Creepy - Day 30 - A Halloween Party for Monsters & Faces in the Storm

Episode Date: October 30, 2024

A Halloween Party for Monsters***Written by: Allie Harrison and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Faces in the Storm***Written by: Dr. Malpractice***Link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Faces_in_the_Storm***Content is available under CC BY-SA***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 30 of the 31 days of horror, a time of, there are so many great quotes about time. Like, time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time, or time is what we want most, but what we use worst.

But one I heard recently really resonated with me. Some days a disease that will take your dreams to the grave with you. We worry about time so much. Time to go to work. Time to go to the airport. Time to pick up the kids. Time to make dinner. We talk about it.

How long it took to drive somewhere. How long we slept last night. We fixate on the time of day. What time a show starts? What time lunch is. Time, time, time. We waste it, and there's never enough. When that day comes, if you see it coming, what will you think of the time you spent and the ways you could have spent it?

Then again, maybe you won't think of anything at all because that day is a long, long ways off. Right? Besides, as I mentioned earlier, was any of a really a waste of time? I sure hope you don't think our time together is. You're listening to KREP and I'm your host, The Creep. TikTok caller. I'm sorry, what? Were you talking to me? You're on the air, caller.

Did you say TikTok? I may have. I was talking about time earlier. I'm not sure if you heard that part. Yeah, yeah, I heard that, but... Why did you... I'm sorry to interrupt, caller, but we do have a limited time tonight. It's almost Halloween.

Yeah, well, I don't like Halloween. I'm sorry to hear that. Any particular reason? Plenty. And it all led to a Halloween party just for monsters. I hate Halloween. I can't even tell you how much I hate it. For me, Halloween isn't anything sweet like a candy bar.

It isn't little giggling trick-or-treaters and cute costumes. It isn't even anything as messy as soaping windows, dried eggs on my car, or wet toilet paper in the trees in my front yard. Ew. Halloween is real. Halloween can be horrifying. You see, to me, monsters are real. and I can see them.

I can sense them. And on all Hallows Eve, when the door between the evil world and this world is open wider than usual, I sense them stronger. And I sense way more of them, just like now. When I say I sense them, I can even follow that sense, which was why I'm on a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere right now. I'm tracking two of them. Two monsters. And I know their names. Because I always know their names. Randall Butch Sawyer, he's the leader. He's a pathological psycho with two capital

peas who feels nothing when it comes to killing a fellow human being. Don't ask me how I know all these things about the monsters I see and our sense. It's as if I've been given a mission to stop them, and am also given the idea of what it will take to stop them. I knew Butch had killed to get what he wanted within seconds of sensing him. He had killed to cover his tracks. He had killed for the simple idea someone had looked at him for too long and studied his face. Yet, while he could skin a person alive or shoot someone in the head

and walk away without remorse, and had done it on numerous occasions, He could not utter a single swear or cuss word for fear of winding up in hell for it. It was weird, I know. I also knew three days ago, while at the gas station, the young female gas station attendant had stared at Butch. And when Butch was certain, she had pressed a hidden alarm, even though he hadn't seen her move. He'd said, chocolate fudge with peanuts

just before he shot off half her face I saw that like a flash of video in my mind and it made my throat tighten every time I thought about it it also made me move faster in my efforts to stop this monster I have no idea why my sense didn't sense him sooner

like before he shot that poor young girl I stopped questioning my visions of monsters long ago Butch had obviously been on his killing trip for many years. I only knew I'd been called to stop him now. I also knew I was going to have to be fast and accurate. Clinton Armstrong was the second monster. And only less of a monster because he was the follower. The two of them were together.

And now there's a storm brewing. I heard the distant rumble of thunder in the sky. and was thankful. The storm would slow them down and give me a chance to catch up to them. Clinton Armstrong was terrified of storms. I knew that, too. I've been a monster hunter for many years. And I've always worked alone.

That is, until tonight. Just like all the other moves I make as if a higher power has guided me, I accepted an assistant. The guy actually approached me at the last gas station and asked me for a ride. As a woman alone, I wouldn't normally pick up strays, but something told me to say yes, that he needed to come along the journey as well. And so, I did, and here he was. His name was Larry Dickwell.

I almost laughed at that when he told me. I simply told him I was headed west and didn't say why. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, and I thought of him as Dick. Although the name fit him well, I didn't call him that to his face. I sensed something off about him, but didn't sense him as the usual monster I hunted. He did little else in the passenger seat besides me, other than snore or complain. and I certainly prefer the sounds of his snoring over the sounds of his nasally irritating voice. Considering how we were surrounded by the rumbles of thunder,

I wasn't surprised when raindrops, big raindrops plopped onto the windshield. Within minutes, I had the wipers on Max and could only see the rain slattering onto the highway in the beams of the headlights. Dick stretched in a seat and asked why I was headed west. I told him I was looking for someone. Dick chuckled and said he was headed west to avoid someone. I didn't ask who. Because the vision flash about that came to me. It was an older woman, white hair, walking with a rolling walker,

scammed out of her money. And was I seeing that amount right? $900,000? Yes, I saw it. I saw more, but it was blurry, and I was trying to concentrate on my driving in the torrential rainstorm. I had a thief in my car. This was a new kind of monster, and to tell you the truth, I didn't quite know what to do with him. I would have figured with that amount of cash in the case he had next to his feet, the case he refused to place in the back seat, He could have bought himself a car. But maybe he didn't know how to drive. Not that it mattered. He was with me now. And the storm was growing worse.

Then Dick said he needed to make a pit stop. I told him I could stop and that he could get out in the rain if he wanted to. He said, Very funny. I was moving at the fastest speed I thought was safe through the crazy rain storm. Lightning flashed all around us, and the thunder seemed to rock the car. I asked him if he saw any place we could stop. I'm telling you, I was beginning to think we'd somehow driven into a stormy black hole. There was nothing out here besides the little bit of light that shine through the rain

from the headlights. And besides, I had to stop Sawyer and Armstrong. That was my mission this Halloween night. Dick sat up straighter in his seat and said, Hey, do I see something? There's a sign that says big Halloween party at the, I can't see the name of the place, but it was some hotel. It sounded too good to be true. But I saw the sign too. And I didn't care what the name of the hotel was. I knew Sawyer and Armstrong were not out in this storm, just as I knew I wouldn't be able to find them in it if they were. I didn't admit it out loud, but I was glad to see the sign. I needed to stop. I found it getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open, and I was beginning to not trust

myself driving. I even thought in the next few minutes I was going to have to hang my head out of the window and let the rain give me a cold shower just to wake me up. Instead, I turn the wheel of my vast little car onto a paved narrow road, and I was glad there was no hydroplaining involved. Just as I was beginning to think the Halloween party sign was a hoax. I saw lights through the sheets of rain. The storm was like nothing I'd ever seen before, and when I drove under the canopy shelter outside the front door, I breathe with relief. Dick said he had to go use the can and jumped right out of the car. I sat there, trying to fight off the exhaustion. But I found the job of doing so impossible. As I watched Dick go inside, I noticed the place didn't have an automatic door. Talk about

being behind the times. But then the entire two-story hotel looked like it popped out of the first decade of the 20th century. I debated going in. Something about this entire situation gave me a heavy, unwelcoming feeling, and it had the hair on the back of my neck standing up. It wasn't the lit jackalandrons I saw glowing in the windows, and it wasn't my usual sense of monsters, although I did indeed feel that. It was more than the usual heavy feeling I have on Halloween. Like I said, I've done this job for many years, and I've done it alone. But right then,

I felt more isolated than I've ever felt before. I grabbed what I called my vampire killing kit from the back seat and jumped out. My vampire killing kit was a duffel with various weapons, a single change of clothes, and a toothbrush. After a flash of lightning and clap of thunder made me jump, I was trying to figure out if the storm was pushing me inside or trying to keep me from going inside. The first thing I noticed as I stepped in, inside the lobby was the smell. Lasagna. Lazzania that smelled as good as my mom used to make was cooking

somewhere. The rich aroma of garlic and oregano hung so heavy in the air I could taste it. My mouth watered like Pavlov's dog. The lobby was warm, inviting, and downright cozy with rich furniture at one end in front of a blazing fire. I looked at the comfy recliner sitting before the fire, and I thought it would be a perfect place to relax for just a few minutes, just before I got to business and took care of Sawyer and Armstrong. The real reason I was out on this Halloween night. There were two carved jackal lanterns glowing at opposite ends of the check-in counter. A string of orange and purple lights hung above the counter itself, and strung across in front of the counter was one of those folded paper cutouts. Little paper ghosts and witches were all strung together as

if holding hands. A young woman stood behind the desk. She was a brunette, not very tall. She said her name was Dabria, and welcome to the hotel. She told me I'd be safe there from the storm. I looked around and commented that there wasn't much of a Halloween party going on. She said, not yet, but that dinner was ready and I could eat. My mouth watered even more. I mentioned to her that my associate was also here. I wasn't about to call Dick, my friend. I knew the kind of monster he was. I knew what he'd done. And I'm pretty sure a hundred years could pass, and we'd still never. be anything close to friends.

Mr. Dickwell? She asked, and I replied yes. She went down to apologize and explained there were no public restrooms and that in order to use a restroom, he had to rent a room. She said he was upstairs in room 13. I understood. I mean, it made sense to make people pay for something in order to use the facilities. But as she spoke, the storm seemed to get worse.

And I think I mentioned how I didn't think we're going anywhere for a while anyway. I told her I'd hoped she'd have another room and I thought I'd stay and enjoy whatever it was I smelled. But I was not about to share a room with Dick. She told me room 13, where she sent Dick, was upstairs at the end of the hall, but that I could have room one, which was downstairs and, nearby. She told me what I smelled was a 12-layer home-style lasagna, which was Mort's special for the day. I thought about their names, but didn't comment. Mort. I wondered if it was short for mortician, one who cares for the dead. That's morbid,

I know, but once that idea hit me, I couldn't seem to let it go. I decided I was searched for the meaning of Dabria another time when I wasn't standing before her. She had me sign my name on a piece of paper with lines. Just a simple piece of paper where I saw Larry Dickwell squalled on the line above the open line where she pointed at for me to sign. So I signed my name. I was too tired and hungry to care about the idea there was no technology and she didn't ask me to pay. She didn't rattle off a cost to stay the night. She just took back the clipboard with the list of signatures on it and told me to make myself comfortable before the fire, and that she'd have Mort bring me some supper. I sensed that Sawyer and Armstrong were close, but I decided that I'd rest a bit before confronting them. Because right

then, I was dog-tired and starving, and I figured no one was going anywhere in the storm. But the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the comfortable recliner with my legs propped up. A guy dressed in a white apron brought me a tray with a plate of lasagna, a salad, and a huge chunk of what I think was homemade bread, and a bottle of cold beer. I remember telling myself there was no reason for me not to enjoy it before I went searching for Sawyer and Armstrong. I'm not lying when I tell you. The first bite was warm, saucy heaven in my mouth. I watched the flames in the hearth while I ate, and when I finished, I set the tray on the floor next to me.

When I looked back at the desk, Dabria sat there watching me. There was an older woman with white hair who looked vaguely familiar. I sucked in a deep breath, searching my memories for why she looked familiar, and I couldn't figure it out. My brain was fuzzy. almost as if I'd had five beers instead of just one. The entire room was quiet except for the crackle of the fire in the fireplace, and the sound of the rain above my head. I looked beyond them, and I noticed a huge mural on the wall.

I couldn't tell if it was a painting or a blown-up photograph, but it was a big group of people standing together in the room where I now sit. Although it was in black and white, It looked like a Halloween party. There were pumpkin streamers stretched across the ceiling. There were carved pumpkins just like the two on the counter. Everyone was smiling and happy, holding drinks. One woman wore a witch's hat.

One man wore a cape and had his hair slicked back. And one of the guys, who were a headband that made it look as though he had horns in his head and held up a trident, stood right in front of him. He looked like Butch Sawyer. I swear. I knew for my sixth sense that that is what Sawyer looked like. I knew every detail. The man in the mural on the wall even had a scar below his left eye,

just as I knew Sawyer had. The man held a cookie, and that hand that held the cookie, was missing a finger. I knew that Butch Sawyer was missing his right and index finger. His father had cut it off when Butch was 10 years old. I thought about getting up and looking closer, but my butt felt like it weighed 200 pounds. It was the last thing I remember, except for my dreams, until waking the next morning. In my dreams, I saw Larry Dickwell nose dived down the stairs behind the chair where I slept. He ran up to me screaming for help.

yet even in my dream my butt still felt as if it weighed 200 pounds the old woman came up behind him I recognized her then from the vision I'd had previously and I realized now in my dream she didn't need the help of the rollerer walker Dick had stolen the money from her she pulled a burning hot brand from the hearth

that I hadn't noticed before But of course, this was a dream where anything could appear or disappear. She stuck it against Dick's backside. He screamed and jumped. And I still didn't wake. He turned back to the lobby and screamed some more, sounding like a girl. I'm not sure if in my dream I turned, but I too was able to see the lobby. The entire lobby was lit by candlelight from what must have been thousands of lit black candles. Tall, short, fat, skinny, there were every-size candle imaginable. There were also other Halloween decorations. Vintage skeletons, ghosts, pumpkins, and bats.

There were other people there, too. People dressed in various costumes that looked so real. zombies, ghouls, and even a few ghastly transparent beings that seemed to float. In the middle of the room was something I'd seen in Viking movies on TV. A pyre. It was like a bed made of sticks and logs just ready to be lit. All of those Halloween partygoers were standing beside it, anticipation filling their expressions. They looked like they waited to hear their favorite band's.

start playing. The old woman who still held the branding iron spoke. You're just in time, Larry. The party's about to start. And look, you even get your picture on the wall. Larry looked to the direction where the woman pointed. I looked too. My heart pounded as I thought perhaps this wasn't really a dream after all. There, in that huge photo on the wall, a figure that looked just like Larry Dickwell, wearing the same flowered shirt and jeans, only in shades of black, white, and gray, stood next to the man wearing the devil costume.

The man I thought looked like Butch Sawyer. Suddenly, Dick was grabbed by the other partygoers and taken straight to the pyre. He kicked and screamed, but was lifted easily to lie on the pyre itself. They held him in place while a young woman with what looked like a big hole in her face. Wow, what a costume. Tied his limbs to various sticks and pieces of the pyre.

The woman with the hole in her face looked a lot like the young woman I'd seen in my vision. The same one who'd been shot by Butch Sawyer in the gas station. Dick continued to scream and call out to me and then demanded to know why this was being done to him while I was simply sleeping. sleeping in a chair nearby. The old woman answered, You cheated me. You stole from me.

You murdered me. You burned my house trying to cover your tracks. This is the justified hotel, where victims get their justice. And now you will burn. Dick screamed and fought against his restraints, but couldn't escape. I watched, feeling as if the residents of the hotel were doing me a favor. After all, this was one monster I didn't need to stop.

Dick's screams were piercing as they cooked him slowly. It could have only been minutes, but it seemed like a long time before he sucked in his last burning breath. When the screaming stopped, I shifted my gaze to the mural on the wall. In the mural, Larry Dickwell, thief, murderer, pyromaniac, was having the time of his life at the Halloween party. I don't really know what happened to Larry Dickwell, Butch Sawyer, or Clinton Armstrong. I know what I dreamed. I woke in the morning with the stiffest neck I've ever been.

ever felt, still tucked in the chair in front of the fireplace. A few glowing coals lingered, and there was a smell of smoke heavy in the air. I won't lie, but there was also the smell of grilled meat. I wanted to search the entire place for Dickwell, Sawyer, and Armstrong, but my six sense that usually told me a monster was nearby was, now telling me to get the hell out of there, the feeling I had that I needed to get out of there and away from the place was something so strong I think it was pushing me out the door. But just before I left,

I noticed the mural on the wall. Butch Sawyer had his arm around Larry Dickwell. Clinton Armstrong stood on the other side of Dick. All three were laughing, looking as if the Halloween party was in full swing. I looked back at Dobria. who now stood behind the counter. I wouldn't waste your time looking for any of them, she said.

I asked her why not? Just know that justice has been served. This is, after all, the justified hotel. I asked her how much I owed for spending the night. Deats have all been paid, she said. And you should probably go while you're able to, before another storm comes in and keeps you here. Her words sent a shiver right through me,

and I wasted no time getting out of there. My car was still parked out under the canopy. Dick's case was on the floor of my car in the front passenger seat. It was filled with a few clothes, which I quickly deposited into the trash can near the front door of the hotel, and several thousand dollars in hundreds and fifties. It was a few hours later and several miles down the road before I felt like stopping at a diner for breakfast.

The special was pumpkin waffles. While I waited for my waffle, I saw that I had cell service, so I searched for the meaning of the name Dobria and found that it means angel, and was used in novels for the angel of death. By the time I returned to my car with my belly full, I convinced myself that it was all just dream. That is, until I looked at the passenger seat where Dick had sat. In the passenger seat, sat a small paper cutout, a section taken from the streamer that had been strung in front of the hotel counter. It was a vintage paper ghost in which holding hands, a cutout that hadn't been there before I'd gone in to eat breakfast. Then the hair rose in the back of my neck as I sensed

yet another monster. Very close by. Man, I hate Halloween. And now word from our sponsors. Seems like I'm not the only one with my eye on the clock. So it might be in my best interest to move things along. As much as I do so love my job and know there are those of you snug in your homes listening right now. Actually, that reminds me of a story I just received from another listener who wanted to tell us about faces in the storm. I think I'm going to go insane. It's been 28 days since the 17th of December and the rain hasn't faltered for a second since then. It keeps falling in sheets, driving down from the heavens like a waterfall. outside you feel like you could drown walking.

When this all started out, I don't think that anyone thought much of it. I mean, this nightmare was just another winter storm then. It started in kind of an odd place, out in the North Atlantic, across from the Gulf of St. Lawrence. But I'm not sure that meant anything to people who weren't meteorologists or oceanographers. The storm started out expanding very rapidly. I'm not sure if it's still growing or not since the TV hasn't come on for more than three weeks. But it sure hasn't moved it all.

Things started looking more bizarre when the wind failed to move the storm. It just kept hammering New England, growing south along the coastline from Maine all the way down to where I lived in Nassau County, just outside of New York City. The weather forecast changed every few minutes as forecasters revised their estimates going from saying that there would be light flurries

to saying there would be a few inches of snow to saying there would be an absolute blizzard across the city and that everyone should stay inside. My wife Sarah couldn't heed that warning though. She had to go to work and I had to stay home and take care of our five-year-old daughter Tanya. When my wife walked outside that morning, I promised her that I would keep Tanya safe.

Watching Sarah pull out of the driveway and her Nissan Ultima, I had no idea that would be the last time I would ever see her. As the day wore on, the weather took a turn for the worse. It looked like the weather forecasters were right, predicting one of the worst storms New York is seen in over a century. It amazed me when the power stayed on late into the night, but I wasn't complaining. You never know exactly how bad a blackout really is until you go through one with a five-year-old who's still terrified of the dark. Not that I can say I'm not scared of the dark anymore myself.

The last time we saw the cheerful, smiling forecast was on the Weather Channel. They were saying that the storm had expanded south into New Jersey and that we could receive two feet of snow during the night. It was at about 6.23 p.m., I think. Less than a minute later, the weather channel cut off, and every program on the television changed to a warning, telling everyone to get out of New York City along whatever bridge they could take and avoid Manhattan Island.

I tried to reach the company where Sarah worked on my phone, but the lines were down. I didn't really know what was going on, but I decided to listen to the reporters on my TV and get Tanya out at the city. I struggled with the idea that I shouldn't just desert Sarah. Who worked in Manhattan? But when I got outside,

I realized that I couldn't possibly risk going there. To the south, across the horizon, the dark clouds of night were painted red with flames. The traffic was horrible, but not as bad as he might think. A lot of people were reluctant to leave. They all seemed to be in shock. I drove my Cadillac along the roads through NASA and Queens, seeing a lot of people standing by the roadside watching the shadow of the flames flickering against the sky,

but running into far fewer actually driving along the road. Some of the people were slowly making their way by foot out of the city. And as time went on, the traffic congestion got a bit worse. But amazingly, I was able to get myself and Tanya out in New York before it became so bad that I couldn't drive at all. I still remember looking across the harbor on the road from Queens to the mainland and seeing Manhattan Island burning. I don't think that I'll ever forget that. Tanya kept staring out the window, speechless and tired, too, I believe. I don't know for certain what time it happened to be, but I think it was past 11.

All night I drove through the countryside, trying to pick up a radio station that could tell me what was going on. There was nothing anywhere, though, except news of the mandatory evacuation of New York. It seemed odd to me that I'd seen very few police officers and no military officials anywhere. Now, looking back, I think they were probably all either elsewhere or dead. The next day things were worse. The weather started getting warmer and the snow turned to rain. Piles of snow by the roadside were melting and the blacktop was covered with water and mud. The clouds kept getting darker as the day went on and we ran into more and more traffic,

coming from places all along coastal New England. The radio evacuation order was going out then to everyone from Massachusetts, south, the New Jersey. By the time that night fell, it was pretty hard to tell night from day. Tanya started asking me where her mother was, and I had to lie to her and tell her that Sarah was okay. Really, I was lying to myself, too. I thought that maybe she was someone. more along the highway right now, safely in her silver ultima.

I have no doubts now that she was already dead. We eventually had to pull off the road and go to sleep in our car. There were some strange sounds in the night around us, and my daughter kept waking up, scared that the monster she believed had been living under her bed in Nassau was there with us, living under the car. I told her that it was all just her imagination. but I couldn't help hearing the scratching on the undercarriage

or the occasional low purr coming from somewhere further out in the night. When morning came, everything seemed well again. That is, until I got moving. I wanted to believe that the sounds I had heard the night before and the ever-present sense of something out there in the night had all been figments of my imagination. But what I saw along the roadside shook, that pleasant notion from my head.

Everywhere there were cars still sitting on the roadside. Their windows broken out, and their doors sometimes torn off their hinges. In front of some, deep trails led through the melting snow into the distance. There was no way that I was going to stay out in a car that night. Instead, I chose to find a house along the road which looked empty, and, well, I broke in. To be more accurate, I knocked on the door and it creaked open on its own.

No one was inside, so I decided that Tanya and I could stay in there for the night. The door locked safely and securely behind us, and we seemed to be safe. We've been in that house ever since. At first we stayed in the upper part of the house, but as the nights and days grew together into one dark, pitch-black blur, we decided that the basement was probably safer, just in time too. Soon after we went down into the basement,

I heard something break down the front door and crash around in the upper part of the building, toppling tables and knocking over the television. Time passed slowly, eternally dragging on. The temperature kept getting warmer and warm. until it began to feel more like the middle of summer than the middle of winter. Then, one night, I think it was impossible to tell. The world around us grew warmer than the inside of an oven. I can't say that the temperature was lower than 150 degrees.

It was almost literally scalding. A little bit of water had started creeping into the basement through windows high up on the wall. My daughter and I tried to stay out of it because it was nearly hot enough to boil. That was the night I saw something I really wish I could just unsee. My daughter went to sleep early. She was tired and I think a little sick. For a little while I let her sleep alone, choosing to look out through one of the closed windows where no water was pouring in. At first I saw nothing but the pitch black of the storm.

Then I noticed something out there in the night. a few darkly glowing patches of luminescent green coming from something I couldn't see. I watched them for a while as they bounced through the depthless darkness, moving along at a distance I couldn't really understand. Then there were several bright flashes of lightning, and I realized that what I was watching was much larger than anything I could have possibly imagined. how tall it was I'm not totally sure but I know it had to be bigger than a mountain

it was still just a shadow in the distance but it had enough form for me to know that it was not normal even in the twisted alternate version of reality which comes with the storm I could feel the heat coming off of it and coming through the window like an open fire less than an inch from my face. In its wake there were flames,

spouting up from the forest of southern New York and casting black trails of smoke against the black sky. Soon the light from the brief outburst of lightning strikes fell away, but the green glow continued. I kept watching for a while before going back to sit with Tanya. Those images burned forever into my mind. When morning came, the world, was a bit cooler.

And as the next day wore on and the next after it, the temperature went even lower. And so did our stocks of food. The owners of the house had a few weeks worth of food in the basement. Apparently there were farmers who had kept the old traditions

of canning and drying their own produce. It lasted us longer than I thought, but now we've been out for a while. I think that Tanya and I are going to head out. If the car works, we'll take it. If it doesn't, we'll figure something out. There's water everywhere, and it's more than a foot deep on the flat land here. The ground reached at saturation point weeks ago, and the water hasn't had time to drain away fully. I don't know what's going to happen if it keeps raining. I guess this part of New York is going to join the

Atlantic Ocean. I'm just thinking that maybe we can get to safety somewhere. There has to be some place where the storm hasn't reached. I'm leaving this note here just in case someone finds it eventually. I just want there to be some remnant of Tanya, Sarah, and I passing through this world. I don't want us all to just be three more faces in the storm. Thanks for listening tonight, dear listeners, make sure time doesn't get too far away from you because you never know who's keeping track. This is the creep and you're listening to KREP today, tomorrow and forever. 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 common 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.