Creepy - Day 5 - Take One, Leave One & Trail of the Lost

Episode Date: October 5, 2025

Take One, Leave One***Written by: Eulogio R. Villaseñor and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Trail of the Lost***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.

Creepy presents the 31 Days of Horror. Day 5. 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. Good morning, Jimmy.

Hey? How did you sleep? Like a rock. Really? Yeah. Wait. Rocks don't sleep, right? Ah, I see.

That's very funny. Doesn't feel funny. How does it? feel. Like the lines between being asleep and being awake are blurred. That's a very astute observation. They must feel very disorienting. And then some. I suppose you want to hear about my dreams, huh? Of course. If there are any you remember. I don't remember when I dreamed it. But I do have one still rattling around in my head.

Or more like a slogan. You know, from gas stations, but not. Take one leave some. I haven't ever really loved Halloween. I seem to always get left out of the parties and get-togethers. I've realized that I am the weird kid for some time. Everyone avoids me, so I end up trick-or-treating alone. Those who don't avoid me, make fun of me, or pick on me.

There have been some Halloweens where I just stayed home. This Halloween, however, is going to be different. I have picked out the perfect costume that hides my face and camouflages the features of my body. He even alters the way I carry myself when I walk. No one should be able to tell that it's me.

I should be able to fit in with everyone else tonight. I also have the perfect plan for tonight. That's why I'm out trick-or-treating early. I want to be the first. first one that makes it around the neighborhood. It was difficult to gauge what is early, because everyone seems to start trick-or-treating earlier, and earlier every year, especially on a school night, like tonight. So far, I've made it down two streets, and one side of this cul-de-sac, and I have not seen

any other trick-or-treaters yet. The people of many of the houses I have already gotten candy from, even. even seemed shocked that I was there already. As I round the end of the cul-de-sac and start up the other side, my stomach tightens, I feel my heartbeat speed up. Coming down the same side of the street I am, from the opposite end are Richard Drake and the Jensen twins. These three are my biggest bullies.

I realized that I've stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. and force myself to move forward. They don't seem to have noticed me yet. I remind myself that they won't be able to tell it's me in this costume. Their costumes are barely costumes. It's the same thing they do every year. Different colored grease paint on their faces and old worn clothes. They say that they are people from the movie The Purge.

They really aren't very creative. But of course that doesn't matter to them. Every Halloween, they only have one goal in mind. Get as much candy as they can. Whether anyone else gets some or not, they used to just steal candy bags from other kids a few years back. I, of course, was one of those kids. But lately, most of the neighborhood makes it even easier for them.

The neighborhood doesn't do it on purpose. But most of the houses nowadays just put a bowl of candy on their porch or on a table at the end of their driveway with a note that says take candy. So, these three punks and a few other kids in the neighborhood grab handfuls, since there's no one monitoring. They don't care about any of the other kids that will miss out because of their greed. I, on the other hand, do care that these guys take too much candy. That is the entire reason for my plan tonight.

Before I go up to the next house, I watch as they stop at a table sitting at the end of a driveway. Eight or ten houses down from me. Table is decorated with cheap spiderwebs and pumpkins. From this distance, I can still tell that they take two or three handfuls each and laugh. I can't tell from here, but I'm sure there's some type of note that says only take one candy. I want to yell at them to put the candy back. It's not right.

It's not fair to the other kids, especially the smaller kids. Of course I know. If I yell at them to put it back, then I run the risk of giving myself away. That could result in me getting my ass kicked by all three of them again. Hell, they may even decide to kick my ass even if they don't realize it's me. Then I see them turn and run down the sidewalk towards me. I freeze again and try to figure out how they know it's me standing there. I'm only able to breathe again when I see them turn down the pathway of the house next door,

just next to the one they just left. At the house that I am standing in front of there is actually a candy bowl sitting on a small, round table. There wasn't even any time taken to decorate it. All that was done was a paper taped to the front of the edge that says, take one. I take a Snickers from the bowl and put my hand holding it into my full bag of candy. I let the Snickers drop inside

as I grab a handful of candy next to it and put it into the bowl on the table. Take one and leave some. I say as I turn around and walk down the sidewalk. I have been doing this at every candy bowl that has been left unmonitored. That was why I brought my own bag of candy with me tonight. I can see that there was someone home at the house where my three bullies were at,

so they can't take more than they should. I also see that Richard says something to the older lady at the door. She shakes her head. I can't hear what he said from here, but I'm sure he was asking for extra candy. I see them reach the sidewalk and lose sight of them as I walk up to the driveway to the next house. The porch lights are on and there's no bowl outside, so I knock. After a couple of minutes, a blonde teenage girl opens a door holding a bag of candy.

She smiles, as I say, trick-or-treat. She puts a couple pieces of candy in my bag. I can hear the music of a horror movie coming from inside their house. I think it may be Halloween or Chucky, but I can't really tell which. I've seen them, but not enough to tell the music apart. I say thank you as I turn away and hear the door close behind me. As I step off the porch, I can see the three losers have crossed the street because there was another bowl of candy left out. I couldn't tell how much they each took this time because their backs were to me.

and they were still six or eight houses down away from me. I can tell from their laughing that they took more than they should have. My lips turn up in a grin, because I've already been to that bull and no longer need to. There are suddenly some additional voices behind me and I turn back to see that some of their kids have come out of their houses to join us trick-or-treating. I guess I still wasn't early enough to completely avoid everyone. Oh, well, at least with my costume, I should still be able to blend in with everyone else. I walk up to the porch of the next house. There's a small table in front of the door.

On the table there are two bowls. One is turquoise and filled with bracelets and stickers. The other bowl is orange, ringed with black ghost. and fill with candy. A note on the table says, please take one. So I do. Then I reach into my bag and bring out a handful of candy. I put it into the bowl.

Take one, leave some. I say to myself as I turn to walk away. I reach the sidewalk and can see that the twins are back on my side of the street, and Richard is crossing. A family is behind them about five houses or so. The mother is pushing a stroller, and the father is holding a toddler girl's hand, as they make their way to the door or the house in front of them. It should give them some peace that there is a family on the street now.

But I can still feel my heart beating faster, knowing that I am getting closer to my three adversaries. Besides, there have been family. is around other times when these three beat me up, and those families did nothing to stop it. They just went on minding their own business. This family may have even been one of them. It's hard to tell when you're getting pounded on. The next house for me has a folded table against the garage door.

There's a Halloween tablecloth draped over it and a large black bowl of candy sitting in the middle of it. It's mostly filled with chocolate. There are two handwritten signs on either side of the bowl that read, Please only take one, so others can have some. A small chuckle escapes me, because I know that there will still be some kids that don't get some. The laziness of these people only allows for kids to miss out. I'd take an almond joy and leave two handfuls of candy from my bag.

Take one, leave some, I say again. Hopefully all the candy I left, will make a difference. The three idiots are only two houses away now. I feel my stomach burn, and my legs seem to tighten. It feels like I'm fighting every step to keep moving forward. I'm trying to decide if I should cross the street to get away from them, or just turn around and head back down the street.

I know that turning around wouldn't do so much. It's a cul-de-sac, so I'm pretty much trapped. Plus, I've already seen them cross the street back and forth, so that won't get me out of it. No, the only way is forward. I hope I'll be fine. There's no way they should recognize me in this costume. I realize I'm at the next house now. They have left a beach bucket full of dumm-dums and sour candy on their welcome mat.

A sign to their door says, please only take... I choose a root beer dumb dumb and put it in my pocket. And then I leave an overflowing handful of candy from my bag in the bucket. I say as I walk down the walkway, I have been keeping an eye out for my three bullies and can't help but wonder why they haven't come to this house yet. The house next door where I last saw them has hedges that ring the yard, so I can't see through them. It isn't until I reach the sidewalk that I can finally see all. over the hedges of the front yard.

I can see them standing in the driveway. I still can't quite tell what they are doing since their backs are to me again. I'm sure it has something to do with taking more candy than they should. The hedges and them having their backs to me gives me enough cover to run past the driveway behind them. My heart is pounding.

Every one of my footsteps sounds louder than it should. It seems like it takes me forever to make it to the other side of the house. I reached the end of the hedges and almost around the corner when I hear someone behind me yell. It sounds like one of the twins. Then I hear footsteps. I freeze in place. My heart doesn't.

It starts pounding like when it wants to escape my chest. I slowly turn, doing for sure that I have been caught somehow. I try to reassure myself that my costume makes it impossible for them to recognize me. I see that Richard is running away from the twins. He has three candy bags in his hands and is laughing. Twins are chasing behind him. Both are empty-handed. One of them yells.

My heart begins to slow again as I watch them disappear around the hedges on the opposite side of the house from me. My plan is working. They never even noticed that I was there. I come out from behind the hedge and make my way back to the driveway I had to run past. There are five bales of hay stacked to make a place for animatronic scarecrows to stand. The bale of hay in front has a large plastic pumpkin sitting on it. I can see that there isn't much candy left. I can also see that next of the pumpkin is a note that says be kind to others.

Only take one. I shake my head and consider just leaving some candy instead of taking any. I decided to take a roll of smarties instead. and leave three handfuls from my bag in the pumpkin. I pull all the root beer dumb-dum from my pocket and put it in my mouth as I get back to the sidewalk. Three idiots are across the street now. I shouldn't have to worry about them anymore. Or any of the other kids that make fun of me or pick on me.

As a matter of fact, most of the other kids aren't much better. They all treat me like a freak. My plan tonight will teach them a little bit lesson. or at least the poison candy I've left from my bag, well, I whisper as I turn and make my way to the next house. I still have more streets to make it to tonight. Thank you. Is there anything else you'd like to talk about? Any chance of getting some sleeping pills?

So I can just get a full night's sleep for once? We really prefer to avoid medication except in extreme cases. Please believe me when I say that this is the best course of action right now. If you say so, Doc. I'll stop by later to see how you are feeling. Okay. I didn't say anything. Oh, I suppose you didn't, did you?

This might sound weird, but are you feeling all right? Yes, I feel fine, thank you. Getting enough sleep? Not for nothing, but that's just about the only thing I have to do in here. Okay. Mind if I ask why you want to talk about my dreams? No. No. I don't remember. Oh, okay. Do you want me to talk about any dream in particular? Sure.

I guess it had to do with the trail of the... lost. I don't know how long I've been running. Days, maybe, weeks. I haven't seen the sun since it started. The trees are so thick now that even when it's supposed to be daylight, the canopy chokes out everything but a mist that clings of the forest like gray moss. I used to run ultramarathons, 50-mileers, 100. How's good? Not elite, but good enough to make a name on the circuit. At least that's how I'd say it when I told people about it, because it's what I believed. Never once did anyone try to hide their eye roll. Not because it sounded like bragging as much as while ultramarathon runners are in a fairly rarefied air. Not just for our endurance, but also for

what we're willing to put ourselves through. I used to have a shirt that's had sadist in hocus. That's a brand of shoe we wear. I did the usual races. Leadville, Hard Rock, Wasatch. I thought I'd seen the worst trails had to offer. Altitude, dehydration, hallucinations, broken bones. Nothing scared me anymore. I was prepared. Until I got the envelope.

There was no return address, no postage stamp, just a plain black envelope tucked between the pages of my training log one night. The handwriting was angular and sharp Like had been scratched in with bone It said You're invited to the boundless Five loops 60 hours Finish to be free

At the bottom was a set of GPS coordinates Deep in a National Forest Nor near any map trail One sentence in red ink Those who fail are left behind I should have tossed it, should have laughed it off. You know, obviously someone I knew must have tucked it into my journal. Didn't just appear there.

Something about it felt ancient. Like it had been waiting for me. I've done insane races before. This didn't sound any different than doing the Barclay. That's the one out in Appalachia where you get a secret email, then have to write an essay and pay a buck 60, one penny a mile. non-refundable. And the first time you run, you have to bring a license plate from your hometown.

I ran, but didn't finish that one. Same with the spine. And the bad water and 120-degree heat. I lived for the pain, as sadistic as it sounds. It's about finding my limits, which isn't too tough for ultra-marathons like the ones I mentioned, that only have a finish rate of about 5%, which might only be five to 10 people out of the same.

starting group. I grew to live for the silence that comes when your mind burns away and you run on instinct. I checked with a couple of friends in the same circles. A couple had gotten the same invitation, but a bunch hadn't, and I considered them to be better runners than me. Well, I felt special. It gave me a little extra charge motivation to crush it. Maybe if no one had gotten invites, I would have tried to look into it more.

But I'll never know. Preparing for the worst, assuming that the race organizers were trying to make names for themselves, I packed light, real light. The rules had no GPS, no phone, no outside contact. I drove six hours to the coordinates, following on marked forestry roads, until the dirt track turned into grass, then mud, and nothing. I parked at the edge of a ravine and waited. Eventually more cars and trucks arrived.

until there were 22 of us in total. A few faces looked familiar, but I didn't know their names off the top of my head, which isn't really that strange if you know the Ultramarathon world. See, about half a million different people run marathons in the U.S. every year. By comparison, there's only about 80,000 ultramarathon runners. That's still a shit ton if you're trying to recognize names and faces. Plus, while there's about a thousand different marathon events,

around the U.S. every year? There's over 2,000 different ultramarathons. Yeah, that sounded weird to me at first, too, until you consider everything that goes into putting on a marathon versus an ultramarathon. Ultramarathons don't need much organization.

We run on trails, fire roads, stuff like that. Not in cities. Plus, you might do an ultra that only has 20 or 40 runners in it. So the fact that I didn't know anyone else there wasn't anything special. It was one of the other runners that found the envelope under a rock near the cliff's edge.

On it were the sparse rules of the race. Just before midnight, a sound like it came from a conch shell echoed to the trees. That was the start. The course wasn't marked, just a faded strip of cloth nailed to a tree trunk every few miles. He had to find these claws and rip off a number, like a page in the book a la la the Barclay. they were supposed to be nine per loop, five loops total. Each loop? 20, maybe 25 miles, no aid stations, no volunteers, no checkpoints, just forest.

Cold, wet forest filled with brambles and rotten stumps and thorny underbrush that torture calves like barbed wire. Not unheard of, but it's not hurt nonetheless. The first loop was easy enough, relatively speaking. my legs were fresh. I was cautious but steady. I collected all nine tags. I made it back to the start camp, clearing with nothing but an old rusted bell hanging from a dead tree.

I rang at once, dropped the tags, then loop two began. They got darker on the second loop. Not just because night had fallen, but it felt darker. Like the trees leaned in closer. Their trunks gnarled like ribs, poking through a disease skin. I started hearing things.

I blamed how separated the field had gotten during just one loop. I was basically alone with my thoughts in a strange place. I tried to focus on the silence and go to Zan, but those sounds. Not forest sounds. Not wind or branches or owls. Other things. Whispers that weren't quite words. Low breathing, though, wasn't mine.

A crack of branches behind me. Too deliberate for wind. Too slow for an animal. Lack of oxygen can play funny tricks on your head. At one point I turned and saw footprints in the mud behind mine. Bare footprints. With bare feet, which I mean no shoes. Human shape, but too long.

Toes ending in points the heel curved like a hoof. I didn't slow down to investigate. By loop three, I couldn't tell if it was day or night anymore. The forest was fog and shadow, indistinguishable in any direction. I started marking the trees on my own with bits of torn shirts to keep track of where I'd bend, but the marks would vanish or reappear somewhere else or just shift. I started to wonder if another runner wasn't messing with me. Sometimes I'd catch movement out of the corner of my eye,

something low and quick, skittering behind the trees. Other times I'd find strange offerings at the base of trunks, old shoes, teeth, strands of hair tied and tight knots. I kept running. My legs throbbed. My feet were starting to get raw. I had eaten more than some carb gel and pickle juice in hours, but I couldn't stop. Stopping meant losing.

Worst stopping meant listening. At some point those sounds had taken on a different form. Not another runner, something else. Something I didn't want to stop and listen for. Listening meant it would catch up. And I believed it wanted me to stop. Somewhere in the fourth loop, I realized I hadn't seen another runner since the second loop. Not one.

I wasn't sure if I was in the lead or coming in dead last. Or maybe I was the only one left. I almost tripped over a boot half buried in the mud or a mile. six. My ankle twisted weird and I dropped for a second thinking the worst. After a few moments, I knew I'd be okay, but then the boot got my full attention. It was bloated and rotten. The leather peel back like sunburned skin. Inside, I saw a layer of maggots on what I was almost positive was a foot. Still laced into the boot, blackened, toes curled in a tiny. Tows curled in a death grip. I didn't stop to look long. Every time I lingered, I'd hear it again. The snapping of

branches, the dragging of limbs. It never made noise when I was looking right at it. Only when I turned away. Only when I was too tired to run fast enough. I started to feel like I was being hurted. Until then, I hadn't really thought about how much I needed to see other people. I thought I liked the silence. It was only because the silence wasn't a constant. Now, more than anything, I wanted to see another runner, a race organizer,

a park ranger, a hiker, anyone, anyone to remind me that I wasn't the last man in the world. Anyone to remind me that I was just running a race, not running for my life. I stepped off what passed for a trail to relieve myself, and that's when I saw it.

Just out of the corner of my vase. vision, a dark shape in the distance, rocking side to side. It didn't move like a person, and it wasn't a bear, but was watching me. When I started to run again, it followed. It didn't try to stop me outright, it just stayed close. Always behind, sometimes beside, pacing me, shifting its position to cut me off if I strayed too far from the trail. It smelled like wet fur and I don't know what else. It clung to my nostrils and wouldn't wash out no matter how hard I gagged.

I stopped hearing the race takes from the trees after loop four. It didn't seem to matter anymore. The trail had stopped looping. I was just going deeper and deeper. I passed the same tree three times in a row. A dead birch with a human jawbone. nailed into the trunk like a trophy. The last time I passed it, the jaw was open.

I didn't even scream. I was too tired to scream. Given the option of fight or flight, guess which one of my body's made for? My hallucination started somewhere in the rocks. I saw lights through the trees like headlamps, heard voices, familiar ones, people I loved.

My mother calling my name. in the softest whisper. My girlfriend's laugh. The real kind, the deep one she only made when I said something truly dumb. I ran toward them. What I found was a clearing full of mannequins. Dozens of them. Limbs missing.

Eyes painted on. All facing away from me. Every one of them was wearing a racing bib with a name I didn't recognize. I stepped backward and they all turned to face me in perfect sense. silence. That's when I blacked out. I woke up in the dirt with dried blood crusted under my nose. My water was gone. The compass was shattered and something was carved into my calf. A number. Four. Like I was on loop four, but I knew I was already on five. That's when I came to realize the truth. There'd been no bell, there been no fanfare, just a sick.

snap behind my eyes, I got reset button pressed too hard. The fifth loop doesn't have an end. No trail, no markers, just forest. Endless, cold, alive. And something else now. Something above the trees. When I run the branches part, they want me to keep moving. Because the second I stop,

I hear the sound. Not the one from the start of the race. Different. Lower, deeper. It echoes behind my ribs like it's inside me. Like something ancient is calling me home. I can't explain how I'm still moving. My body is shredded, broken, barely holding together.

Every step feels like my bones are grinding into dust. Every breath burns like I swallowed fire. the fifth loop. It's a nightmare stitched together with cold sweat and raw terror. The forest isn't forest anymore. It's a cage. The trees bend in. Their branches like claws scraping at my skin, tearing through my clothes,

pulling me backward even as I push forward. There's no path. Only whispers, like a thousand voice. is trailing behind me, calling me by every name I've ever been called, all the cruel ones, the ugly ones, ones I've forgotten and ones I never will. I'm running without direction, but the forest has a rhythm. The ground pulses beneath my feet, reds twists like serpents, trying to trip me. Shadows leap out, claws snapping just inches from my ankles.

moves above the canopy, a dark shifting mass. Sometimes, when I look up, I see eyes, hundreds of them watching, waiting. Then the sound echoes again, not from the tree inside me. It pulses in my chest. I'm falling, or maybe I'm flying. I don't know which is worse. that's when it shows itself. Not a man, not an animal, something older, something hungry.

Its body is a writhing knot of limbs, spider legs, bird talons, human fingers, all contorted and broken yet somehow alive. It moves in jerks, unnatural, like a puppet on invisible strings. Its face, if you can call it, that is a hollow mask of bone with an empty eye sockets leaking black smoke. It speaks without words. It tells me the race isn't about finishing. It's about becoming. I am to be its next shell. The puppet it controls. Because I ran too far. I ran too fast. I didn't stop when I should have. It likes that.

Pain explodes in my limbs, my bones snap, twist, and pop from my skin until a little more than a quivering pile of compound fractures. The pain exists in a world without words to describe it. The monster, the thing, repairs them, but only so it can move me, like a doll. Invisible hands pushing the bone back into the skin. I can feel my bones mending like they're being knit together. I no longer have the will to scream anymore, but I run. Because the thing controls my body. The only way to survive is to keep moving.

I don't know if I'm still me or just a ghost in this broken husk. But if you find this, if anyone ever finds this, don't look for the boundless. Don't listen for the conch. don't follow the trail because the race is waiting and I am still running I guess I don't really feel anything

it's just a dream right? Did it help my dream? Did it help solve anything? Yeah well time's all I got in here right try to get some rest yeah right

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