Creepy - Day 23 - Straw Men

Episode Date: October 23, 2021

I was better off alone...***Written by B.A Ries and narrated by Cole Burkhardt***Bonus: "Where It Rained Meat"***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.

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. Creepy presents. The 31 Days of Horror. Day 23.

Straw Men. Written by B. A. Rees. And narrated by Cole Burkart. It would be an exaggeration to say that I hate all other people. I liked a few of them. Marguerite, for example. I like Margaret. it, but it's a fair statement that I value being alone. That's why I built my life around a job

that doesn't require me to leave my crummy basement-level apartment. The bug problem inside of it's preferable to the human problem outside of it. Today's one of those abominable days when I'm required to venture into civilization. I've been dreading it for weeks. My virtual co-worker, Natalie has been insistent about my attendance at the fundraiser for her kid. Something about raising money for some research foundation. Blowing off her relentless emails and messages eventually got too tiring. I ran a mental cost-benefit analysis and determined that a brief appearance would amass me enough goodwill to get out of it next time.

As I exit my apartment building, I pass my fellow basement dwellers' seasonal decorations. The wreath on the door of my immediate neighbor, or a pairman named Brian, includes a ghost and a witch hat. Before the door to a young couple raising a small child, a mat portrays black cats in a full moon. The surrounding neighborhood is just as insufferable. I roll my eyes at the displays of pumpkins and mock graveyards, skeletons, spider webs. It's all plastic, fake, straight from Walmart bullshit in its own. only going to get worse. As soon as November rolls around, they will place this junk with equally obnoxious holiday decorations. I yearn for January. As the highway takes me past the

county line, I'm stopped by construction. A man in an orange vest halts me and waves for opposite traffic to go through the single open lane. Behind him, workers labor at the outskirts of a large pit. It's strikingly deep. From where I'm sitting, I can't even see the bottom of it. The delay makes me late. When I reach the farm, its dirt lot is already packed with cars. I wedge my rusty sedan into a narrow space and climb out. A distant breeze weighs crops and trees. The only other sounds I hear are those of birds and insects. I reach the field. Balloons are tied to a sign that reads, walk against diabetes.

I shade my head. What does walking have to do with it? Couldn't they have just accepted my money without having to bring me all the way out here for walking? I looked around. The field ahead is littered with jack-lanterns, cornhole boards, bales of hay, and some sort of pumpkin ring toss. Oh, and scarecrows. Lots of staircrows. Whoever decorated this place went a little overboard with them,

but where are the people? A sign over a small tent reads, Registration. At a table inside, a figure obscured by shadows presides over small piles of paper. I approach, Hey there, can you help? I freeze when I discern the straw hat and cloth face underneath it.

The scarecrow wears blue overalls on a plaid shirt. Its face consists of a hand-drawn red nose, blue eyes and a simple smile drawn with a single black dotted line. I don't smile back. Where is everybody? I want to at least sign into the event. Hello? I call.

My voice fades into the empty ambiance. I try again, this time shouting as loudly as I can, but no one responds. I circle through the tense and the start of the one. mile course, but there's not a soul in sight. I can't make sense of it. Did everyone start walking and then just keep going to some other location? Or was the event cancelled at the last moment with me alone and not finding out about it? But if that were true, why is the parking lot so full? On the way back to my car, I passed the registration tent again. To my surprise, the stair crow is gone. What the The hell? I mumble. Perplexed and more than a bit spooked. My pace increases to a jog. I'm eager to leave

this place. There's something about it that feels so off, so wrong. I pull out in my car and don't look back as I return to town. I approach the construction site. This time, no one is around to direct traffic. There are no workers at all, in fact. I could go, but I worry about a car approaching from the other side. Arl my window down. Hey, is anyone there? I asked. Something catches my eye.

Several bales of hay decorate the edge of the pit. They weren't there before. For a moment, a brown, jagged stick emerges from the hay, reaching out like an arm before receding out of view. I resolve not to wait there any longer. longer. I wanted to leave this cursed hole in the earth behind, just like the farm in its deserted fundraiser. I jolt the accelerator and zoom into the open lane. As I drive, I check the rearview mirror. What I see sends my heart racing. In the back seat, directly behind me, is the thin smile of the stair crow from the registration tent. Fucking hell, I scream. My car stids at an angle as I

slam on the brakes. Sirens blare in front of me. Just my luck. The first car at the other end belongs to a cop. The officer approaches. I stay still resisting the temptation to look behind me. In my state of near panic, I accidentally rolled down one of my rear windows instead of my own.

I rush to direct my mistake as the officer nears. The officer leans down and asks me some questions. officer in the back seat there's I realized that telling the truth wasn't going to help me so I come up the slightly more plausible story I'm driving alone but I looked in the mirror and saw someone in the back seat I panicked

the officer peers behind me there's no one there she insists not even something that might look like a person I croak, like a doll or a scarecrow. She shakes her head, hands me a ticket, and informs me that I'll need to go to court to address it. I thought about telling her everything I'd seen, the desolate fundraiser, the stick reaching out of the hay, but I decide to cut my losses. I politely nod and tell her that I'll be more careful. I examined my car upon parking it in my building's garage. Indeed, the back seat is an

occupied. Had I imagined seeing the stair crow there? Am I losing my mind? In my apartment, I take a long shower and start to unwind. I decided to keep the inexplicable things I'd seen to myself, at least for the time being. I have Margaret to prepare for. I shave my face and put on my nicest set of clothes. I count out five, $50 bills and place them in an envelope by the door. Margaret's five minutes late. On another occasion, I'd argue over subtracting $20 from what I owed her. 21, to be more precise, but today, I'm just happy to see her face. Margaret smiles and addresses me as her husband.

She displays a cheap replica of the engagement ring I gave to Anne, and she wears an olive-green dress like the one Anne had on when I proposed to her. Margaret doesn't mention the children I haven't seen in years. they aren't a part of the script. The hour moves efficiently. We chat over a drink, then slowly make our way to the bedroom. We screw around. When it's over, I wrap my arms around her bare back and hold her tightly.

She asks me if something's on my mind, she says I seem a little wound up. I start to tell her about the strange things I saw that morning. When I bring up the mysterious pit by the highway, she mentions she, She heard something about it. She says that a friend of hers works at that site. Ever since his drilling operation tapped into some unknown substance deep under around, workers were disappearing without a trace. Do they know what the substance is?

I asked. She bursts out laughing. She tells me that she really had me going. I'm annoyed, but Anne's sense of humor was on the list of traits I'd given her to study. I can't hold it against her. Margaret dresses and heads to the door. See you next week, I tell her she slips the envelope into her purse. On Monday, I exchanged chat messages with Natalie.

She tells me not to worry that the participants had gathered around a hill at the end of the mile-on course for a group photo, but she appreciates the effort I made coming out there. It doesn't make sense to me. I wasn't all that late. I should have seen somebody. but I let it go. Work resumes, groceries arrive at my front door,

my apartment building is quiet. The tedium of daily routine settles my nerves and the weird events of the weekend fade from my mind. Finally, the date on my ticket arrives. To my chagrin, I find that those obsessed with tacky Halloween props include whoever runs the general district court. fake cobwebs lines the metal detector The officer's manning it direct me to the appropriate room

I climb the central staircase Posing throughout it are more of those damn scarecrows I hate their smiling faces Their straw hats and the big red buttons That match their small red noses I approached the courtroom After a short wait an officer calls the number on my ticket Yep, that's me officer, I say

the officer instruct me on where to go. I opened the two sets of doors and step into the courtroom. I approached the podium, paying little attention to the handful of people scattered throughout the courtroom's public benches. My eyes raised to the judge. I gasp when I finally did a look at him. I recognize the beaming face on the figure before me. It's the same one, the same goddamn scarecrow that it

climbed into my car the other day. Except now, it has donned a black robe and sits before a gavel. Is this... Are you... I stutter, dumbfounded. I look to the prosecutor's table where two staircrows sit in suits. I look behind me and realize that the rest of the audience is no different. I'm the only human in the entire fucking...

room. I storm out, spot the officer who'd let me in, and call out for him. When he doesn't respond, I tap his shoulder. I jump back as his left arm detaches. Tightly wound straw spills out of his empty sleeve and hits the floor with a soft thud. I back up. I need to leave. I gasp as the figure moves. It kneels, pits up the detached arm, and and sticks it back in place. Then it turns toward me, continuing to display the same sick expression of perpetual bliss. A stumble sends me toppling down the first set of stairs.

I bang my head. My body aches as I climb back to my feet and run down to the lobby, where I find the metal detector manned by two stair crows dressed in police uniforms. Their heads tilt slightly in my direction. as I sprint to the exit. There's almost no traffic as I drive back to my apartment. Halloween is today, yet I spot no kids or parents in the early evening light. All I see are scarecrows, everywhere, of all shapes and sizes.

They appear still, silent, content. In the apartment garage, an elderly man hobbles over to me. He's the first human I've seen since leaving the courthouse. He points to a red bruise on my temple and tells me that I'm not one of them. He tells me not to trust anyone, not even him. I leave him behind as I scramble down the basement hallway. The door to the building elevator opens, revealing three staircrows, a man, a woman, and a small child standing between them.

I pass Brian's apartment. I look through the open door. Inside, two figures are engaging in a stuffle. A stair crow has Brian pressed against the wall. His panic eyes turn towards me as he attempts futilely to pull the stair crow's hand off his neck. With its other hand, the stair crow pries open Brian's mouth. The thin line that forms the stair crow's smile,

it spans until its mouth is a gaping hole that covers most of its face. Brian made some muffled scream as straw shoots out of the scarecrow's mouth into his own. He dags and chokes. The straw pours down Brian's throat. It fills his body until it bursts through his skin. As a layer of straw spreads over Brian, transforming his appearance, the scarecrow turns towards me. I shut the door to my room and bolt it behind me.

and the crack beneath the door, shadows of legs approach. The door jostles and the handles shake. Then, the shadows depart. I don't know what to do. After what I saw at the court building, I'm not eager to contact the authorities. A familiar voice calls for me from outside. I check my phone to confirm that it is the correct date and time.

I looked through the peephole. To my relief, it's a little bit more. It's Margaret with no straw hat to be found on her. I usher her in. She asked me what's wrong when I frantically locked the door. I'm just so happy to see you, Margaret, I replied. You're the only thing that seems real to me. She looks at me strangely.

I'm not supposed to call her by her real name. She asked for some wine. Anne loved wine, after all. That trait was in the materials I'd provided for Margaret. I gave her a glass. She lifts it. I put my hands around hers as I pour. I think about the recent events,

about how everything around me is falling apart. Yet, amidst all that, here is Margaret, showing up at her scheduled time to pretend to be the wife who'd stormed out of our marriage years ago, who'd taken away my kids, who told me I had no heart, no soul, who said I was as dull and ugly and lifeless, as a...

The glass shatters and Margaret shrieks. I've been gripping it too hard and several fragments had torn into Margaret's hand. I apologize profusely. When I bring her set of bandages, she opens her hand to reveal a long gash that extends across her palm. But no blood emerges from the wound. Just the ends of thin, golden pieces of straw. For your bonus episode, creepy presents where it rained meat.

I grew up in a little town in Kentucky near a place that had the dubious distinction of being the side of the Kentucky meat shower. Now, hold on, just wait. I know. I know how it sounds. When folks from these parts venture to other parts and start talking and people hear how slow we talk and where we're from, We get all kinds of reactions, like we're dumb and backwater and don't know what we're talking about. Now those first two might be true, but I know what I know.

Let me start with what people mostly know. The Kentucky Meat Shower, as it became known, was an incident occurring between the morning hours of 11 and 12 o'clock and lasted for several minutes on March the 3rd, 1876. Witnesses claimed that chunks of red meat about two by two inches, some twice that size, fell from the sky in a football field-sized area near Olympia Springs in Bath County, Kentucky. No, seriously, go look it up. If you do, you'll also see they came up with all kinds of reasons for what happened. Most people seem to believe the vulture theory, that a whole big flock of vultures threw up their meals in mid-air. I tell you what, though, they'd have had to been one colossal-sized flock of vultures.

Nobody could tell what kind of meat it was, people saying all sorts of stuff like beef, lamb, deer, horse, or even human. I guess some local hunter actually tried to meet and claimed it was bear, but no one knew for sure. I guess some scientists even got a hold of it and claimed it was lung tissue from either a horse or human baby. Now, I ain't a scientist, so I can't tell you why those two things are related. At the time, there was this farmer's wife, Mrs. Crouch, making soap on her porch when she reported seeing the meat pieces fall from the sky. She said she was 40 steps from her house when the meat started to slap the ground. She said the meat looked gristly. Mrs. Crouch and her husband said the event signified a sign from God.

I guess something similar happened in Europe sometime later, but I can't remember the where or when of that one. See that town, regardless of whatever rumblins they might have had initially, moved on. There were other things to worry about, better things, I suppose. I'm pretty sure it was better off for them. Problem was, I'm from a town close to there, and while we didn't see it directly, we heard about it. Sometimes that's so much worse when you ain't.

and got anybody who actually saw it. That's when the rumors really start to take hold. I think it was the rumors that did us in. Rumors feed belief, and sometimes the worst thing you can do is believe in something. See, my town took to the side of the Crouch family, thinking it was a sign from God. In between you and me, it was. Just not the God you thinking. See, when the incident happened over in Olympia Springs, we had some locals who, well, let's say they had some fringe religious beliefs.

They started to believe that whatever happened was more significant. Now, I don't know how it went from A to B to C to where it got to when I was growing up. There were certain things we did and certain things we didn't do. The main thing we didn't do, no matter what the other kid says. They said they did, was stare at the full moon. See, there's all kinds of beliefs about the moon. I think they're Egyptian. Something about an eye looking down on us.

Deuteronomy 419 says to be careful about looking up and worship in the moon, paraphrasing the course. Maybe the point it was about loving God and that, it'd be in the Bible and all. Except that we proved it was actually a warning. See, when the full moon is out, town rule is you don't look up and stare at it. You be on your best behavior. That's when whatever's up there is watching with the most intent and wants you to believe in it. Now, you can look at it, the moon, I mean.

That's where things get complicated. You can't stare at it like a staring contest. Because if you do, you have to keep staring at it. That's right, a staring contest with the moon. And you don't want the moon to blink first, and you can't intentionally blink first. You have to lose naturally. Because if the moon blinks, it means the end for you. Because our God is a petulant one.

And nobody ever going to see you again. At least not whole. Now I can't speak for other places in towns around the world. world. I can't tell you if it's only where we are, and it's someplace that whatever God it is wants to keep us on believing and fearing him, or if it's actually everywhere, and we're just the ones keeping it going, that we're the ones fearing and believing. And I'm not telling you to try the same thing. I recommend you don't. Because once in a while, it rains in our town. I've seen it myself. And the plopping sound.

on the sidewalk ain't the sounds of fat drops of water. It's skin and bone. And sometimes that skin will have ink on it. Sometimes that bone will have jewelry around it. And we know someone won the staring contest. And they lost too. Because our God don't like to lose. Usually figure if someone drunk or high

or from out of time that thought we was joking. We don't joke about that And there's other things about this town too But one thing's for sure We don't stare at the moon Take care you and yours this time of year Don't go tempting fate And doing scary things

Because scary things is bound to happen in return That's coming from the youngest of five kids Except we used to be six Don't stare It's impolite. Please contact us at Creepypod at gmail.com for further information on obtaining the rights necessary to rebroadcast or distribute a particular story.