Creepy - Day 4 - Doorway to Serenity & Group Therapy

Episode Date: October 4, 2024

Doorway to Serenity***Written by: ExRwood and Narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***Link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Doorway_to_Serenity***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/***Group Therapy***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/***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 the most magical time a year. It's day four of the 31 days of horror, a time of cool winds, falling leaves, costumes, and pumpkins. When the veil between what we know and what we will never understand is the thinnest,

and the darkness that creeps around in the shadows is free to play. You're listening to K-R-E-P, and I'm your host, The Creep, himself, and I'll be with you all night long, whether you know I'm there or not. The phone lines are lit up, and the emails are coming in. Let's see what they have to say. Caller, you're on K-R-E-P. Hey, creeps, I've got a story to tell you. I'm all ears.

What do you want to tell me about? It's the doorway to serenity. Ethan and John sat in the warm sand. They sipped their beers and stared out at the horizon, lost in thought. Waves lapped at the shore as the gray concrete pilings of the pier loomed overhead, casting long shadows down the beach. Ethan broke the silence. You seem better. Better?

John said. You weren't doing too good after she died, Ethan said. John smiled and finished his beer. Yeah, I feel better. That's good. Ethan pulled another beer from the cooler and passed it to him. You're not going to ask why? John said.

Ethan shaded his eyes to watch the wetsuit surfers bobbing in the blue-green water. John had been drowning in guilt over how he'd left things with his mom. They'd barely spoken the past few years, and in the end, John had refused to see her before she died. After the funeral, Ethan had watched from a distance, waiting to see if John would be strong enough to pull through or end up drinking himself to death. Caring about people makes you weak.

Ethan shrugged. Xanax? Therapy. Nope. John chuckled. I've been trying to figure out if I should tell you. You won't believe it. Raising his eyebrows, Ethan said,

Try me. After mom died, I spiraled. I took pills. I drank, but nothing helped. I lost my job. My stepmom finally threatened to kick me out if I didn't straighten out. I remember, Ethan said. Then I heard something from a friend,

a way to change things. It sounded completely crazy, but I'd already lost my mind, so why the hell not? John looked at Ethan. Fucking thing worked. What worked? Ethan said. The doorway.

Ethan blinked. The doorway? Look through the center of the pier. See how the last set of pilings looks like an open door into the sky? John said. Ethan squinted at the particular opening several hundred feet offshore. Okay, sure. If he swim in and out of the columns in just the right way at just the right time, And then swim out through that doorway.

You end up in a memory. John finished his beer with a belch. Uh-huh. Sounds like a lot of work when I can already see my memories when I want. He tapped his temple. In fact, it sounds like bullshit. It's not just seeing a memory. You can change things, John said.

Ethan snorted. Changing a memory. Pretty sure I've seen that movie. John sighed and glared at him. Fine, you pick a memory and change it somehow. Continue. Ethan said, waving his hand in the air. I was told you can't.

can't pick what memory you end up in. Whichever one it is, you have to figure out how to change it to get what you want." John said. Ethan rolled his eyes but kept quiet. When I swam back through the doorway, I was back at my eighth birthday party. That was the last year my parents were together. Things were falling apart fast. my mom pulled out all the stops for my party. At the end of the day, I remember I hugged her

for what seemed like forever. John smiled. When I hugged her this time, I told her, I was sorry we fought, that I was sorry I wasn't there when she died. John stared at his hands. I said goodbye. Sounds like a hallucination. John drew a sharp breath. Ethan put his hands up. I'm not saying you didn't say goodbye or whatever. I'm just saying you didn't have to swim around in circles and almost drown yourself. You could have just taken some shrooms or something.

John laughed. Maybe. The strange. The strangest part is, when my stepdad called a few weeks back, I told him about saying goodbye, but I lied and said it was a dream. He got quiet for so long I thought his phone died. Then he said, my mom told him on her deathbed that I had said goodbye to her at my eighth birthday party, and she finally understood why. He'd never told me she said that because he assumed she was out of it from the pain meds.

Ethan stared out the doorway. You think you changed something in real life through a memory? Yeah, I thought maybe you'd want to try. Ethan narrowed his eyes. He didn't need some superstitious bullshit to feel better. That's for the week. Why do you think that? Because I've known you forever.

You've always been kind of quiet, but you went into depressed hibernation mode after that kid, Peter, tried to kill himself and ended up a vegetable. You snapped out of it eventually, but after Peter died, you started drinking a lot, and barely leaving your room, John said.

I didn't realize you two were friends. We weren't. It's just a coincidence. Ethan opened another beer and took four big gulps. John stared at Ethan. If you say so, whatever the problem is, you've already tried sleeping your life away. You've tried drinking. He said, tilting his head toward the empty cans in the cooler.

What's next? Suicide? Ethan stared and glanced at John. John nodded. I've been there. Try this instead. It works. I swear. There. Ethan scowled. A large seagull landed on the beach a few feet away and eyeballed the cooler.

He tossed an empty beer can at the bird. It squawked and flapped away in a flurry of sand and feathers. John grinned and looked out through the doorway. I'll tell you exactly what to do. Two weeks later, Ethan sat and sat and his room, checking the surf report. It had been storming near Alaska recently, sending swells rolling into Southern California. He sighed and looked at the instructions John had scribbled down. This is either going to be a near-death experience or suicide. Step one. There has to be big waves, at least shoulder high. He glanced at the laptop again.

Check. Step 2. The swim has to be done at night with a new moon. No lights allowed. Ethan did a quick search for the lunar cycle this month. There was a new moon that night. Check. Step 3.

You have to weave around all 13 columns on the right side of the pier. Start by swimming under the pier, then head outside between the first and second column on the right, swim back inside the pier between columns two and three. Continue through all the columns until you come back inside between 12 and 13. Then swim straight out through the doorway. Bingo. life becomes perfect. When Ethan asked why steps one and two were necessary,

John had said the darkness and the waves make it difficult. Otherwise, any random guy swimming under the pier would go through the doorway. Ethan had also asked how in the hell you're supposed to swim between the columns if you can't see them. John had put one arm out in front of him and closed his eyes saying, You have to feel for them. Ethan rubbed his face. This is stupid. You can't change the past. He sighed and reached for his beer, but stopped short of drinking it.

I'm probably going to die. He barked out a hollow laugh. Am I too weak to live? Who cares how I die? Ethan stood under the pier as a brisk breeze blew off the water. The waves crashed against the shore in regular sets. He kicked off his flip-flops and sunk his feet into the cold, damp sand. He pulled up and zipped his wet suit before stretching to warm.

up. The dim sodium lights from the distant parking lot illuminated the outline of the first columns of the pier and the water's edge. Everything else was hidden in darkness. Off to his left and about a hundred feet offshore, greenish lights shimmered under the water, as if UFOs were swarming beneath the surface. Must be night divers, headed out to the canyon. He walked to the edge of the water and waited for a lull. When it came, Ethan took several breaths and moved out into the chilly dark water. As soon as it reached his hips, he dove in and swam to the right, heading between the first two columns.

One, inside. He reached out his left arm and felt for the rough concrete piling of the column two. His fingertips caught the edge. Two, outside. He turned left, following it around to come back under the pier. Three, inside. Four, outside. Five, inside.

He made good time in the lull. He'd been on the swim team in high school, and he still did roughwater swims in the cove. As Ethan rounded column six outside, the waves grew bigger. Finding his way while being tossed about was almost impossible. He managed to get around column seven,

Inside, but finding Column 8 outside seemed to take hours. His arms and legs burned and his breathing grew ragged. At column 9, inside, his elbow collided hard with a piling. His hand went numb. He stopped and shook out his arm, treading water he tried to orient himself. Off his left, he saw diver's lights glimmering before a wave crashed over his head. He surfaced, took a deep breath, and continued. As he swam around column 10 outside, some of the tension left his shoulders.

With only two columns left before passing 13 and swimming out the doorway, Ethan caught a second wind and pushed himself with everything he had. Eleven, inside. He was headed between columns 11 and 12, when a monster waves slammed into him, pushing him away. He fought against the undertow. His shoulder scraped the sandy bottom. When he finally resurfaced, he ground his teeth. Where am I?

He bobbed in the waves and tried to catch his breath. A moment later, something bumped into his leg. He gasped and spun around, searching the black water. His heart pounded. Shit, don't be a shark. Don't be a shark. He took off swimming as fast as he could, for where he thought Colum's 11 and 12 were. His hand found a piling, and he made it around, twelve outside. Just as a wave crashed over him.

It held him under. And then another wave came, and another. Ethan was tossed around in the wash. He clawed and kicked, his lungs burned. Even with his eyes open wide, he couldn't tell which way was up in the churning black. in the churning blackness. A piling collided with his head and back, driving the last bit of air from his lungs. His vision narrowed and faded to nothing. The sound of the waves became a ringing in his ears. Ethan opened his eyes. A bright full moon came into focus. He sat up and groaned.

His body felt like it had gone through a washing machine. He rubbed the back of his head, expecting to find a large lump. His eyes widened. He felt fur, rough plastic fur, like cheap stuffed animals were made out of. He glanced down and saw pink fur from head to toe. Even his feet had bunny slippers, complete with blue-button eyes, staring sapily up at him. Reaching up to the top of his head with trembling hands, he found two bunny ears. His mouth fell open.

He looked around. The deserted street was lit only by the moon. The asphalt underneath him was pig. and broken. The cracks filled with scraggly dead weeds. Long abandoned, one-story houses with peeling paint and toppled fences lined the street. The dark holes where the windows had been looked like empty black eyes watching him. Ethan shivered. Trees rose behind the houses, with gnarled hands reaching toward the sky. The distant yipping of coyotes echoed through the woods,

sounding like a wild party. He stood up on shaky legs and almost tripped over a lumpy gray pillowcase. The world spun. He panted. Stumbling to a rotted fence post, he leaned against it. When the world steadied, he discovered his point of view was lower than it should be. What the hell? A young, trembling voice came from his mouth.

It's Halloween, isn't it? This is where it all started. He broke out in a cold sweat. Dear God, I'm ten years old. Ethan's eyes followed a faded yellow line on the road as it curved up and around, ending in a cul-de-sac. Something stood in front of the house at the very end of the circle. He swallowed hard.

Picking up the crinkling candy-filled suitcase, he walked toward the house. Drawing closer. He saw the figure was a small. fidgeting cowboy. The cowboy's eyes were opened wide, and he clutched a yellow pillowcase in front of his chest with both hands. His hat was too big. It wobbled on his head as he kept turning to look behind him. He hadn't seen Ethan yet. Ethan snuck through the yard and ducked behind a garbage can near the cowboy. He waited a moment before jumping out. Boo! The boy jumped and screeched. Ethan laughed.

Stop shrieking, Peter. It's me. I thought you were a ghost, Peter said. A pink, furry ghost? Ethan chuckled menacingly. and said, I'd worry more about the coyotes. Ha, ha, yeah. Peter's eyes darted around. He tilted his head back to see Ethan's bunny ears, and his hat slid off into the dusty remains of the lawn.

He shook the dirt off and shoved it back onto his head. I was worried you weren't going to show. What are you anyways? He said. The Easter Bunny? But it's Halloween. Peter said with a frown. Ethan smiled.

That's the joke, dumbass. Let's go. He pulled a small flashlight out of his pillowcase. Clicking it on, he moved between two houses toward the wood. He knew exactly where to go. Peter scurried to catch up. You sure this is going to work? He walked so close, his shoulder kept bumping Ethan's.

Oh, quit being a baby. And yeah, this is going to work, Ethan said. Peter had been the shy kid in school. Over the years, Ethan had won. as he'd gotten bloody noses or black eyes almost every week without ever once standing up for himself. Peter had been weak. This year, when they'd turned ten, Ethan told Peter he knew a spell to help him get stronger. Ancient magic his grandma had brought from the old country. To do it, they'd have to go past the abandoned houses at the end of of town into a clearing in the woods.

It had to be done under the light of the full moon on all hollows Eve. So, what's the spell? Peter asked. I told you, it's something my grandma did for me. That's why I'm strong. Ethan pointed at Peter's pillowcase. Did you bring the stuff I told you to? Peter nodded so fast that his hat almost fell off again.

He opened the pillowcase and said, Chicken bones? A very sharp knife. Twine, dried sage leaves, a lighter. Ethan nodded. His bunny ears flopped back and forth. The woods were silent, except for the sounds of their feet crunching dead leaves. A large twigs snapped somewhere in the woods and Peter jumped.

He walked faster, his head swiveling around. I can't wait to eat all this candy. Where did you trick or treat? Did you do that math homework? It was hard. I'm getting hungry. Peter chattered for several minutes. Will you shut up?

Ethan hissed. Peter snapped his mouth closed and nodded. After 20 minutes, Ethan reached out and grabbed Peter's shoulder. Peter yipped. Ethan rolled his eyes. We are here, he said, pointing to the clearing. He clicked off the flashlight. With the moon almost directly overhead,

they saw everything in sharp detail, tall weeds swaying in the breeze, a fire-chard canyon oak at the far end of the clearing, a large barn owl resting on one of its branches. The owl hooted softly and ruffled its feathers. Take off your shirt and lay down over there, Ethan said. Peter shivered. But it's freezing out here. Fine, I'll just go home then.

Peter jumped. Don't. I'll do it. As he tilted his head to unbutton his shirt, his hat fell off and rolled into the clearing. Eyeing the tall weeds, he said. Think there are rattlesnakes in there? Ethan sighed. He grabbed Peter's pillowcase and pulled out the magic items.

He remembered his younger self had spent the week prior reading up on what you needed to cast a spell. Bones, blood, and sage were used in lots of them. Peter finally laid down. Ethan used the twine to tie the large sage. leaves into a bunch. He lit the end on fire and blew it out, watching it smolder for a moment. Walking in a circle around Peter, he waved the spicy, thick smoke in the air. I hope my mom's not going to be mad about the sage. She was going to use it for Thanksgiving, Peter said.

Shut up! Ethan snapped. He made two circles around Peter and then picked up the bones and knife. He laid the bones in the grass around Peter's head like a halo. He grabbed Peter's cold hand and pricked his index finger. Ouch, what? yelled Peter. Quit whining. You need blood for spells.

Ethan said. He squeezed Ethan's finger. until a fat drop welled up. Peter grimaced as Ethan used the blood to smear a red pentagram on his forehead. Ethan took the remaining twine and tied Peter's hands and feet together. Peter's eyes grew wide and he quivered but stayed quiet. Ethan stood up and dusted off his furry knees. Now, for the spree,

bell. He raised his hands to the sky and said some words in Hungarian, repeating them over and over while waving the sage around. He bit his cheek to keep from smiling. He told Peter they were ancient words of power. They were actually the curse words his grandparents had hurled at each other whenever they'd argue. Almost done. Ethan said. He picked up the knife again and sat on Peter's abdomen. Oof, what are you doing?

Peter said. This is the last part. Ethan said, as he raised the knife above his head. Peter yelled. Stop missing around. I don't want to do the knife. this anymore. He bucked, trying to throw Ethan off, but Ethan was too heavy. Peter cried hysterically. He feebly swung his tied fists at Ethan. Ethan ducked and slapped him. He slapped him again

and again until Peter's nose bled. Peter stopped fighting and lay sobbing. Ethan raised the knife as high as he could. He laughed and brought it down. Peter shrieked and squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment, he cracked his eyes open. Ethan's face was close to his. Peter glanced to the side and saw the knife sticking out of the ground next to his head. He could feel the cold metal touching his ear. This is how it ended, Ethan said.

What? Peter said. The first time, you passed out and I left you in the woods. Ethan squirmed, and Ethan scooted up toward his chest to keep him still. He pulled the knife out of the ground and stared at the blade. The spell was bullshit. You were always so weak and I felt sorry for you. I hoped a near-death example.

experience would toughen you up. Ethan sighed. But it didn't. Peter's eyes were wide and focused on the knife. He cried again, the tears sliding down the sides of his face. The day we graduated from high school, you hanged yourself. But you didn't even get that right. You were still alive when your dad found you and cut you down.

You were a vegetable for two years after. Ethan stared into Peter's eyes without blinking. I visited you in the hospital a few months ago and ended your pathetic existence. A fleeting smile passed across his face. I still felt sorry for you. Ethan turned the knife blade until he could see the moon reflected. didn't it? I shouldn't have cared about you in the first place.

You made me weak. You made my life miserable. He moved the knife to the left side of Peter's neck. Peter screeched, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Peter said, I'm not even sure if this is real. Maybe I'm dead. He leaned down to Peter's ear, whispering,

"'Doesn't matter, though. I'm going to do what I should have done the first time.' He drew the knife across Peter's throat from ear to ear. Peter's eyes shot open as a curtain of blood poured from his neck. He gasped, trying to scream. His body thrashed and convulsed. More of his blood flowed out with every pump of his frantic heart. His struggles grew weaker. Crimson saliva bubbled from his mouth.

He stopped moving, his empty eyes staring up at the moon. Ethan stood up on trembling legs and used his furry arms to wipe the blood from his face. grabbing his flashlight with shaky hands. He moved around the clearing, gathering, gathering up all of the magic items, and tossing them into his pillowcase. The skin on the back of his neck itched. It felt like Peter's eyes were following him. He picked up the cowboy hat and placed it over Peter's face.

Near the oak, he found some rocks. The owl watched with unblinking eyes as Ethan stripped off his blood-soaked bunny suit and stuffed it into the pillowcase along with several heavy rocks. He tied the pillowcase shut with a knot. On his way home, he would toss it over the bridge into the river along with the knife. The coyotes cried again. They sounded close. Ethan took a long look at Peter's body and turned to leave.

The moon went behind a cloud, plunging him into darkness. His ears were filled with a sound of churning, roaring water. He spun around, eyes wide. A torrent of cold water drenched him. His teeth shattered. His knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. He tried to get up, but couldn't move. He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. His ears rang as his consciousness faded to nothing. Hey, hey, are you all right? Ethan opened his eyes and winced. His head throbbed. He rolled over and vomited what felt like a gallon of seawater.

frowning, he wiped his nose and mouth. His hand came away bloody. An older woman in a wetsuit hovered next to him with a flashlight. Behind her were several air masks, tanks, and fins. The woman put her hand on Ethan's shoulder. My friends ran to the car to call for help. Are you okay? Ethan sat up and scanned the shoreline.

The pier was nowhere in sight. A grin crept across his face, and he laughed. Yeah, I'm finally okay. And now a word from our sponsors. Before we disappear into the ether, I have an audio recording from our mailbag that I'd like to share. Hope he doesn't get into trouble sharing something from his... Groups Therapy.

Well, let's get started. I see some new faces here today, which is a good and bad thing, right? If no one minds, I'll get things started tonight. I haven't shared in a bit, and, well, I think it would be good for all of us. For our new people, my name is Mike. It's been, um, it's been three days since my last. Session. I'm sorry.

I'm so fucking sorry. I just... I tried. I'm not sure if any new face is dealt with a relapse. I know some people never do. But the long-time members of the group know this has been the story in my life. This group is my accountability. And most of the time, it's exactly what I need to stay grounded in my life.

Over 20 years I've been battling this And honestly I don't even know if I'd consider any of this Winning or Losing anymore Do you think God will judge us for this Or does he already And that's why

I was 15 when it all started I can't say I remember all that much before it happened I mean of anything but does anyone? My memory feels more like a photo album I turned through once in a while. Maybe some of the pages got stuck together and I forgot something with stuff. I remember later. I wonder how long it's been since I ever thought about a life

that didn't carry this kind of baggage with it. I was kind of a lonely kid. But I think all kids kind of are. You only know the attention you get as a child. So when there is an attention of any kind of, it feels empty. I had some friends in the neighborhood, but not many. There just weren't a lot of kids my age around, so summers were kind of dull.

Latchkey kid, so it was what it was. Then one day, something was different, like there was a voice inside my head. But it wasn't saying anything. I had these new feelings, and, when I tried to talk to my mom about it. God forbid I talked to dad about anything outside of sports or my grades. She said it was normal. Just a part of growing up and going through puberty.

She struggled even saying the word puberty, as well as the sort of household we had. Not so much religious, as much as avoiding anything difficult. So I didn't think about it. Why would I? Why would I believe anything? other than what mom said. I had no perspective to what was really going on.

I had no idea at all. Until that morning I woke up in a place I didn't recognize. It was brick, stone, cold. But I remember sweating. I was only wearing my tidy whitties, and I couldn't move. Not really. I thought I was paralyzed, but of course I would.

Why would I ever think that my arms and legs were tied down with leather straps? What fucked up life would I have had to live to suddenly wake up and be of the mind to immediately identify being bound to a bed? So it took a minute from my mind to process all of it, especially the man in black standing over me. Because that's all he was to me, a man in black. My family didn't go to Catholic Church, so the extent my experience with priests was if I saw him on TV. But around that time, the only priest I could have named was from the show MASH. Of course, he almost always wore green. Didn't help that he was throwing water at me and speaking a language I didn't understand.

You think my parents were scared? Standing there in the dark corner of that room, imagine what I felt. It was a confusion, even betrayal. They wouldn't tell me why I was there. They wouldn't say anything to me. Even when my mom cried out that she loved me, the priest told her to be quiet and not talk to it.

That just confused me more. Why was I it and not him? And that voice in my head that I thought was my voice told me to fight the restraints. Why wouldn't I? My own mind told me to. Mom said it was just puberty, so everyone had that voice in their head.

The one that kind of sounds like them, but not quite. The one who would tell me all the terrible things that the people around me thought and did in their private lives. I stopped playing with my friend Tim because all the horrible things I knew his parents did. All the horrible things that he thought of me

but was too chicken shit to say. But the voice knew. So I knew. I can't really remember the details. My mind just sort of fills in the blanks with bits and pieces of what came later. But I do remember the feeling. The feeling a few minutes before they undid the straps. Watching my mom crying into my dad's shoulder.

Normally seeing my mom cry would have been instant tears, even for a moppy teenager like me. But I couldn't think about that. It didn't matter. Something was wrong. Something was off. I felt empty. The world felt silent.

The feeling. Right? That's the feeling. The one we can't ever feel again. Even if we wanted to. That voice in my head wasn't talking anymore. It was gone. Everyone around me seemed to be happy or relieved or some combination of the two.

But I couldn't share that with them. I didn't feel happy or relieved. I felt sad. Mom and dad didn't talk about it afterward. They barely talked at all. Not to me, not to each other. And I couldn't understand why. What was wrong with it?

the thing was when it was all over all I felt was empty alone before this group I thought that's how I was supposed to feel my whole life

from Sunday school to confirmation to getting married in the church to every horror movie about the devil I have been inundated with the idea that possession is bad that the empty feeling I have inside me now, that's normal.

That's what's supposed to be there. But how can I explain it to people outside this room? How can I make them understand that the only time in my life that I didn't feel alone in some way was when I was possessed. When I was sharing a mind and body to someone, something else. I hated the feeling.

I resented the people who seemed just fine to live a life so boring, so quiet. And look what the world's turned into now. There's no silence. There's always something. Scrolling through your phone, watching a video, listening to music or podcasts. Even the people who claim to want silence will then post videos and updates of vacations in the wilderness. Why? because they hate the silence.

They hate not having validation. But that's how it felt for all of us, isn't it? Sometimes the voice is mad. Mean, even cruel, right? But how is that different from comments on the internet? Articles breaking down why a movie sucks, with some celebrities ugly, focusing on the worst parts of life and reveling in it.

And that's out there for the world to read. and hear and feel, a darkness that we voluntarily let into our lives and then try to figure out why we feel so run down and defeat it all the time. And we do it to each other, but not the voice. The voice is in our heads. It's just for us. Of course, that's not why we do it, is it? It's for that moment.

The moment between when the voice is screaming so loud it comes out of our, mouths. Our arms and legs do the things it wants them to do because it hurts otherwise. It hurts so much as they thrash and swear and curse the holy men and women who think they have a handle on things. We think they are the ones in control. And for that split second between the chaos and the silence, there is that release. That release better than any high, any organ your whole body and mind and soul shuddering at once. All your muscles on fire and freezing and locked up. Your brain is so overwhelmed that all you see is that blinding light.

And then it's gone. The feeling fades. Faster each time. We're all junkies of the spirit. Learning how to chase the high. Where to find it. The shadows where it hides waiting, waiting for someone open. They want innocence.

That's why it started. But in the absence of that, a willing hitchhiker is just as good. Remember being a kid and your parents wanting you to hang out with the kids who got chicken pox, so you'd get it while you were young, before the vaccinations for it? Like that. Hanging around the right kind of people, hoping, practically, praying to start hearing that whisper again. And I know I have to stop.

We all do where we wouldn't be here, right? However we came to it, we chased the devil once, twice, more. And being here means we've seen what it can do too. What happens when you catch the devil one time too many? The emptiness in their eyes. Arms and legs atrophied from where they did. didn't heal right. Muscles that pulled away from tendons that pulled away from the bone in a moment

when the demon didn't want to let go and held on to everything all at once. The husky leaves behind because each time the feeling fades for us, but the connection is stronger for them. All they have is that blank stare. Some of you might have seen the wards. Clouded eyes staring up at the sky. to heaven. Ironic. Right? What do they think? What do they dream?

Is it about forgiveness and the fear of damnation? Or do they just want one more fix? My name's Mike. And I'm an exorcism addict. And that's all we have time for today. Don't you go worrying, dear listener. We'll be back for even more unsettling, depraved and downright horrifying tales tomorrow.

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.