Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2022 - Day 4: My Friends and I Went Camping & I Can't Sleep When It Rains

Episode Date: July 14, 2022

My friend and I went hiking and I’m starting to think she never left those woods***Written by JamFranz and narrated by Rissa Montanez***I Can't Sleep When It Rains***Written by: Entropy-Kid and narrated by Alicia Atkins***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Megan McDuffee 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. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy fosters 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 biosephysions of biosephs, Silence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. So, what did everyone do today?

John, why don't we ever see you during the day? We could really use a hand with some of this camping stuff. Trust me, this takes a lot of behind-the-scenes work to pull off. What kind of work? We're just camping out here in the middle of nowhere. It's better if you don't know. Let's change the subject for no reason. Someone must have a story to tell.

Rissa, do you have any camping stories? I'm from Chicago. This isn't exactly my favorite kind of trip. I'm just glad there are so many of us here. Especially after... Yay, story time. My friend and I went hiking, and I'm starting to think she never left those woods.

Oh, man, this is going to be the Jamfranz. A what? Isn't that what the kids are saying? My friend Samantha and I were so excited to take a road trip together to go hiking somewhere further from home. We'd been talking about it since we graduated college a few years back, and finally we found the time. Well, she always made the time. It was mainly me that had trouble balancing work with anything else. Looking back now, I wish I had spent more of this trip focusing on some.

Sam, the scenery, and being present in the moment. I wish I had been a better friend. Sam was the most excited for our trip. The week before we left, she was texting me about restaurants in the area, stuff to do, and she made a Spotify playlist with both of our favorites so we could listen to seven hours' worth of an eclectic mix of classic rock, pop, black metal, and was even marking trailheads we might enjoy on her Google Maps app. I felt bad for putting the trip off for so long. We got to catch up, explore, try really cool food. We had a great trip up until our final hike.

We're both in decent shape, and since we had the supplies and plenty of daylight, we decided we were going to try a longer unpaved trail that went around this beautiful lake. It was the last hike of our trip, and we decided to take a more difficult, but less crowded trail. Initially, it was a wonderful hike. The water was such a surreal shade of blue, and the pine trees and rolling hills were breathtaking. The air was thinner than we were used to, but so refreshing. As we hiked around one bend, I almost ran right into Sam's, back. I had been falling behind, focusing on placing my feet in exactly the right locations in the

soft dirt, so I didn't go sliding down 20 feet to the shore. Sam stood frozen, and there was a deer in front of her blocking the trail. As I approached with my backpack jingling and breathing heavily, the deer stood for just another moment, tilting its head sideways at me before darting right. right back into the pine trees. She looked back at me, her face tight. Did you see that? The deer? Yeah, I told her. It was pretty magical. She gave a little laugh as she started up again, so we could both move on to the section of the trail that had sturdier footing. No, I mean, something was wrong with that deer. It was way too comfortable around me. and I don't know if you could see or hear it,

but it was drooling and making these weird sounds. We continued on in silence after that, and we focused on our footing and the scenery, stopping every so often to take pictures. One time, when we were stopped, we heard rustling to the right, just a little higher up on the hill. I got the bear spray out and held onto it.

whatever it was, it seemed to be walking parallel to us, almost matching our pace. It sounded big, too. Eventually, the hiking trail rose up to meet the higher part of the hill, and I couldn't help but sigh in relief. I'd been so worried that I'd roll my ankle and tumble down the mountain, so it was good to have more room, so I wasn't walking right on the edge. back in college, I'd sprained my ankle badly, but couldn't afford to see a doctor. It healed a little oddly, and since then my left ankle has been kind of iffy. After a while, I needed to sit for a moment. Walking uphill for an hour in addition to the 6,500 foot elevation, I was struggling.

And maybe I'm also a bit more out of shape than I had been more. willing to admit, too. Sam sat with me for a moment, but then saw some wildflowers about ten feet into the woods, and then left to go take a quick picture. With her gone, I felt a sudden chill, like something was watching me. Sam? I called out to her nervously as the rustling grew louder, and I gripped my container of bear spray really tight, and then it stepped out of the woods. and it was just a deer. Or more specifically, it was the deer. The same one that Sam had seen.

Now that she'd pointed it out, I could see what she was talking about. The deer had no issues approaching me. It was scrawny, it walked really slowly, but like it had a bit too much to drink. And it was definitely drooling. I jumped up and waved my... arms at it. I'm like, go away, go away. I knew it was probably sick and the poor thing was

confused and probably suffering, but it creeped me the hell out. It cocked its head and seemed to be studying me, looking me up and down. It approached me and made some sort of gasping sound. It was opening and closing its mouth in a way which deeply unsettled me for some reason. She came running towards me from the woods, and when I turned back, it was gone. Are you okay? What happened? The creepy deer was back. I know it sounds silly, but I think it's been following us. I told her how it had been behaving.

Do you think it's rabid? Poor baby, she said sympathetically. Possibly? Or I wonder if it has CWD. Either way, we should probably let the park rangers know, just in case. We decided we'd stick together, but after a few miles, she ended up ahead of me again. She tends to inch forward to get pictures, whereas I tend to walk past sights, and then have regrets and double back to take pictures. I'd walked back a little bit and was sitting down, angling my phone really weirdly, to try and fit the scene in front of me in the frame.

when I heard Sam's voice. But I couldn't make out what she was saying. Hey, I'll be right there. I said, my voiced Ray slightly, assuming she was talking to me. Then she screamed. Sam! I stood up and tried to walk as quickly and carefully as possible.

Her screaming changed from fear to agony, and it sounded like she was. sobbing. I wasn't sure what happened, but I could tell she was scared and likely hurt. I suddenly realized I was still holding on to our only canister of bear spray. And then against my better judgment, I started running as fast as I could, and for a while I was making good time. But then, my left foot landed in a soft patch of dirt at the end of the trail. My ankle rolled, and I was falling. I don't remember hitting the ground, but I remember opening my eyes, flat on my back about 15 feet below where I'd been standing. It was also dark outside.

We'd started hiking at least six to seven hours before sunset. I tried to stand, but it was a struggle. I was confused, disoriented, and trying to get a up was taking all of my energy and focus. I had this deep feeling of dread that I couldn't explain. I started moving slowly upwards on my hands and knees, and I tried to recall what had happened leading up to my fall. Sam sounded hurt. She was screaming. I had run after her, and then I fell. Shit. Sam. I called her name. My voice was hoarse, but there was no response. My phone was surprisingly only minorly damaged, but I had no reception.

Luckily, since it had been buckled to me, I still had our backpack, and I dug through it. We had first aid kits, but I figured I could patch myself up later. I didn't want to stay down here any longer than I had to. I found my knife and my headlamp, and after about 20 minutes, I had slowly and painfully ascended back towards where I had fallen from. My hands were raw, and I could feel my right knee bleeding through my pants. I was trying to go slow since I trusted my feet even less now, and dizziness was starting to creep in. But panic and fear drove me forward.

Once I made it back to the trail, I had to sit for a moment. I heard rustling behind me and felt a sudden pang of fear something or someone had injured Sam and here I was sitting alone

injured with my back to the woods in the dark I tried calling her name in case it was her that I was hearing but there was no response I stood up and started limping as quickly as possible

toward the direction that I hadn't last hurt her scream. Luckily, the ground had evened out because I could feel myself wavering unsteadily. I knew that something terrible may have happened to her, but kept trying to keep that thought out of my mind. As my calls to her remained unanswered, it became harder to imagine a scenario that she was okay. I felt my throat tighten and tears rolled down my cheeks.

I kept looking for her. I knew she wouldn't just leave me here. I think part of me knew then that she was gone. She would have been searching for me if she was okay. And even if she left to get help, I think they would have found me by then. Somehow, eventually, I navigated my way to where I thought she had last been.

I was hoping maybe if she was injured, she was okay and just out of it, and confused like I was. My foot caught in the mud and I fell. Lights flashed behind my eyelids and I felt overcome with nausea. The light from my headlamp had greatly dimmed as it was now coated with mud and dirt and grime. I heard movement behind me.

And as the smell hit me, I realized the mud was dirt, mixed with blood. I could taste it, mixed with the gritty texture. leaves covered with what was likely blood stuck to my face, and I felt something soft and wet under my shoulder. The rustling behind me became discernible as footsteps. I felt around for my knife, my bear spray, but instead felt something hard and sticky. I was certain I had just found out what had happened to Sam and had a pretty good guess at what was about to happen to me next.

I felt no urge to get up as the footsteps got closer. I knew I could have not run it. I closed my eyes trying to focus on something, anything else, not knowing if I wanted to see what was coming for me. Then the footsteps stopped. And I could hear labored breathing coming from above me. I waited. And then when no blows came,

nothing happened. And then I opened my eyes. It was Sam. She stood over me, breathing heavily from her mouth. She was covered in blood. Her shirt and pants were torn, but she was alive. I let out a relieved sob and then could no longer hold back the tears. Oh my God!

I whispered as I slowly moved to sitting and then standing. I thought I'd lost you. I pulled her close to me in a hug. She stood motionless, her arms at her sigh. She stuck to me where her shirt was still a little wet. Dried blood covered the neck of her shirt and her midsection. Her hands, and unsettlingly, her mouth, were also smeared with blood. I could still hear her breathing heavily close to my ear.

What happened? I asked as I released her. She stared at me, but didn't respond. I figured she was a bit traumatized. frankly I wasn't sure how she was up and standing at all after what had just happened. She was a bit wobbly, but otherwise seemed to be able to walk, and we walked towards the car. She fell behind me, which made me nervous as I didn't want to let her out of my sight. She kept stopping and staring over her shoulder while I tried to coax her forward.

Eventually, after what felt like forever, we made it back. My ankle was killing me, but I tried to move as fast as possible. Even though the woods were eerily silent, I wanted to get out of there as quick as possible. When we got to her car, I was debating if we should drive ourselves to the hospital or call 911. I had this feeling of terror that I couldn't shake. I pictured us making it all the way here to the car and then something breaking the windows attacking us. When we got to her car, I was debating if we should drive ourselves to the hospital or call 911. I had this unshakable feeling of terror.

I pictured us making it all the way here to the car and then something breaking the windows attacking us. So I decided we needed to leave now. Do you have your keys? Do you think you can drive? I asked. She had an old Jeep pickup and was very sensitive about other people driving her baby. Plus, I wasn't sure I could drive us with my ankle as it was. She said nothing and cocked her head at me. I know. We look like we've been mauled by a bear. I caught myself and winced, feeling sad and sad.

and she clearly had been attacked by something or someone when she said nothing displayed no emotion or reaction i cautiously continued but i have a bad feeling i think we need to leave like right now i'd rather call for help when we're back on the main road or just drive straight to the hospital she remained motionless staring back into the woods and I wondered if she lost her keys in whatever struggle she had. Luckily, I had her spare with me. I unlocked the doors and she continued to stand outside. I realized I would need to punish my ankle a little more

because she was far too out of it to drive. I got in, but she remained motionless. Sam, get in, please? something is out here still, please. She was licking her lips and staring back at me again. In the darkness, her blue eyes looked almost black. I limped back out of the seat and opened her door for her and had to help guide her in. I buckled her in after she made no move to do so for herself.

Anyway, as we drove and headlights of passing cars illuminated the interior, I kept checking on her out of the corner of my eye. She was breathing in and out of her mouth and staring at me. I noticed now, in the better light, that she was drooling. Hey, um, how are you doing? No response. But she began opening and closing her mouth and making a wet gasping sound as she breathed in and out. Her breath reeked and her teeth were tinged.

pink. I don't have much medical knowledge, but I was worried she had a punctured lung or something due to the strange noises she was making. Hold tight. We're about 20 minutes from the hospital. Despite my ankle, I drove as fast as I could. We made it in ten. As we pulled up, I helped guide her out of the car and walked behind her, steadying her. I noticed something then. Her shirt was on inside out, but it hadn't been that way this morning. Likely because of how we looked, they found rooms for us immediately in the ER. I had a bad sprain and a concussion, and wouldn't need a few stitches, but it felt so good just to be out of those woods. I asked the nurse that came to check on me about how Sam was

doing. I mentioned to him that I'm not sure if she was attacked by an animal or a person. I mentioned what I noticed about her shirt and that we may have encountered a sick animal in case any of that helped. When he returned, he was clearly distressed. Sam was gone. She hadn't appeared to be outwardly injured, strangely. But they had wanted to assess her for internal trauma. However, the first moment they left her alone, she just walked out. judging by the bloody footprints.

It's been weeks, and I haven't seen Sam since. Her mom hasn't either. She's been working with the police out here. They think Sam has a head wound and is just confused and will turn up in town eventually. But a few days ago, I heard on the news that a partial skeleton was found on the trail we were on. Likely the victim of an animal attack, they said. And due to the condition of the blood, body. They were asking for leads so they can use dental records to help identify the victim.

This might sound crazy. But I think it's her, they found. I don't know how to explain it, but I don't think Sam ever left those woods that night. It's my fault. And I don't know what that thing was that I drove into town. If you live in Southern Colorado, please be safe. I'm sorry Thanks for sharing that, Rissa I'm sure she's fine Were you listening to that story?

John? Do you hear that? Early night it is Anyone want to come back to my cabin? I brought madlips. I can take care of the fire Alicia. You can join the rest of them. No, I think I'll just head back to my shanty.

Cabin? No, it isn't. Well, sweet dreams. No. John, you don't get it. I can't sleep when it rains. It's raining now. I can't sleep.

It's hard for me to talk about this openly. No one ever believed me before. I don't know why any of you would now. I was young, fragile. I get that. Trauma can crack an adolescent brain to create fantastical excuses for things they weren't developed enough to understand.

But I was 12. Not stupid. I saw what happened. I know what happened. I need to get this off my chest. I just want someone to hear me out that doesn't instantly hand me a prescription. I grew up in East Texas. Rain country.

Every bit as wet as West Texas is dry. Several popular fishing lakes and the occasional town were all that broke up the crowded, looming pines that towered over us. Timber was a boon. Many fathers paid their mortgage and put food on the table, with the inevitable loan taken on their backs. Still, for as simple as they were, my family was quite capable.

Hunters, lumberjacks, the occasional police officer or a military vet, these were not soft people, and my uncle Mick was one of the hardest. not in his heart of course as cholesterol laden as it was the titan of a man was a softy at his core grizzled scarred hands often pawed around mine helping adjust a rifle sight pulling a hook free from the gaping mouth of my first bass desperately pointing between two numbers on a math homework question he likely understood less than i did mick dwarfed my father by a clean foot the eldest brother in a family born into log trade. Years of timber work made for wide shoulders and corded legs.

He built me a small writing desk for my 11th birthday in his carpentry shed. I adored it. Stars like the ones we would camp under sporadically hand-carved into the pine sides. I still have it somewhere. I just can't look at it now. I cherish the sleepover memories. He had no kids himself. And after my aunt passed, he never remarried.

He had a standing offer that I could come over any time and stay any night. Many smores were consumed on his back ports those days under the Texas stars. Just me, him, and blue. You know every redneck has, or has had, a dog named Blue, right? This is scientific law, right between gravity and thermodynamics. To this day, I have a high. I don't know if my uncle was being ironic or simplistic when he named him. All I know is that by the time I met that blue-ticked hound,

if he wasn't the oldest dog on planet Earth, he was in the top three. All right. That's the fun stuff. This is the part that's hard. Talking about that day, describing his house, it's tough. My psychiatrist says it's good to journal my thought. which brought me here.

Even though I found a career in copywriting later in life, and I've always fancied myself a writer, there are some things that I just don't have words for, or the words simply won't do justice to the reality of it. I'll do my best. It's been 24 years. He lived on a small ranch, nothing intense,

more of a hobby than a livelihood. Still, he had a decent collection of animals to take care of. A coop housing 20 or so chickens that he would let out to roam his property every morning. Mixed in were a few strayed ducks that had settled down with them. As a kid, I always enjoyed thinking that the ducks believed they were chickens themselves. It wasn't unusual to see a mother duck caring for a trail of baby chicks behind her, having nested a set of eggs after their hen was picked off by a hawk or a coyote. More importantly, he had a dozen goats.

I don't remember what breed. He had built a wooden gymnasian for them to climb and play on, mainly to help them lift off the muddy earth when it rained. Hoofraud was a constant battle for livestock here. It was always a sonorous event when my dad pulled into the driveway. That day was no different. Goats bleated for attention and food, knowing they'd receive both when I eventually convinced my driveway.

uncle for us to go see them several chickens opened a full gate across the long grassy yard towards my dad's f-150 drawn cause echoed around the door as I opened it expecting leftover tater tots or french fries I loved it there my house was eight miles up the road not too far but far enough a kid shouldn't walk it both ways I waved at my dad as he pulled out of the drive and ran up to my uncle's front porch Surprisingly, the door was locked. I don't remember a time when it was ever locked before. I made my way to the back porch, the one I preferred anyway.

The front had an awning to keep people that visited dry from the sporadic rain. The rear had no such obstruction, meaning the only obstacle to see those starry Texas nights were the treetops and the clouds. It was damp. The wet grass licked the sides of my tennis shoes. sharing their moisture a little too effectively. There had been a small shower earlier in the morning at my house. It eventually moved this way, I guessed.

As I walked up the three small steps of the back porch, I heard a loud bang from his shed, like something slammed against metal, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground, hard. I stared at my uncle's little red carpentry hut, but I heard no cry, no whimper, Just silence. I took a single step towards it, when a meaty palm landed on my shoulder with more weight than it ever had before.

Hey, where's your dad? Uncle Mick seemed to sputter. You shouldn't be here. I watched him. Can't explain why. Instinct or childhood curiosity. I don't know why. I just remember that log of an arm.

guiding me to the back door of the house, and his eyes. God, his eyes. They locked on the woodworking shed as we moved inside, a kind of stare that predicates a fight or hunt. Adrenaline-pumped orbs that an animal has before it's eaten by a large predator. I snuck one last glance at the shed as I was guided indoors, noting the crimson wooden walls and the bolted metal roof. There are two things to remember for younger listeners here. First, we didn't have internet access in a lot of places in the 90s, especially in rural Texas. Wi-Fi was essentially sorcery, and we had no practicing wizards. Computers and phones had hard lines.

My uncle quickly headed for the latter. Second, no cell phones. I ended up getting my first cell phone when I was at a lot of. an adult, got out of basic training, and collected two paychecks to get one. They were a luxury in the early 2000s, and this was years before that. It's difficult to understand how alone you could truly be back then. This also meant he had no way to contact my father making the eight-mile drive back to our house. That's when the rain started. Christ. The rain. In terms. In terms, it. In terms, truth, the pattering droplets were my lullaby as a kid.

No matter if I was at home, in a vehicle, at my uncles, or friends, the irregular symphony of water-tapping its cords on various surfaces always tugged my eyelids down. My uncle said that's why when it stormed, his pregnant goats would normally give birth. Any predators would be hiding from the rain, opting to rest and wait instead. The bonus of covering the scent of blood that would guide a carnivore to freshly born offspring wasn't lost to me, even back then. There was safety in the rain, a part of the world's order, an unspoken treaty that all natural creatures understood and abided. I was naive. It was light at first.

Uncle Mick's kitchen was attached to the back wall and had a large double-paned window that took in most of his own. his backyard. As the rain steadily grew, the chicken coop and goat stable slowly faded out of view, leaving the only real visuals in the downpour being a handful of tree trunks in the porch itself. Blue came up to me in the kitchen. His body trembled, so I reached down to pet him. He was damp, caught out in the rain from before, I'd guessed. His eyes looked eerily similar to my uncles. I heard him speaking in the other room. I assumed with my mom. It was hurried and short,

but I don't remember what was said. My child brain processed the meaning well enough. They needed to come get me. I wasn't mad or even upset. Just confused. The rain got heavier. Do you remember being a child? Most of us don't.

And normally remember specific. or traumatic events if we do. It wasn't the visuals or sounds that haunt me. Not really. My psychiatrist says I can see images and hear sounds. But what I really remember is how they made me feel. She's right. I remember the sound.

The screaming goats muffled by the now pounding rain. I remember the sight. A single white furred, hoofed leg, landing flatly on the plywood porch. I remember the feeling of that shadow, standing half behind the furthest tree, obscured by rain and distance. I remember the feeling of it watching me. My uncle returned to the kitchen now, and he had a rifle.

Now it's too young to know what kind. Stay inside. Your paw will be back soon, and we have to leave. He said with a chilling flatness I'd never heard from him. This was my cool, fun-loving uncle, right? I heard metal scream. I didn't even know metal could at that age. Somehow, I knew.

Mixed fingers strummed the weapon with a nervous pattern, unable to remain still with heightened nerves and hormones. This is when he noticed the limb on the porch. What little blood it had before washed away. His face steeled, but the nervousness remained in his eyes. Stay here. Locked the door behind me. He said, without an attempt to smile or comfort me in any way. I nodded, like a child could protest.

He pulled a long cap from somewhere I didn't see. John Deere. I assumed now it was to keep the rain out of his eyes to shoot, and he couldn't take an umbrella while using a rifle. He opened the door and stepped into the downpour defiantly. He didn't even take a coat. I've said for years that one thing humanity has never deserved are dogs. Whatever fate my uncle was going to face out there, he wasn't going alone.

Blue faithfully passed through the frame as well. The truest, purest love a man will ever have is with his dog. whatever happened now, as in all parts of their lives, the best friends would face it together. I slid the deadbolt on the back door and hurried to the window. I couldn't hear the goats anymore, if I'd heard them at all. The rain had grown harder somehow. Loud enough that the pounding on the roof sounded like being under a hundred out-of-sync marching bands. The furthest trees, including the one with the shadow before,

were no longer visible. I could barely see past the edge of the porch now. My uncle grabbed an axe from a stack of firewood. He stuck the handle into the back of his belt, until the metal head hung snugly on it. Drenched already, both hands on the rifle. He marched down the stairs towards the pens, blue dutifully beside him.

They were gone in moments. It's hard to explain. how the next few minutes felt. I remember hearing my breathing, little more than shallow gasp. I remember seeing a shadow, I think, dart somewhere to my right. I remember that feeling,

being helpless, that ominous, overbearing pressure of a child's fear. The weirdest part of it all was the silence. Christ, the goddamn silence. The thunderless storm drilled straight down, lacking both electricity and wind. It was like being under a waterfall, noise crashing completely around me in every direction. But I'm telling you, there was silence.

I felt anguish in that waiting, that desperate anticipation to hear something, anything, other than that god-awful rain. I ran to the landline, needed my mom, my dad, needed protection, needed safety, needed away from here. I felt guilty then, less so now, like I was abandoning my uncle to his fate, as if I could do anything to help him. Silence. Again, in a cacophony of sound, is the silence I remember the most. The silence of the animals outside The silence of a loaded gun, not firing The silence in the phone receiver The anticipation built in me more

I longed for a noise to pierce the quiet, Desperate for it Imagination is a boon for an artist It's a nightmare to a frightened child I still think I heard a gunshot then At least I thought I did. I sprinted to the back window anyway, squinted into the downpour. I saw them.

Two shadows in the yard. One was clearly Uncle Mick, hunched slightly forward as one does in a fight. The axe bobbed in his right hand, but he held his left arm to his body. The other shadow loomed directly beyond him, facing towards the house. even more obscured by the rain. It looked like a man in a long cape that pinched up between the shoulders, combining at the base of an overly round head.

And it was taller than my uncle. Uncle Mick was six-six, my dad later told me. He was a linebacker in school, the largest player on the team. Only one of the other lumberjacks was able to meet him eye to eye. He was looking up at it.

I remember hearing his yell, unsure if it was rage or pain or both. I remember seeing the axe rise. Remember those four massive shadows unfurling in the storm, black tarps expanding out as a giant maw, like a horrible, carnivorous flower, blooming in a forgotten jungle, ready to swallow him whole.

I remember the feeling. God, that feeling. As those quad wings slammed downward, launching both shadows into the air and out of sight, in a single, soundless burst. The feeling of disbelief, of shock, of dread. The feeling of my heart sinking to my feet. Then the silence.

I remember the silence. I shook so hard my head was physically rattling. Vision shakily scanned what distance they could make. He was gone. Just gone. It was like that for a long while. I don't know how long. I just shook and stared.

Time and horror stretched reality in odd ways. Then I saw the shadow. I don't know how long it had been there or how I missed it. I never saw it move. It was simply there, slightly to the left of the porch. I couldn't see its eyes, but it was staring at me. I could feel it. My breathing had slowed to a crawl, but it stopped completely when I noticed a second shadow behind it.

Then the third. I ran to my uncle's room. I didn't know what else to do. I squeezed my frame underneath his bed. The irony even then not lost to me. A child hiding under the bed from monsters. I stayed there for so long. The rain never ceased.

Didn't even let up a little in that time. It was a crushing, oppressive sensation that even those words do not do justice. Then, it finally had to be. happened. The silence broke with a new, growing sound. Sirens. Good guys were coming. Good guys with guns and tanks and rocket launchers. I childlessly hoped. Maybe Uncle Mick was still alive. Maybe they would get here in time to save him, too. I emerged from under the bed now, making my way over to the bedroom door. It stood open, leading into a long hall that saw directly down to the kitchen

and out the rear window. I slowly slid one iris around the frame. I'll never forget. No drug, no shrink, no medication, or prognosis, or fucking kumbaya will ever erase it. The giant standing in the window. rain obscured its visage still with frustrating ceaselessness that round skull faced me the shadow circling down to the neck and then out to broad shoulders then running down out of sight under the frame I could see no detail still and even as the sirens grew louder I grew more afraid it moved slightly its right shoulder rose that the arm did the same Three long shapes appeared from beneath the window, each home to an exaggerated claw. The trio tapped a three-note staccato against the glass, as his left hand rose now as well. I screamed then. Not as a child.

Nothing so innocent. It was a bestial thing. Something I couldn't imitate now, even if I wanted to. Something I don't think any word can describe. They said I was screaming still when they found me, wedged between my uncle's nightstand and bed frame, curled in a weighty, nerve-laden ball. The last real memory I have is intangible.

Not the shadowy, haunting visage, unreadable in the storm. Not the sound of those vile digits. taunting me with their irregular chaotic cadence upon the glass. I could somehow hear over the rain, not even the sight of its left hand, slowly lifting my uncle's scalp above the window's lip. My psychiatrist is right. As horrifying as these images are,

and as weird as this sounds, my final memory is a feeling. the feeling of a hidden sneer, a quieted joy that monster had with its wrought terror. It was no animal. It was not mindless. It acted with purposeful, deliberate malice. Even now, I think it let me live, only because it recognized the emotional damage it left upon me, dooming a child to a lifetime of therapist, drug abuse, and inpatient centers.

It was evil. That's the last thing I remember. It's been a parade of well-meaning psychiatrists and other diplomas ever since. Drugs I can't pronounce for diagnoses I don't understand. I was in my 30s before I had the courage to talk to my parents about it. My dad wanted no part, of course. Said I needed to let it go and move on. That's what Uncle Mick would have wanted.

He's right, of course. But some things are more important than being right. Mom helped me, though. They had copies of the police reports stashed away in a small office safe, tucked under baking documents. They had not been opened for a long time. My parents had told me some truths as a kid. Mom said Mick was rattled on the phone, telling her to call the police and sent his brother back up there to get them.

Then the phone died. The police said the downpour completely halted when they reached the driveway. Not that it died down in severity before eventually fading completely, the way rain normally does. The rain stopped. Just stopped. They also told me that all the animals were missing. Goats, chickens, ducks, blue. There was no blood, no feathers or fur tufts.

They were just gone. They also told me one lie. We held a traditional wake for Uncle Mick, but not a funeral. My parents told me they never found his body, vanished with the others. My uncle always said that when he died, he wanted to be cremated and his remains scattered on his property. He got half his wish. I shouldn't have looked at those pictures. There was a final question the police also couldn't answer.

The last Polaroid in the folder. My uncle's little red woodshed. The corner of the metal roof now pointed skyward, ripped and twisted into a standing position. The officers made only one note. about it, chalking it up to the storm. Tornadoes did damage like this all the time. I grant that. But not without damaging the trees, pens, or the fucking house right next to it.

I often try to disassociate, to see it from the outside as a normal adult would. What's more likely? A pack of rain demons or a small twister. I get it. But I am no normal adult. I've never gotten to be a normal adult. I still see it sometimes in my sleep. Imagine it stocking up my urban apartment window to finish its job from decades earlier.

Me, finally ripe from dread like some kind of succulent human fruit. I still hear the rain sometimes. Either a small patter outside might have. out of window, on the rare occasions we do get rain, or the last few drops from a leaky faucet or showerhead that rings far louder than it should. I always expect that oppressive cascade of sound to slowly build its weight behind them. I remember the way the rain used to lull me to sleep as a child. Now it heralds to a foreboding, nauseating night of panic attacks and no sleep. I still feel it like it's out there, like it knows me, knows where I am, and what I'm feeling, like this is what it wanted.

I need a drink. Yeah, I don't blame you. You didn't happen to bring anything, did you? Well, don't tell anyone, but I have a little stash down by the lake. I was going to share earlier, but everyone seems pretty tightly wound after being thrown out of windowless white vein. Hey, what are you guys doing out here all alone? Madlib is actually starting to get a little crazy. Owen is down to his boxers.

You're playing strip Madlibs? No. I mean, how can I say no to that? But I think I'm going to need a drink. You two want to help me go get some party favors? Sure. Just be careful. It's dark out there, and down by the rocks gets pretty slippery.

I wouldn't forgive myself if you fell and... something happened to you. 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 common share-a-like licensing

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