Creepy - Crashing Was The Highlight & Undress to Impress

Episode Date: March 9, 2023

Crashing Was The Highlight***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***Undress to Impress***Written by: Olivia White and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***Content Warning: Sexual language, gore***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 biocations of biocations. and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Crashing was the highlight, written by known of consequence, and narrated by J.V. Hampton Van Sant. The alarm blares at me in a piercing shrill, making my already panicked mind more frantic. Instrument panels on the dashboard are going haywire. Nothing works right, even the ultimaters going nuts.

Lightning flashes off the starboard wing, and I struggle to keep the small cargo plane level. The radio is fried from the lightning strike, and my engine is sputtering out. I never should have agreed to this stupid run. But the money had been too good to turn down. Amidst the random bolts of lightning, I catch sight of a small eye. off the port side. It may be small, but from what I can see, it has a nice wide beach. Landing on an island like that isn't ideal, but I'll take what I can get at this point. I'd much rather land on a beach than crash into the water, and unfortunately, those are my two

options. The wind kicks me around something fierce, shaking me around so, so badly that I slam my head against the frame on my left. It stuns me, screwing with my brain's ability to comprehend what my eyes are seeing. It only lasts a moment, but every second is critical in an emergency landing. My days cost me dearly, and the plane pretty much crashes short of the beach. The front landing gear catches the water. killing my forward momentum and bringing my nose down hard. The harness on my seat doesn't hold me as well as it should,

and I slam my head into the instrument panel. By the time I come to, the storm is a few miles away, and the darkness is more complete. The plane is absolutely totaled, and I don't have to get out to see that. The propeller on the nose is gone. One wing is bent and broken halfway down. Not to mention, I'm seeing all this upside down.

When the plane took a nose dive, I'm guessing the plane did a flip or two. To be honest, I'm shocked I woke up at all. There is no easy way to undo a seatbelt when you're upside down. I try to brace myself by holding onto the harness, but this is going to hurt no matter what I do. Of course, having a bleeding gash on my left leg isn't helping matters, and I don't even notice until I land on the ceiling. At least the plane's final resting place is on the beach and not in the water. This is going to suck enough without getting salt water in my leg wound.

As I crawl out, I grab the bag that had originally been under my seat. Using the bent part of the wing as a table, I set up an electric lantern and pull out the first-aid kit. Inspecting my leg, I thankfully don't find any foreign objects inside. The gash isn't as bad as I feared, and I make quick work of cleaning it. Rapping it in gauze and an ace bandage is the best I can do. What sucks is I'm going to be walking with a limp for the foreseeable future. For as big as the storm was, it brought surprisingly little rain to this island. I have no trouble finding dry coconut husks and wood to make a fire in the jungle.

I say jungle, but as small as the island is, it's probably just a large cluster of trees. If I had to guess, I'd say the entire island is maybe a square mile, two, at the most. Among the things in my emergency bag are some survival rations. They will only last so long, so I only eat a single nutrient bar. It tastes god-awful, but it's surprisingly filling, chalk full of all the things you required to survive on. Since I was on a smuggling run, the plane's transponder wasn't active, and no one knows where the hell I am. When daylight comes, I'll have to search for food. Coconut's can provide both sustenance and water, but they are notoriously difficult to open.

Thankfully, my kit has a hatchet in it for just such an occasion. Hell, that's why I put it in there. Being a commercial pilot with my own plane in the tropics affords me a lot of opportunities. But not all of them are legal? I like to plan for all sorts of contingencies, hence the emergency kit with some peculiar items. There's also a 22-magnum revolver,

a box of bullets and an emergency beacon. Considering the cargo in my plane, I can't activate the beacon right away. I'll have to wait until tomorrow to explore the island and find a suitable place to bury it. Once I get rescued, I've got a friend with a boat that can bring me back out this way, pick up the cargo, and complete my delivery.

I have a reputation to uphold and won't just give up on this. As I contemplate my next moves and how much it'll cost me to involve my friend, a loud thud from the jungle makes me jump. The sudden movement makes me grab my injured leg in pain, and my heart rate pumps up from fear. I listen for any more. sounds, but aside from the wind in the trees and the crackling of my fire, there's nothing. I'm not normally this jumpy, but the combination of the crashing and being on an unknown island

in the dark has me on edge. After tossing another hunk of wood on the fire, I check over the revolver from my kit. It's been a while since I last laid hands on it, and I want to make sure it's in tip-top shape. There's a lot of little uninhabited islands around these parts, but they do have some wildlife on them. Normally the largest things are hogs, and while a 22-magnum isn't ideal for taking down a hog, it's enough to scare them off. Once I finish giving the revolver a physical, I replaced the bullets in the cylinder. While putting the fourth bullet in, a loud, unexpected pop causes me to jump again. Adrenaline floods my system with instant fear, and I close the cylinder, pointing the pistol into the darkness.

Not only does this cause me more pain in my leg, but I drop two of the bullet. bullets. Scanning the immediate area, I can't see anything notable. I've got to pull myself together, or this is going to be a very long night. Thankfully, the bullets didn't go into the fire, but I only managed to find one of them. I've spent a lot of time on islands like this, and can't remember ever hearing a pop like that before. The loud thud I first heard was more than likely a coconut falling from a tree. Those suckers come crashing down from more than 50 feet up. My lamp is one of those versatile ones that can act as a regular flashlight, too.

I put the revolver in a holster and place it along with a small powder, for extra ammunition on my belt. With the light in one hand and a stick to aid my injured leg in the other, I skirt the tree line, searching the darkness for anything alive. All I see is a few small rodents, startled birds that take flight, and the odd blue and black knots on tree trunks. As far as I can see, there is nothing around me that accounts for the pops I heard.

Maybe a coconut fell directly onto a rock? That might account for it. Lots of dried coconut husks and cracked open shells litter the ground. I pick up as many of the shells as I can, which isn't much, and take them back to the fire. I had enough trouble bringing wood back earlier, and these shells are much easier to carry in my current state. Tossing a few of them on the fire, I limp over to the plane and pull out an empty burlap bag.

I tie the string around the top of my stick and go back to the tree line. Really wish I'd thought of this sooner. Once my bag is full of husks and shells, I limped. it back to my makeshift camp. As I dump the contents next to the fire, another loud pop makes me jump. Half my load goes onto the fire, making the flames leap up as the husks catch almost instantly. Okay, a coconut falling onto a rock once is acceptable. But twice? That is highly improbable, which means I'm not alone on this island. My walking stick is taller than I am,

and since I need the stick to help me walk, I decide to lash my lamp on top. This way, I can have light while walking and carry my revolver in the other hand. I was just going to get some sleep once I had a decent amount of firewood, but these loud pops have me too freaked out. All these adrenaline spikes have my blood pumping wildly,

and my leg is throbbing. If I don't figure out what is making that noise, I'm never going to get any rest. With the lamp above my head and the revolver naked in my hand, I go into the jungle. It's not very dense, so I can see farther into it than I normally would with a lantern. When it comes to searching the darkness, lanterns are more useful for enclosed spaces like caves.

For open wooded areas like this, flashlights are preferable. Had I not injured my leg in the crash, that's how I would have done this. but I'm making do. The wind moves easily through the sparse trees at my level, almost as well as it does at their tops. On the ground, I see more husks, lots of broken coconuts, and some that are still whole.

I limp on for maybe ten minutes when a thought creeps into my mind. Coconuts don't fall from trees, remove their husks and crack themselves open. So, what the hell has been eating them? I start getting a bad feeling. The skin at the back of my neck crawls as I slowly back up. My blood is pumping hard, and the only noise I hear is my own pulse.

Something bumps into my own pulse. Something bumps into my back, and I startle, accidentally firing off a shot. Spinning around, I come face to face with a tree. A nervous laugh escapes my lips as relief washes over me. I notice one of those odd blue spots that seem to accompany all the knots on these trunks. Odd, but I was under the impression that these trees were usually smooth. Yet nearly all the ones that I've seen have at least one of these knots. Moving my lamp closer to it, I give the imperfection a closer exam.

Something shoots out of the mass with incredible speed, hitting my lantern with such force that it breaks. Stumbling backward, I trip over something on the ground and land with a hard twist and thud. The impact does a number on my leg, and I can't help but scream out in pain. There is barely any light to see by, just enough to make out the general shape of the trees. I still have the revolver in my hand. but a lot of good it'll do me in the dark. Every instinct I have screams at me to run, but I'm frozen to the spot.

Something was in that tree knot, and it just broke my damn light. Mere feet just behind me, I hear scuttling as something crawls out of a burrow in the sand. It clicks at me angrily, making me think of my favorite restaurant on my home island, the crab claw. They may be known for their crab, but I usually prefer their grilled garlic shrimp and jalapeno hush puppies. Anyway, the clicking sounds very similar to the crab claw's snapping at the staff as they try to fend off human hands. although these sound far too big to be crab claws.

All of that is in the back of my mind as I scramble to my feet, the wound in my leg hurting more than when I was cleaning it out. I quickly limp my way through the jungle, thankful the trees are as sparse as they are. From this far, I can see the faint glow of my fire. and I make a beeline for it. My pant leg is getting wet with every agonizing step I take on my bad leg. I have to be bleeding through the bandage,

but I'll be fine as long as I can get into the light. Considering how that thing attacked my lantern, I'm guessing whatever is out there doesn't like the light. Here's hoping it outright fears fire. Most creatures do. The fire is brilliantly bright after the near complete darkness of the jungle. By now I'm groaning with each step, but it's not until I'm leaning against the wing

that I see what I've left in my wake. In my haste to get back to the fire, not only did I bleed through the bandage, but I left a bloody trail leading back here. Hopefully, whatever broke my lantern doesn't have a good nose for tracking. Though, with as small as this island is, I can't be that hard to find. Grabbing my emergency kit, I get hit with a spell of vertigo. Either the blood loss is worse than I thought, or I stood back up too fast. It takes me a few minutes to get over it.

At least I don't get so nauseous that I vomit. The last thing I need is to lose my focus, and nothing takes your focus away like puking your guts out. As I open the bag for bandages, noise from the jungle makes my blood go cold. The clicking not only followed me, but it grew in number. Instead of one set of angry claws, there must be a dozen or more. Forgetting about the bandages for now, I grab a bunch of dried coconut husks and throw them onto the fire.

The flames leap up much higher than they were before, reaching nearly five feet, and cast a lot of light. I look into the jungle and see well more than a dozen dark shapes on the ground crawling slowly out from the trees. The things I mistook for blue tree knots were some kind of crustacean, but far larger, and thicker than any I'd seen before. I watch as some of them crawl down trees, and others come out of burrows in the sand. They join the ones coming from deeper in the jungle and converge on my blood trail.

I grab up my revolver and shoot the closest creature, maybe 20 feet away. The thing jolts back from the bullet's impact but then it continues crawling in my direction, extending its limbs to appear as big as possible. It's at least three feet wide and looks like sentient rocks. The thing moves like a crab,

but I've never seen anything like it. Could these be the things that have eaten all the coconuts I found, broken open? If they are, they must be freaking strong. Coconuts are very difficult to crack open. Perhaps that was the popping sounds that had surprised me before. Gripping my revolver with both hands, I exhale as I aim at the center of this thing. The outer shell deflected the bullet. but maybe if I shoot it in the face, I'll get better results.

Pain erupts from my good leg from just above my ankle, and I fall to the sand. I had been concentrating so hard on the terrestrial crustaceans in front of me that I missed the ones coming at me from the sides. I was right about them being strong. That massive crustacean took me down with one snip of its claw. Between my screams and rolling in agony, I can feel the bone inside my leg. The break is far from clean. My femur was crushed by that powerful claw.

With both legs injured so badly, I have no chance of getting away from these things. Laying on the ground, I see a glint of metal to the side. The light from the fire shines off the barrel of my revolver. From all around, I can see more of those dark shapes than I can count crawling slowly towards me. The one that took me down scurried back when I started flailing about. But it's not that flailing. I have been in some bad situations before, but none so bad as the predicament I find myself in now. There are only two options left to me, and only one of them won't end in an excruciating death,

pushing the intense pain in my legs into the background of my consciousness, I use my arms to pull me through the sand. Reaching out a tired arm, my fingers brush against the gun barrel. As I get the metal between two of my fingers, I pull it closer to get a better grip. A claw appears out of nowhere and snobre. knaps down on my fingers, trapping them between the claw and the barrel.

The crushing force breaks my bones, splits the skin on my fingers into bloody tears, and renders those digits useless. The claw doesn't cut them off, and I'm left feeling the pain of that injury. On a deserted island, I die screaming, as these creatures break me down piece by piece.

They couldn't even do me the courtesy of ending my misery with a killing blow. Between the pinching trauma and blood loss, I'm completely aware of what they do until the silence of death takes me. To think, I ended up here because I was trying to smuggle medication to an island under governmental quarantine. No one will know what became of me.

Creepy Presents Undress to Impress Written by Olivia White and narrated by Megan McDuffie. I've never been particularly popular and I've always been too keen to impress. Too often I try to change. myself to please people who won't accept me for who I am. I know this. I'm a sucker and a pushover,

and I shouldn't be. Usually it leaves me with an egg on my face and yet another dent in my pride and self-confidence. This last time, it's gotten me into real, serious trouble. Picture the scene. I'm a short, shy, dark-haired girl who even by the end of her first year in college hasn't made any real friends. I join the drama club where I meet a group of some of the coolest, dreamiest people imaginable. Cool, dreamy people laugh at me behind my back and give me a role in the play that requires me to wear a bikini on stage. I know they've done this to humiliate me. I'm the kind of girl who wears baggy cardigans and ankle-lake skirts, but I do it anyway. I'm eager to please them. I agree to it because I hate my body and I wish I didn't. My booed.

are smaller than I'd like. My tummy isn't toned like other girls. I have stretch marks on my thighs. My ass is nothing to write home about. I agree to it because when I came to college, I promised myself. I'd push myself. I agree to it because I think it might help, and I go on a crash diet. I work out so hard at the gym every night that I'm often too exhausted to even study. The results aren't perfect, but there's something. I also agree to it because the coolest and dreamiest of the cool, dreamy people is a beautiful boy called Tanner. I would like Tanner to do unspeakably sexual things to me, so I agree to prancing around on stage in a bikini in my new, still not great, but hard-won body in the hope that he'll notice me. I am an idiot. Tanner does notice me, though. He flirts with me even. I see his eyes.

exploring my body as I'm up on that stage, and it makes me happy like nothing else. He and his friends start talking to me. I think that things might be looking up. With me so far, you can see where this is going, can't you? I couldn't. Last night, after dress rehearsal, Tanner and his bestie, a girl who doesn't like me, called Molly, dared me to pose for a photo in our lit professor's office, lounging seductively over his desk in my dumb, stupid little yellow bikini. Of course, I agreed. I'm eager to please.

Eager to pretend I'm someone else. If that someone is a person that those I want to impress will find more palatable. I'm also really naive. It was late at night. Most of the college was empty. Just a few errant staff members and the janitor. Our professor would have gone home for the day. I didn't really question how we'd get into the office.

didn't notice that Tanner and Molly were surprised when the door was unlocked. I just pulled it open and scurried inside, eager to arrange my body seductively in front of Tanner while thinking about all the things I'd like him to do to it. I even unlocked my phone and gave it to Molly, who doesn't like me, in order for her to take the photograph. To capture me in all my full body glory, she said. Yeah, they captured me all right, my hands on my thighs, my face just forming an O of surprise as they shut the door, then held up my phone and took a picture through the glass. Oh yeah. And then they locked the door, because I guess Tanner had a key, and that was how we were

supposed to get inside in the first place. Even then, it didn't really dawn on me, even as I heard them laughing and walking away. And then, as I stood staring at the door, a half-smile on my lips, waiting for them to unlock it and shout, gotcha, it clicked. With the dawning, of the prank came the realization that the photo would already be all over Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, and there I was, practically nude, breaking and entering in Professor Ranchford's office. Why did I let them talk me into this? Why did I let them convince me to wear a garment that was little more than three triangles of fabric and two pieces of string? What if the photo somehow made its way to my parents, my grandparents. I began to cry, loud, ugly crying,

and I didn't care, let Tanner see me. I didn't want that weasel anywhere near me or my body, his loss. Then I remembered the cruel laughter he'd shared with Molly, and the realization that he wouldn't even slightly care just made me cry more. I checked the door. Maybe I'd get lucky, and there some way to unlock it from the inside. Nope. Of course not. Nice fire safety, college. I thought about banging on the wood, yelling for help, but I still held out a tiny bit of hope that Tanner and Molly wouldn't be cruel enough to send that photo out publicly. Maybe I wouldn't get identified. When I get suspended? Can you even get suspended from college? Probably not. They'd just kick me out. For breaking and entering and sexually deviant being.

behavior. One of people thought I was intending to seduce Professor Ranchford. All these thoughts hammered through my brain like a freight train. I cursed myself for being so nervous and unassertive. It didn't help that I was wearing that stupid bikini. I'd actually felt confident. Now I was a sniveling, shivering wreck, trapped barely dressed in the office of the loveliest kindest professor I'd ever met. Wait, that was it. If I could just suck it up and hang on till morning, I could wait for Professor Ranchford to get here, explain everything to him, and he'd help me. He wouldn't bust me. We got on pretty well. He said I was his favorite student. I liked him a lot. He was a scrawny, middle-aged guy who was a little awkward, a little bumbling, tried a little too hard

to be cool. Most of my peers taunted him behind his back, said he was a little bit of a past it nerd who desperately wanted to be one of the cool professors. I loved him for that. You can probably imagine why. Hello, projection. Heck, when I explained the situation to Professor Ranchford, he'd probably even get some clothes for me from lost property. Next semester, we could laugh about the whole thing, quietly, to ourselves, of course. All I had to do was sleep through the night and make sure I woke up before the professor got here so I could quickly explain my predicament before he passed out at the sight of a student in a bikini lurking in his office, or called security, or I don't know, at a heart attack. It wasn't exactly the smartest plan,

but it was all I had. Under the desk seemed like as good a place as any to sleep, away from watchful eyes that might glance in the window. It would be uncomfortable, and I'd probably get carpet burn, but screw it. I only really started to process the smell as I was heading around the desk. It was a sickly sweet scent, like roses that had died and were starting to liquefy, and beneath that, something tangy, coppery, but also like burning. Rinkling my nose, wondering if Professor Ranchford had left a moldy egg sandwich in his bin or something, I rounded the desk. What I saw there caused me to clap my hand over my mouth, stifling a scream. A body lay face down under the desk, its legs sticking out, one ankle resting on the feet of the

fancy leather swivel chair. Thankfully, the glow from a security light on the adjacent building was enough to illuminate the room well enough for me to see. I could tell from the back of the head and the patches on the elbows of the jacket that the body was Professor Ranchfurt's. I let out another sob and started to kneel down to shake the professor. Then I recoiled. What if he was dead?

Instead, and I'm not proud of this, I gently nudged him with the toe of my shoe, grateful that I'd at least slipped my trainers on before running headfirst into idiocy. Professor Ranchford didn't move. His body felt stiff to my touch. I knew I couldn't just guess, though. Shuttering, I crouched down.

The smell was overpowering, and I fought not to gag. Holding my nose and turning away, I reached out and touched his neck, looking for a pulse. I didn't find a pulse. What I did find, however, was a slimy sensation, as if my fingers were sinking into his skin. I recoiled quickly, glancing down at my hand. My fingers were coated in a slick substance, translucent with swirls of brown. Was it blood? I shook my wrist, flicking the gross

icker against the carpet. And this time, I did gag. I couldn't just leave Professor Ranchford like this. I stood up, surveying his desk for a phone. I'd have to call 911 and explain the situation. Anything was better than this. I located the phone and lifted the handset off the receiver. And I froze.

What if they thought I had killed him? I was trespassing in his office, after all. I shook my head. Of course they wouldn't. He was old, at least late 40s. He probably died of a heart attack or something. And besides, what alternative did I have? Without the professor, there was no way out. It would be better to call the cops than be caught in here the next day with a dead body. I held the phone up to my ear and heard nothing. I tried the buttons on the handset. Nothing. It was totally dead. I grabbed the base, you know, and I grabbed the base, unit and pulled it towards me. There was no power getting to it at all. They traced the cord to the wall.

No problem there. Did they shut the power to this part of the building off at night? I tried the light switch. It didn't matter if anyone saw me now. Didn't work. I pictured Tanner and Molly sneaking into the basement and flicking the trip switch. Just a little extra bonus to make my torment even more uncomfortable. Something to make sure I'd be stuck here all night. I began to get a dark, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was already freezing being in that stupid bikini, but now I was positively shivering. I tried to stop my teeth from chattering. Cold.

That was it. I could open the window and scream for help. Surely somebody would hear me. I walked to the window and grasped the base. I pulled and pulled and pulled, but the damn thing would not open. and I checked for a latch. Nothing. It was stuck.

I remembered a college email from months before. Windows on the second floor and upwards were permanently sealed for safety reasons. Well, I wasn't very safe now, was I? I stared out at the campus longingly. That's when I saw it. That's when I froze. Floating there above my head, a face in the window. A gaunt, ragged face with hollowed-out eyes, its mouth contorted into a grimace.

A face, a reflection. Shrieking, I spun around on my heel. Professor Rashford stood there, wavering, his arms hanging limply by his sides. His face looked like it was melting, the skin drooping off his skull like that cartoon dog. He was barely recognizable as the professor anymore, and the more, and the more his jaw moved, the more contorted his face became. Thick, translucent liquid was slopping off his skin, hitting the floor with a sickening sludge.

He blinked at me once, twice, his eyes bloodshot, his pupils enlarged. Professor Ranchford let out a groaning, gasping wretch, and I stumbled backwards as I saw a fat black tongue wriggling inside his mouth. He lifted his right arm and reached for me, groping for me, his fingers clawing for my neck. I ducked, darted around him, heading for the door. I banged on it, screaming now, shouting and crying as loud as I could. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see Ranchford lurching around, stumbling towards me, drool pouring from his mouth, his bottom lip sagging.

The word zombie flashed through my mind in amongst the, panic and tears, had I stumbled onto ground zero for the undead apocalypse or something? Ranchford approached, his hip bashing against the corner of the desk. I reched as I saw the hollow that the gentle nudge had left in his side. It was like his body was melting around his bones, undulating, pulsating, moving in ways that flesh and bone should never move. My eyes widened as the professor's body began to contort. He started to be able to be. He started to bend at the waist, backwards in an impossible way, like his spine had become a spring. He rotated at the hips, his torso swinging in low, terrible arcs, his arms flailing,

bending and curving in places that no arms should bend. The flesh of his thighs was pulsing outwards. I heard the tearing of fabric as fat split the seams of his clothing, oozing outwards like pale slugs. Between his legs, the professor's crotch began to swell. I watched in horror as a bulbous growth filled his pants, straining against the material. Then, just as it looked as if his trousers would tear, it began to deflate. I heard a sickening crack as his spine righted itself, and the professor stared at me with bulging, mischapen eyes. His mouth flapped, and I watched with horror as a number of his teeth detached themselves from his gums, dripping down in that horrible, discus drool.

He huffed, and I could see his tongue was even more swollen and all of us now. Crap! He was asking for help. Crap! At the exact moment this realization hit me, Professor Ranchford stumbled forward. He fell, face first towards the floor. I tried to catch him. Really, I did. But his body was heavy, dense. He knocked me to the side, and I watched in horror as he toppled forward, his skull making contact with the wooden door. Instead of the clunking sound I'd expected, his entire head simply caved in on itself, as if his bones had softened beyond all use. The rest of his body soon followed, hitting the ground with a blat, spreading outwards like dough, held in place by the clothes he wore. I crouched down beside the filing cabinet, shaking and sobbing. I could only stare as the prof's body began to melt into a puddle of flesh. I crawled into the back corner of the room, putting the desk between myself in this

horrible, hellish sight. My head throbbed from crying. I had no idea what I'd just seen. Was it some kind of new unheard of disease? Was it contagious? Was this going to happen to me? I rested my head against my knees and tried to think of how I could escape. I couldn't focus. All I could think about was poor Professor Ranchford, reaching out for me, asking for aid, about whether that would be me shortly. I wasn't even sure if I'd survive the night. I wanted to take another look at him. I wanted to see what was in store for me. I crept forward and peeked up over the professor's desk. That's when I caught sight of the pill bottle on his desk, right under my nose.

It was open, the seal broken. It caught my eye because all the text was in a foreign language, one I didn't recognize. I sniffed at the top of the bottle. Sure enough, it smelled of the same awful scent that the professor's body was emanating. None of the words on the bottle made any sense to me, but the product photo made things pretty clear. A buff guy stood there flexing in tiny speedos, the imprint of a large penis clearly visible at his crotch. He had a winning smile on his face, all shiny white teeth and cheekbones to die for, his bicep shone in the unseen sun. This air-brushed specimen of an alpha male stared up at me with blank, unseeing eyes, tiny,

and porcine above his chiseled jaw. A tear rolled down my cheek. It looked as if, like me, Professor Ranchford was too eager to impress. I could just imagine him, staring at his scrawny body in the mirror, longing to be someone else. I could see myself standing there, too, cupping my two small breasts, pinching my too flabby stomach. Whatever the supplements had really been, whatever they'd done to. him biologically. Where he'd got them even, I couldn't say. I knew the cops would want the pills for evidence, the doctors for testing, but I didn't want details getting around of why the professor

had done this to himself. I didn't want his death to become a comedy footnote to be passed around the halls of my college. Carefully, I tore the label off the pills. Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn't, but at least I'd have tried. I shredded the paper into tiny pieces, scowling at the idiot macho man as he flexed up at me. Then I tucked the shredded paper into my bikini top. Nobody would find it there. I could ditch it later. With the knowledge that I'd likely live to see the morning, I collapsed back against the wall. I don't know how I managed to fall asleep, but I did. I was woken up the next day by a banging on the door and sunlight streaming into my face. My neck ached like nothing else. I weakly shouted for help, and within seconds the door

unlocked, and I saw a custodian standing there with the assistant dean. I simply told the truth, and things didn't work out too badly. There was some suspicion at first, of course. Naturally, there were questions about whether I was having a sexual relationship with the professor, but I think they could tell how traumatized I was, and with my denial, and his death, there was nothing to be gained from pursuing it. Not like I was a minor, after all. They never did find out what the pills were for. Only I knew that.

Just discovered that they contained traces of a particularly virulent, particularly experimental poison that attacks the bones and muscles, causing the body to pretty much eat itself. They couldn't trace the source of the pills. The pills killed Professor Ranchford. But so did his desire to impress others. I will always love and empathize with him for that. I always miss that goofy, uncool professor.

And as for me, after what my last attempt to fit in led me to, well, I'm not so willing to mold myself into someone else and try to please people who won't accept me anymore. I've learned to be happy being who I am. 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 Sherrillite 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 stories author.