Creepy - Day 6 - Harvesting Souls & Locker Movie Rental

Episode Date: October 6, 2023

Harvesting Souls***Written by: Alicia Hilton and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Bonus episode: "Locker Movie Rental"***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/***Support the podcast and get rewarded at patreon.com/creepypod***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.

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 are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. which listener discretion is advised. Powder blue. The color reminded her of crying babies. She'd done her own share of crying when she was

growing up in the house with dear old mom and dad. Until she got smart and learned that whining was for losers. Winners didn't take shit from anybody. Winners got even. Happy Halloween, she yelled at the painting. Her father looked right past her like he wasn't even listening. Her mother's smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed as if she was judging her. Gail grabbed the TV remote and hucked it at the painting. Her aim was so off, the remote didn't even make it to the wall. She grunted and stood. She was buzzed, but not drunk enough to pass out. Swaying, she walked into the kitchen. There were four cans of beer left in the fridge. At first, she assumed that the hazy apparition standing beside the kitchen counter was a hallucination. The fairer.

Phantom had her mother's face and body, dressed in the Chanel suit mom was buried in. The ghost's face solidified. Her dyed brunette hair was flat on one side, as if she'd been sleeping and hadn't brushed it. Rinkled lips painted with the rose lipstick that the mortician had applied, spread in a moss grin, revealing capped teeth that still looked dazzling white, except one canine was chipped. Miss me, sweetie. The Phantom said, with her mother's voice. Gail was so shocked she couldn't speak. The ghost grasped a crystal decanter from the counter.

Yesterday it was half full of bourbon. She'd bought the decanter, a new stereo system, and a widescreen TV with the cash she'd gotten from pawning her mother's jewelry. Her parents were killed four months ago in a car crash. She was still waiting for the life insurance to pay off. Taggy, taggy. tutted, raising her penciled black eyebrows. She closed both fists around the decanter, crushing it. Shards of glass rained onto the marble tile floor. Her mouth opened impossibly wide,

creating a hole that filled most of her face. It inhaled the shards, sucking in broken glass like a vacuum. Teeth masticated, making a crunching sound that sent shivers down Gail's spine. She tried to run, but her feet were stuck to the floor. The phantom snapped her gnarled fingers. The joints were swollen from rheumatoid arthritis, an affliction that had cut short her career as a concert pianist. Gail yelped when she levitated off the ground. The yelp turned to a shriek when her body hurtled towards the window that was above the kitchen sink.

She raised her hands to protect her face and tensed her shoulders, bracing for impact. A split second before she would have crashed into the window. The glass turned to dust and was inhaled by the phantom who followed fast on her heels. Gail soared into the night, gasping as she levitated above the driveway. Her yellow Ford Bronco was missing. In its place was the smashed white Cadillac that her parents had died in. It'd crashed down a ravine after the brakes failed.

No, this can't be happening, Gail shouted. The phantom disappeared. Still levitating, Gail whooshed away from the three-stained. colonial that she'd inherited from her parents. Help! She yelled. Glowing jackal lanterns on the neighbor's porches grinned at her, their mouths spreading wider.

Gail screamed again, but no lights and houses turned on. Cars that should have been parked in driveways were gone. Koldasak seemed deserted. She flailed her arms trying to stop her momentum, but she soared higher above the trees and houses, heading south. Her gut churned like she was riding a roller coaster as she reached the Winnetco Golf Club.

Her parents had always attended the club's annual Halloween bash, but the lights were off in the clubhouse. A single SUV was in the parking lot. The interior dome light was on. Help! Gail screamed. A powerful downdraft hurled Gail toward the asphalt. She thought she was going to splat, but the motion suddenly stopped. frozen in mid-air she hovered three feet off the ground.

The SUV's engine turned on with a throaty rumble. The vehicle surged toward Gail. The driver's head looked like it belonged to an insect. The prominent mandibles clacked so loudly. It sounded like someone was breaking branches. Gail's gut cramped. Fomit surged from her throat and splattered the SUV's hood. A split second before she would have slammed into the windshield.

an invisible chain wrapped around Gail's neck, choking her scream. Yanked by the leash, she was hurtled through the air. Towards Sheridan Road. Four minutes into the Hell Ride. She'd left Winnettka and reached Kenilworth. Three minutes later, she'd reach Womit, and was heading south toward the Baha'i Temple. There wasn't a single vehicle in sight.

It was like she'd been transported to an alternate reality where nothing existed except her and her terror. She wanted to believe she was dreaming, but Wyn buffeted her face, making tears stream from her eyes. Her pace accelerated until she was flying so fast that the ground became a blur. After agonizing minutes,

the propulsive pulse slowed and finally stopped. She hovered above a strip mall on Howard Street, on the border of Evanston and Chicago, a red neon sign in the window of 24-hour easy-pe. pawn flashed open. The sensation of the chain choking her throat changed. Hands replaced metal. The phantom was still invisible, but she smelled like Girlane Samcera, her mother's perfume. The woodsy floral scent made her bowels gurgle in fright. She struggled, clawing at her neck, but the grip tightened, long fingernails biting into her skin until she bled.

Let me go, she cried. but her plea was muffled by the strong grip. The clench around her neck relaxed to a caress, a light touch that was a little more than a tickle. She felt the fingers warming as they drifted to her cheek. What do you want? She stammered. A disembodied hand appeared, floating in front of Gail's face.

The index finger grazed her lower lip. She tried to jerk her head away but was paralyzed. What do I want? A voice near her ear whispered, You never ask what I wanted when I was alive. The hand slapped Gail's face so hard, her teeth bit her cheek. She tasted blood in her mouth. I was a good daughter, she sobbed.

Good, the phantom snarled. Lies will not save you. What do you want? I'll do anything. The disembodied hand twitched. Give me back my ring. The Phantom commanded. Suddenly, Gail plummeted towards a parking lot, falling 53 feet. She landed face down with a thud, a flash of excruciating pain, the nothing but blackness.

For a moment, she thought she was dead, but her lungs still worked. She inhaled a shaky breath. As her vision returned, she slowly sat up and touched her face. It should have been a bloody pulp, but the jaw wasn't dislocated. the nose wasn't broken. All her teeth were still in her mouth. Only her forehead was slightly sore. Her mouth flapped open in a barking laugh

as she felt her arms and legs. None of the bones were broken. She laughed even louder, the sound booming through the empty parking lot as she stood. Gail checked her jacket pockets, but they were empty. Her cell phone must have fallen out. The light on the bus shelter across the street beckoned. her wallet was still in her jeans back pocket.

She had a $5 bill, enough cash for the fair home. But buses didn't run after 1.30 a.m. on Halloween. A frigid gust made her shiver. She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. Wouldn't it be ironic if she died from pneumonia? She turned toward the pawn shop. Big windows faced the parking lot. Lights were on, but she didn't see Gus, Charlie, or Tom at the counter.

which was strange. One of the brothers was always there handling business. Legal transactions and shadier deals. She knew from experience that they didn't want to know where their customer got their goods. She inhaled another shaky breath and strode to the door. The metal handle felt normal when she gripped it, smooth and cold.

She gave it a yank and the door swung open. The bell at the entryway jingling. Gus, Charlie, You hear? Tom? No one answered. The showroom reeked like rotten meat. Overhead speakers were playing the Oingo Boingo song Dead Man's Party. The volume of the music kept changing and getting louder than softer than louder again.

She checked the storeroom door, but it was locked. The phone mounted on the wall had no dial tone. She considered punching 911 to see if a call would go through, but set down the receiver. She'd never trusted cops. Sides, no cop could rescue her from a ghost. Jewelry was locked in a glass display case. She saw her mother's ring glinting in the second row.

The platinum band and the diamonds had been polished. She was going to leave without the ring, but something shoved against her back and slammed her into the case. The glass shattered. Fortunately, her sweatshirt was thick enough to protect her from the shards. A skinny clerk would tattoos of insects on her face came running out of the storeroom and caught Gail shoving the ring in her pocket. Stop!

The clerk said as she lunged at Gail. The flies and hornets on her face were buzzing. They were real bugs. Gail twisted around and sprinted toward the door. The metal gate was rolling down. Invisible hands locked the padlock. The clerk grabbed an aerosol canister and sprayed Gail. The spray cam was labeled Mace.

But the gooey stuff that spattered her face smelled like Taron was raging hot. caught. Gail shrieked as her skin blistered. She clawed at the tar. Her fingers got as hot as her face. Bloody skin sloughed off. The clerk laughed. Her mouth opened wider and wider until her head was a black pit surrounded by buzzing insects. A voice from the pit commanded, Give me my ring! Weeping in agony, Gail kept clawing at her face. The command repeated, Give me my ring! shouted in her mother's voice.

Gail shoved her bloody hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out the ring. She hurled it into the pit. There was a blinding flash of light and a loud boom. Gail's ears rang. As the light and the buzzing faded, Gail realized she was alone. Her pain had vanished. Shaking all over, she gently touched her face and breathed the sigh of relief. The smoldering tar was gone.

and her blistered flesh had healed. The metal grate rattled as it rolled up, propelled by an invisible force. The glass door was unlocked when Gail pushed against it. Crying in relief, she stumbled outside, only to be greeted by a hellscape. The parking lot was gone. Gail was enveloped by a cumulonimbus cloud,

a thunderhead churning thousands of feet above Chicago. Lightning cracked, the energy pulsing through her body. Thunder rumbled so loudly that she couldn't hear herself when she screamed. Like a helium balloon, she was tossed up and down as the storm raged. Days passed. Or maybe they were only hours or minutes. But it felt like an eternity. Her teeth chattered until the pain in her jaw was so acute, she knew the joints would snap at any moment. She'd never felt so cold, an icy fire that burned inside of her bones. Giving up, she stopped resisting the wind and drifted,

drifted until dawn finally bled through the clouds. Exhaustion, a numbness that felt like what she imagined death must be like, cocooned her. As the sun rose, her eyes closed. At first, Gail thought the sound was a thresher. She dreamed of wheat fields and visiting her granddad's farm. Metal blades whirring. Harvest time.

She'd love sitting beside Grandad atop the big machine, but when she opened her eyes, she was hovering about 20 feet above Rose Hill Cemetery in Chicago. The cemetery where her parents were buried. There was no thresher in sight, not even a lawnmower. Like a rock, she dropped from the sky. Her body smashed into a stone mausoleum and ricocheted to the ground. Fallen leaves filled her mouth, gagging her scream.

She heard footsteps thudding, walking toward her. You okay? A man said. His voice was muffled, as if he spoke through a scarf or had a thick parka around his head. Gail tried to spit out the leaves, but her tongue and lips wouldn't move. Something grasped her shoulder and tugged, jostling her gently. Can you hear me? The man said.

The voice was clearer and somehow familiar. As the fog that muddled her brain lifted, Gail turned her head. She felt no pain. But when she saw a prosthetic hand touching her shoulder, she shuddered. It was a myoelectric model that resembled a robot's hand. She didn't have to see the man's face to know that it was her father. Dad had lost the hand and arm to an improvised explosive device in Iraq. The ghost bent down and peered at her.

Praying for forgiveness, he said. His gaze was as cold as the November morning. Dad's ghost squinted, staring with such intensity that Gail felt like the eyes were drilling into her soul. Gail trembled. I'm sorry. Sorry for what? The ghost leaned closer. His breath smelled like death. For being a disappointment, Gail whispered. Compared to her father, she'd always felt weak in so. stupid. Gail had washed out of boot camp after she enlisted in the Marines. The physical training was

too arduous. Then she flunked out of college. Finally got a job after she enrolled in an automotive training school and became a mechanic. Spent 14 years fixing cars. Being a grease monkey wasn't respectable enough for the daughter of a Marine lieutenant colonel and a pianist. Grease monkey, she loathed the insult. That's what her mother had called her. They probably also knew she was a thief. You're sorry for being a disappointment. You've got nothing else to say? The phantom raised his prosthetic arm.

Her father had never struck her, but Gail flinched. August made tree branches clacked together. Gail flinched again. I'm... She stammered. Stop, sniveling, get up! Her father said. Gail's heart.

it pounded as she stood. Her legs wobbled but weren't broken. Miraculously, she felt only a twinge of soreness. She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. She was almost as tall as her father, and 35 years old, but felt like a little girl again. Inconsequential. She swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. As if he'd read her mind, her father said, an adult takes responsibility for her actions. You ready to atone? I didn't do anything! Gail's voice cracked as she shouted.

That's the way you're going to play it. Her father shook his head. You had one chance. He turned away and strode toward a stone mausoleum. Gail blinked back tears. Wait, Dad. The ghost kept walking. Gail held her breath. She wanted to run towards her father, but something stopped her.

Guilt? Pride? When she was about 50 feet away, her father faced her. You ready to confess? I'm sorry that you died. I've missed you. Missed me? The phantom cackled a terrible mockery of a laugh. The hair on the back of Gail's neck stood up. The ghost's mouth opened wider and wider still. His teeth must morphed becoming whirring steel blades. The suction from the blades was so strong that Gail levitated from the ground and was propelled towards the shiny metal maw. As she flew past a tree,

she grasped a branch, hanging on for her life. The branch snapped. In dreams, people fantasize about flying. But no nightmare couldn't still such terror. Urine flowed down Gail's leg as her feet touched metal. I cut the brake line. She shouted, but her confession was swallowed by the thresher. For your bonus episode, creepy presents. Locker movie rental. Back in high school, I made a few bucks stealing nudie magazines from the bookstore in the mall and selling it to my classmates.

It wasn't anything major, and I could only manage to steal maybe a half dozen before I was pretty sure the manager caught on, and I got spooked enough to quit while I was ahead. but it was enough for me to inspire one of my other classmates, Greg, to start his own side hustle. This is the part where I feel like a grandpa telling children about how things used to be different. Well, they did. Kids these days literally carry accessible porn around in their pockets all day. When I was growing up, the only way we saw that was if an older sibling had a magazine or tape.

Maybe it was someone's dads or... This is one I've heard so many people say. Finding a stash of porn magazines out in the woods. Seriously. I bet everyone knows someone who claims to have found such a thing. But I never figured out what woods all the scattered magazines were kept in. So I had to rely on the other alternative. No, not to Sears catalog bra section.

No, that might have happened too. I mean knowing someone with a black box. For those too young to remember such a thing as the pay-per-view channels on television, a black box was a way to unscramble the normal snow you'd see on the nudie channels for free. I knew a lot of families had had that sort of thing. But Greg was the first to monetize it as far as I'd heard. He would tape all the new movies and basically run his own video rental store out his school locker. He kept it up for months,

which seems almost impossible to me now considering how teenage or two years, couldn't play cool about something like that to save their lives, especially after he started to rent out the adult films. There were just a few, and honestly, it was a weird thing to even acknowledge. I mean, do you really want your friends to know that you're renting an adult movie? It's not like there was any other reason to have one, if not to abuse yourself. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't tempted to rent one, but Catholic guilt and teenage anxiety,

is a hell of a cocktail. So I think the most mature movie I could bring myself to rent from Greg was the movie Friday. Like all good things, eventually it ended. I don't know if it was a locker check or someone blabbed or what, but the operation got shut down. No big deal to any of us. It's kind of a fun thing to have been a part of, a story to tell someday. Kind of like I'm telling now.

except, of course, that was just the beginning of the story. Maybe a week after things got shut down, I heard that Greg was going around to all the people who had tapes out when he got and busted. At first, the word was that he didn't care, that we could all just keep the tapes, so I thought it was a little weird. By the time he got around to asking me, he looked sort of panicked. He was usually a pretty chill guy.

His parents were really well-off. and he had the sort of swagger you get when your parents can afford to keep your dress and all the trendy stuff. He had a closet full of jabot jeans in middle school, all Abercrombie and Ralph Lauren in high school. He came up to me between classes asking about what video I'd rented and if you could have it back. I told him I had Friday, just like he'd written down in his little notebook he used to keep track of things. Then he asked me if I was sure. I told him, yes, I was sure he'd rented me Friday. He walked away looking like he was going to be sick.

There was a piece of masking tape on it that said Friday, sure, so that's what I assumed I'd gotten. I can't remember the details of why I didn't watch it. Maybe my parents were always around. Maybe I got nervous about being caught with one of the tapes. But I'd thrown it under my bed and quickly forgot about it. Last week I was cleaning out my parents' house. They decided to pack up and move someplace warm, and I had. I agreed to help sort through the old stuff they'd hoarded over the years.

That's when I came across the tape in an old box, and the memories flooded back. I ended up buying a cheap VCR online as an impulse. Honestly, even when the VCR arrived, I kind of lost my motivation, so it wasn't until a few days ago that I finally had the downtime and inclination to watch the old tape. I'm not really one of those guys who has nostalgia for tracking lines and poor video quality, so it's not like I was excited as much as curious. I'd all but forgotten how weird Greg had been about the tape. Then I watched it.

Part of it. At first I thought there'd been a mistake. Then maybe I'd completely misremembered what Greg had been doing. The video was grainy, even for VHS. I started to think that maybe been sneaking a video camera into theaters and bootlegging his videos. Then I thought maybe I'd gotten a whole moment. movie by accident.

Was that why he'd been so upset? Had he accidentally lent me a home movie of his family and had somehow led to his dad learning about his side hustle? Sort of. It looked like an unfinished basement. There was a bunch of boxes in one corner and a ratty blue tarp on the ground. The camera was walking toward the tarp and I think I winced at the sound of feet shuffling on it.

That weird crackling sound that resonated in my teeth. I started to think it was around October or Halloween. There were a few of those streamers set up on the wall. The ones that are just a bunch of cut-out bats and alternating pumpkins. Whoever was holding the camera sounded like they were chuckling to themselves. And I wondered if whoever it was was setting up some kind of prank video. Maybe they had a haunted house set up and they were going to jump out and scare someone. There was a scare all right.

The camera went around the boxes in the corner. There wasn't anything behind them that I could see until a hand entered the frame and slid a box to the side, revealing a crawl space. Whoever was holding the camera just kept chuckling as the camera stooped down to look into the hole, but it was too dark, until the camera light flashed on. You know that feeling when you're driving at night on an empty road, and all of a sudden you see those two glowing eyes of a deer standing in the middle of the road? and for just that moment you freeze right along with the deer. Turns out the same thing happens when you're looking into the eyes of not just one, but three women. Naked, bound and gagged and stuffed into a crawl space. They looked filthy and injured.

One had a black eye. Another a bloody nose that had run down the side of her face where she lay. The other just stared passively at the can. camera, and I wasn't sure if she was alive. I made it until the camera person spoke before turning off the video and calling the police. I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep again without thinking about that deep, vicious, almost happy voice, ask, who's first? I ended up searching for Greg online.

We hadn't talked since high school. It's not like we were even really friends as much as acquaintance. I couldn't find him anywhere. No social media profiles or even a LinkedIn page. So I tried all kinds of combinations while I waited for the police to arrive so I could tell them everything just like I told you all. The only thing I could find was an article

and a vague Reddit thread. At some point about 10 years ago, Greg's dad had been arrested. The article mentioned that he was linked to a kidnapping. The Reddit thread was basically a combination of a few good riddance messages of his dad killing himself before he could go to trial. I didn't need to know why. I knew why.

I also knew why Greg would be a ghost online, assuming he was still alive. When the cops showed up, all I could think to lead with was, I think I stole a snuff film in high school. For more information on this podcast, including how to survive. make 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 Sherrillite licensing

or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent. of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.