Creepy - Day 6 - Why You Can't Talk to the Dead

Episode Date: October 6, 2017

The dead don't talk...***Presented by: Girl in Space (https://girlinspacepodcast.com)***Credited to: DayDalia***Sound design by: Emry Rockenfield  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 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. Creepy presents The 31 Days of Horror Day 6

Why You Can't Talk to the Dead Credited to Day Dahlia My aunt was a con artist And she learned from the best Her father Grandpa never made it big But he lived for the game Staying under the radar

Was probably what made sure he never did get caught Not once once. He was so proud of that. Mom didn't take up to family business. She got religion instead, married a tax accountant. It's so ironic that it sounds like a joke, but it's true. Dad was best for helping out with math homework. Mom's more colorful relations were kept at a figurative arm's length throughout my childhood, lest they'd corrupt me into following a more interesting life path. Aunt Cassie was the only one who could wiggle her way into my life. She was fully licensed as a psychologist, which made her a smidge more respectable, but Aunt Cassie

used her ability to read a person in a whole different way, one probably not intended by the university who issued her degree. Aunt Cassie was a bona fide psychic. She had a shop and everything, crystals, herbs, candles, anything you need to fill the mystic void in your life could be bought for a healthy markup at her little store. There's even a private room in the back that was used for readings and seances. Because both my folks worked, I would often get dropped off at the shop where I would help on a Cassio with those little shows. Anything from messing with the lights to knocking on walls. Playing with the thermostat was my idea, and it was an effective one. Customers came to get chills down their space.

fine, didn't they? Why not provide? Cassie helped me become the skeptic I am today, showed me all the behind-the-scenes, slight hand stuff. We'd watch daytime talk shows, magicians, and mediums, and Cassie would explain every step from a basic rundown of cold readings to how to spot an audience plant. After one particularly convincing episode, I asked the natural question. Couldn't some of it be real? My answer, reply was firm. The dead don't talk, kiddo. Anyone who claims otherwise has blown smoke out their ass.

It was her conviction more than anything that made me believe her. There was only one client I ever saw my own refuse. He was old, bald, stooped, took his hat off while he came inside and twisted it in his hands as he talked. Cassie tensed up immediately when she saw him. The man claimed to have worked in the prison systems, death row. He'd been responsible for carrying out the final punishments of the worst convicted criminals on the planet. In his old age, this tormented him, aided his soul.

He wanted Cassie to contact the souls of the ones he'd killed so he could apologize and beg forgiveness before he joined them. My aunt threw the most epic fit. I'd never seen her so mad. She hollered through things, shouting from him to shut up and get out. I hit under the cone with my hands over my ears until he left. Later I thought her reaction was fear because of the man's job.

An executioner had to be a con artist force fear. Eventually, I got found out. I wanted to put on a magic show for my folks and stupidly thought I'd do a medium bit where I pretended to talk to grandpa for her mom since she missed him so much. Huge mistake. Mom freaked the hell out and banned me from seeing her sister ever again. I'd love some textbooks at the shop, though, so I got to run in and grab them while mom fumed in the car outside. On Cassie didn't even ask what was wrong.

She could read my face after all. I gave her hug and a teary snot-filled goodbye. She did tell me one last secret, though. Kiddo, there's a curse in this family that gets past like a. a torch. I hope to whatever gods might be out there that I don't pass it on to you when I go. We didn't get to talk again for more than nine years. That's when Facebook entered the popular public sphere and no parental ban could keep me from trying to reconnect. It was awkward. She'd had a tough goal of life, diagnosed with a schizoid disorder that took her business from her. To pay bills,

she went legitimate and with her business when all her zest and playful passion for life. One day I got home to a message waiting in my inbox that made my stomach drop to the floor. I love you, kiddo. Remember what I told you. I dialed her number already crying. No answer. Didn't stop me from dialing again and again and again and again. I was too much of a mess to tell my mom.

The police did that for me the next day. car accident drunk driver the funeral was a blur relatives I'd never seen in the flesh packed the church I sat between my parents in the front row and racked my brain

trying to figure out what it was my aunt wanted me to remember we followed the hearse to the cemetery in dead silence the priest did the last little speeches and then I was left alone by her headstone still straining to remember snatches of my parents' conversation floated in and out of my attention span.

If only Cassie hadn't been so cryptic, expecting such a small turnout, it's a shame. Small turnout. It bothered me. The service had practically been stuffed to the rafters. I turned around to say something. I only understood. On my parents, there was a whole host of people, all standing and staring dead ahead.

My parents weren't paying them the slightest attention. The priest muttered some soothing condolences and excused himself. Walked right through the thick of the crowd without disturbing a single soul. At the head of the group. And just like the day had seen her last was Cassie. All their rest-in-peace sentiment in the world wouldn't have done her any good. Her mouth was wide, wide, wide, wide open. And just like that,

I knew. I know what the family curse is. I know why the dead don't talk. They're too busy screaming. This probably isn't really worth noting, but during my final radiation tests of the day, I saw a blip out in the opposite direction of Ra. It's a bright light with the pinpoint clarity of a star,

but obviously it's not a star since it wasn't there yesterday. Or even a few hours ago. Also, it's moving. Charlotte's taking this new development with all the grace of a garbage fire. She barged in on her hydraulic arm while I was checking Roz radiation emissions earlier and started reciting the entire Caldwell Enterprise's Emergency Preparedness Manual to me from start to finish. I took that to mean that she thinks the incoming light is a matter of some concern. I told her to be more optimistic that it might not be coming directly toward us, that it could simply be.

a mirage that she technically doesn't have a death to fear, but she just started reciting the manual all over again from the beginning. So I wedged a fallen tree branch up into the hydraulic tracks to block her from exiting the glasshouse. Season one of Girl in Space launches September 18th, 2017, with a new episode every two weeks. Subscribe using your favorite podcast app or stream episodes at girl in spacepodcast.com. It's all here in space. 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 creepy pod on Twitter,

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