Day 27 - Rabbits Don't Speak & Pumpkin Guts
00:00 I'm John Grills from Creepy, and I listen to the Be Afraid Podcast Network. Creepy presents the 31 Days of Horror. Day 27. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors 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.
00:48 Listener discretion is advised. All right, let's get Sean back up to the mic, someone who has practically become a feature here this month. I hope I haven't been too much for everyone this month. Sometimes I talk too much. Unlike rabbits. Rabbits don't speak. My parents never planned on having kids. I know that because they used to tell me all the time. Maybe that sounds cruel, but they had lives.
01:36 They were in their late 30s. Their friends' children were entering their teens, and John and Rebecca were relieved to think that they'd missed that particular obstacle. They were happy to have an adult-centered life. Then I came along. Mom says that keeping me hadn't been her choice initially. When she missed her first few periods, she thought that she was in early menopause. She didn't hear the words geriatric pregnancy until she was coming up to the end of the second trimester.
02:09 Too late for an abortion. They hadn't bothered with a nursery. Toys were carefully selected and contained in a small toy chest in the corner of what had once been a home office. My bedroom was swathed in warm browns and navy blues. I was happy to be their tiny tag-along. I did everything with them. I suppose I learned the rules of life quickly. Crying will not get you anything.
02:39 Be quiet. Do as you're told, and don't cause trouble. I loved being a mini-adult. When other kids were going to Disney World, I looked down my little nose at them and talked about our recent trip to Rome. When they went to the movies to see animated flicks, I dutifully ate my popcorn in silence and watched Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman track a serial killer in seven.
03:05 My parents' friends might have judged them, but for the most part everyone agreed I was the perfect mini-adult. So mature, they would be able to be. say. The words too young for that were never uttered. My only vice, so to speak, was a Nintendo 64 that I've been gifted by my aunt and uncle. I didn't like to admit that I loved the childish games, so it collected dust in the corner until I was alone, which was why I was so excited when they told me they'd be gone until late the Saturday before Halloween. I'd just turned date and should have had a babysitter.
03:44 But I was mature, wasn't I? Definitely old enough to keep the door locked and the house standing. I'd been home alone before, of course, but never late at night. Their phone numbers were mounted on the wall next to the landline, as well as a poison control and non-emergency line. They sound like bad parents. But they were just going next door. No big deal.
04:12 There wasn't even a fence dividing our properties, just a dense hedge that I could jump if I got enough of a running start. The neighbors were having a pre-Halloyne party, and I knew they were big into the tradition of the holiday. I trick-or-treated there when I was little, and they'd always dressed up from head to toe. Dad was wearing black jeans and a black shirt, and mom wore a black dress. Aren't you supposed to be wearing a costume? I asked. My fingers were already itching for my controller. A package of pizza-flavored combos and some Kool-Aid were calling my name. I was worried that they'd be sent home if they didn't abide by the dress code.
04:56 Dad went to the closet next to the front door and pulled out two rabbit masks. He tossed one to Mom and put the other on his own head. Masks were freaky. Made of rubber and coated in thick faux fur. They resembled rabbits with big toothy grubes. grins, small pink noses, and massive red eyes that were reflective so I could see myself in them. It was like looking in funhouse mirrors. My reflection was stretched and distorted, the world tinged red. Where did you find these cursed things? Mom asked. Her lip curled as she held
05:34 hers. Dad just shrugged. I'm not wearing that and you're not allowed to pick our costumes next year. She put it on the table and crossed her arms. You have to wear it! I cried. If they sent her home, I'd have to spend the night watching nature documentaries or reading. My night a childish abandon was slipping away from me. My fingers twitched with the need to use a joystick. I was like a mini-addict who needed their Nintendo fix.
06:06 Dad took his mask off. It's hard to talk in there, but rabbits don't speak, right? At least bring it with you, or they'll make you wear one of their backup costumes. You want to be a scary bunny or Barney the dinosaur? She sighed and put it on. Dad waved goodbye to me, and I followed behind them and locked the deadbolt. The music had already started next door. It vibrated the windows.
06:31 I left the porch light on, but turned off the light at the entryway. It was connected to the living room, and I wanted the light from the TV to be my only focus. I blew into the cartridge to clear out any dust and popped it in the slot. When I hit the switch, Pokemon flooded the screen as though they were rushing together. It was party time. The bliss of having the house to myself lasted until midnight, when I got up to pee. When I paused the game, Michael Jackson's thriller pounded through the walls of the house. I looked outside.
07:05 The party seemed to be winding down, cars were pulling away. But John and Rebecca were always the last one standing, so I didn't need to rush to bed. It was on my way through the kitchen that I first got the itch. You know, when you're alone in the dark and suddenly you feel off-center, like something's wrong and you're afraid. It happens in pools sometimes. One moment you're floating, the next you're flooded with paranoia that there's a shark in the water, and you have to get out right now where it'll get you.
07:37 That's what I felt Locked safely in my home Alone at eight years old My parents right next door The car backfired out on the road And I froze Thriller ended And I could hear the clock ticking above the sink
07:54 And the gurgling sound The old fridge made from time to time The quiet was eerie I tried to shove the fear down Back then I thought being an adult meant never feeling scared. So I was standing there, grappling with feelings I were too big for someone my age when I heard it. A thundering knock on the door echoed in my ears.
08:19 I jumped. I might have let out a little squeak. I crept to the entryway and peered out the frosted glass that ran up the side of it to see a tall figure dressed in black, wearing a rabbit mask, holding a rubber butcher knife. I breathed out aside or a little. leaf and unlocked the door. I must have said that last part out loud because the rabbit had nodded. Who else would it be this time of night? Did you forget your key? I asked. Again, the rabbit nodded. I remembered I had to pee and dashed across the house, leaving him lingering to the doorway.
08:57 When I came back out, he was sitting in his regular spot on the couch. Mask still on. It really was an unsettling mask. I noticed that teeth behind the smile were pointed. Not at all the teeth you'd expect a rabbit to have. I still couldn't shake the paranoia. I told myself I was being silly. Normally this is where her dad would tell me to clean up after myself and go to bed. Tonight, he picked up the controller. Now, I've said that my parents expected me to conduct myself like an adult, but it was more than that.
09:36 My interests were meant to be mature. I was meant to be an adult. I was embarrassed to be caught playing games, so I tried to change his subject. Where's mom? Did she already go to bed? He nodded, then shook the controller impatiently. Something like Hope took root in my chest. Some of my friend's parents played games with them. My heart thudded.
10:03 Did you want to play with me? There's tons of mini games. they don't take too long and we can do a tournament. I set up the second controller and parked myself on the couch next to him. A heavy hand landed on my head and ruffled my hair. Dad had never done that before. We weren't big on physical touch. I felt all warm and happy and we started playing the games on shuffle.
10:33 He was not so good at it. He spammed the B button on repeat. as his metapod fainted. I won. Wow, you suck! I laughed. The controller hit the TV with a bang. I didn't see him throw it.
10:52 One second it was in his hands, the next it was on the floor. My good mood shattered. Sorry, I whispered. I shut the TV off and stared at our reflection in the dark screen. My small turnip-shaped head looked, pale in the glass. The rabbit had looked monstrous and warped next to me. Unhees returned and sunk deep down him I got like a bag of rocks.
11:20 The rabbit turned to look at me. I noticed his knife on the table. Maybe if I complimented his costume, he wouldn't be so mad at me and we could play together another time. I reached for it. Oh, this looks so real. My finger grazed out and his hands slammed. out on top of it, brushing mine. That's when I noticed it. A tattoo peeking out from under the cuff
11:48 of his sleeve. It was a chain wound around his wrist. My dad didn't have a tattoo. And this one was old, blurred, and speckled with freckles. I pulled my hand back like he'd burned me. I started to babble. Mom's quiet tonight. No snoring. I imitated the same. sound and his shoulders relaxed. His hand fell from the knife. I now saw that it was glinting. It was real metal. I stood in my controller clattered to the floor. Bedtime. Good night. I made it to the kitchen before he stood up. He was taller than my dad and wider in the shoulders. He towered over the couch behind me. He tipped his head. He tipped his head. said to the side, as if you were trying to figure out what to do. I ran around the corner, down the
12:46 hall to the bathroom, and slammed the door closed behind me, latching the little lock mom had put on it to keep us from walking in on her. The bathroom, like the rest of our house, was long and narrow. The window was a tiny little box above the toilet, and I had to climb right up the back of the tank to reach it. I pushed it open just as the doorknob twisted behind me. The rabbit pushed at the door, the little latch straining under the force of his weight. I pushed on the screen with all my little eight-year-old strength. It popped out and fell to the patio below with a clacking noise. I looked behind me at the door, and the butcher blade slid into the crack between the door
13:25 and the frame towards the lock. I jumped and straddled the window just as the door flew open. I lunged through it, falling gracelessly under the barbecue at the same second he swung at me. The barbecue tip, and I fell with it, rolling under the barbedee. pavement of the patio. I stared up at the black, moonless sky. The wind knocked out of me. The rabbit head stuck out of the window above me, then retreated. I scrambled up and booked it towards a hedge. Mom and dad were still next door, I thought. Then noticed how dark and quiet the neighbor's house was, like everyone had gone home. Where were they? Our house was otherwise bordered by trees
14:05 clustered around a trail where mom said meth heads like to hang out. I was never to go there alone. One sharp whistle sliced through the night. He'd cut around the front and was coming through the neighbor's yard toward me. He was closer than I could have thought, his long legs swallowing the space between us. I diverted my course. There was a new shed on our side of the hedge. It was up on cinder blocks.
14:31 I was so small I thought I could squeeze between the ground and the shed where he'd never be able to reach. I heard the branches on the hedge rustle as he hopped them. The distance between us was disappearing. I hit the ground like a Little League star stealing home, slid right into that narrow space, then wiggled deeper still until I was buried in the dirt. Earth surrounded me. It showered down on me.
14:56 It had been a cold October, and the soil was frigid like snow, but it smelled like dirt and tasted like dirt, and I felt like I'd been buried alive and began to cry. He ran right into the side of the shed with a big bang, then dropped to the ground and stuck his hand toward me. I had a vision of him grabbing my hair and dragging me out, so when his fingers grazed my face, I bit down, hard. He hollered and pulled away. I tasted blood and skin and began to wretch. I couldn't get my arms up to wipe my face.
15:28 I was wedged so tightly in my little grave. He hammered on the walls of the shed, cursing. Then he went inside of it and started to jump. I thought for sure it would collapse on me, but it was new and sturdy. I started to cry and he laughed. And the sound was high-pitched and ugly. Nothing at all like my dad's throaty, rumbling chuckles that felt warm and happy. Finally, I stopped crying.
15:57 The sound just wouldn't come out. I was depleted. The mask appeared again in a gap between. the ground and the edge of the ship. It was between me and freedom. It came into focus slowly as my eyes adjusted to the dark. I heard his footsteps as he walked away. Leaves from the walnut tree littered the yard and they crunched as he departed. I didn't dare move. I was sure he'd come back for me. Maybe he'd gone to get a broom or a shovel or rake to use to drag me out. The mask abandoned, kept watch over me.
16:35 I was there all night, staring at it while it stared back. I breathed hard and fast like a frightened animal, twitching and jumping at every sound. The longer I lay there, the more certain I became that my parents were dead, that he killed everyone at the party during the thriller before he stole the mask. That's what fear does. It makes us think of the worst possibilities. I was still stuck there when the faint ghost of dawn crept up to the, added to the shed and illuminated the mask from behind.
17:08 Until someone lifted it, pulled it away from me. Then I could breathe again, as my father's voice said in a rough, low voice, How did this get here? An awful noise hit my ears, and I realized it was me. That I was wailing, keening like an animal, human language forgotten in an ocean of fear after the longest night of my life. Even after he called my mom and they managed to extract me from the earth, earth, I was different. I think I was aware of how young I was, how vulnerable, how my body was
17:42 not that of an adult, no matter how mature I behaved. So like a child, I cried and cried and could not be left alone again. Not that my parents would have. The police were not happy to learn they'd gone to a bar after the party finished and stayed out all night while I was being terrorized at home. All right. Let's keep the good times rolling tonight. Is there a neat out there? Somewhere?
18:23 Nate? Not there he is. Let's give it up for Nate. Thank you. Thank you. I'm going to tell you about pumpkin guts. People think pumpkins are simple things. Round, orange, hollow.
18:47 They believe you just need to cut off the top, scrape out the seeds, carve a smile, and light a candle. It's bullshit, and I'll tell you why. I didn't buy the pumpkin house because I believed in Halloween or its rituals. I bought it because my house felt too empty. The porch light had been burned out for weeks. The front steps were bare concrete. The railing desperately needed a fresh coat of paint,
19:16 and the yard was nothing about a patchwork of dead. leaves and dried brown grass. Every time I came home from work, the place looked abandoned. When I saw the roadside stand, which was nothing more than a folding table under a leafless maple tree, I pulled over without really deciding what I was going to do. The man behind the table was older than me, but not by much. His face had that weathered, sun-creased look that farmers get. He didn't say anything when I walked up. He just nodded at the pumpkins. A sign of on the table declared that all pumpkins just five dollars. They looked like good pumpkins as far as pumpkins go,
19:58 big, round, deep orange, with green stems poking out the top. Some were short and fat, others tall and thin. I ran my hand over one, feeling the faint warmth of its skin. It felt right. This one, I said. That one's ready, he replied. Ready for what? wasn't sure, but his tone made the thought feel childish, so I just handed him five bucks and
20:25 carried my pumpkin back to my car. By the time I got home, the sky was dark. The air had that wet leaf smell that always makes me think of childhood. My mother used to carve pumpkins at the kitchen table, humming under her breath along with the radio. She'd let me scoop out the guts, and my hands would disappear inside the stringy mess. I'd pinch the seeds so they'd shoot across. the kitchen table. The memory felt distant now like something that had happened to someone else. I set the pumpkin down in my own kitchen table, rolled up my sleeves, and grabbed the knife. The first cut should have been satisfying. The knife should have met some resistance, a firm rind, dense flesh. Instead, the blade slid in too easily, like I was cutting into soft
21:15 fruit or the flesh of an arm. The pumpkin shuddered a little when the knife. slid back out. I frowned, but finished the circle around the stem. When I lifted the top, I expected the familiar tangle of pale strings and seeds. Instead, I found another pumpkin. It sat neatly inside the cavity, perfectly centered. It was smaller, maybe the size of a grapefruit. There were no seeds or pulp, just the smooth orange skin, as if the outer pumpkin had been nothing more than a shell. I stared at it for a long time. The scene felt surreal. The refrigerator hummed in the corner. A car passed outside, its headlights sliding across the wall. My breathing sounded loud. I laughed then, a short, brittle sound. Okay, I said to no one. That's weird.
22:11 I reached in and lifted the smaller pumpkin out. It was warm, body warm, as if I was holding someone's hand. It fit the curve of my palm like a baseball. I turned it over looking for seams or glue or any sign that this was some sort of elaborate prank. There was nothing but sleek, unblemished skin. I got an uneasy feeling, but curiosity also prickled at me like an electric current running through my skin. I set the pumpkin down, picked up the knife and made another cut. The rind parted easily, like tall cloth. I lifted off the top. Inside sat another smaller pumpkin.
22:54 I felt a strange rising sensation in my chest like the beginning of a panic attack. I cut the third pumpkin open to reveal another pumpkin, and then another, and then another. By the time I'd reached the eighth one, my hands were shaking. The pumpkin was now the size of a marble, perfectly formed, perfectly impossible. The pumpkin sat next to each other on the table like Russian nesting dolls. The smallest one fit between my thumb and forefinger. It pulsed a bit. I lifted it to my ear hoping to hear something that would make sense.
23:31 I heard a heartbeat, a tiny, steady, rhythmic sound. Thumb, thump, thump, thump, thump. I stumbled back so hard that the chair scraped across the floor. I dropped the pumpkin and it rolled across the table. When I picked it back up, the heartbeat changed. It sped up, sinking with the frantic pounding in my own chest. I dropped it again. It didn't crack or split open.
23:58 It didn't bruise. It just lay there, beating faintly, as if it were breathing. I stood there for a long time, staring at it with my own heart hammering in my ears. The kitchen felt wrong. the air was too thick, the colors too vibrant. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't make myself move. Eventually, I picked up the pumpkin again. The heartbeat steadied.
24:25 I held it against my poem, feeling the rhythm. It was like holding a second tiny heart, one that decided to mimic me. I didn't sleep that night. I put the little pumpkin in a cereal bowl and left it on the table. I tried to watch TV, but every second. felt amplified. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, but my mind kept circling back to the bowl in the kitchen. I swear I could hear the sound of the heartbeat echoing through the house. At some point,
24:57 I got up and went back to the kitchen table. The pumpkin was still there, still warm, still throbbing. I pressed it to my chest. It aligned perfectly with my own heartbeat. By the time the sun had come up, I'd made a drastic decision. I needed another pumpkin. The tiny heart in the bowl had become a question, and I couldn't stand not knowing the answer. I drove back to the roadside stand. The same man was there leaning against his truck,
25:28 chewing on a toothpick. He didn't look surprised to see me. If anything, he looked as though he'd been waiting for me. Back already? he asked. Yeah, I replied. I need another pumpkin. He nodded slowly as if he'd known that's what I was going to say. Pick whichever one calls to you.
25:49 The phrase made my skin crawl. I looked at all the pumpkins trying to feel something. I tapped on one, picked others up to my ear. I sniffed and poked and prodded. Finally, one of the taller, slightly lopsided ones caught my eye. I picked it up. This one, I said. He watched me for a moment, then took a moment,
26:11 then took my money. His fingers brushed against mine, and I felt a faint thump in his touch, like he had a heartbeat in his hand. I didn't say anything. At home, I set the new pumpkin on the table next to the bowl. The tiny one pulsed faintly, as if it were excited. Okay, I breathed. Round two. I cut the top off. Inside was another pumpkin, and then another. I were, worked faster this time, not worrying about precise cuts. I chopped tops off or split the sides just to get to the next one. The rhythm of cutting and lifting became soothing, like peeling the layers off of a mystery, but this mystery changed. The fourth pumpkin contained a cluster of human teeth, small, white, sharp. They rattled when I shook the pumpkin, clicking against each other like dice. I stared at them as
27:07 my throat went dry. I brushed them aside to find the next pumpkin. This one held an eyeball, just one, floating in a clear, viscous fluid. The iris was pale brown, almost hazel. It rolled sluggishly up at me when I tilted the pumpkin as if it wanted to see my expression. I pushed it to the side. The sixth contained a finger, a long, delicate finger with nail polish, orange with black flex. It lay curled as if motioning me to keep following. I did. The seventh held a tongue, pink wet and glistening. It twitched when the knife touched it, a reflexive little shiver that made bile rise in my throat. The eighth contained a tiny rib cage, no bigger than a walnut. Each rib was delicate and translucent like a shard of carved glass.
28:05 I should have screamed. I should have thrown everything into the trash or burned it or buried it. I should have called the police or a priest. But I didn't. I kept going back. I bought more pumpkins. Each day after work, I drove past the stand. The man was always there, always watching, always silent unless I spoke first.
28:29 I stopped pretending that I was just curious. I needed this. I bought the pumpkins, took the, took the ones, took. them home and open them. One by one, layer by layer. Each one held something stranger and more grotesque than the one before it. A pair of lungs, the size of grapes, their tiny sacs inflated and deflated and slow patient breaths, a miniature spine, each vertebrae no larger than a grain of rice. An actual heart that wasn't just a beating pumpkin, it was unmistakably human. Its surface was slick and red. And always at the center of each was a small marble, no bigger than a marble.
29:13 Each one always warm and pulsing, synced to my own heartbeat. I started keeping the content and containers. The teeth went into a glass jar. The eyeballs floated in a Tupperware with their own fluid. The fingers lay in a velvet-lined box, each one separated by cotton. I wrapped the tiny organs and plastic and stored them in the back of the fridge. I told myself that I was preserving evidence. The small beating pumpkins I kept in a box that I locked away in a cabinet, I told myself that I was studying them. Really, I was collecting them. I treasured them. I needed them. The change in me started small. At first it was just a feeling of fullness, as if I'd just eaten a big meal. My stomach felt heavy, even when I hadn't eaten anything at all.
30:05 I figured it was my posture. I sat at work all day, hunched over a desk for hours. Then one morning I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My stomach was round, not bloated or overweight, actually round with the skin stretched tight over a curve that never used to be there. I pressed my fingers into it, but it didn't give. It was like pushing against conglades. a cold crawling sensation crept up my spine i i lifted my shirt higher turning sideways examining the shape it looked
30:40 like someone had grafted a ball onto my torso i went to urgent care the waiting room smelled like sickness antiseptic and stale coffee a tv hung in the corner played a daytime talk show with a sound off I filled out the form writing abdominal discomfort in the little box for symptoms. The doctor was young. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She asked questions about diet, exercise, and family history. I lied just enough to avoid saying, I've been carving pumpkins full of human parts. She ordered an ultrasound.
31:18 The gel was cold on my skin. The tech moved the wand in slow circles watching the monitor. Her brow furrowed. Something wrong? I asked. She dropped the wand. I'll go get the doctor, she said, and almost ran out of the room. The doctor came back in and looked at the screen and frowned. That's strange, she said.
31:43 What, what do you see? She turned the monitor toward me. My abdomen was filled with spherical cavities, dozens of them. They were like perfectly round bubbles. Some were small, others large. All of them were empty. What are those? I asked. She tapped her chin with the pen.
32:04 I honestly don't know. They're voids. There's no fluid or tissue, just space. Can space grow like that? I asked. She didn't answer. She ordered a CT scan. The machine hummed around me,
32:20 the contrast die burning cold through my veins and guts. When the results came back, back? Her face went pale. There's more, she said. They seemed to be expanding. Expanding into what? Into you, she said. I ran out before she could call a specialist. I knew what was happening. I'd read enough horror in science fiction to recognize the pattern, even if I didn't want to. The hollow fruit appears before a disappearance. The victim grows inward. Space replaces flesh until nothing remains but the shell. I drove home with one hand on the steering wheel
32:58 and the other pressed against my stomach. When I walked into the kitchen, I felt the cabinet with the small pumpkins watching me. I unlocked it. Inside the pumpkins vibrated faintly, their beats overlapping. My own heart answered their call. I didn't go to work the next day.
33:18 I told myself it was because I felt sick. The truth was that I didn't want to be around people. I didn't want them to see the shape I was becoming. I spent the morning pacing the kitchen, one hand pressed to my stomach, the other hovering near the cabinet with the small pumpkins. Every few minutes I swore I could feel their vibrations through the wood. By noon, the pressure inside me had grown unbearable. It wasn't really painful, more like being full or stretching.
33:50 It was a sense that something inside me was expanding, pushing out. I opened the cabinet. The pumpkins had started glowing faintly in the dim light. They pulsed in time like a collection of tiny hearts, each in time with my own. I reached out and touched one. My stomach tightened in response, a ripple sliding across the curve beneath my skin. I gasped and stumbled back. The pumpkins pulsed faster. I slammed the cabinet it shut. By late afternoon, I knew I couldn't stay in the house anymore. The walls felt as if they were closing in. The air was too thick. I needed answers. I went to the library. The librarian was an ancient woman, old enough to have probably been born before most of the history books were written.
34:41 When she saw me, she paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. She studied me for a long moment. Her gaze drifted to my midsection where my jacket strained over the curve. You're changing, she said. She gave a small, sad smile. You carved the first one. I wanted to argue, to shout at her, to demand that she make this stop, but the word stuck in my throat. She saw and beckoned me to follow her to the back room.
35:13 The room was lined with old wooden cabinets and stacks of brittle yellowed paper. She pulled out a folder labeled Local Incidents, 1830 to 1900. Inside were newspaper clippings, handwritten notes and sketches. Most were yellowed and fragile with faded ink, but the stories were clear enough. A farmer who carved a pumpkin that bled. A schoolteacher who found a tiny skull inside a squash. A widow whose stomach swelled over the course of a week until she could barely walk. A boy who disappeared on Halloween night, leaving behind only a trail of pumpkin seeds.
35:54 I felt cold all over. Why pumpkins? I asked. The librarian closed the folder. They're not pumpkins. What do you mean? They only look like pumpkins. They mimic what you expect to see, but they are far older than the word pumpkin. What are they?
36:16 Seeds. Seeds of what? She placed a hand on my arm, her fingers icy. You need to stop carving. Every cut brings you closer. I tried, I said. I can't. It feels like something inside me needs it. That's how it begins, she said softly. How does it end? She let go of my arm and looked at the ground. You already know. That night, the press. The press. The press. You know. The press. pressure in my stomach became unbearable. I lay on the couch curled on my side, sweat soaking through my shirt. Every breath felt as though my ribs were straining against the curve of my stomach. I pressed my hands against the swell, trying to find some relief. It felt firm, like a rind. I forced myself to stand and stumble to the bathroom. The overhead light flickered as I turned it on, casting a sickly yellow glow over the room. I lifted my shirt. My stomach was perfectly round.
37:22 The skin was stretched so tight that was glossy. I could see faint lines beneath the surface as if my veins were branching out like those on a leaf. I pressed my fingers into the skin but it didn't give. However, something moved beneath it. A shifting like a ripple, pushing back from the inside. I staggered back, gripping the sink. My reflection stared back at me, pale, wide-eyed, and sweaty.
37:50 I looked pregnant, grotesquely so. I felt something rise in my throat. I doubled over, hacking violently. Something wet hit the sink with a soft patter. I looked down to find dozens of pumpkin seeds. I wipe my mouth with trembling fingers. The taste in my throat was sweet. I couldn't sleep.
38:13 Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the movement inside me. It was disorienting. I felt hollow and full at the same time, like my body was being carved from the inside out. I knew what I had to do. I needed to carve. I drove to the roadside the following morning. The farmer was waiting. He didn't speak.
38:39 He just nodded and handed me a pumpkin. It was enormous, easily the large. just one I've seen. I struggled to lift it into the car, my swollen stomach pressing painfully against a steering wheel as I drove home. I set it down on the kitchen floor as if it were a living thing. I knelt beside it, sweat dripping down my face. My stomach throbbed in response. I picked up the knife with a shaking hand. The first cut was the hardest. The rind was thick like trying to cut through drywall. The knife resisted at first, then slid in with a wet sucking sound.
39:20 I carved a circle around the top and lifted it off. Inside was a figure, a tiny version of me sitting cross-legged, carving a pumpkin. My breath caught in my throat. The miniature me looked up. Its eyes were hollow, missing. It smiled. Inside the pumpkin it was carving was another version. of me, smaller, carving another pumpkin. The recursion spiraled inward, smaller and smaller, until the
39:48 figures blurred into a single point of darkness, a void, a seed. I reached toward it. The tiny me reached back. Our fingers touched and everything went black. I woke up on the kitchen floor. The tiles were cold beneath my cheek and the air smelled like iron and earth. like the inside of my grandmother's root cellar. My body felt heavy, and I pushed myself upright. My abdomen was enormous, perfectly round. The skin stretched taut and glossy, with faint ridges running down the curve. I touched it with trembling fingers.
40:31 It was warmer than the rest of my skin. Something inside moved. I gagged, clamping a hand over my mouth. The kitchen was dim. the only light coming from the window over the sink. The giant pumpkin I had carved lay split open on the floor, its halves curled outward like a wilting flower. The tiny versions of me were gone, leaving only the hollow shell.
40:57 I staggered to my feet gripping the counter for balance. My legs trembled under the weight of my new shape. Every step sent a ripple through my stomach. I needed help. I grabbed my phone to call 911. The screen lit up. October 31st, Halloween. I opened the camera app, turned it toward myself, and nearly dropped the phone.
41:23 My face looked gaunt, my eyes sunken, my skin pale and waxy. The roundness of my stomach was obscene. I lifted my shirt higher. The ridges were clearer now. deep grooves running from the top of the curve to the bottom, dividing the surface into segments. The skin between them was smooth and taught, shiny. I pressed my palm against the center. Something pressed back.
41:52 I stumbled away from the counter. My breath came in short, panicked gasps. The movement inside me grew stronger, more insistent like something testing the boundaries of its enclosure. A sharp pain lanced through my abdomen. doubling me over. I clutched the curve, my fingers digging into the ridges. The pain pulsed like a heartbeat, not my heartbeat, but another inside me. I collapsed my knees gasping, the pain spread outward, radiating through my ribs, my spine, my hips. I felt as though my insides were being rearranged. I crawled toward the cabinet. The small pumpkins pulsed behind the door, their rhythms quickening.
42:37 I reached up and pulled the handle. The door swung open. The glowing pumpkins pulsated, my own heartbeat in time with theirs. Saliva flooded my mouth, bittersweet. Pumpkin seeds poured from my mouth, pattering on the floor. They bounced across the tiles like tiny living things. I don't know how long I knelt there, hunched over the seeds scattered across the floor. Time felt bad. strange, stretched as thin as the skin on my stomach. The pain ebbed and flowed, each wave stronger than the last. I crawled to the table, dragging myself upright with trembling arms. My carving knife lay where I dropped it earlier, its blade smeared with orange flesh, and I picked it up. My hand shook violently, but the knife felt right to my grip. Carefully I pressed the tip against the curve of my stomach. The skin dimpled. I hesitated, but the thing inside me shoved, pushing the skin into the blade. I screamed. The knife pierced the skin easily, sliding through the taut surface like it was
43:50 cutting into soft fruit. Warm fluid spilled down my stomach, thick and sweet smelling. I carved a circle around my belly button, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my vision blurring. The pain was distant now, My hands moved on their own, guided by a rhythm that was not mine. When the circle was complete, I lifted off the section of skin to reveal a cavity lined with orange flesh. In the center, nestled like a seed in a womb, was a pumpkin. I reached in with trembling fingers and lifted it out. It was warm and pulsing. I pressed it against my chest.
44:33 Its heartbeat synced with mine. And for a moment, everything was still. Then the pumpkin split open in my hands. Inside was the tiny version of me sitting cross-legged again, carving another pumpkin. Inside that pumpkin was another me, carving another pumpkin. It spiraled inward until only the seed was left. The tiny me looked up with its hollow eyes and plastic smile.
45:02 Almost, it rasped. Just one more. I awoke in bed on Halloween morning. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, warm and golden. Birds chirped outside. The world felt normal. For a moment, I thought it had all been a nightmare. Then I sat up.
45:25 My stomach was perfectly round, smooth, hard. The ridges were faint now but still there. Subtle grooves that ran down the curve. The skin was warm to the touch I coughed and something rattled in my throat I spat a pumpkin seed into my hand Then I heard it A whisper from deep inside myself
45:49 Faint High-pitched Keep carving It's almost over I know The month kind of flew by didn't it You don't get it I mean it's almost over
46:13 and I don't know what to do. John, it's gonna be okay. You go through this every year. You spend so much time getting ready for October that it hits you hard when it's over, but it's okay. The year went great. You don't fucking get it.
46:29 Do you have any idea of the sacrifice? Do you have any fucking idea of what I have to give up when this is over? Oh, whoa. I'm just trying to help. You don't have... Help. Help?
46:43 What help? John, it's been a long month and you spent a lot of it at a bar. I think maybe you just need to take a step back and... That's the problem, Nate. The problem. That was a little dramatic, don't you think? Fuck you. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,
47:28 please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at... Creepy pod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons 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 creepy podcast production team and the stories author.
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