Creepy - Day 24 - Something Followed My Husband Home

Episode Date: October 24, 2018

He didn't want the job...***Written by Dolly Costello and narrated by Cynthia Reinhardt***Check out more from the Are You Scared of These Stories? podcast at: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/are-you-scared-of-these-stories/id1059640032?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***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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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 24. Something followed my husband home from work. Written by Dolly Costello.

And narrated by Cynthia Reinhart. It's been almost five years since this happened. My husband and I have moved far away and have been able to forget. Although I must admit, when I'm alone and it's quiet enough, I still feel like it's watching me. I like to write journal entries as a form of therapy, and I think it's time to talk about this one. So let's just start from the beginning. It was late in the summer, and my now husband and I had just gotten married to the surprise of our friends and family. We had a lot of liquid courage one night and decided to do something crazy.

I suppose the elopement was so much of a surprise that neither of our families felt comfortable in supporting us. Looking back, I think I understand their reluctance. mean we'd only known each other for about six months and weren't really in ideal places in our lives to be making such a big decision. Alone, we desperately searched for a place to live and found an old apartment building in a historic area of Cincinnati. The area was terrible, riddled with poverty and crime, but the rent was low enough for minimum wage jobs. We were left struggling to build ourselves up from scratch and only had each other to depend on. I remember doing an odd string of jobs. There was catering, newspaper delivery, making boxes for companies,

and the worst was scraping pizza off the factory floors overnight. We took any temporary work we could find and only ever made enough to pay off our rent and a little food. Our dream was to land professional jobs in an admirable field so we could say to our future children, we had nothing and now we have everything. But the temp jobs eventually took a toll on us. We were tired of doing humiliating work for close to no money.

I decided to go back to school, so the pressure was then on my husband to find something to get us through the school year. By some random luck, he got a call from a hospital willing to take him in without any experience. They told him all they were requiring was someone strong enough to lift patients and transport them around the hospital.

But there were some conditions they wanted to discuss at the initial interview. We were static. This is what we've been waiting for, after all. I got a call from him in the middle of class after his interview. When I answered the phone, he didn't greet me like usual. It was silent on the other end. Hello?

What happened? Did you not get the job? It's okay, honey. We can find something else. Whatever it was seemed to have really shaken him up bad. It wasn't like him at all. Well, what do they want? What could possibly be that bad?

His breathing was rapid and uneven. It was always easy to tell when his anxiety was kicking in. Look, I can't do this. I don't want to live like this anymore. We have no money and I'm hungry. You have to take the job. You have to. Do you understand?

I was panicking and afraid he was going to back out of an amazing opportunity. I don't care what you have to do. We need this money. I'm sure seeing a dead person is going to be uncomfortable at first, but you'll get used to it. Trust me. Please. Please. After about 20 more minutes, I eventually guilted him into taking the job. For the next four weeks, he went into his training, nervously anticipating when he'd be working in the actual hospital. I, however, was elated and constantly dismissed all his concerns about things not feeling right or how he was really worried about the job.

Nothing mattered more than the money he was making, and I was able to focus on my studies worry-free. Perhaps I should have listened a little better. I dropped him off at the hospital on the day of his first real shift and wished him luck. He took a couple of deep breaths and stared at the entrance of the hospital before exiting the car and walking through the automatic doors. I didn't hear from him until eight hours later when I received a call. Hey, you? How's your first? stago? Are you ready for me to pick you up? There was silence on the other line, but I could still

hear faint breathing. Tension and unease was growing in the pit of my stomach. Is everything okay? Are you there? He spoke quickly and sounded out of breath and hung up. I sped back to the hospital to find him sitting on a bench at the entrance of the hospital with his head between his hands. I slammed the car into park and ran up to him. It seemed like he was in some sort of trance. as it took me a couple of shakes to get his attention. He never said a word as I helped gather his things and walk him back to the car, or during the 30-minute drive back to the apartment. When he was ready, I figured he would tell me what happened.

The silence would continue until we were ready for bed, and I was about to turn off the lights when he finally began to speak. He furred his brow with the memory of it all. Sweat was starting to beat on his forehead. Slowly I walked back to the bed and sat next to him and waited for him to continue. He was making me uneasy, so I immediately told him to stop talking about it and turned off the lights to go to bed. Nothing has ever scared him before, and seeing him in the state of helplessness actually made me feel unsafe. It took a while, but we were able to fall asleep.

There was a light scratching at the bedroom door. slowly I opened my eyes adjusting to the darkness the alarm clock shone an irritating red it was three in the morning and the room was still and quiet I turned my head to see my husband's back to me his body rising and falling with each breath scratch scratch scratch there was a faint scratching noise like fingernails against the door scratch scratch scratch scratch it continued every couple seconds for a a minute or two and eventually stopped. Logic helped me to allow myself to drift back into sleep. Tap, tap, tap. My eyes shot open. It's 3.30 in the morning.

The tapping was very light. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the door. This was clearly by something human. The kind of tapping you would hear if someone was checking to see if you were awake, the kind of knuckle against wood, a sound that was. we're all too familiar with. That familiarity is what filled me with absolute and unexplainable dread. My breathing became heavy as I stared at the door,

trying to use logic to rationalize any possible explanation. Maybe the upstairs neighbors are working on something? Maybe we messed up rent and the landlord is coming for the rest? I ducked under the covers, desperate to feel some kind of safety. A lump was forming in my throat. and panic was starting to overwhelm me. I felt like at any moment something was going to reach out and pull the blankets off me and reveal itself.

I wanted it to go away. I wanted it to be something that was in my head. Wake up. There's something. Something at the door. I shook him gently. Afraid of making too much commotion would alert the thing on the other side of the door. Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Tears welling up in my eyes. as the tapping relentlessly continued. Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. I gasped and sat upright and hit my husband repeatedly. The tapping had turned into a desperate banging against the door. Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. There was no question there was a person on the other side of the door. My husband shot up in a daze.

He stumbled out of bed and struggled to get to his feet. The room was echoing with the never-ending knocking. As soon as his hand gripped the doorknob, everything stopped, and the room went silent. He looked at me wanting an explanation on what the hell was going on, and all I could do was cry. Someone's been knocking on our door all night. Maybe it's the landlord? Oh, God, maybe there was a gas leak, or we forgot to give him the rent? I laughed to myself, realizing that it had probably been the landlord all.

along. Although I thought it was a little strange for him to let himself into our apartment, I assumed in emergencies that this was something they did to alert people out of the building. I stood beside my husband as he opened our bedroom door. There was nothing. The hallway was completely black, no sign of anyone being there. The room suddenly filled with a thick, dense air. As I looked at my husband, his face went completely pale. There was a cold sweat building around his face, and his eyes widened with fear and confusion. I could see that he was staring back at something down the hall. When I finally looked, there was a large figure at the end of the hallway. Its silhouette looked large and bloated, with limbs that were blown up out of

proportion. There was a stench that permeated the hallway, like sour, rotten meat left out for weeks. It didn't say a word as it stood there gurgling, twitching, and convulsing. Immediately it felt like we were in danger. This was something menacing, and it wanted to hurt us. I slammed the door and locked it, turning every light on as we huddled together on the bed, staring at the door. The smell only got stronger as it was coming closer. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. The banging was so fast the door and the walls were vibrating. I shut my own. I shut my eyes anticipating the moment the door would break down and it would come for me and do God knows what to us. Suddenly, every power source in our apartment turned off and the banging stopped

the exact same time. It was 4 a.m. at that moment. For the rest of the night, we were in the corner of our bedroom, never keeping our eyes off the door. In the morning, we cautiously opened the door and everything was normal. Silently, we continued our daily routine. I dropped him off at work and went to school. But only a couple hours in, I received a call from the hospital. I sped the entire way there. They called me asking for the whereabouts of my husband.

He reported for work, but only a couple hours in, he disappeared, and no one had been able to find him. I was only about a mile from the hospital when I spotted. him at a bus stop, still in his uniform with his head in his hands. He told me that as soon as he got into work, they made him go back to the morgue. The staff had reported that there was a rotten smell emitting from the freezer where the dead man from the day before was placed in. When they peaked inside, the man, being too large for his body bag, had burst out of it in the middle of the night. So they sent my husband into placement a new bag. When he rolled a little bit of his body bag, when he

rolled him back out, the body had doubled insides from bloating, and the smell was unbearable. The man's eyes were open and seemed to be fixated right on him. He swears there was even the faintest smile on the man's face, and a presence that seemed

familiarly menacing. He ran out of the morgue, straight out of the hospital, and ran as far as he could to get away from the man in the morgue, the thing that followed my husband home that night. He never returned to that hospital, Strange things still took place in the apartment, so we eventually left.

I finished school and we're well off now, but I still have nightmares if I'm alone at night. The hospital I hear is still looking for someone to fill the position, if you're interested. In the late 90s, early arts, three friends met in the woods to tell each other's scary stories. Who were these people? Who was Jenkins? Who was Hibbs? who was Hibs, who was Owens. He is nasty boy. Chainsaws. Vines.

Scary story party. Us boys here at the scary storyteller society. Well, we love one thing and one thing only. And that's scaring the crap out of one another. They recorded their stories and captured unexplained paranormal phenomena. Hello, I am Greg Norman, the Orman. Maybe you've heard the legend of my puner. Ooh, that sounds like a scary story.

My peat bean bean rest right below my fanny pack full of gushers. Ormond in front of me, you know me. I went to your high school. Your voice getting deeper? No. Space is for dogs! You want to be a dog or a monkey up there with them commies in space drinking tang? I rise from the bull, but I am bog-fang.

So what's up? Does foul like a woman with curves? We have to do something. We can't let the sisters fulfill the plan of stealing children's souls. Yeah, sorry talking cat. Our friend's kind of busy right now. He's fucking that witch. Everybody's attention up here got a couple little quick announcements.

There is a bomb attached to the bottom of the bus. If this bus does not get to Court Street and my turd does not get to my turd doctor, this This bus blows sky. The whereabouts of the members of the scary storyteller society are unknown. All that remains are the tapes that were recovered from their abandoned campsite. You're not going to get me on the talk boy saying whether I do that or not. Well, okay, let's turn the talk boy off. Then I've always wanted to do that.

No, no, no, give me that. Give me it. And after you listen to them, you'll have to ask yourself, are you scared of these stories? It's a landslide of crocodiles. No, no. Bridge! You didn't document for the fridge! You teach me how to love my teeny-peen.

They're gonna burn to laugh! We stay in here, we're gonna be a hot dog. Then we'll be hot dogs and the bullpock are gone! I didn't want it to come to this. I wouldn't have to whip my friends. Are you guys stop saying what's up? I'll fucking kill you, kid.

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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 license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.