Creepy - Day 4 - We Meet Again & Do You See It Too?

Episode Date: October 4, 2026

We Meet Again (starts at 1:23) ***Written by: Toni Nicolino and narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Content warning: child death***Do You See It Too? (starts at 11:32)***Written by: Matt Scott***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm John Grills from Creepy, and I listen to the Be Afraid Podcast Network. Creepy presents the 31 days of horror. Day four. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures 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. All right, let's hear another round of applause for Martin's story why I still live in my mom's basement. Or if I ever heard it, especially those of us who've had his Mom'd apple crumbled. Okay, next up. Um, hi. I'm Danielle, and this is my story. We meet again. I recognize you immediately.

It's the jackal anron sweater that catches my attention. The cheap heat transfer vinyl, a gaping, hideous mouth of square teeth and shifty rectangular eyes. The orange has faded. The black silhouette cracked. along the edges, but it still radiates like a hazard light. I'm surprised you've kept it after all this time. How long has it been? Or dared to wear it again? But I'm glad you did. I may not have noticed you otherwise. I've been waiting to happen upon you again, to confront you about the day you

unraveled on the subway platform during rush hour. The day I felt my heart claw into my throat, felt the wet looseness in my bowels that only true fear can provoke. At the time, I thought you were just another loony in a city full of loonies. But you weren't, were you? You must be in a hurry, because you're walking fast, and I'm struggling to keep up. The sidewalk is crowded. And no one seems to notice my desperate hustle.

I'm anxious I'll lose you. And an intense heat has settled over me. My skin feels tight and itchy. The cacophony of the city fades. And I can hear the clap of your souls against the cement. I'd like to call out your name. But I don't know it. I don't remember it being broadcast on the news after.

You turn the corner now, and I follow. A woman in black leggings blows peppermint vape in my face, and I wave my hand at it, but she doesn't seem to see me. On my left, a red neon light in a bodega window says open, and I narrow my eyes against its irritating glare. I step over a spattering of milky coffee that's running toward the curb, and it reminds me of the way my daughter's bladder let go when you grabbed her. It happened so fast. A small crowd, waiting for the six train, heads down. My daughter and I had been in a hurry. There was no school, and Nines had to spend the day at my office.

I remember being annoyed. My armpits damp. I plucked a strand of hair, watched it drift to the ground. We should have just stayed home. But we didn't. And then you dropped your phone on the tracks. The sound was like a grandchild. in the impatient silence of the platform. Your face had faded to a sickly cooked corn yellow.

Your head flick, flick, flickering to one side, like a puppets on a string. You grabbed the woman closest to you and spoke to her, then to someone else. I couldn't hear what you said at first, but then your words gathered momentum. First forth, a pus-filled whitehead exploding onto all of us. Don't get on the train. People backed away, turned their heads, walked briskly to the other end of the platform. This is New York City. People like you, loud, wild-eyed, unhinged, are like the errant bottles of warm piss sometimes left on the sidewalk. We see you, but we grimace and disgust and look away.

I felt a slight vibration then. heard the rumble of heavy machinery approaching. The air twisted around us as the train approached. And then there you were. Your fingers around Inez's collar, dragging her away. Her bladder let go just as the jackal in and on your sweater opened its mouth wide and wider.

We were all screaming, but our voices were swallowed by the deafening roar of the oncoming train. And then the police were there. and you were on the ground and inez was in my arms and the train silver in steel and safe was in the station and we backed away as you cried enormous breathless wet heaving sobs we should have gone home but we didn't i was late and you were crazy and the train doors were open And now I can't remember why I ever wanted to see you again, or what I was going to say when I caught up to you.

On my left, a red neon light in a bodega window says nope. And I narrow my eyes against its irritating brightness. I step over a spattering of milky coffee that's running towards the curb. And something isn't right. Up ahead the subway entrance beckons. shiny, rebuilt. The dust and the flames

and the burnt flesh forgotten. You're already through the turnstile and the train is pulling in. So I slip onto the platform through the emergency exit. It's clean and freshly painted here, but it smells putrid. And I think about the time

I discovered an old wedge of cheese in the back of the fridge. I reach out to tap your shoulder, but I can't much move. My arm is weightless and fleeting as a puff of smoke. You step on to the train, and as the doors close between us, I remember what I want to say. You tried to warn me. I see my reflection in the darkened glass. I'm still holding Inez, but her face is a rotten pumpkin. Pulp and seed and stagnant goo. Her right arm gone.

The stump juts from her tiny body. Her bones are gleaming white. The flesh on my face and chest is sizzling, blackened and twisted like the skin of a roasted chicken. My left eyeball dangles beside my teeth. You see me now. And you place your palm against the glass. And then the hiss of brakes, the hum of metal,

and the lights flicker as the train pulls you away. My heart is cold. and hard and beatless in my chest. My brain, a wasp's nest of fleeting images that attack, stinging me with their venom. Inez's splotchy newborn skin against mine. The candles of a third birthday cake. Her warm, sleeping body tucked safely in my arms at the Italian restaurant on our corner.

A front, toothless grin. A $5 bill clutched in one hand. I want to scream and cry and destroy everything in my path. But I'm shattered glass, sharp and strewn and irreparable. I can only float up the stairs, back onto the city street. My eyes burn, and I lift my hand to shield them from the sun. And that's when I see you.

I recognize you immediately. It's the jack-o-lantern sweater that always catches my attention. attention. The cheap heat transfer vinyl, a gaping, hideous mouth of square teeth and shifty rectangular eyes. The orange has faded. The black silhouette cracked along the edges, but it still radiates like a hazard light. I'm surprised you kept it after all this time. How long has it been? Or dared to wear it again? But I'm glad you did. I may not have noticed you otherwise. Nice work, Daniel. See, it's not so bad, is it? I'm glad you think so, because I signed you up to go. What? Oh, come on. I don't have anything ready. You seem like you know everything about

this town. Just tell one of those stories. You don't wear the band's t-shirt to the concert, Danielle. You don't? Well, you better come up with something. Hold on. I need to step outside to take this call. I didn't hear your phone ring. Finally, I thought you ditched me. What are you talking about? I just got here. Yeah, I know. I saw you walk in.

Right. Right. What? Okay, everyone. Last call. I know, I know, but we have time for one more story. Looks like that's going to be John. Let's give him a hand.

What? No. I can't. No getting out of it. If the rest of us have to, so do you. But... Just go. Forget about being an introvert for 15 minutes.

Um, hi. I'm John, and for my story, uh, I guess my story starts with a question. Do you see it too? Somehow, and inevitably, in the midst of a traumatic event, time slows down and speeds up at the same moment. You float outside yourself, a passenger in a vehicle beyond space and time, beyond emotion or logic, and you watch everything unfold in half speed, slow down in slow, painful increments, moving glacially in front of your eyes. And the bitch of it?

The true damnable misery of it? Is it you're helpless to do anything about it? A voyeuristic afterthought in the breaking of your life. That's how it was when that thing killed Molly. We were running through the darkness. The moon was even hiding behind the clouds. Black, greasy streaks of stretched thin vapors obscured the path before us through the forest. What we thought was the path back to the car proved to be a game trail leading us far away from the trailhead,

deeper into the old-growth forest all around us. This place was old, dense, throquered, hundreds of millions of years old, jutting high out of the ground and giant fingers of quartzite and granite, towering above us, colossal monuments in the midnight black. We ran with our hands out in front of us, our palms bloody from the branches and thorns and tangles we barreled through at top speed, running blind from the creature pursuing us through the trees. It's growl, crystal clear, its hot breath palpable in the backs of our necks. It was playing with us until it wasn't.

Molly was in front of me, just a step. She had her arm reached back for me, her fingertips brushing as we made our way over rocks and sticks, leaves and limbs. I tripped over a deadfall she'd hopped over instinctively. She ran track and field in college. High jump, hurdles, relay. She could have blown past me at any point,

left me in the woods to fend for myself. But she never would have. She stayed right in front the whole time leading us, leading me, trying to get away from this thing. This motherfucking demon, forest monster. Whatever the hell it is. When I fell, I felt the blood in my mouth instantly. Could taste it, feel its salty heat. I lost two teeth, front ones.

other than that, I was no worse for where. I began to jump to my feet. I heard Molly stop, just for the briefest of moments, to look back and check on me. She turned to me, reached out her hand to help me up. We have to keep moving, she said, bending slightly to reach me. I know, I answered, reaching for her in the darkness. The moonlight knifing through the tree tops like jagged molten stalactites, peppering the ground around us with little pinpricks of you.

yellow white light that only succeeded in making the shadows grow darker. I'm fine. Lost a couple. The words caught in my throat as Molly was flung violently sideways as if tackled from the right. Her feet flew up into the air as her body seemed to fold in on itself. Her ribs crunching as she crumpled to the ground several yards away. I could hear her moan but could no longer see her at all. Her breasts were ragged, raspy and wet.

I scurried on my hands and knees in the pitch towards the sound of her expecting the inevitable bulrush of fur and fang. I crawled blindly for a few yards, the ground wet, sticky, smelling of earthworms and shit. Then I found her, a piece at a time. My hands were covered in her, in her hair, her blood, her marrow, and her meat. That's when time caught up to itself. That's when time started ticking at normal speed again, when the solomens came back. When I finally exhaled, took a deep breath, and sprung the fuck up and started running again,

my hands out in front of me, the creature playing with me, just like before. I ran like that, half blind, half in a trance, until I came to a clearing where the sparse moonlight illuminated an old stone foundation with the remnants of low block walls. still standing in the shape of a spacious homestead, long rotted to the ground. The center of the structure was fully overgrown. Tall grasses and saplings crowded the space between the old stone partitions. I ran and practically dove under a section of crumbled rock and rolled completely head over heels into the dense brush within.

I flopped to my belly, facing the way I come and waited breathlessly. My clothes matted with Molly's blood. My mouth throbbing from sucking in air through the big gap in my teeth now, my heart beating out of my chest, temples pounding from the blood rushing through my veins. I just wanted to stay inside my body for a little while longer. The breath was hot on my neck and smelled like hot dogs and bad broccoli. The creature was directly over my prone body. I could feel its haunches on my feet.

feet. Its massive form lumbering over me. Its long, dark fur brushed the back of my ears as it lowered itself even closer to my back. It put its snout to the side of my head. Its tongue lapped at my cheek. The blood dribbling out from between my lips from the two teeth that I'd knocked out when I fell back there. I could smell Molly's perfume. I looked cautiously, shakily to the right with just my eyes, trying as hard as I could not to turn my head and provoke it into biting my face off on the spot. It wasn't a creature, I thought it would be. It wasn't this massive hulk of fur and blood of claws and guts and teeth. I turned my head. Molly was standing over me, staring out at the tree line. She was topless. The skin of the tops of her shoulders glimmered in the faint light

of late night. Her jeans were stained of muddy, rusty red color. Her stomach was ripped open, and at least two feet of her intestines were poking out like slimy nightcrawlers. Molly's left eye was a beautiful emerald dangling from a smashed cheek, and her right hand had been chewed off at the forearm. A shattered ulna and partial radius stuck out from the peeled back skin like two nubs of some kind of sinister stun gun. I rolled my back and sat up quickly, pulling my knees up to my chest instinctively, bracing for what came next.

She stood looking down at me, the look on her broken face, one of almost pity. I was prepared to die. I closed my eyes tightly against her visage. I couldn't see her like that. Couldn't process the carnage my sight was recording.

My mind went blank as I felt her leaned down to me. Her face centimeters from mine. She took my chin in her right hand and turned it toward the tree line. I opened my eyes. There, working just beyond the moonlight, was the menacing shape of a creature standing erect on two massive legs, its muscular black arms hanging down at its sides. The creature's shoulders rising and falling with the creature's shoulders rising and falling with

each enormous breath. Its snout was elongated and full of oversized fangs to pick for its mouth. It stood with an almost sinister grin on its face. Yellow eyes burning in the darkness. He raised a hand. Clawed the size of steak knives populating each long, bony finger. And waved. Time slowed down again.

I looked up at Molly. Do you see it too? She whispered. My head whirled around on a swivel. I quickly scanned the tree line. The creature was gone. Behind me, I heard the cracking of bones, smelled hot dogs and bad broccoli,

felt the breath hot and wet on the back of my neck. I swallowed hard, my stomach threatening to empty under the weeds around me. I saw it all right. I saw it. As a creature's claws sliced into the flesh of my back, I was forced down onto my stomach. My face buried in tall grasses and tangles I'd hidden in. What was to be my protection?

My cover was now to be my burial shroud. This is where they'd find me. Face down in the weeds, disemboweled in the woods, taking a hike. My wife had wanted to take for years. As the beast bit down on the side of my neck, I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before we were found by anyone. The area was rarely hiked. That's what drew my wife's attention to it in the first place. That in the ruins of old plantations dotted around the county.

It was to be in and out, spend the day seeing all kinds of wonders. Well, we certainly did that. I remember thinking also in the eternity. it was biting me, right before I passed out as the blood gushed out of my veins and ran down my shoulder, pooling in the grass beside me, that it doesn't actually hurt as much as I thought it would. I always assumed having your head bitten off might hurt a little bit. But it didn't. It just felt warm and itchy, like getting a shot at the dentist. I felt pressure, gasped for precious breath as its jaws closed in on me, but it didn't hurt.

Not really. I don't know why the thing didn't kill me that night. When the sun came up, I was still alive. I couldn't move and had lost a lot of blood from the wounds on my back and neck, but I was alive. A little girl in her mutt were standing over me, perched atop the top of the short stone wall forming the perimeter at the the abandoned structure. Her eyes were black as coal, and the doll she held, cradled in her arms like a baby was covered in black felt, its eyes burning yellow, its mouth a snarled grin. Moments later, I realized the others. Several men with shotguns pointed at the ground,

resting in the nook of their arms, stood inside the ruins with me, smoking big cigars and passing a jug, wondering what to do with me, no doubt. Behind them were three old women in peasant skirts, their hair tied up in bundles of dull-colored cloth. They smoked as well, but they looked more concerned than their counterparts. They whispered among themselves, taking turns between pointing and looking at me with both pity and fear. The men didn't talk at all. They checked their weapons, cracking them open and looking down at the breach. One of the men, dressed in bib overalls and wearing a baseball cap on top of bald head, stepped forward and raised the barrel of his gun at my face.

I laid there in a fugue. My lips cracked and mouth dry. My eyes swollen, almost closed. The wound in my neck having clotted, throbbing like a branding iron had been sewn into it. My back burned against the ground, and I couldn't feel my legs. The little girl spoke up just then, and everyone stopped and looked at her. listening as if awaiting the verdict. She held the doll now by one of its long, dangly arms down at her side and said,

This man is in need. We will help him and get him on his way, where he will be no other bother. My wife! I croaked through the sawdust in my mouth. We have seen her. There is to be no help for that one. she said flatly with the authority of a much older person but for you there is time we will take you fix you up send you on your way never to return here agreed what was that thing where's molly i could barely make out the words

my lips didn't work my brain i felt like nothing did, that all this was a cruel introduction to the afterlife. Agreed? She asked again, this time louder, more forceful. I knew I needed help if I was going to live. Talking about what had happened would most likely change the verdict against me. Agreed? I said, and then promptly passed out.

It's been almost a year now since Molly died. Horrible hiking accident. Bear attack Could have happened to anyone Except I know it wasn't a bear I know what really happened to Molly What happened to me that night

And what those people did for me What they helped me to hold at bay But the pull is almost too much now I feel compelled I feel drawn I feel called to I must go back. I must know.

Sometimes since that trip, late at night, I'll wake up with Molly sitting up in bed next to me. Her muddy hiking boots on top of the covers. Her jeans stained with blood and dirt. Her shirt ripped to shreds clinging scantily to her shoulders. She stares at the closet door, always a few inches a jar. and whispers to me without averting her gaze from the darkened corner of the room. Do you see it? 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 Commons Share a Like license. 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.