Creepy - Day 21 - Think of the Children

Episode Date: October 21, 2021

They're thinking of you...***Written by Paul Caseley and narrated by Megan McDuffee***Bonus Episode: "The Seven Gates of Hell Ritual" written by Sum Gigh***Check out Sleep/Wake Cycle Podcast at: https://shows.acast.com/the-sleep-wake-cycle/episodes***Find our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. 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 simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of books. violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. The 31 Days of Horror. Day 21. Think of the children. Written by Paul Casley and narrated by Megan McDuffie. The one thing I hated about London, Ontario in the fall and winter, was taking the bus. I had long decided. that there was no point in owning a car. The transit system was serviceable enough,

and a car was just another expense on my already meager office worker's salary. The buses were kept clean, and the riders, generally, were pretty friendly, or at least kept to themselves. But during the winter, when it got dark early, the walk to and from the stop, not to mention the general aura attached to riding the bus, was pretty unnerving. Anyway, this time I would have to take a different bus to get to Andrea's house. I boarded it and flashed my bus pass. The bus seemed pretty typical, if not a little dated. It had been allowed to become worn and shabby over the years,

although the city was talking about making buses a priority again. I walked towards the rear of the bus, knowing I would have at least 20 minutes before I arrived at my destination. As I walked, I noticed a small group of children between about two. eight and fifteen years of age, if I had to guess. No parents seemed present, and the kids were kind of oddly dressed, like they had raided the storage boxes of their great-grandparents to find their clothing. They just felt strange.

Although it was October, perhaps they were headed to a costume party, or involved in one of the city's theater performances. I suppressed a shudder as I walked past and kept my eyes on the floor. I felt a natural aversion to making eye-conference. with these kids. My decision was justified when a piercing giggle seemed to follow me down the narrow corridor to my seat. Finally seated, I glanced quickly over to the figures and noticed that several of the children were carrying what seemed to be porcelain dolls in their grubby little hands. Again, I felt compelled to shift my gaze, looking at the window or at the floor.

As the bus rounded stop after stop, people shuffled off, but the children stayed. They were eerily quiet for children their age. Occasionally, I would glance at the group, letting my eyes sweep over them. But there was something that made me averse to allowing my eyes to linger on them for very long. After a few stops, I began to notice that I wasn't the only person uncomfortable with the presence of the children, and that my fellow passengers also kept their eyes averted from the group, as if they also sensed something was wrong with them and that a threat existed. The children's behavior, despite being muted, also seemed oddly malapropos.

The fear I felt was admittedly irrational. I mean, they were just children. However, my fear began to shift as we got closer to Andrea's stop and they still hadn't left the bus. I imagined that what I was feeling was somewhat akin to what a mouse would feel when stepping into the domain of a bunch of cats. Yes, I was scared, but I also knew the fear was pretty irrational. It was a full stop before Andrea's, and despite this, I pulled the stop cord and felt the lurching of the bus as it came to a full stop. I had decided to leave the bus at a stop early, hoping to leave the children behind. I had added ten minutes to my work, walk, but it would be worth it, a small price to pay for my peace of mind. It was one of those crappy

October nights. They happen late in the month when the weather can't decide whether or not it wanted to rain or snow. The result was a strange cross between a splashing sound and a squelching sound as I walked through what could only be described as slush. As I walked, I thought I heard a giggle. I turned to look, but only saw sections of darkness, punctuated by streetlights. They shivered partially from the cold, and partially from what I assumed was the memory of those creepy kids and kept on my way. Goose bumps rose on my flesh, and I felt the sudden desire to run, although I doubted that it would do much for me. I should have kept a better eye on my surroundings than where I was walking. I stepped off the curb to cross the street, and had

hit the pavement poorly, causing my ankle to turn. The twist wasn't so horrible. I could still walk, but it still caused me enough pain and discomfort to break my silence. Ow, frick! What where you're going, Addison? They said aloud, to no one. Timing is everything, as they say. It was a simple thing, something everyone has done, and usually I would have curse, moaned a bit. and then continued on. However, in the current situation, my misstep proved to be more serious. From the darkness, I heard a fairly high-pitched male voice.

It had a purring quality to it, smooth as silk, yet somehow it was just wrong. The voice was unmistakably young, probably on the verge of pubescence. Hey, lady. It was insistent, and yet level and even. even. Any notion that I was alone suddenly vanished as my head jerked around to see who was speaking. I almost forgot my pain as a primitive fear seized me. The fear was powerful, almost overpowering, and I had to fight the urge to flee. I stifled my first, probably most logical response and turned to the voice to respond. Who's there? Where are you? I can hear you, but I can't see you.

Please, come into the light. Sorry, lady, I didn't mean to startle you. The voice crooned. Soon the idea that I was hearing a young male was confirmed. He was fairly unremarkable and perhaps a bit small for the eleven or twelve years old I took him for. Otherwise, he was dressed in pretty common, if not somewhat outdated clothing. Probably hand-me-downs, I thought. He was wearing a green ball hat with the letters K,

and sea emblazoned on it. I had never seen a hat quite like that before, but that didn't mean much. I knew next to nothing about sports, and it could be a local kids' team or a business hat. To be honest, I only really noticed the cap because I couldn't clearly see the boy's face as the shadow from the bill of the hat fell in such a way that it perfectly obscured his eyes. I immediately felt that irrational fear and revulsion return. something that I tamped down. What are you doing out here by yourself? Not very original, I know, but it was the most natural question, really.

I'm lost. Can you help me? The boy replied, a little too quickly. Upon this reply, a primal part of my psyche screamed at me and told me to run as fast as I could, leaving this boy to his plight. Someone else would find him, someone else would help him. But despite the fact that that same psyche tried to justify leaving the kid, I knew that my conscience would never allow me to just leave, abandoning a young child to any number of dangers found in the city at night. Besides, it wasn't like I could run away anyway, something my throbbing ankle reminded me through resplendent pain. The boy could easily outpace me, as I could never get any real speed or traction.

As a result, I mumbled my agreement to help the boy, who instantly took my hand. His touch was icy, cold, yet remarkably dry. You're freezing. We have to find some way to warm you up. All the while, I was feeling my own sense of terror and dread, build, as I asked shakily. So, what's your name anyway? Kevin. The boy answered simply and plainly, almost daring me to ask more, knowing that I wouldn't. The voice sounded different, almost ethereal.

Uh, all right, Kevin. I'm Addison. Do you have any idea where you live? Do you know your address? The boy sniffed at this, not of sadness or fear, but of derision. Of course, I'm not a baby. He rambled off a house number and street name. Again, the cadence seems strange. Wrong. And the way he was now interacting with me made me feel even more unsettled.

Oh, that's not too far away from here. I'm sure if you just go down one of those side streets, it will get you right home. They actually thought, for an instant, that it might be that easy. That I could offload this kid and he would be fine. Silly me. No! I'm lost. Don't leave me. The boy's countenance intact changed immediately.

Okay, okay, I can help you get there, I said, looking around for the fastest way to get this kid home. Now, I won't lie. Andrea does not live in the best part of town. I mean, we both work entry-level jobs, so the pay isn't great. You take what you can afford. I was lucky. I happened on a nice little. place in a pretty good neighborhood. Andrea wasn't so fortunate. The area wasn't great, and it was pretty apparent that the quickest way to get the boy home was through a winding maze of

dark alleyways and streets that had been given the nickname Stabby Town, not so jokingly by the local populace. We could go around and take the long route on the well-lit main roads, but that would take the 15-minute walk and turn it into a 30- or 40-minute tour of the area, I wasn't really sure which was worse, the prospect of getting stabbed in the alley or spending 30 minutes with Kevin. I seriously started weighing the pros and cons of going off the lit pathway with the kid versus spending more time with this odd little creature. I needed to get to Andrius, and I needed to get rid of this kid. If I took the faster route, it would get me closer to her place and get rid of him faster. Well, if we scoot through the alleyway, I should be able to get you home faster, and it is kind of on my way.

Okay, that sounds perfect. I noticed that the purr had returned to Kevin's voice, and I suddenly wondered if I had made the wrong choice. His voice conveyed a pleasure with my decision, or it conveyed the countenance of a predator, preparing to pounce on its prey. At that, taking full advantage of the last elimination that the streetlights had to offer before turning into the alleyway, I knelt down. All right, if we're going to travel together, I really want to have a better look at your face. If we got separated, I would have no idea how to describe you. I wouldn't know you from Adam. At that last statement, I thought I heard a low, ominous chuckle.

When Kevin didn't protest, I knelt down. and pulled up the bill on his hat, having a look at his face. He wasn't an unattractive boy, but he wasn't stunning either. Perfectly ordinary would be the best description. Yet there was something odd about his face. Puzzled, I stood up and started walking with Kevin in tow as I tried to figure out what it was that was troubling me about his face. We turned down the alleyway, and it was at that point that I noticed the backpack Kevin was carrying, and the small figure sticking out of it.

I squinted in the darkness, trying to see more clearly what the boy carried with him. It was then, as we moved into the inky blackness of the alleyway, that I saw the figure of a porcelain doll, a strange thing for a boy to carry, but nowadays maybe not so much. Still, the more troubling thing was that it wasn't a baby doll. It was very adult-looking,

and it held a surprised, almost frightened look on its face. I turned to ask Kevin about the doll, trying to mask the fear I started to feel again as genuine curiosity. The boy sneered, Oh, you noticed her. There's always a grown-up trying to help somewhere.

At this point, I wheeled painfully on my heel to face the boy, and it was at this point that the oddity of his face became clear. Every part of Kevin's eye, The iris, the pupil, even the sclera was black. Not an ounce of white or color seemed to exist. It was then that I heard Kevin Snicker and his laugh was joined by the sounds of multiple giggling sounds by many children. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, The Seven Gates of Hell Ritual, written by some guy.

The Seven Gates of Hell is a modern urban legend regarding location in York County, Pennsylvania. Two versions of the legend exist. One involving a burnt insane asylum and the other an eccentric doctor. Regardless of which you read or believe, both agree that there are seven gates in a wooded area of Hellam Township, Pennsylvania.

And anyone who passes through all seven goes straight to hell. The location really exists. However, it was never the site of an institution and the aforementioned doctor only constructed one gate to keep out trespassers. As the urban legend grew,

so did the demand from a public wanting to see if it could possibly be true. What most find is that the land privately owned and trespassing may result in arrest. In the two versions, there's a different telling of the location. location of the Seven Gates. In one, the location of Toad Road is mentioned. The other,

Trout Run Road. The legend goes, back in the 1900s, a fire broke out in an isolated mental institution to keep the insane from interacting with the rest of the world, as if their madness were a virus that could be passed on. Due to the remote location in the institution, firefighters were unable to reach the hospital in time. In unknown number of of patients died in the flames, while others escaped and were beaten to death by local authorities. The gates themselves are also a point of scrutiny. Some believe that the gates were erected following the fire to trap the remaining inmates, while others believed it was the eccentric physician who built the gates on the road to the institution itself. What remains, Anne holds true

regardless of the version of the story, is that one gate stands and is visible during the day. The Remaining six gates can only be seen at night. Who would want to actually find the gates of hell? I'm not one to judge. Makes no difference to me at all. But if you really do want to find out for yourself, here's all you need to do. First, don't look for Toad Road.

Doesn't exist and never did. However, Trout Run Road does very much exist in Hellam Township. Before nightfall, when the suns drop the dusk, but not fully disappear beyond the horizon, find the first gate. As previously mentioned, it's visible during the day, so you won't have much problem finding it. Timing is the issue. Going too early in the day seems to break the ritual. Your mind holds on to whatever it sees in the light of day, believing it to be true and rejecting the gates that lie beyond it. This is your mind trying to protect you.

Don't heat its call if hell is what you seek. The first gate won't look like anything. You'll see it off Trout Run Road, just a rusted old red gate like you'd see on any farmland property anywhere in the United States. Except it's at the start of a dense forest, and there's a small footpath beyond it. Do not pass through the first gate until the sun has completely disappeared beyond the horizon. Time of year makes no difference, and the actual time is up for debate.

Many suggest in waiting until midnight. However, this is just for the sake of darkness, instead of some temporal requirement for the ritual to work. This first step, as it were, is by far the most important, as it can only be done once. If you fail to pass through the first gate at the right time, you'll never see another gate beyond it. Your mind will construct a wall around the possibility of the ritual ever succeeding.

It's for this simple reason why the locals shrug their shoulders and shake their heads at the very suggestion of the seven gates of hell. If you pass at the right time of night, simply walk straight forward. Push open the gate and see that there's no resistance other than the groan of a decade's worth of rust and wear. Until your body's completely passed through the first gate, you'll feel like you're being watched, but keep walking.

From there, close your eyes. Take six steps. With your eyes remaining closed the entire time and open them to see the second gate in front of you where there was no gate before. The first gate is the only one with the door to open. The rest are simply archways you must pass under consensually. Walk forward until you've passed the second gate. Even knowing better, you'll expect or hope to see the third gate right there.

It won't be. So start walking along the path through the woods. You'll have your doubts. In fact, you'll have nothing but doubt. At first you'll think the ritual is stupid and that you're stupid for believing in it. But that'll fade into doubt about what you've done, that you've gone too far into the woods and are not lost.

Do not stop. If you stop to contemplate where you are at all, you'll truly be lost and a ritual will end. Keep walking and let the doubt of what you're doing wash over you to the point of tears. Sometime within the next hour, we'll start to see the third gate in the distance. It won't get any closer regardless of how long you've walked. So once you see the gate, stop, close your eyes, and think about someone you're leaving behind.

If an hour passes and you haven't seen the gate, takes also in the fact that you won't see hell for yourself. Find someplace comfortable, sit down, and wait for the sun to rise again and go live your life. If, however, you see the gate in the distance. Close your eyes. Imagine the person you'll leave behind, and then open your eyes. You'll see that the third gate is just feet in front of you. More so, you're only a few paces beyond the second gate. Pass under the third gate and say,

I am undone. The fourth gate will be ten feet in front of you. continue walking do not hesitate or pause in the least at this point there are things worse than death that will befall you at this point you have just two options either you continue to walk through each gate as they appear or you fall to your knees and beg god for forgiveness there's no need to act sincere if you fall to your knees sincerity is the least of your concerns upon past the fourth gate, as you continue to walk, you will hear every hateful word that has ever been said to you. This sound will echo in your brain and make the next few seconds stretch into

years as you relive the pain of your upbringing. You will hear the thoughts of everyone you have ever known. You will know how they felt about you. They all hated you and will tell you so in vivid and unending detail until you want to fall to the ground. curling to a ball and curse your parents for birthing such a waste but don't stop don't ever stop

or you'll carry the scars of their words on your mind forever passing through the fifth gate will make the voices stop but do not pause in relief or they will return and never leave again and you will spend the rest of your days in a mental institution trying for silence

or in a coma when you try to jam a screwdriver in your ears to make the noises stop. Passing the fifth gate will bring silence, but heat. Heat that will blister your skin. You will watch and feel your skin peel away. Burns burrowing down to the very bone. Heat that will melt your hair and your eyes and even your teeth.

You will fall to your knees and only be able to crawl an exposed bone over the sand and stone to the sixth gate. Don't stop. Don't ever stop Even stopping and begging forgiveness here will only provide escape from the place But you will carry the charred scars on your body until you die And beyond You wear No one has ever passed further than the fifth gate

So a lies beyond is purely speculation Some believe the sixth gate is the silence of eternity Dark nothingness to remind you that you will never be anything a void that will tell you that you will never feel the grace of God's divinity and live forever floating through the ether praying for death. Hell lies beyond the seventh gate. But why? Why do this? Why go through all the gates at the risk of the mental and physical scarring that you'll carry for the rest of your life? Because the willfully step into hell itself, alive, and unescorted, sets you beyond the reach of heaven and hell.

You've transcended the rules of space and reality. You will walk between worlds and outside of their laws and penalties. You will neither live nor die ever again, but go on until all of the stars have burnt out and the universe collapses back in on itself. And when it does, you will watch it as it explodes out again and time resets. you will be witnessed all life in its infinite cycle. For this prize, you must endure more than any human being has ever endured.

You will face the pain and torment of hell within the space of a second and relive that concentrated horror over and over again as you crawl and claw your way forward, hoping and believing that you're stronger and better and more desert. You are not. But if you believe you are, all you need to do is head out to Trout Run Road to dusk and walk until you see the first rusty gate and wait.

After that, you just have to walk. You can do that. Right? For even more from creepy, 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. All stories told on this podcast are used under license

and may not be rebroadcast or distributed without the express prior written consent of the story's author. Please contact us at creepypod at gmail.com for further information on obtaining the rights necessary to rebroadcast. or distribute a particular story.