Creepy - Day 14 - Rolling Down in the Deep & Don't Buy Flash Drives From Garage Sales

Episode Date: October 14, 2025

Rolling Down in the Deep***Written by: Desiree Horton and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***Don't Buy Flash Drives From Garage Sales***Written by: Sean Roberson***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***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.

Creepy presents the 31 days of horror. Day 14. 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. Hello, Megan.

It looks like you were the first person to sign up to talk about your dream. How are you doing today? I'm okay. My dream just got to me. What about it made you feel uncomfortable? It's just that I wasn't in the dream. It was like I was just there to me. to watch it. Ah, yes. Another patient was recently mentioning the same thing. Who? No, Megan. You know that I can't share details like that. But I'll tell you what I told them. The reason for having a dream like

you did could be for any number of reasons. Processing trauma, projection of self, dissociation, symbolic storytelling or simply observer mode. This could indicate a shift in conscious awareness, like stepping back from your ego to observe events more objectively. This is your mind's way of prompting questions like, what am I being shown here? Or what is my role as an observer? Oh, so what is my dream trying to tell me?

It would help if you, told me your dream first. Oh, yes, of course. It was about rolling down in the deep. It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Simone said. Lily insisted it was true, claiming her brother had seen one, and that she had heard them herself, pointing to the circular sewer grate in the backyard.

No way I'm sticking my ear on that thing, it's dirty. Earwigs will probably crawl in there and eat my brain or something. Simone said, crossing her arms across her chest. Lily maintained her seriousness, reiterating that her brother had indeed seen one. The girls played silently for a few more minutes, throwing their tennis ball into each other's Velcro mitts

with a loud rip-thwack, rip-thwack, sound until Simone finally broke the silence. Where did he see it? She asked softly. Lily's eyes glittered as she ran toward Simone, as if she couldn't wait to share the secret with her. She went on to tell Simone that he was walking down Cherry Street on the sidewalk. There was one of those big sewer grates that your mom always says to watch out for because your shoe will get stuck.

It was in one of those. He saw it swim past after that big rain last month, looked him right in the eye. Her brother doesn't walk down Cherry Street anymore. He's too scared. Simone knew Lily's brother. He was an asshole. The thought of him being too scared to walk down Cherry Street gave her a bit of satisfaction. and gave credence to Lily's story, as far-fetched as it seemed.

Everyone had heard rumors of alligators in the sewers, and the kids all talked about it at school, right up there with Bigfoot, Mothman, and the Watchers in the woods. California was rife with urban legends, and none were very believable, in Simone's opinion. But it was almost Halloween, and knowing someone who had actually seen the rumored creature was different. Simone narrowed her eyes at Lily. It doesn't make sense, though. What can they eat down there? How can they live? Lily shrugged and suggested that they go get popsicles.

The girls ran inside to get otter pops from the freezer and spent the rest of the afternoon playing Donkey Kong until Simone's mother got home and Simone left for dinner. She knew it was silly, but couldn't stop thinking about it during dinner. Her brain kept turning over and over, coming back to it. She didn't think she quite believed it, but it was something she couldn't let go of. After dinner, she sat outside with her mother on the porch,

enjoying the cool down that the evening brought, her mother with a glass of wine, and Simone with a squeeze-it and some beef jerky. After a little while, Simone's mother went back inside for more wine, leaving Simone alone, staring at the sewer grate at the end of their yard. Before she knew what she was doing, she was walking down to the grate,

beef jerky, and juice in hand, determined to prove Lily wrong. She squatted down on the ground and took the biggest piece of beef jerky out of her bag. She rolled it into a jerky tube and, using a small stone, wedged it in the grate, dangling over the darkness below. She listened for a moment, but heard nothing. She heard the porch door slam and her mother called her name. She ran back up the yard to the porch, ignoring the questioning look from her mother, and settled down next to her again.

Her eyes trained on the sewer grill. She saw no movement the rest of the night and resignedly went to bed. The next morning, she got ready for school as normal, the sewer not entering her thoughts once. Until she walked down the driveway toward the bus stop, her eyes fell upon the drain once more. Curious, she shuffled toward it, knowing she only had an extra moment before she would need to run to the bus stop. The jerky was gone. Surprised, she tried to peek down past the darkness, listening to the faint trickle of water and nothing else. That's something taken it?

Maybe a raccoon or something walked over it and noticed the treat and pulled it out. This didn't really prove anything, right? She heard the bus accelerating down the road and promptly ran to the stop, arriving only a second before the bus did. All day, her brain whirled with the possibilities, waffling between belief and disbelief. Ultimately, she decided she needed a better test, and she had just the idea. She could hardly contain herself on the bus home from school. She rode bikes with Lily after school until her mother came home, ignoring Lily's strange looks and complaints about her not listening.

She would make it up to her later when she had some real evidence to show her. While her mother was cooking dinner, Simone snuck a hot dog out of the fridge and took a needle and spool of thread out from her mother's sewing box and tiptoed outside. The street lights were just beginning to come on, and the street was strangely desolate, perfect for Simone's plan. She threaded the needle and pushed it through the hot dog,

then she dangled it gently a few inches down the drain, and tied the string to the grate. Good luck to any raccoon that could swipe this one. Now she would know for sure if something was living in the sewer. On her way out the door in the morning, barreling toward the sewer grill before she bolted to the bust, She stood panting over it, squinting into the dark. There was nothing.

No string. No hot dog. Nothing. She let out a triumphant whoop and ran to the bus stop. She couldn't wait to tell Lily all about it. Depressingly, Lily didn't seem to put much stock in her hot dog story. Her apparent fascination with this phenomenon was done. She wanted to talk about the latest Freddy Kruger movie that she had hidden on the stairs while her parents watched,

so that she could give Simone the full scoop. Lily, something is really down there. Your brother wasn't lying. Lily looked up, annoyed. She mentioned that her brother had told her yesterday that he was lying and was just trying to scare her. Simone didn't know how to respond. It just didn't make sense.

There was something in the sewer. What else could have taken the hot dog from the inside? The rest of the bus ride was quiet, with Simone sitting dejectedly, and Lily talking her ear off about Freddy ripping his way out of some lady's stomach with his claws. She wasn't sure what to do next. She wanted to prove what was in there, see what it was for herself. But how?

She spent the rest of the afternoon brooding until it was time for her to go home. Her mother even noticed her foul mood and sent Simone to her room, rather than have her sit in a sulk on the porch with her for the evening. After Simone's mother had gone to bed, she slipped downstairs to sit out on the porch. It was a warm evening and she couldn't sleep. She began to feel a bit better, like she could pull this whole thing out of her mind.

If Lily said her brother was lying, then maybe the hot dog fell off or something. She watched absently as a stray cat, strutted languidly down the road, weaving between litter on the sidewalk and the weeds that force their way through the cracks, living out of sheer spite in the fading but still blistering California heat,

The cat, a large tabby with lovely green eyes, wandered towards Simone's driveway. She hoped he would stay for a minute. He looked like the talking cat from outer space that she had seen in an old movie on television last summer. As if reading her thoughts, the cat settled at the end of the yard, sitting near the sewer grate, staring up at Simone and flicking his tail, back and forth slowly. It dipped down between the metal bars and back up, down and back up. Simone tiptoed down the stairs toward him. She could never pass up an opportunity to pet a cat.

The creature watched her with glowing eyes as she walked slowly down the yard toward it, trying not to spook it. The tabby meowed gently at Simone, and she smiled. Suddenly, the cat jerked backward with a halacious yowl, screeching, belly up on top of the sewer cover. Simone covered her ears, trying to block out the ear-splitting noises coming from the cat. Simone realized he was stuck. His back end wedged between the metal bars. She ran toward him, trying to help him, pull him out, or calm him or something, anything

to get that terrible noise to stop. She reached out her hands to try to grab hold of him, his body more than halfway between the bars, holding on for dear life with his little paws. She hesitated when she saw two flashes beneath it and heard the rumble of a deep growl. Something was there. Just beneath the metal, long, sharp teeth clamped on the cat's tail. Before she could think, the cat let out a yowl cut short, and then he was gone. Simone heard a splash, and then nothing more.

She was too shocked to scream. Her chest stuck like she had the wind knocked out of her. Shaking, she peered down into the blackness. Two blazes of fiery orange shone back at her. She willed her feet backward, her hands stuck over her mouth, just in case the scream should try to creep out. She backed up until she was back to the stairs at her porch, and only then did she peel her eyes away from the grate and bolt back into the house, slamming the screen door and not caring. She ran back up to her bed and threw herself under the covers. She lay there under the covers, shaking, afraid to blink.

When her mother came to wake her up in the morning and found her pale and she, she lay there under the covers, shaking, shaking, afraid to blink. shivering, she had to stay home from school, thinking she must be ill. Simone didn't say a word. Felt like she couldn't. She knew the cat's death had been her fault. Hadn't she been feeding the creature, showing it where the food hung out? She couldn't get the sounds out of her head. That night they did not go sit on the porch, and her mother skipped her usual glass of wine. Instead, they settled on the couch with the television on. Simone with her head on her mother's lap and her mother stroking her hair. Her mother wasn't sure what was wrong with Simone, but she knew the girl hadn't been this clingy since she was a toddler. She didn't mind,

though, she found that she missed it. After a stirring episode of Rescue 911, the news came on. A very square-looking female newscaster with a vibrant yellow jacket came on, reporting on the day's news very seriously. Simone was almost asleep, finally beginning to doze after what had felt like an eternity. Something the woman said made her eyes snap open. She gripped her mother's leg fiercely as she focused on what the newscaster was saying, her stomach a pit of dread. Two county sanitation workers are missing after failing to return from their routine sweep. Police are working with the department to send a search party during daylight hours. Residents in the neighborhood where the workers were last seen reported strange noises,

even screams coming from beneath the manhole cover on Cherry Street. The sanitation department has declined further comment, pending their ongoing investigation. Simone's mother, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, wondered if her husband was on that crew. Horrified, Simone grabbed her mother's arm. What do you mean? she demanded. Her mother explained that it was her father's week with the volunteer fire department, which also led the local search and rescue efforts. Simone felt weak as her mind struggled to process this information.

Her mother continued, musing that this was likely why he hadn't called to say goodnight yet. Well, what do you think it means? So, Megan, in your dream, Simone is the one doing the acting, the one feeding the sewer. But you're not her. You're watching her. That's important. Simone is your stand-in. The dream's way of showing you a part of yourself at a safe distance. She doubts, she tests, she awakens something.

By putting Simone in that position, your mind is letting you see what happens when doubt collides with curiosity. Without making you carry the risk directly. Megan, your dream doesn't want you to feel powerless. It wants you to see what happens. when you stop pretending the underground isn't there. Watching Simone is your way of practicing, of standing at the edge of the great without having to touch it yourself.

And the truth is, once you've witnessed that, you can never truly unsee it. So what do I do next? You wait, you listen. You feed your dreams and your psyche. only your attention. And in return, it will show you what it truly wants.

What does it truly want? We will find that out together in time. For now, just do your best not to dwell on the imagery and take solace in your progress. Thank you, doctor. I'm here to help. I'll see you later. What the hell is that?

Who are you? Tell them about your dream. They're here to help. Yes, this is you talking right now. I know you still can't remember what's happening, but you will soon. They're here to help. Just tell them your dream. My dream?

I, um... Okay. Not that it made any sense. It was like a warning. Don't buy flash drives from garage sales. I'm recording this on a voice memo so you can know what truly happened to me when they hand my phone over to family. Buddy, I think I'm going to die. Actually, if you're listening to this, I did.

I'm so scared, man. I really fucked up. But I don't want my death to be chalked up. to something unexplained or a freak B&E with a closed case. You need to know what happened to me. And I hope and pray that you never have to go through with this. Okay, Mike, deep breath. You don't have much time.

Okay, let me start from the beginning. And, Dio, I'm so sorry. You know how you like all that antique or vintage crap I'm always giving you shit for? Well, your birthday's coming up on the 13th, and I wanted to get you something really special that you'd love. Jesus. The 13th. Friday the 13th. In October.

A fucking apropos. Well, I went to several garage sales around the Vegas area and some other surrounding places in Henderson. I could have, and at this point should have, just did it virtually, but thought this would give the true authentic feeling. A lot of the garage sales had junk and just cheap broken crap people were trying to pawn off. But there were some goodies there. For instance, I found an old Polaroid camera. Like, this thing could have been the first Polaroid camera in existence. I hope the police give it to you if they haven't already.

I found some video game stuff at others, got some PS1 and Xbox games were crazy cheap. Old school games like Legacy of Kane, Soul Rever. or Silent Hill or Jade Cacoon, the story of Tamamayu. Games either I'd never heard of or thought you'd appreciate. I kept going with this until I'd amassed 17 items. After all, 17 presents for your 17th birthday seemed pretty fitting to me. I wanted it to be something you'd remember. Then I was leaving my last sale for the day with your 17th birthday gift already in hand.

It's a metal, double button, carbon microphone. You know, like the old ones that are in a circle? Yeah, pretty cool. And the guy selling it was just going to throw it away because he didn't know what it was. Anyway, while walking out, I saw a tiny flash drive sitting on the table with the word art written on it. Now, I know flash drives aren't the most retro thing. And, like, what would you even do with it? I thought why not?

I later discovered it was called the Lexar Jump Drive Firefly after some Googling and before I made the mistake of plugging it into my laptop. I asked the guy and he shrugged and said he'd never seen it before. Probably one of his great-grandkids, electric doohickeys, he said. And then I could just take it since I was leaving. I thought what a steal. Breaks your 17 presents budget, but I thought I'd lump up. it in with one of the other things as a bonus.

With all your newly acquired old stuff in the car, I headed back here and started making a game plan on how to give you everything. The entire car had I kept thinking of that flash drive. I hadn't used the flash drive in years ever since college and all mine were either trashed, lost, or just couldn't care to ever find them again with all the chemistry notes and slides I had on them.

It was weird. Like it plugged into my brain and wouldn't disconnect. I mean, shit. I almost re-rounded a young family in their minivan because I was so focused and thinking about the box and back seat that I didn't see the light change. I should have thrown it out the window right then and there as every hand from the family of four in front of me stuck their middle fingers high as they sped off after it turned green, jumped to my apartment. I made my last trip from the underground parking garage to my 14th floor apartment with all this stuff. Man, that chick gets heavy after a while. I was unpacking everything and setting up some items and nice present bags

or setting it aside to wrap for later. Sorry, none of them will be wrapped, Theo. My thoughts kept wandering, racing to something that I couldn't quite see. It was buzzing and shocking my cerebrum. Suddenly it felt like someone was putting nails through my brain and until they burst out the other side and hitting the pointed end back through. I closed my eyes and fell to my knees, ripping it my hair to make it stop like I needed to relieve the pressure.

On my knees, I reached from my TV table for purchase and to realign myself when I grabbed hold of something. Within an instant, the pain had stopped. The nails removed and replaced with a cooling calm. I opened my eyes and saw what I was holding. The flash drive Next thing I knew I was on the couch with my laptop in my lap Googling what kind of flash drive this was

The word art still peculiarly staring back at me with its red marked ink That's when I learned the name of it by the way And with all intents and purposes it was just an old flash drive That's it Nothing more, nothing less Oh but I was wrong You see, I knew I shouldn't have done what I did next, but the oddity of it all just caught up with me.

I mean, if you found something that had information, pictures, other lives on it, wouldn't you want to know too? Plus, it was going to be your present. What if it was something illegal on there or porn? I couldn't let you see that. I was just trying to be a good brother, man. Never since our uncle died, I just wanted to do. to give you the world.

I know he was there first when dad left and mom was just a pill-strunk husk. But that's just dredging up the past again. You know me. Anyway, I had to look. So I plugged it in. At first, nothing. No notification that something foreign was plugged in. No trigger from my antivirus that a Trojan was being uploaded.

No binary text box that I was being hacked. remotely. Nothing. I unplugged it and plugged it back in. It's still nothing. I went to File Explorer, then, this PC, and that's when I saw it. I clicked the flash drive icon and only one folder was there. Art. I double-clicked Art, which then led to 31 other folders all dated first through 31st of October in 1936. There was no way this flash drive was around at that point, obviously. So it had to been pictures, maybe, documents, articles. I really couldn't tell you just from seeing all that.

I hovered over the 26th and was about to click it when searing pain returned. The nails have been replaced with barbed wire wrapped around my thoughts. The prongs dug and tore at my mind like something using it as a saw. I screamed so loud my downstairs neighbor used a broom to hit their ceiling in my floor. My eyes involuntarily clamped shut and I put my palms deep on my temple and I hope to make it stop. A notification sound tore me out of the pain and caused the barbed wire to ease off. I opened my eyes to see a black text box on my computer now. Again, still no binary, but just one sentence.

Art is to be appreciated from beginning to end. Theo, you know how much I hate and despise horror. This is something out of one of your fucking horror movies or podcasts you listen to, and I wanted nothing to do with it. My mouth went instantly dry, croaking out a what-the-fuck to my empty apartment. Ever since Melissa left have been so lonely, Theo. I was going to ask you to move in with me too. I know it's not easy being back home since Unk died.

Mom was getting better too, but now... Sorry. I wanted to stop. I didn't want to do this. So I went to shut the laptop, but stopped myself when the barbed wire when my brain started piercing back in. It wouldn't let me stop.

My hand floated above the top of the laptop, and it just kept going, sawing and gnawing at me until I put my hand back on the mouse pad. The barbed wire released me from its grasp and the soothing calm embraced me once more. I don't know if it was just a pain subsiding or something else. I did as the text box said, and I opened the first day. October 1st, 1936 had one dot JPG inside of it with one dot MOV. The J-Pag was an old man, shirtless, and hunched over five square clay molds. I don't know.

It looked like clay. It was so thin it seemed his spine was going to rip out at any second. Ribs perfectly visible that you'd have thought he was dead. I closed the image and opened the movie. It was a 15-second soundless clip with the old man drawing something. But its camera got closer. The old man turned to face it and snarled. all this rotten old teeth as if he was hissing at the person.

Video ends and there was still the image of the decrepit old man, his frizzy curled gray hair, and showing off his dark eyes with that bentally abandoned mouth. My own mouth was agape. The hell did I get myself into? Or rather, what the hell was I forced into? God, you know, I didn't want to keep going. I really didn't.

But the alternative was going to be. be that pain. Whatever the fuck it was. Being torn at and ripped apart from inside my brain. I clicked the next day. October 2nd, 1936, this folder had five images in it, all depicting the start of the old man's art. The first image was of the same shirtless old man, this time standing in white stained underwear as if dirty mop water it embedded into the fabric.

He was covered in what seemed like clay or some other material of that nature. The next was of the molds, but all with one singular fist indenture in them. The other three were just of random tools like carpenter knives, a potter's wheel, and twine. Nothing was really too interesting. The next four days were all the same as that, too. The half-naked man in what seemed like screaming positions covered in a disarray of building materials, more random pictures of the artist's process with no real progress,

and then a picture of the house that I can only assume they were working in. I say they, but I never saw the man behind the camera, at least not this early on. The house was old, like seriously old, man. The pictures look new, but the house does look like something from 1936. The October 7th folder was when the arts started being built. There were two dot MOVs in there. No pictures.

I clicked the first one. God Theo, I wanted to vomit. It was the old man covered in blood. He was fully naked now. Face smeared with gore and blood. He had a heart in his hand. I couldn't tell what I was from, but it was big. He was licking it.

Blood was still pumping and oozing from the arteries. He splashed it on himself, on the clay, all over the room and the camera. He just laughed. That fucking laugh. He was cackling like a stark, raving mad man who just found the winning lottery ticket. Before the video ended, the man shoved the pumping heart into a mound of clay. My heart was beating through my chest. Please know more of this.

saying out loud, and as if in response, those barbed-wired thoughts seated deep in again. They poked and stabbed at parts of my brain. I didn't know I had. Then it was ripped away again. I didn't have to click the next video. It played automatically. The man was in his underwear again, dried blood still covering him. He was shaping thick, scaly legs on the mound that had the heart from the previous. his video forced into it.

The man would need the clay, play with it, reform it, hiss, and try again. If a chunk of clay fell off, he'd snatch it up and greedily eat it. What the fuck was this? I wanted it to end, but every time, every single fucking time, I would think of closing this or shutting the laptop. They're ripping, sawing, tearing of it all would come rushing back. I was on October 8th now And at that point

The folder was more pictures In fact the 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th Were all just pictures ranging from 2 to 8 pictures per folder Theo I wouldn't have wished these images on anyone I know you love horror You used to watch it so much at home I saw you watch people get disemboweled

Inviserated and blown up But this? This was worse. This was something being put together bit by bloody bit. It broke my mind. The images were of bones ranging in size and shape. Hip bones, jaw bones, chicken bones, skull pieces all laid out on a table and floor. Other pictures were of the bones being put into the clay,

forming nothing but protruding random sections of a macabre labixion. experiment. The other were more pictures of blood being poured all over the floor, and the old man doing what seemed like snow angels in it. He was enjoying the blood bath and bone crafts like a kid on winter breakwood. More pictures were candles and drawings on paper pinned to the floor and nailed to the walls. The drawings depicted strange symbols and shapes. All seemed to be the raving man's thoughts and ideas for his masterpiece. They made no sense. And if I stared too long trying to analyze them,

my eyes would feel as though they were filled with worms trying to seep through. My stomach finally couldn't hold itself in anymore, and I released a stream of vomit onto my couch, splash back going on my leg and into my shoe. I felt disgusting, mentally and physically. I had enough. The pain be damned, I had to end this.

I reached for the flash drive to yank it out of my laptop and reclaim the little sanity I had left. Big mistake. The second my fingertips touched the flash drive, the barbed wire disappeared and were replaced by thick, sharp jagged claws. You loved superhero things, bud, so think like Wolverine's claws from the X-Men, before they were at a manitiam. just jagged bones shooting from knuckles. That's what was going into my brain. It made it feel... I don't know how else to word it other than...

Full. I felt memories disappear in a second. My first pet. Was it a hamster? Where I went to school, my first kiss? They were all severed. Whatever this fucking flash drive was, it was madness incarnate. I'm becoming mad.

No longer trusting my own thoughts or memories. Even piecing this story back together for you, it's like seconds pass and I'm in a new place an hour away. Nothing makes sense. But one thing did. The pain. Dear Lord, Theo, the pain. I can't even begin to describe it. What I felt was what I imagined all those horror movie characters went through when someone smashed their head in.

The only difference was that mine was all inward. Nothing exploded out. More my brain was being blended, shaped, molded into something new. The 13th day. Your birthday, my brother. That day was the worst. It was one dot MOV file. longer than all the others.

This day, we finally saw the cameraman. The video started with a black screen. Within several seconds, the old man picks up the camera and points it directly at his face extremely close. His rotten teeth covered in blood and bits of something. It took up most of the screen. He was laughing, a high-pitched screech laugh. It was like he was the happiest he'd.

ever been. Finally, and for the first time, he spoke, one short, quick sentence. Art requires sacrifice. He turned the camera around to show who I can only presume was a cameraman. Chest ripped and splayed open, crucified to the clay. His hands were nailed to a T-frame post and his lower half was gone. Replaced with those scaly-looking legs as if they were his own, every rib of his was broken and pointed outward directly to the camera. All the organs had been removed except for his heart, lungs, and stomach, which all had large nails through them to keep them in place. His head, while with a gape, slumped forward like marveling at what he had become. The man started bouncing back and forth on each leg.

as the camera bounced along with him. Our ritualistic happiness oozed out of the camera. The still frame paused on that image, leaving me to stare at the gore all around, and the death of this man. Was he with the old man? Did he just make a really bad business decision? I don't know.

I just hope I don't go the same way he did. As you can imagine, the next ten days didn't get any better. I don't have much time now, but I need you to know. I need the world to know. Those ten days all showed more pictures and videos. The man throwing clay at the torso. Candles lit in a pentagram all around the art. Even a short video with the camera propped on a table

of the old man sawing his head off to make room for something else that will go there. He held the head up by the hair and kissed it before throwing it off screen. A sickening splat sound resounded has made contact with something. The zambified head having no chance of being preserved. Each day more was added to the art. Small, skinny arms, a curled and knotted tail, spike-like protrusions coming off the shoulders. It was starting to become whole, whatever it was.

The cameraman's ribs were now also covered with the clay too. as flesh does when it tries to heal over an open wound, all the organs still exposed. In one of the short clips, I swear to you that I even saw the heartbeat, one faint pump. Every time the thought of stopping this cropped up in my mind, even for the slightest second,

the claws would bury themselves back in. My hot tears hadn't stopped streaming down my face since day one. I didn't even think I had that many tears in me. Not ever since... That day? But what day? Theo, what day? On the 24th day, the folder had just one more dot-m-viana.

I played it. The video loaded to something even more strange. The camera was positioned on a tripod now, or so it seemed. The room was completely and utterly clear. clean. There wasn't a drop of blood nor any sign of gore. In fact, the room looked like a proper art studio with natural light pouring in from the roof. The candles were still there, as was the pentagram, and in the middle of the demonic circle was something covered as if showcasing the final product for the first time. The old man slowly walked on the screen, hair washed and combed

back, he was wearing a three-piece suit and looked like any other normal, wealthy, eccentric person would. Calmly he bowed and gestured to the covered art, bowed again, then ripped the sheet off. My fucking God, the offset the now completely cleaned in sanitary room stood the amalgamation, still dripping blood in white clay. It was beautiful. The details were divine. Every bit from the scaled legs, the small arms, the cameraman's chest,

were all in such fine detail that it was like seeing something in ultra-high definition, but in real life. An uncanny feeling washed over me. The head was covered in a potato sack, not revealing even a hint of what could be there. The old man bowed again and gave a short golf clap showing off his piece. Then, as if an idea popped into his head,

he leaned into his art, whispered something to the covered head and pointed at the camera. Theo, it moved. It fucking moved. The head raised ever so slightly to look head on right at the camera. The heart started beating. feeding feverishly, blood spurting out and into the clay, the lungs filling and deflating. With a smile, the man stepped back and off camera.

The video ended there, but I just stayed. Eyes locked on the potato sack now making what seemed like direct eye contact with me. After several minutes the pain came back and drew me out of my trance, as I clicked to go back to the other folders a new text. folders a new text box popped up onto my screen. Art requires more. Art requires flesh. After reading the last line, my lights flickered on and off rapidly until all but one blew out completely. Shards of bulb covered me in my apartment. The only light left on was one I'd never seen before, directly above me, cover me completely in this bathing orange hue. I clicked A-25.

One, JPEG was there. A single image. My apartment complex. If I had anything left in me, I would have screamed. But I couldn't. What was the point, Theo? I'm all alone. Who would I scream for?

What would I scream about? If the blood flowing through me hadn't already frozen over from fear, it would have at that point. The words flashed back in my brain this time. Art requires more. Art requires flesh. Flesh. It needed me. And I'm the only one who's ever seen this thing besides a cameraman and its creator.

I was the last material. I don't want to die, Theo. No. No, I want to die, Theo. But I don't want to become that. The claws came back as the thought of death being. my only way out, slithered out of my brain and into my head, picking up the box cutter I had on the table to open and cut cardboard for your presence.

I tried, bud. I tried, but pain from the claws were too much. It made me throw the box cutters across the room in one swift movement and open day 26, an image of inside my main complex, pointing at the stairs and elevator. I was begging. But my hands wouldn't respond anymore. The claws didn't pull out this time, like they were controlling me,

forcing me to do what it needed to be done. I clicked Day 27, an MOV file of a completely black screen, just laborous breathing in the soft bang of an elevator chiming its ascent. Another impale of the claws deeper. And day 28, a J-Pag of my floor's hallway, all light extinguished other than the one in front of my door. My fucking door, Theo. The pain swelled.

A crescendo like my brain was about to seep out of all the holes and I'd be left with a puddle here on my couch. Day 29 now appeared on my screen. A picture in my door. A tiny hand covering the peephole. It's outside the door, Theo. I can hear raspy people. Painful breaths.

The smell of rot and death is filling my nostrils and invading my lungs. I can taste its decayed flesh. Sushi left out in Nevada in the summer. Boiled fish. Have to finish the days. I have to finish the 31st day. The claws burrowing into my brain are ripping my thoughts and memories apart. I can feel blood leaking down my throat because I've taken too long to open the next days.

I'm scared. heard Theo? I'm leaving you this voice memo so you know. So dad knows... No. Dad's gone. Unka's gone, too. Yeah.

And mom? She... Theo? Please, I don't want to die. Die. No, I can't. But it hurts. My God, it hurts.

Oh Top keeps flashing with the sentence Art must be appreciated in full Finish our creation It's inside my head It's me I am the art Theo

Oh yeah Theo I forgot No yeah that's right You buddy My brother My best friend No. Wait.

No, you died too. After Unk died, Mom got high from the pills she found and took you for a drive off that cliff. The police came to my door. Not the police. Someone owns? Crafting materials? I can't. It hurts.

But, buddy, I have to finish my heart. I must. I must. the artist. I have to... Theo. I'll see you soon. Is... Is that what you wanted? Press the record button and read what is on the note card. Then return both items to the window.

We are here to help. I know this is all confusing, but they're here to help. Tell them about your dream. They are here to help. Yes, this is you talking right now. now. I know you still can't remember anything, but you will soon. Just tell them your dream. They're here to help. Hey, so was that really me on the recording? Have I done this before? Hello? I thought you said you were here to help.

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