Creepy - Day 15 - The Blue Boy

Episode Date: October 15, 2021

Ready or not...***Written by: daphne0didit***Bonus Episode: "The Night is an Ocean" written by Queen Iacomina and narrated by Cole Burkhardt ***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.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 creepy pastors 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. Violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy Presents The 31 Days of Horror Day 15 The Blue Boy Written by Daphne O Did It I always think about this story around Halloween. I was eight years old when it happened, but this story will stick with me forever.

I've told a lot of people about this, and the common opinion seems to be that it's either creepy as heck or total bullshit. I just think it's sad. As I said, when I was eight years old, I went to stay with some cousins up in the north of England and their farmhouse during the October half term. I was living off the buzz of feeling independent for the first time ever, since my parents were staying back in London, and my cousins were a couple years older, nine, eleven, and twin-13-year-old. and a lot more independent than I was. I didn't know my dad's side of the family well, and I only met them once before going to stay with them. However, I wasn't an awkward kid,

and made friends with everyone pretty easily. So my parents had no worries about me making friends with my cousins. I settled in quickly and loved the lack of rules about where to go and what I could do without parental supervision. Since my cousins took me to play in the woods in the fields next to the first. from pretty much every day. My eight-year-old self was delighted by the freedom of making campfires, paddling in the stream and staying out after dark with my cousins. We got to watch horror movies my parents wouldn't dream of letting me watch, stay up way later than at home. Plus, we got to eat

sweets and drink fizzy drinks whenever we wanted them. I felt like I was living in a dream. If you can't tell, I remember having a thoroughly good time and was even too busy to even miss my parents all that much. I was also delighted to discover that every year, my cousins hosted a big Halloween party at the farmhouse, in which they and their parents had guests. Something I was particularly excited about is my parents had never been that into Halloween at home. My cousins had invited around 25 kids between them as guests, making 30 kids, including the five of us, and their parents were having guests too. I remember the excitement of getting ready in our costumes with my cousins in the attic of the farmhouse, eating ungodly amounts of sweets while admiring our spooky

attire in the mirror. I was dressed in a slightly too big devil costume that had previously been my cousins. Around a hundred guests arrived from what I remember, and we found that my aunt and uncle had led a huge garden with fairy lights since it was getting dark earlier as the clocks had gone back. At the Halloween party, I did bobbing frapples, carved pumpkins, and played games with the other kids, and had a pretty great time. I didn't know anyone

other than my cousins, obviously. But as I said, I was an extroverted kid and was just happy to be there. So I excitedly chatted to everyone. When it was about Twilight, all the kids decided to head into the woods to play a big game of hide and seek. I should probably mention

that although it sounds like neglectful parenting on behalf of my aunt and uncle, it wasn't all that unsafe in context. An entrance to the woods was literally at the bottom of their garden across the field, and my cousin spent half their lives playing in them. It was quite a safe area. And there was a limit on how far the adult said we were allowed to go,

even with torches. So we went down to the woods, and my cousin set up some lanterns to stay permanently on at a small clearing with the big hollow tree stump that the other kids seemed to know was base for hide-and-seek. All of us kids were clustered around a huge tree-stomp, and it was decided that my oldest twin cousins would count while the rest of us would hide. Before I knew it, everyone had scampered off in every direction, torchlight flashing in the darkening

woods. Most of the kids were local and knew the woods well enough to know the best hiding places. However, I still had to keep my torch trained on the ground to avoid gnarled roots and fallen branches. I'd planned to try and hide with someone else, but they were too quick for me and were already disappearing into the dark trees in every direction. So I chose a random path and ran downhill, flashing my torch to look for them. for somewhere I could hide while remembering my bearings back to the tree stump.

I hadn't gone far though before I tripped on some uneven ground and fell, dropping my flashlight, and everything went dark. In a few seconds, I was fumbling to turn my flashlight back on and flashing it around. I must have flashed it upward because I saw another kid hiding a white fork and a tree. It was an amazing hiding place. Easy to climb to, not far from base, and couldn't be seen from ground level. Can I hide with you? I whispered, shouted.

The kid nodded, so I clambered into the fork beside him. It was high enough that you could see into the clearing where my cousins were counting, but dark enough that they wouldn't notice us. Hey, this is such a cool spot, I whispered, aware of the distant voices of my cousin's counting. They were reaching the late 90s and be seeking soon. Thank you. Yeah, I know, he said, turning to me and smiling shyly. I always come to this spot.

Not a lot of people know about it, he said. I turned to look at his costume in the dim torchlight. What are you, a zombie? I said. It was a good costume. Pale bluish face powder and gaunt skeletal shadows drawn with SFX makeup to make him look like he was something out of the walking dead. I tried to be a zombie last year to go trick-or-treating,

but my mom just drew some rubbish stitches on my neck with eyeliner and bought some Tesco zombie cats, I was nowhere as good as yours, I said admiringly, and the kid just laughed. While we'd been talking, my cousins had begun to seek, and we heard squeals, giggles, and the sounds were running as people rushed to get back to the stump. Let's stay here for now, I said. My strategy being to wait a while as our hiding place was so good that my cousins would walk out further into the woods, not expecting us to be so close to base and we could run to home. While we watched everyone else tearing into the clearing pursuit by my cousins, we sat tight, waiting and talking and hushed voices until we were the last ones left. My cousins began to search for us, flashing our lights around,

and despite being a good 15 meters away from the clearing, I linked to one side without any possible torchlight and accidentally brushed against a sweatshirt of the kid next to me. He was soaking wet. You must be freezing. Did you get Splash doing apple bobbing? I whispered. Ask my cousins and they might have a hoodie or something you can change into. At that moment our cousin shone as light at just our height, revealing our darkened hiding spot.

And in a second we had jumped out of the fork and darted in two separate directions. I ran flat out but my cousins called me and we walked together, panting back to the clearing. Great hiding place. We didn't think to hide there because you can seat easily in the day. Your friend found it, I admit. I sat down on a log by the tree stump with everyone else who's been standing and sitting around waiting. That's everyone, someone said. Who's going next?

I looked around for the kid I'd shared a hiding place with, wanting to ask him if he'd been caught too, but he wasn't back at the stump. That's not everyone, I told the group. There's still someone to catch. Who? One of your friends who I hid with? What's his name? I know he was wearing a zombie costume No, Ben's back already, said one kid

A tall boy wearing a Frankenstein costume With neon green hairspray stuck his tongue out at me No, not him A different boy, he's about my age and dressed as a zombie With really cool, freaky makeup Everyone looked to me blankly I don't know who you're hiding with me But there's only one zombie at this party and that's Ben

You're the youngest one here anyway I pressed the issues for a bit, insisting that we were missing the zombie kid, but I was frustrated to see that a few of the older kids were giving me patronizing glances, and I was eager to get on with another game, so I dropped it, and didn't think much of the zombie kid for a while. A couple days passed, and before I knew it, it was my last evening at the farmhouse before going home. I'd had a great time. I was sad to leave my cousin since I lived so far away, and liked all the noise and company

I wasn't used to as an only child. It was a stormy night, and the one was whipping the sides of the barn house. I'd slept in the attic bedroom with my youngest cousin throughout my stay. But since it was my last night, all my cousins brought through duvets upstairs to sit around, eating snacks, telling scary stories, something that had become a tradition during my stay. Usually the scary stories were predictable rip-offs of horror films my cousins had seen. But it was fun all the same. This time, however, my cousins remembered one they hadn't told me.

Tell him the story about Danny Hopper. Surely he's heard that one. No, he wouldn't heard of it. He's not from around here, and we haven't told him. Let's tell him. The difference between this one and all the others is, This one is true. So, I sat with rapt attention in the flickering yellow glow of the electric light as my cousin began to tell the story.

It was evident that my other cousins had heard the story many times before, and it was some kind of local legend in their small town. It was told expertly in a way which left no doubt that the tale had been told by the light of many flickering torches during the month of October. The story followed a boy that had once lived in the same large old farmhouse that my cousins now owned. They explained that 20 or so years ago, a little boy had been playing alone in the woods just down the hill from their house. He'd tripped and fallen into the murky and deceptively deep lake that was fed by the same stream we'd often paddled in. Having been unable to swim and injured from his fall, he'd struggled but eventually drowned in the cold water. Nobody having been around to help him. I sat in horrified silence as my cousins continued to depict how his body had been dredged from the lake

after his parents had searched for him for hours. But by the time they found him, He turned blue in the freezing water. That happened on Halloween night 23 years ago, finished my cousin with a satisfied expression at the horror-stricken expression I must have been wearing. My cousin laughed at my extreme reaction to the very tame story compared to many of the others we'd heard.

But of course, I wasn't shocked and to stunned silence by my cousin's storytelling ability, but rather the resounding feeling that my zombie friend had not been wearing a costume. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents The Night is an Ocean written by Queen Ayakumina

and narrated by Cole Burkart. The night is an ocean in which every star in the universe is but an island. The ocean's waves, lap over the earth on a 24-hour cycle. Its tides roll in and roll out at a rate of once per year. And the ocean carries things in its depths. Things you would not believe. Every so often, something meant for deeper waters finds itself breached here. We mistake them for unhappy dreams because we cannot process their reality.

Usually, they suffocate in daylight, thrashing in their death throes, and aspiring in a parochism of terror. That, at least, we can feel. Some lucky, or unlucky, depending on your perspective, find refuge in what puddles of earthly night they can find. Basements, closets, the depths of the forest, the space under your bed. Children are aware of them, though their parents are not.

Children have not learnt what is impossible. In the dark places of the world, they may persist for years or centuries, every so often going abroad with the setting of the sun. every so often ensnaring a victim. How many stories have you heard of demons and vampires, ghosts and monsters, phantoms and hags and thames that go bump in the night? Each one is a fable, and yet each one contains some true feature of that which lurches in the dark. Our brains cannot process them, nor our eyes.

see without light, and so we fill in the details. Our mythologies give them form, and those forms change over time. Once a troll, then a devil, now a black-eyed child. Many are the masts of a nightmare. Their shapes and names evolve to fit our fashions, but they themselves remain ever the same. How many times have you seen a shadow out of the corner of your eye, one that was not there when you turned to look?

How many times have you lain paralyzed in bed, certain that something was with you in the room? And how many times have you awoken from a nightmare, nigh unable to convince yourself that is. It wasn't real. It was real. It's always real. Every nightmare you've ever had,

every half-remembered terror of your childhood, every razor-toothed, snarling-jawed, dead-eyed thing that has ever haunted your dreams is real. And it is your fortune. that most of the time, most of the time, they are just passing by. They can afford to be patient. For the night is ancient. The night was already ancient, long before the first day,

and a billion years before the first terrestrial life writhered out of the primordial ooze. It was already there, watching. Out of its trillion, trillion eyes, the night saw our ancestors descend from the trees. When early humans first harnessed fire, it stood just outside of the warm circle of light, waiting.

And then when we built our cities, wired up with electric light, and declared that we had won our final victory over the darkness, the night smiled silently in its infinitude. For the night, we'll still be here when our cities crumble. When the last street lamp goes dead, when the last star in heaven burns down to a cold, Ember. The night will win. The island of light will each sink in their turn beneath the ocean. And when that time comes, when the dark ocean drowns the world, the night's victorious children

will run rampant, gorging themselves with abandon. And it is then... Only then that we will see the true face of nightmare. For even more from creepy, 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 used under license and may not be rebroadcast. or distribute it without the express prior written consent of the story's author. Please contact us at creepypod at gmail.com for further information on obtaining the rights

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