Creepy - Day 3 - A Warning

Episode Date: November 24, 2017

The Bad Days, Day 3: You know you do it...we all do. We search for the scary, the macabre, the dark...but at what risk? At what cost? A warning to those who listen...are you ready***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod***Music composed by Steve Blizin Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This episode is presented by patrons Mark Dickinson and Adam Burke. Today is a day to be reflective and give thanks to the wonderful things in life, like people who support this podcast. If you'd like to see what you can do to support the podcast, please visit patreon.com slash creepypod. I am also thankful for things like blind spots and security cameras, people who use the word password as their email password, airtight alibis, and

of course. 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. Creepy presents. The Bad Days

Day 3 A warning. I'm doing this for you. And for Mike 2, I guess. Though I don't think there's much I can do to help him at this point. I suppose I should provide some background information first. I'm a sophomore at a fairly good university in Boston. No, not MIT or Harvard, but

but still, one that's a bit of a chore to get into. My freshman year I had the option to live in honors housing and decided to roll with it. After all, at least the people would be interesting. Whatever arcane algorithm they used a process roommate request took in my preferences and spat out the name of my future roommate. Mike, just another random honors kid from St. Louis. The two of us got along fine for most of our freshman year. my enjoyment of Miley Cyrus notwithstanding, so we decided to room together sophomore year as well.

Now, Mike's always been a pretty obsessive guy. He tended to bounce around in his interest. One week, he devour an entire series of anime, only to start watching random online episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3,000, and then begin working his way through the archives of the hottest new webcomic. And of course, like any real obsessive, you keep me posted on his latest craze. I humored him

What else are roommates for? One day earlier this week He started telling me random scary stories You know, those random things you find on message boards I think the main source ended up being some site called Creepy pasta Never understood why pasta could be creepy, but whatever I'd hear about a med student eating an arm

Or someone being autopsied alive Or some random YouTube video video that'll drive you insane. We usually had a good laugh about them. The third day of this obsession, however, things got weird. He threw a few more stories my way before hitting the sack. But something seemed a little off. His voice had a sharp edge to it.

As the hour got later, his banner got more and more inane. As we were talking just to stave off having to go to sleep, eventually I pointedly got into my bed and rolled over. effectively ending any further chance of conversation, I wish I hadn't. I sleep like a log, and that night was no exception. I don't think I even came close to waking. Usually I can't remember any of my dreams. But the nightmare I had that night has been clear in my mind for days now.

I dreamt I was trapped in a fog so dense I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. The damp air sent chills down my spine. I could hear muffled screams in the distance. There didn't seem to be any words, just guttural shrieks of pain. Instantly, don't ask me how. I recognized the screams as mics. I tried my best to run to him, but my feet just slid through the fog. I couldn't get any real traction on the ground, if there indeed was any ground.

The screams got further away and more indistinct. Though I could still tell they were mics. Eventually they faded to nothing, and I woke up. And every last trace of Mike was gone from the room. Everything. His laptop, his sheets, the official zombie survival guide poster on the wall, the heap of trash he let accumulate on his half of the windowsill. Everything.

A thick layer of dust coated his entire side of the room. Absolutely nothing on my side of the room had been touched. Nor had any of his stuff in the bathroom, the kitchen, or the living room of our suite. Only in the bedroom had anything been taken. I couldn't believe it. I prayed it was a dream. I pinched my elbow until the skin was red, until my fingernails drew blood. When I didn't wake up, I dialed campus security who quickly brought in the Boston Police Department.

I was immediately kicked out of the room so they could go over everything with a fine-tooth comb. I think I must have been in shock. I felt completely numb. Nothing around me really mattered. I'd left my laptop out in our suite's common room, so I used that to distract myself or try to, at any rate. When I popped open the laptop, however, a word document stared at me.

Its text was the following. I know this is stupid. I can't help but think how much I'll regret this in the morning. But for some reason, I'm genuinely scared and feel like this is the only way I can tell someone why. So here it is. Earlier, I was scouring the net for short horror stories, you know, rituals, tales of scary places, and alike. I came across this, warning, I guess it was. I won't say what.

I won't say where, for fear of you finding yourself. Suffice it to say it's sensuals down my spine. something not much has managed to do. Still, as has become my habit, I just clicked on the next hyperlink, going further down the rabbit hole. The warning stayed with me, though. In the back of my head, just nibbling away, waiting until I would focus on something else to rear its ugly head. This was irrational. I knew.

My mind was just playing tricks on me. Some ancestral fear had been put. played upon. Some age-old nightmare that was just that, a nightmare. No more, no less. But that didn't make the fear go away. Only when I looked at the clock to see how long I had until you got back that it dawned on me that I passed the time allotted me by the warning to stop what was coming. Any vagueness is out of concern for you, I promise. And then the real anxiety kicked in. My palms started to sweat And my eyes refused to stay closed for more than a second at a time

All my hairs stood on end I could feel my heart rate start to increase Instantly I knew that the warning had been real And I had failed to heat it My time was limited It was about then that you got back from the TV station I was so glad to see someone else I can't imagine how I sounded

finally someone to fight off the dark with, a companion against the now terrifying night. But clearly you weren't interested. Your yawns were a dead giveaway. You headed to bed and I, to stay off sleep a little longer, decided to write you this. Do me a favor. If I'm wrong, forget this ever happened. If I'm right, warn them. So that's what I'm doing.

I'm warning you. Just be careful. The next time you go on an archive binge at creepypasta or start checking the horror thread of your favorite discussion board, listen to some creepy podcast, even just try Googling creepy stories. If you feel a chill run down your spine at some warning you've never read before,

you might want to heat it. If you decide not to, however, If you just click on your merry way, please tell Mike I'm sorry I couldn't get him in the fog. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At creepy pod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook, or email all stories told on their stories told on their story.

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