Creepy - Day 5 - I Recorded The Soundtrack From HELL

Episode Date: October 5, 2021

Is there anyone there?***Written by Katja Seebohm and narrated by Nate Dufort***Bonus: "Silent Screams" written by Carolyn ***Check out 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. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not 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 5. I recorded the soundtrack from hell written by Kacha Seabom and narrated by Nate Dufort. I never used to go to church.

Our family always always. focused more on Santa Claus than the birth of Christ, if you know what I mean. That changed back in the 90s, for me at least. My sister is a half-assed Wiccan now, and my mom does yoga. But me? I go to church. I never thought I'd talk about what happened that night, not outside a confessional, at least, but I just saw something that made me change my mind.

I've changed all the names, though, so... Don't even try to look for me. Or the footage. I was a junior majoring in film and working on various shoots for student projects, lending a hand with the 16mm camera or the Niagara sound equipment. We didn't have digital back in the day, and it was a great way to get experience on someone else's dime. I was returning sound equipment at the lab one afternoon when Ryan grabbed my shoulder.

Buddy, dude, if you can reserve the nudge, Niagara again for next weekend, he whispered excitedly. I got us a paying gig. Paying? I asked. That was unusual. No one got paid on student films. We all worked on each other's projects for free in the hope that one of our classmates turned out to be the next Tarantino and we could ride his coattails all the way to Hollywood. Ryan, unfortunately, was no Tarantino, just another kid from Connecticut trying to grow a beard.

Yeah, man, he said. an overnight shoot on location. Who will we get a credit? I asked. Getting my name and the credits of an actual film was everything, even on a B-roll sound crew. If the film made it to a festival, I could build my entire CV around it. I don't think so, Ryan said, but come on, it's 200 bucks each. Technically, we weren't allowed to borrow college equipment for commercial use, but I could sure use the cash, so I reserved the Niagara again and arranged to meet Ryan and the other crew in front of my dorm next Friday afternoon. Friday was warm and muggy, clouds hanging low. I picked up the Niagara and pack reels of tape, WD-40, Gatorade, and Granola in my daypack. Ryan hadn't mentioned

craft services, and I wasn't taken any chances, not on an overnight shoot. A beat-up station wagon and pulled up, fish blaring through the driver's side window out of which Mike dangled a cigarette. Ryan sat next to him in the passenger seat, struggling with a Michelin roadmap that filled me with foreboding. For a guy who could describe every cut and camera angle in a Hitchcock film, he had no sense of direction. I could see someone slumped in the back seat, but it wasn't until I opened the tailgate to dump my shit in with the camera equipment that I recognized Aubrey's green hair. She nodded. as I climbed in next to her with a,

"'Sup, buddy, I'm your boom girl.' So she'd be helping me with sound, and since Ryan would never hand over camera control willingly, that meant Mike would be pulling focus for him. I wondered who was directing, and what, when Mike caught my eye in the rearview mirror and gave me a lazy wink before hitting the gas. "'Westward, motherfucking ho,' he drawled.

"'Where we headed?' I asked, as I tried to get comfortable in the bucket seat. "'But-fucking nowhere, man,' Aubrey yawned. "'Better catch some zees while we can. "'And with that, she curled up like a cat and closed her eyes. "'I stared out the window as we crossed the bridge, "'through the suburbs and onto the freeway. "'Then lulled by Mike's off-key crooning in Ryan's curses

"'as he crinkled the map, cigarette-smoking air. "'I drifted off as well. "'I woke up with a jolt as we turned into an unpaved, road, bouncing my head off the side window. Ow, grumbled Aubrey, then grinned Riley as she turned and saw me rubbing my temple as well. Are we there yet? I imitated a whiny kid while the others laughed, but I realized it was late afternoon, and I had no idea where we were or who were going to meet once we got there.

I leaned forward. Okay, Ryan, for real, what's the story? Do we know what the setup's going to be? I don't want to stress about losing the light. I hadn't seen any lighting equipment in the back other than a few reflectors in 2Ks. And I wanted us to look good when we met the director. Yeah, man, we need to talk filters, Mike added.

Okay, so, um, this is going to sound a bit weird. Ryan began uncertainly. Aubrey sat bolt upright. I swear to God, if you've signed us up to shoot porn, I'm going to bob at your ass, she told him. I don't think it was his asshole. John was worried about, joked Mike, who we all ignored. I looked outside. We were on a one-track road, dense forest on either side, and I hadn't seen

any sign of civilization since I'd woken up. Are we shooting exteriors, I asked. Some nature thing? I trailed off wondering if I should have packed bug spray or bear spray. Not exactly, Ryan said. It's more to document something for an organization. Wait, I think this is it. It was a ramshackle house with a wraparound porch, only one upper story window lit. A dusty truck was parked out front, and next to it, a big black sedan, which clearly didn't belong. I could make out a figure by the front steps, shadowy at first, until Mike caught it in the headlights. What the fuck? A priest?

"'Dude,' Mike said as he swung in next to the pickup. "'I'll explain in a sec,' Ryan said and hurried over to the priest as we sat in the park car. Alry was the first to react. "'Come on, guys,' she said as she scrambled out, "'near my God to thee and all that crap.' Ryan stood by the steps, conferring with the priest, who looked up from his smoke when we joined them. I couldn't tell how old he was.

His hair was graying, but he carried himself like a guy our age. Okay, so we'll set up our gear downstairs and then come upstairs to meet you, Ryan said hurriedly, wrapping up whatever conversation they'd been having. The priest nodded gravely, then made eye contact with each of us for an uncomfortably long time. Before you enter, he rasped. I need your assurance that each one of you has been baptized. A stunned silence broken by Audrey. Um, does Lutheran count? That cracked Mike up for some reason.

and Ryan glared him into submission before looking at me. Catholic, I mean, I was, still am, I guess. Lapsed, I babbled, the weirdness of it all sinking in, the dark woods, the old house, the priest, the oncoming dark. The priest nodded and disappeared through the dark doorway. Our eyes followed him before snapping back to Ryan. Okay, what gives? Audrey asked. What have you gotten us into?

Ryan shifted uncomfortably before blurting out. Okay, it's an exorcism. He began waving his hands at us as though to ward off the protests we were too shocked to make. I know, I know, it's weird as fuck, but my aunt is a secretary at the church, and when she heard they were bringing in an expert and were looking for someone to document it for their archives or whatever, whoa, Mike said slowly, shaking his head in disbelief. Audrey looked up at me with a, did we really just hear that expression? I just stood there, dumbfounded, listening to the wind in the trees and waiting for some frat boys to jump out and yell,

Pranked! We all just stood there uncertainly in a ragged circle. But then Ryan shoot us to the car and we unpacked and began setting up in the front room. The routine of loading the camera, setting up the 2K lights, fitting the boom and adjusting the nagra made it feel like any old project, any other shoot. It wasn't until we hauled our gear upstairs and crowded into that one. one lit room. It wasn't until we saw the bed and what was on it that reality came crashing down. It was a woman in a stained nightgown, long stringy hair covering half her face, wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts. Audrey gasped and pulled out her Gerber to cut the woman loose

and was about to step forward to help. Phrases like kidnap and sex trafficking floated loosely through my brain when the woman suddenly reared up and snarled. Her eyes. My God, her eyes were like black maelstroms. Spittle flecked her cheeks and her back arched to a degree I didn't think was humanly possible. My mind seemed to splinter. She, it, was no longer human. This was something else entirely, something that had taken human form but was nonetheless

inescapably, inexplicably alien. At the same time, another part of it was. of me registered Mike setting up the lights and Ryan clicking the camera into place on the tripod. The part of me picked up the Niagara case and placed it on a dresser near the door, signaled to Aubrey to get the boom mic cabled up and get to work. Business as usual, moving right along. Nothing to see here. Except there was.

The room was sparsely furnished with just an old dresser, a lopsided wardrobe, and the bed. Oh God, the bed! I tried not to look at it, at its writhing, keening occupant, and instead focused on the others in the room. Mike had set up the two K's and was kneeling by the lens case. Audrey had automatically taken up position near the bed, boom Mike held up with both arms, the fuzzy microphone hanging down between the priest and it. Ryan was at the tripod, at the ready. Roll sound, he mouthed, gesturing with his hand.

I nodded and mouthed back, rolling. Then we all jumped when Mike clacked the clapper board with a loud crack, saying, roll one, take one. I like to remember them that way, my friends, just a bunch of 19-year-olds trying to grow up to be somebody. I try to hold that image in my mind. Sometimes I even succeed. That night, I kept my eyes on my equipment

as much as possible. Reloading sound, checking the dials, trying to keep the level in check, or pretending to at least. What was coming through on the headphones was bad enough. I didn't need visuals. The priest's voice was ragged but steady. He sounded close to cracking, but determined.

Only the hitches and his breath between the Latin phrases gave away his nerves. The thing in the bed was a night. mare to listen to. High-pitched shrieks at my eardrums throbbing, only to be replaced by throaty whispers I could barely catch. I didn't understand any of what came out of its mouth, but the vocals dripped with guttural hate. The bedsprings groaned, and I heard what sounded like bones snapping as it howled with rage. I just kept my eyes on the levels, pretending none of this was real. That wardrobe and makeup were in the other room, and once Ryan yelled,

Cut, we'd all laugh and break for coffee and sandwiches. One thing you don't consider when you watch horror movies is the smell, the stench of it. The air was dank with sweat and piss, and to this day when I walk into a gas station bathroom and get a whiff of old excrement, my skin crawls, and I feel a chill. I kept my eyes on the nagra and breathed through my mouth and prayed this would all end soon. It won't. It will never end. Came the faintest of whispers through my headphones, almost gleefully.

It's nothing, I thought, just a response to whatever the priest was chanting. But the priest stopped, and for the first time since we entered, silence hung in the air. The unnatural stillness was broken by the filthiest chuckle I've ever heard. It won't end, you mouth-breather. My voice will be in your ears till you croak, buddy. I gasped and looked at the others to see if they'd heard it too. They had, and were looking back at me in shock. But we hadn't heard nothing yet.

Ryan, creature on the bed, lilted it almost playfully. Oh, Ryan, why don't you tell the good father and your little friends how it made you feel when Mommy gave you a bath? Or when she let you rub sunscreen on her? What do you think about when you're all alone and we're all alone? Rub, rub, rub. Ryan went white as a sheet, a lot wider than her sheets for sure, and whispered, Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. His hands fell to his sides.

The camera with it. The thing in the bed cackled and cockled its head at Audrey. Oh no, I thought. Not her. Please don't come after her. But it didn't get the chance. Audrey still holding the boom all off like some spear-wielding Amazon was looking at the bed with awe. Cool.

Oh, she breathed. The priest turned to look at her at alarm while the demon seemed almost taken aback. No, I mean, guys, this is seriously cool, Audrey said, as if she'd just discovered Doc Martens on sale. Don't you guys get it? She looked at each of us in turn, actually beaming. I've never believed in anything, even as a kid. I thought it was all bullshit, but you guys, if this is real, if demons are real, doesn't that mean God is too? The thing on the bed recoiled and hissed so loudly it was like static crackling through my

headphones. The light from the two-k glowed more intensely for an instant, and the priest's face beamed. He almost looked younger. The demon recovered and regrouped. It looked past Ryan, still frozen in place, to Mike, standing there, clapper board at the ready. It took a sharp breath, then laughed to itself softly. Oh, Mike! Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, never knew your daddy, did you?

It drawled in a cruel imitation of his twang. Mama wore that cheap wedding ring, but it didn't fool the neighbors, and it certainly didn't fool you. You're a bastard, Mikey. A dirty bastard, aren't you? And you were never baptized. What happened next happened all at once? Really fast, and yet I remember. it in slow-mo snippets. The priest taking a step towards Mike with a look of tear, pushing Audrey

aside. Ryan raising the camera on a backhand swing, yelling, don't talk about my mother, you bitch! The priest stopping in his tracks to focus on Ryan, to stop him from bringing the weighty 16-millimeter camera down on the possessed woman. Ryan catching the priest with a glancing blow to the head, Mike howling and clutching his head with both hands, the priest crumpling to the floor. lying unnaturally still next to a startled Aubrey, his neck looking wrong somehow. Mike running from the room, his wails echoing down the stairs and fading into the night. Ryan bashing the camera full force into the demon's head just as it ripped one hand free and gouged his neck with talon like nails. And Aubrey.

Aubrey remembered in stop-motion freeze frame. Aubrey at my side. Aubrey her hand in mind pulling. Aubrey on the stairs looking back at me, behind me. Aubrey in the yard still pulling me forward. Aubrey at the car, slapping the spare key from behind the visor. The film of my perception sputtered to a stop, faded to black, then word back sometime later, 24 frames per second.

Normal. Well, almost. Aubrey had drying blood spattered on her face, neck and clothes. and I was still wearing my headphones, white-knuckling the Niagara in my lap. Aubre left school the next week, though I didn't find out till later. I was too busy trying to convince myself it had been a bad acid trip or some fucked-up student performance art. Ryan never made it back to campus. Neither did Mike.

Ryan's room was cleared by his parents, and the obituary in the college paper vaguely referenced a tragic. accident. Mike's roommates ended up tossing his stuff at the end of the term. No official inquiries were made. I guess people just assumed he was the usual stoner dropout. The weird thing, though, was that the camera and lights had been returned to the lab. I returned the Niagara and headphones myself and never signed them out again. I burned the sound reel without listening back to it. 30 years later, I still see Aubrey from time to time on the church grounds. She goes by Sister Ann now.

And I doubt whatever hair she has under her wimple has dyed green. We don't stop to chat, but she always smiles at me. A ghost of the grin I remember from our college days. And me, I work in IT repair. That's going pretty good. I refuse to fix audio components, though. I have a problem with headphones, earbuds too. No matter what I listen to, there's always an underlying sound.

Something I can barely make out, but is undeniably there. Something malevolent. That's why I go to church, and it helps, mostly. You see, I walked out of mass today and looked at. around for Aubrey, who I hadn't bumped into for a while. I didn't see her, but I saw someone else. A figure across the street, in the shadows, staring right at. It looked kind of like Mike, and he had maelstroms for eyes. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, Silent Screams, written by Carolyn

Please do not tell me how I should or shouldn't feel You weren't there I was the one who ignored the sounds of a frantic woman I literally slapped the hand of someone that needed my attention I looked into the eyes of a helpless man and failed him I am ashamed of myself I wrote the following to anyone it may concern Let me begin by telling you that haunted houses were once my obsession.

So when my girl, Peggy, and I happened upon a haunted house with a challenge, I was pumped. The rules were to collect ten stars from the five Jack in the Box toys inside the house, and we'd get half of our money back. Peggy and I strolled up to the guy standing under the Portiso. He handed me a fanny pack to collect the stars. I hadn't seen a fanny pack since the 90s. The guy took my money and pressed the handicap push button on the post next to him. Peggy snapped down the fanny pack as the glass doors opened, and we entered.

As I stepped over the threshold behind Peggy, scary demon sounds, followed by a door creaking, then slamming, echoed, and the doors closed behind us. We stood in the dimly lit foyer. The only other light leaking out from beneath the raised panel in the wall to our left. As we stood there, our eyes adjusting to the gloom. The panel slid into the wall. We peered around the corner, into the room. A spotlight shone on a colorful box on the floor near the far wall.

It was the first jack in the box. Two bald men dressed in brown monk robes, slump in rocking chairs on either side. The men lifted their heads and stared blankly back at us. Their lips were sewn shut. Peggy pushed me into the room. I hesitated, anticipating the men to somehow prevent me from snatching the box. I shuffled closer and slowly reached out,

as if a sudden move would elicit chaos. I grabbed the box and hustle back into the hallway. The panel slid shut behind me. I passed the box to Peggy, and she held it while I wound the lover. The jester that popped out had stars on the tips of his forked hat. They were attached with Velcro, so I removed them and shoved them into the fanny packer on Peggy's waist. We took four more steps forward, and a door to our right swung open revealing the short, narrow entrance hall. I took the lead, and Peggy squeezed my hips in a mock bunny hop fashion.

It took us less than a half dozen steps. steps before we reached the end. A childlike sketch of a sprung jack in the box decorated the wall, indicating our target. Under it was an arrow that pointed to the right, another hallway. At the end of that hall, an arrow pointed left, directing us to yet another hallway. We zigged and zagged through the claustrophobic passages, all the while moaning and the sound of scratching of fingernails seeped through the thin wooden walls. I started to feel like Peggy and I were trapped in an ant farm. Then I saw it.

The second jack in the box. I sprinted forward, breaking free from Peggy's clutch. I grabbed her prize and whirled around. Peggy had caught up to me. She was right there. I almost knocked her down. With my urging, she spun on her heels and picked up the pace. We zigged and zagged back to the open doorway.

I popped the jester from the box and collected two more stars. Once we stepped through the doorway and into the foyer, overhead fluorescence powered on in a domino effect on a lengthy corridor. Human limbs hung like grotesque hunting trophies on the vintage wall-papered walls. At the end of the corridor was another jack-in-the-the-box atop a Corinthian column pedestal. As we ambled down the corridor, the limbs on the walls seemed to come alive. One arm reached out and grabbed Piggy's hair. I used one of my defense moves, gripping the wrist and bending it, causing the hand to release its grip.

We huddled together, inching down the center of the hallway, careful to remain out a range of the flailing arms and kicking legs. We also passed a few closed doors, one of which a hand few feet. but shewily tried to open. Eventually, we made it to the end. I turned the crank on the box and out popped another jester. Two more stars. Peggy pulled them off and added them to our booty.

We were more than halfway there. To the right of the pedestal was a wide archway. Several yards ahead a spotlight shone down on the fourth jack in the box. The entire room beyond the dividing archway was outlined with glowing, orange cords, and the floor was strewn with moving orbs of light. It was so disorienting, especially after being in the bright lighting of the corridor. We traped slowly forward, the luminosity behind us diminishing with every step we took. I leaned against the wall for balance. The strip lights lit up, accentuating four-frame portraits of different men. The face protruded

from the canvases in a three-dimensional way, and ascots dangled from the necks. I gazed intently at the framed face before me, fascinated by its realistic features. And when a tear began to spill from its red-rimmed eyes, I recoiled and fell hard on my ass. Peggy and I decided to crawl the rest of the way to the jack-in-the-box, and I felt the eyes of the men in the portraits watching us. I reached out and slid the box toward me. As I churned the lever, the gliding orb seemed to dance to the tune. And when the jester burst forth, we collected the seventh and eighth stars and tucked them away.

The clicking of a lock unlatching, followed by the creaking of hinges in need of lubrication, signaled us to our next location. I tried ignoring the creepy wall hanging in my peripheral vision. and I pushed the door open wider. The room was decorated like a child's room. A small lamp rotated on the bedside table, projecting images of cartoon ghosts on the walls. The mattress on the twin bed was sunken in the middle,

as if by the weight of a body, and an indentation in the pillow created the illusion that it was supporting a head. I once again, pensively studied the grand illusion, and when the indentation in the mattress rippled, as if the invisible body was repositioning itself. I once again fell backward on my ass. An open toy box sat at the foot of the bed,

its hinge lid resting on the pile of toys inside. While Peggy stood in the doorway, I knelt by the toy box and tossed one stuffed animal after another onto the floor. Then I saw it, the fifth jack in the box. I turned the handle. All around.

the mulberry bush, the monkey chase the weasel, all around the mulberry bush, pop. And the jester burst from box, stars nine and ten. Goes the weasel, I finished. I ripped the stars off the jester's hat. A man behind Peggy cleared his throat, and Peggy startled, lunging him. me and almost headbutting me. Follow me, the man said in the same tone as a lurch from the Adams family. We composed ourselves and followed him out of the bedroom, through the room of strobe lights,

into the exit door. He did refund half our money, and we left. A few hours after I got home, Peggy called. She asked me to flip on the news. I heard a tremor in her voice, and that made me nervous. It took me a few seconds while I fumbled with the remote. I clicked on the TV, pressing the voice command button, and said the words, Channel 9, then told Peggy I was watching, and I tossed the phone on the coffee table.

The picture on the television was bouncing while the photojournalist jogged across the lot to the building Peggy and I had just visited. I could make out a jerky picture of an EMT removing the sutures from the lips of one of the monks. The thing that scared me the most about haunted houses was the irrational thought I often had about an actor going too far and mutilating his own body. That was my immediate thought about the monk. A police officer escorted the cameraman into the building.

Leather wrist and ankle restraints laid on the seat of a rocking chair formerly occupied by a monk. The camera turned and focused its attention to the room across the hall. splintered particle board was piled haphazardly, as if the previously constructed maze that collapsed like a host of cards. The cameraman panned the heavily damaged walls of the corridor, huge holes where the trophies were torn away. He entered each room that flanked the corridor. Cold steel beds jutted from the walls and manual respirator bags laid amongst the rubble

beside them. The picture on the television screen jostled as a camera followed the plane. police officer around the corner. The room that was lit by strobe lights and stripped lights was also riddled with holes in the plaster rather than decorated with portraits. Two of the three adjacent rooms were furnished with chairs that sits six feet tall. The rooms were also equipped with mechanical respirators. I didn't know what had happened to cause so much destruction.

But I was breathing sighs of relief that Peggy and I were safe. The following week an article in the newspaper revealed the details of what had to be. happened that night. The building was once a medical clinic owned by an anesthesiologist. He and four other armed men crashed at dinner party, abducting the five women and six men attending and herded them to the reconstructed hospital. The two men passed off as monks were given muscle relaxers after their mouths were sewn shut. Their heads were shaved and they were propped in chairs, secured with wrist and ankle restraints. One woman's tongue was severed,

and she was sealed inside the walls of the maze, much like an elaborate coffin. Four of the women were injected with a drug that paralyzed their vocal cords. Tracheotomies were performed to prevent them from choking on their own saliva, and manual respirator bags were provided to supply air if necessary.

Their legs or arms threaded through the walls of the corridor. The men from the portraits were victims of paralytic shellfish poisoning, also injected. The use of mechanical respirators and oxygen had prevented them from suffocation. These men were tethered in position with their faces wedged tightly into the holes in the walls, much like photo bore cutouts. After comprehending what horrors I had not only witnessed, but also participated in, I was beyond traumatized.

Doctors say I've suffered an extreme psychological trauma and that the tremendous guilt I feel for not recognizing the horrors those people were suffering has rendered me mute. All the other victims have physically recovered. I say others because my doctors insist I come to terms with me also being a victim. You might be wondering about how Peggy's handling everything. She and I have helped to identify. the people who committed these heinous acts.

But if she wants anyone to know her story, she'll tell it. For even more from Creepy, 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 used under license and may not be re-reepod.

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