Creepy - Day 12 - Those Aren't Oil Spots & They Know Who To Take

Episode Date: October 12, 2022

Those Aren't Oil Spots***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***They Know Who To Take***Written by: Sum Gigh***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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas 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 biocations of bioccurys. Silence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. The 31 Days of Horror. Day 12. Those aren't oil spots. Written by Noon of Consequence. And narrated by J.V. Hampton Van Sant. Halloween is one of the biggest holidays for us kids.

right up there with Christmas and birthdays. Ever since my first time trick-or-treating, my parents always told me not to walk into the street. I mean, duh, right? It's dark out and cars might not see you until it's too late. At least, that's why I thought they used to say it. Last year, I learned there's another reason. I'm only telling you this because you guys are my best friends, and Halloween is approaching.

I don't want any of you to find out the horrible truth firsthand, like I did. You remember how crazy it all was last year? All the neighborhood kids were out because it was the first time we were allowed to trick-or-treat since that stupid sickness changed everything. John was dressed up as a killer clown. Danielle went as Bloody Mary, and I want to say Megan was 11? What? Oh, sorry, Ripley from Alien 3.

Cole, how did you keep that parrot on your shoulder? I mean, I get it, what pirate costume is complete without a parrot. Never mind. I'm getting sidetracked. The neighborhood went all out with the decorations. Even the adults were crazy excited to celebrate Halloween. It was also the first time we didn't have to knock on doors or ring doorbells. Remember, every house had someone outside wearing a costume with a full bowl of candy.

We walked up and said, Trick or treat! And they marveled at our costumes. I got so many compliments, even though I don't think people understood I was Skeletor. You guys got that, right? Anyway, we had just come out of the Anderson's house. They had that elaborate haunted house that went into their backyard. It was so cool and creepy with all the skeletons, zombies, and the mad scientist.

They really outdid themselves, and I can't wait to see what they've got for us this year. After we came out, we went further down the street, but after a few houses, you realized I wasn't there anymore. I know y'all looked for me, but there was no chance you'd find me. I haven't been able to talk about it, but I feel like I haven't. to now. My dad always used to tell me not to step into the oil spots on the road. When he was younger, they must have been all over the place because I hardly ever see them. I used to think he said it so I wouldn't get oil on my shoes and track it all over. After what happened, I'm thinking there's something he wasn't telling me.

No, I haven't talked to him about it. My parents still think I got chased into that park by a couple bullies. You guys know that's not what happened, but I've been afraid you wouldn't believe me. Mom and dad would make me see a shrink if I told them what I'm about to tell you. You've all heard our parents complain about how strict the, what do they call it? The homeowners group?

What? Oh, the Homeowners Association. That's it. Those people are crazy strict about their rules for the neighborhood. It's why you almost never see an oil spot on the neighborhood streets. Dad says you can't have a car that doesn't work parked on the street for a long time because they'll find you. Also, any stains or spots left behind are supposed to be power washed. Well, after the Anderson's house, I saw a large oil spot next to the curb.

With as dark as it was, I don't know how I spotted it. A black spot on asphalt at night should have been invisible. But it was clear as day. More than that, I felt a need to step in it. I've nearly convinced myself it was early teenage rebellion since I'd always been told not to do it. Sometimes I think I was, what's the word, compelled. I was compelled to step on it, like something was telling me to do it.

So I did. I stepped on the spot. and it was the worst choice I've ever made. I fell, but not onto the road, I fell through it. One second, there were kids everywhere. Then there was nothing. No light to see by, no sounds to hear. I was about to scream when I hit the bottom.

Whatever I landed on wasn't asphalt, but it was hard and slimy. Oh, God, the smell was awful. Like that time we found the cat that had been run over? With my eyes wide open, I couldn't see a freaking thing. And I started to panic because taking my mask off didn't help. I had a flashlight. Our parents made us all carry one, but it was in my candy bag and I lost it in the fall. Feeling around in the pitch black, I found walls that were slick with the same slime on the floor.

We've all been scared at some point, but this was nothing like I'd experienced before. Tears were welling up in my eyes, and I wanted to scream out for help, but I was too afraid. between panicked breaths I could hear something slivering around in the dark. The sounds echoed like I was in a cave, but the walls and floor were smooth and flat. The slithering got louder, and I felt my way around, trying to get away from whatever made that sickening noise. After what felt like an hour, I started to do that. see an eerie green light. It was incredibly dim at first, but it got brighter the farther I went.

Soon I could see the walls I was walking against, and being so close to it probably was the only reason I hadn't tripped. I was in a hallway with very high ceiling, but that's not what drew my eyes. littered all over the hallway were discarded objects I could barely identify. Colors were distorted from the green light, but the further I got, the better I could see. Eventually I came across something recognizable and picked it up. You know those old theater masks that are always paired together, one crying and the other smiling? This was one of the smiling masks made of thick plastic but brittle from time. Pieces of it fell off in my hands, and I knew it had been there for a long while.

Soon I realized what the crap in the hallway was, plastic weapons, cloaks, masks, and candy bags. They were all things from hulls. costumes, discarded while trying to escape something horrible. You hear about it all the time. Kids go missing while trick-or-treating and are never seen again. I was afraid I'd found out what happened to all of them. Hey, don't laugh. This isn't a joke.

It really happened. I'll tell you how I got back if you'll let me talk, but you need to hear all of this. If I don't tell you everything, Nate and John are likely going to try going in to see for themselves. Trust me, you don't want that. I had gone far enough that the halls were offering lots of turns, and I always picked the brighter option. At this point, I still couldn't tell where the light was coming from,

but I didn't care as long as it didn't go. go away. I began noticing the costume pieces on the ground were changing. Less little kid stuff and more teenager things, cat ears, leather jackets, animal tails, even pieces of lingerie and sexy costume parts. It was almost like whatever was stalking the maze got the younger kids quicker, and the older people made it farther out. I began noticing tears and rips in the discarded items, some broken bottles among the torn candy bags.

I was chilled to the bone by the time I found the exit. The air was cold and damp. That slime covered everything in the maze. Once I stepped out, I knew I was. wasn't anywhere I could be found. This place didn't exist underneath our neighborhood. It couldn't have. The ceiling must have been a hundred feet high and was the source of the green light.

Not to say that there were light bulbs and fixtures up there, but the whole ceiling glowed with a dim light. It hung above old wooden buildings that looked like they were really. ready to fall over. I didn't hear the slithering anymore, but that wasn't really reassuring either. Hearing nothing is sometimes worse. I wandered into the crappy underground town, looking for any signs of life. No, I didn't call out. I was 13 at the time I'd seen enough scary movies to know that I might draw the wrong kind of attention. Whatever was slithering in the maze

either came out to get at whoever managed to escape or there were other things among the buildings. Otherwise, I'd have seen or heard signs of other people. By the time I went three blocks in, there was still no sign of a living person, All I could find was more costume pieces scattered about, but something shiny caught my attention. At first, I thought it was another piece of junk, a plastic costume knife, but it wasn't. The weight made it obvious it was metal, not plastic.

It was one of those expensive knives with a button that makes the blade flick out, like this one. Yeah, it's the same knife. Having a weapon hadn't helped the person who had it before, but I figured me keeping it couldn't hurt. At least it wasn't covered in slime. In fact, nothing outside of the maze was. I started finding all kinds of potentially useful items, a fancy metal lighter that still worked,

comfy jacket that wasn't torn apart, but it was a little big on me. I found lots of cell phones and a few flashlights, but nothing that needed electricity would work. As far as I could tell, none of the devices were broken, and after licking a 9-volt battery, I knew the batteries weren't dead. Obviously, I was in some kind of magical place. And if TV has taught me anything, it's that electronics don't always work the way they're supposed to with magic. At one point, I found a handgun, but I was hesitant to touch it. Mom has told me my whole life that those things are dangerous and I'm likely to kill myself if I mess with them.

I was in a bad situation, so I picked it up and tried to figure out how it works. It took a few minutes, but I got the pistol open, and just my luck, there were no bullets. Time just kind of flew by as I looked for anything useful. I found a messenger bag and filled it with all kinds of things, some fireworks, a bottle of nail polish remover, a crow bar, and even a couple bottles of whiskey. I honestly didn't know what I was going to do with any of it, but I kept it anyway. If nothing else, I could throw the liquid in the eyes of the attacker, assuming it had eyes. Among the crap I came across, there were lots of bottles of water and a ton of candy.

I was getting pretty hungry and thirsty, but there was no way I was going to put anything I found there in my mouth. By this time, I made my way down the center of the town and came to the end. I don't mean the building stopped. There was a solid wall at the end. The whole area, a maze and ghost town, were all just one big room. What I found the most interesting, I finally got to see the source of the green light. The wall glowed, but not because the stone it was made from, gave light.

There were slugs, completely covering it. And they glowed that eerie light. Wearing a pair of gloves I found on the ground, I filled a clear water bottle with as many of them as I could fit. The bottle glowed bright like a lantern, and while I was happy to finally have a decent light source, it also turned out to be a bad idea. I had failed to notice the growing light from my water bottle lantern was getting the attention of the ghost town residence. More like zombies than ghosts, but I didn't. didn't really get a good look. They had this weird gray stuff covering them from the shoulders up,

but left their eyes and mouths exposed. These were full-sized grown-ups. I couldn't fight one of them off, let alone a dozen. Clipping my lantern to my messenger bag, I went a block over before turning back toward the maze. Problem was, these things were starting to come from everywhere, shambling out of the crooked doorways, back alleys, and even under porches. It was like somebody rang the dinner bell. The ghost town's layout was pretty basic. I had come all the way up one street, and I just had to follow it back. Now that I had a light source, all I needed to do was go back to the maze, find my candy bag, and figure out a way to climb back through the hole. No, I didn't mean I was going

to get my candy back. I'm not that stupid. Finding my bag was the only way to figure out where the hole was that I fell through. Now these zombie-lose, like creeps, move surprisingly fast for shamblers. I knew it was going to take time to find the hole, and they'd catch up to me if I didn't figure out a way to keep them out of the maze. I didn't really have much of an idea, so I threw a whiskey bottle at the closest creep. My aim hasn't always been the best,

but I managed to hit that thing right in the face. The problem was, It didn't do anything. I got out one of the Roman candles I found and lit it up. There isn't a monster movie creature that doesn't cower from fire, so I figured shooting some fireballs would scare them off. It didn't, but until that moment, I hadn't known whiskey was flammable. Before I knew it, three of them were on fire, and so was the building.

I kicked a bunch of candy and costume bits into a pile in front of the maze entrance, emptied another bottle of whiskey on it, and lit that sucker on fire. It was enough to keep the shamblers from coming in behind me. The maze didn't look any better with sufficient light. In fact, I think it was worse. I could see the stuff little kids would wear and carry around. How could they have survived the fall or even gotten this far? How did I, for that matter?

That's when I heard it, that awful slithering sound. It was hard to tell where it was coming from, so I carried the lantern in one hand and the crowbar in the other and started running. It really was amazing there, so many turns, and dead ends. After a while, I noticed the space between the walls was shrinking. Every so often, I'd catch a glimpse of something big and slimy, but never got a good look at it. The best I got was a fat, gray tail end. But the glistening slime freaked me out so much. I shot off my other Roman candle at it. The first blast must have hit it.

because it bellowed out this monstrous shriek and disappeared around the corner. When I finally found my candy bag, I was so tired. I felt like I'd been running for days, but I was so close to getting out. Unfortunately, the hallways had dwindled down to about three feet wide and went up a long way. It looked like the ceiling was closer to the ground, but it was still a big distance. Without a ladder, I was forced to do the kind of climb where you have to hold yourself between two walls. I don't know what they call it, but it's freaking hard. Once I knew I could do it, I heard another one of those horrible shrieks, but this one sounded angry.

Don't ask me how, but I managed to get up that way. wall. However, I wasn't home free yet. The top of the wall didn't end at the ceiling. It stopped about six feet short. Even worse, the big slimy thing was not only back, but it was wide enough that it was easily shimmying its way up the wall. I could see the hole from where I was. All I had to do was jump for it and climb out, but the monster would be on me before I managed that. Throwing my lantern at it didn't do any good, nor did dumping any nail polish removal on it. What did work was lighting the gloves on fire and throwing them at it. The gloves hit the nail polish remover, and all I saw was a mass of flames.

Another of those horrible shrieks and the flaming creature shot away from me. After all I'd been through, jumping for the hole was a piece of cake. I just didn't look down anymore. When I pulled myself out, I wasn't by the Anderson's house, but on the road by the park. In minutes, the police found me, and you know the rest. I've been working it all over in my head since then. With all the costume pieces and candy everywhere, I think the hole is only open on Halloween. Thousands of people may have fallen into that nightmare over the years, so please, be careful when you're out trick-or-treating.

I got incredibly lucky down there, and I don't know how your luck would compare. For your bonus episode, creepy presents. They know who to take, written by some guy. I'm a part of a joke, and I know it. Have you heard a comedian talking about alien abductions? Like it's always some redneck or trailer park couple talking about how the aliens did anal probes, or some spaced out woman who talks so lovingly about the aliens and how she wishes they will come back.

I get it. Yeah, it's funny, but smarts too. Let me ask you a question. Seriously, let's say that you travel millions of miles across space, figured out not only to travel that far, but how to survive the trip. Let's say that you have that kind of smarts in your head. You've got to imagine that they have the ability

to hear our radio and television signals. They can probably figure out our language. They can see us. They can see the things we do to each other. Say all that. If you were them, would you show up in the skies, land on the White House lawn, and think, hey, these people are going to be cool? Not if they were smart. And they are smart. They got to know how we'll react to everything. That's why they found me. They know about me. It's not like you. It's not like they needed to read my emails or check my medical records. They could just watch.

That's what they do, you see. They watch. At some point, I figured that they watched me. They watched me talk with people, or not talk with people, I guess. They watched how I walk, how I avoid people. Probably see how I'm not going to keep in a job. They know. They didn't tell me any of this, but it makes sense, as much as anything else.

I know this is part where I'm supposed to say that I'm not crazy, but technically I am. People think that people like me are crazy just because things are harder for us. Higher highs, lower lows, quickly. If I were the one to try and go on the news and tell people about being taken, you would think about those communities. You'd laugh at the crazy person. It's okay. I get it. But it doesn't mean you don't need to know what they do, what they want.

Not that they tell me anything about what they want. You'll see. There was no lie. I wasn't just lying in my bed when suddenly I started to hover. Anything you've seen the movies is for movies. It's to make it all seem even weirder than it is. You ever wonder why people do that? Like being taken isn't enough?

I went to sleep in my bed and I woke up on the table. I think it was a table. I couldn't really see it. I could move my head. My body was clamped down by a series of metal straps. I tried to scream but there wasn't any sound there. It was like I was in space or something. The sound just died as soon as they left my mouth.

That's horrible. When he got a voice, but no one can hear you, you'd think I'd be used to it. At first they didn't do anything, but I could hear this skitterin sound around me like rats in the wall. Then I woke up. The only reason I didn't think it was a dream was the marks of my body from the straps. They faded away quickly, like when you take off a watch that's bent on your wrist too tight. No bruises, no evidence. I was afraid to tell anyone.

It's hard enough to stay out there on my own. I have to fight for it. Prove that I can take care of my own money. Telling anyone that something bad happened to you makes them look sideways at you. But this, fuck you very much. I think it bothered him that I didn't say anything. Or maybe it confused them. I think they wanted to see what I was going to do.

and I didn't do anything. So they came back. Bed, sleep, wake up somewhere else. This time they didn't stay out of the way, but I still couldn't see them. Look straight ahead. Then with just your eyes, try and look down. I'm pretty skinny, so maybe if I was bigger, I could see my stomach.

Maybe someone else can't, but I can't see past my cheekbones. so I couldn't see what was being pushed into my gut, but I could feel it. Maybe they wanted me to scream. Maybe they didn't care, but I did. I screamed and cried and pissed myself as I felt whatever it was push in and break past the skin. I could feel my skin tearing as the folds of skin rubbed against each other. Think like a paper cut. But in your stomach.

and something is being pushed into it. Like that, I could feel it pushing around inside me like he was looking for something. Then something else. Then something else. Three, no, four things inside my cut, tearing at me. Want to know how smart they are? They took someone with scars, someone with a criminal record. My scars were from a bar.

fight when I got stabbed in the stomach with a broken bottle. Four jagged scars remind me every day about it. That's where they pushed into my skin. Perfect. Exactly in line with the scars. Like I got jabbed in the gut. It didn't matter. It was a fresh wound.

It didn't matter that I called the ambulance when I woke up on my floor, blood all over my good t-shirt. The paramedics came in. saw the broken beer bottle next to my bed and wrote it up as an accident. Didn't matter that there was no glass in the wound. They said I must have been drunk and fell off my bed. They think I did it to myself. See how smart they are?

What was I supposed to do? Tell them it was aliens. You think that was going to help something? No, that's stupid. You don't go into the middle of town and start yelling at his little green. men hurting you. Shit. I didn't even know what they look like.

That's how smart they are. I think it bothered them that I didn't do anything. Or maybe I confused them again. I wonder how many people like me they've taken. People who don't want to play into their hand. Not because I'm against it. I don't care beyond hating that they hurt me. But I got to look out for myself.

The third time that took me was worse. because I wasn't asleep. But I didn't realize how bad it was till after. For the third time, I woke up on that table. For the third time, I couldn't see him. And for the second time, I felt them on me, on my leg just below the knee. I could feel something prodding at me, trying to figure something out before I fell a sharp hot spot on my legs suddenly jerked to the side

and I felt my kneecap pop out of place. I tried not to do that. scream, but you try not to scream. They moved my knee back and forth and I could feel the pop and his bone grinded against bone, like they were trying to twist a chicken leg off the roaster. Back and forth, back and forth, twisting and grinding as I screamed and begged for him to stop. When my leg stopped moving, I felt the pressure on my skin, like my leg got put into a vice. At first I felt it in my cap.

my leg, like one of those leg cramps, I wake you up in the middle of the night after you've been drinking too much. I wanted to sit up, to grab it and rub the pain out of it, but I couldn't move. All I could do is look straight up and cry and beg as it got worse. I felt my shin crack and splinter. I could feel bits of bone burst through the skin as my leg bent up, sort of like an ostrich leg, but at the shin, not the knee. I swore and I told him I kill him

For the first time I got mad at him I think that made him happy Because the next thing I knew I was in a ditch off counter-road 72 About a half mile from home It's mostly where I was when they took me See I was driving My truck

What was left of it Was wrapped around a tree The horn blaring from where the steering wheel Must have compressed it down I don't know how anyone was supposed to to believe I ended up where I did given what happened in my truck, but I think when they couldn't find the bottom part of my leg, they didn't feel like asking stuff like that. They said I fell asleep behind the wheel.

At first they wanted to say I was drunk driving, but I didn't have any alcohol in my system. I think they wanted me to have been drunk. It's easier to dismiss people like me when we get drunk and bad things happen. Now I got no leg below the knee on my left side. For the last couple years, I've been getting by doing roofing during the summer and going on unemployment over the winter. And what am I supposed to do now? No one's going to hire one-legged roofer?

That's really when all this started to make sense. When I got home from the hospital to my trailer and looked around at all the stuff, I was going to have to sell just to pay for my medical bills. See, they're smart. They don't go after people who went to college and have all kinds of friends or the sort of people that have their stories show up on the news when their kid goes missing or the bank does something shady to them? No.

They go after people like me. The punchlines. The people who you shake your head at and don't want to think about. The people who must be drunk or crazy and maybe we are. But it doesn't mean that it isn't happening to us. Anyway, I got to go. Right. and this is taken all day.

Since the last time they took me, I've been trying to figure out how to type with just one hand. It isn't easy, and I know there's a lot of mistakes, but I tried real hard. Because if I write this good enough, you'll listen.

You'll read the words and not have someone to look at and dismiss. And maybe the next time someone says they were taken, you won't laugh. But it's okay. Too late for me. I bet I'm going to look pretty funny soon.

Even funnier. I sort of wonder how much more me they can take. 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 dot. done so through Creative Commons Sherrillite licensing, or

with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the story's author.