Creepy - Day 28 - Red Door & Gas Station Vampire

Episode Date: October 28, 2023

Check out more from Megan McDuffee at https://meganmcduffee.bandcamp.com/album/entity***Red Door***Written by: Juan Cardenas and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Bonus Episode: "Gas Station Vampire"***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/***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.

Make sure to stay tuned after today's episode for an exclusive listen to our own Megan McDuffie's original song, Entity. And don't forget to check out the show notes for a link to download it for yourself. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepy pastures and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened, Or, aren't 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 28. Red Door Written by Juan Cardenas and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. I moved into this building complex for a fresh start. My buddy Jen was a real estate agent.

She gave me the hookup with this place. Low rent, great location, and the piece de resistance, a dog-friendly courtyard, park, baseball court, and fountain combo. It was a lot to behold. While the building was your standard big New York City studio with less room than a parking spot, The outdoor space was a thing of beauty. Green grass, shady trees with lots of benches and well-kept flower bushes, clean playground and a basketball court.

Dogs were welcome on the provision that their mess was to be cleaned. It was built with the focal point of a swallow fountain. Rectangular was strange mermaid-like statues on either side spitting water across. In the center, coins shone in the daylight. And at night, the serene black water was hypnotizingly still under the full moonlight. All this with the various windows of the complex looming over the outdoor space, and especially the fountain on almost all sides, except of course the west, where the Williamsburg Bridge towered over the buildings,

yellow lights from the cars, a silver clanking train passing by. It was breathtaking each time. Jen warned me that there was a price for all this. The place was very particular about its residents. In fact, when I signed the lease, she joked putting on a faux British accent. Welcome to Jurassic Park, she said. The residents were almost all retirees, and that meant they complained about noise at all times of the day.

They discouraged everything from trick-or-treat, decorating, even jogging around the complex could get a call to the police and a citation from the Ornery Building Association. I didn't mind, though. I was beyond my drinking and partying days anyways, and Virgil, my dog,

was a quiet, well-behaved sort. My wife had trained him so well that he didn't so much as bark without permission. She had illusions of getting a whole menagerie of classically named pets, but it was only Virgil and Homer the beta fish. And she obviously couldn't get any more now. Jen also told me that this place was on the market following a disappearance.

That this place had security, but it was lax given the lack of young people and the affluence of the residence. Still, I was a lone man with a big dog. I felt safe. What I didn't feel was complete. I found a bench that caught both a view of the fountain, the bridge, and the side of the building where I would watch the lights go on at sunset. As the beautiful bridge's lights came on as well, the pleasant stream of cars and even the janky noise of the train played so harmoniously over the stream of water and bird song.

When the sky turned dark blue, the patterns of more than a dozen window lights turning on, Noff kept me warm. Virgil had his fill of walking and would lay his big head on my lap, often looking up at me sadly. I didn't sleep much anymore. Virgil neither. We both missed her. Alone with my thoughts, I often wondered what she would think of this place. She would love it.

Or maybe not. She was the type to organize get-togethers, be loud and rowdy, and make a scene. I would smile thinking about it, then suddenly stopped. I didn't want to have an episode. Not after all the progress I've made. Virgil knew this. He sensed my mood enough to do something. Either paw at me or whine.

We were out there for so long. Piece of the view was something I had never experienced. We used to live in a one-bedroom overlooking a brick wall in a dumpster that junkies love to get high behind. Virgil once scared a junkie so bad that he started screaming that Clifford the Big Red Dog was going to eat him. I turned to my wife and asked her if she remembered, but no one was there. Lack of sleep must be getting to me. It was past midnight. The lights in the windows of all the residents had long gone out.

I muttered to myself that I should probably go to bed. I hadn't even unpacked and wasn't even planning on it. My wife was always the one to initiate that type of stuff. I didn't see any purpose in unpacking now. I didn't see any purpose in anything, really. Under the black sky, the water was so hypnotic, so good. cool and inviting. It was already fall.

The greenery was turning orange and red. Top the green grass in the blue and black sky, I had reached for the camera and thought about how much she would love this. Do the dead think of the living, I thought. Do they remember us? As we remember them. Do they miss us? Or is that place we all go to?

Is that so much better? I cannot imagine it would be. I cried. Just a little bit as I took the photo. The fountain, serene and reflective, it looked so much deeper. I looked closely at the photo. There was something in the water. Some kind of object dark and light.

Maybe a ball in a net. Even zoomed in, I couldn't tell. I must have been. going crazy, because that was impossible. I saw the fountain itself and there was nothing in there, though there was a reflection I hadn't seen earlier. It was a red rectangle, almost like a doorway, a red door in a pool of black and blue. It was small at first, than larger.

I looked up when I realized what it was. A lone window had turned on and shone red light. Like a dark room where they developed photos. Part of me was exhilarated. My wife was an amateur photographer, but I learned a thing or two. Maybe this person could be a friend to me. Maybe this was a sign from her. Maybe whoever is developing photos this late in the night.

They were like her. They could understand. I sighed. This was all imaginative. But it was just a window, a red window, and a red reflection, in an almost black pool. Then Virgil's ears perked. He sat up and started the circle of defense he did whenever a stranger or a squirrel entered our domain. He was up and in front of me in the fountain.

I had let go of the lead long ago. But as I watched his pace and growl, then wine. wine and pawed his ears and nose like something was overwhelming him. I stood up and grabbed the lead, just as he dove toward the fountain, towards the center of where that reflection forming that red triangle was. This was so unlike him. He was so calm, usually. But now he was fighting me, pulling all of his way to the point where I dug my heels into the ground.

What had gotten into this dog? I was afraid that he might start to misbehave more, and we would be evicted not more than a day after moving. Then he stopped. He sat down, started responding to his name again. I noticed the red light was off. Maybe that incited this somehow. But aren't dogs colorblind?

I decided to call it a night. I slinked back into my room and slept fitfully. The red door in the water was burned. burned into my memory and subconscious. The next day I spent in a haze, answering messages, emails. My desk was a box full of clothes, and my chair was a folding chair. Still beats going to a real office, though. Virgil was seemingly his old self after that lapse last night.

I decided to take a closer look at the photo I took last night. The mass in the fountain. It looked clearer somehow. Maybe some rest made my eyes better. But it was a face. I couldn't make out the features. It was a woman with brown hair. Like hers, I thought.

Probably a reflection from one of the windows. I was still warm enough to sit outside and I did just that. I tried to sleep. To listen to music. All that did was remind me of things that I could happily do before the accident. It was night time again. Virgil was sleeping on my lap. I lost track of time counting the windows and noting the leaves as they gently touched the earth, beautiful in death.

I said to no one in particular, almost on cue. That light came on. Their reflection was shining brighter tonight. Maybe it was the way the moon was so lit up. I don't know. The dog began to stir, but I was ready this time. I kept him firmly by the bench. He heaved and growled.

If I let him go, he would have dove right into that fountain. Why? What was bothering him so much in there? I almost wanted to see what would happen if I let him go. The logic prevailed. as I was thinking of all this. Plunging sound. Like an object suddenly sinking from the surface of the fountain's water started.

It was loud. It stopped both me and Virgil in our struggle. Distracted. Virgil leapt into the water. A splash was muted. Like he had just jumped into a hole instead of a pool of water. I called for him angrily. Then fearfully, he was nowhere.

That red reflection, that awful red door. It was there, and the light was buzzing from that window. Why was it buzzing so loud? I started to hyperventilate. Why was that light making sound? Why was that water so still? Something occurred to me. The fountain is only a foot or so deep, but from this vantage it looked like it was a deep chasm.

And that red door, that formed in it, it was perfectly sized. I couldn't understand how the light made the illusion happen. Dread filled me as I stared into it. I thought I heard a woman's voice. I thought I heard Virgil Bark. Then I thought occurred to me. I looked back at the photo I took last night. There was a woman there.

I zoomed in. Drop the camera. It was her. The plunge was something like I had never felt before. The water rushed past me. I sank without buoyancy. The water was red, not the dark black and blue pool I witnessed before. My descent didn't slow down.

It only sped up. I felt a sudden fear. Like a drop in a roller coaster, without the wind. Bubbles floated past me. I thought I was plunging forever. I relived my sacred memories, the ones that kept me from sleep. And here, there were treasures, more valuable than oxygen. I wasn't breathing.

Then the descent did slow. and I floated up. The fountain again. Only the water was red. Not from a reflection, just red. The mermaid statues were there, gurgling, languishing in their tasks to flow this red water that seemed to be choking them. The air was hot. The grass was dead.

There were cracks on the floor and the air was smoking. Yet still, I could see the bridge. Or what was left of it. In the distance I heard a familiar voice and barking. I followed it. I don't think I ever stopped following it. Jen cleaned out her friend's belongings from the apartment. He hadn't been seen in weeks and his rent was overdue.

The worst was assumed. As the only person with ties left to this person, she had to clean it out. Morefully, she noticed the whole place was still in boxes except for the work laptop. some takeout containers and an odd photo on a digital camera security had found. Why did her friend Photoshop themselves in the fountain, along with their dead wife? For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, Gas Station Vampire. You see a lot when you work overnight at a gas station. It doesn't take Halloween to bring the weird ones out.

If you like people watching the sorts of things you usually only read about on Reddit, You should check out a gas station at 2 a.m. I've been working here for about a year, doing overnight the entire time. It's not for everyone, that's for sure. You see, all sorts, both from customers and employees. As far as customers go, you can just about imagine anything, and have probably seen it. Drunks, of course. Tweakers, just about nightly.

Most of the standouts are just stupid. The people who drive away while the pump is still in their car. New electric car drivers who can't figure out how to refill. Seriously, you'd be surprised. They say the weird ones come out at night, and they're right. Most of the time it's harmless. Some edge lord dressing up like the crow asking to buy a pack of cigarettes is going to have to try a lot harder to get a reaction out of me. You know what I'm talking about.

someone bored trying to be all weird or spooky to change the routine at their otherwise mundane existence. I'm actually talking about our employees now. I'm a night person. I think it's pretty clear to see from the pigment in my skin. But my co-worker, Andy, I mean, Lord Corbin Magus is a completely different sort. Do I really need to explain more than just mentioning the name he was? wants me to call him. Dude wants me to call him Lord.

And he isn't even my supervisor. Never will be either. His work ethic sucks. He claims a working at the gas station is the perfect place to blend in with the normies, as he calls them. Oh, yeah. I should mention that he thinks he's a vampire. It wasn't until our third shift together, on a strangely slow night,

that he looked up from his paperback novel, or tome, as he would call it, and, apropos of nothing, confided in me that he's a creature of the night. I think my response was something like, cool, man, as I went back to taking apart the slushy machine for a deep cleaning. I never minded cleaning. It's cathartic, especially when things are slow. And at the end of it, there's something to show for your, time. Makes me feel good to know I did something with my time instead of just waiting around for

my time to be up. Anyway, Lord Andy got this look. Do you know, the same one white dudes do when they're about to say something racist, looking over both shoulders around our clearly empty store, before telling me that he's only working there to scope out potential familiars. Being lost and confused, and up to my elbows in whatever sludge accumulates in slushy machines, took me a while to piece together as lore, which he was a lot more excited to share than I would think an undercover creature the night would be. Sound a lot like he'd piece together whatever dogma he believes in with vampire movies and Anne Rice novels.

Nothing all that original. Evidently, it's really hard to find women during the day who are willing to... You know what? I can't even keep up with his vernacular with all this. So I'm just going to say it like it sounded to me. Dude has a hard time talking to girls. And the girls he does try to talk to aren't into the whole cosplay bat thing. So he works at the gas station to make some money and maybe run into some goth chicks or into his thing.

It was credit. He did actually meet a couple of girls over a four-month stretch. Not bad at all when you really look at our clientele. Dude was so happy to pull a phone number, completely overshared details of their dates, then hid in the back room when both flaked on second dates. When I had to go in for more cleaning supplies, I said I'd been crying, and when I pointed out that his mascara was running. Yeah, I forgot to say he looks like an extra from what we do in the shadows,

but you probably guessed anyway. He said he was supposed to look like that to symbolize the infant. in a despair of existence. I thought it was a good recovery. I had so many questions for that guy. You know how atheists love to try and back Christians into a corner on God or Bible stuff? Looking for that gotcha moment. Yeah, I hate that shit too.

And he seemed like a good dude. So despite my completely not understanding his little fantasy world, I didn't ask questions like, should you really be sharing your secret with me? Do you really think you survive by drinking blood? Why do you think a life of eternal darkness is better than the off chance you could meet someone out there and enjoy a walk in the daylight now and again? I think people who pretend to be vampires only see that weird frilly lace,

gothic, romantic stuff, and not the reality of what that sort of life would be like. So I never had the heart to tell Andy that those girls didn't call them back because of me. How after their weird dates in the graveyard, I followed them home and told them that Andy was full of shit and they shouldn't waste their time with him. And they should give up the whole vampire shit and try and find the joy in the world instead of the despair. And when they invariably told me to fuck off, I drained them drier than the only keg at a frat party. I'll admit, I have this kind of weird thing where I like to drink someone's blood in front of a mirror. Yes, I can see myself, but honestly I wish I couldn't.

So I could just bask in their expression going from surprise to enjoyment, to real enjoyment, to fear as they realize I'm not turning them into me. I couldn't if I wanted to. I'm just going to kill them. they won't get another chance to pet a puppy or eat pizza. I keep waiting for the right time to tell Andy, ah, fuck it. Lord Corbin Magus,

that he's nothing like me, nothing like any of us, and that he never will be. But I also realize that this whole facade is a defense mechanism that he's built up over the years, probably because of shit that happened in high school or middle school, and it would just be cruel to force reality on his trauma. response.

He doesn't have any idea what it's like to actually feel your blood turn into sand in your veins. The pain I feel every time I have to listen to some little nothing whine about their lives but still be able to walk in the sunlight, to feel the warmth on their face, to laugh, to love, to grow old and die. Maybe I won't take him. Maybe I'll take someone he cares about. So many people think they're alone. But everyone has someone they care about.

Maybe I'll just hang him from a hook and leave him there. Somewhere between living and dead, taking bits and pieces off of him, bite off his tongue so all he can manage is a pathetic moan as he pleads for me to let him go. That he's sorry, that he promises to never tell anyone. I've heard it all before. But if I'm being really honest with myself, I'm probably just going to end up fucking killing him if he doesn't get off his ass and clean up for once. Information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration.

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