Creepy - Day 9 - The Grey Zone & Mask

Episode Date: October 9, 2024

The Grey Zone***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/***Mask***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***Content warning: child death, torture, kidnapping***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***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.

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. Listener discretion is advised. It's midnight, it's October, and that means KREP is on the air and ready to guide you through this most magical time of year. It's day nine of the 31 days of horror.

A time of scalding hot winds, falling leaves, costumes, and pumpkins. When the veil between what we know and what we will never understand is the thinnest. And the darkness that creeps around the shadows is free to play. You're listening to KREP, and I'm your host, The Creep. The phone lines are down at the moment, so let's start with a listener message. This listener would like to tell us about the time he spent in a place called the Grey Zone. You know only about 5% of the ocean's been officially explored? How that doesn't make the very idea of deep water terrifying to the entire world?

Oh, never know. Shit. I know. And I still hate the idea. I say officially explored because I work for a company that doesn't so much share their findings, but is focused on ocean exploration. It's a private group operating in international waters who have explored another 5% of the ocean all on their own. The shit we've found. And there's still so much left to explore. When I first started diving, it was a hobby I picked up on my honeymoon.

It was just resort certification. And I tell you, whatever legal requirements the Bahamas have to put people in the open water is a hell of a lot more basic than what I had to do later on. I still remember standing in the resort pool. Not a dive pool, mind you. Just a pool that was about five feet deep. as the local, I guess I'll call him dive master, went over the basics. And I mean the basics.

As basic as basics has ever gotten. For comparison, to get Patty certification, that's professional association of diving instructors, you need to be able to swim 200 meters without stopping and be able to float and tread water for 10 minutes. not the craziest thing in the world by any means. But do you think we did that on the resort? Try again. We basically got a rundown of the scuba tank and a basic understanding of how to descend during the dive.

But we weren't in a pool deep enough to even try it. Not to mention equalizing. That's just when you pop your ears when you're diving, to equalize the pressure in your sinuses and middle ear with the pressure of the water around you. It's called the volsolvum maneuver. Sure, they showed us how to plug your nose and push out, but there were no pools deep enough to actually try it for real.

So once we were in the open water, far enough out that you could barely see land, the reality of how little we knew set in. I was the first in the water and first to go under. I got, I'll say maybe 10 feet, trying to equalize with no luck and getting brutal pain in the back of my jaw. So I had to go back up to the surface while the rest of the group and my new wife went down to meet at the sea floor. Eventually I was able to make it down. But with some pain in my ear and even more pain in the back of my jaw, pain that would last for a while.

Especially on the flight home. It wasn't until a lot later that I learned I could have actually died in the process. But that's neither here nor there. The point is, I shouldn't have ever dove again. Sometimes life gives you signs. Call it God if you want, but I'd rather not think that I ignore God's warnings. My marriage lasted about three years. So, suddenly I found myself in my 30s with no relationship and honestly no direction.

When you're on the graduate high school, then go to college, then get married, then get a job track, of having life plotted out for you, getting divorce has a tendency to mess with things. It did for me. I think it was like an early midlife crisis that brought me back to diving. Basically the exact opposite kind of person I was. I could swim,

but didn't really care that much for the water. I dove, but apparently nearly messed myself up for life. So why not get scuba certified? Turns out I actually had some talent for it when there's good instruction. That's not me knocking a resort. They did what they do, and I'm sure the majority of people love it. I'm just saying, when you aren't the smartest person and need some handholding, more specific details help.

A lot. Jump forward another three years, and believe it or not, I was working with a tour company doing a little everything. some instructing, some managing the dive shop, some photographing for guides and outdoor publications. It wasn't the most lucrative life, but the pay was solid for doing something I'd really grown to love. Why I tell you a lot of information that probably doesn't matter to the story itself? Because I want you to understand that sometimes people find themselves in a place they didn't intend on being. Good people. Decent people. People who didn't have any attention to the little. living anything other than a simple, peaceful life, suddenly get faced with the reality they

never knew existed. I guess, I guess I just want you to think of me as a man, a person, a human being. I hope you won't judge me for what I've done, but what I am trying to fix by telling you this story. So when another diver mentioned a job opportunity to work for a private company who was looking for people with diving experience that matched mine, I figured why not give it a shot. The money was great, double what I was currently making with full medical coverage. Yes, they did say it was a dangerous job, but I'd question any diving job that didn't know dangers.

Jump forward two more years? I've seen things. Confusing things. Horrible things. Ask any diver who spent any significant time in the water if they've seen anything weird, and they will have at least a couple of stories for you. Sharks, white sea snakes, the bends, and plenty of things people can't explain. Everyone has a story like that.

I have dozens, maybe more. The worst, though, is the gray zone. It's not the term you might have heard about skirting what's legal and illegal, at least this time. It's something we call the area in the open water where the light fades away and can't go any deeper. Traditionally, anything from sea level to 200 meters down is called the euphotic or sunlight zone. This is how far light penetrates the water.

Between 200 and 1,000 meters is called a dysphotic or twilight zone. This is where light begins to fade. And anything deeper than 1,000 meters is the aphotic zone, where a lot is the Aphotic zone, where light can't penetrate any further into the depths. Someone on the crew decided they didn't like the scientific names, and calling its twilight zone felt weird. So we called its gray zone, the zone between the light and the dark.

That's where they live, or at least where they don't die. The first time I saw a body there, I thought one of the other divers had a terrible accident. I was about to radio it in when I saw that the body didn't have dive gear on I've seen free coats before doing dive training the panic sets in so much that you don't care how much water is between you and the surface

you just need to get the mask off and try to breathe normally but this wasn't that there was no gear on at all our dives were already dangerous Most wreckdives don't go past 40 meters, but we are regularly in the 100 to 200 meter depths. The official record is 332.35 meters. But that may or may not be the off-the-books record.

And at that depth, we were all geared out. Maybe you could strip off your dive mask, but no one is taking off their wetsuit at that depth. And the body was wearing... Clothes that didn't make sense. This body was dressed like, and I know how dumb this sounds, it was dressed like Halloween.

Like they were going to some Renaissance costume party. The lacy shit and knee-high pants with boots. I called it in and swam over because, well, why wouldn't I? But within seconds, I was told in no uncertain terms to stop and keep my distance. At that point, I was still above the body by maybe 15, 20 meters, close enough to see the hair floating in front of a face that look like you've been partially eaten by fish. I was tempted to ignore the warning and get closer when I saw its eyes open.

The sea can play tricks. It's quiet, it's cold, it's basically another world, and even the most trained divers can experience hallucinations. But I wasn't hallucinating. Its eyes were closed one second. Then the next, they were staring at me. This time, when I got a call to return to the ship, I did without hesitation. I told them what I'd seen in our debrief, but no one seemed nearly as surprised as they should have.

They just told me they would note it in the logs and that I must have been mistaken. It wasn't the sort of job to try and argue over things unless what you're looking for is a blank stare and response. I was on leave about a month later, pickling myself quite nicely at an almost empty beach bar. My feet were in the sand. I was full from a fresh fish dinner and a bottle of local beer was sweating in my hand. One of those good moments in life you know are going to end or be broken. Another diver I worked with plopped down on the sand next to me, a half-empty bottle of rum in his hand. He offered it to me, but I was happy with my beer.

Before the sun disappeared, he told me he'd heard what I saw. He didn't sound surprised or wanting more information. Just matter of fact, as he stared out at the water. He'd been working for the company almost ten years and was as unshakable of a diver as I'd ever seen. Of course he was a drunk, but I was staring to understand why. He looked out at the ocean and said he believed me. He knew the eyes opened. He'd seen it himself, just not then and there. He'd seen them before, more than once. Bodies in the gray zone. Just floating there. Not dead, not alive. But then again, they never really were.

alive. Thrown off ships more than a century ago, cast out as the demons they were, left to float in the ocean, treading water, hoping a ship would come by only to watch the sun rise and know they would die. As their skin burnt to ash, they would sink and effectively die, but not die if they can die. They would sink and sink and sink until they were beyond where the light could get them and they would wake up. But they were too weak to do anything about it so they would float. They would try to eat the fish or anything else that got close enough to get the blood. And they would start to float back to the surface.

Only for the sun to rise again, to burn again, even under the water, to almost die again and sink right back into the black. to repeat it over and over again in an eternity of death and rebirth. Pure torture. Never dead. Never alive. Just stuck. They would mostly just float in the gray zone. Hundreds of years. Just floating there in agony. Maybe they deserved it. Monsters that they were. not on a screen or a book, but out there in the water, hoping someone would get close enough at the right time and night to maybe escape. He told me he'd seen dozens of them over time. There were probably thousands out there or more.

He polished off his bottle and stumbled to his feet, telling me sweet dreams. I told him I didn't think I'd be sleeping that well after hearing his story. and he just laughed and said there were way worse things out there waiting, even full of beer I didn't sleep that night. I don't sleep that well anymore. For what it's worth, you're safe out there in the ocean. You'll never go down far enough to have to see that or worry about what happens if you get too close.

Then again, just knowing what's under your feet as you float out there might be enough for you to stay on land. And I wouldn't blame you one bet. And now a word from our sponsors. Those old pipes just can't quite seem to get a handle on those. Well, we check on those. Let's take a call. Caller, you're on the air with KREP and The Creep.

Uh, uh, am I on? You are. Please turn down your radio. Oh, sorry about that. Much better. Okay, caller. Got a story for us. I think so. That's kind of why I'm calling. Do you think you have a story? No, I know I have a story. It's...

It's just that I'm not sure it's mine. I mean, it's mine, but... I think it was from a past life or something. Do you believe in past lives? I believe in all kinds of lives. I know that sounds crazy, but... Not as crazy as someone else might think. Talk it through.

Well, I guess it's all about a mask. The sun rests easy behind the horizon as I drive down the empty road. This night, more than most, is dangerous for motorists, because the streets are typically filled with people. Well, neighborhood streets are. In the outskirts of town, if you see... anyone walking along the side of the road, they're most likely hitchhiking. Halloween seems to be a strange night to hitchhike, but it happens a lot in these parts. I've picked up more than anyone I know,

especially on this night. I swear, there's more and more people with their thumb out on this night every year. I make this drive practically every day. My home is in town, but my work is 30 miles out of town. That kind of drive is daunting to most people. But out among the farms and public land, I find it peaceful. Yeah, there's dangers to driving in the countryside, but if you stick to the speed limit, you're less likely to hit a large animal running across the road. That's just one of the many reasons I don't speed. Sitting next to me is a petite blonde named Chloe. She's on her way to Florida and got stranded when the guy giving her a ride before me got too handsy. Thankfully, she carries pockets of hot sauce in her jacket pocket and busted

one of them open right into the guy's eyes. When he slammed on the brakes, she jumped and ran. Smart girl. I notice she's keeping an eye on me, making sure my hands stay to myself. Outside of coming right out and saying you're not a pervert or sex criminal, it's hard to put a stranger at ease. While I drive, I make light conversation with her. I ask her about her family, what's making her want to go to Florida, and a few other things that are considered polite conversation. Really, she doesn't have anything to worry about with me. I give people rides all the time, and have never tried anything sexual. That's not the type of person I am.

Chloe comes from a large family, but in recent years, the family has become divided. Her parents split up, and she's stayed with her father for the last few years. Now that she's 18, she packed a bag and decided to head down to Florida. to be with her mother and her side of the family. They're expecting her to arrive in the next few days. In fact, she was on the phone with her mother when I pulled off to the side of the road and offered her a lift. There's a bus station at the edge of town,

and that's where I take her. Unfortunately, Chloe's father is a bit of a bastard and wouldn't give her money for a bus ticket. He'd wanted to keep her at home, so he'd have someone to take care of the place while he was at work. He wouldn't let her get a job or do anything to earn some money for herself. Sadly, Chloe is too proud to ask her mother for the money, so she decided to hitchhike. I am not a parent. In fact, the longest relationship I've had was back in high school,

and it lasted all of three weeks. That was nearly 20 years ago. I have no maternal instincts, but I do know what it is to be a decent human being, something Chloe's father clearly is incapable of being. Reaching into my wallet, I give her the money to buy a ticket. At first, she doesn't want to take it, but I tell her how dangerous it is for a pretty teenager like her to hitchhike. The world is full of creepy people, like the guy that picked her up before me. I want to make sure she gets to her mother without having to deal with that crap again. Even though she doesn't need help with her bag, I go into the station with her.

We get to the counter and I gave her more than enough for the ticket. She turns to give me the change, but I tell her to keep it. Maybe use it to get herself something to eat. I even wait with her until the bus starts loading, which wasn't long at all. She thanks me for helping her out so much and is amazed that nice people like me exist in this chaotic world. Chloe's praise of my kindness is apparently overheard by a gruff-looking guy. With averted eyes, he asks if I'm headed in the direction of Falkenville, which is three towns over and back the way I came.

Giving him a big smile, I tell him I'd be happy to get him as close as I can. As we drive off, I ask the same exact questions I asked Chloe. What's your name? Are you meeting up with family or friends? What's taking you to Falkenville? Well, Sam here just got into a big fight with his older brother about their missing father and stormed out. He's convinced his father is somewhere in Falkenville, and he's determined to find the old man. Sam doesn't have any friends or a girlfriend to miss him. In fact, the only people who really care about him are in the same. brother and father. That's rather unfortunate for him, for a number of reasons. We've been on the road

for about 15 minutes, and I haven't seen another set of headlights coming or going. With a glance to the clock, I see it's getting close to 10. Reaching down to the pocket on my door, I tell Sam I nearly forgot to take my medication. Pulling to the side of the road, I pull out a pouch that has two small bottles and an injector. As I take a pill out of each bottle, Sam asks about it. Sam asks about out the injector. I tell him I'm deathly allergic to bees, and it's in case I get stung. Popping the pills into my mouth, I reached with my left hand for the bottle of water in the cup holder. As I pick it up, I jab Sam with the injector and push the button. The sedative works fast and disorients Sam, taking the fight out of him quickly.

He slumps over, completely unconscious in minutes. Poor guy. If his answers had been different, he'd still be. awake. I'm stronger than I look, and I easily drag him to the trunk. In less than a minute, I open the trunk and shove him inside, right next to the other two, still unconscious inside. I'd been hoping for four, but three isn't bad. Before closing the trunk, I bind Sam's hands and feet together, and snap his phone in half and toss it into, no chance of tracing that signal now. Back behind the steering wheel, I drive another 15 minutes, making sure to maintain my speed. Like I said, there's lots of reasons why I don't speed. It draws attention,

and if I get pulled over, my cargo might be found. Thankfully, the dose administered in these little injectors is enough to keep an adult out for several hours. Reaching my turnoff, I have to swerve left and right to follow the dirt road. This is by far the largest vehicle that can pass on this road without hitting a tree, and I did that by design. Anyone that isn't aware of this road's condition might try to get through, but after the third turn and the dense trees, they'd give up. It's the best deterrent I could come up with that doesn't make it obvious there's something to hide out here. It's not like I could put up a gate and a no trespassing sign.

It's public property. After another 20 minutes, the trees become less dense, and I park behind the largest tree in the area. I get out, reach into the dirt next to. the trunk of my car and pull up on the hidden handle. The metal door on hydraulic hinges swings up and away, revealing a small staircase next to a smooth ramp. One by one, I take Sam, Rachel, and Carmine out of the trunk and slide them down the ramp. Once everyone is loaded onto a cart and strapped down, I flip the switch at the base of the stairs and the door to my underground haven closes. I'll have to recover it with dirt when I'm done, but it's a small price to do.

pay for the level of privacy I require. Nearly 20 years I've been doing this and no one's ever come close to this place. Picking up hitchhikers like I do is a game of catch and release. 19 out of 20 people who get into my car make it to either their destination or as close as I'm willing to get them, unless it's someone I'm familiar with, which does happen on occasion, I ask a series of innocent seeming questions. If their answers indicate someone knows where they are or they have someone that will notice if they went missing, then I release them. If they have no one or have run off and are purposefully trying to go undetected, then they end up here. It's the closest I come to a victim profile. My desire to kill has nothing to do with childhood trauma, anger issues,

or some kind of sick sexual desire. I despise people who perform sex crimes or violence against children. Even though I am a serial killer, there are lines I won't cross. Carmine was my first pickup for the evening and will be the first to recover from the injection. I go through his pockets and belongings, which is standard procedure. Taking the ID from his wallet, I set it next to my computer before removing him from the heart and strapping him to one of the metal chairs in the center of the main room. Before moving on to Rachel, I pull out two more of the custom chairs and bolt them to the floor.

This is the only night I ever need more than the one permanent chair. Preparation takes a while, and by the time Carmean starts coming round, all three are perfectly secured. The gags in their mouths prevent them from making too much noise as I do my typical quick research. I look for anything questionable in their past, and what I find will determine how quick or how painful their death will be. Carmine is former Navy, and was dishonorably discharged seven years ago due to allegations of drug smuggling. The case against him was circumstantial, but he was booted out anyway, just without jail time. Since then, he's been arrested a handful of times for minor drug charges. There's no record of family or living relatives. His death will be nothing

spectacular. When it comes to drug users, I can't fault them for their addictions. In a way, killing is my drug of choice. I first discovered my attraction to killing when I was 12 years old. My father took me hunting, and I brought down a dough with my rifle. The sensation that flooded me was so overwhelming that I lost control of my body and went down to my knees. The closest I've ever been able to equate it is what heroin addicts feel when they shoot up. I've never done drugs, so it's a complete guess. It doesn't matter how I kill either, just that I take a life. Rachel is next to be researched, and her background check reveals an interesting tidbit. She recently went through a nasty divorce

after her infant son drowned in the bathtub a year ago. It was suspected that Rachel did it intentionally, and the husband took her to the cleaners because of it. Her own family acted as character witnesses against her and blamed her for the infant's death, claiming she had postpartum depression that she refused to get treatment for. Unless Sam's past is shrouded in rape and pedophilia,

Rachel is going to have the worst death tonight. As I look over Sam's ID, recognition flares in my mind. While I go through the information on my screen, I laugh a little on the inside. His father has a long history of disappearing for months at a time, usually on hunting trips, where the only thing he kills are alcohol containers. I actually gave his old man a ride two weeks ago, dropping him off at a motel just outside of Falkenville. His background check shows nothing noteworthy, aside from two drunken, disorderly charges. Powering down my computer, I prepare for the main event. My haven here is

actually four shipping containers that have been welded together with cuts in the walls to connect the insides. My guests are in the second room with the computer terminal in the third. The fourth is my dressing area, where the real me finally gets to come out. Removing all my clothes, I slip into a pair of shoes, black pants, a thin black hoodie, and rubber gloves. This is all just dressing, cheap clothes that I've no problem disposing of, because blood happens to get on them. The one thing I do care about is the last thing I put on, though I never think of it that way. While going through puberty, I started going hunting on my own, using only a bow and a knife. When I got far enough away from the cabin to not be seen, I started putting on face paint. After a few different things

that didn't feel right, I found something that felt like me. Two solid colors, royal blue and forest green, bisecting my face in a diagonal pattern. This became my true face. Nowadays, I have a painted mask just because it's more convenient to remove. I hate Halloween for a couple reasons. The foremost being that I feel like everyone is making fun of me by dressing up. I am forced to hide myself in the costume of an ordinary person and have to pretend that I'm something I'm not. I know they're not directly mocking me, but I've never been able to shake the notion.

The other reason I hate Halloween is because deer season starts just after, and that's a problem for me. Normally these woods are completely empty, but when hunting season opens, hunters are all over the place. It's not until February that I'm safe to come back to my haven and resume the one thing that brings me joy. Killing animals isn't nearly as potent a high as it used to be, but it gets me through the cold months.

That's why I started picking up as many hitchhikers as I could get away with on Halloween. The high I get from tonight is going to carry me for a while, especially when it comes to Rachel. Oh, I have something special planned for her. On the wall hang five nearly identical masks. The first four are the exact same, but the fifth one has a minor difference. All along the edge of the first four masks are dash marks. Each one is painted on with the blood from one of my kills, and the fifth mask is only half full. I slip that one on and pull up the hood. Emerging into the main room, Carmine and Rachel squirm in their restraints, trying to scream out at the sight of me. Sam is still out, and I retrieve a small packet of

smelling salts from a work table behind them. Popping it, I wave it under the unconscious man's nose, and he immediately jolts awake. In no time at all, he's mimicking the other two as he stares up into my eyes. If there's one thing I hate doing, it's kill. It's kill. someone while they're asleep. Walking back to the table, I look at my instruments. Picking up a scalpel in a small glass vial, I returned to Sam. As I raised the blade, he goes still, his eyes locked on that insanely sharp edge. He tries to flinch away as I bring it to his cheek, but I hold his head still with my other hand. The cut I give his cheek is small, but it bleeds well enough. With the uncapped vial, I collect some of his blood.

Placing the cat back on, I place the file and scalpel back on the table. Sam doesn't see it coming as I approach him again. Quickly, I wrap my arm around his neck and place my left hand on the side of his head. With a practiced ease, I break his neck in one fast motion. The moment I feel him go limp in my grip, my head is flooded with pleasure, and euphoria. My eyes roll back into my head and I'm suddenly breathing heavier. I don't even notice that the other two start struggling and screaming again as they watch, knowing their turn is coming. I'm floating in the clouds right now and nothing but time will bring me down. The initial high lasts for a few

minutes, but this sensation will leave me feeling on top of the world for days. I even begin to in to hum as I repeat the process of cutting Carmean's cheek, filling a second vial with his blood. I don't need much, but if I don't fill at least half the vial, the blood tends to dry up quickly, making it irritatingly difficult to paint the newest dash on my mask. Instead of breaking his neck like I did with Sam, I decide to straddle his legs and grip the hair at the back of his head with my left hand. The right brings up a knife, the point taking him. him and the soft part just behind his chin. The last thing Carmine sees is the joy in my eyes as I watch the light drain from his.

Blood pours down from the wound, hot and thick. Makes a hell of a mess, but I've never been afraid of making a mess. This time, the flood of dopamine to my gray matter sends me to the exosphere, so high I can practically see satellites in orbit. I sit there with the blood cooling on my clothes, unable to sense the world around me. This lasts several minutes longer than it did with Sam. At this point, Rachel is whimpering.

I can only imagine what's going through her head right now, wondering what sort of horrible thing I'm going to do to her. I can guarantee she's not going to guess it, and I take pleasure in her suffering. It's what she deserves for being a baby killer. Instead of moving on her with a different weapon, I start unstrapping Sam and Carmine. Rachel watches in horror as I load them back onto the carts and take them down to the far end of the room. In the short wall is something that looks like a body-sized cubby, and I heft the lifeless corpses into it.

Carmine's blood is making a mess of everything, and I nearly slip in it. Without saying a word, I push the carts back to the side and begin unstrapping Rachel. This obviously confuses her, and once her hands are free, she starts trying to get away. Yeah, like I'm really going to let her go after she saw me kill two people. Letting Carmen's blood splatter to the ground wasn't an accident, and I drag Rachel by her hair to the cubby. She tries to scramble away, but the blood is slick on her bare feet. I'd been annoyed when she'd kicked off her sandals in my car earlier, but I make her lack of footwear work for me.

It doesn't matter how hard she struggles. I get Rachel over to the cubby and throw her onto it with the corpses. She lays there, looking at me for a moment before trying to get out of the small space, but it was long enough for me to reach over and press a button. This isn't a storage compartment, so much as it's a garbage chute. the bottom of the cubby opens up and the three of them fall 30 feet the high i got from carmine's death will see me through a few weeks but rachel's will get me through at least two months

knowing her final days are going to be spent feeling around in the dark with nothing but bones and rotting corpses for company slowly dying from thirst and hunger with absolutely no hope of surviving I think it's a fitting end for a baby killer. A thought occurs to me, and I pick up a flashlight, turn it on, and toss it in. Yeah, make her see what she's trapped with. From there, she can decide whether to suffer in darkness or not. Looks like that's it for the signal tonight.

Regardless, this is the creep and you are listening to KREP, today, tomorrow, and forever. All information on this podcast, 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 done so through Creative Commons share-a-like 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.