Creepy - Day 16 - Petals

Episode Date: October 16, 2020

Whisper her name...***Petals written by Shadowswimmer77 and narrated by Michelle Kane***Skype written by Steven Shorter***See your donation rewards podcast at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Music by Steve Blizin***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.

This is the Bloody Disgusting Podcast Network. This podcast and the 31 Days of Horror is made possible thanks to our patrons. Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. Mrs. Sloughy, congratulations. Whalen Thorne, Sinai Deuthoria Studios, Devin Villarreal, Mike, Hawk. Ha, ha, you said it, John, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Yolanda Hughes, Anthony Gill, and ketchup's dad, which might be a really awesome dad joke if that was intended the way I think it was. Our patrons mean everything to us, and we do all we can to give back for their generosity. So, what do patrons get in case you've missed it? Rewards start with shout-outs and early commercial-free access to all episodes,

and go up from there to include weekly bonus episodes, T-shirts, and more. You can also save by signing up for our yearly membership, 12 months for the price of 11 at any reward level. And remember, is my thank you. to you during a reward to your pricing transition. For all of October 2020, all new patrons who sign up will get a limited edition

31 days of horror magnet, along with their other rewards. Our thanks to you for supporting the show. If you'd like to see how you can support the podcast and get rewarded for doing so, including getting the limited edition creepy fridge magnet, please check out our reward chairs at patreon.com slash creepy pod.

Now, 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. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents

The 31 Days of Horror Day 16 Paddles Written by Shadow Swimmer 77 and narrated by Megan McDuffie The bell on the door chimed softly as Joe entered the small flower shop Sandra was pissed at him for working late again

She'd made that much clear when he'd rolled in past ten last night Who is she, Joe? Who is who? The woman you're screwing What are you talking about, Sandy? You know I have the Brinkman proposal to finish by next week. It's requiring more time and effort than Bob anticipated when he signed us up for the damn thing. That's great, Joe.

What about time and effort for me, huh? Remember when I used to warrant some of that? Sandy, I save it. Just forget it. I'm fine. I have a headache. She'd gone to bed shortly after that. leaving him to day-old takeout and late-night talk shows, and wondering how things had gone so wrong.

They'd grown up together, and Sandra was the first girl he'd ever really fallen for. Right around the time most boys stopped viewing girls as vectors for the dreaded cootie virus, and instead as objects of vague worship and, perhaps, abject terror. When he nervously asked her to junior prom, he was surprised when she'd immediately said yes. Ten years later, through college and law school and marriage, they were still together, at least in a legally binding sense. Joe couldn't place an exact time when or how the hostility had crept into their relationship, but now it was an old companion, a sort of abstract partner in an existential manage-a-tois. She was right, though. Joe had been spending too much time at work lately, and she did warrant more than a late night.

kiss goodnight, and the occasional, passionless bout of lovemaking when he managed to find the energy. If he was being honest, even those rare trists were on the verge of becoming extinct. A concept ten years ago Joe would have surely laughed his ass off at as being outside the realm of possibility. The embers of their relationship may have died off from the raging wildfire it had been at the start, but there were surely something he could do to breathe some life back into the flame. That's all this thing needed, a little TLC and some good old-fashioned romance. So, flowers. The girl behind the counter looked up when she heard the bell, her face flitting quickly from smile to confusion to fear, before settling on a smile again, perhaps a little more sickly

than before. Hello, Mr. Sandoval. What can I help you with? Was there something wrong with your purchase? Joe was surprised. He'd been in this shop before, but it must have been six months ago or longer. Probably longer, if he had to wager a guess.

He couldn't be sure if this was the girl who had waited on him the last time, which made it even more impressive that she not only recognized his face, but remembered enough to call him by name. The girl was pretty, about 18, short brown hair and a light dusting of freckles across her nose. He glanced at her name tag. No, uh, Veronica.

Everything was great with the last purchase. Totally fine. But you know how it goes. These darn flowers don't last forever. I seem to have found myself in some hot water with my wife. So I thought I'd take off from work a little early today and get her an apology bouquet on the way home. She likes red roses. I remember, Mr. Sandoval. A dozen, like last time? Uh, yeah, a dozen would be great. If you could make it up with some of the filler and bows and whatnot. Of course, Mr. Sandoval. It'll be just a minute. She walked briskly from behind the counter into the cooler and glanced at him briefly over her shoulder before beginning to select roses from the bin. Joe frowned at her back, absently rubbing his chin. This was the oddest thing he'd experienced in a long time.

Granted, a dozen red roses must be a pretty common choice of bouquet, but the girl must have some sort of photographic memory to keep track of individual customer's orders on top of everything else. Heck of a thing to waste as a clerk at a florist shop. He looked down and noticed a small drop of red on his hand from where he'd touched his face. Must have cut himself shaving this morning. and reopened it accidentally.

Veronica finished selecting the flowers and brought them over to another table. Joe noticed her hands were shaking as she arranged some baby's breath and staggered the roses before tying the arrangement off with a red bow. She returned to the counter. That'll be 30 even, Mr. Sandoval. Credit again? Huh? Yeah.

Yes, credit, that's right. Joe fumbled to pull his wallet out of his pocket and find out of his pocket and find out of his visa before handing it over. It was maybe a little harder than it should be, because of an odd bruise across the back of his hand. Where had that come from? She swiped the plastic on a little device next to the register and handed him the bill and a pen. Here you are, sir, but please sign there. Thanks. Joe bent to sign the receipt. Say, if you don't mind me asking, how do you remember so much about me. I mean, my name and what flowers my wife likes and everything. He glanced up to see Veronica had taken a step back. She was standing rigid, arms straight, and hands by her sides,

a look of confusion on her face. What's the matter? Mr. Sandoval, are you all right? What? Yeah, I'm fine. Look, are you still worried about the flowers from last time or something? That was six months ago. The girl's confused look turned to one of fear, her lips quivering. Mr. Sandoval, you were here maybe an hour ago, and there's something on you, all over you, something red. Eyes wide and threatening to overflow with tears, she began edging sideways towards the telephone on the wall. I think I need to call the police. What? No, don't. That can't... I just... I've got to get home.

Picking up the bouquet, Joe back towards the entrance of the shop. Just... Sorry for scaring you. He tripped through the door, Bell ringing angrily, and ran to his car, practically throwing himself into the driver's seat. He sat there for a moment, a dozen thoughts whirling abound in his head. What Veronica said was important. possible. Joe had no idea what the hell that was all about, but he knew he had to get home. Get home to Sandy and save their relationship. He could make everything all right if he could just get home. In a daze, he put the car in gear. He pulled into his driveway, just a few minutes later.

The winter sun was already well on its way to setting, shadows from the branches of the trees in his yard, being thrown long and sinister as he stumbled out of the car, gripping the flowers. The mental fog he had driven home in was abruptly lifted, replaced by a sort of double vision, a living episode of deja vu. Joe saw things both as they were now and as they were at some previous time before. It must not have been that long ago, because although the light in the sky had not yet begun to die in the vision of before, the black truck he didn't recognize was still parked at the end of the driveway. Making his way up the walk, he noticed that before Joe carried flowers in his hand much the same way that now Joe did. The front drawer was open ajar now, where before it had

been closed, but not locked. Entering and making his way down the hallway, dodging the strewn piles of clothing that had been there before, Joe was struck by the quiet, emptiness of now. Before, there had been noises of talking and laughing, and other things. Now the hallway was dark in the gathering night, where before, the sunlight had crept through the shaded windows and thrown patterns across the floor. The bedroom door was cracked open now, as it had been then. From the time he entered the house, the vision of before had been gradually shifting to shades of crimson. Now, reaching the threshold of the bedroom,

the perspective was completely distorted, as if someone had dumped a bucket of blood over before Joe's head, then abruptly cut to black. Left to one viewpoint, Joe felt his shoes clinging to something sticky on the floor. Looking down, he could see a dark stain had spread across the carpet where he was standing, punctuated here and there by petals torn from the bouquet strewn in the corner of the hallway where it had been dropped.

The dying light was too dimmed to tell, but he knew they were red. Sandy, he whispered her name, as if a prayer. Only silence answered. From the Patreon Vault. Creepy Presents Skype written by Stephen Shorter I'm sure you've heard of Skype

It's a free instant messaging program Alonging voice and webcam chat with people the world over I've been using it to keep track of old friends We all went to college a fortnight ago Last week I was talking to Annie Girl I used to go to school with We both just moved into our flats We're both single in the first semester hadn't yet begun

So we found ourselves with plenty of time to chat usually we'd Skype at least once a day the stuff we talk about isn't hugely interesting she'd bought new headphones I'd watch the Princess Bride for the first time it was just nice to have some familiar company amidst the time of such great upheaval you know anyway it was a Tuesday morning

I'd been out clubbing the previous night was pretty groggy and hung over but I was awoken by the plane of buzzing of a Skype call cursing the fact that I left my laptop on and massaging my temples, I stumbled out of bed. Hello? My bleary eyes struggled to focus on the painfully bright monitor before me. Annie was, of course, dressed, made up, and grinning, sporting her new headphones. She gave a cheery wave to which I responded with a half smile.

Well, aren't you the life of the party this morning? She teased. You should have seen me last night. night. My dance moves put the whole club to shame. Big fish, little fish doesn't impress anyone. Hey, don't you have an introduction meeting with your tutor today? I glanced at my calendar, but the ink refused to stop squirming on the page. I assume she was right, but even the small amount of sunlight that seeped into my gloomy domain under the curtains was eye-watering. Fuck that. I groaned. What about you? What are you doing today?

hoping to get a call from Aaron. She just took off yesterday during a fire drill. She left a letter on her desk saying she was going home. Which one's Aaron again? I asked half serious. You know how it is. Your friends talk about so many people that they're just to blur together after a while. Annie made an unimpressed face.

My flatmate. She lives across a corridor from me. She just vanished. I mean, it's only been a day, but we were thinking about calling her. parents just to check up on her. I shrugged. Do it. Better safe than sorry, huh?

Before she could reply, there came a sudden shrieking of an alarm. Annie said something which was drowned out by the noise and I covered my ears, wincing. What did you say? I asked. She had shouted directly into the microphone. I said that's the fire alarm. I better go outside or the warden will have a fit and make us through the whole. whole thing again.

What time shall I call back? I asked, raising my voice as much as my pounding headache would allow. Don't worry, only be gone for like five minutes. Just leave Skype on. With that, she was gone, pulling the headphones off and placing them on the keyboard. After a few minutes, the alarm cut out. Then the door opened. It wasn't Annie, though.

It was wearing a blue... paint-stained boiler suit, a beanie-style hat, and a mask made from the bleached skull of some kind of goat or sheep. My eyes were drawn to its hand, however. A rubber glove wrapped around a hook, the kind you see behind the corner in butcher shops. For a few seconds, I sat there, numbly wondering if it was Annie playing a creepy joke on me. And I snapped into a house. What the fuck do you think you're doing? I yelled. Who are you?

There was no response from the figure. It couldn't hear me. The headphones were still plugged into Annie's laptop. Instead, it simply stood there, taking it in the room. Ten seconds later, it began to approach the desk. I fumbled from my phone. I had to warn Annie. I selected a number from the speed dial, not taking my eyes off to figure.

you're on screen. It was peering intently into the camera, eyes glittering behind empty sockets. Dial tone. Click ringing. The mass figure froze. Then slowly and deliberately it reached its free hand off camera. I squinted against a pixelated image then my heart sank. It was holding Annie's phone. She left it on her desk. The figure cocked its head to one side throwing me what I presume was supposed to be a pitying look before it hit the off button on the mobile and placed it beside her laptop. It reached into its pocket producing something white and dropped it atop her keyboard. I only saw it for a second, but it looked like an envelope.

It wandered across through her wardrobe, opened the door, and climbed inside, stooping to fit. It hesitated as it did so. and turned to look directly at the webcam. The light caught its teeth. I saw it were flashing me a cruel grin. Then it pulled the wardrobe shut. I glanced down on my phone. I had to call the police.

There was no question of that, but even as I dialed the first nine, I realized the futility of the gesture. There'd be the bother them finding and contacting the department in any city 50 miles away. I called anyway. Dial tone.

Click. Ringing. You're through to the emergency services. What service do you require? Yes, I need to talk to... I paused mid-sentence. I paused because the door had opened and Annie hurried inside. Her hair was wet from the rain and she smiled as she approached the webcam.

I yelled as loud as I could for her to run and I felt that he was pinching the corners of my eyes. Annie didn't hear me She sat down Picked up the headphones And began to adjust the strap length Over her shoulder The wardrobe door stirred Hello sir

What service do you require sir Sir are you hurt Do you need an ambulance Are you still there Sir For more information Including pictures And videos of the stories

told on this podcast or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us at CreepyPod on Twitter, Instagram. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.