Creepy - Day 22 - A Smile For Your Suffering & Screaming House

Episode Date: October 22, 2024

A Smile For Your Suffering***Written by: J.R. Blanes and Narrated by: Atticus Jackson***Screaming House***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/***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 magical time of year.

It's day 22 of the 31 days of horror, a time of cool winds, howling like banshees, falling leaves, cases of mistaken identity, and pumpkins. You're listening to KREP, and I'm your host, The Creep. Caller, you're on KREP, EP with the creep. Hello? Can you hear me? I can hear you, caller.

Do you hear those other sounds? What other sounds? I don't know. Like, voices? Sorry, can't say I do. It's just you and me, call her. Oh, okay. I think they stopped anyway.

Do you have a story for us? Geez, yeah, I almost forgot. It's about a smile for your suffering. I had no idea who invited the clown to Rusty's birthday. He showed up after everyone else arrived, right after my son blew out his candles and we served the cake. The bell rang, and since I was the only adult inside the house, I answered the door. If I'm being honest, I'd gone in on the presumption of feeding Rusty's hamster squeaky.

But really, I wanted to add a little. punch to my fruit punch. I love my kid, but damn, when you have 13, 8-year-olds running around your backyard screaming their heads off like monkeys at a circus, you need a bit of medicine to settle the nerves.

And not like their parents were any better. They talked my ears deaf about Owen's soccer games and Willow's grades and the Ruby twins' horrendous allergies. I was glad Rusty had turned out pretty okay. Sure, he could be a bit shy, not nearly as outgoing as other kids, which made it tough when

we moved across town and changed school districts at the beginning of the year. Aubrey and I figured throwing a party would help him make friends, smooth over the wrinkles of being the new kid. As soon as I opened the door, the clown took two clumsy steps backwards in his big red shoes and squinted his eyes at me like I'd shown up at his doorstep uninvited. He dressed exactly how you'd expect a clown to look. Rainbow Afro, white face paint, rubberball nose, checkered suit, and those big red shoes. Can I help you? I asked, unwilling to hide the confusion in my voice.

The clown snapped his gloved fingers and, produced a business card from mid-air. Neat trick, I said, wondering if he'd carried it in his sleeve the entire time. On the front of the card, a colorful balloon with the name Giggles written in bubble letters. Nothing else. No phone number or address or email. No clowning company or snappy catchphrases. Just that stupid name.

Not very original. I said, thumbing the corner of the card. The clown giggled behind his hand like he was ashamed of his smile. But appropriate, I guess. Ever since I accidentally knocked his front baby teeth out while we were wrestling in his bedroom, Rusty covered his mouth in the same way. Aubrey got all upset and accused me of playing too rough with the boy. But it wasn't like I meant to push him off the bed.

He just caught his feet in the blankets and fell. face first into the window sill. Blood spurred it from his mouth like water from an unkinged hose. Made me so woozy that Audrey had to drive him to the emergency room for stitches. Still had the scar on his lower lip, a cross-stitched white line that cut it in half. We kept hoping new teeth might grow back, but so far, no such luck. That charlatan of a dentist said Rusty might need implants. Aubrey must have hired giggles and forgot to mention it.

She did that sometimes. Packages would arrive from Amazon or wherever for shit. I know I didn't buy. If she saw something she wanted, she'd just purchase it all willy-nilly. That's why I took over the accounts. But somehow, she'd slip this past me. I'd have a talk with her about it later. Rusty shouted the clown's name so loud I nearly joined the balloons

floating against the ceiling. They both came bounding into the living room, slapped their hands over their mouths, widen their eyes as round as Giggles' buttons, and laughed with glee. Rusty stared at the clown, telling him that he couldn't believe he had come to his party. He was treating Giggles as if they were best friends.

Giggles nodded far too enthusiastically. Something about it unnerved me. How could any adult get that excited? about a kid's birthday party. But it was his job, I guess. And what could I tell Rusty? Sorry, giggles knocked at the wrong house. Either way, before I could even say the happy birthday,

Rusty grabbed the clown's sleeve and let him out of the sliding door of the kitchen to the backyard to introduce him to his friends. The boy had always loved clowns. Ever since we took him to the circus when he was barely old enough to the house. talk and he watched them climb out of their tiny car to that funny marching song. Rusty laughed so hard at their antics, he caught the hiccups. I had to fetch him a cup of water and tell him to settle down. Not that he listened. As soon as the hiccups stopped, he was right back to laughing at their clumsy, stilt walking, and unicycling. I never saw humor in it. Over the years, he collected props and

practiced magic tricks and dress as a clown every Halloween. It made sense that his mother hired one. After the move, I kind of hoped he'd outgrow the whole silly thing. I found Aubrey by the buffet table, gabbing with a few of the moms while picking at a slice of red velvet cake. When she saw me, she ran over and looped an arm around my neck and pulled me into a hug, spilling some of my beverage on her blouse. She was praising me for something I hadn't done. She was telling me that it was such

a great idea, hiring a clown. I didn't. Seeing my wife's adoring gaze, I zip my lips. What did it matter who hired the stupid clown? He was here, wasn't he? Besides, if he kept the

wife and kid happy, then I could enjoy my drink undisturbed. A win-win for everybody. Surprise. Aubrey kissed me on the cheek before fluttering away like a social butterfly. I tipped my face towards the sun and basked in my own cleverness. I just hope none of the other parents admitted to hiring the clown. Giggles grabbed a folding table and tossed some supplies,

jelly bean snake can, juggling pins, plastic horn, and other props onto it. I don't know where he got all this stuff. He didn't carry a bag, and I hadn't seen a tiny car parked on the street. Certainly, it wouldn't have fit in his pockets. Maybe he'd borrowed the stuff from Rusty's closet. God knows he had enough. Ignoring the other kids who started the game of tag, Rusty helped Giggles bring chairs over to the staging area.

Boy, was that a slap in the face? That clown was at the house less than five minutes, and already he had Rusty working. Whenever I asked the boy to clean Squeaky's cage or wash the dishes or take out the trash, he'd throw a fit. Do I have to? He'd whine in that baby voice. How many times did I have to tell him to quit talking like a toddler? He was a big boy now, and big boys did chores.

Otherwise, they could forget about practicing their magic tricks and clowning around. Once the seats were ready, giggles and rancles and rancels. Rusty whistled and waved the other kids over. The show began. Giggles shuffled his big feet to a roaring round of applause from the kids. Even Aubrey and the other parents joined in. The clown smiled behind his gloved hand and hid his face like he was embarrassed by the attention. But I could tell by his theatrics that he ate it up. The poor bastard probably didn't get much attention outside the costume. When the music stopped, Giggles the clown leaned down in front of Rusty, eyes sparkling with excitement. The vibrant colors of the clown's costume contrasted with the festive decorations

around them. With a playful demeanor, Giggles gestured animatedly asking him if he wanted to assist him with his first trick. Rusty nodded eagerly. Taking the boy by the hand, Giggles escorted him the center stage. The clown pulled a dime from his pocket and placed it in Rusty's palm and set a penny on top, making sure everyone saw it before closing the boy's fingers into a fist. Giggles tapped on Rusty's knuckles, and when the boy opened his hand, only the penny remained. They searched around, acting like they didn't know where it was, astounding the other kids with their sleight of hand. Of course the penny was a gimmick coin, a shell to hide the real dime. I'd seen Rusty perform this trick for his mother.

But it wasn't a dime Giggles Retreat from behind Rusty's ear. It was my credit card. I grabbed my wallet from my pocket, searched the inside flap. Sure enough, the card was missing. Pinched between my son's fingers as he waved it around in front of his pal. Hey, where did you get that? I shouted at the fucking clown. Giggles gawked at me with a surprised expression,

the same way Rusty sometimes looked when I caught him in my room messing with my stuff. That son of a bitch must have picked my pocket in the living room while I was distracted by Rusty screaming over his arrival. They were probably in on the scheme together. I bet that fucking clown charged a little extra for his services while he was at it. God damn, crook. I said to Giggles, who held up his empty hands to the audience to plead his innocence. I snapped my fingers at Rusty. And how many times have I told you to not touch my things?

He pouted, whining that Giggles had given it to him. He didn't take it. I'm going to give you something. I swiped the card from Rusty's fingers, like I'd wrenched the knobs on a broken faucet. He started to sob. The dad of a pig-tailed redhead told me to chill out, that it was just a trick. Nearby a hen, talking to my wife called out, saying to just let them have a little fun. Aubrey stumbled over, bouncing a trash bag filled with cake-smeared paper plates.

Her expression, one of confusion, as she asked what was going on, oblivious as always. Feeling like a criminal awaiting a guilty verdict, I fetched a $10 bill from my wallet and handed it over to Rusty. He hesitated until I shook it at him and assured him it was okay. I must his hair and apologized for upsetting him, promised to take him to Walmart the following afternoon to buy a toy. This seemed to cheer him up.

As the party swung back into motion, I glared at giggles. The clown waggled his eyebrows like he'd gotten something over on me. Well, we'd see how long that lasted. While fixing another drink, I watched from the kitchen window as the kids lined up. Puffing out his cheeks and breathing huge lungfuls of air, Giggles blew up balloons, then twisted them into approximations of animals. Dog, swan, giraffe. Though he was the birthday boy,

Rusty let the other kids go first, shuffling his feet across the lawn while fidgeting with his strings on his hoodie. On the porch, I sip my drink while the millers gushed with Aubrey over Instagram photos of their daughter's dance recital. To listen to him, you'd think the girls were the rockettes. I never treated Rusty special.

I'd hate for him to develop a complex. Bad enough, Aubrey babied him whenever he'd cry over a tiny scratch, or he yelled at him for doing something stupid. Still, I wasn't about to let my son get passed over because he was too chicken to speak up. I nudged Rusty forward. Don't you want a balloon animal? I asked. He shrugged, mumbling something about waiting his turn. Come on, you're the birthday boy.

I dragged him by the sleeve to the front of the line, cutting before the Ruby twins. Their dad opened their mouth to say something, but smartly refrained. He's next, I told that stupid clown. Giggles focused his attention on Rusty, saying that he had a special balloon pet for the birthday boy, asking him if he would like to see. What eight-year-old didn't want a special balloon pet? He'd better make it good. I warned Giggles.

None of this crappy work he'd done so far. Yeah, the most real balloon animal ever. From a new bag, Giggles blew up a bunch of brown and white balloons. He inflated them one by one, expertly twisted and folded them together into tiny arms and legs and tails on a pudgy body. added a little pink button balloon for the nose, and with a Sharpie colored in eyes and whiskers. I didn't know what the thing was. Some kind of rat.

Rusty shouted the name Squeaky, hugging the balloon animal so tightly that it squeaked. I cringed from the noise. Over the next 30 minutes, while Giggles entertain the rest of the kids with the juggling act, Rusty hugged that balloon animal like it was. was the real thing. Squeak, squeak, squeak!

Nerves frayed, I hurried into the kitchen to top off my drink. I picked up the bottle, Squeak! And splashed a pint of vodka into the sink. I turned around. The damn hamster squeaked at me from his cage. Pointing the bottle, I threatened to flush him down the toilet. For months after Aubrey brought that rodent home, it can't.

kept me up at night. It's nervous, Aubrey said, needs time to acclimate. But it never acclimated. Just continued squeaking. Somehow Rusty and his mother slept through the racket. But the boy adored that tailless rat. He never admitted kept him awake, afraid I'd take Squeaky back to the pet store.

Eventually, I ordered Aubrey to move the hamster cage to the living room, or I'd unleash him to the wild. Rusty pouted, but I refused to bend. Twice I asked Rusty to give the balloon animal a break. Your friends are here. Don't you want to play with them? But he'd lost all interest in the rest of the party. Just wanted to snuggle that inflated rat. Finally, I stopped Aubrey from cleaning and instructed her to take the balloon pet away from

Rusty. The squeaking noise was driving me crazy, and I was frustrated that Rusty was missing out on the rest of the fun. Aubrey argued that the balloon pet wasn't causing any harm, but the persistent squeaking was given me a migraine. I insisted that she needed to address the situation, or I would. Aubrey busy with the dirty punch bowl explained that she was preoccupied with the dishes and gave me a brief peck on the cheek, suggesting that I knew what was best for Rusty. And what was best was for Rusty to stop messing with that damn balloon animal and play with his friends. I marched over to where he sat in the shade of the maple tree, squeezing that hamster. Squeak, squeak! Give it to me.

Rusty squeezed the hamster tighter. squeak, and shook his head. Give it to me, or you'll never see it again. When Rusty refused, I snatched that balloon rodent from his arms, tossed it on the ground, and stumped. The thing popped like a firecracker. Everyone jumped and squealed. Something sticky clung to the soul of my shoe. I lifted my foot.

Cracked open like an acorn. Squeaky's head had splattered brain and blood on the grass. But that was impossible. It was a balloon I'd squashed. The real hamster was inside the house. I'd just seen him. Rusty collapsed to his knees and cradled the dead hamster in his hands, calling you out,

Squeaky! With such intensity that it seemed likely the neighbors on the opposite side of the block could hear. Giggles leaned in and whispered in my ear, questioning how I could have harmed a defenseless hamster. I didn't kill Squeaky. That was a balloon! Giggles appeared momentarily confused, wrinkling his rubber nose and deep in thought. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the dead hamster and rusty hands instantly transformed back into a balloon animal. Before he could walk away, I grabbed the clown by his bowtie.

Who the hell hired you? And you better tell me the truth, or I'm going to... I shook my fist. Covering his mouth, giggles laughed at whatever was happening over my shoulder. Parents were ushering the kids out of the backyard. I ran past them and blocked the fence gate and begged them not to go. Someone's mother said that the kids were tired. The rest of the parents agreed.

Aubrey noticed everyone leaving and realized that the presence had not yet been opened. She begged them all to stay. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I pleaded. But please don't make my hands. son suffer for my actions. I pointed to where Rusty was burying his balloon animal.

A few of our guests' expressions lightened. At least stay until after he opens his presence. Besides, Giggles was about to perform his big finale, weren't you, Mr. Clown? Giggles honked his clown horn. While Rusty opened the presence, I fixed myself another drink and considered what to do about the clown. I'd promised our guests a last trick. No way I was getting around that now.

Not since Rusty heard me say it. He'd throw a fit if I went back on my word. Last thing I needed was to listen to him groan about it all night. I pulled a hundred dollar bill for my secret stash and confronted giggles. He sat on a picnic bench, devouring a piece of red velvet cake, icing smeared on his chin. As I approached, he took a step back like he thought I might hit him. Oh, I wanted to. That was for sure.

But I thought better. Instead, I offered my hand. The money folded into a square inside my palm. Up close, I noticed something strange beneath the clown's makeup. He had the same kind of cut on his lip as rusty. Aware that I noticed, Giggle smiled again, this time not hiding it behind. his gloved hand. He was missing the same two front teeth as Rusty. I stumbled, nearly falling over

a chair as my drink sloshed on the grass. Aubrey asked if I was okay, a ball of wrapping paper crushed in her arms. I didn't know what to say. Would she think I was drunk? I waved off her remark and let her know everything was dandy. Everyone returned to their seats for the finale. Giggles sat a miniature life-like dummy on Rusty's lap. He dressed and looked just like me. Giggles introduced the dummy as grumpy britches. Rumpy Bridges. That was what Aubrey used to call me sometimes.

Before I... Giggles instructed Rusty to pull the string to move grumpy's lips. Whatever was going on here... I didn't like it. I moved forward to intervene, but Aubrey wrapped her arms around my waist, pointing out how happy Rusty seemed. That was the thing. Rusty looked too happy.

He stared right at me, the same ghastly grin as giggles. The two of them missing their front teeth. Giggles then asked who wants to hear a story. and all the kids and adults waved their arms in the air like they were on a carnival ride and shouted, Me, me, me! As soon as the dummy opened his mouth and spoke in my voice, the alcohol in my stomach bubbled up into my throat. The doll yelled out that I didn't mean to knock Rusty's teeth out.

It was an accident, like I said. Maybe I'd hit the sauce a little too hard. But no more than usual. We were just playing around, you know. What dad doesn't wrestle with his son? Everyone in the yard turned toward me. Faces riddled with disgust. All except Aubrey.

She just continued to listen, tears streaming down her face. Okay, maybe I'd want to tough him up a bit. The dummy continued in my voice. Make it so he wasn't such a cry baby. Make it so the other kids wouldn't bully him. Make it so he wasn't like his goddamn mother, weak and vulnerable. The boy was a sissy. And I was afraid he'd get eaten alive.

I wanted to protect him. You can understand that, can't you? Well, that afternoon, I guess I went too far. shoved him too hard right into the window sill. But I didn't mean to knock out his teeth and bust his lip. Shit, I couldn't even stand the sight of his blood. I had to ask his mother to drive him to the hospital. Aubrey cried into a napkin,

sobbing that it was such a sad story. Our guests began gathering their things, avoiding looking at me. Don't you treat me like I'm a monster? You bunch of do-gooders. Like you've never done anything wrong by your kids. Like you're so fucking perfect. I love my son, God damn it. You hear me?

I love him. It was an accident what happened. An accident. It was no longer the dummy speaking. This was me, shouting. shouting at the guests as they ushered their kids through the fence opening to their waiting cars in the driveway. I didn't care if they left. Who needed friends like them anyway?

They could talk all they want. What did I care? Giggles smiled that ghastly, toothless grin. I ordered Aubrey to take Rusty inside while I cleaned the mess. She asked me what I was going to do. Take care of things, like I always do. As soon as they were inside, I charged the clown, ready to beat the silliness out of him. Giggles pulled a pistol from thin air and aimed it at my face.

I skidded in my tracks and fell on my ass. Don't kill me! I begged throwing up my hands. I have a family! The clown pressed the barrel to my forehead, smirking. He stated that they. be better off without me and asked if I agreed. He had dropped this silly clown voice.

I hear you doing this? The words tumbled from my mouth. He looked at me and said that I should know why. But I didn't mean to hurt the boy. Giggle snapped, called me a liar, and now he was going to hurt me like I hurt Rusty. I shivered. Where the hell did you come from?

Giggles cocked the hammer, smiling, and said that he came from Rusty's birthday wish, and that I should now make a wish of my own. Please don't. I'm sorry! The clown pulled the trigger. I screamed, no! Water sprayed in my face.

Giggle slapped his knees and chuckled. Between his wheezing laughs, he was telling me that I should have seen my expression, and that I might want to check my pants. Dart thumping in my chest, I wipe the water from my face. Is that what you came here for? To embarrass me? The clown's tone turned dark. He told me that he came to show me what was going to happen to my son. What was going to happen to him?

What are you talking? Giggle stuck the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Blew a hole through the back of his skull and painted the fence and birthday cake and confetti. Red icing flooded from his nose and mouth as he slumped backward in his big shoes. What the fuck? Shaking. I crawled over to him. He stared up at the sky.

eyes as white as half-licked gumballs. Now that I looked at him, really looked at him. The crushing weight of what I knew came spewing into the grass in a stream of sour vomit. I wrapped Giggles' pokedotted body in my arms and pressed my cheek against his rubber nose. My tears washed away some of his makeup, revealing a batch of skin. I gently stroked the cut beneath his red lip and apologized. But the word sounded like a bad joke. Aubrey stepped onto the porch and asked what was going on.

I turned toward her, not knowing how to answer. But the dead clown was nothing more than a cake-smeared, poca-dotted tablecloth. Rusty slipped beneath his mother's arm, saying that he had said, something to tell me. Yeah, bud? I said, motioning him in for a hug. Smiling that toothless grin, he told me that this was the best birthday ever.

And now a word from our sponsors. We're back on KREP. The old saying goes that a man's home is his castle. But what happens when that castle seems to have something inside it that you can't escape and can't understand. No, now marriage. According to this caller, it's about his screaming house.

This might sound strange, but I like house hunting. I've had to move more than a few times over the years for work. Mostly it was from one apartment to another. But eventually I wanted a little more space, a yard, walls that I didn't have to share with some bickering couple. a ceiling that I didn't hear a vacuum running over in the middle of the night. That's the funny thing about apartments. You know you aren't alone.

You know that you live with probably dozens, if not hundreds of other people. But the moment your door closes, there's no one else in the world, provided they aren't making noise. You live your life making whatever noises, and probably don't think much of how well the sound travels through the world. walls, and definitely don't think of all the times when a neighbor's annoyed you. You just assume the walls trap in the sound. Like you're in the one magical apartment in the entire building where muffled bass and treble

doesn't reverberate off walls. One time I had a neighbor who had clearly gone through a breakup because all I heard on repeat for two straight days was the same slow, sad song. Probably something from the cure or one of those emo bands. Knocking on walls in their dormant, nothing. The world inside their apartment was a vault. Their world. I miss those days.

I didn't think I would. Like I said, I like house hunting probably more than I like actually living in houses. I can't be the only person who looks at a house from the street and wonders, What's it look like inside? I'd see five, six houses a day. More if there were open houses. I'd even go to open houses when I was already living somewhere. Just curiosity.

I never really thought about the fact that the moment is completely staged. I mean, I did. I know how realtors work. But more than that. They're trying to create a snapshot like something you'd see on Instagram. best foot forward. Look how great this house looks and how great you could make it look, but it's all curated. You see exactly what they want you to see, or what they're willing to let you see.

You don't see the mold. You don't see the holes in the foundation that let in rainwaters or rodents. You don't see the holes covered by pictures. You don't see all the little things wrong with the house that are very likely at least some part of why the current owners want to move. Not that anyone should want to move in the current market, but it is what it is. I have the luxury in my company front and a good chunk of the money for moving expenses. I first saw my house at the start of September. It was Labor Day weekend.

I remember it because my realtor told me what a terrible weekend it was for houses. Everyone was either out of town or with family. No one wanted to stage a house that weekend. And those who did were probably a little desperate. Turns out that was a case. Desperate, I mean. Just not how I thought. A few houses on the block had already started decorating for Halloween.

Always a good sign to me. You can take your Christmas decorations. I'll take a neighbor who keeps a 10-foot skeleton up all year and just throws a Santa hat on top of it for December. And I'm well aware that the single middle-aged guy in the neighborhood is one that parents probably tell the kiddos to avoid. but I do my best to make people feel comfortable, and I have no problem leaving a candy bowl in front of my door

if it smoothed things over. I wouldn't say that the house was perfect by any means. The kitchen was outdated, and the old owner has clearly made some strange choices when it came to decorating. The fuse box was in desperate need of replacing, and I was looking at having to replace the furnace in the next few years. But it was quiet and quaint,

and felt like a place I could make my own if I ended up living there for more than a few years. I put in an offer 10% below asking, which had already been lowered a few times over the six months of place to be on the market. But I wasn't worried. I knew a fair amount of what to look for and what to look out for, and have no problem following an inspector around. Nor do I have an issue getting my earnest money back if the inspection shows anything worse than what I already expect to find.

But the inspection went well. Nothing I couldn't handle or didn't expect or couldn't get fixed up with the money I was saving on the house. Really, the only call out I hadn't noticed was that I might need to get the vents cleaned. There was a weird kind of whistle going on when we were there. It was low, real low, barely even noticeable at all. Regardless, the sellers had accepted the offer the same day we sent it in. Things moved quickly from there. The only real issue wasn't an issue.

At least I didn't think it was an issue. And that's that I was never around the house at night. I would have liked to bend there a little later in the afternoon around sunset. It sounds weird, but I used to live in a place that basically turned into an oven in the afternoon due to how the setting sun shone into the sliding glass door. I didn't think the house was quite at the right angle, but I would have liked to have known for sure. but my agent and the seller seemed to skirt the request. Okay, no big deal.

I wasn't his only client and the seller that lives too. I moved in by the middle of October. I knew I'd made a mistake the first night. That whistling sound I thought was the air conditioning wasn't. That sound was there when I moved in, but within the first hour I'd stopped paying attention. It was white noise just like that. The noise seemed to get a little bit louder during sunset, but nothing bad.

I was so busy I barely noticed. Plus, I was blasting music in the house, so the only time I heard it was between songs on my playlist. I was exhausted by 9 p.m. and crashed on my bed. One thing I'd learn from moving so much is that you set up your bedroom first. It's the first place you're going to use, so you might as well be comfortable. I crashed into my mattress and my eyes were closed within seconds, followed quickly by the screaming. And I mean screaming. This wasn't some slowly growing sound, moving from a low hum up to ear piercing.

No. This went zero to eleven. One second I was letting my body sink into memory foam. The next, I was tangled in my sheets, struggling to get free and wrap my body. my mind around whatever that horrible fucking noise was. This wasn't some canned sound effect either. No speaker blaring a crappy Halloween sound CD or anything like that. I felt the screaming in my bones.

Deep in the back of my skull that made all the muscles in my neck tense up at once. I couldn't stand to be in the house for more than a minute, even with my hands over my ears. In the second that I was outside and slammed the door closed behind me, I was met with silence The change was so sudden that I honestly thought I'd gone deaf That the screaming had ruptured my eardrums But then I heard the sounds of the night Cars driving by, leaves clicking against each other in the trees

I didn't have anything with me I'd collapsed in my t-shirt and jeans but my phone was inside I'm not sure I would have called anyway. There was no way it had been a person. I knew that much. That sound was too loud. It followed me. It was inside my own mind at one point.

Still, when I finally walked back into the house, it must have looked like I was easing my way through a minefield. I checked all the doors, closets, basement, everywhere. There's nothing there. I shined a light in the vents and the attic. Nothing. After over an hour looking, I started to think I'd imagined it. I told myself I was tired from the move,

and it just slipped into a dream that quickly. There had to be a reason. Something rational. There was no way my house had just screamed at me. And the moment I fell asleep again, not close my eyes. That's an important distinction. But the moment I actually fell asleep again, the screaming started.

And I mean immediately. It took me most of the night to figure out how it was happening. I don't mean how, like I found the source, but more the method to the madness. It was actually really simple. The moment I fall asleep in that house, the screams start. The moment I leave the house, They stop, and don't start again until I fall asleep again.

As far as they've been able to tell with some gentle questioning from the neighbors, no one can hear a thing outside of the house. They also added that no one has stayed in the house for more than a year, but none knew why. Though they did note with suspicious eyes the previous homeowners had also asked about noises in the neighborhood. I called my agent, who refused my call? Yes, a lawsuit is in the works. No fucking clue how I'm supposed to win, though.

Your Honor, this person knowingly sold me a house that screams. No, you can't hear it screaming. Now, it only screams when I fall asleep. For fuck's sake. And no, for whatever reason, I'm also not able to capture the sound on video or audio tape. Took me some experimenting. But by the second night, I was sleeping again. Noise cancelling headphones on, music turned up.

I figured out real quick I couldn't just put on headphones because the screams are more than just audio. They cut into me. The headphones muffled the sound, which showed me that the sound is coming from somewhere in the house, but it still screams directly into my mind. Turning up the music helps it drown out the screams, enough for me to sleep at least.

Sometimes I wonder if I would have been able to eventually fall asleep without the headphones. Just something to get used to. Maybe, but I doubt it. Sure, there were other options. I could abandon the house, stay in a hotel. That money adds up real fast and I don't have any family around I can crash with. You know that scene in horror movies where people stay in the obviously haunted house and audiences roll their eyes? You'd be surprised how easy it is to come to that.

decision when your only real option is to go through all the hassle of trying to sell a house, which I plan to. It just takes time, especially since I just closed a couple weeks ago. I'm telling you all this as I wait for the police to show up, which I think will be a good idea in the long run. She can back up my side of things. See, last night I went out to the bar. I needed a drink. It doesn't hurt to fall asleep a little butt.

her high, and I don't much like being in the house at night alone anyway. I know it won't start screaming until I fall asleep, but God forbid I'd goze off watching the TV. Anyway, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, we were getting out of the lift ride in front of my house. I'll admit, I was pretty toasted at the time. And I'm not the guy you'd expect to bring some random woman home after just meeting her. But it happened. And I guess she opted to stay the night because I guess she opted to stay the night because The next thing I fully remember was the screaming.

The same screams, the new ones too. I didn't have my headphones on, so I was up immediately. I realized my pants were still on, and that there was a good chance I'd passed out before we'd gotten down to any naughty business. I chased her outside, but she was down the street like a goddamn Olympic sprinter. Right up to the first house I had lights on, pounding on the door like she was the cops.

They should be here soon. Honestly, pretty surprised they aren't here already. Must be a busy night. Kids causing trouble and all that. I know they won't find anything. I've searched the house a dozen times over since moving in. There's nothing there. No speakers, no recordings, no stereo.

And no. There are no dead bodies hidden in the basement. Though, come to think of it, I never did bother to check under the floorboards. That's all from us tonight. This is the creep and you're listening to KREP. Today, tomorrow, and for a fool. 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. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons Share-A-Like licensing or with written consent

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