Creepy - Day 11 - The Memetic Symbol & Halloween Road

Episode Date: October 11, 2026

The Memetic Symbol (starts at 2:59)***Written by: unknown***Content is available under CC BY-SA Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Memetic_Symbol***Halloween Road (starts at 18:56)***Written by: Laura Pérez Macho and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm John Grills from Creepy, and I listen to the Be Afraid Podcast Network. Creepy presents the 31 Days of Horror. Day 11. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling, and disturbing creepy pastors 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. I'll get the next round. Yeah. Can I get a round to Mallort for that table over there? John, is everything okay with you? What? You don't like Mallort? You're from Chicago. Aren't you supposed to be proud of that liquid horror?

That's not what I meant. It's just... What? I know we really don't know each other that well, and that we don't get together much, so please forgive me if I'm off base. But you've kind of been uneven since we got here.

What do you mean uneven? We've all noticed it. One day you seem like you're in a great mood, and the next, it's like... You're waiting to get bad news. Heather told us about how anxious you were last night after bar close. Last night? After bar close?

Oh, yeah, no. Don't worry about that. I mean, we talked about this last week. Listen, I'm sorry about that. I really am. It's not exactly how I'd hope things would go. I really did plan on this month going smoother. Oh, don't get me wrong. We're still all having a great time for a change.

I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. You tend to put a lot on yourself. I'm fine, Rissa, really. Even when you see Mopey John, know that Happy John's just around the corner. But thank you. Seriously. Now, let's go tell everyone these are peach snobs. Ooh, evil John. I can get on board with that.

Glad to hear it. Were you doing a story today at the open mic? I was going to, but I'm not sure if it's quite right. What's it about? The memetic symbol. Even as I come to the realization that nothing in this world can pierce the hopelessness that ruins every stimulus I can still come upon. I find a reliable sense of wonder when imagining how patient it has been.

It's origins and its creation. its nature and its effects. This always makes me shudder with a palpable sense of despair, mixed with awe at my strange fate. I've regressed into sympathizing with it, into turning to its titanic lack of mercy and all-encompassing designs in order to feel anything. It's the only real thing, I guess,

the only thing with a purpose left in it. I used to be a studier of memetic theories, advanced sociology, with the specialization in all things information technology. I'd written some well-respected studies on general behavior on the internet, the spread of ideas, the way people communicate depending on the subject matter, two girls, one cup, but with more analysis detachment and looking at how quickly things get attention, and how it's related to man's creation of culture.

I decided to turn towards outliers next. the fringes at the corners of the internet lost information. I scoured for obscure P2P's and used extensive programs to make my investigations go faster. I simply looked for anything forgotten, half-cooked, unique, empty, lonely, or downright useless on the internet. I figured it could become a book, a study, or a decent hobby. When I found it, there was one thing that called to my attention. attention. The channel name. I was using any and all ways to access any kind of IRC there was,

trying to see what stood out. Where I saw it, I've long since forgotten, but what I saw was exactly what I was looking for. The name of the channel was skewed at an angle rather than a smooth line of text with a designated box. Rather than text, it was designated by a symbol, and not the kind available through any Unicode or script I knew of. Yet, upon examination of the site's code, there was nothing indicating an image rather than a script. In fact, there was nothing indicating that the channel could even exist. The script didn't allow for more than a few channels, and the one with a symbol made one too many. The next day I took my hard drive to the garage and then prepared to hook up my spare with my trusty screen and keyboard.

Upon connecting, I noticed something that made my face lock and prickly moisture form underneath my eyelids. The letters, arrows, and other symbols on the keyboard have been. Usurped, absorbed, eaten. The symbol had taken every spot. On the screen's frame, the name Phillips had been replaced with a row of seven symbols. A bag of snacks lying on my desk had met the same change, and only the symbols could. be read. Stumbed as I was, my mind didn't take to work until I accidentally glanced at my watch and saw that I was late. The more profane, sheltered part of my brain won me over, declaring the

whole thing an impressive prank designed by a pair of friends noted for their odd humor and knowledge of my new hobby. It even assured me they could have made the snack bags, simply to test their commitment. I took the bag and everything affected along with the hard drive and with a flash of instinct, I threw them into a rocky ditch on my way to work. Work went easily, and a quick phone call to my girlfriend, who usually lived with me but was at a conference, assured me that she'd be home soon, eager to hear of the amazing joke the infamous pair had pulled this time. By lunch I'd made up my mind for takeout, and drove to a sandwich diner. I entered and placed myself in line, opening a newspaper lying abandoned on a nearby table.

Surveying the menu, I decided upon something grilled first, and then felt the visual equivalent of a sucker punch, as I saw the symbol sitting innocently in place of the word, mayonnaise. With what must have been unsettling concern, I asked the person behind me whether he saw the symbol on the menu. I can't recall the person's gender, but I do remember the look. It was as if my question broke a rule. The face of the person twitched, as if I had jumbled their mind to mush just by asking. The twitching hastily stopped and was replaced with a look of the most complete lack of understanding.

All this apparently unremarkable to the person in the closest line who'd seen the whole thing. I rounded on the cashier, asking for my order and, with a deep sense of foreboding, for some manis on the side. her young frame made a strange quivering motion that seemed to involve every single one of her muscles and then simply looked at me her face normal see for an awkward lack of understanding as if I had asked for something with a foreign name

or at least a kind of condiment she'd never heard of I waved my demand away took my order and by now forgetting any sense of inhibition or proper behavior bolted out of the place I rushed for the first deli I saw. I looked in every aisle, drawing worried and disapproving glances as I surveyed every square inch for mayonnaise, asking every shopper I met whether they knew what mayonnaise was, only to be given the same dumb stare. When I did happen upon the place where mayonnaise should be found, the shelves were stacked with small statuettes,

featuring this symbol in perfectly gray stone upon a small grain dais. Remarking upon this to the nearest shopper created the same spasm followed by a look I myself have given to those asking for something in a foreign language. I directed their gaze toward the symbols and then watched and fascinated horror as the spasms overtook them, only to leave them turning their gaze away, looking towards me with a look of inquiry, suggesting my request has been completely unintelligible. The memory of seeing the symbols had glanced off, or perhaps been received and then for, forgotten, maybe erased the instant they were seen. To this day, I wonder how, even as I spend most of my time whispering, why, why, why, why, why, why? I found a bookstore and scoured

dictionaries for the word, only to find the haunting symbol in every copy. Cookbooks show the same replacement, even in recipes where no real substitute for mayonnaise could exist and where the dish would suffer. I knew by now that this was no prank or unique hallucination on my part. And in a last bit for sanity, I asked the first person I came across to indulge me by reading the recipe out loud. He tentatively took the book, shot me a curious look, and read the list of ingredients. I had no real sense of hope, but I did feel my mind jettisoning all the notions of reality and convictions about the paranormal when he started to have uncontrollable spasms the minute he was to pronounce the symbol, only to proceed with the next ingredient as if nothing

had happened. I asked him what you got if you mixed egg yolks with vegetable oil, vinegar, salt, mustard, and pepper. He simply said, sounds as if it would taste funny but good, still eyeing me with bemusement and suspicion. You get mayonnaise, I said. and the spasms overtook him. He angled his head as if he'd not heard me and then said,

Sorry? I dropped my shoulders and said, You get Kesev of Russian paste, make it fluffy. Kesev sounds tasty with tuna. By the time I came home, I was deathly nervous, having bought a dictionary and began looking patiently through it. With a permanent film of sweat upon me, I scrutinized every page.

I trembled at the thought of what affects the symbol could create next. A knocking at the door. I left the dictionary open on my desk and opened it, only to find my living girlfriend beaming back at me. Her eyebrows stuck between concern and amusement at my no doubt harried air. I explained myself as having come back from a jog and embraced her happily. She responded in kind, and I hoped to brush over the spreading sense of, being at the mercy of the symbol by asking her about her journey while I prepared her some dinner.

Having recently read of the dangers of red meat and the many tasty byproducts, our household was recently swearing by chicken, and I was preparing some fajitas for us while she detailed the conference. She is, was, an employee at a company selling risk assessment for other companies interested in investing in third world countries. Apparently, the war launched by New Carthage had not sustained critical problems of the poor citizens and the remains of the Ottoman Combine. The place was now quickly being invaded, not by troops sent to kill their dictator, but rather people, hoping to make a buck and gain a footing. The conference would mean her company had busy days in the future. I asked her about to journey back as I placed

a pieces of chicken breast in my special marinade. I can still remember the glottal sounds as her body repelled the word, normal. It grew. at an exponential rate after that. Time and time again I showed my girlfriend the symbol that had taken the place of normal in the dictionary, on the internet, in writing, and presumably in speech. Every time she would have the same small proxisms only to ask me,

look at what? Exasperated and worried about my frightened weeping. I tried to keep her with me for as long as possible. I wanted her comfort and humanity while I could still have it. Yet at the same time, watching her represent the same deconstruction, all of the humans felt tore at me so badly I could barely keep a straight face. Not even to make her happy.

It was like watching an amputee keep on working, as if the amputated part had never been there, working around the absence as well as she could, only to spasm and forget as soon as her mind turned to the thing that would have been there. before the symbol. But it wasn't just the word. It was its very substance, meaning, concept, and form that was replaced. Things the humans of my dimension dictated to be statues turned into those brooding gray effigies one day.

Then the other day the word nails was gone. The buildings collapsed en masse while my girlfriend, along with all other humans, had her fingertips covered with the symbol. I stayed with her until the day I awoke only to see a pair of symbols where her eyes should have been. She flailed for me as I left. She wasn't in panic. She didn't even remember that she once could see. She just saw darkness.

But she remembered that I used to be with her, and now I was not. I strangled her. What else could I have done? Compared to what met the others, it was mercy. Even before everything thought to be eyes was exchanged with the symbol. People have been rendered pathetic and unstable by the unfelt absence of words like strong, pyramid, particle. Yes, any imaginable word disappeared, only to leave the symbol, I guess.

The words as well as what they represented disappeared. Soon the night sky had an enormous symbol instead of the moon, and naturally the tides became erratic, flooding the blinded people who lived by the shores, even as they fought starvation, trying their best to talk in between themselves, trying to understand why it was they could not see things. As for cruel play,

humans lost the concept of sight and vision weeks after their eyes became replaced with the symbol. Of course, soon dehydration and hunger killed those not dead of accidents, and I was glad that their mouths disappeared as quickly as they did, freeing me from hearing their broken pleas for help. I watched in a mixture of complete sorrow and attachment as skyscrapers, lampposts, trees, dogs, cats, and so on turned into gray symbol statuettes of very, sizes. Why did it leave me? Why do I have a field around me in which I could store whatever foodstuffs I've been able to find before they were replaced? Maybe it's hard to play with me,

punish me, or even thank me in its own little way. It matters not. As I write this last part on paper and pen I've successfully managed to keep in my little pocket for safety and meaning. most of the elements in the earth and its crust have turned into the inert and nameless element the symbol is and represents. Perhaps this cancerous element is made up of countless smaller symbols. I do not know. The earth's magnetic field is waning and soon all will cook, unless the stars and our sun with it turns to Titanic symbols before that, of course.

Perhaps my entire universe will turn into one great symbol. Piece by piece it has, after all, sought to cover every element, concept, and whatever else comes to mind. It will become everything soon. Perhaps it is lonely. The symbol. Perhaps my message will come across your dimension once I've given up. Perhaps it will not. All I know is that I've remained safe

And while the ruination of my universe does not stir any emotion in me The thought of the simple enveloping another dimension or all of them Like an ashot's it tumor Fills me with dread Even while nothing else can Did your voice glitch at the end? Nope, that was just in your head John

Do you Okay, folks, let's give a warm round of applause for our next storyteller, Rissa Montanez. You're up. I'll save your shot. Hi, everyone. Thank you. My name is Rissa, and I'm going to tell you the story about Halloween Road. It was Halloween. I don't know why that detail sticks, but it does. Maybe because everything already felt wrong before anything actually happened. Like the day was set up for something, if that makes sense. I was driving.

Not sure how long for. Hours, I think, but time wasn't really clear that day. It felt kind of stretched. Like it wasn't moving properly. The road went straight through a forest that felt wrong right from the beginning. Huge trees on both sides, all bare and twisted. Their branches were tangled together above the road, forming this kind of tunnel, almost like you were going under something instead of just

driving through a forest. And it was so quiet and silent, I mean, even the engine felt muffled, like the sound was being swallowed or something. I tried the radio, just static, nothing else. GPS, dead, no signal, my phone was dead too, and no coverage at all. I was there for a reason that I couldn't remember at that moment, so I kept driving anyway. The deeper I went into that forest, the narrower the road got. I mean, at some point I remember thinking, this can't even be a real road anymore.

It felt more like something that had been forgotten, and I was just using it anyway. On both sides, the ground dropped down into a fog, and I couldn't see it. how far, just darkness underneath. And then something changed in the air. It got colder. And there was this smell. Not strong, just there. Like salt.

Like the smell of the sea. And it didn't make sense because I was in the middle of a freaking forest. Eventually, I had to stop to find at what was going on there. Then there was this break in the trees, like kind of a lookout point, so I pulled over and got out. And I stood there for a moment thinking, What the hell? The sea was everywhere. Not in the distance, not just on one side. Everywhere I looked, there was water. Gray and endless crashing against cliffs that I didn't even remember a

like the land had just ended and I hadn't noticed the transition. And that gave me the creeps. I yelled out loud like an idiot. Where am I? No answer, obviously. And I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. So I went back to the car and turned around straight away. I just wanted out of there.

But when I drove back, it wasn't the same anymore. The forest opened up and there was a cemetery right there on the side of the road. And I could swear it wasn't there before. The gate was iron, old and rusted. And it started opening by itself. Slowly. Like it was inviting me in, or maybe just acknowledging I was already supposed to be there. That gave me the creeps again, but.

I kept going, because there was nowhere else to go. Past it? There was a town. Or what, look like a town. Everything was empty, but not in a destroyed kind of way. More like paused. Like everyone had just left at the same time and never came back. Houses were clean.

Too clean, I thought. windows dark but intact no broken doors no signs of struggle and it was Halloween there too there were pumpkins everywhere on porches on windowsills all carved all lit from inside

but I don't know the faces didn't seem funny they seemed wrong like they were watching instead of smiling. There were no kids around playing trick or treat, and I found that kind of weird. And even weirder, there were no dogs guarding the houses. There were no animals at all.

And I couldn't even hear the crickets. Just silence again. I just needed some fresh air, so I got out of the car, and then I noticed something else that was also very, very strange. The car was damaged, I mean, badly damaged. Dented doors, the back completely crushed, like something had hit it, hard, really hard. But I didn't remember any crash.

Nothing. I would have remembered something like that for sure. But then I saw the stains, dark red or brownish. Just these stains everywhere. on the dashboard, on the seat, even on my clothes too. It was blood, dried blood. And I stood there for a while, not really knowing what to do or what to think. I was so confused.

My brain just didn't accept all of that. Maybe that blood was not mine, or maybe it was something else. Nothing made sense to me at that point. And after that, I just, I needed something that would bring my sanity back. Something like food. I found a small shop nearby, a grocery store, I guess. There was no one around, or even on the inside. No staff, no customers, nothing.

But the shelves were stocked, like it was ready to work. But just without anyone there to run it. I went to the register and I could open it easily. But even the money wasn't right in that place. I mean, I'd never seen that currency before. Like it didn't belong to any place that I knew. And that's when I started thinking maybe I'd crossed a border without realizing. Maybe I'd driven further than I thought.

But even as I thought about it, I knew it didn't make any sense. And then a sudden wind hit the door. door behind me and slammed it open, and I froze, just stood there, waiting and listening. Nothing came in. No footsteps, no voices. I was so scared that I left without taking anything to eat. I just wanted to leave as fast as I could. But then back in the car, I saw that the fuel was nearly gone, so I needed to find a gas station. And eventually, I found one. Alone on the road, the lights flickered from it like they were struggling to stay on. And again, no one inside. Of course. Throughout my entire trip, I hadn't seen a single person anywhere.

I really felt like I was alone in the world. So I filled the tank. Went inside the shop there too. And still, no one. But that time, I grabbed a sandwich. and some cigarettes, too. I didn't even smoke much, but at that point, it felt like the only real thing around me. And yes, I left without paying, and not because I wanted to steal. It just didn't feel like there was anyone around to pay. And of course, I also lit a cigarette at a gas station because there was no one around to tell me not to. I was just trying to relax. And then I saw a small rack of newspapers. There were a few copies of their local paper. Sol Aile News.

I stared at that name for a while. Not sure why. It didn't feel familiar at all. The headlines were all about disappearances, deaths, suicides, missing people, page after page of it. And in one of them, I saw my brother's picture. That was him for sure. Then everything shifted in my head.

because I remembered the reason I was driving my car in the first place. I wasn't just driving randomly. I was looking for him. He had gone missing, last scene near this area. And that's why I came. That part felt real. Finally, something solid to hold on to. But the article said something else too.

It said his body had been found in a forested area. The same forest I had just. driven through. Same tunnel of trees. The same road. And I just remember feeling cold at that point, not scared exactly, just off balance. Like I was missing something important, so I went back to the car and drove again into that creepy forest. I just wanted to find my brother and I had this feeling that I had missed something. And then I saw him. standing in the middle of the road, just there like hot of the blue. I had to break hard.

The car stopped just before hitting him, and my heart was about to explode inside my chest, but for a long moment I couldn't move. Neither of us could. I just sat there, gripping the wheel, trying to breathe. I swore to God that it was him and he was looking right at me. with a slight smile. I couldn't believe my eyes. And then I got out of the car, slowly.

But he didn't move a single finger, didn't react like someone who had just been almost hit by a car, just stood there like he had been waiting for me the whole time. And actually, he said something, something like he knew that I'd come. and his voice.

It was him. It was for sure, but at the same time, it wasn't right. It was like I was hearing it through a wall or underwater. I didn't know what to say, and I could barely speak anyway. I was speechless, and then that wind came through again, cold, sharp, and with it came something that dropped at my feet. One of those newspapers. It started flipping by itself, pages turning too fast like someone was searching for something in it.

And then it stopped. There was a headline with a photo of my brother and my name. The article said I had taken my own life after his death. But that cold can't be right. It didn't make sense at all. Everything kind of just froze for a second, like the world skipped a beat. When I looked up again, my brother was gone, like he was never even there. And my car was gone, too.

There was nothing around. Just me, the forest, and the wind turning the pages of that newspaper. And the pages, all of them blank. Every single page. Nicely done. Thank you. Oh, you actually did save my shot for me. Wouldn't miss it for a...

For a... What? Nothing. Excuse me for a minute. I need to step outside. I'll be right back. Don't take the shot without me, and don't throw it away. I live to see Mallortface.

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