Creepy - Day 26 - The Thin Arm

Episode Date: October 26, 2018

Don't answer the door...***Written by Tanner Paulsen***Check out more from the God Analog podcast at: https://www.godanalog.com/podcast/***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***Produced by Steve Blizin, Puzzle Audio***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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Subscribe, review, support indie podcasting. Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling, and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not 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 26. The Thin Arm. Written by Tanner Paulson. The night it started, I woke up in a panic.

I had heard a single knock on my bedroom door. I live alone. I called out, but got no response. I was too afraid to open the door, so instead I grabbed the bat that I keep under my bed. I sat up all night watching the door, but another knock never came. The second night I locked my door before I went to bed,

and I left the bat leaning up against my bedstand. Somehow I was able to fall asleep. Again, I was awoken by a single knock. I sat up, grabbed my bat and crept it so hard as I watched, too terrified to say anything. The lock turned, followed by the doorknob. The door creaked open a few inches, and I saw a hand rise over the top of my door. It had eight spindly fingers with long gray nails. It waved at me for almost five minutes.

It stopped suddenly before it slithered its way up and over the door, into my room. Now coming over the top of my door was a long, thin, pale arm. I reached all the way down to the floor. After hanging there for a few minutes, it lifted up and waved at me again. It then pointed at me. Then at the doorknob, back at me, the tornop, me, torn up. The thin arms eight-fingered, spider-like hand lay flat with its palm up.

It curled its fingers repeatedly into its palm. It was beckoning me. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, could hardly breathe. Then it held its arm up. It's as if checking a watch. It waved to me again, slithered back up and over the top of my door. The door closed and locked behind it.

For the third night, I installed a bolt lock. This thing, whatever ghastly creature was attached to that thin arm, could somehow unlock my door. I hoped it couldn't do the same to the bolt. Unfortunately, it could. After hearing the knock, I hadn't fallen asleep. The bolt unlatched itself. Just after that, the door unlocked and creaked open a few inches.

The arm slithered its way in and waved to me before pointing from me to the knob. It beckoned me to the door once again before falling to my floor. For three hours, it drummed its fingers on the wooden floor. I was too terrified to do anything at all except stare. I occasionally looked at the clock, wishing that the morning would come. The arm eventually slithered its way out of my room. The door closed and locked, and so did the bolt. I slept for a couple hours before my alarm went off.

I knew I had to do something. I had to deal with whatever this thing was. On the fourth night, I didn't lock the door. I waited in front of it. A kitchen knife in my hand. As soon as I heard the knock, I flung the door open. In front of me was nothing but an empty dark hallway. There was nothing there at all.

Was it done with me? Had I held out for long enough? Had it moved on to torture somebody else? No. I lay back down in bed and almost drifted off to sleep when I heard. and felt the knock from beneath my bed. I opened my eyes but didn't move. I saw the arm lifting in the air above me

coming from under my bed. It waved just like it always did. It patted me lightly on the head. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I wanted to get up and run away, but I couldn't. The arm wrapped around me I was suddenly overcome with exhaustion I fell asleep until my alarm went off

As I opened my eyes the arm lifted up Wave to me And went back under my bed I got up and jumped as far off the bed as I could And ran into the hall I got into the shower and noticed scratches all over my stomach and chest They weren't deep enough to draw blood but they stung when the hot water hit them.

Luckily, I closed in the dryer and didn't have to go back into my room. I got ready for work and walked out to my car. I heard a knock just as I was getting into it. It was coming from my bedroom window, which was right above my driveway. The eight-fingered hand was there, waving. I didn't go back to my house that night. I ran at a hotel room. anxious to get a good night's rest.

I slept well that night. However, when I woke up and walked into the bathroom, I saw deep scratches on my chest. These weren't random scratches like from the night before. They were words jaggedly carved into me. I looked out at the bed and noticed that the blankets and sheets were covered in dry blood. I looked back into the mirror to reread what it said. You let me in.

You can't leave me. I can't leave you. No matter where I sleep. On the couch, in my car, even in my office. The arm is there. After a few days of trying out new places to sleep, I woke to find a new message carved into me. Sleep in your bed.

Or I will make it so you never wake. I awake every night until I hear you hear you. every night until I hear the knock from under my bed. The arm waves and then wraps around me. I always fall asleep right after. It goes back under my bed in the morning. I always notice fresh scratches on my chest and stomach as I shower. Often they're on my arms and legs too.

Just the other night I saw teeth marks on my shoulder. Whatever it is under my bed. more than just its arm is coming out when I sleep. If you hear a single knock on your bedroom door, don't open it. When the arm slithers its way over the top of your door, try your best to ignore it. Put your pillow over your head, hide under your covers, and wait for it to go. I'm not sure if it'll leave you for good, but it's better to leave it at your door, above all. Hope that the thin arm with its eight-fingered hand doesn't knock.

Welcome to the God Analog podcast, a brand new as it happens telling of an independent rock band from California and their story. Here are two snippets from the show. If you find them even moderately entertaining, I recommend you check it out. Hoo-hoo, good Lord. I've written before about some so-called musicians and took the less said the better approach. In the case of acoustic death metal act festering pig soar, and their unique mix of acoustic beauty and utterly confounding death metal ear rapery, I find such an approach doesn't give enough credit where it is due.

Frank grabbed the mic, and his soaring eagle falsetto sounded now more like a Thanksgiving turkey trying to fuck a very angry cat. The God Analog podcast. Check out the first two episodes available now on Stitcher and at Godanologue.com. And follow God Anologue on social media. At God Analog. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us at CreepyPod on Twitter, Instagram, and email all stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypastorwikia.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license.

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