Creepy - Day 28 - Homemade Treats & The Lantern's Glow

Episode Date: October 28, 2024

Homemade Treats***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Nate DuFort***The Lantern's Glow***Written by: N.M. Brown***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.

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 violence and explicit language. listener discretion is advised. It's midnight. It's October. And that means KREP is on the air and ready to guide you through this most magical time of year. It's day 28 of the 31 days of horror.

A time of screaming, burning winds, boiling oceans. And don't forget apple cider. Now, I can't be certain as to where you might be listening to this. So maybe you have no idea what apple cider is. You might even be saying to yourself, don't you mean apple juice? No. The only real difference lies in the amount of processing. Apple cider is fresh, unfiltered, and often unpasteurized.

It's also considered a seasonal drink and can be hard to find outside of the autumn months. Apple juice, on the other hand, is filtered and pasteurized, which gives it a longer shelf life, a sweeter taste, and a sweeter taste, and a special. smoother texture. Really, it's the perfect drink to encapsulate the season. Can you taste it now? I can. It brings me back to a different time, a different place, when I was a different person. Believe it or not, there was a time before I was on the airwaves. But that's life, isn't it? We're all different people from the memories we have. Some better, some worse, some. Some. Um, well, just different.

You're listening to KREP and I'm your host, The Creep. Nate, you're on KREP with The Creep. I'm sorry. How did you know my name? What's that caller? My name. You said my name, but I didn't tell you what it was. I think you must be mistaken.

It's okay. It's late. Not to mention we are getting closer to hollow. So it's possible you're just letting your imagination run away a bit. No, you, you called me by my name. Did you have a story to tell us, caller? Yeah, yeah, I do. It's about homemade treats.

I used to think I'd seen all there is to crime in our small town of Coburn, but that changed when the Jennings House burned down. Once you see Honest to God prove, that the supernatural's real, you can't unsee that. Being raised to be a man of faith, I haven't let this knowledge break me. In fact, I use it to better protect my community. After all, it's my job. They don't call me Sheriff Jonathan Strode for nothing. I wish my encounters with the supernatural started and ended with the Jennings House. Sadly, it didn't. and I'm beginning to think there'll be more incidents to come.

The world's becoming an increasingly dangerous place. Crime across the world's on the rise, and things have never looked bleaker. At least Coburn's managing to keep it together. There have been more bar fights than usual and far more domestic violence calls. It's like people are developing a mean streak for no reason, but usually dissipates after a few hours.

Ordinary people I've known all my life lose their cool, then return to normal like it never happened. A couple months ago, Lucas Jeffries was with his buddies when things turned violent. The skater punks had gotten their hands on a case of chocolate mint madness cookies and gorge themselves. Well, they managed to get an entire case of those outside of cookie seasons of mystery and not the only one.

One of them was taking a video of them doing skateboarding tricks when they tore into the cookies capturing the entire bizarre incident. Halfway through his third box, Lucas started talking gibberish, but with a confidence that he never possessed before. The others sat around looking up at them like little kids do when Father Jacobs telling them Bible stories. After a few minutes, things got even stranger. Lucas picked up his skateboard and raised it above his head and one by one bashed his friends in the face until they were unconscious and bloody. None of them tried to get away or fight back. They just sat there, waited for their turn, like Lucas had him in a trance. A video was live streamed and went viral across multiple social media platforms.

He was arrested and transferred to a psychiatric hospital. three counties over. It was the closest facility that could take them and it became someone else's problem. Shortly after we dropped them off, a group armed with handguns and knives broke him out. The word cult has been thrown around, but truth is, no one knows who took him, where, or why? From what I've been hearing, strange things like this have been happening all over the place. The strangest yet happened only a few days ago. Halloween's normally a fun time for the kids, but they didn't know the kind of danger they were in this year.

We don't have any motels, but there are a few B&Bs in the heart of town. They don't get a lot of business, and when they do, it's usually someone in town that can't stay in their home for a night or two. On rare occasion, we get strangers at stop while passing through. small-town folk like us, and to keep an eye on strangers. A man by the name of Jack Thornton checked in on the 30th,

intent on staying until the first. The reality of the situation had him actually leaving around midnight on Halloween, and he didn't go alone. I'll never forget the first time I laid eyes on him. Midday on the 30th, I walked into Janice Crawford's store to get something cold to drink.

It had been a busy day, and I'd spent the first six hours of my shift on Lane Preston's farm, trying to figure out who smashed half his pumpkins. There's an assortment of usual suspects for this kind of vandalism, but the lack of beer can, cigarette butts, and marijuana paraphernalia

suggested it wasn't rowdy teens. Preston isn't the nicest guy in the farming community, so could be any of his rivals. I'd gone through my thermos of iced tea while I was at Preston's. Janice has a few fountain drink dispensers near the register, but she also has one of those large, clear, plastic dispensers filled with her special blended iced tea. That's a little on the sweet side for my taste,

but that didn't stop me from guzzling down a glass before refilling my thermos. While I was doing that and idly chatting with Janice, I overheard an interesting exchange between Luann Bryce and the man I would shortly come to know is Jack Thornton. Luan's my sister's best friend, so I've known her all my life, which means I've known her son his whole life. Ralphie's a special needs child,

but he's the friendliest kid you'll ever meet. He thinks the entire world is full of people that want to be his friends. I was taking a shine to Ralphie, wanted to watch out for him. First time he called me Uncle Jay melted my heart and it makes me smile every time. I noticed the man was paying special attention to Ralphie, but the moment the boy saw me, he ran up shouting my name. I picked him up and twirled him around making him laugh. I can honestly say I don't think I've ever seen him when he wasn't laughing or smiling.

This is a kid that doesn't have a negative emotion in his body. I pray he stays that way forever. The Anne saw me and came over for a hug and a kiss. As I greeted her in our usual way, tension was coming off her in waves. There's something about the man that she didn't like. I keep Ralphie on my hip as I look at the man that was talking to him. He stood at six feet with gray-white hair and a good guy. O.T. to match. His clothes were casual but expensive. Dark jeans, white t-shirt under a black,

long-sleeved button up. And he seemed normal enough until I got to his eyes. They were brown so bright they could have been amber. I instantly didn't like him. Hello, Sheriff Strode, he said as he came up to us. I trust you're having a productive day. I'd never met this man before, but he knew my name. Granted, there's a name tag on my uniform shirt, and at the time I didn't think much of it. But I know better now. Lan made an excuse to get out of there, and as they walked out, the man said, I look forward to seeing you trick-or-treating.

I do hope you'll stop by. And I gave him a confused look. He's staying at a B&B and did. Typically visitors don't hand out candy, even though they're in residential areas. He noticed my look and said, I just love children. They're pure, untainted by the world, especially that boy. As soon as they were out the door, I started in on them,

asking the usual questions. What's your name? What do you do for a living? What brings you to town? Everything about them was setting awful arms in my head. I tried to be friendly about my income. and he was forthcoming with his responses. As he introduced himself, he handed me his business card.

Jack Thornton worked for Pyramid, specifically in acquisitions, business opportunities and special talents. The way he said that made me uneasy as if there was a sinister undertone. Either that or looking back on it, it's making me fill in blanks. The only thing I know for certain is how his comment to Ralph, didn't sit well with me. A corporation like Pyramid doesn't have any business in Coburn. Unlike some other businesses,

they don't plaster their name on everything they own. I asked if he was just in town on business, but his response wasn't exactly clear. I'm always on the hunt. But he assured me he was just passing through. And I decided to follow this up with asking about the trick-or-treating, comment he made. I never heard of a visitor handing out candy like they're part of the community. Then I noticed the items he started putting in his push cart. Cake mix, frosting, eggs,

vegetable oil, and melting chocolate. Definitely not trick-or-treating supplies. Store bought candies fine for big cities and people who participate out of obligation, for someone as dedicated to children as I am, and I feel like taking things further. He went on to describe the so-called candy he makes, though it sounded like cake pops. These are apparently the most decadently sweet treats anyone in Coburn will ever taste. The children love him. With his work, Thornton travels a lot, and when Halloween comes around, he always stays in a small town to do this for the locals.

On the surface, he seemed like a genuinely nice person, His focus on children made me cautious. I was already planning to have all the childless deputies on foot patrol in the main trick-or-treat areas. I decided to be close to the B&B Thornton was staying at. No kids are going to be abducted on my watch, especially by not a towner. Wanting to get as much out of them as I could, I walked with them back to the B&B. Once we got there, he immediately went into the kids. I took the opportunity to talk with Claire Chesterfield, owner slash operator of the B&B.

She confirmed Thornton's name by showing me her copy of his driver's license, but he paid in cash. Checkout was scheduled at 11 a.m. on the first. What I found very odd was that Thornton didn't have a vehicle. He just walked in an hour ago without a reservation or luggage. I left confused. My worry about Thornton being a child predator was mounting, but his lack of transportation didn't make any sense. It's a stereotype that those people drive windowless vans

because it serves their needs. Hell, even a sedan with a small trunk can fit a child, especially someone like Ralphie. I couldn't shake the image of him being bound by rope, duct tape over his mouth and stuffed into a trunk. I was gonna be watching Thornton like a freaking hawk. The rest of the day went by uneventfully. I was no closer to figuring out who trashed Preston's pumpkins,

and to be honest, it wasn't a priority. Everyone knows that Halloween preparations take precedent and has since some dumb-ass teens nearly ran over some trick-or-treaters a decade ago. Our community is very close-knit, and it was decided in a town meeting that entrances to residential areas would be blocked off. If anyone needs to drive out during the kiddies' hours, they best park their vehicles outside the roadblocks.

Otherwise, they're screwed. If memory serves, it was only an issue the first year we did it. For the safety of our community, people comply. Most that take issue with this, either don't live in town or they make themselves scarce. Last count, there's only four of those. with three flip-floppers. There's only three primary residential areas,

and they're often walking distance of each other. What typically happens is the parents take their kids through their area first, then move on to the next and the next. Every year since I was a toddler, this is how it was. Everyone visits everyone, and unless the kids get tired,

every house is visited. The days of knocking on doors are long gone too. Residents now set up tables and chairs in their driveways to hand out candy. There's fewer barking dogs this way and it helps the kids reach everyone. Even some of those that don't live within the primary residential areas will set up tables on sidewalks within the barricades. The sawhors got placed on the sidewalks near the entrance points. Batteries for their flashers were placed with new ones. I handed out the patrol assignments to the the three that were going to be out in uniform. All those with kids were asked to keep their eyes

out for any unsafe activity, vehicles driving within the restricted zones and strangers. Only one deputy was going to be in the same area as me, and that's because I wanted to keep an eye on Thornton. I just knew if something was going to happen, it would involve him. I even stopped by Chesterfield to check up on him and found him busy in the kitchen. The smell's coming from there were decadent, to say the least. That was like one of those old cartoons where someone puts a pie on the window sill to cool. The steam wafting off the pie floats in the air like a ghostly hand, finds someone close by and sticks fingers in their nose. Like those characters, I couldn't keep myself from walking closer to the source. Thornton was putter around the kitchen,

divin classically shaped cake pops into a pot of melted chocolate. I don't know how long I stood there watching, but at some point he picked up the largest syringe I've ever seen. It was at least an inch thick, but there was no needle on the end. The contents were thick and darkly red, jelly or jam. He picked up some pops fresh in the oven and injected them with the sweet substance. Without looking up, Thornton acknowledged my presence. I had to admit, the treats looked and smelled like everything he promised.

Would you care to try one, Sheriff? He turned to me at that, holding up one of the finished treats. I admit my mouth salivated at the thought of trying one, but the smile he gave me made me hesitate. Like everything about him, there was that subtle undertone, that unnerving. me. Reaching out for it, I decided to try the treat. If there was something in it that was going to harm the children, I'd rather it happened to me first. I left Deputy Clyde in the lobby with Clara, and if I didn't come back out, Clyde would arrest Thornton. The treat was heavier

than it looked, and I swear it would send a diabetic into a coma, but it was the most delicious-looking thing I'd ever seen. Holy crap, the sweetness level was so up there I thought my teeth were going to rot out of my head before I even finished it. Never in my life have I ever eaten anything so decadent, so sinfully delicious that I might actually shoot someone just to get another one. Part of me wanted to chomp down on it again and again, but I took my time. Thornton was very pleased with himself, as I made noises that sound more at home in the bedroom than in the kitchen.

Traditionally, I mean, I know some people do freaky things in the kitchen, but that's usually when no one's around. And no, I didn't actually have a sexual reaction to it. Man, that would have been awkward. I couldn't say how long it took me to eat the entire thing, but it both felt like several minutes and only. seconds. If this is how I reacted to the homemade treat, the kids were going to go nuts for it. There'll be enough for each child to have one. As for the adults, I have some bite-sized treats for them to enjoy, but everyone gets one. My suspicion subsided and my inquisitive side picked up. I asked how he's going to wrap them for the kids to enjoy later, but he wasn't. The treats spoil

quickly so they'd need to eat them right away. This was another red flag to me, but it wouldn't become one until much later. At that time, I was too euphorically high from the decadence. Clyde left with me and watched me to make sure I didn't have any adverse reactions. Aside from the oddly good mood I was in, there was no reaction. Thinking back on it like this, I wish I could get my hands on another one of those treats, but at the time, I didn't want another. I was more than content with the one. Trick-or-treating started at 7.30 and ran all the way to 10 p.m. Things went as smoothly as they could with a bunch of sugar-high children running around,

their parents struggling to keep up. I wouldn't mind having a few rugs someday, but I was content to watch for the time being. Thornton was dressed up as a grim reaper, minus the scythe. I watched his kid after kid were handed one of the treats on a stick, and they devoured them immediately. Thornton greeted each child as he handed them out, even the parents when he held out a tray of the bite-sized ones. It was interesting to see the townspeople react to the sweets.

They were a major hit, and I wasn't the only one that made such happy noises while eating them. Like me, no one seemed to hunger for another, and when they walked away, they all had goofy smiles on their faces. When Luan and Ralphie entered the area, I relocated from my post. I snuck up on Luan, startling her

when I tickled her sides from behind. She was instantly relieved to see me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Wasn't long before Ralphie turned around to see me, and he rushed over to me from the table he'd been at. As usual, I picked him up and carried him on my hip. Together, we hit up several tables outside homes before getting to Thornton's. I'm guessing Clara provided the table since he didn't have one with him.

The suspicious part of me expected Thornton to hand Ralphie a special treat, one that had been separated from the others. But he didn't. Instead, he greeted Ralphie and asked him which one of the first. the sweets he would like. The entire time I watched him, Thornton hadn't done this for any of the other kids. Ralphie picked a white chocolate-covered one

that looked just like all the others in that section. There's absolutely nothing different from it than the others. Thornton watched the boy's face slide up as he took that first bite, and he laughed like a child himself. I'm so glad you like it, he said as he picked up the tray with the bite-sized ones. Would Mommy like to try one? Luan eyed the sweets with hesitation, but seeing how her son enjoyed it,

she was tempted. I told her I really enjoyed the one he let me have earlier. It was my way of telling her that I'd tried it out beforehand, and it was safe. I knew she'd appreciate me being the guinea pig and took me at my word. Once she bit into the treat, she blushed so brightly

that I could easily see it in the dim light. I didn't ask her, but I'm fairly certain her response was more physical than mine had been. Thornton offered me a piece from the tray, and I nearly took it, but decided against it. By this point I'd realized how good the treat made me feel before, but this was a time when I needed to be sharp. He tried twice more to get me to take another piece, but I refused. It shocked him, and for a moment I thought he was going to chase after us when we walked away. but a new group of trick-or-treaters appeared, and he stayed put. I walked with Luan as Ralphie went up to the rest of the tables in the area

and said my good-byes when we reached the barricade. They were off to the last section before heading home. The protective side of me wanted to go with him, but I needed to stay here and keep an eye on Thornton. If he up and left his spot, I wanted to follow him just in case he had another target in mind, or worse, if he decided to. tracked down Ralphie at home.

I just knew Thornton was up to something, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what it was. 10 p.m. came and the last of the kids scurried home. People were dragging their tables and chairs into houses and garages. Thornton helped Claire in with her table as well as the one he used. I leaned up against the tree I'd spent most of the night at watching the street. The barricades were moved back to their spots on the sidewalks and the deputy. roam the streets. This was the time when rowdy teens were prone to start making trouble, but we were there to prevent them from doing much.

We couldn't stop everything, but we did what we could. I was watching the street, periodically glancing at the B&B for any sign of Thornton, but there was nothing. That's why it surprised me when he spoke from behind. Good evening, Sheriff. My action was automatic. I turned hand of my weapon. But he stood there with his hands up.

The fact that he still had his costume on made it a little awkward. It's nice to see you're keeping such a close eye on your community. I've been all over, and most small town sheriffs aren't so vigilant. Considering my suspicions of his intentions, I expected him to say this sarcastically, or, at the very least, unenthusiastically. Instead, he seemed completely genuine. I once again confusing the hell out of me. I finally asked him the question that's been on my

mind since I first became aware of his presence. What was he doing in Coburn? The moment I asked the question, a sound down the road stole my attention. That, Thornton said, is why I'm here. As I said, Sheriff, I'm always on the hunt. The noise had been a trash can over the, returning, which isn't uncommon to hear. Raccoons are always getting into people's trash. Thornton started off in the direction of the noise, and I followed. I got the feeling that it wasn't a raccoon because who the hell hunts raccoons? I highly doubt Pyramid has a varmint management division. I didn't say this out loud, but Thornton reacted to it like I had. In a way, that's exactly what I do.

In a minute we came around a house and found a man slinking around the yard. Candice and Colin Fairbanks lived there with their nine-year-old triplets. I didn't recognize the man, but he kept to the shadows and was peeking in through windows. I drew my weapon and pointed at him, yelling for him to freeze and raise his hands. The last thing I expected to find was a prowler looking to break into someone's house. I'm not a small guy, and I can be pretty damn intimidating, what I need to be. Standing there with a 357 magnum drawn and shouting commands,

people take notice of me. Well, normally they do. This guy, acted like I wasn't there. The metallic click of a revolver's hammer pulling back isn't very loud, but in the quiet and night, that sound carries as well as someone racking in a shell on a shotgun. Still, the prowler did not react. Thornton came to stand next to me.

You can put that away, Sheriff. You won't need it. This one is mine. I'm not inclined to listen to complete strangers in situations like this, so I kept my weapon out and pointed. I did ask him what the hell he was talking about. As I told you before, I'm in acquisitions, and I'm here to acquire that man.

That sounded all kinds of illegal, and I wasn't about to let Thornton commit a crime right in front of me, even if the prowler was up to no good. It's my job to uphold the law here, not his. He took a step toward the prowler, and I pointed my weapon at him, ordering Thornton to stay where he was. That weapon will do nothing to me. Turning away from the prowler, Thornton came towards me. Not in a threatening way, but I certainly didn't like it. Go ahead. Fire. No, okay. I knew something was off about this guy, but I didn't think he was this level of crazy. Thornton grabbed my gun, and though it wasn't much of a struggle, it went off. I swear he forced his finger into the trigger and made it go off. The bullet took him square in the chest, but he stood there, completely unfazed.

Even if he was wearing body armor, a 357 magnum, point-blank range, should have staggered him back. For a moment I thought the bullet somehow missed him, but I could see it, stuck on his chest. He reached up, removed it from the tiny divot it created, and handed it back to me, saying, I believe this belongs to you. I couldn't stop myself from the typical question. What the hell are you? He gave me a sinister chuckle, only saying,

A hunter. We both turned back to the prowler, the prey he came for. I couldn't believe the guy was still looking through the windows, but whatever he was looking for, he wasn't finding it. We followed into the next house where he continued to look through windows. Obviously, Thornton knew more about this situation than I did, so I asked what was going on. The prowler's name was Carson Bash, a fugitive from justice for child abduction, pedophilia, and murder. He was last spotted in California where he abducted 10-year-old twins, a boy and a girl. Their bodies were found 53 hours after they were reported missing, and their condition was horrifying. Thornton told me what the bastard had done and took all my restraint not to kill the man in cold blood.

No, Sheriff, what I have in mind for Carson is much better. Thornton explained that Carson came to Coburn with the intent on taking another victim or two. He would have succeeded since I had no ideas in the area and hadn't noticed him stalking the streets looking for the perfect opportunity. Our community's vigilance to provide a safe environment had failed. Thornton's intervention is what saved us this year. I was right when I thought there was something in his homemade treats that shouldn't have been there, but it wasn't what I thought. The only thing he'd tell me is what it did.

Once eaten, the treats make it impossible for a predator to perceive whoever ate them. Even more, it made it difficult for them to see the predator either. The only reason I could see Carson was because I had my treat much earlier in the day, and it was wearing off. I could see Carson, but he couldn't see me. Do not worry, Sheriff. This man will not be missed.

Nor will there be evidence he was ever here. His disappearance will go unnoticed, and no one will ever come asking about him. You will not have to tell lies. Could I really let this happen? I didn't think there was anything I could do to stop Thornton, and with what he told me. Would I even want to?

Then he said, If it weren't for my intervention, he would have snuck into little Ralphie's room tonight. He would have screamed and woken his mother. Poor Luanne would have rushed in, and Carson would have killed her right in front of Ralphie. I don't think you want to know what he would have done to him. Well, it was official.

Even if I could stop Thornton, I wouldn't have. Was what he told me true, or was it something he made up to ease my mind? It didn't matter. Thornton walked toward the prowler, and I stood there on the sidewalk watching. I could see the moment Carson noticed the hooded figure behind him, and when he twirled around, Thornton billowed out his cloak and wrapped the predator in the impossibly wide fabric. As it settled around them, it got smaller and smaller. all the way to the point where I was looking at dead air.

They were just gone, without a trace. I righted the trash can Carson had knocked over and went back to the station. I looked up Carson's record, and sure enough, Thornton had been honest about the kind of man that sick bastard was. I couldn't believe how many abductions and murders he'd been credited with. His victim profile was between six and eleven, both genders, but there was one thing they all had in common. They were some kind of special needs, children.

It's now noon on the first, and I'm walking into Nell's diner off Main Street. Before I can get more than three feet in the door, I hear Ralphie shouting as he runs up to me. I pick him up, twirl them around, and laugh with him. I am so damn relieved to see him, to know that he's safe, and I thank God for Thornton's intervention. Though I doubt God, I had very much to do with it.

Everything about the mysterious man, read like he was from downstairs. I carry Ralphie on my hip over to the table Luann is at and place him in his seat. The hug I give her is a little stronger and lasts a few seconds longer than normal. There's even something extra in the kiss I give her cheek. She asks if I'm okay, and I tell her it had been a long night. There's a lot of bad in the world these days, and I can't help but wonder what's going to come into my town next. And now a word from our sponsors.

There's something about the last week heading up to Halloween that just feels different, doesn't it? Maybe it's the store is already filled with, Christmas decorations, people looking past the best day of the year so they can focus on consumerism, keeping up with the Joneses, pretending like the majority of the holiday isn't filled with stress. It makes me sad to see it go. For different reasons, though. For me, it means of my job is...

But before we get to that, this listener would like to share their story about... The lanterns glow. The autumn wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of decaying leaves and chill of upcoming winter. The moon hung low in the sky, shrouded by wisps of dark clouds that drifted lazily across its face. In the small town of Hemlock Ridge, Halloween night has always been a time of quiet reflection,

a time when the living paid silent homage to the dead. Pretty much the opposite of what we associate Halloween with today, either costumes, booze parties, or candy. Sometimes you get lucky and have a combination of all three. Skiddle vodka shots, anyone? Anyway, as I was saying, hidden deep within the woods, far from the town's well-trodden paths, set a small, forgotten graveyard.

It was a place that even the bravest children dared not approach. A place shrouded in stories of restless spirits and unholy rituals. The worn and weathered gravestones leaned precariously under the weight of centuries. Some inscriptions long faded into illegibility. On this particular Halloween, a lone figure made its way through the twisted trees. The dried leaves screaming and crunching agony beneath their feet. Dressed in a long, tattered cloak, the figure moved with a purpose. An old-timey lantern held steadily in one hand.

Its flickering flame cast an eerie glow, illuminating the path ahead while sending shadows dancing among the graves. The figure was not a child, not a dare, or a lost soul seeking refuge. It was an old woman. Her face obscured by the hood of her cloak. Her breath came in labored puffs as she navigated the uneven ground. Her steps were careful but deliberate, each one bringing her closer to the heart of the graveyard

where a large ancient oak trees stood guard over the dead. She had been performing this ritual for as long as she could remember. There was one passed down from mother to daughter, each generation guarding the secret with their lives. Hemlock Ridge has always been a quiet town, but the people knew better than to ignore the old ways. They were ingrained with the stories about the consequences when the rituals were neglected, when the dead were left forgotten.

The old woman paused at the base of the tree. The lantern's light cast a warm circle that seemed out of place in the cold, desolate surroundings. She reached into her cloak with gnarled fingers and produced a small ornate box. She opened it, revealing a collection of yellowed bones, carefully arranged and tied with a piece of frayed maroon ribbon. Her experienced and eager hands shook only slightly as she began to lay the bones in a circle at the base of the tree. The wind picked up, whipping her cloak around her frail body. Not that she noticed.

Her focus was instead entirely on her ritual she was performing. Her ritual said to protect the town from the malevolent spirits heavily believed to terrorize these woods. Each bone was placed with deliberate care, following a pattern only she knew. The bones formed a perfect circle, their ancient morrow holding a power that the old woman could feel thrumming through the earth. As she worked, the air seemed to grow colder,

the chill seeping into her bones, but she pressed on, knowing that what she was doing was necessary. When the last bone was placed, the old woman stepped back and reached into her. cloak once more. This time she pulled out a small vial filled with a dark, viscous liquid. The vial was cold to the touch, and as she uncorked it, a faint, acrid scent wafted up, stinging her nostrils. She hesitated for just a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing her mind,

but it was quickly pushed aside by the weight of duty. She poured the liquid over the bones, watching as it seeped into the earth with a soft hiss, like a serpent slipping through the underbrush. The earth beneath the bones began to stir, small tremors rippling towards the edge of the circle. The old woman whispered in incantation, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. It was a language older than the town itself.

Words passed down through generations. their meaning forgotten, but their power undeniable. As she spoke, the flame in the lantern began to flicker wildly, the light growing dimmer with each passing second. The shadows around her grew, stretching out towards the circle of bones like grasping hands. The old woman's heart pounded it in her chest, but she did not stop. She could not stop. Then as suddenly as it had begun, the wind died down, leaving the graveyard in an impressive silence.

The old woman waited. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes fixed on the circle of bones. For a moment, nothing happened. The earth lay still, the night air heavy with anticipation. But then, the ground within the circle began to bubble and churn, as though something beneath the surface was trying. to break free. The old woman took a step back, her frail body trembling. This was not what she had expected. This was different than all the years before. The ritual was supposed to be a simple act of appeasement, a way to keep the restless spirits at bay. But this was something else.

The bubbling grew more violent as the earth around her began to crack and split. From In the depths of the ground something emerged, dark and twisted, its form barely discernible in the dim light. It was a figure, hunched and grotesque, its skin a sickly gray, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light. It rose from the earth with a low, guttural moan, its movements jerky and uncoordinated. The old woman's eyes widened in horror. This was not the protection she had sought.

The figure before her was something ancient and malevolent, something that had been buried for a reason, something that should have remained forgotten. She took a step back, her mind racing. This was wrong. This was all wrong. The ritual had gone awry, the balance disrupted. She had not summoned protection. She had unleashed something far worse. With a sudden desperate realization, the old woman turned to flee, but it was too late.

The figure moved with an unnatural speed, its long bony fingers closing around her wrist, pulling her toward the circle of bones. The lanterns light flickered and died, plunging the graveyard into darkness. The old woman struggled. Her frail body no match for the creature's eyes. unnatural strength. It dragged her toward the gaping hole in the earth, its glowing eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that froze her in place. She could feel the earth beneath her shifting, opening up to swallow her hole. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. The creature's grip

tightened, and she could feel the life draining out of her, as if the very earth was pulling her down, absorbing her essence into the darkness. As the ground closed over her, the last thing she saw was the creature's twisted smile, its teeth sharp and jagged, its eyes burning with a sinister light. And then, there was only darkness. The next morning the people of Hemlock Ridge awoke to a strange quietness

that seemed to settle over the town like a thick fog. The air was heavy. the usual sounds of birds and rustling leaves conspicuously absent. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something. When the old woman did not appear at her usual spot by the town's entrance where she often sat in her rocking chair, people grew concerned. One brave soul ventured to a small cottage at the edge of the woods, but found it empty. Her bed was undisturbed. The fire and the hearth long since cold, and her lantern was missing from its usual place by the door.

Words spread quickly, and soon a small group of townsfolk gathered at the edge of the woods. They stood in uneasy silence, their eyes darting between the twisted trees and the path that led deeper into the forest. There was a palpable sense of dread in the air, and knowing that something terrible had happened. Reluctantly, a few of the men decided to search the woods, hoping to find some trace of the old woman. They followed the narrow, overgrown path that led to the graveyard, their hearts pounding in their chests. As they drew closer, the air grew colder. A faint, acrid smell filled their nostrils, one that sent an oily chill through their souls. When they reached the graveyard, they were shocked to find it in disarray. The once still and silent place was now a scene of chaos.

The earth around the ancient oak tree had been disturbed. The ground cracked and uneven, as if something had clawed its way out from beneath. The bones that the old woman had so carefully placed were scattered. Some half buried in the churned up earth. Others shattered into pieces. But there was no sign of the old woman, no trace of her presence except for her lantern, lying on its side near the base of the tree. Its glass cracked, and the wick cold.

The men exchanged uneasy glances. Their faces pale with fear. They knew the stories. The stories of what happened when the old ways were neglected, when the dead were disturbed. But this? This was something different. something far more sinister. They hurried back to the town,

their footsteps quickening as the feeling of being watched grew stronger. The townsfolk gathered once more, listening in silence as the men recounted what they had seen. The air was thick with fear and uncertainty. The usual Halloween festivities forgotten in the face of this new terror. As the days passed, strange things began to happen in hemlock, ridge. The animals in the woods grew restless, their howls and cries filling the night air. The trees seemed to whisper in the wind, their branches creaking like old bones. And on the nights

when the moon was full, the townsfolk swore they could see a figure in the distance. Standing at the edge of the woods, its eyes glowing with an eerie light. It wasn't long before the whispers began. whispers of a curse that had been unleashed on Hemlock Ridge, a curse borne from the graveyard in the bones of the dead. The townsfolk began to avoid the woods, leaving offerings at the edge of the trees and the hopes of appeasing whatever malevolent force now lurked there. The figures in the woods became a permanent fixture in the minds of the townsfolk.

Some claim to have seen a move, a shadow slipping between the trees, its lantern casting an unnatural glow that seemed to pull at the very soul. Others heard whispers carried on the wind, a voice that called to them from the darkness, promising both terror and a salvation. The old traditions of Hemlock Ridge were revived with new fervor.

The people left offerings at the edge of the woods, food, trinkets, even pieces of clothing, in the hopes of placating the creature they believed to have been awakened. They avoided the graveyard entirely, fearing that to step foot on that cursed ground would be to invite the same fate as the old woman. But the offerings did little to stem the growing unease that gripped the town. Strange occurrences became commonplace. Doors that were securely locked were found wide open in the morning. Livestock went missing, and the crops began to wither. Their leaves turning black

and curlings have touched by some unseen blight. The town's photoes were found. grew desperate. They turned to the old books, searching for any clue that might help them understand the curse that had befallen them. The stories they found were fragmented, pieces of a puzzle that no one could fully comprehend. But one thing was clear. Something ancient and evil had been unleashed, something that fed on fear and despair. The figure in the woods became more brazen, appearing closer to the town with each passing night, its glowing eyes watched from the shadows, its lantern a beacon of doom. The people began to barricade their homes, huddling together in the darkness, praying for the dawn. But the dawn brought no relief.

The days grew shorter, the nights longer, the shadows deeper. It was as if the very light was being swallowed by the darkness that now hung over hemlock ridge like a shroud. One night, as the town lay in uneasy slumber, a thick fog rolled in from the woods. It crept through the streets, muffling the sounds of the night, obscuring the stars and turning the town into a ghostly landscape. The fog was thick and impenetrable, a wall of white that swallowed everything in its path. As the fog enveloped the town, the figure in the woods began to move. It stepped out from the trees, its form barely visible in the swirling mist, but its lantern

glowed brighter than ever, cutting through the fog like a knife. The figure moved silently through the trees, its footsteps leaving no trace in the soft earth. It passed by the houses, its glowing eyes, scanning the wood. windows, as of searching for something, or someone. The people of Hemlock Ridge remained asleep, unaware of the danger that lurked just outside their doors. The figure moved with purpose, its movements deliberate and controlled, as it made its way to the center of the town where the old church stood. The church had been abandoned for years, its doors locked and its windows boarded up. But the figure did not hesitate.

It stepped up to the door, and with a single touch, the wood splintered and cracked, the door swinging open with a loud creek. The figure entered the church, the fog following close behind, filling the ancient building with an unnatural chill. It walked down the aisle, the lantern held high, illuminating the worn pews and the decaying altar. At the end of the aisle, the figure paused, its glowing eyes fixed on something only it could see. It reached into its cloak and pulled out a small ornate box, the same box the old woman had used in her ritual. The figure placed the box on the altar and opened it, revealing the yellow bones within. But these were not just any bones. These were the bones of the old woman.

her remains now tied together with the same frayed ribbon she had used in the graveyard. The figure carefully arranged the bones on the altar, following the same pattern the old woman had used, as if mocking the ritual she had performed. When the last bone was in place, the figure stepped back and raised a lantern high. The fog thickened, swirling around the altar, the light from the lantern casting twisted shadows on the walls. The figure began to whisper, its voice low and guttural, the words incomprehensible but filled with dark power. As the whispers grew louder, the bones on the altar began to glow, a sickly green light that pulsed with each word. The fog seemed to respond, growing thicker, darker, as if feeding up the energy being released in the church.

The air grew heavy with the stench of decay, the walls of the church creaking and groaning under the weight of the ritual. The ground beneath the altar began to crack and split just as it had in the graveyard. The earth opening up to reveal a dark, yawning chasm. From the depths of the chasm something began to rise. It was a shape, indistinct at first, but growing clear as it emerged from the darkness. It was a figure, twisted and grotesque. Its form was hardly human, and its eyes glowed with the same unnatural light as the lantern. The figure in the cloak stepped back.

Her task now complete, as the creature rose from the chasm. Its eyes locked onto the bones on the altar, mouth opening wide to reveal rows of jagged teeth. The creature lunged forward with a roar that shook the very foundation of the church. devouring the bones in a single horrific gulp. As the last bone disappeared into the creature's maw, the lantern's light flickered and died, plunging the church into darkness. The fog thickened, consuming the town in its entirety.

The people of Hemlock Ridge awoke to a world consumed by shadows. The town of Hemlock Ridge was never the same after that night. The fog never lifted The sun never shone as brightly And the once vibrant town morphed into a place of fear and despair People no longer spoke of the old woman Or the figure in the woods Or the church that now lay in ruins

They carried on with their lives But the joy was gone Replaced by an innate, unending dread The figure in the woods was never seen again but people knew it was still there, watching, waiting. The offerings continued, more out of habit than hope. However, the curse that had been unleashed could not be undone. The creature that had ascended from the chasm now ruled Hemlock Ridge.

Its presence felt in every shadow, every whisper breath of wind. The people lived in fear, knowing that inevitably the darkness would comfort. for them all, one by one. And so, the town that had once been a place of quiet reflection became a place of eternal night, where the dead did not rest, and the living did not dare to dream. In the heart of the woods, where the graveyard lay hidden, a single lantern flickered in the darkness, casting a sickly green glow on the twisted trees and the broken gravestones, and in the that light, the shadows danced, laughing and whispering as the curse of Hemlock Ridge lived on.

Thanks for listening tonight, dear listeners. It's cold out there, at least where I am. Maybe you're a bit warmer. Cozy up. Let those eyelids start to droop as you drift off. That's all from us tonight. This is the creep, and you're listening to KREP today. and travel. 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 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.