing, searing unease filled me then. Had I witnessed the beginning of a crime? Twice? And done nothing? I confided to my friends who didn't really take me as seriously as I had wanted. I even emailed a counselor and a professor. The latter annoyed at me for not asking a school-related question. They all said the same thing.

Yes, it might be strange. It might be something scary going down. It might even have been a... Been a what? A kidnapper? A killer? The girls were missing. There were no traces of violence surrounding the disappearances.

They were just gone. Presumed dead, though, as... the weeks ticked away. The counselor had helped me reach out to the cops, though. They said similar things. Yes, it might be helpful intel. Yes, they would look into it. But then again, it might just have been a boy looking at some girl who happened to look like the one who went missing. And it's not like they hadn't looked through everything. Every university camera and tag reader had been checked out. Every suspect car or area had been cleared. No missing girls, no suspect, no clues. It is all just so many mites and maybes and why is no one else taking me as

seriously as I am taking the situation? Because all I have is a feeling? I felt his ill intent, his glee and malice. He is wrong. But I know you can't arrest him. someone for feeling. Can't make a suspect of someone from a hunch. Logically, I knew all that. I spent weeks scouring the fourth floor, looking for him up there, spending too many hours just looking. Tell me, if you know, how can someone hide amongst all that glass? I could not see him, could not find him. He too had just vanished. Then, in the dead of winter, when the dark had spread its claws into the late mornings and early evenings of the days, they found those girls. A hunter had stumbled across them.

His dog had picked up a scent and tracked it down. In the middle of one of those deep, old forest, they'd been found at last. Little dignity was given to those girls. That hunter had taken pictures. and those pictures spread. Those poor girls. Beaks and teeth and claws had been feasting on them. Gashes and cuts on their poor frozen flesh.

They looked like someone had wanted them to be humiliated. Had humiliated them. After all, they were just left out there, sprawled and discarded. I dream with them now. Their empty sockets. watch me accusingly. Their empty mouths screamed that I too should be blamed. Broken fingers point at me,

and I'm hounded by them both sleeping and awake. The hunter, they press charges against. He's paying fines up to his ears for spreading those photos. So, he is paying for his crime against those poor girls. At least that's something. And the killer? The killer's still not found. No traces, no clues.

Only four pairs of footprints leading out into the forest. Only one pair heading back. I've stopped going up there, to the fourth floor. Its glass walls and airy atmosphere feels like a coffin nailed shut. I tried sitting at the tables next to one of those glass walls. But with the darkness, the permanent, eerie presence, I feel like a fish in a glass bowl. That feeling of being watched follows me.

It is not just when I stand next to those glass walls at night, looking at the reflection of myself in the library. Nor is it gone when I stand on the other side, peering in at the people milling about their business. It is constant. My friends tell me I look terrible and that I'm acting erratic and paranoid. The counselor, whom I've started seeing, wants me to go get checked out. Have a physical. Meet a psychiatrist. Learn how to control my stress, my feelings.

And maybe I am paranoid. I don't know. Like I said before, I don't really know how to approach this subject without sounding paranoid. I haven't seen him again. The man in the library. but it's like I am carrying him with me, like my own personal voyeur at the back of my skull. I feel his wrongness, his excited stare on me,

like he's watching me from the inside of my eyes. I spend all my time studying down in the basement now, trying to avoid that feeling of crazy sneaking up on me. I am haunted, haunted by the pictures of those girls. all that frozen flesh and stiff limbs and hollow cavities of them. The blood splattered on the trees, saining the snow around them, frozen on them, running down their cheeks like scarlet tears. I am haunted and I feel watched, like he is out there,

watching me slowly go insane, excited. By my suffering. Another girl went missing a few days ago. She is pretty, but not noticeable. Just like the others. Should I be worried? For your final story this evening, a war veteran seeks shelter in an abandoned motel during a violent storm,

only to face unsettling movements and an overwhelming sense of dread, as his isolation turns into a harrowing, inexplicable encounter. Creepy presents Downpour Written by known of consequence and narrated by J.V. Hemp in Van Sant. I was 18 when I left for the Army, and that was 12 years ago.

I don't have a lot in the way of possessions. As soon as I got out, I went back to my mom's place and got a few things that I left there, but most importantly, the pistol I had. bought when I turned 21. After spending some time with her, I got in my new truck and started driving. I didn't drive anywhere in particular. Just put the sun at my back and went where the road took me. I was having breakfast in a diner one morning and ended up chatting with a waitress. She recognized the

military tattoo on my arm, because it was the same unit her father served with a long time ago. As we talked, my disability status came up, and she had some interesting information to share. I didn't know veterans could get into some parks for free. With this info, I could cut down my time in crappy motels. I went to the closest sporting goods store and bought some camping gear. When it started getting cooler in the evenings, I sat around a campfire until I got sleepy. It wasn't a bad way to live. I was enjoying it enough that I started thinking about getting a camper. I went to a public library to use their computer to look at dealerships.

I must have looked at a hundred different models before I found one I really liked. The Elder Deluxe Wolf Model 15, but finding one was hard. They stopped making it about a year ago, and most places sold them off quickly. I managed to find one available for resale. The site was claiming it was in excellent condition. The downside was it was two states away, and these campers never stayed on the market long. I was told they still had it, but couldn't hold it.

The next available one I found was three times the distance away, and the picture looked like trash. So I jumped in my truck and hauled ass. About halfway through my drive, the bright afternoon sunlight was quickly replaced by dark, angry clouds. The road in the distance was disappearing at an alarming rate, and within minutes, I was going to be stuck in the worst downpour I'd seen since being on the coast during hurricane season. The last rest stop I'd passed had been 15 miles back, and I was in the middle of nowhere. I slowed to pull off the highway onto a sandy shoulder when I spotted something to the left. It looked like a run-down motel, but it was a lot better of an option than staying in a way.

in my truck this close to the road. If someone came driving down through that downpour, they could easily skid off the road. The odds of some random car slamming right into my truck wasn't that high, but it would be just my luck. I had no cell service at the time, and there was nothing but static on the radio. With the random storm that took me by surprise, it was the person. A perfect combination of unfortunate circumstances to really screw me. Odds I wasn't willing to risk.

When I started looking for a driveway to get to the motel, the rain started coming down in sheets. It wasn't a gradual thing either. One minute there was nothing but dry desert air, and then I hit a wall of falling water. It took longer than it should have to find that turnoff, but I managed it. I did have to throw it into four-wheel drive because my right tires sunk into the sand, and I nearly got stuck. Since I was out in the middle of nowhere, I wasn't expecting five-star service or anything like that.

But I expected something a little better than a Meth Lab trailer park. From what I could see, there wasn't even a vacancy sign lit up, with or without the neon no in front of it to indicate the place was at max capacity. Through the insane rain, there didn't appear to be any power at all. Parking in front of what I could only guess to be the front office, I reached into the back seat for my hooded rain jacket. It wasn't going to do me a whole lot of good with as hard as it was coming down, but it would be enough to cover me from the thigh up. Why was that important? Well, a concealed weapon doesn't do you a lot of good if you leave it in the car, now does it?

Since I keep it in an inner pants holster on my right side, my jacket is long enough to keep it hidden and dry. My plan had been to jump out of the truck and run to the door, but the moment my foot touched the ground, I knew it wasn't going to happen. My boot sunk in no less than two inches of mud or loose sand, and getting to the door was almost like wading through knee-high water. The day had gone from okay to bad,

in only minutes. But when I eventually made it to the door, I realized it was far worse than that. The door swung open, but it wasn't smooth, almost like there was sand stuck inside the hinge. It didn't matter as long as I was out of the rain, but the giant hole in the ceiling

proved that to not be happening either. The shit hole was, wasn't run down. It was abandoned and probably condemned. There was a set of double doors on either side of the room, and using my phone's flashlight function, I found my way over a lot of crap on the ground. I noticed a sign half hanging on the wall next to the door that said, Dance Hall. So it wasn't just a crappy motel in the middle of nowhere. It was a crappy motel. It was a crappy motel. hell with a dance hall. That must have brought in the crowds.

The ceiling in the next room was holding up a lot better. There wasn't a giant hole, but that's not to say there weren't leaks all over the place. The space was pretty large, like a high school gymnasium, and littered with a lot of crap. Tables and chairs that had seen much better days, and God knows what else. My flashlight wasn't doing a lot to chase back the darkness,

and I was freezing with all the wind blowing in from the cracks and broken windows. I figured there was enough ventilation, so I set out to find something to burn. The tables and chairs were made of wood and had been sitting long enough to easily break with a few kicks. In the far corner of the hall was one of the ones, of those old cigarette vending machines that hasn't been in style for several decades. I hadn't smoked in years, but the cigarettes weren't what interested me. The pull knobs on this thing had pictures of brands above each one.

But the one in the far right had the image of a matchbook. I pulled on it hoping against hope that one would come out, and amazingly, one did. It was even dry. After finding a source of fire, I managed to find a metal trash can that still had its original shape and some random papers that were miraculously dry. I crumpled the papers up, tossed them into the trash can,

and put a few chair legs in, since they were the smallest pieces I had to burn. The bumfire, caught quickly, and within ten minutes, I'd placed a few larger pieces of wood in. The entire room wasn't lit up by the fire, but I could see a lot more with my phone's light. More importantly, I stopped shivering from the cold. I took off my rain jacket and draped it over one of the few chairs that wasn't in pieces to dry out. My jeans were soaked through below my ass, but the fire was starting to heat me up.

I hadn't been around a fire like that since my last deployment, and that had been the worst of my career. Lost a lot of good soldiers in that shithole, and a lot of friends. Between the cold and thinking of old ghosts, a shivering creeped up my spine. I started to see movement out of the corner of my eyes, but every time I looked, there was nothing there. A rational mind would look back on this and think it was the dancing flames making the darkness move, and I tried to convince myself that was the case.

But I couldn't shake this weird feeling. I was getting seriously creeped out. When I started to feel my heart, beating faster, and my breathing getting heavier. I closed my eyes and actively tried to calm myself. It's just the wind, just the flames moving the shadows, nothing more. I kept telling myself that over and over again. All I needed to do was wait out the storm long enough for me to be able to drive through it.

I didn't need to wait for it to completely pass. Something glass rolled across the floor in the darkness behind me. I whirled around and brought the pistol up before I realized I'd even moved. Instinct and maybe a little PTSD had me going for the gun automatically, but training kept me from firing into the darkness. I scanned the area for any source of the movement, but found nothing. Returning to the fire, I holstered the weapon, but didn't bother covering it back up with my shirt again.

If I was out in public, I would have. But there wasn't another living soul for miles and miles, so it didn't matter. Besides, the bottle could have rolled because of an animal. If there were rats, I'd want easy access to my gun so I could shoot the plague carriers. I have this thing against rodents. As I tried to pull the image of dozens of rats scurrying across the floor out of my mind, thunder continued to boom loudly overhead. It was getting so bad that the walls were starting to shake.

Gusts of wind blew so hard against the fractured glass of the windows, that loose chunks started falling out and shattered against the floor. My panic and anxiety kept trying to overpower my sense of reason. And with every piece of broken glass, it got harder to keep it at bay. Then there was an even louder crash, as if an entire window housing dislodge from the wall and broke a table on its way to the ground. It made me jump so badly that I nearly drew my wards. weapon again, but I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on my breathing.

My entire body was clenched so tight, but I was determined to get a hold of myself. I was better than my irrational fears and wouldn't let myself be ruled by them. By sheer force of will and stubbornness, I managed to calm myself. but it was a weak hold on my fear. Slowly breathing in and out, I opened my eyes and focused on the fire. The flames were dancing wildly with the blowing wind, and the direction those flames were leaning kept changing. It's like the wind couldn't figure out which way it wanted to come from.

Have you ever been sitting out in the open by yourself, and suddenly felt the presence of another person? It's not that they made a noise or came from a direction that you were looking. Somehow, you know, on an instinctual level, that another person has entered your vicinity, even if you don't understand how you know it. As I stood there trying to keep my irrational fear in check, I felt that sensation.

Part of me wanted to draw my gun and whirl around to identify the threat and let it be known that I wasn't going to give up easily. The more rational part of me realized that just because there was another person there didn't mean they were a threat. I wasn't in the freaking war anymore, and I was still getting used to that. The question, I asked myself was, did I turn around and offer to let whoever was back there share my fire,

or wait for them to try and get my attention? I leaned down to the wood pile I created and picked up a moderately large piece of the tabletop. Maneuvering it around the trash can, I slowly made my way around the can to face the new direction I detected the newcomer from. After moving the insides of the fire enough, I let the wood go in completely and looked up to see who was watching me. The problem was, I didn't see anyone. Thoroughly confused, I glanced around and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw a figure in the shadows to my right. Again, my instinct to go for my gun kicked in, but I managed to keep myself from doing it. I drew in breath to address the silent figure, but the words never came out.

There was something seriously off about the person standing there. The light from my bumfire wasn't enough to show me a lot in the way of details, but I could make the guy's general shape out. He towered over me by at least six inches, and his clothes were dark, if not outright black. I could clearly see water pooling on the floor around him, but then again, everything around there was forming puddles. As far as skin tone, hair color,

or any other discernible detail about it, the guy, I couldn't make any of them out. To be perfectly honest, I was only assuming it was a guy due to the bulky frame and massive size. The piece of wood I'd just put in the can was growing flames and casting more light into the room. It was enough for something on the guy's shirt to catch the light. It was a badge of some kind, but it didn't look like a police badge. Once again, I tried to say something to the guy, and something did come out this time, but it wasn't so much a greeting as it was an awkward noise,

kind of like when the geeky kid in high school finally got the courage to talk to the head cheerleader, and his tongue decided to lose the ability to form words. This was a very different kind of fear, but the result seemed to be the same. After clearing my throat, my second attempt to speak resulted in actual words, if not, awkward ones. Nice weather we're having. I meant it to be sarcastic and act as an icebreaker, but it fell short. The guy didn't chuckle or grumble at my bad joke. In fact, he didn't make any sound whatsoever.

Instead, he slowly shuffled forward, and the sound that accompanied his painfully slow movements was a wet, squishing sound, as if his shoes were holding a lot of water. The light started creeping up his body, and I recognized the slacks he wore was from some kind of cheap uniform. They were black, but as the light got higher, I realized the shirt was a lighter blue, but dark because the water was soaking it. At least, that's what I assumed, until more of the torso came into view, and I saw darker stains on the shirt from something other than rain. I realized I was holding my breath as this guy zombie shuffled his way into the light. Nearly the entire upper half of his shirt was stained darkly, but I couldn't see any wounds or tears in the shirt. The top two buttons were undone,

and I could see what had once been a white undershirt. It took me a moment to realize, that even a high neck undershirt doesn't go that high up, and I was seeing this guy's skin. It didn't look like a natural color, but I couldn't tell what it was. Just as the light was about to reveal his face, the guy suddenly moved. I don't mean that he rushed at me. He was just suddenly a foot in front of me. and the only thing I could see was his black eyes.

The whites were bloodshot and jaundiced, but the pupils were so dilated that I couldn't see any eye color. Of course, this was in the half second it took me to jump backward and draw my weapon. There was no trying to keep myself from shooting this guy, but as I brought the pistol up, I tripped on something behind me and toppled over. The pistol went off, and I didn't know if I'd hit the guy, but I scrambled to my feet before he was on me again. By the time I got to my feet, the guy who creeped the shit out of me was gone,

but to where I couldn't say. I wasn't going to stick around to find out. quickly grabbing up my rain jacket, I threw it on as I ran out of the former dance hall. I ran past the waterfall in the lobby, shoved the reluctant door open, and slogged through the crap to my truck. In seconds, I had slammed the door shut,

snapped on my seatbelt, and got the hell out of there. The rain hadn't let up much, but I knew the way to the road, And that's where I went. It took some doing, but I found the blacktop and turned left, heading the direction I was when this shit came down on me. Panic had my foot pressing down on the accelerator,

and I couldn't have gotten myself under control, even if I'd had my faculties enough to try. There was something seriously wrong with that guy, and I wanted to get as far away from him and that decline. decrepit building as I could get. It was completely irrational, but I had the feeling that if I'd slowed for even a second, that living, dead-looking thing would be on me in seconds.

My tires started to lose traction on the flooded blacktop, and I swear it was a scene straight out of a movie. I lifted my foot off the accelerator and tried to compensate for the skidding, but I overdid it. The next thing I knew, my truck was sliding sideways and was no longer on the road. I was doing good for a while and losing speed, but I still crashed into something hard enough that my head cracked the window on my side. The last thing I remember was reading the sign I'd just plowed into.

It was one of those, do not pick up hitchhiker signs that you see on major highways when you're a few miles away from a prison. Yeah, that really is just my luck. I woke up in the hospital sometime later. I'd had a minor concussion and some bumps and bruises. I was far from the first person admitted that day due to the storm, and they said I was one of the lucky ones. even though I crashed near a prison, I was picked up relatively quickly because the highways around the prison are closely monitored.

A cop came in to talk to me, and I explained everything that happened. Understandably, the cop was alarmed to hear about my strange encounter. From the description I gave him, it sounded like a prison guard, and he put in a call. After a few hours, we heard back. There hadn't been a break attempt and all the prisoners were accounted for, but one guard had called in sick. The problem was, the guard that hadn't been at work was only 5'6, not nearly as tall as the figure I'd seen. In fact, none of the prison guards were close to being tall enough to be the same. the guy that creed the hell out of me.

But there were a few prisoners that were. To this day, I have no idea who or what I saw in that decrepit dance hall. It could have been an escaped prisoner in a stolen guard uniform, a former guard that wore his ruined uniform in the rain for some unknown reason, or who knows what else. The one possibility I'm really trying to not give much thought to is the theory that what I saw was a ghost. At some point I did some digging and found out there had been a prison guard

tall enough to be the guy I saw, but he'd been killed in a prison riot 30 years ago. On the upside, If that is the case, I at least know I didn't accidentally shoot someone. 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 share-a-like 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 story's author.