Creepy - Catch and Keep

Episode Date: June 26, 2023

Nothing compares to fishing when it comes to father/son bonding...***Written by: David Zweifler***Content warning: child death***Bonus episode: "Trumpet Call" Written by Paul Caseley and Narrated by Nate DuFort***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea 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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Creepy presents. Catch and Keep Written by David's Wife Fleur. I never had a great relationship with my father. The good times were the fishing trips when I was a kid. We used to get a couple six packs and go to a pond in Vermont near my grandfather's house that our family had been going to for generations. He would share the beers with me,

make me promise not to tell Mom, and we'd usually catch a limit. Today, that pond is gone, or rather, everything in it is dead. Just like every other pond, lake, and ocean. Just like my father. That wasn't going to stop Charlie, though. I first told Charlie about my fishing,

trips, sanitized and alcohol-free, when he was five. Then that was all he could talk about. He would always ask me when we were going fishing. I promised I would take him. I even had a trip plan before things blew up with Janice. You could still find a few places where there were fish in the wild back then. Places that weren't cooked by the droughts, choked by algae blooms, or flooded with wastewater toxins.

It's crazy how fast things got poisoned. Still, a promise is a promise. It's been three years since the divorce. Since then, I've been in therapy for two years, and 14 months sober. All for Charlie. It took a lot of convincing, but Janice finally gave me the okay for a trip together

after months of supervised visits. Today is the big day. It's mid-August, hot, sunny, a great day for fishing. Not fishing in a pond, of course. I didn't have the heart to tell Charlie we need a time machine through the kind of angling I did with his grandpa. Still, I found something as close as you can get and just three hours away by car. Eldiseo, the water park down the coast in Del Mar. There you can find a mythical group of King Mackerel that swims at the bottom of the old.

ocean. Down deep, where the water is still clear, and a host of plants, coral, and fish thrive. It's sad that these giant king mackerel visit to Shores Valdaseo, or skilled fishermen can catch them using only a hook in line. That's what it says in the promotional video on the website, anyway. What really happens is that you fish out of an artificial lake. The seal body of water is built like an infinity pool, so its address just above the action. shoreline. In the photos, the setup creates the impression that you're casting into the dead surf, which lies just beyond. The lake is regularly restocked, so everyone can experience reeling in a live, honest-to-goodness fish. Anyone who pays the supplement to the already

hefty entry fee can fish all day long, if they like. Of course, they have to release any of the precious macro they catch unless they're planning on getting a second mortgage on their house to take one of them home. I guess that's why only billionaires like Elon Musk or Preston Jorgensen can eat real meat anymore. For low rollers like Charlie and me, it's strictly catch and release. Just fishing for fun. As far as water parks go, Aldeo is the best.

It has long flumes, water slides, and three lazy rivers connected by a series of locks and inflatable tube canals. There's also an indoor-outdoor play area where you're not. young kids can wait around in shallow water by themselves while giving mom and dad a chance to relax and catch a tan under the UV filters. When we first arrive, I asked Charlie if he wants to look around. There are a lot of things to do here, and I figure we can fish later if he wants to go on the rides first. He isn't having any of it.

Charlie says he wants to fish, that he doesn't want everyone else to catch them all before we get there. He has such a determined look on his face. Like a little sea captain in wetsuit pants and a matching rash guard, bright blue with dinosaurs on them. I can't argue with that face. Anyway, because Charlie came in his bathing suit, he can always jump in the water without a lot of fuss later when the sun gets really hot at midday. We make our way to the fishing pool. It's much larger than I was expecting. It looks like one of those wave pools designed for surfers, about three acres.

in the shape of a giant baseball field with the outfield facing towards the ocean. I'd heard that this pool was a big draw once. Well, we're the only ones here now. There are a few fighting chairs, seats with straps and a rod holder that once you would have found in the back of a boat for landing big game fish.

These are under shade and have been fastened into the ground behind what would have been home plate. There's a cement walkway of sorts in front of a thin strip of sand made it look like a beach going around the edge of the pool. It's blue on the website, but in real life, the water in the pool is green,

which destroys the illusion you're fishing out of the ocean. Also, the water in the fishing pool seems stagnant, and, I note, has a faint but noticeable smell, a sharp tangle of chlorine under a reek of dead fish, I think. This is dreadful. But Charlie is delighted, hopping up and down with excitement, telling me how cool it all is. Of course he's excited. He's never been fishing before or sat in a boat on a pond.

He's never touched a fishing rod or seen sea life larger than a goldfish. A group of bored-looking teens is standing in a structure that looks like a beach shack next to the pool. The pimply teenager in charge doesn't even check the stamp on my ticket. He just hands me a surf rod and a bucket full of little pink balls, which are, I believe, a synthetic reproduction of row. I noticed that he has a tag on his chest. Wes, manager. The reel on the rod is rusty, and there are knots and kinks in the line, but none of the other rods in the rack look any better. I realize I don't know much about surf casting, if that's what this is. I'd heard stories a 300-pound tuna pulling guys off boats when they weren't strapped into the fighting chair.

King Mackerel don't get that big, but I definitely didn't want to be explaining to Janice that Charlie was pulled in. West snaps down a rod on the counter while activating an orientation video on the screen behind him. The video drones on and on, covering every possible risk, including the dangers of dehydration, sharp hooks, and sunburns. The climax is a warning. If you take a fish, you buy it. The fish are priced at prevailing rates. It also explains that, while there's a ton of places to swim at Aldousailles,

there is strictly no swimming here. I figured they don't want to pay for lifeguards at the fishing tank. After I initial the waiver on Wes's tablet, he warns me again to tell Charlie about the swimming. I nod and smile. but I can't believe this guy thinks I'm going to leave an eight-year-old unsupervised. I turn and get Charlie settled in one of the chairs. I can hear the boys behind me chuckling as I strap him in.

I start to show him out of cast, but he's way ahead of me. He tells me you watch an instructional video on YouTube, and he seems to know his way around the rod, which is almost twice his size. I can see there's nothing in heaven or earth that would get that rod away from him. but at least he lets me bait the hook. I pull one of the small pink row balls from the bucket, showing him how to run the hook's barbed through it. Charlie takes the rod from me and unlocks the reel to cast.

He manages to cast a few short feet from shore, but he doesn't take out his eye or mine, so I chalk it up as a success. Don't worry, Charlie, I say. Just reel it back in and we'll... He interrupts me with a hoot as the tip of the rod starts to dip. Reel it in, son. I laugh.

Go on! Charlie starts reeling like a madman. The real squeaks as he mashes whatever's left of the gears. Charlie's straining but smiling, and he refuses my offers of assistance. He continues reeling and reeling. I wonder if it's working at all or if he's just grinding the fish reel handle into the body. Then I see it. It's a huge fish, the size of Charlie.

At first, I think he must have somehow managed to hook a fin on a dead fish because it's so big and just kind of floating on the surface of the water. Something that large should have been able to pull the rod right out of Charlie's hands. Wes has seemingly materialized behind us, with the phony pasted on smile of a greeter at a big box retailer. With saccharine sweetness, he offers the way the fish so we can take. it home. Charlie's vibrating like a tuning fork in his chair begs me to have it wrapped up so he can take it home. We don't want to buy the first fish we catch now, do we? I tell him. I immediately regret saying this. We won't be buying the first fish, the last fish, or any in-between fish. What we need to do is get a picture so we can show your mom. I say grabbing a large net sitting beside Charlie's chair.

I can't believe you caught such a big fish on your very first cast. Your grandpa would be proud. I pulled the fish out of the water with a net. Its eyes are already cloudy, almost like it was sitting at the fish market for too long. But it is still struggling, weekly. West tells me that I shouldn't keep the fish out of the water if I'm not planning on buying it, explaining somewhat ominously that if it dies I'll be charged the full price. I explain I just wanted to get a picture

and I hold the fish up next to the beaming boy and take a selfie of Charlie with my arm around a shoulder. I text a copy to Janice. Our son is a great fisherman, I write. Before I can get the phone in my pocket, she replies. Just make sure you get Charlie home on time, her text says. Then I realized that the fish has stopped struggling in the net. There's a moment of panic when I think that it's dead

and that'll be stuck with a several thousand dollar fish. I grab a set of pliers chained to the fighting chair and rush to get the hook out of the fish's lip to get it back in the water. There are a few nervous seconds, which seemed like an eternity, when the fish floats, stunned. Then, in a flash, it wiggles its tail and shoots away despite its prior sluggishness. Referring to me as sir,

in a way that stops just short of over-the-top sarcasm, Wes once again tells me that I shouldn't keep the fish out of the water if I'm not going to purchase them. I'm sorry, I say. We'll keep the other ones in the water. I just wanted to get a picture with his fish for my, for his mom. Geez, where did that come from? I wonder, I almost said for my wife. Wes grunts in response and heads back to the shack.

Charlie is disappointed. He wants to know if we'll be able to take one of the fish home to cook you like I did when I was fishing with my father. We'll see, Tiger, I say. Charlie goes back to fishing. He casts out a little further this time. I realize that he's a natural. The runs in the family. I'm a little sad that he'll probably never be able to take advantage of this skill again outside of Alta Seo.

I turn back to the shack to get a rod for myself, but before I get there, Charlie cries. out. I turn and I'll be damned. His rod tip is dipping again. With all due respect my son's fishing ability, this starts to feel like some kind of practical joke, like someone out in the water in scuba gear is putting giant exhausted fish on the hook. Still, Charlie reeling like his life depended on it is overjoyed. When he gets fish close to shore, Wes, the manager, appears again. and that bastard wants to know if we'll be buying a fish. No, I say to Wes, but can we get one more rod, please? The boy moves slowly and deliberately to get another one.

When he returns, he tells me that they're having a special sale, but I cut him off. Listen, kid, I say in a low voice, I appreciate that you're just doing your job here, but I already spent a fortune to get into the park. I can't afford to buy a fish, okay? Seriously, please stop asking. Wes puts the rod down on the ground between us and disappears back into the shack. After that, Charlie and I have a long stretch where we catch fish almost continuously.

Charlie says that the two of us are so good at fishing that it's almost too easy. I almost tell him that it is too easy. But then I figure, what's the point? Now a new kid shows up, asking if I'd like one of the complimentary drinks that come with the fishing package. He explains that Eldiseo is famous for its house-made sodas. Lemon-cherry blast, blue raspberry, and orange cream. Charlie, all business, asks for orange cream without taking his eyes off his line. I'm parched, but I want to avoid any stimulants, so I ask for a club soda.

The kid tells me they have cocktails. I hate to waste one of the benefits of the expensive. ticket, but I explain I can't have anything with alcohol. Fortunately, they have something called the barracuda, which the kid explains contains no alcohol. I decided to go for it, and for a moment the expensive supplement feels like it might be worth it. A moment later, the kid comes back with a foam top drink, a retina burning shade of orange, had some concoction in a plastic pineapple-shaped cup with a paper umbrella in it.

After confirming with a kid, and a sniff, that the pineapple drink contains no alcohol, I reach into my pocket and grab a few bills for a tip. The kid sees the money, but mumbles something about the drink being complimentary before going back to the equipment shack. Seems odd that he's turning down the money. But I've been in the sun for a few hours now, and I'm too thirsty to worry about it. I finish the drink off quickly with a few big swallows of what tastes like water mixed with tropical punch-flavored corn syrup that has just the slightest undertone of bitterness.

A half hour later, I realized why the server high-tailed it. There's no alcohol in the drink, but some local municipalities have made marijuana and synthetic psilocybin available over the counter and for recreational use. These have been finding their way into beverages for a few months now. It's possible that they were already in. in the mix, or someone in the shack decided to spike my drink. There's more than a year of sobriety down the tube. My resistance is now for shit, and I'm feeling the start of something hitting me, fast and hard.

I think I can hear laughter from the shack. I turn around quickly, but there's nobody at the desk. I wonder if, when I mention this in my next meeting with my group, they'll view this as an honest gaff, or they'll assume it was a case of nerves. Another bad parent trying to pull it together for his son and cracking under the strain. I'm over a barrel now. I can't drive. Complaining to management will just make me look like a drunk.

Worse, it'll alert Charlie. Kid is so perceptive. And then the story might make its way to Janus. It could be worse, I suppose. The feeling of being high feels like wearing old leather. Not comfortable, but warm and familiar. Just need to fish it out, eh, son? I say ostensibly to Charlie, but really to no one in particular.

I smile when I realize that it's just what my father used to say after the last beer if he was a little too wobbly to drive. Charlie's talking to me now, telling me that he caught another fish. I look at him, and his eyes seem too big, almost like he's a fish. Then those fish eyes go from looking happy to maybe a bit nervous. He turns away and I wonder if I was staring too long. Can he see what's happening in my head, I think. Am I just imagining things?

I helped Charlie get the fish off his hook once he has it close to shore. Then he starts bugging me again about buying it. I snap so quickly I feel like I'm hearing what I'm saying along with Charlie. I don't have enough money to buy the fish, I explain. And I had barely enough for the tickets to the park because I lost my job. And I didn't want him to keep asking me about buying fish or anything else. Charlie looks like he's about to cry. He says he told his mother he would bring home a fish.

He asked me what was the point of even coming here if we're not going to bring home a fish. fish. The point, I realize, was lost. Or he isn't old enough to understand it yet. I realize that those boys in the shack are probably watching, laughing. I turn around to check. I'm going to punch their lights out if that's what they're doing. They're not there. In fact, we're all alone. There are no other guests. And it looks like the pack of teens working this section of all decided to take their break at the same time. Then I think that Charlie's probably just hot and hungry. He hasn't eaten since we had an early breakfast.

I decided to buy him lunch. But he's not in the chair anymore. There's a momentary shock as I realized that Charlie is gone. This was always a fight I would have with Janice. Every little tantrum or skinned knee was a huge production with her. I tried to explain to her. to her that if we reinforced him, the outburst would just get bigger and bigger. But you never listened to me.

So, no wonder Charlie's stumped off. Anyway, this fishing section seems run down. But the park is famous for having a higher staff to guest ratio than any water park in the state, even the mouse. There is full overlapping video surveillance of every part of the park, and their reminders at the front gate, no unsupervised child can leave without a parent confirmed by a wristband check. I researched all the park safety features to get Janice to agree to this outing, so I'm not too worried. I have to strike a balance here, though.

I let him wander around too long, he tells his mom I'm ignoring him, and this will be the last visit for a long time. I start reeling in my line so I can give the rod back and find Charlie in the water park, but suddenly I get a real yank. It's not a half-dead fish this time, but a proper fighter. For the first time today, I have to pull hard to keep the tip of the rod up. I wish that Charlie was here to see this. Then I realized he'd probably just be angry they weren't buying the fish after I got it to shore.

I don't know how long I can fight the fish. It takes a while. The reel is busted, and the cast release lets go a few times of its own accord. Finally, I have him close to shore. With no one to help me, I juggle the rod with one hand and the net with the other, using it to scoop the large fish out of the water. Then, I could swear that the fish tells me to stop, to wait. The fish has a very human-like face, in a rounded head that seems to have a larger than normal brain cavity. I dismiss the idea that the fish is spoken when I see him opening and closing his mouth uselessly.

But I can hear his voice in my head. So I realize that the fish is probably communicating using telepathy. The fish communicates that he was raised in a vat in a factory lab with millions upon millions of others. He says he's a one in a million mutation. He also explains that none of the fish in the tank are king mackerel like it says in the marketing materials. They're short macro. Restrellinger Breckisoma. But they throw so many oxygenators in the water that they grow extra fast and extra large.

I try to hold the fish out at arm's length, but he's too heavy. I'm afraid of dropping him, hurting him. The fish tells me that the water in the tank is toxic. He says the fish are always dying in the tank, and the people who work here are pulling out dead fish bodies all the time, with a pole attached to a long hook. He says that the fish that are still alive in the tank are too toxic to eat and burning with righteous anger now.

No wonder they're offering a special on the fish. Probably not even sending you home with real meat. Then the fish explains that none of the visitors to the park can afford to buy the fish. And what's the point of coming here if you're not going to bring home a fish? I realize that's just what Charlie said. For a moment I can hear Charlie yelling something, like a voice from far off, which the fish has probably scanned from my memory. The fish says those are the reasons they're going to shut down the fishing area.

and turn it into a snorkel pond with fake coral. I'm taking this all in, taking it all in stride, and I am rolling hard. It feels good, just like he used to, even though I'm wondering if maybe I'm going to throw up. I want my wish talking fish. I giggle. I'm a poet now. and I remember an old folk tale about talking fish giving wishes in exchange for their lives. Talking fish, grant a wish.

Even now, I feel like an idiot making a wish. Once you engage a fish in conversation, how much more suspension of disbelief does it take for you to accept that it can grant wishes? It's like blowing out a birthday candle when you're an adult. You've had a few decades of disappointment in the wish department by then, but you still plan your wish carefully. Who knows? Maybe this is the one time it will work.

I think about everything that I'd once prayed for. What should it be? Working things out with Janice? Getting my job back? Staying clean? Being a good father to Charlie? I only hear the last bit of what my father says. Something about swimming.

My father, I hadn't made my wish yet. How did the fish know? Telepathy. Yeah, of course. Hey, Dad, you want to go wishing with me? We have magic fish, I say. Heck, what am I talking about? You have to go meet Charlie.

I can't understand what he's saying. My father is yelling at me now, shaking me, telling me that he explained that there's absolutely no swimming. Now I'm realizing that this guy isn't my father. It's just that kid, Wes. Boy, do I feel foolish. Relax, good, I say, playing it cool. Just having a little talk with the fish.

He's telling me all about all the oxygenators and how the meat is too toxic to eat in the snorkel pool and the fake coral. For a moment, there's a look of shock and fear in the kid's face, and he takes a step back. Is what I'm saying true? Did the kid react that way because he's wondering how I know? Or am I just high? I'm just high. Right? Talking too much.

Another one of the kids from the shack is standing at the far side of the pool. He's far away, but he's waving his arms and yelling. He has a long pole, but it's not a fishing pole. I can't hear what he's saying. The fish is gasping now. He's running out of steam. He says he despises me, which catches me a little off guard since I thought we were getting along quite well. He explains that he hears him.

hates the fact that humans like me have broken everything, destroyed all the water. Not me personally, though, right? I ask. It's just capitalism. The fish asks me, begs me, not to put him back in the water. He says the water burns. He says the fish are starving and will eat the sick. He says he will grant my wish if I let him die. This has gotten dark. I stand there for a moment, wondering what happens next. Wes is waving his hands in front of my face, in between the talking fish and me, all up in my business. Then in a flash, I'm back, and I realize I'm just an idiot looking at a fish that probably has a tumor on its head.

Its face isn't all human-like anymore. I don't even know how I could have thought that. It's just a mackerel. one that's not moving one that's dead now I'm looking at Wes and realizing that I really have to get this fish back in the water fortunately Wes is distracted

he's pointing at something at the far end of the pool no don't worry I say it'll be fine just need to get him back in the water there's more activity at the far end of the pool now more of the kids from the shack have raced out there. One is waving the long pole to grab something in the water.

Wes orders me. How does this punk think he can order me to do anything? Anyway, he orders me to stay there and then races off down the third bay side of the baseball diamond-shaped pool. I don't want to pay for the fish, so I consider using Wes's departure as a chance to slip away. I figure I'll pick up Charlie at the waiting pool. Maybe a lap around the lazy river, and then we'll drive to a diner. I'll get some pie and coffee. We'll hang out until I straighten out. One of the boys at the other end of the pool has an air horn.

He blows three long blasts. I see a security guard from an adjacent area of the park tearing over to the boys. They're all leaning over the water, trying to get something out. They're trying not to touch the water. What do you know? I say to the dead fish, which I have seated upright on the fighting chair, burning water. Suddenly I'm screaming. That's weird.

How long have I been screaming? Now I'm out of breath because I'm screaming and sprinting. Running to the far end of the pool. I see big dead fish floating in the middle of the pool. They're bobbing, and I realize they're being devoured by the other mackerel. The boys from the cabana are hauling something up. They must be cleaning the dead fish out of the tank. For a crazy moment, I think they're pulling up my wish.

But I can't remember what my wish was anymore. Whatever it is, it's big. Strange-looking fish. The head is round, mottled, red and white. The rest of it's blue. Matching pants. And rash guard. Blue

With dinosaurs For your bonus episode Creepy presents Trumpet Call written by Paul Casley and narrated by Nate Dufort Off in the distance

a trumpet blared and I shuddered When the first trumpet sounded We didn't notice it at first And didn't suspect it The old post office building and put an air raid siren on its roof during the Cold War era that periodically was tested to ensure readiness until the fall of the Soviet Union. The siren was kept and maintained into the modern era due to our proximity to the Darlington

nuclear plant and was still tested from time to time in case of disaster. There are, of course, similar style warning. sirens in cities and towns all over the world. At first, when the siren went off in my town, we thought it was a test. We didn't know that similar sirens were blaring worldwide, and we didn't care. We were too busy checking our profiles and posting status updates to notice. I mean, who still followed the signs of revelations in the age of social media. and then, about a week later, the hail and fire fell with blood mixed into it. Great swaths of the planet were burned up in what seemed like an instant.

Scientists fixed the amount of the planet destroyed at about 170 million square kilometers, about a third of the available land on the planet. Now we were paying attention, but what was there really left to do? Make peace with your deity of choice, head out and be hedonistic, drink yourself into a stupor. I know from reports that different people tried all of these and more. In fact, some people tried all of these at once. I mean, it was just the first trumpet, but burning up a third of the earth was rather dramatic.

Most of the Christians were surprised. They thought some pillowy angel would flutter up in the air and blow a horn. No one expected the end of the world to be heralded by a worldwide system malfunction or computer hack. There were, of course, many deniers. There always are, and if I'm being honest, they're usually right when it comes to such things. So at first, they said it was a coincidence, that it was due somehow to global climate change or that mixed with the virus. We even heard things like government conspiracy. The pace of events was, after all, quite slow. Some people reasoned that if the end of the world was

coming, wouldn't it be faster? What's time to an immortal deity, though? Why would we think that they would measure their prophecy in minutes, hours or days? Looking back on it, it seems a rather foolish and arrogant assumption. Seems like the kind of assumption that might get the trumpets played in the first place. 28 days after the first trumpet sounded, all the air horns on the world's watercraft went off at once at what would have been 3 o'clock in the morning in Jerusalem. The deity in question was definitely playing close to the playbook for that part of the world.

Four days later, what looked like a huge asteroid, struck an area in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The water turned a bright red color due to the minerals in the rock, and the world's waters increased in temperature a few degrees. It seemed minor, but it was enough to kill what scientists estimated to be about a third of the wildlife in the sea. A huge number of ships were also affected in the Pacific by a sudden tidal wave and were destroyed.

The events tied to the second horn had come to pass. There were still people who didn't believe, who refused to accept things. We still had the various responses to the events taking place. However, if I'm being honest, the second event changed the minds of a lot of people, and even more altered after the third to sixth trumpet calls. The third one was pretty straightforward. Every cell phone on the planet made a blaring sound and days later there was a falling star that affected most of the fresh water on the planet. The water went bad, carrying some kind of pathogen activated by whatever fell from the sky.

A number of people grew ill after drinking the tainted water and died. Number four was carhorns, and the planet was lost under a shadow of smog. Through the haze of pollution it became impossible to see the sun, the stars, and the moon. At this point, the longest stretch of time between trumpet sounds started as we waited for what would come next. To many people, the truth became undeniable at this point, and places of worship began to fill up as never before. Most were, of course, opportunists who had no idea how faith actually worked. That is so often the problem. People treating religion like a magic genie in a bottle.

They go and pray and try to make wishes, not understanding that isn't how it worked. The major deity or group of deities taking part in this weren't going to reverse it because humans asked for it and that isn't what they were looking for. The only thing that was desired was unyielding acceptance and belief, what they used to call blind faith.

However, can a society so used to Snapchat, Twitch, and so many other things designed to keep us thinking solely about the self, really prepared to give away their faith blindly? Could they stop questioning for a moment and just believe? It seemed not as the prayers of the time were a litany of wants, rather than a statement of faith. As a result, they fell on deaf ears. If I'm being honest, most people completely wasted the time they were given to prepare for what came next. When the fifth trumpet blew, something heralded by every machine that takes debris and credit cards squealing loudly and repeating row after row of sixes on their screens, the coming of a demonic influence over the world. People spent their time afterwards, looking at which leaders were rising to power, which means,

Military generals were on the rise, which kings were ascending the throne. They should have been looking at the heads of corporations, because at some point they had become the real leaders of the world. We had more to fear from Amazon, Apple, and Twitter than we did from conventional nations and militaries, but it is typical. We never notice that which is right in front of us, until it is too late.

When the fifth trumpet sounded, something changed. I was always racked by indecision and filled with a feeling of lack of purpose, but when that trumpet blew, it all went away. I stopped worrying about what other people thought of what I said and did. I stopped being concerned with how others felt and perceived the world around me and became filled with a singular desire to serve and fulfill a purpose. My worldview shifted, and I stopped questioning things and worrying about things like facts or truth. The ends justified the means, and that was all I needed to know.

What I and my cohorts wanted was all that mattered. The thing now driving me mad was waiting for something. I knew something was coming. I knew I was waiting for it. I knew I had to be a part of it. I knew I had to unquestionably follow. I just didn't know when or who or why, although, if I'm being honest, the why didn't matter much.

It was during this time that I started to amass weapons. I got whatever I could find, blades of all shapes and sizes and then guns. My country's always been difficult when it came to procuring firearms, but now with the collapse of all things, it became remarkably easy. Firearms started to flood the streets. I could buy them illegally as they came across our border from our nearest neighbor with ease. The peace officers in our country were trying to deal with the increasing tide, but found it overwhelming.

Again, I didn't care as long as I got my hands on what I wanted, and I did, as my best of my best. basement became an arsenal. I had to be ready for whatever was coming next. The world changed dramatically at that point. Those who believed they were safely secured for the second coming against those who were positive they were destined to be trapped on earth as it rotted away beneath their feet. The loss of hope is a powerful negative force. It can create the situations that are so feared. I mean, think about it. If you're imprisoned, for the rest of your life with no possibility of ever getting out? Why not kill, rape, steal

in the confines of wherever you've been placed? Good behavior won't get you anything, so why not? What do you really have to lose? Those who believed themselves wicked felt they were trapped in a prison on Earth, and it really didn't matter. They might as well fight to take control of their corner of the planet. They might as well enjoy themselves. There was no reward waiting for them in the next life, so might as well take what you can in this one. Behaviors went downhill at this point. Capitals were stormed, city streets were blocked, protests broke out that were in many cases nonsensical and unfocused. Medications were refused, civilities withered. Camps shored up as us versus them. There was no room for polite discussion and disagreement. Every difference of opinion became

life and death. This is the way the world would end. It was at this point a voice resonated, promising to help, promising to make things great again, promising easy solutions to complex problems, promising. People joined and brought their weapons and most misguided passion. In all, million people joined this leader. The sixth trumpet was sounded in a hail of bullets and the sound of explosions. People missing and dying was normal. The news agencies just gave up. What was the point?

After all, the reason that the murder or car crash or theft on the news is watched is because it's a rare incident. We like to look at the news and fool ourselves that it is an indicator of the decay of our society. However, our anger or upset at the events actually is an indication that these events are the exception rather than the rule. If something happens with great frequency,

it becomes commonplace and therefore no longer newsworthy. That is what happened as the 200 million slaughter the peaceful, the innocent, and the uninvolved. The carnage just faded into the background. We became unconcerned about explosions, gunfire, and death. The faithful did not fight back. Interestingly, it didn't matter which faith the faithful were from. Those true to their faith just allowed it to happen.

I can only imagine they went to something better than what they were seeing. Who knows? Even despite the adherence to one scripture, many of us were still unsure as to what was going. on. Aspects seemed random. Maybe a larger power was just having a laugh. There is a belief that our planet is actually a computer simulation, that we're basically one of those day-to-day life simulators that are still fairly popular. The group that believed that to be the case grew greatly in number. Perhaps this was just some kid sitting at his computer having a tantrum. After all, creatures and things that defied

logic, physics, and almost everything else that a logical and clinical human believed were becoming commonplace. A computer game was as good an explanation as things being of supernatural origin. Perhaps whoever was playing our game flicked the apocalypse switch. It was during the rise of the $200 million that I started having some disturbing thoughts and feelings of my own, ones I struggled not to act on. It was a darkness and started descending on me. And in truth, one had on the entire world. When faced with so much death, carnage, and darkness, how could you not let it invade your person? The whole world was angry. How can you not start to become angry, too? I still question how they know when they got to 200 million. Does someone count? Is there a guy with a clicker?

like at Costco, counting the number of people coming in? It's funny. I used to ponder these sorts of things all the time before the trumpet started, and that was a rare divergence of my normal thought process now. Now, if I'm being honest, I don't care much. Lately, I have an unusual and hitherto unheard of attraction to violence. I want to watch it in entertainment or even better see it in the streets. The draw is palpable and makes no sense.

I was never like this before. This was never a part of who I was. I mostly love science fiction, you know, the hopeful type where humans branch out across the universe, make friends with most of the people they find, and have a hopeful future. I loved that trope. Now, though, it seems so stupid, foolish and empty. My sense seems to leave me more and more, especially the more I interact with my fellow survivor. There's a part of me that knows what the facts are, that knows how we should behave and treat others. There's a part of me that knows that certain things are beneficial, even if they're inconvenient.

The part that has reasoned discussions can accept other points of view, and even scientific evidence is still there somewhere, but more and more I feel that part of myself being switched off by the sixth trumpet. Instead, I feel nothing but anger when someone disagrees with me. I feel rage. I cannot get involved in a proper discussion. There is no give and take. I cluster around those people who believe as I do because then I don't have to cope with the thought that maybe my opinions and ideas are

wrong. I keep to the websites that support me and my own. my friends. Are they really my friends? Can people who blindly follow one way of thinking and believing without opening themselves up to other opinions really have friends? The Sixth trumpet blare has caused a loss of my sense of self, my individuality, and perhaps even my common sense.

I was able to keep a lot of my impulses in check for a very long time. And then it happened. I was walking along with a group of my friends when I came across a couple who so obviously weren't a part of us. We engaged and talked to them for a few minutes, and it became clearer and clearer from their answers that they did not believe with us. The people I was with attacked physically. It would be a bloodbath, and this is when I would usually hang back and watch.

But I felt a pull. There was something in the back of my skull, egging. me on. It grew louder and louder. The adrenaline coursed through me like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I couldn't help myself. I waded in. The feeling of flesh and bone yielding to my violence was intoxicating. It just caused me to become more frenzied. All the while, there was the voice in the back of my skull, the one you were hearing now, telling me to stop, but it was shouted down and overpowered by the forces that now served to drive me. The mode I was in was disgusting, but powerful. I felt power. I felt like part of something. I felt included. I was part of this group.

I was part of the 200 million. As we slashed, hacked, thrashed, and pummeled, I found myself getting more and more lost in the moment. I wanted more. I wanted to do this more. I never understood addiction before this point. I'd heard of it and how people talked about it being an overriding desire. I felt that.

I was addicted to this. I wanted to find more dissenters. I wanted to make them pay. I wanted to win for the 200 million. I didn't care about sense or ethics or ideals. I would use those buzzwords to justify my action. But at that moment, all human reasons slipped away and fell into the mists permanently formed around the earth.

I didn't care about anything but winning, even if the cause was wrong. I didn't care about anything but immediate pleasure. I didn't care about anything. but serving the master. I went forward with my pack because now pack was a more apt name than friends.

We were a pack of predators looking for our next prey. We were not interested in discussion or fixing anything. The world could burn as long as our side won. The country could fall to rubble as long as we were standing on it at the end. This wasn't about a better system.

what helps the most or better ideals. This was simply about being victorious, as the master commanded, and only violence would make that happen. As soon as my mind shifted to that realization, I heard it. The sound was clear as day, despite the battles around us.

It blared throughout the screams and the explosions. It bellowed beyond the gunshots and the crying. Even the sound of a building collapsing would not be enough to hide or cover the bellowing roar and pierced through the sky so apparent, so clear, so easily understandable. It was as I stood in the middle of a city street with blood dripping from the hands that had just finished beating what were probably innocent people that I heard it. The seventh trumpet roared. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com.

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