Creepy - Day 39 - The Seven Deadly Sins

Episode Date: December 30, 2017

There aren't always names for the things that haunt us. Maybe it's a place, maybe it's a thing, maybe it's a person. Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between.***Trigger Warning: There are some depictions of child abuse and murder. ***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***Music composed by Steve Blizin***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.

This episode of creepy is presented by Patreon supporter Stephen Williams and Garrett Salvador. Our patrons make this show possible. Please check out how you can support this podcast at creepypod.com support or patreon.com creepypod. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents The Bad Days. Day 39. The Seven Deadly Sins I'm recording this so that I can keep a bit of sanity. This is my suicide now This is the end for me

I just want this down So others may see why death brings suffering Why you can't let one person die in your life My daughter got home from school at about 2 p.m. Her being in kindergarten class They sent a little tikes home before the others I thought that I could get in an hour or two into some TV movies.

I finished at around 140, exactly after I turned the television off, a ring came at the door. I walked to the door, sell a little girl with her mother, selling girl's skull cookies. I happily bought them and started eating the TIGL lungs. I gave the little girl a tip.

When delivering cookies in the heat of Florida, you have to have a bit of decency. About 25 minutes later, my daughter got home. Hello, Daddy. She's sad throwing herself on me. I chuckled and got her some lunch. It was definitely a normal day.

Until that night. Then around 1.40 a.m., my daughter screamed bloody murder. I quickly jumped out of bed and ran to her room. I threw the doors open and saw my daughter huddled up in a little ball on the corner of her bed. I grabbed her quickly and turned the lights on in her room. What I saw was completely chilling. I saw, written in red paint on the wall. Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.

Sins of your forefathers, sins you can't hide. What the hell was that supposed to mean? The seven sins. My daughter started to hyperventilate. She started saying, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, over and over again. I grabbed her asthma and heel and I tried to give it to her, but she was so far into an asthma attack that she couldn't really do much.

I ran to my car with her and placed her in the back seat and drove as fast as I could to a nearby hospital. We were instantly admitted and she was safe from going into cardiac arrest. It turned out that my daughter, at five, had heart disease. It was about seven years later. And during those seven years, the things started to get really bad. It was Christmas time.

I had a wife, Samantha, and a son named Gregory. My daughter, Haley, was 12 years old. Gregory was about four. I was loving my life. The kids were happy. Samantha and I were happy. It was great, except for those previous years.

The first year, all the women around me became aroused and flirted with me constantly. You want to know why that was bad? Because every one that I rejected killed themselves in some horrid way. One gutted herself with a kitchen knife, another hung herself from the gutter on her house. The second year, my daughter became infatuated with, food, so much that her heart condition worsened. She was rushed to the hospital over 10 times during the course of the year. But when the year was up, she became anorexia and stopped eating much altogether. The third year my house went into foreclosure and I became very stingy with money and food.

We later found out that the landowner of our house still had rights to our land and was stealing money out of my credit card for two years. I'm lucky that I met Samantha, and she let my daughter and I move into her home. We married in December and had my son in October. The fourth year, I was called by many talent agencies, asking about my amazing singing skills, which had shown off when I sat in with a band a month before the year started. The thing is, when I said no, They would keep calling me and calling until they became violent, calling me foul names. One of them even tried to kill me right outside my house, shot at me with a handgun, and clipped my ear.

The fifth year, I became inexplicably angry at my daughter and wife for everything. I became abusive in the month of December. But in that same month, I fell down the stairs and suffered brain damage, but so little damage that it gave me. little memory as the years past. I can only recall this because my daughter told me about it. The sixth year, my daughter became jealous of my son getting all the attention. I tried to tell her that babies need more attention than ten-year-olds.

She became angry and violent. She eventually ran away. I called the center for missing and exploited children. They found her in the abandoned house next to us, hiding in one of the closets. She was starving, and eventually kicked her anorexia. It was a seventh year by now, and nothing had really happened at all. As until that night, it had exactly 1.40 a.m. that the shit hit the fan. I heard my daughter's scream.

A blood-curdling scream. I quickly ran to a room and saw that something broke my heart, terrified me. A man stood looking at her bed, holding a sleek knife. He grabbed her and ripped her open with the blood. Hard to even think about it. But he took all that remained of her. Jesus Christ, I was so proud of her. My baby, it's the eighth year now. My wife left me. My son barely knows me and I curse myself every day. My late wife who bore my daughter. I know that it was you who gave me this curse.

You always hated me. I couldn't save you. I never could and you hated me for it. So now... Hello. This is Gregory. The boy in the story. I'm 36 now.

And I was given this recording from the police about a year ago. This suicide note was recorded by my father back in 1980. I was only five years old. When my mother got the news about my father, she cried for about an hour. I was alone, too. And it wasn't until ten years later that my mother gave me the real story. She cried crocodile tears when she heard the news. The only emotion she harbored for my dad was hate.

See, my father did all those horrible things you heard in the story. My father went insane at 1.40 a.m. in 1973, the date of his first wife and his anniversary. Psychologist saw him when his wife died and suspected that his wife's death was all his fault. He created an excuse and based his so-called revenge on the seven deadly sins. The night of his wife's anniversary, he gave his daughter a shot of steroids, which gave her the heart condition. He killed every woman who flirted with him for one year, making their deaths look like suicides. The second year? He stepped his daughter full of food, making her eat the largest portions. He became upset that he didn't kill her, so he made her throw up her food after every meal when the year was up.

The third year? He sold his house and let my mom use money for her. from his credit card. He also became abusive for many years after. The fourth year, he claimed that he was the most talented singer ever, calling talent agencies and such. When they turned him down, he would call them fallow names, he even tried to kill one man. He shot the man right outside of his studio, clipping him in the ear.

The fifth year, he tried to kill my mom and late sister many times. but my mother retaliated in pushing him down the stairs. He acquired short-term memory loss and couldn't remember much about that month. The sixth year, he drove my sister out of the house, calling her stupid bitch or fucking whore. She hid in the house next door and my father called the lost child agency. The cops quickly turned her back into our house, which my mother frequently called hell. The seventh year my dad was very tame. He became a very nice man, happy, and was so proud of his behavior.

Until 1.40 a.m. On the night of his wife's anniversary, he killed my sister with a kitchen knife and fled with her remains to the Bahamas. I still cannot believe it to this very day. At the beginning of the eighth year, he killed himself. The police says it was. suicide. He created a makeshift news out of organic material. They all lie.

Because I know that rope was my sister. For more information including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for

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