Creepy - Day 14 - My House told me to throw a Halloween Housewarming Party & I Watch Too Many Horror Movies

Episode Date: October 14, 2022

My House told me to throw a Halloween Housewarming Party***Written by: Jay Hewitt and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***Content Warning: Suicide***I Watch Too Many Horror Movies***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 biopicions, Silence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. The 31 Days of Horror. Day 14. My house told me to throw a Halloween housewarming party. Written by Jay Hewitt. Then narrated by Heather Thomas. As I laid on the cool concrete floor of my basement,

I took a deep breath and stared intently at the floor. floorboards in the ceiling. I still had about 20 more minutes until they would get here. I breathed a long sigh of relief. Moving boxes still littered the dimly lit room that was otherwise empty, except for the washer and dryer illuminated in the corner. It smelled so musty and damp down here, I thought. There was a small puddle of water forming on the floor of the opposite wall, which the realtor said only happens when it rains for long periods of time. In the two months I've been here, though, that proved to be quite the exaggeration, as tonight was only a light drizzle.

The realtor also said that the last owner died in the house, but didn't really want to go into specifics. So, here I was in a dead person's house with a giant puddle of water in the basement. But I didn't mind it, because it was my dirty water puddle. Besides, the rain brought along with it some nice cool air that made tonight feel like a perfect October evening. It's all going so well, I thought. The perfect party and the perfect house. I had only been here a few months, but everything was coming together so well, and I owed it all to this house.

Thank you, house, I said aloud. The dryer popped open its door and told me I was welcome, and that none of this would be possible had it not been for me. I loved the conversations we had together. Our plans together? The dreams we shared. I smiled as I reminisced. It all started this past summer when my boyfriend had committed suicide. For whatever reason, suicide seemed to follow me like a sickness I could not get rid of.

My father hung himself in my closet when I was ten. I actually found him like that, swinging naked back and forth, in front of my old dollhouse that I had tucked away, along with my hopes of ever actually living in a home like that. I had never seen anyone's face look so blue before, so devoid of life. I wonder what happened to that old dollhouse, I thought. Then when I was 12, I had an aunt commit suicide using an oven.

At the time I thought that meant she had cooked herself, and I remember staying up long hours of the night in the following months, imagining how daunting of a task that would be for oneself. The irony of it was that my aunt always made the best food whenever we had our holiday get-togethers. They stopped shortly after that, though. But it didn't end there. When I was 20, my college roommate had supposedly cut her wrists in the bathtub while home on spring break. That one always baffled.

me, because Cassie was always immeasurably happier than I ever was. I had always hated the outpouring of love that everyone at the school had for that. People who barely knew her posting about how tragic a loss it was and how they were such good friends. What a crock of shit, I spat. After I graduated with my nursing degree, I moved back home only for my mother to pass away. Cancer, not suicide. Though I always wondered if the latter option would have been more convenient.

When I met Scott, I knew that he had dark thoughts, and I think that my past experience in dealing with suicide somehow comforted him. In the year we were together, we would sometimes stay up lying in bed together, talking about the best ways to do it. But I never thought he actually would, until he did, of course. Funny, I thought. He never once mentioned shooting himself in the head. It just seemed, I don't know, too simple for him.

Anyways, that's when I had to get out of there. I took whatever money that I had received from selling my parents' old home, and everything else that was left for me, and I left to find my dream home. When I first moved here, I found a job as an ICU nurse at the hospital not too far from my new home. my coworkers were nice enough. If I had to call any of my co-workers a friend, the closest one I guess would be Ashley.

She was a much better nurse than I was, which was totally unfair because she was also way prettier than me. Alyssa and Jen told me that she had already slept with four different doctors who worked at the hospital, as if that was part of the job or something. They had invited me out on a couple of occasions, but I would tell. never go. I would just tell them that I had to continue settling into the new house, which wasn't entirely untrue. After all, it was a fairly large, albeit old house, that had a lot of areas to fix up. The main thing that drew me into this house was the large wraparound port. It reminded me of

that dull house. I was told, however, that the wood had not been replaced since the house was built in the 40s, and that some of the wood was at risk of falling through. But I saw potential in it. The rest of the house was just as old-looking, but I was confident I could fix everything up. The fireplace was covered in black sot. The ugly pink wallpaper in the bathroom was peeling away. The bathtub was a pale pink porcelain with cracks spiraling every which way. In fact, just about everything looked like it need to be replaced, fixed, or painted, except for the brand new washer and dryer in the basement. It wasn't until a couple weeks ago when the house first started to talk to me.

At first I was terrified. I had just worked a particularly brutal shift where I had to deal with the patient with a gunshot wound, and my scrubs were still covered in blood. It was around two in the morning when I had just stripped the scrubs off my aching body and threw them into the washing machine. When I started the machine, however, I heard a loud groan from all around me, causing me to scream and cover up my bare breasts. When I looked around the empty basement, nobody was there. Suddenly I heard another noise. This time it was a deep, bellowing voice that slowly whispered. More. That had caused me to run upstairs and directly out the front door, thinking that there was someone in my house.

When I stepped onto the porch, however, I immediately stopped and stared down at the porch in amazement as a circle about the size of a tire looked brand new. As if the wood had gone back in time, almost 80 years. When I finally mustered the courage

to go back into my house, I went into the basement to check on the laundry, which was when I heard it again. This time, I wasn't nearly as afraid. I was curious even. More what? I asked, having no idea where to face as I replied. Blood. Get me more blood. The house cried out. Why? I asked.

A few moments passed until suddenly I saw the dryer machine door open and close, like a mouth as it spoke to me. Feed me what I desire, and you shall have what you desire. With each drop of blood you feed me, I will become younger and more beautiful for you. A wave of calmness, and what even felt like excitement overtook me. I had almost forgotten what that had felt like. How? How do I get you what you want?

After another slight pause, the house let out a deep laugh and then replied. A house-warming party. Fill me with blood, and I will shine for you like new. As I continued to lay on the floor, I ran over the house's plan in my head. Everything was perfect, I thought. As soon as I looked up my clock, I heard the doorbell chime from upstairs. They were here. I got up and ran up the old creaky stairs and into my kitchen,

where a myriad of snacks, liquor, and board games covered the grimy counter. I smiled as I went over and slightly adjusted the bowl of red punch so it wasn't too close to everything else. As I moved the punch bowl a few inches to the right, the fake plastic eyeballs I had thrown in there to match the Halloween theme, bobbed around the red liquid and clinked together. Perfect. I thought. Then I ran into the bathroom and took one last look at my costume in the dirty-cracked

mirror. It wasn't too elaborate a costume. I was just a zombie, but the makeup I had done actually turned out quite horrific. Besides, it wasn't like I had to really impress anyone. The house suggested I invite over my coworkers since I really didn't have any friends here yet. After having initially objected to that idea, the house and I ultimately agreed that I would invite a few of my co-workers and that I should tell them it's for a housewarming Halloween party. The house then gave me very specific instructions, which I had followed to a tea, or at least hopefully I did. The doorbell rang again followed by a knock on the door. As I walked towards the front door, I heard the house whisper to me through the vent. I opened the door and put on my

best fake smile as I greeted each of the three girls that entered. The first girl to come in was Ashley, Miss fucking perfect. As she greeted me, she hugged me as if we had been best friends, and also handed me a bottle of wine, which she said was a housewarming gift. Unsurprisingly, Ashley wore one of those slutty little nurse costumes, which barely covered her ass and made her boobs pop out. She asked me if any guys were coming tonight. Um, yeah, later. My boyfriend is showing up in an hour or so, and he's bringing a bunch of his friends.

She gasped and said she had no idea that I had a boyfriend. I didn't. The other two girls, Alyssa and Jen, were dressed as Dr. Seuss's Thing One and Thing Two, and were awkwardly waiting in the doorway while I finished faking my pleasantries with Ashley. as they walked in, I could tell by their scrunched noses and curled lips that they were judging my house, even though they both said that they loved it. It's a work in progress, I said.

I've got some work to do, but it will keep looking better and better. They nodded in unison as they continued making their disgusted look as they walked towards the kitchen. I heard a light whisper through the vent. "'Soon,' I answered. After the girls heard me and said what was soon, I hesitated and struggled to think of a response. "'Oh, um, the guys, they'll be here soon.' Ashley smirked and made a comment about which one she would be fucking tonight,

and the other two laughed. I laughed along as I ushered them over to the punchbowl, and assured them that it was very strong, that it tasted good. They each poured themselves a cup, and when they looked at me, I was already opening the wine bottle Ashley had brought me, and I said I was good with this for now. Then, like good little whores,

they raised their cups together and chugged every last drop. A large smile grew across my face, which they must have seen, because Thing One asked what I was so happy about. I couldn't believe it was really that fucking easy. I responded with a laugh. Almost immediately I could see it beginning to set into their faces. Their hands began to shake and their knees buckled.

Thing two asked what kind of alcohol was in the punch. I laughed again. Just a little bit of vodka, you lightweights. Oh, and cyanide. Lots of cyanide. I looked over at Ashley who was trying to hold herself up as she leaned over the counter and began violently shaking and making a beautiful gurgling sound. Oh my God, I think you're having a seizure.

Oh, no. Is there a nurse in the house? I laughed. Joking. We're all nurses. I decided to sit down and wait for the spectacle to be over, which only took a few moments. Once they all finished moving around, I looked up at the vent. Okay, what now?

Feed them. The house echoed back. Time for the hard part. I got up, pulled a dirty blue tarp out from the closet, and laid it on the floor next to their motionless bodies. One by one, I rolled a girl onto the tarp and dragged it across the hallway, until the body slid and clunked down the creaking basement steps. Finally, all three bodies were in the basement.

Before I continued, I went back up to the kitchen and poured myself a tall glass of wine as I looked through Ashley's purse. A phone, a shit ton of makeup, and a pack of cigarettes were all that was in there. What the hell, I thought. I took out a cigarette and went to light it. But when I did, the house made a beckoning growl and blew out the lighter. Fine. No smoking in the house, I said. you win. I then took a long swig of the cheap, buttery-tasting wine

as I pulled the meat cleaver out of the kitchen drawer. And here I thought I would never use this thing. I was shocked how hard it was to chop up these scrawny little arms and legs. I had lost count of the number of hacks I put into Ashley's arm, but by the time I had finally gotten it free, my shoulder was on fire. Before too much blood could spurred out, the dryer opened up in two rows of large, jagged fangs pierced through the dryer's mouth, and a slimy black tongue, which I could

only describe as an octopus tentacle, reached out, and wrapped its way around the arm as it pulled it into its mouth. Fuck, should I really be doing this? The door closed as the dryer's tongue pulled the arm in as the dryer turned on and began spinning around, while blood splattered against the little glass window in the center. I couldn't watch, and my stomach churned like the inside of the dryer as I turned away. As I looked away, though, I noticed that the large puddle of water in the corner was gone. Could it really be?

I got up and ran over to the spot. Nothing. It was working. In fact, as I looked up, I could even see some resemblance of a ceiling, where before there was pipes and two-by-fours. The pain in my arm went away as I hurried back over to the bodies. The house demanded more blood. The house demanded to be fed.

I continued the process of chopping away at arms and legs and heads, and the dryer continued to slink out its black suction-cup tongue and chew away and spin around and chew away some more. The more I hacked away, the more I could see my dream house coming to life. By now, the basement was completely finished, and it was how I had always pictured it. With the little amount of strength I had left in me, I stood up and ran up the stairs. They don't creak anymore, I shouted. The kitchen was absolutely stunning.

A large granite-top island sat magnificently in the center of the kitchen, where ceiling lighting glistened off the brand-new refrigerator and oven. Behind the oven was the most beautiful backslash I had ever seen. Even the musty smell was gone, and in its place I could smell pine-sall and lavender. I couldn't contain my laughter. I ran over to the bathroom and shrieked in excitement as five large light bulbs lit up the bathroom vanity. To the left was a shower fit for a king. I turned on the shower and, like, a hard rainwater began falling from the ceiling

and ran perfectly through the drain without the slightest hesitation, where before the shower had easily clogged. The porch, I thought. Oh my God, I can't wait to see the porch! Thank you, house! Thank you! As I ran to the front door, I tried turning the gorgeous diamond-shaped knob, but it was locked. I pushed and pulled harder, but the door would not budge.

Then I heard it, the house said. Are you sure? I asked. I looked over at the punch bowl. I... I guess I could. As I drank the punch, I took another long look at my dream house before I tried the front door again. It was unlocked.

As I opened the door, I realized that my house was being swallowed by a massive shadow being cast by a giant monster-sized leg, gently swinging back and forth in front of my porch. I stepped out onto the porch as my knees began to shake and buckle from under me. It really was my perfect dream home, I thought. Just like my dollhouse I had when I was a kid. I smiled and felt a warm sensation overtake me. People would die for a house like this. For your bonus episode, creepy presents.

I watched too many horror movies written by some guy. I was working at my desk when my wife called. Grandma died was all she said. Her voice choked with tears. I said all the things I thought I was supposed to say. At 95, my wife's grandmother was her last remaining grandparent, and had been in frail health since I'd met her a decade prior. My wife had family members die in the past, but none since we'd met.

So I wasn't exactly sure how she dealt with death. I asked if there was anything I could do. Through sniffles, she said no. And as the hours went by and plans were made, I got time off from work to attend the visitation and the funeral. It's been about 12 years since the last time I was at a funeral. At that time it was a friend who had died in a car accident and had been a close casket at the wake. So it was jarring to see the still body of her grandmother lying there in the open coffin of the funeral home.

My wife's face immediately dropped and her eyes welled with tears. I reached around her, hugging her gently, and her head rested on my shoulders. She cried softly. We stood there looking down at the body. Well, I were looking down at the body. I don't know why. I really can't figure it out beyond watching too much TV or too many horror movies. But I couldn't stop looking at her chest or her hands folded across her stomach.

I kept waiting to see them move. I kept looking at them as if to see some slightest twitch. Like what you see in the movies when an actor is trying desperately hard. to stay motionless and convey death. Then that's when I saw it. I think. I stared at the white dress she'd been laid down in and saw it rise and fall ever so slightly.

That's wrong. There was no way. I kept staring. Even as my wife started to pull away to go sit with her family. My body turned with her, but my head rotated, trying to focus. It was an episode of, She wasn't just going to sit up.

It was just a trick of my eyes. Maybe gases or something that build up after death causing the slightest emotions. She was 95. There had been an autopsy. We sat there as the family talked, but I didn't hear any of it. My instinct was to walk up to the casket and drop down to my knees to get a better angle and make sure it was a mistake. The morbid curiosity that was so much. curiosity that was so abhorrent in my own mind that I cursed a collection of horror movies I had at home.

We left, and I put it from my mind. For some reason, I thought she was going to be cremated, but then at the funeral, another open casket. Rosary in her hands now. Something one of her children had found in her room at the nursing home and thought she should be buried with. During the service, I couldn't stop staring at her. My mind's active enough, so the scenes played out in rapid succession. Stories about people waking up with their own funerals only to die of a heart attack. Hands knocking on casket lids during burial.

Morticians telling bells to the toes of corpses just in case it got buried alive. There was one last moment for everyone to walk by, and I leg behind. I know I'm a horrible person, and I don't know why I do these things be on. on some obsessive compulsion. But that was the last one to go by the coffin. I gently whispered her name. Rose, this time, I know I saw her hand-tighten her on the rosary.

I grabbed my wife, whispered to her what I saw, and the look she gave me to one I'll never forget. And one I'll never forgive myself for. She looked back at her grandmother and didn't say a word to me the rest of the day. or the day after that. Even after her grandmother had been laid to rest in the ground, dirt thrown atop the casket, a handful at a time by loved ones.

A few days later, the guilt of it all weighed on me enough that I felt like I needed to make some sort of gesture. I don't know what I believe as far as the afterlife. But if there is something, I know I want to be on the good side of it. So I went back to the cemetery to lay some flowers on Roos Grays. even apologize for how I acted. If not for my wife, then for me.

I stood at the grave, the new headstone, the dozens and dozens of flowers. And I apologized. Bruce, I'm so sorry. I heard footsteps in the distance and turned my head to see a man I assume to be a caretaker walking among the graves, cleaning up some stray trash. He didn't seem to notice me until he was just having to have. 10 feet away. Sorry for your loss, he said.

You can? Sort of. My wife's grandma. His brow twitched in a confused sort of way. You too close? No, I said. Not really. I just...

I paused, feeling so stupid. But almost being glad to say it out loud so I could just get the stupid out of me. I acted like an idiot at the funeral. I thought I saw her hand move and she's dead and I feel like an idiot and just wanted to apologize. He gave me a sideways sort of look. I know, I said. It's stupid. She ain't dead.

He said as a matter of fact as if you just told me it was raining. What are you talking about? We buried her. Twice, actually, he said. buried her for you all and then I'd go about and fill the hole again yesterday. Happened sometimes. Something gets in him. It gets mad about something.

You need to do something. They'll find her eventually when she decides she's got it all done. News will overlook at Davis' funeral, home error or something. People always covering their tracks, making sure no one knows for sure what really happens. "'None wants to think the other thing. "'But it happens. "'I stood there, dumbstruck, "'as he took a few steps away and stopped.

"'He looked back over his shoulder with a crooked smile "'before saying, "'you watch too many horror movies. "'I wanted to smile or laugh or something, "'but the guy had terrified me. "'And I didn't really want to admit "'that he got me so badly "'when I was already feeling like a fool.

"'By the time I got home, "'I couldn't help but smile "'at the old caretaker who got his job, he's in on the idiot who thought he saw a corpse move until I walked in my front door and saw the rosary hanging from the doorknop. The rosary, I'm sure, Ruth had been buried with. I'd been too preoccupied at the funeral to pay attention to it. I hadn't recognized it until that very moment. It wasn't her rosary, not one that anyone had found or given to her at least. It was our nanny's rosary.

The one I had seen all those nights prior. Swing gently in the moonlight when my wife was out of town. There's no answer when I try to call the nanny. And I haven't seen her since before the funeral. I'll never sleep again. 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.

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