Creepy - Day 31 - The Jack 'O' Lantern is Burning

Episode Date: October 31, 2021

Why is it doing that?***Written by Sum Gigh***Bonus episode: "My neighbors take Halloween a little too seriously" written by Kyle Harrison and narrated by Nate Dufort***Find our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.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. Hey everyone. Here we are. Day 31. We made it. I'm sure it's a mixed bagel motions for many of you, like it is for me. We put so much into this year's productions. And while it's nice to take a little break, it also means that Halloween's upon us.

And I know that in years past, we've done a day 32. But considering that we just put out 62 stories, I think we're going to take a little break as we get back into our normal production schedule. What? What do you mean tomorrow's Sunday and we have another episode due? Oh, come on! Fine. Fine.

So there will be another episode tomorrow, but it's not day 32. And it's not going to be Halloween related. Which might be because I misread a calendar and not for any other particular reason. Anyway, thank you for. listening to these series 31 days of horror. I hope you've enjoyed listening to it as much as we've enjoyed presenting it to you. Now, 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 our 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 31. The Jackalanturn is burning. Written by some guy. It's not a smell I would have expected.

And I don't really understand it. If anything, I thought it smelled like pie, something baking, cinnamon. But it's not, it's just burning, almost like something rotting. Sweet, but not. I don't know why. The days blend together for me mostly. This time of year, I wake up when the sun goes down and go to work. When the sun comes up, I go home.

Working on third shift is hard for some people. Working while the people are having dinner or watching TV or going to sleep or out partying. It doesn't bother me. I don't do much besides work. It doesn't bother me like it seems to bother everyone else I work with. I need money to pay for rent, so I have to work. It's pretty simple. It just is what it is.

So that's what I do. I don't know if that makes me smart or dumb. I don't know if I'm dumb. I can't even figure out why the jack lantern is burning. I work on an assembly line doing things no one much cares about over and over again. I don't really think about it. I just do it. I don't much think about what day of the week it is.

Someone's always going to say it. They'll complain it to Monday or see something like hump day. or say it's almost Friday. Everyone talks about Friday and the weekend, so I know not to come in the next day. This time you hear it's all sports, baseball, playoffs, football, teams I don't follow, stats I don't understand.

I just do my job, on the line. The muffled sound machinery around me is a drone through my headphones. I like it. It helps me to ignore the people I work with. I felt a smack on the back of my shoulder and I knew it was Jeff. He called me a dummy, but I could barely hear it through my headphones. He's a pretty big guy.

Looks old, but I don't think much more than 40. Still, he's been paying dues at the local for a long time so the boss gives him a lot of slack for being an asshole. I sighed and turned around. I didn't want to It meant I wasn't working And worse I meant I was looking at Jeff Acknowledging him

I moved the can off my right ear to hear him Mom used to say that's all guys like him want They want people to hear them Same as being a kid Same as high school Same as an adult Same as it ever was That's a song, right?

Jeff asked if I watched the game last night. He always shouted to be heard over the noise on the floor, to be noticed. He knew my name, but he calls me another name because I don't watch sports and laughs every time like it's a new joke. Then he looks over at Phil and Mike for approval. They smirk. I'm on the playground again. At least now I get paid. I need the money to pay bills.

I don't even bother to pretend. For some reason, this sort of answer is always funny, and Jeff laughs like it's the best thing he's heard. Other people laugh. I don't get it. I don't think anyone else does, but they laugh. I put my headphones on right again and turned back to my job. The hum of the machines went soft again. A hum.

I liked the hum. I'd focus on it, keep me from thinking about other stuff. I had work to do. A hand knocked my headphones off and I reached down to grab it, then pushed me from behind so I fell forward, my head hitting the edge of the line. But I don't remember that part. That's what they told me, kind of.

They told me I slipped, that I need to be more safe. The boss yelled at me as I sat across the desk from him, holding some paper towels to the bloody cut on my head. I didn't remember sitting down. He was red-faced, balding, sweat always on his forehead. Mad because he said I was clumsy and OSHA would shut us down. He said I was always causing problems. I'd never had an accident before. The boss was always mad at something.

I just happened to be in front of him. I told him I was pushed and looked out the big windows of the office that separated the office from the floor. Jeff and the others were staring at me. The boss said I fell, said it hard in the sort of way that he wanted me to say it. When I didn't, he called me stupid, said it was getting written up as my falling,

told me to go to the doctor, but threatened me if I even thought about filing workman's comp. I don't remember riding the bus to the hospital. The doctor said it was a concussion. I needed ten stitches to close the flaps of skin on my head. I don't remember getting on the bus home. I kept thinking about jackal lanterns. I don't know why.

I just did. I hadn't much thought about them in a long time. Maybe it was a time of year. Decorations. People talking about scary movies. I thought about curving pumpkins with Mom. Mom loved Halloween and all that stuff. I got scared to stuff a lot when I was younger,

but I liked curving jackal lanterns. Mom would have to scoop out the inside because I didn't like the slimy feeling. I thought about the sound of the spoon as it scraped away at the insides. The plop of the innards on the newspaper she laid out on the table. The smell of roasted seeds as we carved.

She would make amazing designs and faces. She didn't even need to trace them or anything. Mine always came out kind of lopsided, using that little orange saw to cut out triangle eyes and nose. Mom always needed to help me make teeth. I'd never get them right and end up cutting them off. She used to hum as she did it, smiling. When I want to remember what mom looked like, that's what I think about.

When we were done, she'd set them on the counter and ask me which one I thought was best. I always said it was hers because hers was the best. But she'd get this surprise look on her face and get all excited. Oh, really? Oh, I don't think so. Look what you made. Look at those eyes. You did all those by yourself? That's so great and that nose.

Look how the mouth just kind of looks like he's smirking. And she'd get this real quiet voice. Kind of like he knows a secret just for you. What do you think it is? I told her I didn't know, but I get all excited and proud because she was excited and proud. Then she'd say, I think it's that your mommy loves you more than anything. And I'd give her a big hug, even though that wasn't a secret. And she'd say, I tell you what, you pick which pumpkin you like best and we'll keep that one inside just for us.

And because of her, I'd pick mine because it made me feel special. We got 15 of those. Fifteen years of that, I mean, sort of. I guess I don't really remember the first few. Mom's dad, because of the man she dated, who wasn't my dad. I don't remember my dad. I hope he wasn't like Jared. I try not to think about it.

I don't tell people about it. The doctors tried to get me to talk about it, said it wasn't good to repress the feelings, but I didn't want to talk about it. Jared's dead now anyhow. And I'd rather think about the jackal anions. The whole way home I thought about jackalanons, so I went past my apartment, stopped to the store on the corner. It's not a very big store, but this time here they have a big cardboard box of pumpkins. I was trying to find one that didn't have too many weird flat size.

when the bell for the door chimed. That part doesn't matter, I guess, except that a slurred voice followed it, the voice calling me dummy. I didn't look up. I wished I still had my headphones on so I could just listen to the hum of everything else. I was confused, though.

Jeff should be of work. Didn't I just come from work? It didn't really matter. I kept looking through the pumpkins. If he didn't find a good one, it would get all lopsided, and the candle would burn weird. Was that the problem? I felt a hand on my shoulder as Jeff tugged me away from the pumpkins. He said we were going drinking.

I had never drank with Jeff. I didn't like drinking. I didn't tell him that, though, or why. I just went with him. My head was kind of foggy and thinking was hard. It hurt under my bandage. I just kept looking back at the pumpkins. I felt his hand on the back of my neck as we walked out the jingling door into the street.

I wondered why he wanted me to go with him. But he was alone and drunk. Maybe he didn't like that. Maybe I was better than nothing. I would have preferred than nothing as I looked back at the store again, wanting to get a good pumpkin. That's when I felt a sharp pain in my head and I jerked my head to the same. side. Jeff had poked at my stitches. My eyes went blurry for a second and I bent over thinking I was

going to throw up. Jeff told me to calm down. When my vision cleared, I was staring at Jeff, but kind of not. I guess I never looked at him much in the face, but at that moment he looked exactly like a jack-o-lantern. I mean, not really. Not like orange face or anything. But, but he looked. I mean, not really, not like orange face or anything. We had a missing tooth and kind of lopsided mouth like I used to carve when I wasn't good at it. And I started to laugh. Jeff didn't laugh. For a second I thought he was going to.

But I think you realized I wasn't laughing because of him, but at him. The more I laughed, the more I laughed. I never laughed at anyone before that I could remember, and I started to cry. my stomach started to hurt after a little bit. He yelled at me to shut up, but I couldn't answer. I just laughed. He swore at me and threatened me, but I couldn't stop, and I didn't want to. I was gasping, trying to tell him.

But I laughed so much, I thought it might pass out. I got kind of dizzy. You look like a pumpkin. And it's like I kind of understood when he would laugh at me for something that wasn't funny. I know it wasn't funny, but still, I laughed so hard I had trouble breathing. Pumpkin! I gasp. That's when Jeff punched me.

I remember getting home. At some point I must have stopped back at the store and got in a pumpkin. Because I remember spreading newspaper on the table. How hard it was to get the feel for cutting the top off after so many years. Scooping out their guts and plopping them down on the table. I didn't have problems with the guts anymore, meticulously carving out the eyes and nose and mouth as best I could. The sound of cutting.

When I was all done, I set it on the countertop. I was really proud of it. I did just like I'd been taught. I put it in the hall in my apartment building and put one of those little candles in it, with a metal ring around it and the wax just melts into a puddle. I wasn't out there for too long before I started to, smell it. I still don't know why the jack-o'-lantern was burning. I went out in the hall and checked on it,

and that's when my old neighbor yelled at me, saying I couldn't light them inside the apartment hall. I said I was sorry and didn't know, but I held it up to him to show it to him, and he kind of smiled. He said it was a good-looking pumpkin, and I agreed. I was glad the store still had some good ones left, not perfectly round, a little dirt on the back. But it was a good shade of orange, with a nice stem that met taking the top off easier. Still, I took it into the kitchen and set it on the counter. Why was it burning? I took the top off and saw the black mark and the soft yellow flesh of the pumpkin. I didn't get it. I blew out the candle and looked from it to my favorite, the one I kept inside just for me.

No one else. I had to put Jeff's head on a plate instead of the newspaper because all the blood. The candle still burned inside his mouth from where I slid open the sides and had to dislocate it to fit the candle inside. It's called the Glasgow smile. I learned that from Jared. And, Mom. It was burning just fine. The light shone through where I cut out the top of his mouth and pulled out his eyes with a spoon.

They didn't come out easy, so I had to kind of just pop them with a screwdriver and swirl it around in the socket until I could scoop them out. I thought maybe it would make more sense to cut off the top of the head, but I didn't. I would have needed a saw for that. Getting his head off his body was hard enough. I just stood there looking back and forth between Jeff and my jackalinter. I don't know. Maybe I didn't do it right. Mom always did things best.

Still, I didn't learn everything from her. I guess I just have to try again. Maybe some of the other guys from work can help me. Now that I get their jokes. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, My neighbors take Halloween a little too seriously. Written by Kyle Harrison.

and narrated by need to fort. Let me start out by saying, I am not a people person. When the pandemic hit North America, it's probably the best damn thing to happen to me. Most of my time is spent online anyway, seeking as I work in data collection for an auditing company. Let me tell you, that wasn't much fun either,

given how crazy this year had been. Anyway, none of that has to do with the problem I've been having, but I figure that most people start these types of rants off with a few anecdotal notes, so there you go. In a nutshell, I like to be left alone. This is why when I walked out in early September and saw that my neighbors were already beginning to decorate their house with spooky stuff, like inflatable Frankensteins and ghosts. That was a bit put off. Now, I'll admit they do this almost every year. They have four boys, all in elementary, and of course, they want the holidays to be a big time. So why would 2020 be any different?

It's just that their house sits adjacent to mine. So when I walk out, it's the first thing I see every single. day. And now, thanks to these over-the-top decorations, I was going to be seeing even more of it. Gradually each day, they added to the house. A few hanging plastic bats here, some spider webs there. I was doing my best to ignore it, really. And I know exactly how I'm going to sound here, being the Grinch of Halloween to some, so naturally I kept it to myself. But that ended a few nights back

when I started to hear the whales. They installed large stereo speakers near the attic, I think, because the screams coming from the attic were intense. It sounded like they had literally managed to get a sound bite from a crime scene. Let me tell you, hearing that kind of noise at 3.30 in the morning is a bit alarming. I instinctively dialed 911 and complained. I wasn't going to be up all night simply because they wanted to turn their place into a haunted house. Unfortunately for me, the police said that if it wasn't a serious problem where other neighbors complained,

that it wasn't a violation of any noise ordinances in the area. You can't be serious. Just listen to this. How am I supposed to get any sleep? I shouted, holding the phone so they could hear. Maybe that was a bit much, but I was pissed and had every right to be, I think. The operator reminded me that the line was meant for emergencies only and bid me a good night, leaving me frustrated and sleep deprived.

I went down to my kitchen, got a bottle of jack, and drank enough to knock myself out on the couch. trying to time the obnoxious screams. The next day, I'd cooled down a little. I went over to talk to my neighbor after breakfast. Crossing their front lawn was like going through a minefield, though, thanks to the pop-up ghosts and graves they'd placed in their yard. The first few nearly gave me a heart attack as I moved to the door, wrapping my knuckles on it to get their attention.

No one came. I tried again, but I tried again, and got no response. So I walked around to the garage and tried there. It was open, and I couldn't help but to notice their car was gone, and there was a large pool of fake blood on the concrete floor. I stepped forward and noted they had a few other decorations lying around, like severed heads and zombie body parts,

which I assumed to be placed in the yard. The whole thing smelled of high heaven. I held my nose and went to the door near their laundry room, trying again to get someone's attention. But again? No one came. I sighed deeply and walked across the fake blood and paused to see where the bizarre smell was coming from. There were trash bags laying near the garage door, soaking wet from the recent storm, and I rolled my eyes, realizing it had to be that.

Despite the fact that I wasn't feeling very neighborly, I went ahead and took the trash to the street and then went back to my house, wondering if any of my other neighbors would care enough to lodge a complaint. Other than this Halloween, not the other folks around here are pretty ordinary, but none of them live close enough to really hear the noise. I decided instead that night to try and record it, So that way I could let the authorities listen and prove I was dealing with a nuisance on my block.

Back home, I took a shower, got some equipment from downstairs ready to listen, but surprisingly, there was no screams that night. Just silence. I stayed up to the wee hours. I sound so old saying that, but it's true. I was thinking maybe they realized I'd called and complained about them, so that was why they were quiet. So I called it a night and decided to try again the next day. It was more of the same.

Not a peep. In fact, I was starting to notice that not one of my neighbors was coming out of their house. This guy has four kids. It's hard not to notice them in the early morning as they scrambled to catch the school bus, especially because the driver of the bus is so courteous he blast his horn to get moms attention for the littlest one to grab a face mask. But now, there was nothing happening. It was that way for nearly a week, and I started to grow worried.

At first I told myself it was because I hadn't gotten much sleep. Then I started doubting myself. What if the scream I heard hadn't been some kind of faux imitation? It rolled around in my mind like a pair of, of old dice, trying to figure out what I'd heard. What if the wife had been attacked? What if it was a break in? And I thought back to the fake blood and my body got stiff thinking of how I had stepped through it. Had I mistakenly walked into a real crime scene? The arms, the severed heads? My parent noia was screaming to me. My God, how could I have been so blind? I grabbed my wrist. I grabbed my wrist. I was

robe and rushed out in the dead of night to go see, using my smartphone to guide the way across the murky suburb streets. Their house was so quiet now, not even a light on. I started to doubt myself again. Had it always been this quiet? I saw the plastic bats and the pop-up graves, and they seemed like they had been there a lot longer than I remembered. The checking the garage got me nowhere. Now instead of seeing blood, it was spot. thoughtless, as though someone had come in and clean the entire crime scene, made me internally shiver as a dramatic scene played out in my mind. Chris, that was the husband's name. Chris was working in the kitchen, trying to get dinner ready because his wife Janice wasn't feeling good.

It was a plot he'd been brewing up for months, I told myself. He was gradually lacing her food to weaken her, and tonight he planned to finish the job. The scream I heard must have been when he realized something was off. Maybe Chris had decided he couldn't wait for her to just die. He wanted it swift. Had I seen him with a pretty young woman around town? Maybe. Yes, I think I had in that coffee shop near the town square.

Was he having an affair? If I was his age and knew his wife couldn't perform in the bedroom, I wouldn't have blamed him, but murder wasn't the answer. All these thoughts scrambled through my brain as I stood there in the garage. taking in what had happened. I needed to get inside and check on the wife. What if he left evidence? I ran back to my house, my heart racing now,

as I grabbed a few tools from my own shed. Some of them were missing, but I found what I needed. A crowbar could open my way into their house. I smashed it open in two tries and stepped into a dusty, dreary laundry room. Trying to turn the lights had gotten nowhere. Instead, it was obvious that the family wasn't paying their bills. The house was cold, like a tomb. My footsteps echoed down the empty corridor as I called out to anyone inside, but it looked like the place was abandoned.

I took a step forward when abruptly a fake axe smashed its way out of the wall and I jumped back. It was just another Halloween prop, but it looked so real, so lifelike. Chris must have finished placing up more Halloween decorations when he decided to go up stairs and take care of his wife. The boys were in the den playing video games when they heard the screams. I imagined them running up to check on their mom and then dad panicked. He must have thought that the games would be loud enough that they wouldn't hear or he'd hope that Janice wouldn't put up a fight at all. He had miscalculated and before he knew it, now he had a massacre on his hands. I walked up the steps thinking of how he likely had hunted his own children in the house. They must

been so frightened. I could see different places in the wall where they'd stopped to catch their breath or skirts in the rug where they had tried to hide, but their father was consumed with killing them now. He was on a mission. Their begging and pleading wouldn't stop him. The little one probably went first, I thought, as I got to the top of the stairs. The severed heads I'd seen the garage haunted me again as I thought of how he'd murdered them. It was beyond repulsive. Upstairs I saw what looked like a hanging corpse, was upside down from the rafters with its head loose as well, and it looked as it was meant to deter visitors from entering the master suite. I ignored the prop and pushed through, desperate to see if I was right about what had transpired.

But the room looked empty as well. Other than more Halloween decorations, it was another immaculate example of how Chris had gone so far to cover his tracks. What had he done with the rest of their body parts, though? I thought about the trash I had taken out and felt sick. He must have cut up all their bodies and planned to toss them out. I stood there in a daze, realizing how far he'd been willing to go. The poor children turned into shredded cheese just because of his lust for another woman. I couldn't help but to vomit and shudder as I ran to the bathroom.

As I heaved and caught my breath over the toilet, I checked in there for more clues. He had to have used chemicals on Janice's body in the tub, I thought, as I smelled the weird bleach. Dissolving her with acids would have been easy, but how'd he gotten access to anything like that? Then I thought about my own shit. Had he broken in and taken my own tools? Was he trying to frame me for this? I'm not sure why my brain jumped to that, but it instantly made me paranoid and I swallowed hard. What did I do?

I'd already contacted the police. Should I file another report? But they hadn't listened the first time, so now it made me feel like I was going to be a troublemaker. What if I was wrong about all this? I needed more proof, I decided. I moved back to the hallway where the corpse was dangling and got a better look at it. My stomach dropped as it occurred to me. this was no prop

it was Chris I scrambled to find a way to cut him down hoping to God he was still alive it seemed unlikely there was no way that anyone could be after a few minutes let alone days but still I did my best to cut him down and tried to resuscitate him

his skin was blue and his body was rigid I felt sick realizing that he'd killed himself after finishing his family It was the only answer that made sense. Some part of me felt it was deserved, though. My guess of how events played out was true. There was no way anyone with a conscience could live with themselves after killing their children, I thought.

I took my smartphone out and got a few pictures, the proof I would need to show the cops. Then I made my way out of there. It felt like the house was haunted now that I knew the reality of what had happened, and I didn't want to spend another hour in there. Not even one minute. Back home, I tiredly put the final pieces of the puzzle together in my brain. The only part that didn't make sense was Chris's lover.

Surely she would have come looking for them. Where was she? I got some shut-eye and tried to not be mortified by the thought that maybe Chris had gone after her too. The next day, I was rudely woken by the sound of police at my door. I didn't remember calling them, but I let them in anyway. What they told me had me feeling sick. They were there with a warrant to search my premises. One of my neighbors had reported suspicious activity in the area and sounds of screaming.

I nearly lost it, angered that they were taking these reports seriously instead of my own. But inwardly, my stomach was twisting and turning. What if Chris had somehow planted evidence against me before he committed suicide? The officers combed the house and brought canine units to sniff every nook and cranny. It didn't take long for them to find the trash bags, the ones I was sure that I had taken to the road, filled with body parts. The shed was next. They found trace evidence that my fingerprints were all over tools that were used to kill the family.

I started to vomit, trying to find words that made sense. Of course my fingerprints would be there. They were my tools for guns. God's sake. I hardly knew what else to show them. So I insisted to the two officers they needed to check out Chris's house. That was where the true crime had been committed after all. They questioned me for what felt like ours. I literally was sure I was going to the slamer for this perceived crime. It felt like my life was over. I was frightened, shaking like a leaf as I told them what I believed happened. This is just a misunderstanding. I pay my taxes. I'm

I donate to the city. These people are the ones that are sick, I stammered. I told them how this had started with the family obsession for Halloween. My mind started to play tricks on me again as I replayed events. What if it had all been one massive stunt? What if none of it were real? I was losing my mind. My world was spinning.

Were these even real cops? If so, they're going to toss me in a cell and throw away the key. But if not? I panicked as they kept writing the report and told them I needed to use the restroom. I went to vomit and to think. There wasn't going to be any way out of this if this was real. All the evidence pointed toward me. My palms were sweaty and I started to convulse.

There had to be a way out. I slammed my fist against the glass, causing shards to break in my hand. My fist was bloody now, but my hand was no longer shaking. In that moment a new version of events played out in my head, one where I was the culprit. I'm not a people person. I hate my neighbors. Their decorations keep me up all hours of the night, Halloween, and Christmas. This year, I'd hoped that the pandemic would stop them, but it seemed to spur them on even further.

Had I gone over there to confront them, got into a heated argument, and killed them all? It couldn't be. I didn't remember doing that. My reflection showed a twisted and dark smile and it sent shivers down my spine. What was happening to me? I slammed at the glass again, trying to make it break entirely. The police managed to break the bathroom door down and pulled me away. The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur.

They gave me something to calm my nerves and started talking about the event. the reality of what had happened over the past few days. My neighbors have been dead for a year now, they said. And another neighbor down the street had grown concerned for my well-being when it seemed that I'd checked on them more frequently, as though I thought they were still alive. They had no evidence to hold me because the trash bags that had body parts didn't seem to hold any fingerprints,

so couldn't have easily been someone else that had dropped them there. They'd been sitting in my shed, sliced up and mutilated for a year now. The police bid me a good night, having finished with their wellness check, and I stared out toward the neighbor's house. It was abandoned, a crime scene from a year ago on Halloween,

when I'd grown tired of their screams and antics. And as I stared at their decorations, I saw their ghosts standing in the front lawn, glaring at me, pointing at me for their deaths. I now know how this Halloween will play out because, even though I didn't anticipate this nightmare, now I've become part of their celebration. From everyone here at Creepy, happy Halloween.

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