Creepy - Day 10 - Greywater

Episode Date: December 1, 2017

Everyone has secrets. Everyone has something they aren't supposed to tell anyone...can't tell anyone. What would you do to make that secret go away? To unburden yourself? Would you go to The Greywater?***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod***Music composed by Steve Blizin***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 creepy is presented by patrons Raven Corvus and Chloe Wander. This podcast is made possible by our patrons. The bad days are made less so thanks to the generosity and support of the listeners. Please consider supporting this podcast by visiting patreon.com slash creepypod. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy Epistas 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 violence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents The Bad Days. Day 10. Greywater. lives up to its name, I thought, as I made my way up the damp concrete slabs, bridging between the state and the pond. Everywhere leading up to the ash and decrepit house was lined by rotten flowers, and the congealed feces of cats, dogs, and other animals, the water itself

looked like it remained the same for centuries. This place is dead, as dead as I am. I arrived at the door. More a collection of damp, splinters and hesitantly pushed it open, causing the hinges to shriek. No, no more shrieking. The inside was as drab and oppressive as the outside. My nostrils filled with the sense of mold and neglect and regret. I hadn't showered in days. I couldn't face the water. There was what appeared to be some kind of waiting area. Three or four old wicker chairs. And one of those, Please be seated at signs you find in posh restaurants. So, looking around for the slightest bit of human company,

and I sat down and waited. Despite myself, my wallet found its way into my hands, and the picture of M I kept in there found its way in front of my eyes. I could never throw this away. No matter how many times I told myself to, for the sake of my own sanity. But I couldn't. This was all I had left of her fair white skin, pale, blue eyes.

Ginger hair had teased her about. With freckles on her face and chest, I tried to correct myself to present tense. I'd never forget the day the last of that ginger hair fell out. A cough brought me back to reality, and I looked, blinking back tears to see an old man, bald and bearded and stooped over, grinning through me. a mouth of yellow teeth. His clothes were gray and wiry as the hair on his face, like he was gray water gardens in human form. Even his right eye was gray. The left was just a black, empty socket, with the eyelids hanging over it forwornly. He spoke like he hadn't used his voice in years.

Yes. I have a secret. I'm to deposit it, he said. He let me grasp for words, wondering how the hell he knew when he said, There a reason? Would you? He turned and beckoned me to follow him into the back room. I gazed at the picture of M one last time. I love you. Then I slid it back into my wallet and did as I was bid.

The room was more of the same. Gray and wet, rotten, horrid. The only remarkable feature was the huge hefty ledger on the antique wooden table. next to a plain steel chalice. The middle of the room was a concrete pool, only a few feet across, filled with the same stagnant gray water from the ponds outside. The old man opened the ledger.

Deposit a secret? He asked, perhaps as a formality. Or maybe he's playing with me. Yes, I said. Your name? I told him. Excellent. Then let's begin.

He picked up the chalice and moved to the pool. He bent down, agonizingly slow, but eventually he filled the cup and shuffled over to me. Drink the water. He told me, a grin playing upon his old papery lips as he pushed the cup into my hands. The water will enter you and your secret will replace it in the water. can discern its smile was now so wide I thought his face might crack open. In custody of your secret, it's of redemption. Are you sure this is the path you wish to take?

I am. I didn't even hesitate. For both our sakes. The old man shrugged, took a step back. I raised the cold steel to my face, but before I could drink, curiosity gripped me. Why do you take other people's secrets? laughed, raspy and throaty and tapped at his missing eye. The man with one eye is king!

And I knew exactly what he meant. You, M. I thought as I downed my morbid toast. I dropped my chalice and left without a word, knowing now she was safe. As I walked out of great gardens, I looked down at the putre pond and remembered. It wasn't the water,

that was gray at all. But her face as I held her frail body down in the bath. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future

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