Creepy - Day 1 - Tales From the Gas Station Part 1

Episode Date: October 1, 2018

There's a gas station at the edge of town...***Written by Gas Station Jack***Subscribe to My Neighbors Are Dead at https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/my-neighbors-are-dead/id1223768363?mt=2***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Produced by Steve Blizin, Puzzle Audio***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko 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.

This episode of The 31 Days of Horrors presented thanks to patrons Emmett Ewing, Zane Ho Campbell, Laura, Rose Lewis, Leah Russell, Carrie Benson, Jennifer Wyn Davis, James Marchionowski, Shane Hood, and Chris Zee. If you'd like to learn more about how you can support the podcast, please visit the reward tiers of patreon.com. And don't forget to stay tuned after today's episode for a trailer for one of my absolute favorite podcasts. My neighbors are dead. Also check out their link in the show notes. Before we get started, you may have also noticed that, well, this episode's a little shorter,

and that there are two updates in your feed today. We wanted to make sure we started out the Halloween season on the right foot. So, our own producer, Steve Bliss and of Puzzle Audio, put together a Halloween track, a spooky ambiance music for everyone. Download, use it, it's free, we hope you enjoy. There's no intro, no screams, no cheesy dialogue. Just some great atmosphere to play around the house, whether you're just a fan of the music, or for trick-or-treaters on Halloween. We hope you enjoy.

Without any more delay, let's get the 31 days of horror started. Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents The 31 Days of Horror

Day 1 Tales from the Gas Station Part 1 credited to gas station Jack. At the edge of our town, there's a shitty gas station that's open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. If you were to go inside, you'd see row after row of off-brand chips, cookies, potted meats, and pickled curiosities. Expiration date suspiciously missing from the canned goods like they were filed off years ago and some misguided attempt to control inventory turnover.

A faded wet floor sign from way back covers a large crack in the foundation by the cooler where layers of sticky spell-off have formed a miniature tar pit, preserving countless insect corpses, and the occasional small rodent. Nobody ever complains about the aesthetic. By some providence bordering on the supernatural, the health inspectors repeatedly signed off on the business. Always kindly ignoring the fiatur, faint smell of some kind of mysterious chemical cocktail, that is the defining characteristic of

the establishment. More noticeable than the steady mechanical hum of the frozen drink machine that was installed in the 70s, never once serviced. More distracting than the random pockets of cold and warm air that seem to follow you around. And more annoying than the family of mutated raccoons that lives in the crawl space behind the grease trap. We think they're mutated. anyway. At the very least, they must be imbred to the point of genetic deformity and mental retardation. The alpha, a muscular three-foot-tall son of a bitch named Rocco, has been spotted multiple times chewing on people's tires and has been run over at least twice, but keeps coming back. That lingering smell? A sweet combination of honeysuckle, ammonia, and vomit. It's never been

positively identified. But the prevalent theory is, that it's coming from underground, wafting up through the thin fissures and the concrete that grow and spread with each year of architectural settling. It's strongest right after a rain, impungent to the point of tear-inducing if you get too close to the storm drain where even Rocco and his clan refused to tread. If you were to go inside,

you might see the bathroom cowboy. He's sort of an urban legend around here, only ever appearing when you're alone and unsuspecting. What makes him truly legendary are the stories people tell after an alleged encounter. The accounts run the gamut from pretty weird to impossibly bizarre. Like the guy last month who went for a pee but changed his mind when he saw him standing next to the urinal wearing a duster, bandana, boots, and chaps, handing out balloon animals. Or a couple weeks later when another customer stepped in the same bathroom to see a man wearing nothing

but a cowboy hat, boxers, and boots with spurs, literally grinding an axe on an old-fashioned stone sharpening wheel. When he entered, the cowboy stopped what he was doing, looked up with a smile and a tip of the hat and said, Come on, man, come on with it. If you should be lucky enough to see the cowboy that may or may not haunt the bathroom, don't worry, he's harmless and, in fact, usually quite polite. honestly, he doesn't seem so bad,

especially compared to some of the other things going on in that place. When you go inside, you might instantly get a toothache. That's a strangely common phenomenon that nobody really understands. It should go away on its own after a couple hours. If you do go inside, you will almost definitely see me sitting behind the counter because I am the only full-time employee. and I'm almost always here.

You may catch me reading a book because, well, for some reason, the internet doesn't work way out here. And cell phone service is dicey on good days and non-existent on most. If you need to make a call, you can leave and go up to hillways, prefer to go back towards town because the other way will take you into the woods, and you don't even want me to go into all the reasons. That's not a good idea. Or you can pay me 25 cents a minute and use the store's landline.

That arrangement was cooked up by the owners, and I actually have to enforce it because they do check the phone records. I'm sorry. While you're here, don't be offended if I don't strike up a conversation because, if I'm being completely honest, I don't always know for sure if everyone who comes through the doors is real or not. And if I had to acknowledge everyone in that place that could be an actual person, I might lose my mind. And we don't need any more of that going on around here. I guess at the point I'm trying to make is this. Weird things happen to me working at the shitty gas station at the edge of town.

I wish I could tell you the weirdest thing that's ever happened there, but I doubt I could ever decide. There were just too many. I've seen a total of four coffins inside the store on three different occasions. I've met at least a dozen people wandering back into town from the woods, claiming they had escaped aliens or government conspirators of the like, and they had no money but needed to make a call, and could I just let them please use our store phone before they find them again?

But rules are rules, and I'm not inclined to lose my job just because you didn't escape captivity with a little pocket change. And then, of course, there was Farmer Brown. Yeah, that's his real name, who got mad at us and complained about the bulk feed we've been ordering for him. He insisted something was wrong with the product because, as he put it, all of his animals suddenly had human faces. We settled with him by charging a significant discount on his next couple purchases.

He stopped coming in not long after, and they found what was left of his body inside a bedroom at his farmhouse that had been locked from the inside. As far as I know, they still haven't figured that one out. Anyway, I guess I can come back and tell a story or two. But first, I need to get ready for work. Ever wanted to hear from The Neighbor at Nine, Cloverfield Lane? Or what if I told you that Dr. Loomis' worst patient wasn't Michael Myers?

I'm Adam Peacock, host of the podcast My Neighbors are Dead. Join me each week as I talk to the lesser-known characters from your favorite horror films. Each week is an all-new, fully improvised journey into the unknown, featuring friends and luminaries from the worlds of comedy, horror, and beyond. You may know some of our past guests. Paul F. Tompkins. Yo, is this racist Tauny Newsom? The Good Place in Brooklyn Nine-Nine's Mark Evan Jackson,

stand against evil's Janet Varney, or the cast of Hello from the Magic Tavern. The AV Club calls My Neighbors Are Dead comedic gold. Dred Central says it's the best horror podcast you're not listening to, and Rue Morg says the show is exactly the comedic pallet cleanser we need heading into 2018. Check us out weekly at www.m., my neighbors are dead.com or wherever you find your podcasts.

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