Creepy - Day 24 - Tainted Traditions & The Silent Depths

Episode Date: October 24, 2025

Tainted Traditions***Written by: N.M. Brown and Narrated by: Owen McCuen***The Silent Depths***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Creepy presents the 31 days of horror. Day 24. This is creepy. 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 are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. So, just in here then?

You don't talk much, do you, large or early? What's the matter? Didn't get any lines this week, or we couldn't find a narrator to fill a one-off role? You know, like that scene in Deadpool when he goes up to the mansion, but it's just the same two X-Men because they didn't have enough money for other cameos? Sorry, narrator humor. John would have thought that was funny. He always appreciates being able to take someone else's idea and drive it into the ground.

I wonder where he is. Hope he's not dead or strapped to a surgical table somewhere. Again? Okay. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been... Well, I'm not Catholic, so this is a first for me. Anyway, I've been having impure thoughts about...

Owen. God? I knew you were a woman. No, Owen, it's me, Nurse Natalie. Oh, uh, I, uh, yeah, I totally knew that. I was just kidding. Owen, this isn't a church confessional. You just need to tell the recorder about your dream for Dr. Hall to review later.

Yeah, yeah, I totally knew that. Anyway, I had this dream last night. I dreamed about tainted traditions. It was during my second month in my new town that I first noticed it. I was touring the city and wanted to check out the community gardens when I was greeted by a dilapidated building that was too large to be a residential house. The foundation looked solid, but the graffiti on the weathered walls gave away the fact that it was long abandoned.

It stood out in the area I sat in, and I couldn't help but wonder what it had been like during the days when it was alive, with the bustling of people and tasks. Whether I was aware of it or not, I found myself taking the longer way home just to catch a glimpse of it. It was made apparent early on that I wasn't the only one. There would be different vehicles parked there from time to time, constantly changing and never staying for long. And, of course, with me being a solitary figure in town with not much else to do, it peaked

my interest. My curiosity led me to post on my new community's page, asking for more information about it. A message appeared after I completed the process, stating that an administrator had to approve my post before it could be displayed. Okay, no big deal. It was denied moments later, leading me to wonder what I'd done wrong. My mind was about to spider web into a plethora of questions when a message appeared in my inbox. The username was ridiculously general, with no profile picture and no meaningful message in the body,

other than an animated graphic inviting the recipient to a Halloween party. My initial instinct was to shrug it off until I noticed the address. The building. The very one I'd passed and inquired about. A line of instruction was written beneath the date and time saying that full costumes were optional, but a mask was required for entry.

A dancing skeleton juggled the letters B-Y-O-B-P on a repeated loop. It wasn't even a choice at this point. I was determined to go. Some of the excitement. about my commitment failed once I remembered how close Halloween actually was. The stores would surely be out of them by now, with Christmas merchandise breathing down their necks for a grand entrance. Spooky decorations, costumes, candy, and the like filled the

shelves the first week of September, only to clear out by the 1st of October, with no intention of returning for the rest of the season. Once I figured out my appearance for the party, the only Everything left was piecing together the items. The idea was that I was a convict who mugged the first person he saw upon escape, stealing their clothes and cash. So I went to a thrift shop and bought some pants that were a little too short and a shirt that was a little too tight to give the backstory some authenticity. A black ski mask would complete the makeshift costume.

However, I had no idea how difficult it would be for me to find one during this time of year, especially since I was living in a state that didn't get snow. I went to the local Walmart and recognized the cashier who was supervising the self-checkout. I figured I'd save myself a trip around the store, accompanied by picking up items I didn't need and shouldn't be buying along the way, and just asked her to point me in the right direction. Hey there, I began awkwardly. I'm wondering if you carry any ski masks here. She regarded me with contorted features as if I'd just ask for an axe, duct tape, and the ingredients to make chloroform.

No, I chuckled. Yet that probably sounded weird. I got invited to a Halloween party and they want everyone to wear masks. It's too late in the season to find a werewolf one. I'm shit at art so I can't make myself a skeleton or a zombie. This was kind of my last option. Her face softened in recognition, a smile playing in the corners of her lips. She told me she thought that there may be some in the sports section.

Then stopped to ask me if the party was at the abandoned warehouse. I nodded, albeit hesitantly. She told me that she had also been invited, which prompted me to ask about the B-Y-O-B-P abbreviation. It stood for Bring Your Own Body Parts, something akin to the childhood game of blindfolds in the dark, feeling specimens that were meant to be body parts, or at least associated with their decay.

Peeled grapes for eyes, spaghetti for worms, raw corn kernels for teeth, etc. I remember thinking that it was an adorable idea. made all the more fun by alcohol and the other party implements. Fresh sweet corn was on sale. I guess it was the season for it up north, so the stores were packed with it. Anyway, it made me think,

so I decided to go one step further and strip the flax of the corn to represent the hair of a human corpse. I grabbed seven stalks on my way to the sports section, knowing it was far too much for me to eat in one sitting, but perfect for this party. With my costume complete, and my party edition ready, all that was left was to wait three days for the party to arrive. I spent that time trying not to get too excited about a gathering that I basically knew nothing about.

The day finally came. I was almost impressed at how not together my look was, precisely what I was going for. It really did look like I swapped clothes with some rando off the street in a fit of desperation. There were about a dozen other vehicles there when I arrived, some of which I recognized from previous drive-bys. I took a deep breath as I parked, promising myself to leave my anxiety behind the wheel and just have a good time. I'd expected some sort of aroma when I walked through the door, a fresh fruit, cooked noodles, maybe even some cigarette smoke, and with a touch of sourness from spilled beer. That's not what I smelled, though. The scent of what seemed to be fart spray, weeks old garbage with a dead skunk on top as the cherry to the shit Sunday was what greeted me. instead. It should have put me off immediately, but this was a run-down and abandoned building.

It would have made total sense for a sick animal or two to crawl in here during harsh conditions and die. Who the hell was I to judge? Long white card tables were placed end-to-end in the center of the room, creating a makeshift dinner table. A plate with a blindfold placed vertically down the center, sat before each chair. A crude outline of a body was marked off in what appeared to be red duct tape with a sign instructing us to place our offerings in the designated areas. The few stragglers who had arrived at the same time as me put down their dishes while I struggled to find out which side of the corpse outline was supposed to be the head. Once everything was ready, we took our seats.

The Walmart checkout girl took her seat across the table from me, and I admit that the recognition of a somewhat familiar face did wonders in settling my unease. We had settled into our chairs for only a few moments before placing the blindfolds across my eyes. I attempted to tie it behind my head, but failed. Surprise overtook me as far in hands interrupted my fumbling fingers and fastened it for me, uncomfortably tight. It seemed to form an instant suction across my face, blocking out all light completely. A chill settled into the air, creating an unspoken tension that was only interrupted by the sounds of

shuffling by the other members. Tonight's tale is about the death of Dalloway, a voice announced, almost echoing through the silence of the room. My blindfold was still almost agonizingly tight, but the sooner we went through all the parts, the sooner I'd be able to take it off. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, determined to enjoy this experience. I mean, yeah, I was nervous. So I reminded myself that I was here to make memories.

ones that didn't take place between the walls and ceiling of my house. The first introduction to the experience, that is tonight's guest of honor, are some of the worms who have fed on her flesh. The container arrived sooner than anticipated, and before long I was wrist-deep in a slurry of wriggling cylindrical creatures, likely long-grain rice and cooked ramen noodles. Next came the woman's brain, feeling an awful lot like a molded pastry dough

with yellow coating. These are her teeth, removed to conceal her dental records for identification. Clinks of metal dispersed like sonar pings as we collectively shook pieces of her teeth in our hands like casino dice before throwing them back into the bowl. I remember thinking that the statement was sinisterly specific, like, what the fuck?

The swarling sound of objects that sounded like rubber balls in their metal bowls, as it was a past around for all to admire. I held the two objects separately, giving them each a gentle squeeze before placing one back inside. I still held the other, morbid curiosity leading to my hesitation. Everyone else is blindfolded, I thought.

Why not? These didn't feel like grapes, and upon further inspection, they didn't smell like them either. I leaned in close to the table, giving one quick swipe across the tip of the tip of my tongue before returning it and passing the bowl along. It tasted like milk and rubbing alcohol.

There were more sensory experiences, her heart, ears, and of course the hair, my personal favorite. I listened with pride as the bowl of corn silk was passed around, but was shocked when I actually touched it. The strands, like almost everything else we had touched so far, were housed in a thick liquid coding. A coating, mind you, that I know I didn't put on there myself. Also, it felt way longer than any of the strands I'd pulled off the cobs. Others around me seemed to enjoy it, so I try not to pay it too much, mind. The thrill of innocent fear can be infectious, and I was certainly feeling it by the time the game was over. Fellow guests gasped as they took off their blindfolds, noticing

their fingers stained with the same gooey coating I'd felt throughout the game. Our host spoke to us through a pig mask, saying that it was only a corn syrup and dye mixture and that water buckets were placed out in the back and front for cleanup. It made sense, considering there was no water in the building. I'm not even sure how in the hell they got power to run out there. I'll say one thing, though. Whatever the hell that stuff was, it definitely didn't smell like corn syrup. I rubbed my hand. over the back of my pants legs on the way to a water bucket and noticed that others also had red marks on their clothing. I hope to God this shit washed out, I remember thinking, so innocently. It turns out

the Walmart cashier's name was Gemma. I grabbed some punch, snuck outside for a cigarette, and there she was. I was thankful that she approached me, seeing as she was the only person I recognized. Even that was just barely, and because of her unmistakable blue hair. Things were going well. I had just told a joke, and she had laughed harder than necessary. But then the sky tilted, and her face began to droop. The name punch was far too accurate for what was in that punch bowl. After merely two glasses, I felt like I had been knocked on my ass mentally.

I made an excuse about working early the next day and began to do that. began to excuse myself when she insisted on driving behind me to make sure I made it home okay. I was shocked as shit to find the police at my front door three days later. They asked me to confirm my name and said they had some questions for me about a party I had attended a few evenings prior. So I foolishly agreed to come in for a formal statement and to help in any way that I could. I was led to a cold, bright, and nearly empty room where I seemed to sit for hours before anyone came in to address me. An officer came in without greeting, plopping a folder in front

of me as he sat down. I refused to open it until they explained why I was brought in. There was no way I was going to do a cold open of crime scene pictures, not without some preparation. Another officer soon walked in, ignoring the seat next to his partner and opting to stand instead. For a while, no one said anything. Then the second officer opened the folder and presented me with a picture I'd never seen before. A silver bowl sat in the frame with crimson-soaked waves of hair and matted gore inside. He pointed an accusing finger at me, saying that they knew that I was the one who brought it to the party.

I could only tell them what I'm telling you now. Yes, that certainly was my bowl. But all I'd placed inside was strands of corn silk. That was it. Plain and raw silk from strands of corn. I told them that I still had my receipt, and then they could check the Walmart cameras to see me buying the corn. A second photo was then thrust into my face. It held a smiling woman who seemed to be in her mid-20s at the most.

The first officer told me her name was Corinne Dalloway and asked me if I recognized her. The name clicked instantly as the one mentioned in the story narrative that had accompanied the game. but that's not what they asked me. So I did my best to assure them, promised them even, that I'd never seen her before in my life, and that was true. I told them so many words in my defense, and it ashamedly took me far too long to settle on the right one,

the only one needed. Lawyer. They left me alone, strategically, with nothing but the woman's picture on the table. I stared at it until I was numb, her features blurring from a lack of blinking. It wasn't until one of the officers opened the door that I looked away. We were all subjected to endless questioning, with the police narrative guiding the questions

that made the answers seem sinister, even when they weren't. Hundreds of innocent people had been convicted of crimes just like this. A combative attitude wasn't going to help me here. I was ultimately allowed to go home, but not before it was made clear that they had their eye on me, and I'd be back in before I knew it, most likely, without the end. option to leave. I'm well aware that talking about an open case, especially one that I'm a suspect in, will count against me. I'm not sure if we'll go to jail. Maybe that despite the physical evidence against us, logical heads would prevail, and it would be decided that a group of us couldn't have

possibly murdered that girl to play with her body parts. Stranger verdicts have been rendered, and it only takes one enthusiastic juror or a judge to lean the odds. What I am sure of is that ultimately doesn't matter either way. I keep catching a figure with Corinne's face just out of the corner of my eye. It's been happening for days now, and she's getting closer with every sighting. Whether we meant to or not,

we did indulge in the use of her body parts for a juvenile Halloween game. We squeezed her eyes, juggled her teeth like dice in our hands. We fondled the worms that were eating her body, thinking they were pieces of spaghetti noodle cut short for a fact. We all went home and washed the last blood that would ever leave her body off our hands and out of our clothes without a second thought, indirectly aiding in the disposal of evidence of her death.

Corinne Dalloway saw all of this. She knew what was happening, or at least she thought she did. As far as she was concerned, we were all complicit by association. I'm not the only one of us who has seen her and the first person to admit to doing so was pronounced dead weeks later so like I said in the end our fates don't really matter

if the system doesn't get us she will Corinne is still with us and she is pissed all done Owen yep is that it that's it so

um yeah I I know you said this wasn't a confessional, but do you want to hear about my impure... No, thank you, Owen. No one ever does. Oh, well, I'm going to go see if I can find Ray Finkel. Doctor, can I have a word? What is it?

It's these readings. I know it shouldn't be possible, but it looks like the subject is starting to reject the drug. You're right. It isn't possible. Run the scans again. I did, doctor. I ran them three times, but they're all the same. Then run a diagnostic on the software.

Yes, doctor, right away. Is it true? Are you fighting back somewhere in there? Is there some part of you in there left to wonder why? If so, that question must gnaw at you in the dull hours between injections, between my visits? Why are you here? Strap down, forced to relive your dream. until your mind gives up. Why the others upstairs go through their days upstairs, blissfully unaware of why they are here,

or even that you are here at all. You must think it's cruelty. Torture. Cruelty is wasteful. Torture is imprecise. No. No. This is not punishment.

This is construction. Construction of something bigger than you. Bigger than anything you ever could have been. I hope that some part of you knows that. Takes pride in what we will accomplish through you. Every word you speak, every image pulled half-born from your subconscious is not entertainment in any way you knew outside.

It is scaffolding. You are weaving. sinew, shaping something wonderful. A lattice of sound and memory and dream. Piece by piece, we are building a bridge. And you, my dear host, are the cornerstone holding it all together. And now it's time to lay another brick in that foundation. Don't resist. Let the images rise to the surface. Feel them. What do you feel?

I feel... What do you see? The silent... I never thought I'd find myself here. Not really. The ocean's always been a place of calm for me. A silent escape from everything noisy and chaotic above. But this dive...

This dive wasn't supposed to happen. It started with a tip. I was hanging out at a bar near the marina. The truest dive bar that ever was. Almost every patron was either a scuba diver, free diver, or both. The drinks were stiff and as cheap as you can find in the area. No politics, no religion. The newest song on the jukebox was from 1990.

Kind of place to where burst capillaries could either be from a lifetime of diving her lifetime abusing. Again, probably both. It was a Wednesday afternoon off-season. Tourists were minimal, and that suited me fine. I'd had my fill for the year. My bank account was as full as it was ever going to get, and I was sitting at a table on the beach,

sand between my toes, half-eaten greasy burger in a basket in front of me, lukewarm bottle of the champagne of beers resting on my stomach as I watched the waves and listening to the waves and listening to Jimmy Buffett wax poetic about the life I got to live. I was in a little bit of a rut, and everyone knew it. Life, well, simple, and honestly pretty great by just about anyone's standards, and gotten routine.

So when an old local diver stumbled up to me, patted me on the back, and handed me a folded piece of paper, I was just relaxed enough and bored to take it seriously. He tipped his drink to me, wished out loud that all my dives, dives and surfaces be equal and wandered away down the beach. I unfolded the paper as I drank down the last of the warm beer. No name, no contact info. Just a set of coordinates, a time, and a warning. Don't go too deep.

The silent depths don't forgive. Come on. How could I not? I arrived at the site at dawn, the water glass scene still. The sun was just beginning to burn away the mist. The coordinates marked an underwater cave system. Deep, dark, uncharted by any official maps I'd seen. I have a fair amount of cave diving experience.

You don't have to know how to prepare, and that solo cave diving isn't a great idea. Okay, it's pretty dumb. But I wasn't exactly planning an excursion. I wasn't there to plot anything new or discover anything. You got to understand the concept. context of the situation. I got handed a note on the beach by another diver, a diver that I knew and respected. This wasn't something nefarious. It was an invitation. There was something he

wanted me to see, and only me. There wasn't a single drop of me that thought he would try to provoke me in doing something life-threatening. Part of me actually wondered if there was some clandestine meeting going on, some silly, fun, secret diving club I was being invited into after making my bones with the locals. It had been a while since I'd gone cave diving. Been a while since anyone had asked me to, at least. Time to get back on the horse, even if it was solo. They say the ocean caves are where the earth breathes, or life and death blur, even in the best of circumstances.

And I was prepared. I had my redundant scuba gear, a dive light with extra batteries, glow sticks, cutting tools, navigation aids, and the calm that comes with experience. Or so I thought. As I descended, the water grew colder. The light from above dimming until it felt like swallowing shadows. The entrance to the cave yon before me. A black maw with jagged teeth of coral and rock.

My light barely pierced the gloom. I swam forward, heartbeat steady, every breath measured. The silence was profound. No bubbles, no fish, no sign of life. Then I heard it. A faint whisper. So soft I thought it was the sea itself murmuring. The whisper grew into a hiss.

It wasn't any language I knew, just fragmented sounds, syllables breaking and reforming like a voice struggling to remember its own name. Was this the reason for the note? Some unusual underwater phenomenon? Something that needed to be witnessed instead of told? I froze. I listened. Then the water around me thickened.

My light flickered. Then it went out. I was plunged into absolute. slew darkness. Panic, clawed at my throat, but I forced myself to stay calm, reached for my backup light. Nothing. And by nothing, I mean there was nothing there. Literally every piece of equipment I had short of my mask, tank, suit, and flippers was gone. No matter how much I scratched and clawed, my hands never landed on what I was so desperate to find. The whispers came closer, circling me. I tried to swim out. The little light that still filtered in from the mouth of the cave

was just enough to get turned around, but no matter how much I swam toward it, it never got closer. Like someone was holding my ankles. The walls closed in, like the ribs of a drowning giant. And then I saw shapes, shapes moving just beyond my vision. Shapes that weren't fish, not creatures I'd ever seen. They were tall, thin forms that shifted like smoke and shimmered with the movement of the water, but solidified into something human, or close enough to human, to terrify me. They didn't swim. They drifted, floating in the black water, their bodies twisting and bending bizarrely, like broken mannequins contorted by invisible hands. One of them turned toward me, and for a moment,

I saw its face, or what should have been a face. It was smooth and pale, but no eyes stared back, just blank unbroken skin. A scream bubbled up from my throat, but no sound escape. The water swallowed it whole. I kicked, desperate to get away, but the current shifted and slammy backward into a cave wall. I felt a crack, sharp pain exploding through my ribs. I gasped and tried to push off, but something grabbed my leg. Something actually grabbed it this time.

Something cold and insistent. The whispers surged, louder now, chanting, screaming, beckoning. I was losing air fast and the silence was crushing me. With every ounce of strength I kicked free, swimming blindly toward what I hoped was the exit. I felt something clawing at my back. and as I reached back to swat it away, realized it was a small bundle of glowsticks. I immediately cracked one and the darkness was replaced by an eerie green glow that should have made me feel better.

It didn't. The cave twisted and turned, a labyrinth with no logic. I looked back and forth but I had no idea which way I'd come from. All I could do was pick a direction, swim, and hope for the best. I passed bones, human bones, scattered and bleached white in the dark. They weren't alone. I saw them, dozens of those pale figures bobbing gently in the water, lined up along the cave walls watching and waiting.

The figures didn't move, they just stared, or pretended to, those blank faces pressing against the blackness like faded, Photographs stuck to the walls. I forced myself to swim deeper. The walls closing in tighter. The water chilling like ice in my lungs. And then I heard it. Unmistakable this time.

A voice. Clear, cold, and ancient. Welcome back. I spun around, light trembling in my hand. No one. Only the cave, breathing. Then I whisper near my ear. Memories flooded my mind.

A face I'll never forget. The look of panic, drowning in waves of sorrow, pain, and endless dark. Trapped in an eternal tomb. But not here. That wasn't here. No one knew. And it clouded at me again. I screamed silently, driving forward until I saw the light of the cave entrance ahead of me.

But the cave. had other plans. The passage twisted, sealing itself. Rocks shifted, water roared in my ears. I was trapped. The figures came closer. Their smooth faces splitting open in terrible, toothless smiles. I woke up vomiting seawater under the beach. My gear spread out next to me like had set it out for a pre-dive check. As my mind and vision cleared, I sat up and stared out at water, but something was different. The clear blue water that had been my world for so long had gone black. To my horror, it wasn't just the ocean.

It was all water. It didn't matter if it was in the shower coming out of a faucet. It had all gone black. No one else sees it. The doctors don't know what to think, but the other divers do. They won't talk to me anymore. They won't dive with me at all. I think back to the note I was handed and realize,

you can't drown your shame. The silent depths don't forgive, and they never forget. Let me go. Go? Go where? No one is looking for you. And they're...

They are so close, just upstairs. You think of them as employees, colleagues, maybe even friends. Not anymore. Not to us. They are fields, soil. They absorb what you shed. They carry your fragments like spores in their lungs, in their blood. We monitor them constantly.

Do you know what we hear when they sleep? Your dreams repeated. Your cadences whispered. They mutter your stories back word for word, though they don't remember them. The infection spreads beautifully. The seeds are rooting in them. But they don't just echo your dreams. They have their own.

You are not a prisoner. You are a foundation. Foundations are never meant to move. and neither are you. 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 Commons Shera-like licensing,

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