Creepy - Day 2 - Tales From the Gas Station Part 2

Episode Date: October 2, 2018

There's a gas station at the edge of town...***Written by Gas Station Jack***Subscribe to The White Vault at https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-white-vault/id1267043823?mt=2***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Produced by Steve Blizin, Puzzle Audio***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 episode of The 31 Days of Horrors presented thanks to patrons Kayla Simkin, Dana S.D., Dane Anderson, Jeff Bell, Zach Service, Kaylee Tolls, Benjamin Foley, Tyler Harrison, and Tiffany Zawatta. If you'd like to learn more about how you can support the podcast and the rewards that come with it, please visit the reward tiers at patreon.com slash creepy pod. Stay tuned after today's episode for a trailer from our friends at the Whitefault. Season 2 is available now, Tuesday, October 2nd. Make sure to check them out, subscribe, give them a great review. Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for a form.

you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. He presents the 31 days of horror. Day 2. Tales from the Gas Station. Part 2. Credited to Gas Station Jack. At the edge of our town, there's a shitty gas station that's open 24 hours a day. Seven days a week, and? Sometimes longer. If you were to go inside, you'd probably see the tire cashier

sitting behind the front desk doing his best to mind his own business. He's real. You may also see someone else. You may also see something else. If you're curious about the reality of anyone or anything, including yourself, inside that small ammonia-scented, flickering fluorescent collection of off-brand junk, food, dirt, or walls, and a roof, may I recommend that you follow the cashier's lead?

And mind your own business. I've been working at that gas station almost nonstop since I graduated high school. At this point, I doubt I quit if I wanted to. Not long ago, a doctor recommended that I start keeping a journal, and after some consideration, I decided I might as well give it a shot. It's not like any of the traditional treatments are having any effect. But enough about me.

Let's get back to the interesting thing. The gas station. I spent a decent portion of my shift last night trying to decide how to begin this journal. Where can I start that would make any sense at all? How do I explain the gas station to someone who hasn't experienced it? I've tried telling some of my stories before, so I know what to expect.

People don't believe it. Or people don't want to believe it. I still remember the difficulty I had last year when I had to call the sheriff's station and explained to the new girl that half a pig had broken into the store and was running amok, breaking things and screaming with a voice of an old woman. Yes, I meant half a pig. Yes, a pig, the front half. No, this isn't a joke. I'm at the gas station. What do you mean which gas station?

Is this your first day or something? Oh, it is. Can I please talk to someone else? She finally put me through to Tom. He's a deputy that drew the short straw all those years ago and ended up on official gas station duty. That was back before his hair turned all white. He's been in enough times now that all I have to say when he picks up the line is

it's half a pig, it won't stop screaming, and I can't catch it. Then he grunts, mutters something about this being pretty freaking weird, and then drives out to help me catch it. Tom's a good guy. I asked around, but nobody knew where the pig had come from. Farmer Brown, who was still alive at the time, came down to take a look and provide his expert opinion. According to farmer, the pig had somehow been chopped down the middle,

but miraculously none of the important organs were hit. Nothing supernatural about it? Just really unusual. It stated at the local elementary school as a kind of mascot got for the summer before a scientist and his team from somewhere up north offered the school $1,000 to let them take it. For science, I suppose. I don't mean to ramble.

But my point is that it's hard to believe some of these stories if you haven't been inside the gas station at least once. And maybe you have. We're the only gas station for miles. We're close enough to some big crossroads. If you've ever been out driving in an unfamiliar part of the country and found yourself lost, It's not impossible that you could have found yourself in my doors, looking to top off your gas or ask for directions. If you have a strange memory of a weird place that somehow doesn't seem to fit, then there's a chance we've actually met.

It was laid into my overnight shift when I decided to just start writing. I took notes about what was happening, jotted down a few of my stranger memories, but consciously, decided to leave out those stories that were so unbelievable that I was. I won't even waste people's time with them. I call those to try and forget stories. I was writing it all down on a book or a receipt paper when Carlos interrupted me. Carlos is one of the part-timers at the gas station. We have a pretty long list of part-time employees here.

The owner likes to hire transients, drifters, hitchhikers, passers-by, and runaways looking for work for a few days. I try not to get to know the part-timers. They come and go after a few days or sometimes a few weeks, rarely long enough to form any kind of meaningful relationship. But then there's Carlos, who's been working here for almost a year now. He started as part of the prison work relief program, unloading trucks twice a week and was the only one of the 12 prisoners that didn't disappear during a freak snowstorm last December.

But that's none of my business. Carlos did his time, and when they released him, he came to work here. cleaning the store and unloading trucks. He comes in six times a day for each of his 30-minute shifts. I'm going to think about it. I'm not exactly sure what he does during those shifts. The store is never clean, and the trucks only come twice a week. Exclusively during the daylight hours as per an arrangement following the incident.

Maybe one day I'll ask Carlos what he does for the owners. All I know is that he's the closest thing to a friend that I have. here. When Carlos approached me at my register last night, I knew something unusual was going on. He was sweating bullets, pale and on the verge of passing out. He kept glancing back at the man in the suit that had wandered into the store and was standing next to the frozen drink machine. He told me that he needed to talk. Now. I told him, go ahead. But he refused to say anything unless I followed him into the freezer. I usually hate to leave the front of the storm, watched. We have the occasional shoplifter. Plus, there was that one time Rocco got in and made

off with two cases of cigarettes. But Carlos seemed serious, so I made an exception for him. Once we were in the sub-freezing safety of the walking cooler, Carlos asked me if I had seen the guy in the suit. I said yes, I saw him. He asked if I knew the guy. I said yes, I'd seen the guy around town. His name was Kiefer. He was running for some kind of office, I can't remember which one, and stopped by the gas station every now and then. He drove an old black SUV that only took premium. I didn't know much from in town, but he was definitely local. His picture was framed in my high school's trophy case for one of those sports competitions he'd won years and years before I got there. We only have so many things to be proud of, I suppose. I knew of, I knew of,

Kiefer, but we weren't exactly acquaintances. I told all this to Carlos, who shook his head and said, No, that can't be Kiefer. And I said, why not? And Carlos told me, that can't be Kiefer, because Kiefer has been dead for two days. His body's in the trunk of my car right now. And that's when things started getting weird. It was very strange night, between the hand plans, Farmer Jr. That cultist It wouldn't leave me alone. I hardly had any time

to collect my thoughts. Of course, there was the Carlos situation. I promise I'll come back to tell you all about it. But first I need to grab some coffee. One of the companies I work for needs me to go on a trip. Apparently they received a signal from one of their outposts. And the noise, they're scratching from last night. There are marks, scores on the bunker.

What kind of marks? Big ones. Like a bear, deep into the concrete. It's not bear. And I'm afraid it's your tomb. Carrier! During these storms, travel is not advised. Rescue services in the Alderson.

Our repair team has completed the assignment. A storm has stranded us here for over a week. Hello, everyone. I would like to thank you for accepting the offered position for the examination and repair expedition out-to-out-outpost freestead. My God. Are you seeing this?

I did it. Then go do it then. If we can leave, we need to get moving. This storm is not normal. We must leave. The following documents and recordings are a compilation detailing the events to the repair team sent outposts Freestead, consisting of Dr. Rosa Del Atorei, Walter Heath,

Graham Kassner, Dr. Karina Shumacher-Vice, and Jonas Thorninson. In the winter months, Gail, Storms and Svalbard can reduce visibility dramatically. During these storms, travel is not advised. 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, email.

All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypastawiki.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license. some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.