Creepy - Day 21 - It's Just a Game Show & Little Curl

Episode Date: October 21, 2024

It's Just a Game Show***Written by: Sean Roberson***Little Curl***Written by: Deirdre Coles and Narrated by: Nichole Goodnight***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea 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. It's midnight, it's October, and that means KREP is on the air and ready to guide you through this most magically devious time of year.

It's day 21 of the 31 days of horror, a time of cool winds, falling leaves, and... Um... Other things. Your lives. listening to KREP, and I'm your host, your anxiety when the sun is out, the creep himself. And a quick shout out to the following listeners who've chained themselves to our dungeon wall.

Janet Span, Dan Roach, Cody Stevens, Stainless 90, Lauren, Kelsey Richard, Is the Dark really free to play, or are there micro-transactions, and Alice Walker. Thank you all. Now to a listener email. We all like to play games, don't we? For some, it's something simple like a board game, maybe a card game, maybe money is involved in some way.

For others, those games might take place within a friendship or a relationship. You thinking that testing the person you're with is the only way to really show that they care. when in reality it's just a cruel manipulation allowing you to feel in control of their life. Don't do that. And for others it might be tradition. Sitting down in the living room after dinner or on a sick day from school, passing the time with any of the number of shows out there offering big prizes and money to the lucky few contestants.

And it's in that last scenario that this listener would like us to know that, It's just a game show. My obsession with game shows stems from my early days as a child. My parents would always have something playing. Who wants to be a millionaire, family feud, $100,000 pyramid, even whammy. My mom's favorite, though, that she would watch without fail was the price is right. That was her absolute favorite, and she would always make sure to watch it the five days a week it was on in the morning. I remember the days I would stay home sick from school and watch it with her.

Still in my PJs, stuffy nose, and a graveyard of tissues all around me like a sick man's pentagram. The show playing and Bob Barker's chipper attitude telling people they won, a brand new car. That's how it all started. That's how I ended up here. Fuck. My therapist said it would help to write all this down. I don't know about that. But at least I can reach out to others that remember that show.

I'm getting ahead of myself. Backtrack six months. I just left my hometown to pursue a career in mechanical engineering at a larger university in Denver, Colorado. I was always close with my family. Sundays at church, Wednesdays at the local diner, and the evenings watching Jeopardy. We were close. Oh yeah, my name is Franklin, by the way. My mom, dad, and two younger sisters.

So, leaving was hard. Very hard. Especially for my mom. I was only a four-hour drive away, but that doesn't make it any easier. Anyway, to feel close while also far from them, I'd face-time one of my siblings and we'd turn on whatever game show was playing at the time and I'll watch it together. The days we couldn't do that, or times didn't align,

I'd just watch something myself. It was nice. I really got involved in it. Shit. I was even feeling smarter after so many trivia questions. I would have rocked trivia night at bars going out with friends. If I had any friends. Or if I still went out.

Rather was allowed to go out. But sorry, I keep skipping around. He says it's harder for me to focus now because of the trauma. Yeah, trauma. That's rich. Trauma's no joke. Especially those who have faced true trauma. But the terms thrown around so much that people don't even get what that means.

Skip ahead another three months of this. Calling the family, studying my ass off, ace in classes. All in all, things were going pretty great if you asked me. A socially awkward, straight-a game show fanatic. One Tuesday night I was bored. Nothing was going on. All tests were finished. Roommates didn't want to go out or didn't want me to go with them.

And my family was busy doing their own things. I think Sarah, my youngest sister, was at a sleepover. So I did what any 19-year-old boy would do. No, not that. I googled foreign game shows. Found some wacky ones from Japan. Some semi-serious ones from Australia. Think Fear Factor, but down under.

When something caught my eye, it was just a simple ad on some streaming site. At first, I'm always hesitant to ever click on something I don't know what it is or if I can't confirm if it's a cure. I didn't want some virus to ruin my main way of working and watching things. But I was bored and a title like, Want to Be on a game show? Perked me up and got my attention. So I clicked the link. The hat loaded slowly, and I mean painfully slowly.

Thoughts streamed through my head that I was. going to need to go somewhere to remove the malware that was being downloaded to my computer. Then, it popped up. Flashing colors and dollar signs flooded the screen like you just hit the grand jackpot in a Vegas casino. The article, or rather the form, was listed as, Do you have what it takes to be on a game show? Introducing, it's just a game show.

The game show that's about game shows. Think you have what it takes to go head to head with other competitors for this soon-to-be instant classic? It's just a game show, I said to the empty college dorm and open window blowing in the cool Denver automere. I continued reading. We are looking for willing participants to apply for our new show. The show is simple. It's just a game show. Have fun, play the game, answer the question.

questions, test your brain power, physical strength, and overcome adversity. You too could win and be deemed the game show master. After that, there was a brief form that asked for basic information. Age, gender, email address, any health issues, if you can lift more than 30 pounds, if you have issues with being in high stress situations. I thought this was odd and seemed too good to be true. I also thought, well, my whole life has been training for a game show about game shows. I thought that's what it was about anyway.

So like anyone my age, in doing something they shouldn't, I signed up, figuring what the hell. Within a minute of selecting submit, my laptop chimed with an email notification. I figured it was probably just a generic, thank you for signing up, BS that I'll spam email send. But it wasn't. It was an acceptance notice saying, Thank you for applying, Franklin, located in Denver, and congratulations. I'd been selected, and because of my location, I'd be able to compete in a game show in two weeks time. Holy shit, my family's never going to believe this. I laughed louder than I expected as I heard a fist slam into the wall on the other side of my bed. I checked the clock,

and it was 120 a.m. How the hell did it get this late? I can call him tomorrow and let him know. I shut my laptop, giddy and excited that I get to be on my very own game show that my family may watch someday. I pray. They never see that fucking recording.

The following morning, I woke up with a smile still on my face and my rosy cheeks were sore. The smile slowly faded when I reread the evening. email that I now had pulled up on my phone. The acceptance letter hadn't changed. It's just how it read, which was odd. How did they know my name?

How did they know where I was located? The application, oddly enough, didn't ask for my name. My email doesn't even mention it. Nor did it ask for my location. I thought that was very strange, but maybe they had. had a way of checking? Some, I don't know, game show magic? Maybe the application was only for this specific Denver location?

I always thought I was smart. Good at trivia. I don't know why I didn't read into it more. Or rather realize this was too good to be true. But hindsight's 2020. I was just excited to be on a game show. after two weeks of wrapping up class work, watching hours of different game shows as practice,

and several discussions with my family, it was time for the show. My parents wanted texts when I made it there and how it was going, even asked to send picks and let them know the ins and outs of the network. I didn't tell them the weird things I noticed from the start. They would have told me not to go, and I would have listened. When I arrived, it was a dingy little building that seemed too small to host a full game show. It wasn't like the Hollywood studios that were massive and had multiple buildings.

There was a shitty paper sign attached to a poll that read, It's just a game show recording today, with an arrow pointing to the right. I followed blindly and came to a spray-painted door. It was crudely spray-painted with a big dollar sign that had a glow to it. it, like it was freshly done. I took the handle and pushed down. It opened with a click and a loud squeak. At first it seemed to abandon completely.

But when I stepped in, I realized there was a curtain in front of me. I pushed it to the side and was bombarded with flashing lights and loud noises. There was a clown, plucky side actor who was standing by some games. And so many games. My face erupted from a look of confusion, one of sheer joy and wonder. I was in disbelief. It was incredible. Holy sh!

I started to say, but was quickly grabbed by a chipper young man with gray hair on the side of his head and dark black curls on top. He greeted me eagerly. Ah, you must be Franklin, our third and final contestant. It's so wonderful to meet you. You're just in time. We were worried you'd miss out on this wonderful day. We are so, so, so very happy. You're here.

Come. Come, no time to dawdle. Let's get you strapped in with the other contestants so we can start the show. Oh, it'll be recorded for a certain internet audience. That's okay, right? Who am I kidding? Of course it's okay. You're going to be a star.

The host said without taking a breath and without letting me respond once. I even tried to speak and he briskly pushed me to a podium next to two other contestants. In the middle, and closest to me, was a middle-aged woman wearing a short skirt that was hot pink, a green top, and bright red hair. Her face had enough makeup on it that it didn't seem she could smile, let alone breathe. On the other side, and furthest from me, was a 50-something-year-old balding man. He was covered fingertips to elbows and tattoos that look like squiggles and no clear distinction what they were.

He was wearing a dirty metal band shirt and ripped blue jeans. I was glad what I was wearing wasn't too over the top or underdressed. That's when I noticed the other contestants were strapped in by their wrists and ankles, buzzer in one hand, water gun in the other. The host did the same to me, strapping me in and getting me situated. I chuckled, but felt suddenly very anxious. Not in a I'm about to be on a game show way

But in a This doesn't seem right Way Once I was strapped in I went to ask the lady something When the lights went out I heard a gasp from the woman Then a bright red light flashed on in the pitch black

We were rolling Upbeat tempo music started a blare And the plucky side actor began his opener He's gentlemen and worms. It's time for everyone's favorite. It's just a game show. A clapping and cheering soundtrack went off. Put your hands together for the host with the most.

You know him, you love him. He's host. More cheering and clapping with whistles in the back. Next to the red light, a number of counter was reading 5,043. Was that the amount of people watching? How popular was the show? I couldn't even find it anywhere on Google. We can't fucking clap, you have us tied down,

the older man said, dryly, clearly annoyed. There's no response to his statement, just the host starting the show. Thank you, thank you. Hello everyone, and hello to our wonderful contestants on this beautiful October evening. Pretty sure it's even the third. He chided and grinned at the camera. The laugh track kicking up again. Now I know everyone is excited to start the show, so we won't keep you waiting.

We have a wonderful show for you all tonight, and it's a night to die for. The rules are simple for those of you who don't know. Like, clearly these slumps don't know. He's sad looking at the camera once more, hitching a thumb at us. The laugh track kicked in. The counter read 10,300. What the fuck is this? I said under my breath. Now, the host started again.

You probably saw so many games when you walked in, but you won't be playing half of these, rather any of these yet. Just two. A water shooting game, thus the water gun, that's like the old school carnival games, and you'll love this, a flashy new game that you'll use the buttons for. Now let's just start. Oh, and to make things more interesting, let's introduce to audience favorites,

the hype of the show, the cream of the crop, the monsters. He dragged out the word like the WWE announcer, and cheering became deafening from the track. The lights flashed all around like finding someone in a crowd at a hockey game when they lit up behind us. Three bright lights from the heavens

like God trying to burn the abominations behind us. The woman immediately began to scream. The other man started cussing and yanking at the cuffs. I just stared, trying to process what was in my eyes. Behind each contestant was a mutated animal, human beast thing, chained by their throats. Behind a woman was a bipedal monstrosity with an octopus mouth filled with razor-sharpark teeth. Its body looked the most human compared to the others, but from the chest up it looked like some cheap and violent Mock Cthulu.

Behind the older man was a beaver, standing six feet tall with a muscular body, praying mantis arms and saber-tooth fangs. It drooled because it couldn't close its mouth or was so hungry for the smell of what was in front of him. Behind me was another humanoid shape, but that of a tiny. tiger that had no fingers, just razor, claws, horse legs, and a head that split in half when it would moan. The muse showed hundreds of teeth that were stained and covered in viscera.

Everyone was shaking, trying to break free. The man in the end trying the hardest, which the host did not appreciate. He pressed a button on the stand in front of him and the beaver bastard took a lunge forward. the chain giving more length for the creature to get its prey. The man screamed. Ah, good. Now you all know how to play. It's just a game show. The host jeered as the soundspeakers brood and odd from an invisible audio crowd. For every wrong button press, the beast will get closer.

For each loss of the water fights, they get closer. You try to break free, they get closer. You piss me or the lovely audience off? They get closer. If you're the last one standing, you win. Host raised his arms in the air, and the crowd cheered booming with joy. The counter read 27,835. I can't even remember what words were said.

The woman was pleading and sobbing. The older man cussing and swore that he'd kill the host and everyone here with the gun he kept in his car. I just stood there. numb. The growls and grunts of hunger heightened behind us. The host was fed up and pressed the button again, and it started the first game, a water fight. The water fights were shooting targets that ran across the game area. They seemed at first like they were cardboard cutouts, but their movements weren't that of a track. Instead, they were small demonic nightmare children with goat legs and holes in their

faces. The holes were filled with a blender of sharp, serrated teeth with just an empty void in the center. It was clear what our water fight targets were, their mouths. The host stated over pleas and curses. Don't just stand there slack jot and swearing up the storm, you got a game to win. You better hurry. You only have five minutes to get these agile little ones.

I held my gun firm, but was unsure if they were. this was even real. Maybe I was just dreaming. Maybe my roommate slipped me in edible again and it was laced. Maybe my thoughts paused when I heard the host continue. Oh yeah. So if you guys don't want to play, he exclaimed with a tone of extreme irritation, hand pressing all of our buttons.

The chains loosened slightly and all our mutated devil spawns crept closer. The older man's now an arm's length out, sharp fangs slashing his shirt and back. I'll just kill you all, and we can find new contestants, ones that won't forfeit the first round. He released the button, and we all began to shoot. The man squirming, his blood dripping ever so slightly down his back and onto the floor, making a drip, drip, drip noise. He wasn't lying. The Satan garbage disposal.

were fast, very fast. Most carnival games would make a quack noise at the rubber duck or a chime when you knew you were doing good. Not this one. This game you heard gagging and spitting of water. I thought surely this can't be right. But as the first one fell from my hands, I knew we were killing them. Though they were wrong in every way, I felt so wrong to kill them. They were just Playing? Did they know what was going on? Once the time was up, the host announced the winner. Me?

The clap track and cheering were deafening. The counter read 47,093. Congratulations, young man. He screamed in excitement into the mic, sounding out the words, slowly drawn out. But with every winner, is a... A loser. You'd impress the button of the woman, screams. I can still hear her screams.

The chains loosened more for the woman in the middle and the man-octopus approach closer, making a guttural hissing and whining noise that sounded like a cross between agony and pure rage. It grabbed her shirt tendrils, twisting and turning, trying to pull her in but was still just out of reach. It got more violent being so close to its dinner. The woman began to plead again, but the host cut her off in an instant to announce the next game. Now my wonderful, handsome and beautiful contestants, it's time for round. The applause erupted in a sick cacophony of creature, snarls, cries, and soundtrack clapping. Now this game will be all about your timing and your button pressing a little bit of the

Men too tall to be humanly possible wheeled out three giant towers with lights up and down them ranging from red at the top, yellow in the middle, orange below that, and ending with a single green at the bottom. They placed each of the three towers in front of us and gauntly walked back to the blood-red curtains from where they came. This game is simple. The host stated in an almost whispered tone as if to not let the audience hear. You have your clickers in hand. When the light lands on green, you win. Yellow, you're safe for the time being. Orange, the restraints get tighter.

And red, well, let's just say my babies are hungry. The red counter read 68,342. Back to his regular announcer voice, he began. Now, folks, you are really going to love this game. It's one of my newest faves. Let's get ready for Light Up My Life. The towers all lit up in an instant. I don't remember hearing the other contestants' voices.

I was too busy sweating bullets and following the lights up and down. It was fast, too fast to be precise. It seemed impossible. The already panicking woman was the first to press her button. and she was the first red light. The way it wrapped her apart. The shrieks of horror that she emitted from her mouth and throat as it was constricted and gouged out.

Her face pleading at me and the other man, at the horror that had her. It didn't take its time with her. It was fast, brutal, carnivorous. As her cries faded, it was replaced with a wet sloshing noise and sounds of crunching bones and meat, like an all-you-can-eat-horror buffet. The older guy wouldn't stop screaming.

Tourette's bursting from his horse's throat. But the only response he got back was maniacal laughter from the host. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call a fishy ending. Cue the horrendous laugh track. Just like that, there were just the two of us. From the gore between us, we locked eyes. In those few intense moments, I knew he wasn't going to stop. He turned and faced the light tower, extreme focus locked onto the flashing lights.

I did the same. The lights were fast. Millions of flashing lights streaming up and down like a firework on loop. many thoughts were rushing through my head. What if I mess up? What if I get red? The creature was two away from me and one away from him, if it was anything like the lady. Did it just get closer?

Why can't I hear anything? Then my last question was answered with a loud, fuck! I stopped my concentration and looked over. A bright orange light showed from the tower, then started back. to its malignant pattern. From the tower, I shot my glance over to the man. Within that split second, my eyes made contact. His left wrist snapped in two, causing his hand and water gun to flink upwards in a horrific

display like hailing a taxi. The snap and scream of agony made me jump, and sadly push the button. On red. Oh, God, no. I whined as I heard the chains instantly released the creature slightly forward towards its unwilling meal, towards me. I felt the hissing breath of a tiger as it crept ever closer when an excruciating pain erupted from my back. The razor claws snagged into my flesh. Tears began to flow as soon as blades made contact with skin.

I pressed as close as possible into the podium. Its growls and snarls grew more irritated like the world's most pissed-off house cat. Through my tears and tightened body, I realized I no longer heard the man cussing, yelling, or in agony from his newly broken wrist. It was because he had a bigger problem. When his one wrist broke, the other clenched down tight on the button. On red. From what was left, I don't think he suffered for long.

The Frankenstein-paying mantis beaver was no longer its odd, sickly shades of green and pasty white. Instead, it was covered in dark red, bits of meat hanging from its mouth and scythe arms. That's when I noticed his head. Malthagate and eyes rolled back so far. It was like a demon took over his body before exploding from him. I threw up all over my face. myself all over the podium. Oh, tough break.

I was beginning to like Mr. Sassy Pants over there. Guess he didn't make the cut. The drumline trailed as he winked at the camera. More laughter shooting through the studio. Distorted and misplaced. Well, Franklin, I guess you win by default. Congratulations. I guess you win by default.

really are the master game show winner. Go to hell. I choked out through the vomit and tears. Whoop, we have a fighter here, folks. Big round of applause. The hell show bowed into his hands and the air as if to rile up the audience. You know what? Just because I like you, I'll let you finish the game.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's been a wonderful time with you tonight. Let's see if our dear Franklin has what it takes for. It's just a game show. His W.E. announcer voice shrieking again all the while chanting with the soundtrack. Go! In that moment, I heard the tiger growling behind me, the angering it boring more holes in my back with just its eyes. They say before you die, time slows down.

Well, in that instant, I thanked the concept. As if my life depended on it, my senses were in overdrive. The light slowed down before my eyes, and with a deep breath, I pressed the button, closing my eyes at the same time. Cheers and screams erupted from my shutout vision. I smelled smoke. It was being covered in little pieces of paper. I opened my eyes.

Confetti. Young man, I'm so very impressed you did it. I never doubted you for a single second. The host clapped his hands and the audience went berserk. The counter read 142,452. Franklin, you dirty dog, you are the wonderful and well-warranted winner of the show, and I couldn't be more proud of you. The chains retracted,

yanking the beast's back. The animalistic screams of losing a meal in between the sucking and licking of its crimson claws. It cleaned what it could of my blood. The others started to be reeled in as well, dragging what was left of their meals back to hell where they belong. The ungodly tall men came back and wheeled away the towers. One slowly picked up the man's head,

and as it walked towards the curtains I saw its jaw unhinged and take a massive bite then it was just me the host and the red light Franklin congratulations again on winning

what a wonderful soul you are I have to go you know what they say showbiz never sleeps but hey we'll be in touch I'm sure you bet thank you ladies and gentlemen Thank you for streaming. Thank you for tuning in as always.

From It's Just a Game Show, I'm the host. Good night, everyone. The man shouted, blowing kisses at the camera. The soundtrack distorting to a deafening squeal of cheers and what sounded like children screams. Within a flash, the lights were off. All sounds cut, and a sickly sweet smell wafted into my face. I felt woozy, dizzy, and lightheaded.

Before I knew it, I was being drugged. Before my head slammed into the podium, I saw the red light flash a few times and went out. The number read, 194,031. When I awoke, I was still restrained, but not to that death show, to a hospital bed. Get Well cards strewn around me alongside detectives. I guess a security guard making his nightly rounds found me passed out in the abandoned warehouse. Nothing around me just lying there, naked on the cold concrete. Needless to say, they didn't believe me, so much so that they said I was unfit to take care of myself and he

needs special treatment. That's what got me here. Three meals a day. Pills to help me sleep. Pills to help me forget. Pills, pills, pills. My therapist suggested writing down the trauma and the story, as he called it, to help me begin to move on. So, here I am, trying to move on. Writing to the only place that like-minded people may find out what happened to me or share experiences. But I pray this never happens to anyone else. Piece of advice. Hold your loved ones close. Enjoy the time you share with them.

And if you ever get a shady ad for a game show, even if it seems legit, even if it is legit, never go. Thank you. Franklin. Update. I'm updating this post because I received an email

that sent shivers through me. And I don't know what to do. During my loud computer time, I checked my email. And I saw that I received the second worst acceptance letter of my life. I don't know what to do. I'm scared. The doctors don't believe me and keep telling me it's not real. But I fear for what'll happen soon.

The email read. Subject. It's just a game show champion round. Hey Franklin and happy Halloween. We hope the hospital is treating you well with your square meals, brain training, and mental exercises. We are delighted to share that It's Just a Game Show is starting their champions of champion segment and taking winners from around the globe for their final round and to be deemed master champion of game shows. This opportunity is so good that you cannot say no.

We will be picking you up at the hospital in two weeks' time. No need to pack bags. We will prep everything for you. We will see you soon, Franklin, Master Gamer. Good luck, you dirty dog. And now what word from our sponsor is. We're back on the air with KREP and caller. You are on with us. Hi, creep, long time listener, first time getting through. I wanted to tell people about the Little Curl. Camp Colbo was usually my favorite three weeks of the entire year, but this summer was different because there was a monster in the woods. And ever since we met it, up until Halloween, we've been waiting for it to return. It happened at the end of our first week when we did the traditional clabber hill hike. All the new campers were told to carry as many

rocks as they could up the hill, and when they got to the top, they could trade the rocks in for the same amount of ice cream. The snickering of us older campers and the fact that it would be impossible to drive an ice cream truck up to the summit of a rocky, Roadless hill in the middle of the woods should have clued them in. But what can I say? Little kids are dumb. When we got to the top of the hill, the big reveal. No ice cream at all. Just a giant Karen of stones from all the campers who'd fallen for the trick before.

Followed by brutal teasing from the older campers. As we were leaving the hill, looking forward to the relative cool and shade of the forest, we all saw something that looked kind of like a big floating puddle of oil in the air. Alex, the coolest counselor at camp, put out an arm to stop Derek, the first camper in line. Alex said he didn't know what it was, but we should probably go around. The problem was that when we moved to the left, the bubble of oil rolled lazily leftward too. I didn't like the queasy making way the greasy swirls of color rolled through it. Alex said he didn't know what it was.

Maybe fumes or insects, but we should wait and let him go ahead and make sure it was okay before we followed. Alex was so cool. He kept going down the hill and finally the puddle stopped. He was squinting at it as he walked past it into the woods. But if he figured out what it was, he didn't say anything. He called out to us and we headed downhill. We were still a little freaked out by the weird blob, but we were also really hot and thirsty and dying to gulp down lots of the watermelon,

cherry fruit punch that Camp Colbo served up by the barrelful. But we were also really hot. and thirsty and dying to gulp down lots of the watermelon cherry fruit punch that Camp Colbo served up by the barrelful. The problem was we were so far to the left of the trail by this point that we were deep in the thorny underbrush, making slow progress as we had to bend or break prickly branches to make our way through. So we were all scattered and halfway stuck when the bubble changed. It kind of flowered outward, like a time-lapse video of a particularly nasty fungus. And where it had been was a monster.

It was kind of like a bear with an oversized head and much more oversized jaws and kind of like a crocodile doing a chimpanzee knuckle walk. It had a damp, shaggy, reeking coat writhing with grubs and worms and all of the things you might find if you turned over a rotting log deep in the forest. It was hard to get a fix on it because its outlines kept blurring and shifting, parts of it seeming to melt into the air itself, as if we were only seeing bits of it at a time. The only thing that stayed sharp and clear were its claws, the enormous fangs that crowded its mouth and its gigantic golden eyes. The monster said it was very happy to see us, because it was very hungry. It ate Alex. It happened very fast.

The monster casually reached out one long, clawed hand, scooped him up and bit off his head and left shoulder. It stuffed in the rest of him in about four bites and then picked up his left arm, which had fallen to the ground and swallowed that too. I guess I should be glad for Alex's sake that he started with the head. Alex had time for only one short scream before it was cut off, literally. Of course the rest of us were all screaming. The monster gave us until it had finished its meal and then glared at us.

Oh, shut up, it said, sounding disgusted. I'm not going to eat any more of you. It giggled horribly. Not today, it said. You're tastier if I let you ripen until harvest time. But now is a good time to choose who I'll be coming back to collect. I have an even better idea. You can help me choose.

Tell me why I shouldn't eat you, it said, pointing at Derek. The point of its long claw poked into a few. Derek's chest, and a little splash of blood bloomed on Derek's late green Camp Colbo t-shirt. Derek didn't say that the monster shouldn't eat anybody. He said that the monster should eat Kelly instead of him. Look how fat Kelly is, Derek said. She probably tastes like bacon. The monster seemed to grin and nodded its huge, heavy head. I reached out a claw to Kelly, who was trembling but silent. It touched its claw to her hairline and threw down a bit of sweaty hair, and then it spoke a line that I remembered my grandmother saying to me,

There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very good indeed. But when she was bad, she was horrid. And when the claw pulled away, there was a tiny, perfect ringlet, like a coiled spring about an inch long. The monster turned to Courtney next. Courtney babbled that Amber would be delicious because of her sugary diet, and Amber got the same rhyme in the little ringlet, too. On and on it went, campers turning on each other.

Molly, my camp best friend, reached out and took my hand. My stomach twisted. I knew Molly wouldn't pick anybody else to take her place. That meant I couldn't either, no matter how much I wanted to. Molly would be so disappointed in me. The monster looked over at us at our clasped hands, at Molly's face, at my face, and it grinned wide. I wanted to throw up.

I knew the monster would point to me next, and maybe when it came down to it, my courage would fail me. But before that could happen, Ellie Dean spoke up and said the monster should eat Molly because she was every teacher's pet, and blatant favoritism was probably just scum. grumpious. While a lot of the kids were sad and desperate and nearly crying when they named other victims, Ellie Dean sounded spiteful and positively glad. The monster leaned forward and touched Molly's face. I could have said something. I could have done the opposite of the other kids. I could have

done what Molly probably would have done for me and taken her place. But I just stood there numbly, dumbly while Molly was marked for reaping. I'll be seeing you little lambs. soon when you're nice and ripe and ready to harvest. The monster heaved and suddenly became a dripping, writhing knot of tentacles, and then heaved again and it became a giant, raw-skinned bird with blood-clotted sword tips instead of feathers. You don't need to bother trying to hide from me, it said. I've got access to a couple more dimensions than you do.

It's so amusing when you try to escape, like rats scurrying through one of your mazes, when I can reach down and snatch you up whenever I want. We all stumbled back to camp. Derek told the other counselors that Alex had gotten separated from us in the woods. The rest of us, knowing nobody would believe us, went along with it. The camp staff was about to organize a search party when Alex supposedly texted, saying he'd sprained his ankle but managed to make it to a road and get a ride into town,

and he was quitting effective immediately. Just about every kid called their parents, begging to come home early, but most parents said no. They had already paid for Camp Colbo, and couldn't get refunds and couldn't rearrange their schedules. So most of us actually stayed there for the next two weeks, sick with fear, jumping out of our skins at every sound and movement. Nobody could sleep, and kids were throwing up watermelon cherry fruit punch by the gallon.

It was no better once we got home. Molly and I went to different schools, so we usually hung out less when school started, but not this year. I understood how scared she was, and maybe she understood how guilty I felt. So we spent as much time together as we could, not that it made either of us feel any better. We even went to the library, I guess with the idea of trying to look up information on how to evade extra-dimensional monsters, and ran into Kelly there, doing the same thing. Kelly gave a kind of bitter laugh and told us not to bother. I tried not to, but I couldn't stop myself from staring at the little curl on Kelly's forehead,

like staring at a scar you know you're supposed to pretend not to see. Our town held a big harvest festival every September, and I was afraid the monster would decide that would be the time to collect its victims. I didn't want to go, but my parents dragged me along. Molly's family had done the same thing, so we walked around the festival together. Her parents bought us both shiny caramel apples. The sweet smell and the glossy golden-brown coating perked up my appetite for the first time in weeks, and I took a bite. It was so good with that sulky burnt sugar glaze and the tart apple underneath, and I closed my eyes for a second

to savor it. But then Molly screamed, and there were apple to the ground. She had seen the giggling monster reflected in the fruit's shiny coat. I wasn't even surprised when I looked at my apple and saw a worm writhing inside. As we were leaving, we passed the scarecrow display. The scarecrow in the middle wore a flannel shirt and straw hat, and in the middle of its flat, lumpy canvas face, a little rusty spring dangling down. The monster didn't come that day. We kept waiting. All the Camp Colbo kids were a wreck, nails bit into the quick, hair falling out, crying and starting fights and not paying attention in school. We all knew none of it mattered.

I texted Molly first thing in the morning and last thing at night. We had sleepovers every weekend, but I dreaded them. I was so afraid of what was going to happen to her. But even though I knew I was safe, I didn't want to be there when the monster came for the harvest. And that made me feel even more guilty. September dragged on into October, the crunch of fallen leaves, the ripening apples, the ripening pumpkins,

Molly and the rest of the marked ones ripening in their fear like pickles in a jar. And then it was Halloween. Our parents were beyond frustrated with us by this time, and just couldn't believe we didn't want to put up spooky decorations or carved pumpkins or go trick-or-treating or even put together costumes. Molly asked me to come to her house. She would tell her parents we were too old for trick-or-treating and just wanted to stay home and have a sleepover and watch horror movies.

Which was ridiculous, of course, because our whole lives were a horror movie at that point. I really didn't want to go. Her parents said okay, as long as we handed out candy to the kids who came around. We sat in the living room trying to watch short videos that might have been funny if we could have paid attention to them, stress-eating the peanut butter cups we were supposed to be handing out,

answering the doorbell together each time. A lot of kids came by the house, I kept thinking it would be Halloween because of course it would be Halloween. We wouldn't sleep that night, watching the clocks until midnight. In the end, we didn't make it that far. At about 7.30, the doorbell rang, and we headed over expecting another gaggle of witches or dinosaurs or superheroes. But when Molly opened the door, there was the monster. It closed its long claws around her throat and lifted her up off the ground by her neck.

I thought Molly might thrash her. and struggle, but she just hung there limply. Exhausted, defeated by the weeks of constant terror and vigilance, almost relieved that it was all over now. The monster gave a horrible purring sound that sounded like the rumblings of the engines of hell. Its moist crocodilian snout snuffled under Molly's chin. Just delightful, it said. Just perfectly ripe. The monster ate Molly. I had spent weeks thinking about how horrible it would be, but it turned out my imagination had failed me,

because it was a lot worse. The last I saw of Molly was her favorite pair of socks, the ones with corgis on them. I thought about Molly carefully putting on her favorite socks that day, and it broke my heart. And then the monster turned to me. Oh, don't worry. You won't have to feel bad for you.

long, it said. Its claws burned as they closed around my neck, and I couldn't breathe as it lifted me off my feet. Plot twist. You know, guilt can ripen you just as well as fear, it said. The savory with the sweet. Blackness was creeping around the edges of my vision, and I hoped I would lose consciousness before it bit down, but I didn't. Unlike with Molly and with Alex before her, the monster started at my feet. I couldn't even pretend I didn't deserve it. I hadn't been brave enough to take Molly's place. I hadn't even been brave enough to come and bear witness willingly.

I'd only come because she asked, and deep down I had been desperately hoping she'd let me off the hook. I wasn't just bad. I was horrid. Can you believe we're already this far into October? I don't want to upset any. This tends to be the time of year when the veil I've been talking about. Well, I just wanted to ask you to please pardon us if things start to get a bit stranger.

Stay safe out there, dear listeners. And as always, this is the creep, and you're listening to KREP. Today, tomorrow, and forth. For more information on this podcast, 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.

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