Creepy - Day 22 - Lost Episodes

Episode Date: October 22, 2018

You know all those lost episodes pastas...?***Credited to Slimebeast, content is CC-by-NC***Check out more from The Lift podcast at: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-lift-an-audio-drama/id1077530854?mt=2***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Produced by Dan Foytik***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.

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A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or much simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic. depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents the 31 Days of Horror. Day 22. Lost episodes. Written by Slime Beast.

I don't want to burst anyone's bubble here. So if you believe in haunted lost episode legends and enjoy living in that world, maybe this isn't a post for you. Don't get me wrong. I hate when people complain about lack of realism and entertainment. And I think kids need to believe in Santa in the tooth fairy for as long as possible, but this is different. Back in the 80s, I met this dude, Sid, who used to cut old VHS tapes and shit.

It was more than a hobby for him. It was pretty much his entire life. His parents were a bit more wealthy than I'd been playing. less with. So when we were teenagers and I was sleeping away at Scats. Yeah, Scats, fast food restaurant. We just hung out around the house, cutting tapes all day, all night. Of course, as you get older, things in your past become a bit clear, and I think he might have been borderline autistic. Or maybe he was a very high-functioning person with Asperger's. Of course, I'm no expert, and I'm not saying that was the case. It's just the best and quickest way I can think of to explain his

personality in this obsession with cutting tapes. Cutting tapes. Cutting tapes. It started when he saw old Yeller as a little kid. For whatever reason, his parents let him watch that shit. If you're unfamiliar with it, it's a tale of a boy and his dog. I hope I don't have to announce the spoiler of such an old-ass movie. But in the end, The boy has to shoot his own dog because it's rapid. Sid didn't appreciate this. His dad photographed and videotaped weddings, so he showed Sid how to operate some of the machines,

and Sid cut out the ending, replacing it with an earlier happier scene as if old the yellow had just suddenly got better off screen. He watched the tape obsessively after that. Even into his early teens when I first met him, He made me watch it once to show how he fixed it, and I could actually picture him as a little boy once he started applauding and cheering his own full ending. I don't want to say I was a bad influence, but after I saw it, I asked if you could do that with other movies. My major interest was perhaps taking a film or two and cutting in some nude frames the actresses hadn't really done.

Don't worry, though. I never had the guts to actually ask if you would. I just imagine how cool it would be, often. Sid told me that yes, he could fix any movie he wanted. In fact, he done it with a few others. He had a copy of a Ghostbusters cartoon, and I shit you not. Every single ghost was completely removed. The story made no sense.

There was no continuity, but he'd accomplished it. and I was very impressed. I guess in the time of VHS, these things seem more magical than they do nowadays. This time went by, I encouraged to edit more movies, but with different purposes. Instead of whitewashing all the scary stuff like he wanted to do, I got him to see the light and how awesome you could make things. Somewhere out there, this chubby Star Wars nerd from our high school has all three original films flawlessly cut together with edited in effects that would have made George Lucas

himself cry out, enough meddling. He charged him like $20 for the only copy, because we were idiots. This went on for a while before I lost most of my interest in it. There's more of a goof for me than it was for him. This is the point where I started working, started driving, started taking bases with local girls. Well, he just got more and more involved in cutting those tapes. I think his favorites were cartoons. When The Simpsons came around, he went apeshit for those. Now as Edits weren't so much fixing things as just breaking them in interesting ways.

Another thing that sticks out in my mind is when he record an episode of MASH and cut it with a gory old war flick. Halfway through his version, the camp gets bombed. Soldiers invade. dies. At the end, he specifically worked in freeze frames of each cast member's face. Eyes closed. He had completely reversed his interest and embraced what had once terrified him. Scary endings. He seemed to love things like long, drawn-out sequences and terrifying silence. He'd make me be quiet while they played, too. He may have heard about this mysterious fellow named Banksy. He

who goes around creating interesting graffiti and whatnot. At one point, he went into a music store and replaced some of Paris Hilton CDs with his own fakes. Banks he had nothing on sit. Every other week, he'd tell me about some store or video rental place he'd snuck some tapes of his into. He'd swapped out the real ones for his versions, and then he'd start all over by cutting the ones he'd stolen.

At one point, when I hadn't heard from him a long while, I stopped by his parents' house and found him in the garage. He'd set up his own little movie studio there, complete with a drawing board. He was actually animating entirely new content. All at once, I was both blown away by his artistic skill I'd never seen before, and very concerned about when this guy was going to come out of the dark and start acting normal. Like me. He barely looked up from his drawings as we spoke.

I asked him what any kid, how in his late teens would ask. What the fuck is wrong with you? Hmm? Seriously, dude. This isn't crazy shit. It's work. I'm working.

My work is just as important as anyone else is. Are you even selling these anymore? Are you just sneaking them into places? How much is all of this costing your dad? I don't care. I looked at what he was so fervently illustrating. Is that a headless body? Dancing?

Yeah? That's pretty dark, man. I know. That's the point. I don't get it. Those tapes. I thought they were wrong. But over time, I figured out the truth.

Which is... The scary stuff is right. The happy endings are the lie. He just kept drawing as I stood there. The silence was disturbing. And in that moment, I could smell the B.O. off of him. It wasn't just sweat either. It was a mingling of that and a foul ass and pissed silk cloth. I hate to say it, but I gave up on him right then. It's that moment when you look at someone,

someone you thought you knew, and all you can think of is, holy shit. I never realized they were this far gone. It wasn't until I was in my 30s that said crossed my mind again. I was perusing the internet, just aimlessly wandering the web. When I came across a series of urban legends about strange VHS tapes, recut movies, and lost episodes, some of this I recognized. I watched them with Sid, or I'd actually seen him in the middle of working on them. Every disturbing scene, every unbelievable anecdote, I believed it because I'd been there.

Others, SpongeBob cartoons. episodes of I Carly or whatever. Those shows came long after I'd made my break with Sid. But the style was all too familiar. Even the ones that didn't sound like his work seemed like they could have been broken copies or attempts to mimic his work. He was still doing it.

It boggled my mind. I called up Sid's old number. Not entirely sure I'd still find him there. It rang for minutes on end, and I knew that the search was hopeless. Even if he still lived with his parents, it wasn't like they'd all still be at the same house by now, still. I made it a point to drive out to his old place to see if he was still in that garage, cutting tapes or manipulating them via a computer or whatever he'd be up to.

When I passed by the house, the unkempt lawn was overgrown with huge waist-high weeds, the dilapidated facade of the building with its peeling paint on the shutters, missing roof tiles, and muck-filled gutters told me no one had lived here for a long time. I saw a note on the door, but couldn't read it from the road. Maybe it was something I could use the locate sit and see if you'd have forgotten help I'd not realize I should have given him. Pulling into the driveway, my headlights illuminated the garage door. It was windowless and vandalized with a gangster tags to some traveling band of assholes.

The note on the door, as one might expect, spoke of a certain bank now owning the property. It noted that trespassing was heavily discouraged, and that at a certain point someone would be out to make sure the house was winterized. Whatever the hell that is? As I walked back to the car, defeated, something was navigating me. I knew that since parents kept a spare key under a false rock by the back stairs, basically, by virtue of Sid locking us both out on several occasions. When I found that key, a sense of cold, gnawing dread swirled in my stomach.

Who would move out and leave everything in place like this? The key was the most obvious thing, but flower pods and lawn decorations were still there. Sid's old rusted out, huffy bike was leaning against the house, and it created thick rust streaks along the aluminum siding. I don't even know what I expected to find. But using the key, I entered the house, the smell was overwhelming. Not a putrid smell.

Nothing rotten or decaying. Just the smell of, I don't know if this would make any sense to you, but the smell of electricity. Like burning dust on a light bulb or a heater giving off a peculiar, warm metal odor. That was the least of my concerns, however, as I saw everything just as I had left it. Everything Sid's family owned was frozen in time. The dining room table we'd all sat at on many occasions was dust covered and supported an emaciated dead rat, which had all but turned to dust. The television, that bulky, oversized television set, we'd all sat around to watch Sid's tapes and laud his creativity. It sat where it always had been, silently displaying a violent bombardment of black noise.

static. As I moved through the rooms, the sense of panic and discomfort within me only grew. Every fiber of my being was shouting, run, run, you fucking idiot. Still, I pressed on into Sid's bedroom. It was now emptying and in disrepair. His prized action figures and blank videotapes, hundreds of videotapes, stale and water damaged. I almost wanted to call out, to shout, Sid! To appear as if nothing was out of the ordinary, this parent's bedroom, two motionless bodies, gone, gray, half turned to dust.

Just like the rat in the dining room. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing with my own eyes. Not only were two dead bodies slowly dissipating within the confines of this one's idyllic suburban household, but nobody had even checked on them. Nobody had discovered this until now. My mind raised. My heart raised, Sid, I thought, must have done this.

There was no way the two of them would just lie down one night and simultaneously die of natural causes. Sid said he didn't care about his parents, and when was the last time I'd seen them? I hadn't seen them for days, maybe weeks before the last time I talked to Sid when I finally left the room. I took out my cell phone and began dialing 911. However, as soon as I lifted it to my head, an ear-splitting shriek of interference that caused me to fling the object across the room. I rushed to the kitchen phone,

squealing static. I tried the living-room phone just to be thorough. Static. It wasn't until I put the receiver back down that I heard it. Music. The audible music that I hadn't noticed before. It seemed to be some repeating melody, happy and light, some flutes, maybe a whole horn section. I followed the peppy tone to the in-house door to the garage.

Pressing my ear to the door's dirty surface, I determined that the music was indeed coming from just beyond. Sid? I called out, barely managing to form the name with cold, bloodless lips. Sid? Are you in there? Are you all right? I tried the door only to find it somehow locked from the other side. It was no matter, since one wild kick nearly knocked the rotting wood off its hinges.

Fid? I shouted as the dust slowly cleared. Through the haze, I could only see the light of a television screen, vibrant colors, blue, green, yellow. Soon I could make out a cartoon playing on the screen. Then the silver wires running from the scene. set itself to some dark mass. Then, the dark mass took shape as my eyes adjusted to the odd lighting. It was said to rather his body, not dead nearly as long as his parents, seated in an old

office chair. The wires from the television set led directly to his body, eventually disappearing into several cold crusted over holes in his leathery flesh. Through a small worm-eaten opening in his ribs, I thought I could see more metal inside of him. I walked to sit side, holding my hand over my mouth for fear of vomiting. His face was twisted into a hideous, wide grin. His empty eye sockets almost seemed happy, hooded by a pleased brow line.

Hi there! I heard a charring voice. The voice was upbeat. I pitched. It almost sounded like said, but different, bubbly, cartoony. I turned to the screen. The green grass, the blue sky, the yellow flowers, and said, a perfect caricature of him.

It strolled along the infinite loop of the utopian cartoon background. It waved to me. Sit. I whispered he, the cartoon version of him, turned his attention away from me, continued to merrily stroll across that unending cycle of the same backdrop. He passed the shrub and passed it again and again. The same bluebird,

chirping happily flew through the sky and a figure eight. Sit. To comprehend the scenario. I never should have let you leave reality. I thought about what Sid had done to his mom and dad. I thought about how the bank would come by soon. This would all come to light. I watched Sid walk along for nearly a half hour, and I unplugged the sex.

How many choices do you make in a day? In a year? In a lifetime. How many really matter in the end? Do you agonaut? over the small ones and avoid the important ones. Here on my lift, in this place where all things are possible, your choice matters.

Your choices require sacrifice. Will you make the right one? Choose to listen to the lift in iTunes, tune in, Stitcher, and now IHeart Radio. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told. on this podcast or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At CreepyPod on Twitter, Instagram. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com

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