Creepy - Day 9 - Greta

Episode Date: October 9, 2019

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the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors 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. Cripie presents the 31 days of horror. Day 8. Greta Written by Jay Spatzel.

Every community is an urban legend. The ominous lore is surrounding a strange house at the top of the hill, a ghostly covered bridge or the dark woods at the edge of the city limits. Even the small secluded, farm town I spent the first 18 years of my life and had its own legend. Ours centered around the eccentric Strauss family, and their even stranger daughter, Greta. I find myself unique compared to most. This, unfortunately, because I'm a firsthand witness of what so many generations whispered

up behind closed doors, around campfires, and at night to scare children. On one fateful evening, I found myself in the Strath family home. I can say with brutal honesty that the horror I experienced on that night led to countless therapy sessions, bottles of little white pills, and a new life in a large city, with the nearest farmhouse 100 miles away. I found it best to begin the retelling of my story by passing along the original legend the same way it was told to me by my peers. The Strauss family moved to the United States from Germany in the early 1900s and settled on a large plot of land in central Illinois. People aren't sure why they chose to leave Germany or why they decided to buy 300 acres in the middle of nowhere. We did, however, know a few things about them.

They were very wealthy, self-sustaining, and refused to leave the family farm. All of their food is either harvested, fished, or slaughtered. The children were homeschooled and the deceased were laid to rest in the family cemetery. The property was littered with ominous signs written in both German and English, expressing how much they wished to be left alone. There are more than a couple of rumors from town's folk witness and door-to-door salesmen walking onto the property, but never off of it. Rose Lane was the only road that ran along the Strausses' property line.

It served as a looking glass for the rest of the community, allowing an opportunity of ten seconds or so to catch a glimpse of the massive Erie home. Over the years, the Strausses became more and more reclusive. Once would pass without seeing a sense. single family member. Once in a blue moon, someone spot one of the Strausses wandering the property or staring at cars as they sped along Rose Lane. It was like winning the social lottery.

The most common sightings were of the mother and or father, whom we simply referred to as Mr. and Mrs. Strauss. People would gather around the lucky individual and eagerly interrogate them as to whom they saw what odd thing they were seen doing. The most famous Strauss, of course, was Greta. Everyone knew her name thanks to our town's gossipy postman. Greta earned the coveted title as The Strangestrouse, due to her morbid choice of clothing and frightening appearance. Greta's sightings were seldom, but always similar in the retelling.

She dressed in black and only black. Regardless of the season or time of day, Greta would be draped from head to toe in an ink-colored gown. Even stranger her head was always hidden beneath the dark veil. No one in town had ever seen her face, not even a glimpse. Many years ago, as the story is told, Greta was working in the stables. Instead of focusing on the task at hand, she began to dance and play about as most children do. In a split second of wavered attention, she startled the young colt and was kicked swiftly in the jaw. To teach her a lesson, the elders of the Strass family kept Greta from receiving the medical attention she so desperately needed,

which in turn left her face a mangled mess of blood. broken bones and cartilage. Growing up, my family and I would scare one another with stories of Greta. Whenever a dead animal was found on the property, we'd say it was Greta sending a warning. Whenever we were lying in bed at night and heard of Floorborg Creek, we would whisper there was Greta lurking in the shadows. Personally, I had never actually seen Greta, despite the countless trips I made down Rose Lane. I'd only heard the stories.

As the years past, the Strauss sightings went from seldom to non-existent. The grass on their land grew long, and the light inside their home ceased to glow in the night. Eventually we assumed that Strausses had picked up and moved without notice. The bank couldn't sell the house, claiming a relative in Germany, still had ownership of the property and was wiring full legal payments. We simply put the Strauss family farm out of mind until the night we decided to break in. John Kerry and myself were 18 at the time. We'd just finish high school and be attending different colleges in the fall. Like most guys our age, we spent the days and nights hanging out, drinking, saving up what little money we could.

The summer and our time together were flying by in tandem, nearly at the end, so we decided to make one last memory. The three of us were sitting on John's porch. Watching the sun go down and throwing back some beers we had paid Carrie's older brother way too much money to buy for us. John ignited the conversation that would change our lives forever. And he still hasn't forgiven himself for it. He talked about how he was driving down Rose Lane earlier that morning and that he'd seen someone in the third-story window of the Strauss home. Carrie and I told him he was full of shit.

We conversed and shared our theories about what we thought the inside of the house looked like. Carrie suggested that it was full of forgotten German treasure and that we would be rich if we broke in. No one I'd ever know since the Strauss family had been gone for so many years. We smiled greedily at one another. Before we knew what hit us, the alcohol and excitement had us on our feet and walking towards the Strauss farm in the twilight. As we strolled through the woods, we talked about all the things we would buy with our soon-to-be wealth. The sun had finally said as we reached the edge of the property and it looked as though the monstrous house was glaring down upon us.

We stopped for a moment as we finished the last few drops from our cans of liquid courage and debated for a few minutes as to how we should enter the home. Eventually we concluded that the door in the back was best option since it could be seen from the road. The three of us shuffled as quietly as we could down the gravel path and onto the wooden porch. My hurt pounded in my chest as we got closer, but my feet continued to move towards the house. We pointed our flashlights at the dirt-stained glass of the back door. Carrie and John silently decided that I was in charge and prided me forward. I grabbed the old iron doornaub, turned it, and looked back.

disbelief. It was unlocked. As I pulled the creaking door open a wave of musty air from within the house flew past us with a wine. Looking back at that moment, I wish we would have turned and ran back to Johns. Instead, we crept inside the darkness of the Strauss home and shut the door behind us. We stepped into the kitchen and began rummaging through the drawers. Apart from a few broken dishes, some dusty utensils, and a couple of ancient appliances, the kitchen was virtually empty. The Strauss home was not living up to the horrific reputation we collectively built for it over the years. It was indeed old, massive, and a bit eerie, but nothing more than what you would expect from any other abandoned home. Everything seemed to be undisturbed. It was as if the Strausses had simply

stopped their daily routine, packed up a few belongings, and left the home forever. The three of us searched through the rooms, opening drawers, moving furniture, and scouring through cabbages. Our respective alcohol buzzes and hopes of finding treasure began to fade, but as it did, an uncomfortable feeling of dread and paranoia washed over us. We decided that this whole idea was a waste of time and that going back to Johns to smoke some weed would be a perfect end of the evening. We backtracked through the home and into the kitchen towards back door. Just as we were about to step outside and the freedom of the night, Carrie's voice broke

the silence. Guys, look at this. John and I turned and pointed our flashlight back towards care he was standing against the kitchen wall. He was running his hands along the edges. We looked at him curiously and asked him what he wanted. Just then he pulled out one of the mounted wooden shelves and it swung open. A new entrance had appeared before us, one that we instantly knew was constructed to be a secret. We adjusted our flashlights and stared at the staircase that descended into the dark depths below.

The three of us knew that if there was anything, a value left behind, it would be at the bottom of these stairs. Once again, John and Carrie nudged me forward as we crept down the stone staircase. The temperature dropped significantly as we reached the stone floor of the cellar. It was damp, dark, and I could hear the faint sounds of dripping water and screying rodents. We started our search exploring the outer walls, gasping with excitement as our dreams of wealth, were back in full swings, our flashlights illuminated glimmering metal and stones. Jewelry, vases, painting, swords, and coins filled numerous tables and cabinets within the cavernous room. We frantically filled our pockets and rambled on about how we would come back in the morning with our trucks for the rest of the loot.

As we made our way to the far corner of the cellar, we noticed something we very much did not expect to see. A large wooden door. As to why it was barred from the outside with a metal rod, we had no idea. But in the moment we didn't care. If the cellar was full of valuables, then whatever lied beyond the door would have to be even better. John lifted the iron rod and set it on the ground. I pulled the door open and my stomach turned. The air was pungent with the sour smell of decay.

We illuminated the room with our lights and my brain attempted to comprehend the same. seen before me. Mutilated animal remains were scattered across the floor. A pile of old newspapers and rags formed a wadded nest in the corner. Against the far wall was a mattress covered in torn stained sheets that were covering a large lump. I looked at my friends as I covered my mouth and nose with my shirt turning my back to the room. I said something about leaving just before I saw the horror and Carrie's eyes as he pointed behind me. I jolted to be. back and pointed my fleshlight towards the bed. The lump beneath the torn sheets on the bed sat up and turned towards us. Initially, my body refused to move. The figure rose from the bed with awkward

twitching movements. I heard its bones creak and wet skin smack against the stone floor. After what seemed like in eternity, I was able to move again. I stumbled back where it's falling into John and and Carrie. We ran to the stairs like animals thrashing about and knocking. over everything on her path. John was the first to reach at the base, and I was a few feet behind him. Carrie had fallen behind. John and I raced up the stairs

so as a hidden entrance. I grabbed his shirt tails and yelled that we couldn't leave Carrie behind. We heard his panicked voice. He was close. We turned our flashlights down and could see Carrie at the base of the stairs, and for a brief moment I felt relief.

My moment of content was ripped from as I witnessed the figure appear behind Carrie. It's a skeleton. little hand sunk its sharp fingers into his face as he screamed. The beam of our flashlights highlighted the horrific scene like a spotlight on the stage. Greta's mangled decomposing face stared at me between the torn shreds of her dark veil. Her dislocated jaw hung by a few strands of flesh. Her nose and eye socket were crushed.

Her head was cocked to the side as if her neck had been broken. Even with her deformities, Greta seemed to small. smile at me as she pulled my screaming friend into the dark abyss of the cellar and tore into his flesh. The next few days were a blur of police interviews, search parties, and devastated parents. The distressed property was turned into a crime scene and ripped apart. The police discovered the hidden cellar John and I had described. They found evidence of torture and human neglect in the barred room. The only problem, however, was a lack of bodies.

Carrie was never seen again. The only evidence found were his flashlight and the remains of his clothes. They'd been ripped into a hundred pieces. I have a theory that Greta had always been a monster, and over time she became uncontrollable. Distrasses attempted to do what they could with her before abandoning their home. Eventually they resorted to locking her away in a makeshift dungeon to rot. But that's the problem with the worst kind of monsters. One very important thing, the Strauss family neglected,

it considers that some creatures, the ones urban legends are written about, refuse to die. 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 at Creepypod at Gmail.

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.