Creepy - Day 26 - A Nice Place to Live & The Gift

Episode Date: October 26, 2022

A Nice Place to Live***Written by: Chris Klavetter***The Gift***Written by: Cyndi Gradel and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Content Warnings: descriptions mutilation, child harm, possession, body horror***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 biopictions. Silence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. The 31 Days of Horror. Day 26. A nice place to live. Written by Chris Cleveeter. When looking to buy a new home, most prospective homeowners will do several walkthroughs to get a feel for the home and neighborhood. But when it deals this good, most of us, most of us, us to be willing to cut a few corners, like skipping the evening walkthrough. But, by or beware,

things can seem a lot different after the sun's gone down. We both moved from new job opportunities, and the house that finally captured my wife, Carolyn's heart, was over an hour from our apartment in a little town I'd never heard of. Still, Caroline walked around the floor plan, pointing out to 15 acres in pond. I corrected her that it was a swamp. You can actually swim in a pond. My sadly unflappable wife was just happy to be in your body of water, cooing about being sung to sleep by the sounds of frog singing,

even if it meant she'd have to have them imported. When I voiced my, let's say, apprehension, she put her hands on her hips in the spitting image of her mother, and said, "'Listen, don't act like you aren't over the moon that we've got this place. I know we rushed in your Mr. Risk aversion, but come on. Fifteen acres, a pond, a beautiful two-story immersed in privacy. Paul, we dreamed about this for a retirement home, and it's ours.

Be happy with me. Or I'll start go kissing frogs until I find a prince that'll appreciate living in that house with me. You mean the imported ones? I asked, finally letting up because she had a look in her eyes, just knowing that this would be our forever home. Honey, I am excited. But my dad always said everything comes at a price. If you aren't paying for it up front, it'll cost even more when it comes time to pay up.

I just want you to think about it. Paul, there's nothing more to think about. Besides, we have a contract. No one can demand more from us once that's signed. Every time I pulled up to the house from that first day until closing, I was blown away, but I couldn't shake this nagging guilt. I should be in love with this.

Carolyn was right. It was our dream house. So why didn't I feel in love? Honestly, that felt that way before. In college, I met girls that were, way too pretty to be talking to me. And I should have jumped in with both feet at every one of those opportunities, but I am how I am.

I'm cautious, Paul. And when something doesn't feel right, I usually freeze until the opportunity passes. We know from a few less insightful friends, the bullets I dodged with those girls, but this is property. And property ain't people. I just couldn't shake the feeling that the house was going to cost us more than a

mortgage. Carolina and I would spend the better part of ten hours at first day unloading the moving truck and unpacking. We were going through boxes like kids on Christmas morning. We only stopped to eat and, um, let's say, christen, the house. At the end of the night, we popped a bottle of celebratory champagne, poured him into the only glass where we'd unpacked, Snoopy glasses from a fast food collection, and then we sat outside and watch the first sunset and finally it started to set in for me.

We were going to be living our dream a lot sooner than expected. As the sun set, leaves on the trees began to change color and fall off the branch right before our eyes. The temperature dropped so quickly we didn't even have time to finish our Snoopy champagne before retreating into the house to escape to a sudden cold front, commenting that the seasons change by the hour around here. We laughed and watched the weather change right before our eyes. As the last bit of light around the horizon went out, snow began to fall. Paul, Carolyn said, her hand gripping my arm.

It's July. What's happening? Before I could answer, our collective attention was drawn to the woodline a few hundred yards away. Something was in the woods, moving the trees. I said it was probably a deer or something, but Carolyn shook it off. Certain she could see a man walking back there by the moonlight. And just then, a middle-aged man, skinny with a pot-belly, mustache, and glasses. The kind of guy that would tell you office furniture, and just his white, biggie underwear and nothing else, walked out of the woods.

We stood there paralyzed in fear and confusion as you walked through our yard. until finally Carolyn walked out the back door and onto our deck and called out, Sir, are you okay? The man turned back to us and began to bark. At least, that's the best name I have for the noise you made. But it didn't sound like a man barking. What came out, what we heard was the sound of a pack of dogs barking. A pack of dogs had sounded like they weren't.

wanted nothing more than to tear the meat from our bones and leave us dead on the spot. Pure, ravenous viciousness. The vicious anger of dogs from hell warning us through growls and snarls, the savagery that they bestow if we didn't keep our distance. Throughout the evening, we didn't dare look out our windows. No. We locked all the doors, closed all the curtains, and basically half-sleeped with my dad's old double-barrel shotgun beside us for the rest of the evening.

By the time the sun began to rise, we started to wonder if it had been some sort of hallucination. There was no snow on the deck or lawn. No evidence of anyone ever being out near the tree line. This was an old house, and some sort of gas leak probably wasn't out of the question. Maybe it was a champagne. Just to be safe, I called the gas company to come out and take a look. While we were waiting, I tried to talk to Carolyn about it, but she just kept looking out towards the woods. The best I could get out of it was that maybe it had been a man trying to find his lost dog.

When the gas man showed up, is that what they're called? He asked if our CO2 monitor had gone off. When we said no, he said that was good and that those monitors really only go off when things get really bad. He gave us a curious look, though, and asked why we thought there might be a gas leak. Without thinking, I started to tell him what we saw the night before, but Carolyn cut me off and said we smelled something peculiar and the smell was still there this morning, so we thought it would be best to call. His mood lightened, and he said we did the right thing, and we can never be too safe.

Then, in a move I'd never seen growing up in the city, he wrote his direct number on his business card and handed it to me, saying I could reach him any time if I was concerned. I wasn't sure what else to do other than thank him for his oddly generous gesture. But as usual, I wondered what the hook was. He just smiled and said, Absolutely. In a community like this, it's important we do good deeds for each other whenever the opportunity presents itself.

You never know when you'll get another chance. That hit Carolyn Wright in her Southern Manor's upbringing. Well, I have to say, you don't hear phrases like that where we just came from, she said with a big old smile. The funny thing is, is we went through. through town to get things like groceries and paint. Everywhere we went, every single person carried the same attitude. Offer to carry our things out to our car and the like.

Carolyn was on cloud nine. While everyone here's so over-the-top nice, don't you think? But why? I asked, immediately feeling guilty for being the skeptic. Okay, yeah, listen, I don't want to seem like the cynical big city boy. Carolyn cut me off Then don't be Just enjoy it After a tiresome day of working on getting settled in

We had, if you'll believe this Nearly all but forgotten about what we'd experienced Night before If not forgotten Then written off as best as we could Sad to say but We'd seen stranger things on the subway before We sat out on our patio

And dined on some of the finest cold pizza and joined the beginning of a beautiful sunset. The sky melted in a wonderful display of orange, crimson, and purple over our neighborhood. Caroline broke the trance I was in and pointed across our yard. Paul, where are those people going? I looked where she pointed and saw dozens of people walking and what I'd have called a mob if they were carrying torches. I told her there must be something happening at the bend of the road. Everyone was stopping there, but I couldn't see why.

figured it must have been a car accident or something. But Carolyn shook that off, pointing out that it looked like people were fighting, like throwing wild punches and trying to tackle each other. Hesidently, we got up to see what was going on, with no intention of getting any closer than absolutely necessary to figure out what the fuck was happening. In a state of disbelief we watched as these polite, wholesome, small-town people

began to tear into each other like rabid animals. They clouded one another with no mercy, as we eventually realized. They were fighting for position, like a crowd on Black Friday. Everyone wanted to be in front as if their lives depended on it. The fighting was sure lived, and soon the mob of crazy neighbors began to part as they made way for a tall, gaunt man. So tall, I thought he was on stilts like someone at the circus. Outfitted in a stovetop hat. Dressed with a band of bones and his ivory cane, he lurched his long gait down the congested neighborhood with the presence of a classic carnival barker calling out to all of us.

When he stopped, he raised his hands and boomed out. Pay in part that what you are, or pay the night with evening in my fright. Let me have just a taste of that essence, and I will spare you an evening with my presence. but if you cannot afford my fee, I will gladly show you what awaits in eternity. I knew damn well this guy wasn't after money. I grabbed Carolyn by the arm. Too scared to move and draw attention,

but ready to pick up Carolyn and run if I needed to. Someone towards the back of the crowd hollered. You can get it back. You can grow it back. Just give him a taste. And the sooner you do, the sooner the pain stops. Just pay him fast. Some people never come back from even a second of being with him.

You can get it back. As a creature marched through the crowd, he began to drag his fingers across the foreheads of all the bystanders in line. One by one, they stood perfectly still. Tears rolling down their faces, they grimaced but didn't protest as he ran his long-pointed nails across their trembling skin. The crowd was silent, and for the first time we realized there was another night. noise. But further away, toward town, wicketer screams and cries and barking sounds in the distance from the direction you just come from. The demon barker's mouth cracked open in a smile. The aroma of your fear quenches my thirst. The feel of your trembling skin has my heart so full

I could burst. One more thing before I go, as it is time of for the finale, so... Thank you so much for your hospitality. Now show some smiles as we end this calamity. I'll just take a little of what you have. You have so much, it won't be that bad. You won't even notice it's gone. And before you know it, I'll be moving on.

Now mind yourself, I will return. So have some goodness. We watched as he touched each person in the crowd and continued on down the street away from us, not even bothering to look. That night we couldn't sleep through all the barking we heard in the distance. The next day started out as any other. Shop owners unlocked her doors and flipped their signs to open. School buses began their routes and the local exercise enthusiasts were already jogging as the sun began to rise.

We debate it getting in our car and just leaving, but what do you do when you see something like that? I want answers. I want to see what people have to say about what happened. We were exhausted and not having any food in the house. We headed at the local diner for some coffee and eggs, and hopefully some answers. We were greeted at the door by a bubbly waitress. "'Morning, folks, we'll you all be having today.' "'Everyone there was just going about their day, like nothing had happened.

"'And for a moment, I started to think we must have imagined or dreamed it all. "'A coffee,' I said. "'Not sure how to ask anything. "'Didn't sleep much last night.' "'The waitress just smiled as she grabbed a pot of coffee and started to fill two mugs. long-skiny boogey-buggy man last night got to you shug don't worry sweetie we was all scared at first then we eventually got to notice and how much nicer things been around here since the mess started happening what carolina asked that was real like not just some kind of weird game or something the waitress sat down the pot with a chuckle no he's the realest thing there is the only thing anyone really to worry about in this life. See, he don't want your money or none of your things.

Nah, he just comes and drags that finger on your head, and the next day you feel kind of, well, you know, drained, I guess. But every time you do something nice for someone, even little things like holding the door open or making sure to say, thank you, extra big. Start to bring your spirits back up. Kind of like filling up your gas tank. That was totally lost.

Wait, wait. So this thing, like, takes... I paused. Trying to find words that didn't sound so dumb, but failed. He takes our politeness? The waitress shrugged. I suppose you could call it that. Only bad thing that's happened is people who don't think they got to build their spirits back up.

Every time that thing comes around, they get a little more drained. They start bumping around town like their feet are too heavy. real snappy too when they get to be in like that. They kind of start to lose their way and their words and they're well. They kind of stop being people. Just start to be animals for no better word. But eventually the thing comes to town and those grumps will just follow him to wherever he goes when he leaves here. Close on his heels.

Just like a dog. The man next to us on the counter asked. You paid the man, didn't you? Well, no, he didn't come near us, but. Even if he did, we would have run. The man just shook his head and turned back to his eggs. Oh, that's not good, folks. You gotta go to him if you don't see you.

He clicked his tongue. It's gonna be hell to pay for that one. Quite literally, I'm afraid. Yep, you all might want to consider moving along and ever looking back before he comes round again. That or you'd be sure to do things extra nice for people. Because he's gonna take his due. and if you weren't ready, you're going to be at his heels, walking off into the woods like a starving dog, howling at the sky and praying you had just one more chance to do something good with your life.

Caroline and I don't have much issue being nice and polite, especially her, good Southern girl and all. But it makes me wonder, when you hear a howl at night, if that isn't just someone who could have changed their fate by being kind. Maybe this place isn't so bad after all When was the last time you felt kindness? Tell you what? Feel the hell of a lot better than a long jagged fingernail across the face And the feeling like parties turning into something Else

For your bonus episode Creepy Presents The Gift Written by Cindy Gradle And narrated by Rissomom Last October, the parents on my block decided to bring back the traditional Halloween activities, like they had before the pandemic. The children would be trick-or-treating, and neighbors were encouraged to put up decorations on their homes and in their yards.

Throughout the month, the block was transformed into a festive scene with green-faced witches and scary black cats. The week before Halloween, a woman who I mistakenly called Patty, decided to ring my doorbell. It's Patsy, she corrected me as she scanned my undecorated house. She made no attempt to hide her disappointment as she informed me that I was ruining the theme of spiderwebs spanning the entire block. She offered me several packages of neon orange and green fake webs for my shrubs. I told her that spiders don't make webs in green or orange. Also, the size of the spider needed to make that amount of webbing would be large enough to kill and eat every child on the block

in a matter of seconds. She left me alone after that. Halloween arrived and the chaos started as soon as the sun began to set. The little ones rang my doorbell, even though I made it clear that I did not want to participate. My house was not decorated, and my porch light was off. But that didn't stop them. I gave in when I heard the whole group of them pounding up the stairs, shouting with excitement.

I found an old bag of chocolate-covered mince in my freezer. I grabbed it and headed to my door. A group of tiny superheroes stood before me. They looked at me eagerly with plastic bags and pails stretched out in front of them. I didn't recognize the characters they wore because I stopped paying attention to such things many years ago. I reached into the bag of mints and pulled one out. I leaned over to place it in the first child's bag, and I whispered to him. As I stood up to move on to the next child, I looked down to the sidewalk to see the line of impatient parents waiting

for their respective kid to come back. Only one parent looked at me quizzically for whispering to their kid. The rest seemed completely oblivious. They just kept taking pictures and shouting commands to their little ones. The children were disappointed. The candy was clearly not good enough.

Their bags were already packed with full-sized candy and chocolate from houses they had already visited. One little mint would fall to the bowl to the bowl. bottom of the pile and eventually be discarded with the wrappers and remnants of better treats. They bounced off my porch, swerving to avoid the next group that was on its way into my yard. I watched them move onto the next house with their parents following behind them. This went on for almost an hour until the last few pieces of candy lingered at the bottom of my bag.

A familiar voice called out to me as I was just about to go and say. side and closed my door. Patsy stood at my gate, holding the hand of a little girl with glorious wings and a glowing metal ring perched on top of her head. In contrast to her little angel, Patsy was wearing bright red devil's horns and a shiny red cape to match.

I rolled my eyes at the lack of originality. my half-hearted wave was returned with a snarky grin. She thought she had won the battle by making me participate. I reached into my bag and pulled a mint out. I gently placed it in the feather-covered bucket that the little girl was holding out to me. The girl looked afraid of me, like most of the neighborhood kids. I whispered through my cupped hands into the little angel's ear. Her mother looked concerned.

and called out to the girl. She hurried down the stairs and rushed to grab her mother's hand. I watched her whisper something into her mother's ear. No doubt it was the same words I had just said to the little girl. They moved on and I went inside. I turned off the porch light and waited. My house was an old home that had good bones. Similar houses on the block had been updated with granite kitchens and subway-tiled baths. Mine was still in its old world, charming state. The same state it was in when I moved in 50 years ago. No one lived there long enough to notice

that the old lady down the block looked exactly the same as she did a decade ago. I was born a long time ago in a place that is now called Florida. It was called something else back to. then. When I was a child, my grandmother taught me how to use our gift. I can put thoughts into other people's minds, and those thoughts become reality. Some people called it magic or witchcraft, but we just called it a gift. I age very slowly, not in the way a normal body would age.

My grandmother once told me that she was older than the forest that we lived in. She taught me about our African, Caribbean, and seminal ancestors. I've spoken many languages, and I still remember some of them today. I've heard people say that everything happens for a reason. But that isn't true. The world is filled with things that cannot be explained. I don't have an explanation for when or why. I use my gift.

Sometimes, bad things just need to happen. The first screams started shortly after 10 p.m. They came from a house a few doors down from mine. A woman stumbled down her front steps and onto the sidewalk. Her hands gripped her face, and large streaks of blood were seeping through her fingers. I stepped out onto my porch, together. a better view. A girl, dressed up like an astronaut, followed the woman down the steps. Her laser gun sent repeated pulsations of light towards her mother's face. Each one tore a new hole through

the delicate flesh. She had already lost one eye. I watched as the girl zapped the remaining eye out of its socket and sent it flying into the bushes that frame the yard. The eye, and its stringy attachments landed on top of the fake spider webs that were draped over the bushes. My attention turned to the street, where a pair of four-year-old twins had transformed into ferocious lion and tiger cubs. They were small, but their taste for meat had already evolved. They each took turns tearing strips of flesh from their father's thigh, as he lay screaming in a pool of his own blood. His face was frozen in disbelief as he looked. He looked at. He was frozen in disbelief as he looked from one child to the other. His eyes bore confusion and desperation as he

tried to make sense of watching his own children devour him. The little girl from the house next door sat alone on the steps, wailing as she rocked herself back and forth. She scratched and pulled at the shiny pink ballet slippers that were molded to her feet. She tore away layers of the surrounding skin in an attempt to remove the satin-toe shoes. But they were now her feet, and would be, until the night ended. The sounds of pain and anguish grew louder, as more and more newly transformed horrors poured out of their homes and into the street. Even the most mundane costumes became a nightmare to the children wearing them. The ones who didn't come to my door, and had not heard my words, had to witness the tragedies of their friends and neighbors.

Nobody noticed the first few spiders. The creatures stealthily crawled out of their nests from the store-bought webbing that was woven throughout the block. These spiders were not the googly-eyed furry critters that sit atop orange-and-flag supermarket cupcakes. They were huge predators, drawn out by the screams of potential prey that huddled in blood-soaked groups nearby. The spiders attacked quickly, piercing the necks and faces of their victims. High-pitched screams rang through the street as more and more spiders came scurrying out from hiding spots. People were grabbing anything they could to use as weapons, but they were no match for the creatures. Dozens of my neighbors were bitten and

quickly cocooned. A clown raised past my house with a horde of spiders just a few feet behind him. There were bald patches on his head, where he had tried to tear away the rainbow coils that had fused into his scalp and become his hair. The spiders caught up with him, and I watched his colorful mane disappear beneath the cluster of spiny black legs and sharp thangs. He was wrapped in silky strands within seconds, and carried off by the creatures to some dark place. I heard Patsy's footsteps before I actually saw her.

Her hooved feet made clapping sounds as she stomped up the street. The clops were interrupted by muted squirts as she stepped on human remains and then trails. She glared at me through yellow eyes that were sunk deep into her blood-red face. Two bloody nubs protruded out of the top of her head. They looked ridiculous next to her exoner. expensive honey-tone highlighted curls. She pointed a blackened fingertip at me and opened her mouth to speak. A garbled mess of moans and grunts slithered off her dark tongue that was split down the middle. I wasn't afraid of her. I knew she wouldn't have any actual demonic power. The devil is just

another imagined thing. I've learned over many, many years that there are much, much more powerful things to fear in this world. Older things. Things that we are not meant to understand. Patsy gave up on whatever she was trying to say to me. She stood there, confused, and bloodied. Her body jerked and spasmed, as if pulses of electricity were being sent through her every few seconds. Her yellow eyes stared straight ahead, unable to comprehend how to examine how to examine. exist inside this strange new shell. A movement drew her gaze towards the sky. Her daughter hovered above her,

gently waving her feathery wings. She looked glorious and pure, as if she knew that the violence on the street couldn't reach her. Patsy collapsed onto the pavement, just as the angel floated away. into the night. The spell usually lasts until the first light of the sun. Everyone transforms back to their previous condition. Bodies return to normal, but memories always seem to linger. Most people believed it was a bad dream, or they had too much to drink, but some just can't handle

what they remember, and they end up going mad. There was an eerie quiet as the sun began to rise. I stood up and looked at the scene on the street. Patsy's body had transformed back. Her daughter was curled up next to her with her angel's wings folded over her body. I watched as the anger on Patsy's face slowly morphed into fear. I knew she was replaying the horrifying night in trying to figure. out how I had made it happen. All I did was give them the things they wished for. Some children

wanted to be superheroes. Some wanted to be ballerinas or astronauts. Their parents wanted the block to look scary. They wanted witches and spiders and ghosts and goblins. They all wanted an authentic, spooky Halloween experience, so I gave it to them. I had already started packing my things. Neighbors would begin to question what happened, especially when they realized

they had all dreamed the same thing. Did someone poison the candy? Was there a chemical leak nearby? Eventually, the story would fade away, and people would become concerned with other things. Patsy and all the rest of them would forget about the strange lady who lived in the old house.

I settled into a new home in a thriving community. I chose a bigger town this time, the kind where people don't stay for too long, and they don't notice old ladies like me, summer's last days went by and my neighbor started putting up their Halloween decorations. The woman next door gave me a friendly smile as she lifted a giant tinsel spider and hung it neatly above her door. The end. 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. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the free-pe podcast production team and the stories author.