Creepy - Day 22 - My Father Punished Me When I Talked To Ghosts

Episode Date: October 22, 2020

Sometimes you just want someone to listen...***My Father Punished Me written by Edwin Crowe***630-296-7536 written by Christopher Bloodworth***See your donation rewards at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Music by Steve Blizin***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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Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents The 31 Days of Horror. Day 22. My father punished me when I talked to ghosts, written by Edwin Crow, and narrated by Alicia Atkins. I've been blind since birth. As I grew up, everything was described to me in such vivid detail that I didn't even realize it was that important to see, especially having no reference point to compare it. We lived in a single-floor ranch house.

That's what father told me. In my mind, of course, I could see, although unlike how a sighted person could. I had spatial awareness. I knew where my bedroom was, where the bathroom, living room and kitchen were. Each wall had its own texture. I don't know if that was done in purpose, or if I could feel things others never noticed.

I rarely fell over. Only if father or one of the visitors put something somewhere they shouldn't have. It was usually the visitors, and father would shout. They visited infrequently, and only briefly when they did. Father said I shouldn't speak to them, that it unsettled him.

He'd worry when I saw something he didn't, saw it with my ears or by touch. Ellie was the first. She seemed very sweet. She asked me my name and why my face was so messed up. She was in the living room. I could hear where she sat from her breaths. Harsh nasal sounds, as if her nose was blocked. When father had a cold, he'd always breathe through his mouth, big, labored breaths,

as he wasn't used to it. When people mentioned my face, I always touched it, trying to work out why it was so strange to them. When I asked if I could touch theirs, there was always a pause. I guess sighted people never did that. Why would they need to? When I asked Ellie if I could touch her face, she reluctantly agreed.

But moments later, Father entered the room and asked me who I was speaking to. I told him nobody. He would always punish me when I spoke about them. I think it scared him. He'd take my arm and march me off. I'd be knocked off balance and disoriented, to the point where when he finally set me down, my hands would frantically search my surroundings until I knew where I was.

It was usually in my bedroom, though every now and then he'd leave me outside, in the middle of nowhere. That was the worst. I would be lost and scared. He told me about it. the road that ran in front of the house and explained that the sounds I heard were cars, that they'd kill me if they touched me. Those sounds were my only means of recognizing my surroundings. I waited until I heard one and then knew which way to run back to the house.

I heard Ellie that evening. She whispered to me, saying she was scared. I whispered back, but she didn't hear. I asked father about Ellie. He didn't want to talk about her. I asked him why. He didn't reply. When I told him that she asked about my face, he asked me how I responded. I told him I wanted to touch hers. He laughed, though I knew he wasn't happy. I could hear the difference.

When you laugh for pleasure, your mouth is wide open. When you pretend, your mouth is almost closed. To me, the difference is obvious. It wasn't until I got older that he explained. He said we lived in a special place, connected to the other world, that sometimes dead people slipped through, people who died in pain and wanted to reach the living. He explained that because I couldn't see, I was able to tune into that,

that they knew I was listening when others weren't. He said I had to ignore it. Otherwise, he told me, they'd latch on and never leave me. All the dead want is to be alive again, he said. It was dangerous, and they would trick me. He said he knew how to deal with them, but he couldn't help if they became attached to me. Alex appeared to me a few years later.

She told me she was lost and didn't know where she was. I told her I wasn't allowed to speak to her. Still, she pleaded for help. I kept quiet, knowing what would happen if I said anything. Did you speak to them? Father asked. Though I was upset, I told him no. I wished I could help her.

I knew what it was like to be lost, and it scared me. Alex didn't whisper to me at all. I ignored her, and she ignored me. Father saved me, and I was thankful. After Alex, I knew what I needed to do, so I did it. The spirit stopped bothering. me after that for a very long time. That was until Sarah appeared.

Sarah didn't give me a chance to be quiet. I was on my own sitting in the living room and listening to the television. Help, she said. I need to find a way out. I stayed silent. You can hear me, can't you? She asked, surprised. I'm not allowed to speak to you.

I told her Please, she begged. I'm scared. I'm lost. I want to see my daddy. I gripped the arms of the chair and told her I wasn't allowed. He's dead, she said. I didn't answer.

Your father is dead. She said again. I wasn't going to fall for it. I heard banging from around the room as things began to fly. And the shells began to shake. Stop it! I shouted. And it did.

Please help me leave, she said. I wasn't going to talk to her. I did the only thing I thought would help. I unlocked the front door, hoping she'd run out and get lost just like I would do. When I heard from her no more, I locked the door and sat back down. I listened intently for any sign she was.

still there. Except for the sounds of the TV, it was silent. I hated when my heart raced. I became all too aware of the tick-tock feeling of the rise and fall within my chest, like it was about to explode. When I heard my father's voice, I screamed. Son, he said, I need you help. I think I'm dying.

I did what he told me to do. I didn't speak. If he did die, he'd never leave me. Instead, I raced out into the open air and shouted for help. I shouted until my voice was hoarse. I heard the sounds of cars racing along the road in front of my house. I shouted until I heard someone respond. It was a woman.

What's wrong? They asked. I told them I think my father was dying. They asked what had happened to my face. I pleaded with them to help me. and they promised they would. I sat down on the grass and waited. Sometime later, the woman returned to me and asked if she could hold my hand.

I'm so sorry, she told me. I heard the sounds of sirens and of people rushing. I asked what was going on. The woman said she was there for me. As the noise died down, a man asked me a question. I'm a paramedic, he said. What happened to your face? I told him I was fine.

He asked if I was sure, and I told him I was. He asked if I minded him touching my face. I said it was okay. A moment later, I felt the pressure release from around my forehead, and the air felt cold against my skin. It sounded as if he was peeling an orange. I imagined that in my head and worried he'd exposed my insides. I screamed and asked what he was doing.

He told me everything was going to be a little. okay and the woman squeezed my hand, telling me to be brave. I didn't know what I was experiencing. I felt a tight pain within my head, like when you smash your shin against something hard, followed by something I've come to understand as bright. It hurts so much. I began to cry. What happened to your eyes? The paramedic asked. I said I was blind. He asked to check them. The pain returned when he examined them. Do you know him?

The man asked the woman who had helped me. She told him I'd been screaming for help and that she had come to my aid, but that she had never met me before. How long have you had your eye injury? He asked me. I told him I'd been blind from birth. He asked me if I could see his fingers. I told him no.

He asked if I could open my eyes. I said I didn't know what he meant. He asked if he could open them for me. I didn't respond. Then I felt his fingers on my face. Fingers covered in something rubbery. Suddenly it became bright again. I screamed.

He tried to calm me. The woman squeezed my hand again. I didn't know what was happening. Things I couldn't describe came to me. It was like it always was, but, multiplied 100-fold, and so much more real. I carried on screaming as a fuzzy form came into view. Just breathe, okay?

The paramedic said. Everything will be fine. When was the last time you saw? As my heart began to calm and my breathing slowed, I became distracted by what I was experiencing. It overwhelmed me. I wanted to cry, and I did. How long has it been?

He asked again. I've never seen anything before, I told him. I was told to keep an eye mask on for most of the day, only taking it off at night at first to allow my eyes time to adjust. At the same time, I was placed in the custody of my aunt and uncle, and didn't even know it at first. They were shocked at what happened to me, and that I had never attended school.

The past few years have been a roller coaster ride. The doctor said I may never have perfect vision, though what little I have is a godsend, and I'll take what I can get. I've only recently been learning to read and write, so I apologize if my English isn't the greatest. It's the best I can do. I've been asking my aunt what happened to my father, but all she says is that he died of a heart attack. I asked what sort of man he was. she says he was her brother and she'll love him no matter what my uncle doesn't want to talk about him at all i've been using the computer a lot recently and really enjoying the internet i can't believe such a thing exist after being so lonely for so long i can talk to whoever i want when i want though i'm wary of that after all how do i know of who i'm speaking to is alive

No one seems to share my father's concerns about that. Today I was on a forum discussing the spirit world. I was so happy to find people who I could relate to. And someone curious about my username sent me a link to an article on a true crime website. It was about my father and mentioned me by name. They asked me who I was and if I was the same person. According to the article, my mother had gone missing soon after my birth. It said I'd been bound so I couldn't see.

That my father always wanted a daughter. They found 14 bodies in the basement. They said one got away. A girl by the name of Sarah Frank. She was the one to call the police. They found father's car parked around the back of the house. They supposed he'd carry his victims into the basement via the storm entrance and left them there. Sarah had managed to get away after she agreed to be his daughter, following four days of sustained torture.

She stabbed him with a knife he'd placed on the counter to butter some toast. I didn't want to believe it. And I'm not sure I would have if it weren't for the names of the victims, two of which stuck out. Ellie Farmer and Alex Riddle. I'd spoken to them both in the living room. To this day, I wonder if my father had been honest with me about a single thing in his life. Throughout at all, one question remains above all others. Did I speak to Ellie and Alex before or after he killed them?

From the Patreon Vault. Creepy Presents 630-296-7536. credited to user Arios. I'm sure that all of you here are used to the cry for help type stories by now. Help me, help me, blah, blah, blah. I won't bore you with another. Even if I wanted your help, you couldn't give it to me.

Because your help is useless. Why? Because you're not a member. I just wish I wasn't either. It all started instantly enough with a phone call. I'd been up for hours, unpacking and cleaning, waiting for the plumber to call. I just moved into a cabin and the contractors fucked everything up. Because of that, I now have the wonderful task of making calls to competent people that can fix with the original contractors did wrong.

The phone rang at 1206. Not bad, I thought. Usually plumbers don't bother to call or show up until five. When I picked up the phone, I didn't even get a chance to say hello before a woman on the line told me to, please hold for the next available operator. I hopped up and sat on the cabinet in the kitchen. It was one of the few places in the cabin not occupied with boxes. Elevator music leaked into my ear.

It started to drows off when the music stopped and a piano chord that sounded like it was three notes that didn't quite go together played through the receiver twice. Her voice came on the line. Welcome to Boothworth Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator. today. Name. I didn't know what to say, so I told the operator my name.

Sir, we know who you are. I'm your operator. Please give me a name to access. I don't understand, I said. It can be anyone, sir. We just need a name. Uh, okay, I said. I made up a name. Harold Withers Sir, as your operator, I must point out that fictitious names are the names of people that you don't know cannot be used. Used for what? I asked.

How would you know that I've made up that name? The whole thing felt like some sort of prank, but hardly anyone knew my phone number. Remodeling. Remodeling. Is this the plumber? I asked. Welcome to Boothworth Industry. My name is Samantha, and I will be your operator today.

Name. I took that as a yes and gave them the name of an old ex-girlfriend. Jessica Goodwin. I could hear the clicking of a keyboard on the other end of the phone. It sounded like the woman was pounding the thing with her fists. After just a few moments of this, she returned. Jessica Goodwin. Remodeling is scheduled for August 21st, 2015.

Would you like to reschedule? I was silent. my side of the phone. I couldn't believe this. Someone had been playing a prank on me. Who is this? Is this you, Jessica? Are you playing a prank on me? The woman didn't respond for a long time. I thought that whoever was on the other end of the phone was holding in a laugh. Hello? Yes or no, sir, the woman asked back. Yes? I said not understanding what the woman was asking. I have a Tuesday appointment available. Will that work?

At this point, I thought I was going insane. It actually was the plumbing company. What about today? I asked. Do you have anything available for today? Normally we can't arrange for a reschedule on such a short notice, but today we add a cancellation. How does three o'clock work for you? Three o'clock is fine, I said. Three o'clock it is then. Would you like a courtesy call? Sure. Wonderful. We have Booth World Industries say thanks and welcome to the club. You have a marvelous day. That strange chord played twice again and the line went dead. I rolled my eyes and went back to unpacking.

My phone rang at 3 o'clock on the dot that afternoon. Hello. Sir, this is Samantha with Booth World Industries again. Your courtesy call begins now. What do you... I began to say but was cut off by those diminished cords blaring into my ear. Then I heard Jessica's voice. What are you doing? Why are you doing this?

Jessica asked. I could hear the tears in her voice. Jessica? Sir, the operator said. She cannot hear you. This is a courtesy call. The appointment has already concluded. Please.

Jessica begged. Please don't do this. I'll do anything you want. I'll... Jessica's voice croaked off into a wheeze, and all I could hear on the other end of the phone was the rustling of clothing and more wheezing. Eventually it stopped,

and someone picked up the other end. The scheduled work has been completed, the man's voice said. We at Booth World Industry say thanks and welcome to the club. You have a marvelous day. Sir? The operator came back on the line. was that to your satisfaction?

I sat there for a long time, cold sweat dripping down my rib cage. Jessica was my ex because I walked in on her and my best friend fucking at a party in high school. I smiled, and whispered. That was perfect. Wonderful, the operator said. We at Booth World Industries aim to serve. Would you like to make another appointment? As I stared at the water leaking from the door of the dishwasher, I smiled even bigger.

Yes. Yes, I would. Name? Dan. I don't have a last name. He's a contractor. Dan Aaron Sibia. July 13, 2013, 2002.

Would you like to reschedule? Yes. How would Wednesday work for you? Didn't you say you had a Tuesday appointment available? I did. But unfortunately, that slot has been filled by another member. Would Wednesday work for you? No.

I have a job interview that day. What about Thursday? Unfortunately, Thursday will not work. You are due for remodeling Wednesday night. What? She repeated the exact same thing to me again. Can we reschedule my remodeling? Of course we can, sir, the woman said.

It sounded like she was smiling on the other end of the phone. There's always a way. I waited for her to tell me how. She didn't speak. How? Booth World Industries is always looking to ad members. We are, of course, a membership by invitation-only club. Sadly, our membership numbers have fallen in recent years.

economic recessions, wars, politics. What we would like you to do, in order to avoid your own remodeling appointment, is help us add several new members. The light at the end of the tunnel, I thought. How many members do you need? 1,000. I choked. 1,000.

Yes, sir. Otherwise, we'll have to keep our scheduled appointment. We must inform you that the member that scheduled this appointment did request the courtesy call. Everything stopped at that point for me. All my life, I'd just skated by, not doing anything, not making a difference. My mouth actually dried up. I'd always thought this was the sort of thing people wrote in books to be dramatic. It's not.

I'll get you your 1,000 members. I whispered, We at Booth World Industries say thanks and welcome to the club. You have a marvelous day. The connection ended. I hung up the phone and stared at it for a long time. I'm scheduled for remodeling on Wednesday, and somewhere, someone will be getting a courtesy call to listen to my last few breaths

if I don't get 1,000 members to join Booth World Industries. It's funny. I'd always wanted to join an elite club. Skull and Bones, New World Order. I'm not sure how I got in, but now I'm a member. I've got until Wednesday to enjoy it. Like I said at the beginning, even if I wanted your help, you couldn't give it to me because you're not a member. Membership is by invitation only.

I'm inviting you in. You can help me. Just call 630-296-75336. 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 wiki.com and are protected by a creative commons label. license, some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.