Creepy - Day 3 - My Night in the Woods & The Thing About Halloween

Episode Date: October 3, 2022

My Night in the Woods***Written by: Sean Roberson and Narrated by: Alicia Atkins***The Thing About Halloween***Written by John Beardify***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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please check out our donation to us at patreon.com slash creepypod. Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents the 31 Days of Horror. Day 3. My Night in the Woods.

Written by Sean Robertson and narrated by Alicia Atkins. October is my favorite month. especially around Halloween not even the day itself but the week leading up to it that's when everyone is getting excited anxious and terrified for the monstrous day the yards start to get filled with the creatures

of fear and houses once cozy become haunted houses of unimaginable terror I love it my close-knit friend group lives for it we love everything and anything spooky and we go all out. My friends, Emily, Michael, and Bailey always binge-watch the classic horror movies

from Nightmare on Elm Street to the newer flicks like Antlers. We love it all. Even the bad ones are, rather the ones considered bad, like our personal favorite pumpkinhead, a story that is worth watching and getting chills when you see the giant monster

start its murderous rampage. Besides the horror movie binge, We also mess around with things we probably shouldn't. Like driving around cemeteries after the witching hour. Using cheap online-bought spirit boxes around abandoned structures. And even the classic urban legends like Bloody Mary. I know what you're thinking. Selena, you must be the most popular girl in school.

And your friends must run the school. No. We are the outcasts and rejects for sure. So horror is our coping mechanism to counter the bullying and judgmental glares. Because of our love for all that is horror, we decided to do a Halloween ritual of a sort on a randomly chosen day before Halloween. It's always before Halloween because most of the time, we had things to do with younger siblings.

We were volunteered to take them trick-or-treating. So the week before has to do. We started this tradition last year, and it was amazingly fun and spooky. We start the same. Agree on a day. This year it's on a Tuesday. Ditch school and binge watch new and old horror movies that we randomly pick for the entire day until the sun just starts to set. Once this happens, we do the next most important thing.

We go down to our local diner and get milkshakes and dinner. Can't scare yourself silly without some food first. After that, it's time for the, what most would call. occult shit. This year we decided to do the classic Bloody Mary in the mirror. Then, since we watched it, also try Candyman. Next, we bring out a fairly expensive Ouija board that we got at an antique store that was supposed to be haunted as all get out, as the owner put it. So we crank that bad boy out, turn off all the lights, light some candles,

and begin asking the hard-hitting questions. Are there any spirits with us right now? How did you die? What is your shoe size? We keep going for a while until the clock strikes 10 p.m. I have an ancient grandfather clock in my house's basement that scares the life out of us right after we asked the question. Give us a sign. Then I see the time and realize it dings every hour.

The many heart attacks subsides and we all laugh about how much that got us. Now there was a new addition that we didn't do last year. We all hop in Emily's car and start driving to the forest on the edge of town. While on the drive, we tell countless ghost stories and urban legends. Some old and some we make up on the spot. Michael is always so great at making up new stories and telling them with such execution. Once we pass the last light pole and the asphalt turns into gravel, we become silent.

It is eerie, like we shouldn't be here in doing this. There is a local legend in our town that someone was murdered by a spirit in these woods, and they were never heard from or seen again. That's why we picked the spot, but all said it's just people making up stories like usual. But now, about ten minutes out, we're all on edge. The radio plays whatever pop hit is popular at the time, on an almost mute volume. But through the silence, it might as well be all the way maxed out.

Michael breaks the silence first. Um, are you girls sure we should be doing this? No one answers him. We all just stare ahead as the road becomes more and more narrow. Light extinguishes in the darkness, except for the high beams of the old Honda Civic. Finally, the road opens up to a clearing that would be a good makeshift parking lot. We parked the car, shut off the lights and the engine, and sit in silence and darkness.

We say it was so our eyes could adjust, but I think we all just don't want to be the first one to get out of the car, or to suggest we leave. We're all big horror buffs, and nothing really scares us. most of the time it's just shivers and chills that make us laugh or deepen our belief in the other but something feels wrong well we drove all the way out here we might as well explore some i got candles and lanterns we can carry around

Bailey answers yeah it was a long drive and we aren't afraid of ghost or ghouls we also don't have to go that far into the woods. Just a few feet, that's all. Emily chimes in. We all agree and open the doors in unison to exit the vehicle. Slamming the doors, Emily locks the car with two beeps from her clicker. The noise echoes through the tall trees and uncut vegetation. We light one black candle, and to tempt fate, gather in a semicircle and began chanting

some incantation that Bailey read online on some site that you definitely should never go to unless you want a billion viruses. With the mood creepily set, we venture off. Everyone has a lit candle in one hand, in a lantern in the other. Bailey still holds the black one. Michael goes first and picks what looks like an old trail and starts marching. We all follow with me directly behind him, then Emily, then Bailey. We listen intently for anything speaking or whispering for us to turn back.

There is nothing but crickets and screaming cicadas. Our lights don't illuminate much. Just enough for us to see a few freed in front of us. And to the sides. An aura of glowing yellow light. We keep pressing forward. When Emily stops and asks a question, I'll never forget. Guys?

Where's Bailey? Where's Bailey? Where's Bailey? We all spin around, and she's gone. No sight of her anywhere, and the candle is set neatly on the ground undisturbed. We all shudder, crying out, Bailey!

Bailey! Bailey! At first, quietly, and then louder and louder, She's just screwing with us. I stutter out. Candle is set perfectly still. She had to put it there. We all agree and ease up a little.

Ha, ha, ha. Very nice, you little witchy bitch. Michael croaks, trying to find his courage again and slowly clapping. We know what you're doing, and I will say you had me in the first half for sure. But now we're on to you. Fan out and find her. Let's scare her first. We all laugh nervously and backtrack a few steps, fanning out into the woods. I go to the right of the trail, while Michael and Emily go to the left.

I'm about 20 steps into my side when I hear a painful howl from Michael. I rush over, tripping over branches and rocks, making my way to their glowing lights. Michael is holding Emily, who is sobbing and scrubbing. screaming into his shoulder. Michael is motionless like a statue, tears streaming down his eyes as he looks down at the body of Bailey. She is... Dead.

There was blood everywhere, and she was split in half by something. We now know this isn't a joke or a prank. She's fucking dead. I scream and begin crying out loud, grabbing and pulling at my hair. Bailey had been my best friend since I was in kindergarten. And now, the two halves of my best friend bled out in front of me.

Bugs are already forming a shroud. Michael cuts through our sobbing. We need to leave. Right fucking now. We're sorry, spirits. We're sorry we disturbed you. He's scum. screams into the woods.

Girls. Girls. We need to leave. Now! He pulls Emily, still latch to him, and grabs my arm. We have to help her. I choke out, spit and mucus misting the air. We can't do anything.

She's dead. The only thing we can do is get the police and we have no service. We need to go. Michael protested, pulling me harder. We are yanked away from Bailey. My best friend, now a botch magician's act, is left. We rush back to the trail and try to hurry. Emily is a mess, and I'm not any better.

Michael can't hold her anymore and passes her off to me. He holds two lanterns and lights the way for us as we slowly make our way to safety, crying and moaning with immense pain. I don't get it. It was just a stupid incantation online that she read. How? How? How did it come true?

Emily sniffles out into my shoulder. I can feel drool sliding down my shirt and between my breast. I don't know, but we fucked up and the spirit is after us now. We can't be here anymore. This place is cursed. We have been cursed. Michael retorts, trying to pick up the pace. Michael, slow down.

I cry out. We can't go much faster, and Emily can barely walk. Michael turns around, shining the lanterns in our faces to say something. I notice his face in great detail. His blue eyes are like droplets of ocean water, filled with redness from crying. The tears streamed down his dirty cheeks, paving a path like a stream cutting through mud. He sobbed with every breath that is painfully drawn. The light illuminates all of this.

His pain, his sorrow, his love for Bailey. It even illuminates the man behind him, with the giant axe swinging down on his head. Those ocean blue eyes roll back into empty white and red voids as blood spews over me and Emily. The axe slices just halfway down, just resting above the spot between his eyebrows. He falls to his knees,

drops the lanterns, and the man behind him rips the axe out with a hefty grunt. More blood sprays across us, as it is removed with a sickly squelch. We scream. A scream you have never, and will never hear, on a movie or scary story.

We turn around and bolt. A new-found adrenaline-filled energy sears through our bodies. We run as fast as fast, as we can, screaming and shouting for anyone or anything to help us. Emily screams to a silent God to make this all a nightmare. We run on the trail until a fork in the road comes along. We don't hesitate and run left, but the trail ends abruptly. We sure as hell are not about to go back.

So we kept running on the now unmarked, uncut forest floor. Emily's lantern is the second one Michael was carrying. so we only have my light and now the moon over the tree line it is almost a full moon but not quite and our eyes are adjusting to the dark we both decided it would be better to shut off the light

that's probably how the man found us to begin with we turn off the electric lantern and keep running hoping and praying that the forest will end and will be back in town somehow Our legs burn And our lungs fill with what feels like lava Heaving between sobs and large Inhales

We keep going Slowing our pace until Snap Emily howls out in pain and agony I turn the lantern on And see her keeled over with her leg caught in a giant metal contraption It is a bear trap

Old Covered and rusted over red metal She seethes in pain and tries to open it. But the teeth are clamped tight, metal flakes of tetanus stabbing into her dirty hands. Blood oozes from her palms, fingertips, and the clearly broken ankle. Selina, please for the love of God, help me, please! Please help me! Emily Wales. I break from my stupor and rush closer.

I tried putting my feet on the edges like I saw. saw in the movies, but this thing is so old that it won't budge. The trap singes down even tighter, causing her to let out another agonizing wail of sheer pain. In the distance, I hear branches breaking and dry forest leaves being trampled. I look up towards the sound, and so does Emily. I've seen enough and read enough scary stories to know what happens here. I try to save her, dragging her along with me until the killer or monster finally catches up and kills her in front of me, or both of us. I don't want to see that. I don't want to see another one of my only friends get murdered in front of me. So I ran. I don't know if it's a smart self-preservation instinct

or cowardice, but I run. Tears spill out even harder and blur my vision. I run, getting further and further away from Emily's spite-filled pleas for help, curses on me, and painful moans. I keep running until I can barely hear her when another blood-curdling screech breaks through the forest. Silence. Emily, Emily is dead. My eyes filled with so many tears that I'm blindly running with my eyes closed. Sobbing and praying for this to end. Through my clenched, eyes, I slam into something hard and rough in texture. My head makes first contact with a cracking sound. At the giant tree slashes open my forehead and knocks me on my ass. I open my eyes and wipe away my tears, as I feel a new liquid begin to dribble down my face, my own blood. I set up in my world

is spinning. On top of all of this, I concussed myself. I concussed myself. with a killer after me, lost in the woods, and the lantern launched on impact with the tree. I am alone in the dark, being hunted and injured. I slowly try to stand up and prop myself on the tree. I skid around to the backside and slide down the massive marker. Pressing my back as tightly into it as I can, I raise my hands against the side of my head. I began to silently sob, trying to avoid making too much noise

and drawing attention to myself. Leaves crunched behind me, and I stopped crying. I throw both hands over my mouth and hold my breath, listening. I choke and wheeze through the fear, holding back the tears. Another crunch and another.

I can't tell which way it was going, but then something gives. The giant axe swings and lodges itself into the side of the tree, inches from my head. I scream and beg for the man to stop, dragging myself on my butt away from the tree, not breaking eye contact with the psychopath.

The giant man, in a bright orange jumpsuit, yanks and curses to try and get the axe out of the tree, all the while ignore. my pleas and tears. I keep sliding on the crunchy leaves. Away from him when the axe comes out with a splitting crack. I cry out in horror as he smiles the evils the evilsest grin I have ever seen in my life. The man starts making his way towards me and raises the axe high above his head. I raise my arms as a poor shield from the assault and close my eyes. I'm going to die.

Then another noise rang out, and I felt hot liquid shoot over my entire body again. I opened my eyes and see something. A mass almost like an arm is protruding from the man's chest. The open cavity sprays me with blood in marrow chunks. He is yanked back with such a force that I hear all his bones shatter against the tree I head behind. The thing begins to violently rip the man apart, tearing away bits of flesh and gore as it eats him. The thing is a winged black mass, with no discernible shape. It is more of just an outline of something that is and isn't there all at the same time. Not a spirit, but also not totally physical either. The thing hums and chitters as it rips the axe-wielding man to bits.

gnawing on the gory flesh strips. It stops suddenly from its feast and turns to me in a flicker of motion. The thing's eyes glow a haunting yellow, and are the only thing of its form that show any color other than black. Even the blood that it should be covered in isn't apparent until it drops to the ground in the lunar light. It stares at me for a while, still chewing and chittering while it sizes me up. I accepted my fate from the axe man, and now this thing is going to get me. I take in a deep breath and close my eyes again, fearing the pain as it devours me too. Nothing happens.

There isn't an attacking shriek or a powerful gust, and then pain as my body was torn apart. Like piranhas to a hapless mammal. It is just silence. I opened my eyes and it is gone. No leaves cracked, no branches broke, no sound came from the thing when it disappeared. It's just gone, as if it was never here to begin with. It leaves no trace except for the dissected remains of the other monster.

I am alone and scared, but alive. Everything is a blur after it leaves. I was found the following day. The police say I was found in the woods about two miles from the car, and in the opposite direction of town. I was sobbing in a ball near what remains of the maggot-covered corpse of the killer. They said I was incoherent, mumbling about what had happened. They chalked it up to shock and trauma.

The police found me because my parents called and said my friends and I had never returned home the night before. They found my friend's bodies too. It was all real. They were dead. I later learned while in the hospital that two counties over. A prisoner escaped and went into the woods, found a small cabin, and butchered the entire family of five with a firewood axe resting against a shed. The convict went deeper into the woods until we unfortunately crossed paths with him.

However, the news that covered my story said that the psychotic young man-killing young kids was mauled by a bear in a poetic justice. I, of course, try telling them what really happened, but obviously no one believed me. They would rather believe a bear did all that to the man and didn't touch a hair on my head. I don't want to say I'm lucky or even thank that thing out in the woods. I don't think it is by any means good. But maybe it took pity on me. I don't know. All I know is,

October used to be my favorite month. Now, when the leaves start to change colors, the pumpkin patches start to pop up, and the yard start to get decorated with ghost and ghouls. I stay in. I don't watch, read, or see anything related to the month. I shut the world out

and wish upon a billion stars that I never experienced my night in the woods. For your bonus episode, creepy presents, The Thing About Halloween, written by John Beardify. I don't care if you like it. I don't care if you think it's embarrassing.

You're wearing it, and that's final. Ray, my stepdad, who deal of costume onto my bed and slammed the door. I was 13 years old at Fateful October and I was about to experience my first Halloween in the town of D, New York.

When I tell people what Halloween was like in D, they think I'm exaggerating. They don't believe that in D, everyone went trick-or-treating, no matter their age. They don't believe that every single house was decorated, or that there were treats set out in front of every door. At first, I didn't understand it myself. I begrudgingly stuffed my awkward preteen body into the red and green elf outfit,

then went downstairs to sulk on the porch while I watched the neighborhood prepare for the biggest night of the year. It wasn't fair, I thought, as I angrily put on my fake pointy ears, smoothed out my mouth. my tights and flicked the brass bell on my hip, boredly. If it wasn't for some junky asshole, we'd still be in Louisville, Kentucky. A big city with normal people who celebrated normal Halloween, said to this weird little mountain town. The driver would slammed into my mom's car that awful February morning had been high on PCP, the police report said.

Mom was killed on impact. She'd been working herself to the bone to keep her tiny restaurant afloat, but we didn't realize just how bad things had gotten until race. inspected the accounts. Ray was a freelance writer, not an entrepreneur like mom, but even he could tell that there wasn't going to be anything left for our family in Louisville except for debt and bad memories.

That's why he'd moved us back here to Dee, his hometown, a place where we could begin again. A fresh start! I'd heard Ray slurred to himself the night before the move, as he listened to Mom's old records and drowned the pain in whiskey. A fresh start. some place where people don't die too soon, at least not 364 days of the year. At the time, I had no idea what it meant.

But after a few weeks in D, one part of Ray's rambling started to make sense. It wasn't that people in D were lucky, exactly. It was more like, as Ray had said, disaster didn't strike out of nowhere. People in D got sick, grew old, and died just like everywhere else. But I'd never seen any place with less random suffering and unexpected tragedy. 364 days of the year. Across the street, the Pennington twins, Liam and Isaac, were transforming their house into a fairy tale castle.

They'd already used bed sheets and pink lights to turn the bushes into cotton candy clouds. Now they stood dangerously high on a ladder, wringing the roof with cardboard parapets. I knew that here indeed, if one of them fell, it might mean tears or a broken arm. But it wouldn't mean death. It wouldn't mean a fractured skull. It wouldn't mean what happened to mom.

I felt another wave of irrational hatred for this cheerful little town, with its waving neighbors and treeline residential streets, its family-owned shops and dusty historical buildings, its absurd, overbearing obsession with Halloween. Shees of hay, gourds, pumpkins ringed every lamp post. Dr. Smil is a dentist. It turned her yard into a forest of gigantic toothbrushes. They say the local veterinarian took out a second mortgage

so that he could rent a jungle-themed bones, house, and giant inflatable animals each year. Even the used car salesman Nick Nicholson. Really? Give his home a racetrack makeover and paid his hordes of blonde cousins to prance around in Daisy Dukes while waving checkered flags. It was surreal. His newcomers in town, we hadn't really prepared.

We'd used a plastic igloo, some glowing candy canes, and a few other left-over Christmas decorations to create a North Pole look. Our low-budget theme might have saved race some money, but at school it created a huge target on my back. As the only kid in town who wasn't born in D, I was already an outsider. But when our shoddy decorations went up, people stopped seeing hi to me. They'd say, Merry Christmas, instead. And if no teachers were around, they'd be sure to add that I was a ho, ho, ho.

Oh. Ray told me that they were just being kids, that they'd grow out of it. But I could tell he was struggling to integrate into his old hometown just as much as I was. Only Ethan seemed content. He and his friends were too young for judgment. They were just caught up in the wonder of the season. I missed being Ethan's age. I missed Mom. Now Ray was coming down the stairs in a Santa Claus costume that I was sure I'd hear about in school on Monday, with Ethan beside him. Unlike me, Ethan didn't have to be a North Pole elf. He got to be a knight.

Putting on his tinfoil armor was what had been taking them so long. Every costume in D had one thing in common. One thing that was so important, it was actually codified into local ordinance. From October 30th to November 2nd, the wearing of grotesque, frightening, or violent attire is prohibited by law. That archaic law was the reason for what I saw from the porch. Babies and strollers reimagined as World War II soldiers and tanks, kids in superhero suits, college girls in bunny outfits, couples dressed as salt and pepper, or the sun and moon on stilts. Not a single vampire, horror movie monster, a drop of fake blood to be seen.

As far as 13-year-old me was concerned, there was one good thing about Halloween, the spooky part. And this stupid town had even found a way to ruin that. beside me, Ian shoved his tiny fist into my hand. It was his way of telling me it was time to go. To my surprise, Ray sat out with us after placing several trays of homemade candy cane cookies on the arms of plastic snowman beside the porch. He wasn't the only one. Every adult and child in town was out walking the lamplit streets.

They've decorated houses left behind. It was bizarre, but it was also hard not to get caught up in the infectious fun of it all. After sinking my teeth into a caramel apple and playing tag with Ethan and his crazy little friends in the veterinarian's bounce house, I was ready to forgive Dee's silly fixation on Halloween. Sure enough, the town seemed ready to forgive me as well. I was shocked by the way girls who had made fun of me all October were suddenly hugging me and telling me how happy they were to see me out trick-or-treating. Caleb, a boy had seen skateboarding in front of Dee's general store and way too cool from me, gave me a high five as he passed by in his 80s metalhead costume.

I was so caught up on most lost track of Ethan, who was already running up the driveway of a pirate-themed house at the end of the block. In the field beside me, I saw something that knocked the butterflies right out of my stomach. There was a man standing just outside of the streetlights glow. A man in a scary costume. He wore a bloodstained lumberjack outfit and held a real, sharpened axe in his purplish hands. His neck was covered with swollen bluish scars, like you've been hanged to death, and a burlap sack with a crude face painted on it covered his head. Now, I had to give it to the guy.

He'd made me jump a bit, and he had balls to break the logist for the sake of playing dress-up. A nervous little laugh escaped my throat. Something about the way he was just standing there unnerved me. Maybe this guy isn't cool, I thought. Maybe he's not. Maybe he's dangerous. My eyes darted to where Ethan was digging some gold coin candy out of a wooden pirate's chest. The man with the axe was silently lumbering toward him. Everyone else had noticed the ax man too. I could tell by the sudden silence and startled faces. They were going out of their way to pretend like everything was normal, all while getting as far away from the grotesque figure with the burlap-covered face as quickly as possible without making it too obvious. The

X-Man and I reached Ethan at about the same time. I grabbed my little brother's hand and pointed at a crackling bonfire across the street. I stuffed some coins in my candy sack for good measure. If everyone else was doing their best act naturally around the creepy silent axe man, I figured I should too. He didn't speak. He didn't even seem to breathe as he ran his bloated blackened fingers over the gold-wrapped candy to blooms. Ethan kept chattering about pirates as I let him down the drive. driveway. But my ears were focused on the sound of the man's axe scraping along the concrete.

He was following us. He must have stopped or lost interest when we slipped into the crowd, however. I'd lost sight of Ray, who'd stop to chat with a woman in a scuba suit and a guy in a pope hat while we visited the pirate house. I'd figured I'd take Heath into the campfire and look for him later. Something primal, deep inside me, yearn for the warmth and security of the fire. Mayor Shirley, she insisted, we call her by her first name. And she had been up her yard like a 1900 scout camp, complete with tents, an obstacle course, and smore supplies set up around the flickering bonfire. I heaved a sigh of relief.

The mayor's property backed up against the low, woody mountains behind me. From here I could see any creepy silent ax men that came slogging up the hill after us. I grabbed a chocolate bar and a graham cracker and sat down my house. beside my brother and the other kids. Other kids? Hadn't Ethan and I been alone up here? They were five of them, sitting as still as porcelain dolls around the fire.

They wore gaudy 18th century clothes, but it was their faces that made the breath catch in my throat. Each child was as pale as ivory, but their lips were smeared with crimson gore. Their eyes were black pits that slowly turned towards, me. They had noticed that I had noticed them. I forced myself to stare at my shoes.

Ethan, thankfully, was completely focused on roasting the perfect marshmallow. He hadn't noticed the horrific children surrounding us. A mother and child in bumblebee costumes were climbing the hill to join the macab party. I recognized her as Brenda, the cashier from the gas station, with her daughter Lydia. By the time I stood to warn them, it was too late. Hey! She shouted before her mother could stop her.

They aren't supposed to be wearing scary costumes. You guys are going to be in so much trouble. She hooded. The doll-like children all sprang to their feet. With insane speed, they flew towards Lydia and carried her away with him into the woods. Her scream faded. as fast as if she'd been hurled into a cavernous pet. That didn't seem to bother Ethan as much as Brenda's silent tears.

He was old enough to know that when adults cry, something really bad is going on. I held him and looked to her, not knowing what to say, but craving an explanation. We were so careful, Brenda whispered. You need to go, she told me. They'll be back. After all, tonight isn't about us. It's about them. That's the reason we all crowd together in the light,

these goddamn cutie costumes, so we can tell who's human and who isn't. The sad little bee wings on her costume jiggled as she wiped away her tears. Go, she spat. I think I prefer to wait for them. Ethan tugged in my sleeve uncomfortably. I felt one of his meltdowns coming on.

One other thing. Brenda called after me. You must never let them know that you know. Never. I took Ethan down the hill with me as quickly as I dared, trying to process what had just happened, trying to find Ray in the crowd. Finally I spotted him.

He was doing his best to pretend to watch some children apple bobbing while a woman with a serpentine 10-foot-long neck flickered her forked tongue at his cheek. I brought a hand in my mouth to stifle a scream, and in that moment Ethan disappeared Every shadow of child The past looked like my brother

I shoved my way frantically through the crowd Until I saw something glinting just within the woods It looked like tinfoil armor Why was Ethan going into the woods Why was he moving like a sleepwalker I ran to my brother Spun him around and demanded to know just what he thought he was doing Ethan looked up in me with big confused eyes

like I'd just shaking him awake. Going with her? He murmured. The woods were so dark that I hadn't noticed a lumpy black shape beside Ethan. When my eyes adjusted to the light certain features became clear.

A wide brim pointed hat, warty green skin, a long hook nose. It was the most realistic which costume I'd ever seen. If it was a costume at all. Miss crapped over the pale, round, with her leaves rustled on skeletal branches.

The witch loomed over us, as twisted and grotesque as an old dead tree. Her cat yellow eyes narrowed at me. There's lots of good candy at her house. Ethan tugged in my hand. The best. Come on! I wondered sleepily why my feet were moving. Up ahead a cold, bluish light twinkled in the window of a round hut that seemed to be made of tree branches woven together.

jagged rocks jutted like tombstones from the mossy yard, but there wasn't a single Halloween decoration in sight, which meant that wherever the hut was, it wasn't in D. I grabbed Ethan and ran. My foot tripped over a gnarled root. My face crashed into black mud. I was vaguely aware that Ethan was crying, but I kept pulling him. Branches whipped across my face like long fingernails with too many joints,

but I didn't stop running until we were out of the woods. Dawn was breaking. Hours had passed when it felt like a few minutes. From up here on the hill I could see our house, and the frost and the glass made the yard look like a true winter wonderland. The woman in the woods hadn't followed us. I suppose she knew that there would be other Halloweens. Other children.

Here indeed. She could afford to wait. 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 Sherrillite licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed

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