Creepy - Day 23 - Trucker Stories & The Magic Words

Episode Date: October 23, 2022

Trucker Stories***Written by: Joslin***The Magic Words***Written by: Jonathan Cosgrove and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Content Warnings: assault, mental health disorders***Tickets for the "Creepy" live show can be purchased at: https://bit.ly/BloodyFM***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.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 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, Silence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. The 31 Days of Horror. Day 23. Trucker Stories Written by Jocelyn. Hello to whoever is listening to this. My name is John and I'm a 28-year-old truck driver.

I've been driving for about seven years and I have so many stories about the road that it's almost impossible to count. The reason for this is not because I'm some normal truck driver who deals with normal truck driver stuff. No, I deal with some really weird stuff all the time because, to the best of my reasoning, I'm just a special boy. It all started on my 25th birthday when I was surprised with a gift that I never thought I'd receive. I had come home to my parents' house after being out for a month straight because they were very insistent on celebrating my birthday that year. I pulled in with my rig and parked it by my dad's beautiful Kenworth W-900L, which, for those of you who don't know, is one of those trucks that look like it's a little boxy and old school.

After parking and giving that Kenworth a respectful look it deserved, I had it on into the house to greet the family. Our little birthday celebration was simple, with a home-cooked pork chop with all the fixing and jam cake for dessert, which is a Kentucky delicacy. If you never had it, find a Kentucky family who makes it and try it. If you have had it, you already know. There were no presents to be given, which would not bother me because I never expected things like that. But it did strike me as a bit odd, seeing as my parents always made sure I got something for those. types of holidays. After sitting around, making jokes and drinking coffee for about 30 minutes or so, my dad casually said,

Well, we better go outside for that present you're getting this year. I was ecstatic when he mentioned that and got up to go out the front door because this had to be something big. Without a word, I rose to my feet and followed him until we found ourselves in front of his semi-truck. All yours, buddy. He said as he cracked a sly, small. mile will hand him the keys. I was dumbfounded that at first all I could do was take turns staring at him in the truck with my jaw practically dragging itself through the dirt as I switched my attention between

the two. He chuckled and gestured with his hand to the driver's side door, breaking me out of my shock stupor. We climbed up into the cab. He on the passenger side and I in the coveted driver's seat, and I wasted no time in putting the keys in the ignition to fire it up. came alive almost instantly. It sent me backwards in time going to my dad would let me start the truck for him as a kid before he went out on one of his week-long runs as he packed what he needed in a door

that opened to a sleeper section from the outside of the truck. After a few moments of just sitting and listening to the engine purr out its low song, my dad grew serious in motion for me to shut it down. A few things about this truck before you take it out on your runs. He sat in a low voice while he captured me with his stern green eyes. You already know what brand of oil she takes, what fuel additives she needs, and most of her little cork she has. But you don't know the most important thing about her. You can run this truck whenever you want.

No matter what area you're in or the conditions of the road as long as you don't run on Halloween, especially at night. I started to chuckle a bit until I realized he was not joking. Seriously, what happens if I do? "'The boogeyman get me or something?' I exclaimed in a skeptic's tone. "'I don't know about that, "'but I'll tell you what the old guy's wife told me when I bought this truck from her.' "'He started up a story about how he came by the truck "'and the details of the purchase agreement made between him and this guy's wife.

"'Apparently she told him that when her husband had bought the truck from a guy he met on the road, "'the driver told him the same thing. "'Never take the truck out on Halloween, especially at night. Well, the guy thought it was all just a big joke and decided to take it out anyway because money's money. The next thing the wife knew, she was getting a call from Illinois State Police saying they had found her husband in his truck in an old rest stop the following day. And that they had him in custody because apparently he was naked, screaming gibberish, and writing strange symbols on any surface he could besides the truck. When it was all said and done, she had the truck picked up and brought to her house after seeing what she and was. what her husband had evolved to.

She had him committed to an institution where he hung himself three days after the sale of the truck to my dad. See, the weirdest thing was that when she saw him, all his hair had turned white, eyebrows, eyelashes, everything. No explanation for it either. He hadn't used dye,

and the time he spent in the asylum should have been long enough for his brown roots to grow through, and they just never did. See, she wants to be able to. He wants to go places on Halloween and lets you know in her own way. I just never got behind the wheel for it. We sat in silence for a few minutes after he wrapped up what seemed to be a ridiculous story, so I could let it truly sink in.

He can't seriously think I'm going to believe this, can he? What did he think this was? Some kind of haunted truck? Stuff like that didn't exist outside horror movies. Besides, I decided to put his mind to ease because he seemed so concerned about the subject. After I assured him, I'd never take it out on Halloween. The mood instantly lightened up and he returned to the lighthearted man that I knew. That was in September, so naturally, being young, I forgot all about it when Halloween eventually came.

It was mid-afternoon when I got the call from my broker saying he had a load that he needed halt on short notice. Apparently another driver had a medical emergency and the customer needed that load in by midnight for some reason or another. Since the pickup was only 20 miles from my house, and it'd only take me two hours to get to the customer. I figured I could go ahead and do it and get home before I missed the party I wanted to go to and get a nice payout on top of it all. With all this in mind, I'd gotten my Kenworth and took off.

The pickup and drop off went exceptionally smoothly, and I was ahead of schedule to get back home. when the truck started driving itself. I tried everything to take control, but the wheels, brakes, accelerator, and gear shift all completely resisted anything I tried to do. It didn't take me long after that to remember my dad's words of warning. It's Halloween, the sun setting,

and I'm probably screwed. I could only watch as the truck took an exit and started going down some really questionable back roads. But to its credit, it kept everything on the road. It also helped that after about five minutes of driving, there was no more traffic. Just me, the truck, and endless Kentucky land that didn't even look suitable to farm. In fact, there were trees I'd never even seen before on the sides of the road, and they were so thick I couldn't tell if it was day or night.

In fact, it seemed unnaturally dark after another couple minutes. As I reeled from this newfound information, the CB radio turned on and started to speak to me in an otherworldly voice. Congratulations on the new truck, and welcome to the back roads. We have just one load that we want you to haul, and it's an easy one. We will pay you between 10 and 20,000 U.S. dollars, depending on what condition the load is in and how quickly you can deliver. Do you accept it? C.B. went quiet after that, and I sat there stunned.

I had so many questions, but that money would set me up for a good bit and help pay off some debt that I had lying around. It's a no-brainer, right? I picked up the mic and keyed it on so whoever that was could hear the response that seemed to come from someone else's voice. Yeah, that sounds good. Just send me the locations, and I'll get it done. It will be automatically uploaded to your GPS. And if you get this load done,

the pay will automatically be deposited to your account upon delivery. Please be aware that this is a dangerous cargo and can attract the most unsavory of creatures. Be safe, and we hope to do business again soon. The CB abruptly shut itself off after the last transmission was sent and left me more questions and answers. I couldn't think about it awfully long because the road opened to a gravel lot with one trailer waiting for me to hook up to it.

The dim lights on the outer edge of the acre lot gave me enough illumination to make out that the trailer was not a normal fleet trailer. It looked to be all metal With what looked like armor on the sides It was painted all black From the top to the wheels Even the air and electrical lines were black Right as I noticed these details

The truck stopped and gave me back all control To which I automatically responded by shifting in gear I'm back and under the trailer This strange place had a beyond creepy feeling And as soon as I got out Felt as always being watched by Something inhuman That wasn't the person that struck me though.

The air was. It had a sour dead smell. No matter how much I tried to normalize it, the stench was always there. I just figured that I just have to drive with the windows up the whole trip. The line hook up, raising the trailer, landing gear, and pre-trip all went as it normally did with any other trailer. And when I was satisfied, I got back in the truck to see that my GPS had indeed populated a new route. To my surprise and delight, it showed that I only had to go 30 miles down the road, which would probably translate into about an hour because it looked like it was all back roads to the customer.

For this much money, I didn't care. I would have hauled it across the country for that payout. The first 30 minutes got me halfway to my destination, with relatively nothing happening, besides the odd pothole or strange etheric screaming that occasionally assaulted my ears. But I could ignore all that. It wasn't until I saw the creature standing in front of the road that I started to panic a little. It was tall, at least seven feet tall, and it was all black, which looked like oversized bat wings on its back. Everything else on it looked normal, except for the face.

It had literal tusks growing out of the corners of its lips, and its eyes glowed red like fresh magma flowing in the dead at night. Once I noticed the eyes, it noticed me, and ran towards me without hesitation. And it looked like it wanted to try and tackle the truck and bring it down. I did what you always do when you see something smaller than your vehicle coming at you with murderous intent. And I sped up and nailed that thing at about 65 miles an hour. It did what you would expect. First it got a surprised look on its face, and then it disappeared under my truck and turned into a grease spot on the road. I should have known how big of a mistake I'd made

because it was definitely dead or on the way to it But I didn't count on it having friends About 15 minutes later I got to meet those friends I saw what looked like four huge bat people flying at me from my left side And those glowing eyes all said the same thing You are fucked buddy I had decided that was a good time to go ahead And say screw the 55 mile an hour speed limit

hammered it up to about 75. The whole time praying to a god that I hadn't prayed to since I was a teenager. Those things went for my trailer, and they hit it hard. So hard it almost knocked me on my side. This whole time, they didn't even try to go after the truck, or me for that matter. I took that as an opportunity to grab the Sautoff shotgun that kept on the floor and poked my head and gun out to give them hell. I was going to be damned if they were going to screw this payday up for me.

The last 15-minute drive consisted of me firing, reloading, and trying to keep the truck and trailer on the road. I got three of them, and at the last minute, the final one seemed to disappear. The lot that I pretty much skidded to a stop-in looked identical to the one I had picked it up at, so that made it easy to back into an empty spot. Getting out of the truck to unhook everything and give the truck once over, my instincts told me to take the shotgun with me. I unhooked everything, lowered the trailer land, and as I was approaching the rear of the trailer.

I heard a scratchy noise. It reminded me in nails on a chalkboard. So I slowly peeked around the corner with my gun raised, and lo and behold, the last Batman thing was on the back trying to scratch its way into the back of the trailer. Why it wanted to was beyond me, because the smell of rotten flesh

that started emanating for what I can only assume was a cargo. I did what any rational human being would do in that situation with a gun. I unloaded about six shells into the thing's face screaming like a little girl the whole time. Not my finest moment, but I dare you to stare a massive Batman thing with red glowing eyes down

and calmly shoot it in the face as fast as you can pull the trigger. Can't be done. So naturally the post-trip trailer inspection was done in my mind, and I ran back to my cab, hoping to have a break, only to find I would not have one when the CB turned itself on again.

Congratulations on your first delivery. You did magnificently, and you exceeded expectations by fighting off the hell beasts. For that, you'll get a bonus of 5,000 as hazard pay. The total payout will come to $22,000 U.S. dollars, which had already been in your account. It's squawked with abnormal cheer. Next time we contact you, we'll have a longer and more profitable load for you. We look forward to working with you. you in the future and please mind the truck so that it can take you back to your reality.

Have a lovely day. I sat there stunned until I came to my present surroundings. I was in my driveway at my house and I had no idea if I drove here or if the truck got us here. Had to have all been a dream. Doesn't like that actually happens. That CB had also said that there'd be more like that in the future, which was much more than mildly concerning. What the hell was I going to do with a long load if a short one was like that?

There was a lot to think about. Until I checked my bank account on my phone and found the $22,000 have been deposited from otherworldly logistics ink and everything cleared up for me. This is what I wanted to do. Bring on the weird shit and give me that payday, baby! For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, the Magic Words. written by Jonathan Cosgrove and narrated by Rissa Montanez.

You order a martini and settle yourself on one of the high chairs at the bar, pretending as though you're not here for long anyway, and especially not looking for company, despite how it might seem from how you're dressed. The bartender comes over, lays out a cocktail napkin with a magician's flourish, and settles your drink on top while getting, an eyeful of your chest. You pretend not to notice, glancing first to the left and then to the right where, across the crowded

bar. You see who you've been waiting for. A man wearing a crisp white shirt and a lazy smile. He sits at a table and his hair bounces playfully in the light. He hasn't noticed you, but he will. This is just part of the game. Arrive separately. Don't acknowledge one another.

And when enough time has passed, enough come-hither glances have been thrown back and forth. There's an inevitable. Hey, mind if I buy you a drink? Or the classic? Excuse me, miss. The man at the end of the bar sent this over. And at that point, you accept the drink.

And what comes with it? But white shirt does not come over. You're disappointed. Maybe he's taking his time. Maybe he's waiting for you to finish your first drink before sending you another. It doesn't matter. This is the first time playing the game, so there are no clearly defined rules. As of yet.

So you're sipping. Sipping. God, this is awful. How does James what's his face do it? Although, he's been drinking. a lot of Heineken lately. Ha ha, you should work that into conversation later. You look over again at White Shirt, sliding the martini-soaked olive into your mouth

from the long metallic pick. White Shirt is staring long and hard into the face of a blonde woman sitting right across from him. What the hell? Who's that? That's not part of the game. The olive slips from your mouth and falls between your breasts. You pluck it out, slimy between your fingers, and swallow it.

Down the last of the martini and slam the glass so hard on the counter that two or three pairs of eyes drift over to yours, including the bartenders. So you point with the long martini pick at the empty glass and twiddle it in the air like a wand. Abercatini You leer at white shirt. He's pulling a strand of blonde hair from the other woman's face. And immediately, you are flashing back to when Tim Patterson left you at a party for Orla Wallace. Even though Tim had said he really, really liked you, and thought you were funny, and he held your hand and made you feel gooey inside.

But then his friends told you after, it was just to make Orla jealous. And Tim really preferred blondes, and he actually thought you were weird, not funny, and blah, blah, blah. And so later, you followed Orla to the bathroom and yanked every strand of yellow hair you could from her big, fat, head. So now you smile. White shirt has noticed you. You realize you have been staring this whole time. Now he's seen you, and you're thinking, I will never let you escape my gaze, white shirt.

You are trapped within it forever. His eyes fall back on the other woman's face, and you wonder if white shirt even saw you over here on the far side of the bar, with it being so crowded in everything. Soon, there's another martini in front of you, and then another. Each time you twirled a long pick through the air, another drink appears before you until finally.

You are standing and walking, twirling the pick in your hands. You are a powerful woman. You are magical. He will fall under your spell. You walk right up to white shirt and yell, Hey, you, this isn't part of the game. It's so loud in the bar, white shirt doesn't really hear you. He looks startled, though, and says something like,

Excuse me? The other woman who looks so much like Orla Wallace, it makes you want to scream, says, Jenny? Jenny Fitzroy? It is Orla Wallace, and her hair has grown back more beautiful than ever. Which makes sense since you haven't seen her in almost eight years. years. On the wall behind Orla's golden head is a mirror, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in it. Even at a distance, your eyes are bleary red. The curls you spent hours putting into your hair have fallen out, leaving it lank and lifeless. Have you always stood with such a hunch?

Like some old witch from a fairy tale? Orla Wallace stands radiant before you and says something like, It's so good to see you, Jenny. I heard you got out of the hospital but didn't know you were back. Orla points to white shirt. This is my husband, Tom. Jenny, he mouths. The Jenny? Tom, you say.

Up close, Tom has a smile that looks more like a grimace. But his hair looks even more. More perfect. Did you say something about a game? Orla says. What? Oh, yes, nothing. I thought he was someone else.

Orla smiles. Who? Your hair, you say. Orla brings her hand up to lightly touch her perfect bob. She gives a glance at white shirt and says, Yeah, it grew back. Eventually. You know, sometimes I think you almost did me a favor.

A favor, you repeat. Orla gestures at white shirt. I wore scarves all through college, and one day Tom came up to me and told me how much he liked them. It's funny, you know. Maybe we wouldn't have met or something if he hadn't noticed the scarves. Funny, you say. After doing Orla that favor, they put you in a rainbow-colored dayroom and while Orla was growing her hair back and meeting Tom, you were drooling in front of a television and eating mulch and in the endless stream of daytime slurry. You noticed a recurring storyline. A husband and wife go to bars and pretend not to know one another, and then they flirt. Ajinks ensue. To someone sitting alone in a soil diaper and some nameless hospital wing,

it had seemed so funny that couples like this could even exist, so crazy that people could love each other so much they were willing to make fools of themselves. You thought, when I get out of here, I'm going to do that. And the fact you didn't have a husband or a boyfriend, or a next-of-kin, didn't matter because it was like casting a spell. You would dress up, go to a bar, and it would happen. Al-a-Kazam. Now here you are, out, and the first guy you conjure, the perfect guy with the perfect hair, white shirt, Tom, whatever, is sitting with Orla Goddamn Wallace, his wife.

Honestly, I wish we both never met. Tim. Orla hisses the name between her perfect teeth. You twiddle the metallic pick through the air. Hey, presto. Orla laughs. You were always so funny, Jenny. She turns to Tom.

Like, isn't she funny? And Tom just raises his eyebrows at his beer. There it is again. funny. Jenny, who is so funny, Jenny, who is so weird, you tighten your grip on the metallic wand, and you pointed at white shirt and say, I wish I'd never seen you. White shirt does not vanish, no matter how hard you shake the wand in his bewildered face. After a long, long time, Orla reaches out a hand and says something like, Jenny, do you want me to call someone?

You turn to Orla, who gasps as you bring the wand, too close to her eyes. And you, you say, I wish never to see you again. And in the mirror behind Orla, A hunched, red-eyed witch turns the glinting point of her silver wand towards her own face, and a moment later, everything vanishes. 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 common share-a-like licensing, or with written consent from the authors.

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