Creepy - Day 14 - Madison is Missing & My Neighbor Built a Bull

Episode Date: October 14, 2023

Madison is Missing***Written by: Ravyn Storm and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***Bonus Episode: "My Neighbor Built a Bull"***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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 violence and explicit language. which listener discretion is advised. by the alleged murderer, no arrests have been made. The letter below was left at the crime scene. September 21st, 1997. Toome whoever is reading this. My name is Madison Moore. I'm 16-year-old. I was a junior

at Woodsmith High School, and I lived with my parents at this residence, 1621 Sycamore Lane, in Rocky Branch, Texas. You're probably a cop, and most likely discovered the gruesome crime scene left in the basement, otherwise known as my bedroom. I didn't mean to hurt, much less kill anyone.

And in some ways, it wasn't me. But it was me. Officer, you may not believe that a 16-year-old girl is capable of brutally slaying three people, but you'd be surprised what happens when the rage finds freedom and opportunity. Two of the bodies were my parents, James and Mariah Moore.

I loved my parents. They always meant well. They always said what they did served to protect me from myself and that it hurt them more than it hurt me. It was my fault for disobeying them, and it came with consequences, consequences like being chained inside a cage at night. I hated the cage, but it was the only way to control my behaviors.

The other body was my best friend, Michael Young. He thought he was saving me. He had no idea what he was getting into when he came into her house that night. He was truly an innocent bystander, the night in shining armor that was struck down in the pursuit of a rescue. Only I was not a damsel. in distress. I was the distress.

This really happened because I disobeyed my parents when I was just a small child. About ten years ago, I was really into Disney's Robin Hood, and I loved to play out in the piney woods behind our house. I would pretend to be Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. I had a plastic sword and a bow and arrow. I was an innocent and imaginative child. My parents told me to never go past the huge pine tree with exposed roots just before the end of the dirt path. And I was never allowed to play in the woods after dark.

However, these boundaries only made six-year-old me more curious. What was beyond that old pine tree? What happened after dark? My child's imagination worked overtime coming up with possible. explanations of different realms, monsters, or maybe fairies lived there and only came out at night. At that age, I was convinced my parents were just being too strict and did not want me to have any fun. One night, just after the sun was down, mom and dad were watching TV in the living room. I grabbed my toy sword, bow, and arrow, and red flashlight, and went on an adventure into the

woods. I had to know what happened after dark. I could not wait to tell my friends about it. I crept quietly out the back door and into the night. I was a little scared and considered going back, but curiosity got the better of me, and I stayed on the journey. I was a very brave and ambitious six-year-old girl. I thought I could protect myself just like Robin Hood, but protect his merry men. As I got to the edge of the woods just beyond the reach of our porch lights, I turned on the red flashlight and courageously walked through the trees and bushes. I went past the rooted tree and into the unexplored world. It was spooky, and I was getting a little scared.

I started to hear noises. I remember cricket chirps started to sound like cricket roars. The crunch of the leaves beneath my child-sized red converse felt loud enough that I was scared my parents would hear it over the television inside the house. Then I had a sobering thought that stopped me in my tracks. Snakes. What if I stepped on a snake? Just then I heard footsteps running fast toward me and everything else was silent.

Daddy? I asked. Daddy? Is that you? Then the pain rushed through my arm. A beast of a dog. snarling and slobbering, jumped through the darkness and bit down hard on my arm and started to drag me through the woods. I screamed in pain and fear. I started to hit the dog with my

plastic sword as hard as I could while I kept screaming. I tried to drag my feet through the dirt, but it did not slow the huge dog. I happened to hit it in the eye with my toy sword. With a howl, the dog released me and ran into the woods. The last thing I remember about before I passed out, was hearing my dad yelling my name. I woke up in the back seat of our car, my head in my mother's lap, and my arm throbbing in pain, was wrapped with a towel. I was covered in dirt, and I felt hot. I felt like fire was engulfing me.

At the emergency room, the nurse gave me a huge shot to prevent rabies. The doctor asked me if I knew what kind of dog bit me, or if I could describe it. All I knew was it was big and strong enough to drag me. The nurses bandaged my arm telling me and my parents that we were lucky. The next morning my mom changed my bandage. My mother, with tears in her eyes, started to lecture telling me, Madison, we told you to never go into the woods after dark. You disobeyed us, and now you will have to suffer the consequences.

You will never be our sweet Madison again, and we will never be able to trust you. I tried to apologize. I even apologized for hitting the dog. I promised I would never disobey her or daddy again. It didn't matter. What's done is done, was all she said to me. Three days after the attack, my parents moved me to my new bedroom in the basement, and introduced the case.

It was a huge metal enclosure. It had thick chains designed to fit around my wrists, ankles, waist, and throat. It was large enough that I slept in this cage nightly. As a young child, I was frightened by the cage. But as I grew older, I was scared to be without it. It became sort of my sanctuary. Growing up, I never spent the night with friends. my parents forbid it if i did go to parties or what was supposed to be sleepovers one of my parents would always pick me up before sundown

my friends would want to know why and i always apologized for leaving early and tried to assure my friends that it was not personal of course i was never allowed to have friends stay the night at our place either my parents would even tell our family members that they were not allowed to stay after dark No explanation. Just simply the rules of our home. Invitations to the parties and sleepovers eventually ceased. When I was a young child, someone started a rumor, I wet the bed. People thought we were weird.

And to be honest, officer, we were weird. My school counselors will probably tell you that I frustrated them too. I was the salutatorian, but I had no plans to attend cops. college. My parents did not think it was wise for me to attend college. It would be too dangerous. Michael was my only real friend. He was smart, the valedictorian. We were in the same honors and advanced placement classes. Michael was sincere and kind to me. You would always be my partner for science or other class projects. In some ways, he was a misfit too. Not in the same way as me, but a misfit all the same.

He played trombone in the band. I know he would have become an amazing doctor. He probably would have cured cancer or would have performed surgeries on children in foreign countries. Michael was that kind of person, the kind that enjoyed helping others. And it got him killed. It was a common occurrence for Michael and me to study together at one of our homes. As always, the rule was we were done before the sun went down. I know my family rule frustrated him, and he would often ask to keep studying just a little longer.

I always politely declined. Two years ago, we had finished our freshman year. Michael and I were invited to attend a camp for gifted math and science students at the University of Texas in Austin. Of course, my parents said no. One afternoon, while my parents were at work, Michael and I were studying at my house when he asked to see my bedroom. It was an innocent request. He pointed out that we had been best friends since the sixth grade, and whereas I knew everything about him, he could not even describe my room. I tried to redirect the conversation back to homework.

I even asked if he would like to take a break and play a video game or watch a movie in the family room. Michael remained focused. He insisted on seeing my room. I reluctantly agreed, but made him promise to keep everything he saw a secret and to never share it with anyone ever. He had a weird look on his face but swore to secrecy. As we approached the basement door, I tried one more time to get him to forget about it. I told him it was messy. He still insisted, assuring me there was.

nothing to be embarrassed about. I unlatched the two dead bolts on the outside of the room and placed my key in the lock when Michael jokingly asked if I was keeping national security secrets in my room. I gave a small chuckle, shrugged and told him, something like that. Inside everything appeared like a normal teenage girl's room. I had band posters adorning my wall. Nirvana was my favorite. My closet was full of clothes. Makeup was on my vanity. But instead of a bed, there was the large silver cage with its chains of entrapment in my food and water bowl. Instead of curtains or blinds, I had steel shutters on the windows. Michael was silent as he absorbed the sight. When he did speak, it was a whisper of an apology. He was sorry for the way I was being treated.

I reminded him of his promise to keep everything a secret and begged him to keep it. He hesitated but shook his head in agreement. Silent, we walked back into the kitchen where our books awaited our return. My parents would be home soon. The sun was starting to set. Of all nights, I needed to be on my best behavior. Michael gave me a long hug before he walked to his house. At dinner, my parents reminded me to be.

in my room earlier than usual. I knew the rules, and I obeyed. My routine is like most teenage girls. Brush my teeth, wash my face. All normal. Normality is such a luxury. I shut my windows, double-checked their flip-locks, locked my custom-made steel shutters,

and closed my room to the outside world. I got into the cage. I left my straps and chains open and waited for my parents to perform the fire. final check and deadbolt the door. The doorbell rang just as I was getting comfortable in my layer of steel. My eyes widened when I realized the new voice belonged to Michael. He was not supposed to be here, not at night. He knew the rules. I began to panic. Referring to him as son, I could hear my dad assuring Michael they were doing what was best for me as their child. I could hear

them arguing. They insisted he needed to leave. Michael began yelling my name. I could hear him moving closer to the basement bedroom. I could hear my mom pleading with my dad to get Michael away from me and out of her house. Her shaking voice sounded as if she were crying or close to it. Mom told Michael that only bad things happen at this time of night and that he needed to go home. My dad tried the reason with him that we could discuss this tomorrow. I was sweating profusely when Michael busted into the room. He saw me in the cage and made a bee line for me. Michael told my parents they had no right to treat me like an animal. He did not understand. He was only being a friend and trying to protect me. He didn't deserve what happened to him. And I am so sorry, officer. My dad grabbed him. My dad grabbed

his arm and tried to stop him from opening my cage. Dad even tried to hit Michael to stop him, but Michael ducked and pushed my dad to the ground. My mom was screaming at them to stop and to go back to the living room. She tried to tell me to lock my own restraints. It was too late. When I began sweating, it was already too late. I was no longer in control. It was a full moon. It was a full After the sweating starts, thick hair begins to escape through my pores and all over my body. It covered me. As my mane grew, my pretty pink fingernails elongated into sinister, black, knife-like claws. My hands and feet stretched and gnarled into huge paws.

My spine started to curve and protrude, almost through my skin. It forced me to crawl onto all four. Then the most painful part of the transformation. My face. The hair itched and my claws and spine hurt, but nothing like the burning sensation that ravaged my face and head. My ears would pull and extend, growing into points, my nose and mouth elongated into a snout.

It felt like an unseen force was pulling and manipulating my bones into my wolf shape. It burned. But the worst pain was always inside my mouth. My teeth were pulled and forced through my gums, forming razor-sharp fangs. My tongue is jerked out and stretched to match the length of my snout. I can feel the muscles of my body in wolf form pump with blood. I am a werewolf. I have been since I was six years old.

I heard Michael screaming just as my form was complete. I don't know what happened after I'd. transformed. Honestly, I never knew what happened even on normal nights after my transformation. I always woke up in the cage as a human and still captive in my chains. No memory of what would happen after the full transformation. The only clue was my torn pajamas and maybe some bent cage bars. I would wake up starving. But everyone was always safe. However, this morning when I awoke on the basement floor, I was covered in blood. The walls were dripping and splattered dark red, like a painting by Pollock.

Next to me lay what was left of the mangled, mutilated, and disemboweled bodies of my mother, father, and Michael. I know you walked into a ghastly and gruesome sight, Officer. I'm so sorry. I tried to cover their bodies as best I could. It just seemed more. respectful. As for the missing body parts, I can only assume. After I covered my family and best friend, I apologized and paid my respects. I took a shower and packed a bag. I was not kidnapped and

no one else was involved. However, by now I am far away from this place. I know you are obligated to look for me, but I wish you would not. I am searching for more like me. A wolf pack, I guess you would call it. If you do come for me, be prepared with an army of silver bullets. Those folklore stories are true. And if you do find me, shoot me with as many of those silver bullets as possible. I did not mean to kill or hurt anyone.

And I will never return. I hope I can be forgiven. Sincerely, Madison Moore. If you or anyone you know has any information about the whereabouts of Madison Moore, please contact the Texas State Police Department at 512-6-9-2-9-2-4. For your bonus episode, creepy presents. My neighbor built a bull. I used to describe my neighbor Tim as a bit of a know-it-all.

you know the kind sort of guy who always knows best or that he can do better it was some kind of engineer who always seemed to have a new hobby I don't know if it was a matter of him getting bored easily or just thinking that he was better than everyone else but as soon as he'd hear that someone was doing something all of a sudden he'd be doing the same thing when Jerry said he was building the fire pit Tim built an entire patio.

When Wendy moved in and had this really big Christmas display or first year in the neighborhood, Tim built an entire freaking holiday village the next year. Even got on the local news for it. So when Drew said he was getting into metalworking after binging that knife-forging show, you better believe all of a sudden there was a furnace glowing in Tim's backyard within the week.

To his credit, he was really good at whatever he put his mind to. He started making knives that he sold at a local barbecue supply store. Tim was married, but didn't have kids. So COVID was all about him doing one thing after another to show off and not be bored. My wife told me there were rumors around that his wife was getting pretty bored too with him being interested in everything other than her, if you know what I mean. So when I got really into watching videos on smoking brisket and pork shoulder and decided to do it right in order it. a Yoder Y-S-640 smoker, momentarily getting the attention of the barbecue fans in the neighborhood. What do you think happened?

Labor Day weekend, I was out smoking some ribs and having a beer on my deck when Tim wanders over. He didn't say anything. Just looked at the smoker like he was an ocean inspector. Started asking me questions about fuel, temperature, all that stuff that I was still learning myself. After about ten minutes, a guy had the gall that just scoffer. and say you could make something better before walking back down the street. That's just the sort of guy he was. So it didn't bother me.

Not too much. There are guys out there who talk a big game and never do anything about it. But if Tim said he was going to do something, you better believe he was going to do it. Suddenly that forge was glowing with a new goal. A guy spent all night out there, I swear. No idea when he was sleeping. He'd get home and fire that forge up right away. You can imagine that his wife was looking to light her own fire during all that.

Some guys, I swear, I don't get their priorities. So anyway, one day I started hearing some of the guys mention that Tim's making a statue, which confused the hell out of me since I hadn't seen him finish the smoker he claimed could outdo my yoder, which I knew he couldn't do anyway, but I would still try to claim was better. So a couple of us wandered over one night, beers in hand, all casual like, to see what he's up to. And sure enough, son of a bitch is out there, welding mask on, making what looks like a damn bull. I shit you not. Thing was as big as the real thing, too.

Didn't know what to make of it. Till Drew, who's the association president, asked what was going on. Tim didn't even look at any of us. Just said as a matter of fact as could be. building a smoker. Not sure which of us said it was a bull, but Tim just dismissed it. Saying just making some drum smoker be too easy. Claim that the damn thing was actually a smoker and he'd prove it.

Said he was going to have a going away party for the neighborhood and fire the thing up, which was the first any of us heard about him moving away. But sure enough, the next day there's a for-sale sign in the yard, and we all figured he was finally on the outs with the wife, and they were moving on to do their own things. It seemed like a good idea if you ask me. More people should get divorced before they bring kids into things, especially in this case.

So, we all get these paper invites in our mailbox about a week later inviting us over that weekend. No one much knows what to make of it. There weren't any details on the invite, so we didn't know if it was B-Y-O-B or potluck or whatever. We were planning on bringing some chips and top the tater, I'd never been to a party that wasn't happy to see a tub atop the tater on the table. Makes me feel bad for people who ain't had it before.

Then that afternoon, we start to hear this weird sound. At first, it kind of sounded like a tornado siren way out in the distance. That low kind of whale, or maybe a steam whistle. Didn't take long to realize it was coming from Tim's backyard. Saw a bunch of us walked over to see what was going on. Didn't look like there was going to be a party. No lawn chairs set up, no tables, no cornhole, nothing. Just that bull.

When I say bull, I mean bull. None of us had really seen them finishing it up, but I'll be damned if it wasn't almost a spitting image that bull they got down on Wall Street in New York City. Not as big, but detailed, and a damn work of art if you ask me. The thing was standing over Tim's foot. pit with this real blaze burning away under it.

And we see steam or smoke or something coming out of the horns. That's what's making the noise. Honestly, if Tim wasn't such a prick, I'd have been more inclined to sing his praises about what he'd made. Not that it would have mattered, because Tim wasn't anywhere to be seen. I mean gone. We looked in the windows,

and it looked like the house had mostly been cleaned out. There was a dumpster in the driveway with a bunch of furniture thrown. into it. Mostly it looked like he'd moved out overnight, but no one could quite understand why he wasn't around to bask in his glory. We could all smell the meat and the smoke or cooking. Why the hell would the guy start a barbecue then just leave? Took us a few minutes to find the hatch on the bottom of the bowl to see what he'd been cooking. Ain't none of us going to be the same again either. Found out why we hadn't seen the misses in a while. Guessing whatever else the police pulled out at the inside of that bull had to bend who she'd been stepping out with.

I guess he was a history fan, too. At some point turned his smoker into what they called a brazen bull. Must have taken hours for him to die in there. Maybe all night. All the while, their screams twisted through these tubes that led out to the bull's horns, making it sound like the bull was bellowing. Instead of being able to hear the screams, are the people cooking alive inside.

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