Creepy - Day 2 - The Art of Jacob Emory

Episode Date: October 2, 2017

This town doesn't have ghosts...***Credited to Peterdivine ***Presented by The White Vault (https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-white-vault/id1267043823)***Sound design by: Vin Earnst 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 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 2. The Art of Jacob Emery. Credited to Peter Devine.

Ghost stories? Nah. We don't have anything like that around here. We do have the story of Jacob. But that's about as close as you'll get. You really want to know? Well, I'm not supposed to tell you, but all right. Just no interrupting.

I don't have the patience for it. How to describe Jacob Emery? Well, I guess you could say he was the kind of guy you could never take notice of. This isn't to say he was a bad guy. kid in any sense. Many people in this town thought he was most reliable person for an odd job

in the state, but he never really excelled in anything. He was the living proof behind the statement, Jack of all trades, ace of none. Most of this was due to his own lack of will. He dabbled

and damn near everything this town could offer him. automobiles, radio operation, storm management, what have you. But he never stuck with anything. His friends and workers went after him about it a number of times. But everybody got the same unsatisfying response. It just wasn't enough. Needless to say, any friends he kept.

were either very patient or never spoke of the matter altogether. It was probably inevitable then that Jacob would leave to go abroad. I don't remember where he went, but I think Gertrude down the street knew before she passed on. You'll have to scout someone else if you ever get curious. In any case, no one even tried to stop him. Everybody thought that a little travel would stamp the ambition out of him, or else feed it until it was no longer an issue. Hell, we even gave him sending off party, which I thought was pretty nice of everybody.

So anyway, he was gone for six, seven years. Can't remember. You'll have to change. check with someone else about that too. Anyways, he came back eventually, and he had changed. Obviously enough.

He was amiable, energetic, all smiles all the time, and we all quickly learned why. He showed us a souvenir he brought back. Solid black stick, the length of a pencil, but the texture of chalk. We all wondered why on earth such a simple thing would prompt such a spring in his step until he gave us his demonstration. He took a piece of paper and with this stick, God, there's got to be a better word for it.

With this stick, he drew a crude circle. It dropped. and rested on the border of the paper like a stone. It didn't leave the paper, but it acted out on it. Sort of like an old movie projector on a screen. Son, I know how crazy that sounds, and if you feel like playing skeptic, then you can leave an old man to his craziness. But I know what I saw.

Even if everyone's been hushing it up, That stone he drew dropped. Jake even passed around the paper, and as was being passed or rolled around as the paper got tilted. None of us had any words for it. What was there to say? But he continued drawing demonstration after demonstration for us. Stick figures in various pageants and plays

doing everything from fighting each other to making perfect human pyramids. And we all thought it was incredible. That was all the go-ahead he needed. He announced that he planned to put on shows to pay for rent and food, where he would draw anything the crowd members wanted. That we talked to some length about, and he eventually convinced us that it would be safe. his drawings ethical

the practice lucrative and unique and the attention would not go anywhere outside of the town's borders poor Jacob if I had not been so swept up in the moment I might have read the signs right then and there save the sorry son of a bitch by snap and the terrible thing in half but I was younger

we all were and we saw no problem with encouraging him with what we all saw as an incredible experience to be shared with everyone else now he didn't have any big radio or television

connections mind you and the internet wouldn't come around for another decade so he did what all people on a shoestring budget do he advertised the show with flyers Flyers might not mean anything to use city folk, but in a small town, they gain a fair glance over from time to time.

And what's more, Jacobs managed to stick out by having little figures jump up and down and what not to get people's attention. His first show must have gotten nearly 60 or so people. Probably a lot more than that. And his shows were fantastic. Someone would shout out a scene from a play or a comedy sketch, Jake's hand would fly all over a white wall like a bird. He'd been holding back when he made that stone, that's for damn sure. His illustrations were all spot on,

and he could make an incredible human figure in minutes, come to think of it. I don't remember any of his scenes lasted more than ten minutes to make. They were all really well done scenes too. Not only could you see a night charge of castle, Jake would draw the castle's interior as well, like a wedding cake split down the middle, so you could see the night scale the walls,

fight his way through levels to the dungeon, fight back out with the princess, and make a leaping jump off castle parapets onto his getaway horse all in complete silence. Not realistic, no, but that was part of the appeal. None of us went in there expecting something real, when a scene or a sketch was finished either the characters would leave off the wall

or he'd cover the wall with white paint that was good in a way it gave these shows a time limit so that when he'd finished with all the four walls in the room everyone knew the show was over until the paint dried Jake meanwhile was changing in a bad way I'd mention that upon his return he'd been extremely energetic Well that energy

That vitality or fervor or whatever you want to call it It never left him Not for an instant Far from it seemed to grow in him And he enjoyed it all too much His eyes grew wide He slept gradually less over time. His statements and opinions more radical and frenzied.

And though he never was a pushover, he was starting to make people nervous in his company. A month or two passed and Jake's audience grew like wildfire. Nearly everyone in town paid to see Jake's art in action, and he had to run out larger and like wildfire. larger places for them to sit. He didn't stop after one scene was done. He moved directly on to the next, put on the next blank space on the wall,

something to the intriguing effect of causing scenes to mingle, which the crowd loved. The subject matter got more wild and immoral. The monsters got more bizarre and creative. The fighters using more impossible. weaponry, all for the sake of the crowd's interests. Jake got steadily more indulgent, which we figured was from the money and he became a drinker and a womanizer, neither of which got rid of that vitality, by the way.

Some of those women claimed they'd woken up in the middle of the night to see him scribbling with that stick on a drawing pad, a gigantic grin on his face. And what most of them said that they'd assume he was drawing them in the nude, there's rumors that one or two of them got glances at that notepad. Those anonymous few supposedly said that those drawings absolutely weren't nude pictures. But neither of them were. whoever they are, we'll say what he was drawing. Don't bother looking for the notepads or flyers though.

They're all gone now. I'm getting off track. The point is he was hitting the bottle, and that's important. Because it was that drinking that would eventually ruin everything. On the night of one of his performances as he walked in front of his cheering crowd, It was immediately apparent to everyone that he was completely drunk. I was in the front row and I could smell the bourbon on him from 10 feet away. The show started.

He went through a bunch of sketches and scenarios the crowd recommended. When at the end someone asked that he'd draw himself. Everyone cheered the idea. I guess they'd been wondering what his creation started. of him, and he eventually obliged. No sooner had Jake finished connecting the final two lines on his coat that every single character across that vast, expansive wall, all stopped and looked directly at that illustration. Lovers stopped kissing, clowns stopped laughing, robot stopped fighting pirates

Everything stopped and looked at the Jacob illustration The crowd died almost instantly I remember Jake's face in that moment Pale white full of terrible comprehension at his mistake And looking desperately for the cans of white paint He'd forgotten to put out before the show At the fake Jacob That Jacob reached into his pocket, pulled out a black stick of his own.

And as we all watched, through a door. He pushed on his side and the door swore open, allowing him to walk through onto the floor of the auditorium. The rest was an absolute hellish pandemonium. People screamed and ran for the exiles as Jacob's characters, both those currently on the wall and those which had previously left before being covered up, ran out of their own exit, throwing pies, shooting lasers, blowing fire and poison and the impossible.

I was near enough the exit to escape and gave only one backwards glance. The scene will help me forever. Jacob Emery was being dragged by, by his creations, kicking and screaming through the door his copy had made. The auditorium burned down, obviously enough, but I have no idea how many characters escaped, what happened to the fake amory or how many people died. The fire brought the fire department from the nearest cities up over a hundred miles away, and in turn brought the police force, which brought the government, which hushed up everything.

They took the flyers and any art Jake had made and swore everyone to secrecy or else life detainment. The fire was blamed on a cigarette in the garbage during a basketball game, and we all eventually went on with our lives. Jacob was made to have never existed. In retrospect, I realize everything. Jacob hadn't been creating illustrations. Illustrations don't move, much less act or attack.

There are just images people see. Shadows made to look like real things. Jacob had been making life. Actual thinking things in some alternate dimension using a power that was never meant to fall to more. He got drunk on his power. His punishment was probably well deserved. Incidentally, the government screwed up on two different accounts.

They did a damn good job silencing everyone, but proof remains. The ruins are still there, you know. Auditorium's ruins. I hear they're going to start reconstruction soon, which will white. wipe out any remaining evidence someone can definitely see. I went back there once, several years after the fire, just once. Amid the rubble covered in ash, I saw something squirming. I looked closer.

It was Jacob Emery's hand on the wall, exactly like it had been three years ago, sweaty but callous, I remember. but it was constantly flailing as if the body it was supposed to be attached to was still writhing in flames. That was mistake number one. Number two was those creations. Like I said, I don't know how many escaped nor how many the government agents found in contact, but I will say only this. Those tall grass meadows on the outskirts of town don't go in.

to them, ever. You were asking about those white figures you've seen at night, right? This town doesn't have ghost stories. Post-Frested, approximately 33 kilometers northeast of New Orlison, south of the border to the National Park. I'm reaching out forcedure group and possible rescue services in Neolison. Our repair team has completed the assignment. A storm has stranded us here for over a week, looking for confirmation and information.

Anyone please respond? Hello everyone, but I would like to thank you for accepting the offered position for the examination and repair expedition out-to-outpost Freestead. My God. Are you seeing this? Haired it. And 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 outpost Freestead, consisting of Dr. Rosa Del Atorei, Walter Heath, Graham Kassner, Schumacher Weiss and Jonas Thorninson. In the winter months, Gail Storms and Svalbard can reduce visibility dramatically. During these storms, travel is not advised. The White Vault coming October 2017.

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