Creepy - Day 20 - Dani

Episode Date: October 20, 2019

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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 20. Danny. Written by Renee Cooperiter and narrated by Alicia Atkins.

July 3rd, 1986. Danny and I just embarked on our road trip to Florida. We're going to visit her mom for a few days. She's trying not to show it, but I can tell she's excited. We turned her old VW bus into sort of a mini-c camper, kind of like the mystery machine from Scooby-Doo. There's not much to see on the highway, but I don't mind. Even while we're not talking, I enjoy the silence.

It's not awkward. It's comfortable. I like simply being around her. I just hope she feels the same way. July 4th, 1986. We parked in a big open field and shot off fireworks all day. She tried to shoot me with a Roman candle, but I knocked it out of her hand before she could. Almost set the entire field on fire. She brought an old mortar she'd found in her garage.

I think I can safely say that that was the biggest explosion and the loudest boom I've ever experienced up close. We ran with sparklers and had a moonlit picnic while listening to the same thing. the distant cracks and pops of fireworks shows surrounding us. She caught me staring at her, but I couldn't help it. The way the moonlight and ever-shifting colors in the sky touched and mixed on her skin, perfectly capturing her wonderstruck expression, it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. She laughed at me when she noticed.

Jay, you're staring. Yeah, I am. Not my fault you're so pretty, but whatever. I'm trying not to wake her as I write. She fell asleep on my lap. I don't ever want to leave. July 5th, 1986. We're on the road again.

It's not quiet this time. We've had the radio on for a good portion of three hours, and it's almost like we've known every song. There's something peaceful about being on the road with the one you love. Even if it is a seemingly endless strip of payment as you go, as long as you have your favorite songs in their company, it could go on forever. You would gladly let it go on forever. I haven't told her yet, but I love her.

I really do. I just hope she loves me too. July 6, 1986. She insisted on taking a detour through the mountains. She promised it was shorter to go this, way. How it could be shorter to go through the mountains is beyond me. I decided not to fight with her.

It wouldn't do any good anyway. At least there's more interesting scenery than rocks and road signs and other cars. I'm seeing trees and even some animals. Danny almost hit a deer that darted across the road earlier. I don't know how she managed to stop this huge thing so quickly. I wish I had my camera. She told me not to bring it because it might get broken at her mom. moms. Her cat likes knocking things off shelves, she says.

I would have risked it. There was a perfect photo opportunity back in that field. I want to remember how that moment looked forever. I want to take so many photos. I don't ever want to forget these moments. July 7, 1986. I don't need the map, she says. I know where I'm going, she says.

I don't need directions, she says. Shut up, Jamie, she says. Short cut. Sure. July 9th, 1986. We still haven't gotten our way back onto the interstate. The roads are too twisty and there are so many forks in the road. It's nearly impossible to get our bearings.

I tried using the map, but it didn't help anything. I'm worried we won't be able to get out of here. It's like the forest is closing in on us, constricting. She doesn't know I'm claustrophobic. She's going to find out soon, I think. I wish I had my camera. Taking pictures always calms me down. Even when I ran out of film, I could pretend.

Journaling like this is helping, I guess. Not much. I miss my family. I miss people. I want to go home. July 14th, 1986. We ran out of food and are running out of fresh water.

We abandoned the van and have started carrying packs with us. We're trying to find a way back to civilization, or at least somewhere populated. A cabin even. That would be good. Great. Honestly, I just want to make it out of here. July 14th, 1986.

We found a cabin. An old hunting place looks like. It's got guns and deer heads mounted on the walls. The beds aren't the most comfortable, but they're like heaven compared to the grounds and soft rocks we've been sleeping on. Thanks, Danny. I don't even think we know how to get back to the van from here. At least we have a roof over our heads now. Even though the roof leaks, lits and drafts and I think houses a small family of mice, it's a roof.

and even though the beds are lumpy, uncomfortable, and I think also house small families of mice. Their beds? There are knives and guns here. We're going to go hunting tomorrow. Danny's been a couple of times with their dad. July 19th, 1986. Danny's been getting distant.

She won't look me straight in the eye. Steve's staring at the table this morning when I was cooking. We can last through the winter here, can't we? She asked me. I told her yes. She nodded quietly to herself before getting up. She told me she was going to go out to hunt. I'm worried about her.

August 20th, 1986. We've made a place for ourselves here. I found an old journal of the person who used to own this place. His last entry was 40 years ago, so... I think we're safe. Sometimes I'll go hunting with Danny, but I usually just stay to the cabin and tidy up. Read sometimes. She usually does the hard work.

I do the cleaning. It sounds typical, sure, but it's surviving. I don't have time to journal lately. I'm noticing that. I'm always doing something, whether it be tidying the house or running down to the nearby stream for some more water, cleaning game Danny brought home or reorganizing books. October 18th, 1986. It's starting to get colder.

Danny started planning ahead and chopped firewood last month. We aren't using it yet, but I expect we'll need too soon. Helicopters have started circling overhead. We think they're searching for us. The forest here is so dense, though. They probably wouldn't see us no matter how hard we tried. This is our lives now. I think we're both beginning to come to terms with that.

I told Danny I loved her for the first time today. She said she loved me too. I cried. November 28, 1986. It got so cold last night. I thought we would freeze. We were huddled so tightly together on the bed that I was sure one of us was going to pop a lung or something.

Danny Bundy. up and went hunting again. I'm tidying up the cabin, like I always do. Our lives here have become uneventful, but comfortable. I used to be a photographer and an art student. She managed a small bookshop uptown that just so happened to have a public dark room. She said she only put it there because she thought it would bring in a new demographic. Now she said she had no idea to bring in the love of her life.

December 12, 1986. A snowstorm hit. We're snowed in. Luckily, we have enough food to last us for a while. Hopefully. The fire is cracking cheerfully, and it's quite effective in filling the small cabin with warmth. Danny's been sleeping a lot lately, but I lit her.

She's been tireless the past few months, always doing some kind of physical labor to keep us floating. She deserves this rest. I love her too much to make her continue. I love her. December 30th, 1986. We're running out of food.

Danny didn't preserve it properly and half of it went bad. I'm so hungry. We're running out of water. The nearby stream froze completely and we haven't had any in three days. She says it's my fault. All we've done is fight for a week straight. She made me sleep in the other bed last night. She's dead wrong if she thinks I'm sharing my portion of the food now.

I want to go home. January 9th, 1987. We completely ran out of food. I am so hungry. Danny's been getting weaker and weaker by the day. She says she's fine, but I know she isn't. I can't support her much longer. She has to get better.

Fast. January 12th, 1987. I'm starving. Danny isn't better. I can't handle this much longer. January 15th, 1987. Blood is hard to wash off of wooden floors. Blood is hard to scrub out from underneath fingernails.

January 18th, 1987. Every time I take a bite, I just get hungrier and hungrier. It never ends. Nothing can satisfy it. I feel like I'm starving. January 26, 1987. I can't even look at myself in the mirror. I don't even look the same.

I miss Danny, but I don't regret it. February 9th, 1987. I'm different now. February 28th, 1987. I can never go back. 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, and Facebook, or email us at creepypod

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