Creepy - Day 8 - The Pumpkin Spice Massacre

Episode Date: October 8, 2021

It's just too much...***Written by: Xylonex***Bonus episode: "The Candy Corn Man" written by A.W. Smith and narrated by JV Hampton-VanSant***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. 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 not 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 8. The Pumpkin Spice Massacre. Written by Xilinex. One thing I find hilarious about this time of year is that there's no actual pumpkin and pumpkin spice. The spice combination itself is derivative of a pudding.

known as pumpkin. Pumpkin itself does not contain pumpkin either. Sometime in the 13th century, someone called a pudding pumpkin, and through 800 years of a telephone game, we have a gas station coffee being sold for an extra dollar and being pumpkin spice. I must look like an antisocial prick when I break off from the social norman odor of venti caramel macchiato. I'll stand in line at the local Starbucks and wait to order the same cup of coffee I've ordered every weekday morning since I started working this crappy desk job. Everyone in front of me will order some variation of pumpkin spice, only for the barista to look at me like I just dropped a turd in the coffee pot

when I asked for something different. It's always the same ordeal. Some kid with a liberal arts degree that ended up slinging caffeine to attempt to make a dent in their student debt ends up trying to upsell me into pumpkin spice latte. This year seems especially bad. Everyone's eating pumpkin spice cookies and dipping them in their pumpkin spice coffee only to walk around with pumpkin spice body spray and then burn pumpkin spice incense. Streets a point that I honestly can't help but hope some catastrophic storm will simultaneously hit New Guinea and India leaving the world completely devoid of nutmeg.

I'm getting ahead of myself though. So, 50 years ago, some idiot got in his head that he was going to revitalize downtown by hollowing out some of the buildings that surround the old courthouse and turning them into an office complex. If you walk around on the sidewalk, you'll see a bunch of cute little shops and gene restaurants. But upstairs, the entire block of buildings has been turned into a cubicle farm where I've ended up assigned to Unit 355. My desk and work area is a five-by-five foot box with just enough room for a desk, a few filing cabinets, and an office chair I'm convinced was designed by the Marquis de Saad. Every workday from 9 in the morning until 5 at night, I'm expecting to spend a third of each day

sifting through expense reports and customer invoicing looking for errors. Sounds boring, right? Wait until you've been doing it for 10 years. Last year, our employer realized my job could literally be handled by software, and my job description went from actually looking for errors to making sure the software they dropped an easy million dollars on was actually doing its job. I literally get paid to sit in my cubicle and watch a computer do the job I was hired to do. Even though I work in a position that could best be described as redundant,

I'm expected to spend all that time keeping a keen eye on the screen. Managers walk the rows of cubicles like prison guards looking for anyone dumb enough to check their Facebook or browse Reddit on the job. Even if they tried the corporate firewall is more restrictive than an over-predictive mother-in-a-bed neighborhood. My cubicle is of particular interest of these middle managers who only exist to drain anything that resembles fun out of our lives. Last week, someone sent out an email to the entire floor that said Milo, the manager with a heart of shit, have been using the five-minute break he had after doing a walk through the cubicle farm to duck into the manager's bathroom to rub one off while reading a copy of Minkf. As much as I'd like to take credit for the email itself, I had nothing to do with it. Still, seeing as I was the only office worker without a paper pumpkin tacked up in my cubicle,

I was the first person they'd descended on. If it wasn't bad enough that I'd have to sit here and pretend I give a shit about these invoices and reports, I have no less than three failures of human evolution peering over my shoulder at any given time to make sure I'm not sending malicious emails. It didn't come out of nowhere. Last month, they opted to replace the half-and-half creamer and the breakers, room with this off-brand pumpkin spice they bought in bulk. I can't stand this stuff personally, so I opted to drink my coffee black.

Well, that didn't sit well with the overlords, so the following week they replaced the coffee itself with pumpkin spice. Realizing I couldn't get an inch of headway without those control freaks, I opted to bring a thermos with me to work. When they finally banned outside food and drink from the office, I ended up writing an open letter to management, and, and, I ended up writing an open letter to management asking if we had recently been sponsored by the nutmeg industry, and if they'd like some actual work to be done alongside their pumpkin spice enumas. I received my first write-up in ten years, and was told another infraction would result in my termination. Even though I didn't author the email that called out Milo, they made no secret

about the fact they wanted me gone after that whole debacle. If that wasn't bad enough, I had to spend eight hours a day surrounded by an office staff that had started consuming nutmeg like it was going to enlarge their breasts and grow their dick by three sizes. I'd reach the point personally that I was smuggling bottled water in my briefcase and refilling it in the bathroom sink. This all came to a head when Debbie, a senior citizen who may well have been older than the building, decided she was going to have a party in the break room to commemorate her exit from the company after 35 years of, employment. I'll let you guess what flavor the refreshments were. Attendance was mandatory, which meant I couldn't use my lunch break by real food. I had to stand there among a hundred other hungry employees all clamoring to get a piece of

pumpkin log or perhaps an orange and black cupcake. If it wasn't bad enough that I was being forced to sit in this cluster fuck of forced socialization, it was casualty Friday. Everyone had come to work dressed in their Halloween costumes. I tried hard not to snicker when Milo showed up dressed like a soldier. All he was missing was the ESS and Cygnia and the armband. Attendance was mandatory, but that didn't mean I had to consume any of the junk they'd provided. As the rest of the staff filed through the line to get their fix,

I stayed to the back of the break room and sipped tap water from a coffee mug in an attempt to blend in. Thankfully, the whole ordeal was over within the hour and I was allowed to return to my desk. Milo goose stepped through the aisles with no appreciation for the irony as I pretended to give a shit about the data being splayed across my screen in rapid succession. Roughly an hour after lunch was when I noticed Sean, a guy who worked three units down in the row from me, stumbling through the aisle clutching his temples like had been kicked in the head. Before long, I noticed even Milo had gone from goose stepping around. to standing in the corner clutching his head. I stood up and peered over the walls in my cubicle

to see everyone in the office was grabbing their head in some form or fashion as their moans and groans erupted into a chorus of discomfort and pain. Debbie was the first one to start laughing maniacally at her desk. I looked over to see she was using a stapler on her desk to fire staples into the air while giggling like a child who just discovered they had toes. Sean stumbled over to the coffee pot and poured himself a drink while Milo staggered over to Debbie and shouted, That's enough, Debbie! Debbie kept laughing as she turned her stapler toward Milo and said,

Poo, peo, pew, pew. As she fired the tiny pieces of metal into Milo's general direction. Milo responded by ripping the stapler out of her hands and drawing back to slam the base of the stapler against her face. A random co-worker started to scream as, Milo repeatedly bashed the small piece of melland to Debbie's skull. The screams erupted into a cacophony of fear as Sean turned around to throw his coffee into Milo's face. Milo responded by turning around and taking a bite out of Sean's shoulder, before chewing

the chunk of flesh he torn away and swallowing with an honest to God's smile on his face. I had no desire to stick around for the cluster fuck that was developing, and through any personal belongings I thought important enough to keep in my briefcase before ducking down and moving down the aisle of the cubicles. Annie, the girl in the cubicle directly adjacent to mine, had taken a writhing around on the floor with a stuffed animal between her legs while repeatedly shouting,

Oh yeah, fuck me, Tibbers! I broke into a jog only to find Kyle, another middle manager, who had come dressed like a pirate, waving his plastic sword around and shouting, Ar, me hardies! The exit door was blocked by two co-workers, Jan and Tom, humping you. each other like teenagers, his gym, the guy who worked the supply closet, stood over them pulling his

pud. I turned around to see the entire office was devolving into random acts of sex and violence and realized I'd have to wade through a sea of crazy to make it to the main door and out into the street. There were six rows of cubicles between myself and freedom. Each step consisted of avoiding some different co-worker losing their shit like someone spiked the punch bowl at a loony bin with acid. Starr, a 20-year-old temp worker filling in for Sharon while she was out on maternity leave, was using an exacto knife to carve words into the back of a very dead Andre while saying, Dear Diary, today I found out that Andre was planning on asking me to marry him. As I tried to shuffle past her, she swung the small knife toward my ankles and shouted,

Get your own pen! I looked down to see the blood from the exacto knife had splashed onto my khakis and tried to step over Megan the intern as she crawled on the floor picking nits of debris out of the carpet and shoving them into her mouth. With one row down, I realized I was only going deeper into the abyss as I peered over to see the path was blocked by the mail cart, and that Kevin, the mail guy, was using his scan gun to bash in mark the manager's skull while screaming incoherently. I made it three cubicles down the aisle before I felt someone latch onto my shoulder and tackle me to the ground. Leslie, a woman I had talked to once or twice around the water cooler, had jumped on top of me and said, Do you think I'm pretty, William?

Her gums were bloody and she was missing her front teeth. The blood and saliva had dripped onto my face and I threw her off me and stumbled to my feet, shouting, Fuck off! Leslie curled up into a ball and screech like a howler monkey. At the end of the aisle, I found Jessica cowering in her cubicle. Unlike the rest of the crazies, she seemed to be able to be. to be genuinely scared. I reached over to tap her on the shoulder and she jerked away.

I attempted to speak over the roaring chaos that surrounded us and said, Come with me, I'm getting out of here. Jessica grabbed my outstretched hand and we moved down the row a few paces before Kyle came running towards us with a blade from the paper trimmer in hand. I jumped to the side as Jessica attempted to move around him, only to meet the blade as Kyle brought it down hard into her skull. With a blade stuck, he tried to try to move. in vain to pull it from her skull as I pushed past him and toward the exit.

No sooner had I passed him, he shouted, I'll have your head, William. I rounded the corner of the last row and found Milo stripped down to his boxers and sitting cross-lucked on the floor surrounded by the bodies of our co-workers, as he slapped his hands repeatedly against the bloody corpses and shouted, Look, Mommy, I'm a drummer. I made it to the exit door and pushed against it and only to find someone to chained it shut from the outside. I kicked the door as Kyle rounded the corner with Jessica's head still attached to the blade.

Milo smiled at Kyle who proceeded to bash Milo's face in with Jessica's severed head until it dislodged from the blade. Face with no exit and nowhere to go, I threw my briefcase at Kyle and broke into a sprint down the aisle and around the corner into a row along the far wall. With nothing else to lose, I took the last few steps knowing I was about to collide with the window. I jumped through the meddling glass to fall down onto the sidewalk below. I landed on my back, but thankfully my fall had been broken for the most part by a folding table, one of the vendors it set outside. I peered up to see Kyle standing at the window. He threw his blade down at me and it bones off the concrete before clattering to his stop beside me. I did a double take and he disappeared back into the chaos.

It wasn't long before the court square was packed to the... brim with police cars and ambulances. I sat with a paramedic as they'd prepped me for a trip to the emergency room. I peered out the window as I was taken to the hospital and noticed that several of my coworkers had started charging the police. I heard gunshots in the distance as a paramedic in the driver's seat turned on the siren and drove off into the city. For your bonus episode,

Creepy Presents, The Candy Corn Man, written by A.W. Smith and narrated by J.V. Hampton Van Sant. Growing up, your neighborhood probably had its own local spooky stories the kids would tell each other. Stories that nobody knew the origins of. Well, I know exactly where the story of the Candy Corn Man in my neighborhood in Utah came from. I'm the one that made it up. This started when I was 11, and my brother Michael was 7, so it would have been 2002. There was an abandoned house we'd walk by on the way home from school.

Any of you who grew up in smaller towns probably had at least one of those around. The Candy Corn Man lived in that house, I told Michael one day. in September. Well, nobody was really sure he was actually a man, since nobody had really gotten a good look at him. All anybody knew was that he smelled like sardines and that he had very long fingers that had an extra two or three knuckles, so they could bend and flex in ways our fingers can't. If you didn't want him to bother you, you had to make sure you put a couple pieces of candy corn on the front step of the creepy house every day in October until Halloween. Candy corn was his favorite. That's why his name was the candy corn man. And you should

never make him angry, because the candy corn man could track you down no matter what. Michael believed me wholeheartedly. I still feel bad about that. I still feel bad about that. I should shouldn't have lied to him, even if I was just a kid. He still believed in Santa at that point, and since you gave cookies and milk to Santa, he guessed it made sense to give candy corn to the Candy Corn Man. Michael believed me so much that he told all the other kids in the neighborhood about the Candy Corn Man, and soon enough, everyone knew about him. I was pretty proud about my successful storytelling and even bragged about it in secret to my parents. As the weeks went by, I started to hear variations on the story that I hadn't invented from

the neighborhood kids. Like that the Candycorn Man wore a bowler hat, or that he was the ghost of a child kidnapper. The Candy Corn Man was becoming a neighborhood legend in its own regard. Michael took it upon himself to put three or four pieces of candy corn in front of the door of the house every day in October. And of course, they would be gone when he came back the next day, raccoons probably. So it just made him believe more. So he would tell the other neighborhood kids, which stoked more excitement. He even started taking his friend Jonathan, a fellow believer in the Candycorn Man every evening. We're going to feed the Candy Corn Man.

They'd tell my mom and dad. And mom and dad would smile and tell them to be safe. 11-year-old me thought the whole thing was hilarious. I really should have been nicer to Michael. Because Michael went missing two days before Halloween. According to his teachers, he had left school that day. But he never made it home. I remember all the policemen at my house.

Our town only had about 30,000 people, and kids didn't go missing very often. My mom was distraught. She had pulled up the couch next to the front door and slept there hoping Michael would walk through the door. My dad didn't go to work, of course. He would be out in the car driving around and trying to call out for Michael. The police said they were doing everything they could. I cried a lot. Halloween was canceled at our house when it came, of course.

Michael had been missing for three days by the 31st, and I didn't want to go trick-or-treating without Michael. I popped hocus-pocus into the VHS player while my mom sat on the couch by the front door, but I wasn't really watching it. I just wanted Michael. Around five before any trick-or-treaters would be coming, the doorbell rang. My mom eagerly answered it, but it was only Jordan, Michael's friend.

He was holding an entire bag of candy corn. I have to feed the candy corn man, but I'm scared by myself. he said to my mom. Can you come with me? My mom scolded Jordan and cursed his parents. He really shouldn't be out by himself. Jordan pointed out that if she went with him, he wouldn't be alone, smart seven-year-old. She sighed and told him that she really needed to be home in case Michael showed up.

But the old house was close enough and it was still light out so she agreed to send me with Jordan, so long as I took her cell phone and my pocket knife. Looking back, she still probably shouldn't have let me go, but she was exhausted and distraught. Jordan and I walked to the old house. When we got there, it looked just as abandoned and creepy as ever, and the fact it was Halloween made it worse. Mr. Candycorn Man? Jordan called out to the house. I heard from Robbie down the street that you grant wishes. I brought you a whole bag of candy corn today. I wish that you'd bring back Michael. I miss him. Thank you.

He asked for my pocket knife. I gave it to him, and he slid the bag open and dumped the contents of the entire bag on the front door. Candy corn went everywhere. The raccoons are going to have a feast tonight, I thought. I hope Michael comes back, said Jordan. I told him that I did too, and that's when we saw it. Two long fingers slowly and quietly slid out from under the gap of the door. They were thin and gritty-looking, and I swear they had more knuckles than natural.

Jordan and I immediately froze. From the size of his eyes, I could tell that this had never happened before. The fingers fumbled quietly for a second or two, but they eventually found a piece of candy corn, closed around it, and retracted slowly again, under the gap until they disappeared. From behind the door, we heard the soft sound of open-mouthed chewing. Jordan and I ran as fast as our legs would carry us, and we didn't stop until we got to my house. We told my mom what we had seen.

She didn't believe us. I don't blame her. She knew I was the one who had made up the Candycorn Man, after all. I walked Jordan back to his house where we freaked out a little more. I only had a few hours to stew over what I had seen, however, because the police knocked on our door at around 10 o'clock that night with Michael. He was a little pale and wrapped in a shock blanket, but he appeared physically fine.

An ambulance had checked him out. We hugged him late. like crazy. My mom cried, my dad cried. I was too overwhelmed and just hugged Michael without saying anything. He hugged back weekly, but told us that he just wanted to go to bed. The policeman asked for a moment alone with my parents, so they told me to take Michael to his bedroom and tuck him in. I did so. I think Michael was asleep before his head hit the pillow. I was making my way back to the living room

when I heard the police speaking in low tones. I figured I wasn't meant to hear this conversation, so I stayed behind the corner and eavesdropped. We got a call around two hours ago about a person that wasn't moving at a park about a half hour north of here. One of the cops said. On-site police found the body of a man, mid-40s, laying on the grass. His neck was completely broken.

It looked like his head was on backwards. He had finger-shaped bruises around his neck, real long, strong fingers. Whoever did this guy in must have been a Superman. We found Michael in a parked car in the parking lot sleeping. He IDed the dead. dead man as his kidnapper, but he's really fuzzy on any details about what happened. We're not going to press him any further. He's safe, which is what matters. To this day, Michael still can't remember what happened. We think he suppressed the memory.

But I made sure to leave candy corn on the step of that house every day during every October that followed. I still do 16 years later. And every Halloween, I dump an entire bag on the porch. The raccoons probably get most of it. For even more from creepy, including how to submit 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 used under license and may not be rebroadcast

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