Creepy - Christmas Rush Bloodwork & A Bag and a Half of Lime

Episode Date: December 15, 2022

Christmas Rush Bloodwork***Written by: No One Of Consequence and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Content Warnings: Bloodwork/hospital setting, involuntary sedation***A Bag And A Half Of Lime and Porch Pirate***Written By:  E. B. Davis and Narrated By: Alicia Atkins***Content Warnings: Domestic Abuse***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. 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 biosephabicions. and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Christmas rush blood work. Written by known of consequence and narrated by Rissa Montanez. The VA medical system is not the best, and I don't think anyone would claim it is. December is one of the worst times to do anything that involves going out in public.

and in my experience, a lot of people who are stubborn about going to the doctor will wait until this time of year to get off their butts and get a check-up. Normally, I'm not in that crowd. My original blood draw was scheduled for early October, but I had to cancel it. It pushed back my yearly checkup, too, which my wife was angry about. My work shift starts at 5 a.m., but with the blood draw, there was no way to make it into work on time. Most labs don't even open until 7 or 8, but the VA lab opens at 6 a.m. If I'm the first person in line, I can get to work by 6.30.

Being a U.S. Army veteran, I have a perpetual need to be early to everything. I show up to work half an hour early, and I'm the type to show up to a party an hour early just to help set up. Getting my blood work done was no exception, and I arrive at 5 a.m. Any other medical appointment, I'd be about 20 minutes early. Blood work is different, mostly because the appointment time is only a recommendation. I don't know how it works at a civilian lab, but the VA lab is first come, first serve, and show up whenever you damn well please. Why the hell would I be sitting outside in the freezing cold at 5 a.m. when my appointment is at 9.30?

There's a considerable amount of people who hate the holidays, but I don't hate Christmas. I enjoy seeing the decorations light up houses in the neighborhood, and the pleasant disposition people often portray. What I don't like is when establishments sport their cheap dollar store decorations and play that dreadful Christmas music. More than anything, I hate Christmas music. Sitting outside the VA lab on a stone bench, huddled in my jacket against the cold breeze, I can see those very decorations on the reception desk just inside the glass doors. There's a stuffed Santa with his reindeer next to the sign-in sheet, and a plastic cup overstuffed with candy canes.

I'm not a big fan of those either, but mostly on the principle that candy shouldn't be mint-flavored. Sure, there are a shit ton of different flavors these days, but I don't see anything but the classic candy canes in that cup. What I don't see is one of those portable radios or Bluetooth speakers, so with any luck, I won't be subjected to awful Christmas music. The lights in the lab have been on since I got here, but I haven't seen anyone inside. I'm sure the techs are back there setting up their equipment and supplies.

The sheer amount of prep work medical staff has to do before opening for business, This is astounding. At least it should be if they're doing it right. Half-ass medical staff is one of the worst things around, and with underfunded government agencies, they can be very common. I've been coming to this lab for a few years now, and to be honest, I've never gotten that feeling. Then again, I usually am the first person to be seen, so I don't really get the full treatment. Last time I was here to get blood work done. I was in and out in about 15 minutes. The cold wind is biting as I huddle in my jacket, pulling the hood tighter to protect my ears. I'm so glad I had the forethought to wear flannel pajama pants under my jeans, but I curse myself for forgetting my gloves. At least my face is

hiding behind a neck sock. Deciding sitting around isn't the best way to keep warm. I start pacing around the front doors. I've still got 45 minutes until they open and I'm seriously questioning. my life choices. It wouldn't be so bad if I had my usual thermos of hot coffee, but you have to fast for eight to twelve hours before blood work. There's a reason why people get it done as early in the morning as possible. Fasting is easier to do when you can sleep through most of it. At least the cold is helping to keep me awake. I didn't sleep very well, having made the mistake of watching horror movies with my better half about the fay before turning in. My overactive imagination had a field day with my dreams.

I'll never understand my wife's obsession with evil and monstrous fairies. The fay aren't just comprised of pixies and elves, but horrible trolls, monsters of lore, and truly disgusting creatures. While I wasn't looking, someone inside was passing by the lobby and happened to notice me. He opens the door for me, saying it's too cold out for me to be waiting. I don't like to put anyone out, and I certainly wouldn't want to get him into trouble for letting me in early. He assures me that this happens a lot this time of year, and that there are already three techs set up. They can knock out my blood draw now, and I'm sure as hell not going to say no to that.

However, I find this incredibly odd. No government agency does anything early. At least, nothing good. But I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He escorts me to the waiting room, and decorations are everywhere, and I hear the dreaded music I feared would be playing. It's coming in through the intercom speakers, but at least the volume is low. As my nose defrosts, I begin to smell the ever-present aroma of disinfectant.

Red and green streamers hang from the ceiling among mistletoe, and tiny plastic Christmas trees. The atmosphere is eerie, made even more so with the Christmas ambiance. Never have I been in this building with just a handful of people, even when they first open. There's usually a line of a dozen by the time the doors open. But I was the only damn fool sitting out there in the cold. I feel better if someone else was here. But if there's a tech to draw my blood ready to go, I'll be out of here in ten minutes.

And after only a minute, a woman steps out of an open door to greet me. She's a petite woman of 4'11 with a slim figure and pale green scrubs. She does have on a plain white mask. Most places don't require masks anymore. But I like that any medical facility still requires them of everyone. I know the COVID situation isn't as bad as it used to be, but we are still in a pandemic. And medical facilities are the best place to engage. encounter the virus. I'm glad that some people are still taking things seriously. The tech introduces

herself as Miss Kelph and ushers me into the room. Inside is a computer, a table full of blood-drawing paraphernalia, and one of those chairs you always see in these rooms. It's a hard-padded chair with a board that comes down to close the gap between the armrests. I've always seen this board and never really understood the need for it. Sometimes the tech will bring this board down, but more often than not, it's left alone. This is one of those times where the board comes down, and I hear a distinctive click, as if it's been locked in place. Not really sure what that's about, but she's a professional, and I trust her to do her job. As she sets about gathering the needed supplies on her little wheel table, she asks for my ID and the usual questions to confirm my identity.

Name, date of birth, last four of my social. Then she asks me something I've never been asked by a lab tech before. Confirmation of my blood type. I don't like to announce that I have AB negative blood because it always comes with the request of donating whole blood. Since I am the rarest blood type, there's always a need for donors. and I've been hounded about it for years. When I first got out of the army,

I did donate whole blood and plasma, mostly because it paid decent, but those days are behind me. Besides, if I donated today, I wouldn't really be able to go to work after. Hell, I shouldn't drive at all after donating whole blood, though plasma is a different story. Thankfully, she doesn't ask me to donate,

but makes a note and a chart. As she ties the tourniquet around my arm and finds my vein, I study her face. With the mask on, I can only see so much, but there's something slightly off. Her sandy blonde hair is cut short, a few inches above her shoulders, and it's perfectly straight,

hiding her ears completely. The hair frames an angular face with strong cheekbones. eyes that make me think of a feline, and despite the mask I can see her nose is rather small and pointed. I honestly couldn't say if she's pretty, but definitely unique enough to stand out. Taking all this in, I almost miss her dabbing the needle into a clear gel. This isn't a normal practice since the needle comes from a sterile package,

and she swabs my arm with an alcohol pad. She assures me it's okay, that the gel acts as a numbing agent to ensure I won't feel a needle slipping in. Again, she's a professional and I have no reason to distrust her, so I go with it. Making my hand into a fist, I pump it a few times as she lines up for the prick. Telling me to relax, I unclench my fist and watch as the needle disappears into my arm. Wow. I didn't feel a thing. Normally there's at least a slight pinch or something,

but that numbing gel took all that away. That must really come in handy with people who truly hate needles. While collecting my samples, we idly chat about this and that. I tell her my wife is happy that I finally rescheduled my appointment. My boss isn't thrilled that I'm going to be late today, but grateful that I'll be right in as soon as I'm done here. In a couple of minutes, she fills four vials,

and I expect her to start removing the needle. But she doesn't. Out of nowhere, my eyes start to get tired. And I suddenly have extreme difficulty keeping them open. My head begins to droop. And I don't even have time to say a single word before I pass out. This is incredibly out of character for me. I've never passed out from a blood draw before.

I struggle to come back to myself and on some level, I'm still here, but barely. Then there's hands on me, picking me up from the chair and placing me on something flat. I can sense movement, like whatever I'm on has wheels. Trying to open my eyes again, I can almost get them open, but only for a moment.

The white light makes it hard to focus, but I catch glimpses of things. We take a bunch of turns, and I know I'm more. much farther into the facility than I ever have been before. I'm brought into a room with four beds and a lot of equipment. I only get a brief glimpse. But thanks to my experience is donating plasma,

I know exactly what those machines at each bed are. I may not be able to open my eyes for more than a second, but my ears are still working. Ms. Kelph and another tech are talking about me while transferring me to the bed. bed. And I can't believe what I'm hearing. They agree that it's a shame that they can't take a larger draw from me. But my blood type fights off the paralysis faster than any other. Plasma from my type is richer than the common types, and will go a long way. Whatever that means. The voice I don't

recognize throws out the idea of keeping me. But Ms. Kelph shoots that down. I'm so glad I mentioned my significant other, and how my boss knows where I am. Otherwise, I might not make it out of here alive. Then the guy says something that chills me down to the core as I feel my blood being drawn from my arm by the machine. I miss the taste of whole blood. My shock at hearing that gives me the strength to open my eyes more, and I wish I hadn't. I didn't just get a glimpse at the two of them. I fully saw them, and nothing I do will ever get those images out of my head. Neither of them are wearing their masks.

And now I know why Miss Kel flipped off to me. Her hair is tucked back behind her ears and the tops aren't rounded like they should be, but go higher and come to a distinct point. Her pointed nose sits above a mouth, too wide. And those teeth are pointy, like the teeth of a feline. The man is much the same, but his features look even more alien. What they both share is an abnormally short stature. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they are some kind of demonic elf.

But things like that don't really exist, right? The paralyzing agent keeps trying to suck me back under, but I can't stop fighting it. Their conversation keeps revealing things I never wanted to know, like I'm that far from the first person they've done this to. Apparently, the influx of people coming into the lab for the Christmas rush allows them to take more donations that skirt under the radar. Management is more concerned with the numbers getting worked through the system faster,

and their focus allows these things to get away with. their extracurricular activities. As they continue to talk, I flashed on an idea as to what they are, but I want to write all of this off as a bad dream. Between how tired I am, my overactive imagination, and those damn dreams I had last night, maybe I did pass out during the blood draw. And this is all just a bad dream.

There's no way I can be entertaining the idea that members of the Faye are not only in our world, but have infiltrated a freaking VA lab to steal blood and plasma from unsuspecting veterans. That's just dark fairy tale nonsense. It's not real. I've been under a lot of pressure and stress lately. What with the holidays, my hours at work cut back, and struggling with the bills, that would take a toll on anyone's mind. I take a sudden deep inhale and sit up on the bed, taking in my surroundings.

A tech that was nearby is startled by my sudden rush back to reality and drops her clipboard, saying I scared this shit out of her. After apologizing, I ask why I'm in this room. It's the same room with the beds and plasma extraction equipment, but Miss Kelph and the other guy aren't here. The tech explains that I came into the lab exhausted and passed out during my blood draw. They got a doctor from the ER to come over and have a look at me once they got me in. here. After a quick examination and talking with those who interacted with me, he declared that I was

just exhausted, and having to fast for the lab work didn't do me any good. I look at the needle in my arm, and find the tube is attached to a bag with clear fluids. Apparently, the ER doctor recommended they give me fluids and allow me to have a nap. But there was no need to admit me to the hospital. I don't believe her and ask if I can speak with Miss Kelph. but she informs me that there isn't anyone here by that name. I want to ask her to remove her mask, but I refrain. First off, her facial features don't seem off like Miss Kelfs had. Second, I don't really want to know.

I just want to get the fuck out of here and satisfy the rumbling in my stomach. If I try to dig into this place, they may change their minds about letting me go, and I really don't want that. Once I get some food and caffeine in me, I'll be back to my normal self. It was just a weird dream brought on by fatigue, hunger, lack of rest, and stress. Though, to be on the safe side, I'll get my lab work done somewhere else and to move my yearly checkup back to early October. Dream or not, there's no way in hell I'm coming back to this place in December.

As I'm walking past the reception desk, I check the time and see it's only 607, so I'll get to work before seven for sure. A man catches me at the door, and I recognize him as the guy that was with Miss Kelf while they took my plasma. You forgot your ID. I thank him as I take it, knowing none of it had been a dream at all. He hands me my driver's license, not my VA medical ID, which is what I handed over when I first got in with Miss Kelph. We exchange some intense eye contact, but still, I turn to leave. Something tells me this isn't over, and I'm so glad that I don't carry my license to carry ID on me.

It's currently sitting in my glove box with my 9mm compact and holster. If I see any of those things again, I'll be ready next time. Creepy Presents. A bag and a half of Lossack of Lod. Lime, written by E.B. Davis, and narrated by Alicia Atkins. The killing that led to the ghost that haunted the house was of the usual sort. Ugly, violent, sad, and unpleasant to dwell on. It's only the key details that are worth mentioning.

After all, no ghost story is going to be told without involving some drama. It was a case of domestic abuse. It was sort of the really long-term chronic situation that used to be all too common, but thankfully, you don't hear about too much anymore. It lingered for years and years, countless black eyes, split lips, bruised ribs and miscarriages. This all culminated and crescendoed in one singular horrible bloody night, the kitchen covered in blood and gore. When it was all over and the corpse was beginning to cool,

The killer did the only thing that made any sort of sense. She covered it up. These days, she would have called the cops. She could justify it as self-defense. There might not have even been a trial. Any grand jury seeing what she'd endured would have been monstrous to indict. Yet that kind of thinking wasn't around back then. That was a product of the 80s and 90s.

Battered wife's syndrome, the lawyers and journalists, had started calling it back then. Sure. Self-defense had always been something to consider in acts of violence. But self-defense back then was considered the last line. It was something you resorted to

while in the act of being attacked. They didn't think it ought to apply in cases of premeditated killings. And this one was very, very premeditated. She'd been wanting to do it for a very long time. The day finally came, and she had to bide her time just a little bit longer. She waited until he was home from work, until he had gobbed down the food that she had made for him, un thanked.

She had pretended to go to bed at the usual early hour. There she had waited until the boxing match on the radio was finally over, hearing her husband shout advice at both fighters, despite having never struck anybody but her. Then he turned the radio off, and said, sat at the kitchen table, quietly polishing off the last of his six-pack of beer. This was a little ritual he seemed to cherish. It was at the end of the day, his work and entertainment and feeding done. All he had left to do was climb the stairs and go to bed. He would just spend his last 15 or so minutes a day alone with his thoughts and his sense of accomplishment. He never heard her sneaking

up behind him. She walked barefoot, just like he always wanted her to be. Thanks to years of trying to avoid his attention, she knew every creaky stare and floorboard in the house, and how to avoid him. Her husband, completely oblivious, took one last sip of beer, swallowed, and then she brought the claw hammer swinging down hard on his head, back end first, and punctured a neat rectangular hole through his skull and brain. Barely skipping a beat, as his legs and arms twitched and flailed in a mix of voluntary and involuntary movement. She brought the hammer up and back down again, blunt in first this time, and caved in the rest of the skull, over and over, around the original hole. As previously stated, the murder isn't much to dwell on.

it was largely what happened after that shaped the nature of the ghost. Since the killer had no intention of going to prison, the only thing for her to do was cover it up. There had been more blood than she had expected, and she had been expecting a lot. Yet this was not a serious issue. She'd become very good at cleaning up blood, particularly off the kitchen floor,

and table, and cabinets. Hiding the body wasn't that difficult. she'd planned for that too. Using the same hammer from her previous work, she knocked a large hole in the wall. This was a downstairs wall, not a load-bearing wall, and when she pulled out some of the old newspaper insulation,

it was just thick enough for the body, mostly upright, to get stuffed between the studs. There'd been a bag and a half of lime, stored in the cellar, that she dumped over the corpse, and with that done, All she needed to do was patch up the hole and repaper the wall.

Fortunately, her late husband had punched so many holes in the walls over the years that she had gotten very good at this sort of work. She had so many leftover supplies that she didn't even need to go to the hardware store. Her biggest concern was covering up her husband's disappearance, but this turned out a simple matter too. When her dead husband's foreman knocked on her door on Tuesday morning, asking if he was sick or something, She told him that he had gone to the bar to listen to the boxing match last Friday night, and had never come home. She told him she thought he'd ran off on her. The nice man looked almost sympathetic, nodded, and apologized for troubling her.

He had to look like he wasn't surprised. By the next Sunday afternoon, after the church service, rumors had spread far enough that all her acquaintances had accepted the story. Nobody had ever even talked to the police. Over time, the corpse only semi-mummified. It took a long, long while for the flesh to decompose, even with all the lime. Early on, the neck began to bend under the weight of what remained of the head, and the skull rested against the inside of the wall.

There, over the years, the ghost that was still attached to the flesh heard many things. It heard its widow laughing and singing. and enjoying life again. It heard her bringing other men home to the house which it still considered its house. It heard her taking them upstairs. It heard her cheering when she got a phone call from the county register's office

that her divorce proceedings had gone through. It heard her leaving for her wedding, and then two weeks later, returning with her new groom from their honeymoon. It heard him giving her children, and those same children running around the halls, laughing and squealing, unbeaten, for years and years until they grew up, moved out, and brought grandchildren over for visits. It heard his widow age, and eventually sell the house. It's house, and she and her new husband took all the money.

It heard the new buyers view the place. It heard the house inspector who almost, but not quite, found its hiding place. It heard his wife pack up, and the movers take out all the old furniture. When the house was empty, and she was about to leave, it heard her wrap her knuckles on the wall,

right next to the hole that had been its ear, and whisper, I win. Then it heard the sound of her high-heel shoes as she walked out the door. It would hear new families, new marriages, new children, men who didn't beat their wives and whose wives were happy and loving.

Every day that passed filled it with rage. It's still there. It would barely recognize the house. The interior has been remodeled each time and is now very modern. Every time they remodeled, they kept that interior wall instead of knocking it out. It just brings the rooms together. In time, the body finally disintegrated, leaving only bones and stains under old rotted lime. Its ghost is free now, and sometimes it comes out.

It likes to wait until late in the evening. It likes the time when everybody else has gone to bed, and only the owner is still awake, when they finish the day's duties, and are simply procrastinating their own bedtime, alone in their thoughts. Perhaps they're sitting at the kitchen table, having just finished that last bottle of beer or glass of wine. It's an unremarkable house, save for the ghost,

in a very typical suburban neighborhood. Unless you live in an apartment or a newer construction, it could be yours. If you're the sort of person who stays up late, relaxing alone with your own thoughts, and you feel a sudden terrible pain in the back of your head, a bizarre wave of dizziness, or uncontrolled twitches of your limbs, there might be a good reason. Just be prepared for what you might find if you open up that wall.

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