Creepy - Day 30 - I Found a Terrifying Tiktok & Do Not Continue Over One Mile Up the Path

Episode Date: October 30, 2022

I Found a Terrifying TikTok While Home Alone on Halloween***Written by: JGrupe and Narrated by: Cole Burkhardt***Do Not Continue More Than One Mile Up The Path***Tickets for the "Creepy" live show can be purchased at: https://bit.ly/BloodyFM***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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. 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 biocations of bioccurys. Silence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. The 31 Days of Horror. Day 30. I found a terrifying TikTok while home alone on Halloween. Written by Jay Group. And narrated by Cole Burkart. Have a good night, sweetie. We'll be back after midnight.

My mom says, Don't forget we left extra candy in the basement in case you run out. I know, I know. You told me like six times. Just go. Have fun. I'll be fine. They gave me one last worried look. As a 15-year-old, I had only been left home alone on rare occasions. My dad was giving me a distrustful sideways glance as if he didn't believe in my ability to remember basic instructions. reluctantly, they began to descend the front steps and walk towards the car, wearing their couple's grease costumes. They were going to a Halloween party, which made what my dad said next slightly ironic. Okay, okay, we're going. Remember, no parties, no girls, no drinking your drugs.

Do lots of drugs, have unprotected sets, invite people over, and get drunk. Okay, got it, thanks. I shut the door behind them and was left to leave. Mercifully, finally, peacefully, alone. If you've ever been 15 years old, maybe you'll remember that wonderful feeling when your parents finally go out for the night and leave you alone to your own devices.

It's magical. The sun had recently set, and it was dark outside on the moonless night. Trick-or-treaters would be out soon, coming to the door in droves. It was my first night handing out candy, and I made sure to to turn the porch light on, so kids knew it was all right to come to the door. It was kind of exciting to be on this side of things for a change. I treated as much candy as I wanted all night long while watching scary movies and playing video games. I had several horror flits on my Netflix playlist or ready to go. I tried to decide what to watch first, the babysitter, scary movie, or

The Ring. The night was still young, and I decided I didn't feel like committing to a movie just yet, so I sat down to my dad's comfortable faux leather recliner with a bowl of Halloween candy in my lap, and pulled out my phone. I figured I'd watch a few tit-tots and then picked a movie after that. I opened the app with one finger, while nimbly unwrapping a Reese's cup with my remaining digits. The video which popped up on my feed was dark, difficult to make out. It looked like the person recording it was in a forest. Then I saw concrete stairs, and the familiar-looking wooden boards of a deck or a porch. I almost scrolled past it, but then noticed the deck looked familiar, as did the front door in the video. Ding don, ding don, ding on. I paused the clip.

The Reese's cup remained uneaten in my hand. I put it up to my lips to take a bite, thinking the kids outside could wait a minute. Ding don, don, ding don, don, ding on, ding on, ding on, ding on, Dund, dend on. I dot up for my chair, the piece of candy is still whole and stalked angrily to the door. Damn kids couldn't just wait a minute. They'd break the doorbell

if they kept attacking it like that. Swinning open the door, ready to yell at the brats, I looked down to see there was absolutely nobody there. Glancing around, I saw there were no trick-or-treaters anywhere nearby.

No other houses were down, decorated either, I noticed for the first time. Mine was the only one, and it was pitch black outside now, I noticed. The porch light had apparently burnt out within the last few minutes since it had just been working when I saw my parents off for the night. I closed the door and walked back to the recliner, my heartbeat now ticking just a little faster in my chest. Sitting down, I felt like I couldn't relax. My muscles were tense and stiff. A floorboard creaked above me from the second floor, and I jumped, then told myself I was being foolish. It was probably just kids outside playing tricks. I leaned back in the recliner and tried to breathe. We had moved into the house that summer, and it still felt strange and new to me. I did it used to its quirks, the wheezing, moaning noises it made in the dead of night, sounding ghostly and possessed, the whistling eaves and rattling shutters which seal off the attic, sounding like bones shaking in the wind sometimes.

Or like muffled screams. Holding my phone in my hand again, I unpaused the TikTok I had been watching. It had been close to the end of the video. The camera panned upwards, and I saw a person raising a black-gloved finger up to press a doorbell. Ding-don, ding-don! The familiar sound right now through my cell phone speakers. In the video, nobody came to the door. They began to press the bell again and again and again faster and faster and faster.

Ding don, ding don, ding don, ding don, ding on, ding don, ding on, ding on, ding on, ding on, ding on, ding on. It was too similar for me not to notice the coincidence. It sounded like what had happened at my own front door just moments before, although it was possible I was mistaken. Looking down at the bottom left of the screen, I saw it was a user who was unknown to me. The title of the video was Halloween Takeover. It had just been posted a couple minutes before. Another creaky noise could be heard above me from the second floor, this time sounding more distinctly like footsteps bending the squeaky wooden floorboards.

My heartbeat into pound faster and harder. I could feel it in my jugular. and in my temple. My throat and mouth were dry, and I felt anxious and panicked, more and more with each passing second. With a trembling finger, I scrolled up on my TikTok feed,

getting rid of the video and moving on to something else, anything else. It had just been a coincidence, nothing more. I refused to acknowledge the possibility of it being something more sinister. That was next to impossible.

The following video, was a live feed, I noticed. Had the previous one been as well? I wasn't sure. It seemed highly possible that it could have been, and I just hadn't noticed. As it played, I noticed the familiar look of the person recording,

looking at their black-shoed feet and the shadowy grass. Then suddenly they were standing on the stone-tile porch at someone's back door, someone else's house, I hoped, holding my breath. But those stone tiles looked very familiar, just like the wooden deck in the previous video had. This time there was no doorbell, so they knocked with a heavy fist. Bang, bang, bang, bang!

Jumping up from my seat, I heard the sound coming from my back door a few moments before I heard it on the app, as it traveled through the cellular network. There was no doubting it. They were at my back door. The same person who was recording the TikTok was outside my house. Feeling suddenly full of righteous indignation, I ran to the back door to give the asshole a piece of my mind. It was probably some punk kid from my school, trying to mess with me.

I was pissed off they had gotten me so good. Swinning opened the back door with a stinging retort ready on my lips, I looked outside into the night and saw... Once again, there was nobody there. I stepped out in my bare feet, walking onto the grass and looking around for the person responsible. The door hung open behind me, and I paid no attention to it as I yelled out into the night. Hey, I know what you're doing. You don't scare me, asshole. Come and get me. That last statement was one I would come to regret.

Going back inside, I closed the door and locked it behind me. From where I stood, the stairs to the basement were just to the right. the stairs to the main floor straight ahead. The darkness down to my right teased me with its unknown horrors, and the possibilities of what lurked within it, drenched in blackness as it was. But I ignored it and went up to the main floor, shuddering and closing the basement door behind me as quickly as I possibly could, feeling as if something would grab my ankle with a cold hand if I lingered too long.

There was a flimsy steel chain lock on the door, separating the main floor from the rear exit and from the cold dampness of the basement. We never used it, but this time I slotted it into position with my hands shaking badly. At least it would offer a modicum of security, but from what? That, I still didn't know. It was beginning to occur to me that it wasn't necessarily a kid from my class doing this. It could be anyone. It could be a murderer. My knees buckled slightly as that thought crossed my mind.

I went back to the living room and took a deep breath before sitting back down in the recliner. Holding the phone in my hands, I debated calling my parents. I thought about how it would sound if I did. Hey, Mom, I was on TikTok, and I saw a scary video, and they rang the doorbell in the video, and then our doorbell rang a second later, and there was nobody there, and then somebody knocked at the back door, and there was nobody there. It sounded delusional and paranoid. They would come home and she would say to my dad,

I guess you're right. He really wasn't ready to be home alone by himself. Maybe next year. There's no way I was going to let that happen. Whoever it was, I could handle them. Getting up, I went down to the hall to my room to grab my baseball bat. As soon as I got there and had it in my hands, the lights went out. The entire house was to take.

completely dark, eerily quiet, lacking all machine noise, and of course, I had left my cell phone in the living room. With the bat in my hand, I started to feel my way along the wall, finding the doorway and going out of the room into the hallway. The entire house was quiet, dark, and empty, as far as I could tell. But then why did I keep hearing the soft squeak of footsteps above me, coming from the second floor. That decided it for me. I was going to call the police as soon as I got back to my phone. Slowly moving through the blackened space,

I felt for the edges of the walls until I was in the kitchen, then moved past the locked basement door, filling a sense of disquiet as I did so, as if there was someone just on the other side. When I was right up against the basement door, I heard the sound of the knob turning, and goosebumps ran up myself. spine and covered my entire body. They were inside the house. The flimsy chain would only hold back

just the barest effort, judging by the looks of it. I didn't have much time. Whoever was on the other side of that door was not a kid from my school. I had a very strong feeling about that. They sounded angry and insistent as they turned the doorknob back and forth, and began to hammer and bang on the door. It rattled and shook in its frame. Running as fast as I could, no longer caring if I hurt myself at this point, I ducked out of the kitchen and over to my seat where I left my phone. My intention was to grab it and call 911, but I didn't even get that chance. A loud crash echoed through the house, and I heard the sounds of footsteps on the second floor, clearly now, running towards the stairs that led to the ground floor.

There was more than one of them in the house. My phone was blinking from where it lay on the recliner's armrest. I ran over to it in the pitch-black darkness, bashing my shin against the leg of a dining chair on the way. I finally reached it and unlocked it, just as I heard the basement door break open with a loud bang. The only thing I could think to do at that moment was to turn on the flashlight. I needed to see what the hell.

I was dealing with. Luckily, I got it on quickly, using a shortcut from the home screen, and turned it on, casting the room in a harsh white light. Walking over to the broken door, I saw there was nobody behind it, no culprit who could have caused the damage. My phone dinged, and I looked at the screen to see I had received a text message from someone. It was a link to a TikTok. Sorry about your door, a voice was saying in the video. It sounded ghostly and ethereal. Do you have any more candy? The bag in the basement was mostly tootsie rolls and licorice. I hate licorice. My parents opened the door and found me shaking in the recliner. All the lights turned off, staring at my phone, watching that. same video over and over again. It was our basement and our candy stash. Really? You sat here all night with the lights off eating candy and watching TikTok on your phone? My mom asked incredulously.

We're going to have to talk about cutting back your phone time. I would have thought you would at least give out candy to kids, maybe watch a scary movie or something. My dad sounded a bit upset, but I was barely registering what he was saying. My mom was going down to the basement, I realized with a start. Mom, don't go down there, I yelled, but it was too late. Yep, he ate all the candy down here too. You are in so much trouble, mister. I thought you'd have in light tutsy rolls. That was the night I learned that ghosts are real, and that once a year on Halloween, they return to their earthly home. to the places where they spent their fondest days. Our family had purchased the home from a couple who was downsizing after their kids passed away in a freak accident on a school trip.

Their son apparently loved TikTok and playing pranks on people. He also really loved candy, just not licorice, I guess. The daughter usually played upstairs in her room and was quiet and didn't cause any trouble. Greg and Alice were their names. I found out from my parents who had found out from the neighbors. They found out some other details, too. Other past owners of the house, some more controversial than others. It's not Greg and Alice who keep me up at night on Halloween, terrified to sleep.

It's the other one, the one Greg told me about. He stays up in the attic. That's why it was boarded up. He whispered to me in the darkness, after my parents had dawned to sleep. I didn't find out how scary he really was until I crossed the veil. I can see him up there, waiting. Just don't ever unlock those doors or open those blinds. All he needs is a little breathing room, and he'll be out of there next Halloween.

And you do not want to run into him. There's a reason he was locked up there to begin with. Halloween will be here again soon, in just a couple weeks. and my dad just decided to start renovations on the attic. The shutters were off for the first time in decades. The doors hanging wide open. He did it while I was at school. We just ought to let the air out.

My dad told me with an unrecognizable grin, looking very much unlike himself. We just got to let it breathe. For your bonus episode, creepy presents. Do not continue overruner. one mile up the path. It was a normal camping trip.

Was. My friends Malachi, Eric, and myself went up into the wilderness outside Estes Park. At the trailhead, there were no cars in the parking lot and a piece of laminated paper nailed in one of the trees. Do not continue more than one mile up the path.

The words were written by a clean hand in large block letters. We assume this was an old sign put up after the massive flood that damaged many trails a few years back. About a mile up the trail, the next sign appeared. Same sort of thing. Laminated paper, clean block letters. But this one was a little less explainable.

This area under constant surveillance. Thick forest all around? No cameras, cables, or anything man-made in sight. Well, other than the path cleared through the trees and the laminated signs. The trail was fine, so if it was damaged by the floods, it had been repaired. So we continued. Another mile up, we found another sign. This one was torn, shown only a few letters.

Turn, rev. The tear was ragged, and four cuts of the same shape showed on the bark of the large spruce. The marks were almost an inch deep and oozed fresh sap. We were beginning to get uneasy. Eric fished the bear spray out of his pack. We came to a consensus that bears probably wouldn't bother us and trotted further up the trail. Eric's swiveling around nervously with the spray in his hand. It was getting dark and we needed to find a place to camp.

About a quarter mile further up, we came to a small clearing and decided this is as good a place as any. When Malachi and I were setting up, Eric watched for bears. Suddenly, a rustling noise came out of the trees, followed by a loud, quick yelp, a clatter, and another louder rustling noise at the other side of the clearing. We spun around quickly. Jesus! I heard Malachi yell.

Eric was gone. The can of bear spray resting against the rock. A series of large scuff marks led from the spot Eric had stood to the trees. No new footprints were anywhere. other than a solitary pair left by Eric, which meant that whomever, or whatever, had stolen Eric, had launched itself out of the trees, grabbed him, and dragged him into the forest in less than one second,

covered a distance of about 15 feet, and did so without touching the ground. What the fuck? I asked nobody in particular. Malachi was stuttering and sitting on the ground babbling about how it took him and that, we're next. I pulled him to his feet and we ran. A loud roar echoed through the forest,

sounding like an air raid siren crossed with a wolf's howl. A rustling followed us up the path to the trees to the right, then suddenly passed over to the left and stopped. Malachi's hand jerked in mind and pulled for a second, then came back to normal. Malachi, you okay, man? You trip? I yelled back. No response.

Malachi? I realized there were no footprints running with me. I stopped. Malachi? I slowly turned around. Malachi's hand was still in mine. Only his hand. Wrenched off at the wrist.

Dark red blood steadily dripped off the severed appendage onto the dirt path. I screamed and dropped the hand. The leaves began moving off to the right. I froze waiting for whatever the fuck this thing was to grab me too. Only it didn't jump out. It strolled out. It stood about eight feet high at the hip. All six hips.

Six hips that led down into graceful horse-like limbs that ended in three-toed feet with sharp claws. The body was deer-like, with three-peated. with three pairs of legs spaced evenly across and a long slender tail stretching far back into the forest. The head was crocodile-like, with three sets of eyes perched on a long S-shaped neck. The neck stretched down to meet my eye level. I could see its jaws were red with blood.

It croaked out something that sounded extremely similar to human speech. Leave. It didn't have to tell me twice. I bolted. waiting to feel the jaws in the back of my neck. They never came. I turned as I ran and saw it standing there, watching me. It took me over 12 hours to stumble back to the trailhead, disoriented and exhausted.

As the sun began to rise, I came across the, this area under constant surveillance sign. As I came up behind the tree, I noticed the words on the back of the same. sign in a much smaller, lately colored font. I tore the sign off the nail and nearly shit myself. The text read, but not by anything human. 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.

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