Creepy - Day 10 - Sticker Shock & What Started Out As My Funniest Halloween

Episode Date: October 10, 2022

Sticker Shock***Written by: Steve Rogers and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***What started out as my funniest Halloween turned out to be the scariest. It just took thirty years to realize it***Written by: CallMeStarr***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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.

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The 31 Days of Horror Day 10 Sticker Shock Written by Steve Rogers and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer It all started out as kind of a joke, really. Something that I thought was cool. Rolling around North Texas, you see all kinds of bumper stickers.

Everything from our local radio stations to babies being on board to political affiliations and, of course, the ever popular football team we had here in Arlington. In my specific case, I got a zombie response team sticker and put it on the pain of my 2017 Ford Focus ST. To be clear, I was proud. proud of my car. She was glossy black with brush steel spike rims and a little four-cylinder turbo-boasted engine with a sweet racing suspension. I'd poured quite a bit of money into aftermarket mods into it, but nothing too over the top. Just enough to get a little get up and go, as we like to say here in Texas, and she'd definitely like to do just that. I kept her clean and running in

peak condition, and even got into a few impromptu street races here and there. With all that being said, it was really all just for fun. Honestly, I'm no gearhead. I'm just a guy who enjoyed a little quickness off the line during rush hour. With that in mind, and while yes, it was just for fun, I didn't want to put just any old sticker on my car. but I did want something to personalize her just a little, an outward expression of who I am,

and something that would further separate me and my little pride and joy from the pack. So after a lot of thought in searching around on Amazon, I found exactly what I wanted, a black and chrome zombie response team medallion. It was fairly large, about the size of a coffee cup saucer, all black with a chrome biohose. hazard symbol in the words zombie response team emblazoned boldly above and below it it matched my car

flawlessly i was beyond excited when i ordered it again this was something i took lightly i was a big zombie fan i'd seen all the movies and shows played all the video games and some better than others and of course read the works of max brooks looking back Turns out he got it right on almost every level. My friends and I would have lengthy conversations about the best and worst place to survive if there was a zombie apocalypse. I'd even gone so far as to outfit a bugout bag in case such an emergency should arise. Practically speaking, if you were prepared for a zombie apocalypse, you were more than likely prepared for almost any event that would come your way. At any rate, after ordering it, I carefully tracked my package, and I patiently waited for the Amazon truck to show up.

I had visions of what it would look like, stared at the back of my car imagining where I'd place it, even went through the part where you kind of regret getting it, because you're sure it's going to wind up being stupid. And then finally, after a week awaiting, it arrived. It was way cooler than I imagine. it would be. It was just the perfect size for where I wanted to put it, just to the left of the rear license plate, the black flawlessly matched the paint, and the chrome glimmered in the sun, almost too bright to look at. It was heavy, showcasing much more like real metal than I was expecting. It was like a shield, a badge of honor saying to the world, I'm one of the few that know

my eyes are open and I will protect you once a fixed I immediately went and got my car washed and took it over to my friend Matt's house all of my pals were there and while they appropriately said it looked cool they didn't seem as enthusiastic as I was admittedly I get it it was just a sticker and maybe I was a little over-excited about something so cosmetic still I will was in great spirits, and we had a wonderful evening. We played darts, grilled some steaks, enjoyed some beer, and sat around the bonfire and Matt's backyard, just had a great night. I drove home around midnight, content and feeling like I was something special. Later that night, I woke up to my phone ringing. When I first woke up, I saw that the number was blocked,

so I dismissed it as a very desperate bill collector and ignored the call. Almost immediately the phone rang again. Once again, the number was blocked. I looked at the time. 3.15 a.m. Perfect, I thought. Nick probably went to jail again, and I picked up my phone. Hello?

Good evening, a staccato voice addressed me. Is this Asher Scott? Damn it. A bill collector. Look, man, it's super inappropriate to call folks a slain at night about a... Sir, I'm calling you to advise that you need to gear up and join us at the coordinates I'm sending you presently. You're being called up. What? I'm being called up.

What the hell does that even mean? My sleepy mind was still struggling to somehow make this a bill collector calling me in the middle of the night. Sir, this is Corporal Jesse Vaughn. United States Army Special Forces. I'm reaching out to you on orders from Colonel Michael Kaler, who was the commanding officer for our operations here in North Texas. You're being called up to help us with a situation here, in your designated defense zone.

And you need to immediately respond, with your gear to the coordinates that I've just sent you. What? Coord? My phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number. Sir, I cannot express to you the importance of you joining us at those coordinates immediately. Immediately.

Corporal Vaughn stated quickly. Are you armed? This had to be a joke. I was going to kick Matt's ass for this one. I was legitimately getting a little freaked out. What the hell are you talking about? Why are you calling me? I yelled into the phone.

Sir, you're part of the zombie response team. You're being called up to respond to a situation in your defense zone. He said again. Something a little irritated with me. We need you south of Burles. just outside Alvarado off I-35. Gear up and get out here immediately. And the line went dead.

I sat there in the dark, staring at my phone, my heart pounding. What the hell just happened? Was this real? I sat there on the edge of my bed and thought for another few seconds. There's no way. There's no way this was really happening. But what if it was? I flew off my bed and ran to the closet.

My blood suddenly pumping. I threw on jeans, my boots, and a random t-shirt, my Texas Ranger ball cap, and dashed through the house into the garage. Before getting in the car, I grabbed my bugout bag, threw it in the trunk and jumped in. The engine exploded to life and didn't even seem to need to get warmed up. She was as ready as I was, it seemed. I opened my phone to the on-text message that I'd received and hit the link. While it was a mapping system that I was unfamiliar with, it did indeed show me a very direct route to Alvarado.

The destination marked in a fairly large red circle. Alvarado was only about 20 minutes away. I could probably make it in 10. I tore through the streets of my neighborhood. my sense of purpose surging inside me so I made my way to the highway my blood was high my excitement palpable however once I got to the highway and started heading south I started to second-guess myself what the hell was I doing I get a phone call in the middle of the night someone tells me I'm part of some elite zombie response team after conveniently getting a

sticker put on my car that same day I just jump in the car and tear out Alvarado? Guys, I get it. It's just a sticker, I thought to myself. And here I am, tearing through town on my way to save the world. Come on, Ash. You're gullible, but come on. Still, there was something that spurred me on.

The corporal who called me, Corporal Vaughn, sounded as serious as they come. What the hell? I thought. I don't have work tomorrow. Let's just see what happens here. I made it to Alvarado in about 12 minutes. A little disappointing, frankly,

but the Texas State Troopers are no joke and love pulling folks over going 100 miles per hour at 3.35 a.m. Understandable. After exiting the highway, the feeder road had me go another half mile. Then I was on the outer edge of the red circle on my map.

The main body of it required me to head west. Sure enough, I came across a break in the barbed wire at the gate. It looked like it had been run over. The dirt road flanked on either side by short knee-high corn stalks. I took a right and headed down the dark and dusty road. My eyes wide open. About a half mile down the road I saw lights ahead of me. Set up in the middle, the young cornfield.

Closer I got, I began to hear popping sounds. Gunfire! As I drew closer, I saw dark figures emerge from the darkness and approach my car. Military operators were geared up and aiming their weapons directly at me. Their fingers were off, their collective triggers, though. Feeling a little surreal, I immediately stopped. One of them approached the driver's side window and I rolled the window down. Ash Scott, he asked.

Yes, sir, I replied getting into the feeling. You made great time, sir. Please move forward and grab your gear. Corporal Vaughn and Colonel Kaler will meet you at the command post, about 200 yards west, where those lights are. Okay, sounds good, I said. The operator gave me a kind of a weird look, like, this guy's so green he bleeds grass.

but nodded, faded back into the darkness heading west. I parked my car near a number of Humvees, saw the tent not too far away. I also saw a number of other vehicles parked alongside them. Cars, trucks, even a camper. They all had the same decal I'd purchase on Amazon affixed the body of their ride in random places. The chrome and black zombie response team medallion. I got out? Grab my bag and started heading over to the pop-up tent.

My bag always held everything I thought I'd need. A survival knife, which I strapped to my belt after getting out of the car. First aid kit. Matches. Mini fishing kit. Can opener, a settler's tool, and a few other items I thought would help in the wild. And of course my sidearm. Nine millimeter Smith and Wesson.

Nothing special, but I'd practice with a little bit. I practiced with it enough to feel comfortable and was fairly confident I could use it effectively. I clipped the holster to one side of my belt and headed to the tent. Inside, I could see a number of people, both uniformed and folks wearing regular clothes, standing around a large table. My dad once told me when I was a kid that if you act like you know what you're doing, no one really looks twice at you. Keeping that philosophy in mind, I strode.

in and sauntered up to the table, like a gunslinger in the old West. Everyone immediately stopped their quiet conversations and turned to look at me. About time you made it, Scott. A huge bear of a man grumbled at me from the far end of the table. He was about six foot four, an older guy built like a gladiator, with piercing dark eyes, graying buzzed hair and a cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He wore battle fatigues that I were pretty sure had seen some action in the past, and a patch-reading Kaler just above his left pocket, hated to wake you from your beauty rest. I took a chance. There's no expressway into Alvarado, Colonel, but I had it in six gear the whole way, I quipped. Is Corporal Vaughan around? I'd like to thank him for being so

candid with me over the phone. Corporal Vaughan is on the horn activating more of your team, Scott. You're going to need all the help you can get. With that being said, I'm glad you made it out. A smile touched the corner of the colonel's mouth. Turning to the table, he said, folks, this is a topical layout of the surrounding area. As you can see, he indicated on the map showing most of Alvarado and into the field surrounding the town. The red zone marks, where the infected have been sighted. They are headed north and south, and it's up to us to stop them from continuing any damn further than this very spot.

My guys and gals have taken a position inside the town, and we'll handle business there. We need the ZRT to maintain this field, and the tree line on the north side. Your orders are to put down anything coming towards you. I don't give a dam if it's on four legs, two, or hopping on one, or crawling on none. I trust, I don't have to tell you, the rules of finishing these Zeds off, do I?

One in the heads all it takes, said a guy from across me. He was thin and wiry, had a handlebar mustache and was wearing a plaid button-down shirt with pearl snaps and a green cat trucker hat that looked like it had probably come straight out of 1985. He had an air of confidence around him that suggested. He'd done this before, though at the time I had no idea how that could be a thing. Slung in his arm was a very well-cared-for AR-15, with a smiley-faced sticker placed carefully on the magazine.

That's accurate, Mr. Hazelwood. One in the head is indeed all it takes, grumbled the colonel. Now check out your assigned positions. Get with your team and get out there. Keep it simple, people. No heroes tonight. Once you clear your area, move down the line to help your neighbors. But for God's sake, make sure none get through where you are leaving.

They are coming, people. So let's move. Scott, you're with Hazelwood. And damn it, man, get a rifle. He gestured to the other side of the tent towards the rack of AR-15s, like the one Mr. Hazelwood was carrying. Let's go, rookie. Hazelwood said, clapping my back.

You know how to use one of these? Yeah, smiling holding up his weapon. I've seen it done, but I could use a crash course, I replied. Hazelwood proceeded to do just that. Gave me a lowdown on the ins and outs and how to operate my selected weapon. He finished up with, and that's a scary end. So keep it pointed at the ground unless you're playing on killing whatever is you're pointing at. Come on, let's get it.

Grab you some ammo and some extra magazines on the way out. I feel like we're going to need them. We left the tent together and started heading northwest across the field. Admittedly, I was really following Hazelwood, as I genuinely had no idea where we were going. I'd never even seen a topographical map being used before. He seemed to know where he was going, so I just went along with him. So, is this really real? I asked him trying to keep my voice from shaking.

I put up a good front, but if we were really about to fight some honest-to-God Zon? I was a little bit more than freaked out. Sure is, kid. He replied with an East Texas drawl. He paused and turned a look at me. Look, I know how you feel. I got called up the day I put that damn ZRT sticker on my truck too. And I still can't believe it's real.

Hate to be the one to tell you, but this is as real as it gets. You're about to see it and fight it firsthand. So right now, you need to get yourself under control and get mentally ready for what's about to happen. If you stay aware, don't lose your shit and you shoot straight, you're going to be just fine. Now, come on, let's get this done so we can get a beer. I got some frosties in a cooler in the bed of my truck. How many times have you had to do this, man? I asked incredulously.

Um, he paused, squinted and I and looked up. Like about 15 times now. Something like that. He turned and started off. Fifteen times? I shouted. Are you kidding me? Why haven't I heard about this? How is this not on the news?

Damn it, boy. We can cover all that over beers later. But you got to keep your voice down until we get where we're going. Like I said, keep it together, and you're going to be just fine. They don't move too fast. It's just a bunch of them. My mind reeling, we walked quietly through the darkness to the edge of a tree line. Moving slower and slower as we got near it, from either side of us, I could hear gunshots.

I could see small flashes of light dotting the night. Suddenly, from in front of us, in the trees. I can also hear a low moaning and movement. Hold on. We're here, kid. Hazelwood said, he turned his cat hat around, backwards, and lifted his weapon. Get her ready. He said, nodding towards my rifle. Click the safety off and take a deep breath.

I'll smoke the first one, just so you know what we're doing here. Then you get the next one. Sound good. I just nodded. Hazelwood's moustachioed face hardened a little as he shouldered his rifle. The movement increased and suddenly something stumbled out of the brush, like something out of a movie. It was a man, or rather had been a man, a young one actually, though he was very clearly not living. His face was a mass of dead gray flesh, and he was missing most of his left arm.

It looked, gnawed on, and his face was pretty torn up and slashed. Gore was smeared all over his jaws and shirt, and it looked like he even had a few bullet holes in his torso, but no blood trickled out of the wounds. His gray, filmy eyes locked onto us. Then he let out a deep, throaty hiss and started coming towards us, stumbling through the last bit of brush. I could see more movement behind him. Ready, kid?

Here we go. Hazelwood hollered and pulled the trigger. The rifle cracked once, and the young man's head snapped back. As he folded to the ground, another body stumbled out of the brush. Another young man. Just on wearing a shredded business suit, but it had a huge hole in its stomach. Black blood staining the formerly white cotton Oxford. It was missing an eye and blood and something chunky had crusted all over the right side of its face.

I could see the insides are moving around like gray and black worms inside of its torso. Get him, Scotty. I pulled the rifle into my shoulder and took aim, and I froze. My mind was going too fast, thinking too much. My hands were slick and were visibly shaking. Are you sure? I said, tremble in my voice clear now. What if he's okay?

I pleaded. Does he look okay to you? Shoot there some bitch or we all die. Hazel would hollered as his rifle cracked twice more. Two more walkers fell behind the monster in the business suit. It had gotten much closer to us. so close that I could smell it. That was what snapped me out of it.

The smell. It was a combo of rotting meat and body fluids. I knew that whatever this young man had been in life was no longer there. This thing was everything I'd heard it would be. As horrific as I heard it would be. My rifle cracked. The businessman's head blew apart like a right cantalogue. Not shooting, Ticks.

Now let's clear these out. We spent the next hour trading shots as the dead rumbled through the tree line. When the small river of them dried up, we ran down the tree line to help another team clean up their position, and so on until dawn came. When the last of the moaning had stopped, and we got a chance to look around. Looking across that cornfield was like looking into a war zone.

There were bodies everywhere. Some of the Zets had made it as close to 100 yards from the tent Colonel Kaler asked us to defend. Smoke and fire from flamethrower teams burning whatever we'd kill the second time clouded the air. We all looked like hell too, dirty, bloody and exhausted. One of my favorite memories is sitting on Hazelwood's tailgate, drinking an ice cold, As a sun came up over the cornfield in Texas, after that first crazy night I fought the dead. True to his word, he told me how everything started, how big this thing really was, and how much work there was to be done. I really miss beer now, and I miss Hazelwood even more.

As good of a job as we thought we did that night. Apparently another line Neil Hillsboro didn't fare as well. and it collapsed under a massive tide of undead. Somehow from there the dead made it all the way to Austin, infecting people in towns all along the way. The ZRT did what they could, of course, but it wasn't enough. There just weren't enough of us. And that virus spread so damned easily.

Once it hit Austin, the infection exploded. And that was where the true zombie apocalypse began. It's been hard. I've lost so many friends along the way. I mean, I guess everyone has, but now these days you can't trust people either. Survival has brought the worst in humanity, though so far, I've been able to make it. Fortunately, most people seem to enjoy hearing the stories I have and how things went from bad to worse, to hell. on earth. It's kind of how I make my living these days, telling stories. It earns me some food and supplies here and there. But of course there's always scavenging. But I know you know how dangerous that can be.

So tell you what, friend. Pass me another beer and I'll tell you another story. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents. What started out is my funniest Halloween. turned out to be the scariest. Written by Calmie Star. Growing up, my best friend was Robert Moretti. A fast-talking Italian boy who was bigger and tougher than most kids our age. I'd known him since we were preschoolers. Just beyond Robert's house was a dead-end street.

One of the houses on it was the Hanson House, a supposed haunted house, which inspired countless urban legends and ghoulish tales. The only people reportedly living there back then was the mother and son. The mother, they said, was a witch. The boy, Tommy Hansen, was close to our age. But nobody I knew played with him or anything. In fact, he was rarely seen leaving his house. He must have been homeschooled or something.

One particular Halloween, Robert devised a brilliant plan of trick-or-treating at the haunted house. So we did. Then I damn near got scared to death. This was 1990. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was the E-thing So Robert and I dressed up as Michelangelo and Leonardo respectively Ah, it'd be 12 again With our bag stuffed with candy

We slowly worked our way towards the old Hanson house When we came to the place we stopped in front of it And regarded it for a moment The house was big and ugly and made a stone Plus it smelled of worms The moon was full The air was cool and crisp A smattering of trick-or-treaters were huddled

outside the Hanson's front door, but not many, and they didn't stay long. Hurry up, Paul, Robert said nervously. He nudged me forward. I went. I walked tepidly along the pathway running beside the driveway which led up with the front door. The scarecrow is sitting lifelessly on a wooden bench next to the door, looking solemnly towards the street. It looked kind of scary.

It wore overall stuffed with hay and a scarf as old as dirt. On its head was a spine-chilling jackalander with sharp slanted eyes and a toothy grin that made me cringe. It looked like it wanted to bite me. Something about it didn't seem right. I could feel its empty eyes penetrating me as I got nearer. By this time, it was just me and Robert. All the other trick-or-treaters had disappeared. Robert nudged me forward.

Grudgingly, I lumbered on, ignoring that hideous Halloween prop sitting on the bench. until I reached the front door to the Hansen house, I was nervous, but I didn't let it show. With Robert by my side, egging me on, I pushed the glowing red doorbell. Suddenly, as I was preparing to come face to face with the Hansen witch, as she was often referred to, the scarecrow lunged at me, arms extended, and grabbed my neck. I screamed, draw my bag of candy, and split. Robert followed. Two of us didn't hesitate.

We booked it down the walkway. away from the Hansen house and never looked back. Robert teased me for a month about how scared I was. He later told me the scarecrow man was an annual prank the Hansons like to play on the public. The scarecrow is actually the boy, Tommy. What a great costume, he said. I agreed, but I wanted revenge.

That's why the following year, when Robert suggested we find a video camera, record some other kids getting scared to death, then send the tape to America's Funnies home videos with Bob Sagan. I agreed. I borrowed my father's camera. Back then, those cameras were highly regarded and quite expensive. So when I as I borrowed, I used the term loosely. The sky was ominous and dull.

The streetlights mingled with the pale moonlight, creating the perfect backdrop for a childish prank. Robert was dressed up as a Terminator. I was Axel Rose, I remember. We crept ever closer to Hanson House. A handful of parents could be seen loitering on the sidewalk. but not many. When we arrived at the Hansen house, we watched as a group of kids in silly costumes

approached the front door. The girl dressed up as catwoman pressed the doorbell. When the door opened, she shouted trick or treat. I could see the sneer on Mrs. Hansen's face as she gave away her toothsome treats. Give me chills. She really was a witch. Her costume was elaborate, flawless. Her skin was sickly green and covered in warts.

Her long pointed nose was as sharp as a blade. Her teetering black hat sparkled under the glow of the waning porch light. I didn't want to get any closer to her. No, no one bit. Robert pulled me aside. Give me your camera, he demanded. I obliged. He powered it up.

There he is. He pointed to the scarecrow on the bench. That must be Tommy. Look at him in that ridiculous costume. Robert was doing his best to sound brave, but I knew better. Sitting limply on the bench next to the front door was a scarecrow with its carved pumpkin hat just like the previous year. Only this year it seemed uglier. Its crudely carved eyes seemed to regard me with mild amusement.

His dacre-like teeth daring me to come closer. I knew Tommy must be inside the costume, but you wouldn't know it from looking at the thing. Robert pointed the camera and told me to get going. Slowly, as if inspecting every maple leaf that was crackling in my feet, I left the safety of the sidewalk and edge toward the Hanson House. Hurry up, fool! Robert insisted. He shoved me again, harder this time.

I tried to move, but my feet were not cooperating. In truth, I was spooked, both of the scarecrow and the witch waiting at the front door. Finally, I took a deep breath, held it, then found my courage. What was I afraid of? I remember thinking. I'm 13 years old. I'm too old to be spooked. As I got going, my eyes never left the scarecrow sitting in early on the bench. Any minute now, Tommy would leap out from the bench and terrify that unsuspecting little girl. Instead, after Catwoman and her friends collected their candy, they said thank you, then scurried off.

Scarecrow did not budge. Another group of trick-or-treaters appeared. We let them go ahead of us. This was our chance. Robert, who was close behind me, said, Act natural! That was shaking. Again, the scarecrow was unresponsive to the fresh batch of trick-or-treaters.

They simply came and went. Something inside me was stirring. Anger. 364 days a pent-up teenage angst was about to burst. I became unhinged. With unworned, bravery, I charged at the scarecrow on the bench. Robert shouted, wait! But it was too late.

Unfortunately, I tripped on my shoelaces, a lifelong habit, and fell flat on my face, directly in front of the scarecrow. Its soil black boots were too big for any boy my age, I realized unhappily. Still on my knees I looked up directly into the scarecrow's pumpkin-carved eyes. A candle flame flickered from inside the jackal anandron. Robert, who was still holding the camera, shouted, Trick or treat, you stupid pumpkin brain! He started laughing and jumping up and down. Mrs. Hansen, the witch, came out from the front door and spat at him.

The cackling of her voice sent chills down my spine. I turned my attention to her for a moment. When I look back at the scarecrow, I could see Tommy's green eyes lurking inside the jackal anard, though he wasn't there a moment ago. It winked. Then it lumbered towards me. Ah! I screamed.

By now, all the other trick-or-treaters are laughing and pointing and jokingly asking Tommy Hansen to show them the inside of his jackal antoner. Tommy refused and said he simply sat back down on the bench and went still, waiting for his his next unsuspecting victim. I was furious. Robert dragged me away from the front door. We didn't bother asking for candy. I think he was spooked by Tommy's mother, the witch, although he'd never admit to this. We teased each other for the next half hour, then I went home and cleaned up my poop stained underpants for the second year in a row. The next day at school, we shared a heartfelt laugh. Robert, who initially refused to return my father's camera, eventually gave it back. After we watched the footage over and over again in his place.

The funniest part, of course, was my reaction. One moment the scarecrow was sitting languidly on the bench, the next moment it was attacking me. Hardy har, har, har. We soon forgot about this incident, seeing how there was other cool stuff happening at the school that stole our interest. And needless to say, I never bothered sending the tape to America's Funniestome videos. Eventually, the video camera, along with the tape,

I ended up in a taped-up cardboard box, waiting in my father's garage for 30 years. When he passed away this summer, my son Brandon, discovered it. Brandon, who's now the same age I was on that tape, was intrigued by this relic from the past. He's an audio geek and currently going through his analog infatuation stage. Brandon took the tape, digitized it, then played for me recently. It was a blast from the past, I tell you. I thought it was hysterical. Brandon, on the other hand, was alarmed.

Watch what happens when we zoom in, he said in a shaky voice. When he zoomed in, I shuddered. This must be a mistake, I told him. He assured me it wasn't. He backtracked and I watch the scene again, this time with a careful eye. There I was at 13, dressed as my favorite rock star, standing six feet in front of the skin. scarecrow on the bench. Now watch this, Brandon said.

I watched. My stomach was in knots. I watched as that young boy on the screen, who looks eerily like Brandon, only smaller, came alive. The cameras pointed at my back. I make a beeline for the bench falling flat on my face. The camera shakes as Roberts shouting something, but only for a moment. Then he zooms in on the scarecrow.

Without warning, the scarecrow springs out. of his sitting position with his arm stretched out, just as I'm returning to my feet and attacks me. I scream and trip and fall down again. I'd forgotten that part. It must have been when I crept my pants. Soon we're ambushed by a bunch of brady boys who swarmed the scarecrow and then the video cuts off.

Brandon tweaked the settings on the screen and rewound the video. Now check this out. He pressed play. Only now I played in slow motion, zoomed in entirely on the scarecrow. Just as I suspected, I said under my breath. We'll all be. Dad? Brandon said.

What the hell is that thing? I could now see inside the jackalander, and yes, there was a small flame flickering inside it. Except it wasn't an actual flame, probably a cheap dollar store replica. But still, now here's where it gets extra creepy, he said. watch carefully, he pointed at the screen. I watched. For a moment the scarecrow seemed unaffected, lifeless. Then suddenly a face appears inside the pumpkin head.

What the? I muttered. Right? Play it again. He did. I gasped. This is impossible, Brandon said. He was intrigued, although the fear in his eyes was beyond doubt.

There was something else in his eyes. The inevitable curiosity of a 13-year-old boy. It wasn't long before he convinced me to bring him and his best friend Bruno Moretti to that spooky old house for Halloween. Apparently Bruno knew all about the Hanson House. I drove by the Hansen House this morning to scope it out. I hadn't been to that part of town in many years. What amazed me as I drove past the place was how unaffected by time the house seemed.

To be fair, the place is over 150 years old, so what's another 30 years? years, right? Still, I didn't like it. Nor did I like the scarecrow sitting corpse-like on the bench out on the veranda. I pulled the car over and got out. I'm not crazy, I told myself, as I trotted towards a scarecrow, a smart phone in hand. Appointed my phone at the scarecrow and pressed record just in case. I stood for a moment, six feet in front of it, unsure of what to do next. I waved goodbye I jokingly then got back inside my car and tore out of there. My heart was beating faster than I cared to admit. I didn't tell Brandon about my venture, but I wish I had.

Because there's no way in hell that I'm taking him to the Hansen House tonight. I won't do it. No matter how much of a fuss he makes, I just watched the video and saw something disturbing, something I didn't notice at the time. When I zoomed in, you know, fart like me can do that on my Android. I saw the witch standing outside the front door, leering at me. Although I swear she wasn't there at the time.

Not at all. The scarecrow, who was sitting listlessly on the brown bench by the front door, suddenly sat upright. I saw the flickering light of the candle from deep inside the jackal anter and switch to a boy's eye. It winked at me. Then it lunged at me. I'd forgotten that part. 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.

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