Creepy - Day 7 - My Neighbor Murdered My Dad, I Can't Say I Blame Him

Episode Date: October 7, 2020

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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 7. My neighbor murdered my dad. I can't say I blame him.

Written by Weird Bryce Guy. Three years ago, my neighbor had. what can best be described as a mental breakdown. One morning he stepped down to his front lawn, looked around the street for a few moments, then went and sat in his driveway, shirtless. I had watched him do this because I'd just gone out to go to school. When I returned later that day, seven hours later,

he was still there, sitting exactly as he had been when I left. Most of our neighbors have gone to work, seeing the man as they drove past, but none of that to call the police. He technically wasn't doing anything wrong, so he remained undisturbed for several hours, though undoubtedly watched by anyone who'd gone to work or school. I wasn't very familiar with him, passing greetings being the most contact between us and the years we live next door to each other. My parents were similarly unfamiliar with the man, though none of us could have said that we disliked. him or felt uncomfortable around him.

He was just a stranger who occupied the same street as us. For the sake of privacy and respect for the dead, I won't share his name. After arriving home that day, I went into my house, made some food, and played video games. Not thinking about the man, but knowing what the sort of subconscious awareness to do is still sitting motionless and half naked in his driveway. Hours passed. and the fathers and mothers and general adults began arriving home from work, and the man's presence was beheld a second time.

Now worrying, inciting neighborly on ease, because their children were out at play, and a strange man behaving oddly in the vicinity of children is an unsettling thing. My own parents had arrived by then, and questioned me about the man. I told them as much as I've said now. They told me to remain inside. And then together they joined the other neighbors, who would come out at their homes to slowly approach the man, looking like zookeepers were early approaching some agitated animal. I watched them through my window, a sense a dread filtering into my blood.

I had no clue why, but felt that something awful was about to happen. The group of adults arrived at the man's driveway, and he sat as still as ever, paying no attention to them. the only parts of his body that moved was eyelids. All else was still, and even his breathing was so faint as to be indiscernible. My father was the first to reach him and said something that I couldn't hear through my window. I opened it quietly, not wanting to give way that I was watching, and managed to make out the phrase, Are you right? To which the man did not respond.

Similar questions were asked by the resident. but no one received an answer. I saw some of them exchange where he looks, and a few withdrew phones from their pockets, either to record the strangeness or prepare to call someone, presumably the authorities. My dad, who in his professional life was a student counselor, wasn't at my school, thankfully, attempted to be physically supportive. Kneeling, he placed an arm around the man, who was assuredly sweaty, from having sat shirtless in the sun all day.

I was understandably grossed out, but that trivial feeling gave way to abject terror when the man reacted to my father's touch. Without hesitation, happening in the exact moment my dad's arm fell around his shoulders. The neighbor became suddenly animated and seized my dad by the throat with his hands. My mother screamed, the crowd collectively gasped,

and before anyone could think to come to my dad's, aid, the neighbor had slammed his head into the pavement. In a second, he climbed to top my day's father and had landed several blows on his head. By the time one of the other neighbors had snapped out of their shock and come to restrain the attacking man, my father's head was a pulpy mess on the driveway, caved in by the neighbor's mania strength and blows. I was petrified by shock, the unprovoked brutality of it all. I couldn't begin to process it to appropriately react to it. I was like a mannequin in that window, staring dry-eyed at the battered form of my father on the driveway. It was chaos after that. My family was well-liked among the neighborhood, thanks to my father having

been helpful to several neighbor's children. When the incident happened, a bit over half the gather crowd wanted to beat, if not kill, the man would bludgeoned my dad. The other half desperately wanted to maintain some level of civility. Pleaded with the opposing side to call the authorities and let them sort it out. Despite my father lying dead a few feet away from them, they defended his killer, speculated that mental illness not malice had been the cause of the violence, and that he deserved treatment appropriate to the circumstances. In the end, no one harmed the man.

They all knew, were all vaguely aware that executing the man in broad daylight where children were watching from windows was not something the neighborhood could recover from. The police were called, and the neighbor, who had calmed immediately after murdering my father, was taken away. Neighbors were questioned,

and everyone reported the same story. My father's body was loaded, into an ambulance, black tarp concealing him. And my mother followed the procession of emergency vehicles in her car, firmly instructing me to remain home before the parting. She hadn't known that I'd watched it all, and told me that Dad had been hurt. As they left, I peeked through the window and saw several neighbors glancing furtively toward our house.

Their eyes filled with shock and sorrow, angered beyond reason, rendered, almost stupid by it. I left my home and ran to the neighbor's house. It took every nerve, every ounce of will not to look at the bloodstain on his driveways I passed it. Luckily, if luck is even an applicable term for all this, he left his front door unlocked. I went inside, for the moment not caring who saw me. I figured I had the right to investigate the house. If they weren't willing to help my father, but were willing to stop me from trespassing? They weren't neighbors at all. The man's house was dark, dust choked, and filled with an atmosphere of disuse.

Apparently, his breakdown had occurred well before he positioned himself on his driveway. The specific details of his house are largely irrelevant. It had the general makeup of any three-bedroom suburban home, albeit one that had fallen to slow, interior ruin, there's only one room, a guest room, that deserves mention. It was in here that I found the organization and examination of a mystery, one that explained the neighbor's bizarre and savage behavior. Within this room, crudely affixed to the walls, tacked to the boards, stapled to nearly every surface, were pictures of my dad. Earlier, I had thought that mere physical contact had provoked a neighbor,

that it would have reacted that way to anyone who touched him. But clearly, evidenced by the pictures in the room, he had some long held vendetta against my dad. The pictures seemed to date back years, some even of the family when we first moved to the neighborhood six years earlier. I was only seven then, and despite the odd obsessiveness of it all, he had had the decency to at least black out my face when I was present. He did the same for my mother's as well.

His ire was solely focused on my dad. On a desk covered with folders, these filled with pictures as well, was a small plastic box. It was black about the size of a glasses case and was a focal point to the desk. Everything seemed placed around it. but nothing touched it.

Something in my gut told me not to open it, to just let the authorities investigate the house themselves when the time came. But my anger motivated me to find answers. Taking a moment to calm my shaking hands, I reached out and lifted the lid. There was a flash drive inside and nothing else. I took it out, and as if brought to my awareness by contact with the thing,

I saw a laptop beneath a stack of papers nearby. I opened it and thankfully it was unlocked. I inserted the flash drive and accessed its contents, which consisted of scans of photographs, articles dating back decades, documents of event schedules, personal entries, map coordinates, all of it pertaining to an occult organization, of which my father and neighbor were apparently members.

According to the documents, some of which were dire entries from various members. The cult had been abruptly disbanded following a ceremony which required the sacrifice of a child. The cult had done objectionable things in the past, but apparently the taking of a child's life was the first, and many members objected to it. Those who were willing to go through with the abominable right did so

after excommunicating the unwilling. Following the schism and ceremony, the cult dissolved, the once loyal members expressing extreme regret to having committed the deed, due to the nature in which it was carried out, which was apparently far more torturous for the child than planned. My father and neighbor were of those who conducted the sacrifice. The origin of the abducted child was not mentioned in any of the entries, and was not one of the points on the maps. Most of them being location sites for their occult ceremonies. Once a child had been acquired, the ceremony was held, and the life was taken.

The exact purpose wasn't disclosed. I'm sure they had some sick reason. It seemed to me that the sacrifice was largely senseless, as if no one really knew or dared to speak, the Eldridge purpose, beyond the name of the entity to which the offering was made. I've copied a short entry from the neighbor's digitalized diary. omitting nothing. It has been 20 years since that night.

He thinks he can just escape it, just move on, brush all the blackness under a rug. He's married now, and has even fathered a child. But what are the rest of us? Those who can't simply turn away from our crimes, even though they remain unknown to the world. I've followed him throughout this period, watching from the shadows as he goes,

about his morally unburdened life. It sickens me, infuriates me. I can't sleep at night, can't eat, can barely perform the tedium of my work. Meanwhile, he acts as if he's normal, as if he hadn't done unspeakable things in worship of that lonesome hypercosmic timekeeper, the black horlogust. We both have. The only difference is that I feel guilt.

over them, he doesn't. I've altered myself considerably in the last few years. I'm virtually unrecognizable now to anyone who's known me, even the others, those whom I've maintained contact, say it seems as if I'm a completely new person. I've bought the home next door to his, and have watched with disgust as he plays the role of suburban family man. His roots are gnarled and blackened. The only thing that can grow from them are rotten, monstrous stalks.

I won't let him go on living this false way. I can't. He's become a counselor at a school, for God's sake. What if he's planning on resuming those diabolical practices? Using one of the children, he counsels. I can feel my sanity slipping away. The Black Orlaugist has wound his watch. And time ticks by.

the evidence of the man's entry was abundant. There were pictures of the ceremony, entries from various members attesting to the same things, and even a few from my father. His were mostly remorseless and unapologetic, darkly pious. He was sure that his crimes were justified in the worship of this bizarre time-focused entity.

One disturbing entry of his was almost gleeful. he mentions a feeling of beatific joy at having done some unspecified act of mutilation on an animal an alleged service to his master I found no mention of my mother in any files I was thankful for that at least I didn't want to think of my dad as an insane cult member but I suppose it's possible

but my mother I couldn't imagine her doing any of the vial all things detailed in the documents. An hour had passed, and I had no idea when the police would return to conduct a search on the house. I didn't want to just take the flash drive. There was still a lot left to go through, and neither did I want to risk being seen going home and returning with my own drive to copy the files.

Luckily, there's that word again. My neighbor had internet access. I planned on uploading the files to an online. online storage service I had an account with, but the moment I initiated the upload, the files on the drive started being deleted. Before I could salvage any of it, it was all gone, wiped by some security encryption measure in the flash drive. Apparently, he hadn't wanted the data to leave the drive and was willing to see that all erased rather than be transferred elsewhere. I no longer had proof of my dad's involvement in a murderous cult, and the only only

remaining evidence for the pictures. The result in narrative, rather than the truth, was that my neighbor was simply deranged and obsessive, and had murdered my father for some unknown reason. That's how it played out in the end. He never said anything to anyone. Not the police, not the lawyers appointed to him. People believed it was to avoid incriminating himself further. The pictures and the guests were undeniably damning. But I believe his silence was not because he was unwilling to talk, but because he was unable to. His mind, if his diary entries were an accurate representation of it,

was already greatly unraveled. The man that murdered my father had only done so to some instinctual impulse, the last vestige of sense in an otherwise broken mind. I relate this story now, in hopes that someone here can possibly provide more information, on this profane cult and the sinister being they supposedly served

from the Patreon vault Creepy presents the night I protected my family from nothing Matt? My mom shouted from the top of the basement stairs Yeah? I responded We're heading to bed, don't stay up too late, okay?

You have class in the morning. Okay. Good night. I love you. I love you too. She stepped away from the basement door and shut it behind her. I heard her footsteps from above leading towards the stairs where they stopped as she headed upstairs. I looked at the clock. 9.53.

My class didn't start until 10 o'clock, so I figured I had at least four more hours of game time before getting a reasonable amount of sleep. This time went on. I heard several thumps from above. This didn't bother me because we had two cats and a dog, so I focused my attention back on my game. The time really flies when you're having fun, and before I knew it, it was past two o'clock. The thumping grew a little more hectic.

Damn dog. It's gonna wake up the whole house. I checked the time. I saw it was past two. I sighed and started turning everything off, the game, TV, lights, etc. I guess I'll let her out. I heard another set of thumps.

This one sounded louder than the last. I stopped dead in my tracks waiting to see if it come again. There it was. A louder set of footsteps. I tried to pass it off as my dad coming down to chew me out for having stayed up so late. But then I heard two sets of footsteps. Both of them heading towards the stairs. What the fuck?

I whispered to myself. I bolted up to the stairs after the sound. My heart began beating rapidly. I stepped out of the basement into the pitch black abyss of my house. I pulled up my phone and switched on the flashlight function, lighting my way through the kitchen, past the living room and towards the stairs. Suddenly I heard what sounded like someone shutting a door from upstairs. Not wanting whoever was up there to know I was coming,

I switched off the light and tiptoed up the stairs. The first room I checked was my brothers at the top of the stairs. I slowly opened his door, peeking in but making as little noise as possible. His room was dimly lit by the light of the moon peeking in from the window. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. But then I heard a thump and some rustling coming from the opposite end of the hall. It sounded like it came from my little brother's room. My heart began to race again.

I remember that he always preferred to have his door open at night. If there was an intruder in the house, he'd be more vulnerable. Oh, God, I whispered. I grabbed a baseball bat from my brother's room and swiftly but silently made my way down the hall. I tightened my grip on the bat and peeked into my little brother's room. I saw nothing. I stared into the dark room for a long time but didn't see or hear anything. I went across the hall into my room, but there was still nothing.

I saw the dog lying on the floor in my room, sleeping peacefully. It was never downstairs. My head was beginning to spin. Who was in my house? Just how many people were with them? This was so confusing to me because the neighborhood we lived in was so peaceful. Nobody worried about break-ins or trespassers. so I was totally baffled

No chance was this planned out by someone Our family wasn't nearly as well off as some of the other people in the neighborhood These people must have just decided to invade my house by coincidence Some people just get all the luck, don't they The last place I checked was my parents' room Still holding the baseball bat I stepped into the room The door creaked open Mom? Dad? I whispered. I saw my mom lying on her side at the bed, but suddenly felt a pair

hands grabbed me from the dark. What the hell are you doing? Do you have any idea what time it is? It was my dad. The moonlight from behind kept his face in the dark. Jesus Christ. Dad, listen to me. I think there's somebody in the house. What are you talking about? I heard like two pairs of footsteps going up the stairs. What? It was probably just the dog. I thought so too, but the dog's been asleep in my room this whole time.

Oh, for God's sakes. Don't get so worked up about nothing. Just go back to bed. Wait, let me check the bathroom. I sidestepped him to look through the bathroom. Hey! He let out a hush shout. Just give me a second.

I have to be sure. I felt him grab my arm from behind. Hey, what did I tell you? Get your ass back to bed. His grip tightened up my arm starting to hurt. Ow, I'll pray, I'll go. Will you just? I stopped mid-sentence.

What I saw put a knot in my stomach and sent chills up my spine. Lying down on the bed was my dad. He was sound asleep. I could see his face in the moonlight peeking in through the window. I turned slowly back to whoever was holding my arm. It was a perfect silhouette of my dad. As if his shadow got up and gained sentience. Who are you?

I asked my heart in my throat. What you're talking about? His voice deepened making him sound more menacing. Who the fuck are you? He stood there, silent, still holding my arm. Go back to bed. My composure at this point, I had no control over the amount of noise I was making. How do you know my name?

I asked, nearly yelling. Just then my mom began to stir. She stood up and made her way towards the bathroom. She hadn't noticed either of us. She closed the bathroom door behind her and the man bolted out of the bedroom with inhuman speed. In an instant, my fight or flight instant kicked in. I'm not a very fit guy. I weighed about 165 pounds at the time and had little muscle mass, but my adrenaline was pumping and my family was in danger, so my brain told me to fight. I chased after him. The rapid sounds of his footsteps

led me downstairs. I was lucky enough not to fall flat on my face in the pitch-black darkness. I brought the bat up over my shoulder ready for it to strike. I took careful steps all around, checking the kitchen, dining room, hallway leading to the garage, even the downstairs bathroom. I saw nothing, but never let my guard down. Then I saw his head, silhouetted against the blinds behind the coach in the living room. I could see his gaze piercing me deeply. I put on a brave face and uttered something that I thought at the time was witty.

I see you, you fucking creep! He darted out of my sight, but I saw a flicker of his image flying in the direction of the den behind the kitchen. I stepped forward until I was near the window that bridge the gap between the living room in the kitchen. That's when it happened. His footsteps grew louder and sounded like they were getting much closer. He was charging me. My heartbeat at the rate of an automatic rifle. My skin tightened out around my body, my hands shook, and my brain went into overdrive.

I had one chance to send the bat right at the son of a bitch. I clasped my teeth shut, tightened my grip, and turned to face the blurry shadow, hurtling itself towards me at mock speed. In an instant, I winded the bat back and sent it forward with every ounce of my strength. The sound of the bat connecting with the side of his head followed by a loud thump. The bat fell from my shaking. hands onto the floor, and there he was, lying awkwardly on his stomach. His face was parallel to the floor, but I couldn't make out any of his features. It didn't matter, though. What mattered was

that I got him. My first thought was to call to police, but I put that on hold. I wanted to see what this guy looked like. I pulled out my phone, struggling to turn on the flashlight function. My hands were still shaking. I switched it on and pointed it at him. But I wasn't prepared for what I'd see. Because I didn't see anything. It was as though the light from the phone made him disappear. I turned it off thinking he was gone, but there he was,

lying on the floor in the same awkward position. What the fuck? What's going on? My mind was spinning. I shined the light on him again and he was gone again. I touched the lit-up floor and felt nothing. I turned the light off and touched him again and I could feel him. He was cold.

Very cold. He was like a living shadow. I switched the light back on and stood there totally confused. My phone battery was dying. I hadn't charged it at all. The flashlight switched off and I went into low power mode. He was gone I caught a glance at the front door closing itself

I rushed to the window by the door but saw nothing I looked around downstairs but still saw nothing He was gone for good But my head was still spinning Hallucinating or something? I asked myself I went up to my room I saw that it was almost 3 o'clock but I never even considered going to sleep that night My alarm rang at 9 a.m. sharp and I got up to shower and left for class.

The day went on normally and I tried to forget about what happened last night. I couldn't push it off my mind for long though. None of it made sense to me. Who or what was that guy? If he was some sort of shadow, how could I touch him? How could he touch me? I could never find an answer to these questions. Later that evening my family and I were eating dinner.

Hey, my mom started. Did one of you guys come into our room last night? I froze in my seat. My stomach sank a little when she asked. The last thing I wanted was them interrogating me about last night. They'd think I was insane if I told them my side of the story. Well, I don't remember anything. My dad chimed in.

Oh, said my mom. mom. I guess it could have just been in my imagination. Yeah, I said. It was probably nothing. I went to bed around 10 o'clock that night. I was unbearably tired from last night's events. I headed to bed with everyone else and fell asleep pretty quickly. I felt the comfort of sleep for what felt like a few seconds before I was awoken again. I looked to see my little brother standing over my bed, silhouetted against a nightlight coming from his room, leaving the door to my room wide open. I looked at my phone, or at 144 a.m.

Matt, what do you want? I asked for rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I had a bad dream, but Dad said I can't sleep in their room, so can I sleep with you? Geez, I don't know. Can't you... There it was again. I saw him. I saw my little brother in his bed asleep in his room. I looked up to the figure standing over me.

I want to sleep in here tonight, Matt. He sat in a deep harsh voice. I grabbed a baseball bat lying on the floor next to my bed. I guess I wasn't going to get a lot of sleep that night either. 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. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wiki.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.