Creepy - Day 5 - Tales From the Gas Station Part 5

Episode Date: October 5, 2018

There's a gas station at the edge of town...***Written by Gas Station Jack***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Produced by Steve Blizin, Puzzle Audio***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This episode of the 31 Days of Horrors presented thanks to patrons Kate M.L. Raphael Estrada, Stephanie Guthrie, Justin Beers, Haley and Josh, Sergio Sassito, Lori Reinhart, Heather Thomas, and Matt Rupert. If you'd like to learn more about how you can support the podcast and get rewards, please visit the reward tiers at patreon.com slash creepypod. 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. Creepy Presents The 31 Days of Horror Day 5. Tales from the gas station. Part 5. Credited to Gas Station Jack. I should begin this entry by saying how truly sorry I am to anyone who read part 4. I had no idea that was going to happen.

The agents have assured me that every trace of the story has been removed from the internet and that there is nothing to worry about. If you were unfortunate enough to have read part 4, I beg you for your own. sake, try to forget everything. If you experience nosebleeds, dizziness, migraines, or hallucinations, go immediately to the emergency room. If you have a recurring dream of an island made of song, under no circumstances should you approach or attempt to open the blue door with the painting of a crow on it. If you do not read part four, there was no part four. It does not exist. Forget you ever heard of it.

By now, you probably already know that there's a shitty gas station at the edge of our small town and that weird things have been happening there. The city council has personally asked me to stop talking about it, as there have been some astute readers that not only track down our small town from the brief descriptions I've given, but actually come and visit me at work. I heard that one of them has joined the mathematicists, and as far as I know the other two are still missing.

Once again, I am sorry. I'm not working right now. It's the first legitimate break I've had since I first started writing my stories on receipt paper all that time ago. Time moves funny here. It's slowing slow and fast all at once, like molasses out of a shotgun. It's a good thing I've been keeping a journal. I've got a few moments before my laptop dies, and I think now it'll be a perfect time to transpose my journal entries.

before the battery runs out or the blood loss gets to me. Right now it's a race to see what happens first. Before any of you worry, I've already called Tom. He said he's on the way, here to give me a ride to the hospital right after he picks up dinner for the Ledford orphans, John Ben and little sister. Tom and the other deputy has been taking turns checking in on and bringing them food in an attempt to make the whole thing less tragic.

They've been living on their own ever since the incident that totally did not happen. Anyone who says otherwise is a damn liar. There I go again. Off on another tangent. I guess I'll get to it and type up my journal entries while I still can. 11 to 2017. 9 p.m.

So much has happened since a Halloween incident that we aren't allowed to talk about. I've been much busier than usual, dealing with the aftermath as well as the cult. The mathematicists have been cleaning out our inventory on a daily basis, planning ahead for some kind of secret event that I only hear about and hushed mutterings and whispers. Night's coming earlier, and the weather's getting colder.

11-3-2017. 2 a.m. A man in the trench coat's back. He's standing just outside the gas station door, staring in. Been there for almost an hour now. On the bright side, I haven't had a customer come in since he showed up. And the not so bright side, I can't help but feel he's trying to put thoughts into my head. He won't be able to, though.

I've had way too much practice. Kiefer came in earlier today, before the sun went down, and sat in a booth drinking coffee for a while. Eventually Spencer Middleton showed up. Spencer had a word with Kiefer, then came storming up to my register, screaming at the top of his lungs. He grabbed the display of Lotto scratch-offs and threw it across the room. It was obvious that something had. had upset him. That's when I took the earplugs out.

Everything okay? I asked stupidly. I knew damn well everything was never okay. Did you hear a word I just said? Spencer asked. I explained to him that I had taken wearing earplugs in an effort to drawn out the sounds of screaming that periodically radiate through the air vents. I guess this screams must have stopped a while ago.

And maybe I had imagined them. Neither way. I don't need the earplugs anymore. At this point, Tom walked into the store. His white hair looking even whiter than normal. Spencer, I could see, became instantly aware the deputy's presence. Where is he? He half whispered, half growled.

Where is the other one? Carlos? I asked. Spencer sighed. Sure. Carlos. He's not doing for another 20 minutes. When he gets here, tell him we need to have a chat.

With that, Spencer Melaton let out a shrill whistle and left the store. Kiefer jumped out of his seat and followed close behind. Tom helped me pick up the mess and put the lotto display back together without asking a single question. I wish more people could be like Tom. When Carlos got to work, he told me he'd been having strange dreams. Dreams of something enormous, living, breathing, underground. The dreams always end the same way, when the gas station collapsed into a giant sinkhole.

I told him that Spencer was looking for him. It's when Carlos grew solemn and asked me if you could show me something. In the freezer, find a stack of boxes labeled Non-Aprere. Where the hell that means? They've been here as long as I've worked here. There's a moving blank. and inside that blanket is another kefir. My first question for Carlos was,

You stole the body back? He looked at the ground and shook his head sheepishly like a toddler, just got busted for cooking meth. You killed another one? I asked. Carlos explained it was an accident. Again, 3 a.m. The man in the trench coat is finally gone.

He left claw marks on the ground. glass of the front door. I checked the security footage to confirm my suspicions. He always stays just outside the range of our cameras. Why can't I remember what his face looked like? 3.30 a.m. Marlborough was the first customer in the store after the man in the trench go left. I told him that I was surprised he was still alive.

He mistook this for a compliment and said thank you. I asked him if he was ready for the big event. but then he just stared at me blankly. I could tell you I had no idea what I was talking about, so I filled him in on how I put it all together. The unusual cultist activity, the whispers, the buying up of all our supplies. I could tell that something was about to happen.

Marlborough went pale in the face as I was talking, then ran out the gas station before I could finish, the 99-cent frozen drinks still in his hand. I know I should write up an inventory loss slip for the theft, but just can't bring myself to do it. As hard as it is to explain, there's just something about Marlborough that makes me genuinely feel sorry for him.

6 a.m. Caught myself digging again. I don't know how long I was out there. Who was running the store while I was gone. The hole's so deep now I nearly couldn't climb out of my own. I should maybe think about considering the possibility of one day asking a doctor if this is normal. 8 a.m. Marlborough is currently crying in the dry storage closet.

Through his sobs, I could barely make out the story. Marlborough was sent on some kind of vision quest for the last week and had no idea what the other cultists had been stocking up for. When he went back to the compound earlier tonight, he found the whole place completely deserted. Beds were left unmade. Some plates had food on them. A fire's still burning in the fireplace. Everyone's clothes were still in their personal milk crates next to their sleeping bags. But the people, all of the people, were simply gone. Marlborough isn't taking this very well. But I have a business to run.

So I asked Carlos to help me carry him into the dry storage area. I figure he can work through some stuff in there and then maybe when he's done he'll just... I don't know. Go home? 11.4, 2017. 9 p.m. Exterminators just left. They say they got all the snakes this time. But I have my doubts. 11.5, 2017. 5 p.m. Kiefer came into the store again today and made some thinly veiled threats.

He asked about Carlos too, but I told him I was getting tired to be in the go-between and that if he had business with Carlos, he needed to take it up with Carlos. That's when Kiefer started getting weird. You know this place is just a big experiment and you're the little mouse. I asked Kiefer to buy something I leave, so he bought a pack of toothpaste. Then started to undress in the store and rubbed the toothpaste on his naked body. They tell me that something's wrong with your brain. Is that true? I tried to be polite and avert my eyes as I answered,

Yeah. You have some kind of mental condition? I answered again. Yeah. That's too bad. At this point, Kiefer was completely naked. He walked over to the frozen drink machine and filled a large cup with a sugary red concoction

before turning it upside down on top of his head. Then he shook himself violently like a wet dog, flinging bits of cold, sticky debris across everything from the ceiling to the walls. Some of it even landing on my face. But I tried not to let him see me flinch. I knew this was all just in a tinge. attempt to intimidate me, and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

What is it exactly? He asked as he crossed back to wear his pile of clothes waited for him. What? I asked. What's your condition? Schizophrenia, pronopoeia, meningitis. The gay? No?

I answered. I don't sleep. You don't sleep? He sounded genuinely interested. Like, ever? I can't fall asleep. I haven't slept a single day since high school. It's a rare genetic condition with no cure, no treatment, and one day it'll kill me.

But until then, I handle the effects as best I can. Kiefer nodded. That must be it. That must be why he can't reach you. Why who can't reach me? me. Right then, Spencer came into the store. He threw a blanket around Kiefer and ushered him out to a waiting SUV. A moment later, he came back into the store and offered me $100 for the security tape from tonight. I wonder what I'll spend my hundred bucks on. 9 p.m. I was beginning to suspect

something wasn't quite right in the store. I've been finding empty candy bar wrappers strewn about, security tapes mysteriously deleted. Strange noises coming through the walls. in the middle of the night when I should be alone. At least, more strange noises than usual. At first I assumed it was just the raccoons. But now I know the truth. Now I know that Marlborough's been living here for the last two days. He just walked out of the supply closet wearing a bathrobe,

nodded to me as he grabbed a stick of meat jerky, and went into the bathroom. It had not even occurred to me that Marlborough never left. 116, 2017, 4 a.m. It finally happened. Suppose it was only a matter time. I know I should feel regret or shame or any of the other emotions that normal people feel after something like this happens, but all I feel is embarrassed. I came to a couple hours ago with a shovel in my hand.

I'd been digging again, and this time I'd made some serious progress. The hole was at least seven feet deep. The steep walls made a loose red clay. It took me a while to realize that I was staring up in an inky black night peppered with uncountable stars when some of the bigger celestials started to move. I realized that those stars were actually just the soulless red eyes of the mutant raccoons staring down at me over the edge of the hole. Probably looking for food.

Those shameless beggars. I chucked the shovel out of the hole and that's when I heard it. Imagine the sound of a butcher's knife hitting a watermelon, like a solid wet thwack. Now imagine the watermelon gurgling and falling over like a sack of potatoes. This metaphor has really gotten away from me. When I climbed out of the hole, I saw the shovel standing upright. The business end firmly lodged inside the open chest wound of a still twitching kefir. The keifer was dead before I got to his side.

In a final act of defiance, he had turned both of his middle fingers, up to me. I felt just the slightest amount of respect for him before I went into a mental state that I can only describe as subdued panic. The first thing I wanted to do was find something to wrap the body in because, surely, Spencer Middleton would come for it soon. When I went into the gas station, I was surprised to find that Marlborough had taken it upon himself to work the cash register while I was gone.

He was ringing up one of our regulars, Charles, a great big fat man that always buys soap and boiled peanuts. I nabbed a tarp off the shelf and took it outside. That's when I learned something. Kiefer is heavy, like really heavy. I understand that a human body is basically just a meaty, fleshy, water balloon full of guts and excrement, but nothing could prepare me for how leaky and gross and heavy a dead man can be. It was only by some miracle that I managed to drag Kiefer through the back door and into the freezer without being seen. It took all my strength to pull the mass behind the boxes and onto the stack with the other three. When I finally finished, I'd worked up a sweat.

And even the cold of the freezer wasn't enough to keep me cool. As I stood there letting my breath come back and the adrenaline wore off, I took stock in my situation. That's when it dawned on me. There were four keifers in that freezer with me. Four. Kiefer's. What the hell did the day? the other two come from. The freezer door opened and Marlborough entered, dragging a dead

kefir by the legs. He stopped and made eye contact with me. When he saw the keifers at my feet, I said the only thing I could think of. Well, this is awkward. Marlborough and I decided to open a bottle of straggle liquor and have a few drinks. He explained that he had accidentally killed keifer a couple times. I totally understood. That was just so easy to kill. At one point, Carlos came into the freezer to grab a box of cookie dough. He didn't even acknowledge all the keifers. My laptop battery is currently at 2%. It's obvious now that I won't have time to transcribe the rest of my channels before it dies.

I don't have time to tell you how I ended up at the bottom of this hole underneath the store with a broken leg. But I can tell you that I hear someone moving around above me, which is good because I don't think I'm alone down here. If you're reading this, it means I managed to upload my story. If you're not reading this, then... I don't know. What even are you? Someone just called my name from the top of the precipice. I think it's Carlos.

I wonder what happened to Tom. Why didn't Tom ever show up? Come to think of it. I seem to remember Tom didn't survive the Halloween incident. Wait. Who the hell of it? I've been talking to this entire time. I promise.

If I survive long enough to return to my battery, I'll come back and tell the rest. Until then, I guess the story's to be continued. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. at Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook, or email us. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com And are protected by a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.