Creepy - December 2019 Double Feature

Episode Date: December 9, 2019

"You've Heard This Before" written by _theglobetrotter_ and "Don't Go to the Movie Set in Latonia" written by drunktilTuesday and narrated by Danielle Hewitt ***Support Lake Clarity: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/honestfriend/lake-clarity-season-three?ref=discovery&term=lake%20clarity***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***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.

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please check out our reward tiers at patreon.com slash creepy pod. For those of you familiar with the other podcast and narrate on, the SCP Archives, producer Pacific Obadiah is a creator of another audio drama called Lake Clarity. Three years ago, five teens ventured into supposedly cursed summer camp. The camp wasn't haunted, but was inhabited by something no one was prepared for.

Only one teen returned. A year later, a local journalist investigated the disappearance before she, too, went missing. Now it's time to uncover what began this whole mystery, and what's responsible for the last 50 years of missing persons. Late Clarity Season 3 is running a Kickstarter now. Listen to the show wherever you find podcasts. or find them on Kickstarter by searching for Lake Clarity. The link's also in the show notes.

No on podcast alone. And a little donation can go a really long way for creators. And one last thing, I promise. Today is shown by the title is a double feature. There are two stories in today's episode. So far, I've mostly avoided more than one story a week, but I wanted to try something to make sure people are getting as much content and horror as we can provide on the free feed.

I hope you like it. Plus it gave us a chance to put our ad between the stories instead of in the middle of one. I really hope you like that part. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or our simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents You've heard this before. Written by the Globe Trotter. You've heard this before. You probably don't remember it, but you have. At least you might have. Every morning I come on here,

and tell you all my story. You think I'd have grown tired of saying this by now, but I'm far from it. Your words of encouragement every day are the only thing's keeping me going. 1,053. I've been here for 1,053 days. Every morning, I wake up and find myself back in this God-versaken room. I can still remember the feelings that flooded through my body when I woke up here the first day. I was in a bed, in a room I'd never seen before. The room was, is entirely white.

It's crazy, really. It's still hard to tell where the floor meets the walls. I couldn't tell you how tall the room is. On one wall is a thick gray door made completely metal. A small platform protrudes from the door, a small hatch built into it. The people who did this to me, you know, you're not a little. The people Blue did this to me, used this hatch to give me food and water. My only interaction with other people is at 6 o'clock in the evening every day, when the guards bring me my one meal of the day. On the back of the room is a small desk with a computer sitting on top. On my first day here, I remember running straight for this computer, urgently trying to figure

out where I was. I've never been successful, of course. The computer is never able to tell me where I am. It's angering. really. The first day I remember having spent several hours crying and banging on the door. I had no memory of coming to this place. The day before I had been out at the park with my wife and daughter, but here I was in a strange

white room. I don't know how long I'd been hitting the door. I remember being flung back as the door flew over. Two men now standing in the open doorway. Quiet. One of the men snapped. In an accent, I couldn't quite recognize. Please let me go.

I said pushing myself to my knees. My knuckles were bleeding. We said to keep quiet. The other man said, pulling a small remote from his back pocket. An intense pain shot through my body, starting from the back of my neck. My hand flew to the source of the pain. My fingers finding a small bump on the back of my neck. Something hard was sitting underneath my skin.

I cried out in pain. The men stepping back out into what I could now tell was a hallway. I could just make out a similar gray door on the opposite side of the hall as the men shut the door behind them. The pain eventually faded away. I had no idea what to do. I remember lying on the uncomfortable bed that sat in the corner of the room for what felt like hours. The men returned to my room, and what I now know of my room. but what I now know to have been at just past six in the evening.

They slid open the slot on my door and pushed a tray of food in, letting the hatch slam shut. The food is terrible. It's the same meal every single day. Dry, bland chicken, some stale bread, a short glass of water. I'd been starving, so I forced myself to eat. I sat in my bed for a few more hours just staring at the ceiling. kidnapped?

Was just some bizarre dream? At around midnight a strange buzzing sensation started in the back of my neck. The feelings were moving throughout the rest of my body. As the feeling reached its peak, a loud explosion sounded from far away. A weird shock wave, so to speak, flew through my... The wave was overpowering and seemed to ignore the fact that there were walls in its wet, unconscious within seconds. The next morning I woke to find myself in the same bed.

I once again returned to the computer, checking a browser for any information that could help me. There was nothing. I banged on the door again that day. Just for a little while, though. I can still remember it. I knocked on the door three times as hard as I could. A few seconds later, three more knocks were returned. I was shocked.

The knocks didn't sound like they were coming from someone beating on my own door. No. It was as if someone from across the hallway had responded. That was the moment I began to consider the fact that I wasn't alone in this place. The next few weeks were spent in agony. I attempted to contact the guards and speak to them almost every day. But each time they returned, I'd be beaten to the brink of death. Every morning, I would awaken, fully healed.

About a month into the experience, I realized that Facebook was unblocked. I was amazed. I'd never considered checking. I quickly logged down to my account and found my wife's page. I broke down in tears. Her page was full of post regarding my disappearance. She thought I was dead. I contacted her that morning.

She didn't believe it was me at first, but I gave her information only the two of us knew. It took some time, but I was able to explain what had happened, as much as I could anyways. She told me she had contacted the police and that they were going to find me. They were going to bring me home. I was still chatting with my wife when midnight came. As it had for the past month, the device of my neck began to vibrate, causing me to panic. I was still sad at the computer. The shockwave passed through me and I fell unconscious.

Next morning, I woke up in bed as if nothing had happened. I returned to the computer and signed in to Facebook to see what my wife had said. Our conversation from the previous day was gone. I wrote her a message asking her if the police had gotten back to her. She didn't believe it was me. My wife had forgotten the conversation we'd had to be. previous day. It didn't take me long to figure out. In fact, she would not remember our conversations for the following two months. I tried everything. I tried to find ways for her to remember to contact me,

for her to remember the conversation. But any evidence of our chat would be gone within 24 hours every time. I couldn't do it anymore. I like talking to my wife, but explaining my situation for hours every day started to become painful. The police would always seem to forget about the reports every day as well. A few times I spoke directly to an officer through my wife's Facebook chat, but nothing would ever come from the conversations. Nothing that mattered at least. My wife would post a new status every morning,

talking about how much she missed me, and would spend the rest of her day in pain having discovered what had happened to me. I couldn't put her through this anymore. I stopped contacting Miranda a long time ago. I didn't need her to spend the rest of her days doing something so meaningless in the long run. I went through a spell of depression. It lasted for a while, I have to admit. I'd hardly eat the food given to me, which made the guards angry every time.

They'd enter my room, who beat me and forced me to eat. I just couldn't find the strength. The first time I tried to commit suicide was about five months into the experience. I couldn't take it any longer. I wasn't going to let these people abuse me like this. I remember punching my computer monitor as hard as I could. A large crack appearing in the screen causing me to yell out in pain. Blood pooled from my knuckles as I looked through the shards of glass finding a large enough piece.

I slipped my own wrist that day. and felt peace as the life drained from me. My eyes horrified to find myself in this hell hole once more. I didn't believe it. I thought I had died. Had they revived me? I looked at my wrists, which showed no signs of having been cut. I was in shock, to say the least.

I tried to kill myself again that day. I banged repeatedly on the door, ready for when the men appeared this last. One of the men appeared this time. I sprinted through the doorway running directly into one of the men. He gasped, longed backwards and slamming into the door on the opposite side of the hallway. The other man pulled a gun from his voice, holding it up towards me. I saw my opportunity. I could hear a banging on the door from across the halls I ran towards a man with a gun.

He didn't have much time to think. The man pulled the trigger, and my vision went dark as a bullet entered my brain. I cried for a while after waking up the next morning. I gave up a long time ago. I hardly got out of bed. I took the beatings from the men and just continued to lie in my own pain for months. That's when I found podcasts. You all are my heroes.

At least you will be when I actually get out of here. If I do, that is. I made this account, 612 days ago, I began to ask for help in episodes, hoping to find someone who could understand what I was going through. Most people called me ridiculous. I was never able to convince anyone, of course. Why would anyone believe this story anyways? I still remember the wording in one of the comments I received.

Shitty fake story. Try posting on a horror podcast. It took me a while to find this place, as I'm not very good at using the internet, admittedly. But God, I was ecstatic when I did. A community full of people who went through experiences like my own. And everyone trusted one another. A community full of people who listen. I began to post my story to you all.

Every day. Every morning I would log back into the hosts and find the previous episode had been deleted. Every morning, I would re-record this story for you all. I started to recognize some usernames and the reviews when I would post, especially closer to the beginnings. I would see people download every few days, seemingly hearing this story for the first time. One of these commented nearly every day for the past two years. Every day you speak to me as if we've just met. Sometimes my episodes get hundreds of download.

Most times only a small handful of you ever reach out. Regardless of how many of you see this though, it always ends the same. The episode is gone the following morning. And so is your memory of ever having heard it. One of you gave me the idea to fight back against the guards after mentioning the shard of glass from the computer screen. I tried it. That day I shattered the screen, retrieving the largest piece of glass from the pile.

I banged on the door, waiting for the guards to open my door. The door swung open. The shardglass pierced through the neck of the guard with the accent. He cried out. His words were placed with a disturbing garcle as his throat filled with blood. I yanked on the shard, cutting my hand as the other man pulled his gun, firing three shots into my chest. I remember falling to the ground. in pain as the man stood over me ending my life.

The next day. Both of the guards returned, seemingly ignorant to the previous day's events. It took me a few days to perfect my strategy. The man with the gun was the only of the two guards without a weapon at this specific time every day. On the day of my first successful attack, the shutterglass entered straight into the neck of the guard on my left. My hand instantly reached for his gun as the other guard. began to fumble backwards in shock. Before he could react, I began firing wildly at the man.

Bullet holes appeared in his chest. One finally entering his face just below his right cheek. I'd done it. I stood alone in the hallway for a few seconds before starting to run. The hallway is long. Unbelievably so, in fact. Grey doors lined the hallway for as far as I could see. I didn't get very far.

A group of guards appeared from a side door holding automatic rifles. I nearly tripped over myself as I skidded to a stop. The guards firing were felt like hundreds of bullets into my body. I didn't stay up for very long. I tried again the next day. The guards fell once more. I started to run, but the sounds of someone being on a door caught my attention. I turned back to the door that set across from my own.

That's when I met Tony. He was an older man in his 70s. He says he's been here for a long time, a lot longer than I have at least. When I pulled his door, the man stood before me. His hands were covered in blood, and his palms said a small metal chip. You need to take this out first. He sat looking down the halls, guards exited from their chamber. I reached for the bump on the back of my neck as Tony was shot in the head.

This frail body falling limp to the floor. I didn't have time to turn before I was killed once again. I didn't try again for a few days after that. I didn't think I could take that thing out on my own. Eventually I realized I had to try. I didn't know this man. But he seemed confident in his advice. Pain is only temporary here anyways.

One morning I got straight to work. I retrieved my weapon from the computer screen and held my hand behind my neck. It didn't take as long as I was. I had thought it would for me to cut open the back of my neck. I'd been afraid, but I'd already killed myself once. After all, this was no different. I pushed the chip out of my neck, an odd feeling of relief spreading through my body. It felt good taking that thing out of me.

I took care of the guards as I usually had. I was more nervous this time around as I didn't want to have to go through removing the chip again. I freed Tony once more. What now? I asked holding out the chip in front of me. Tony pointed down the hallway towards the guards and now entered into view. We, once again, didn't last very long. Tony and I have died many times over trying to escape.

I've started to form this story a few sentences every day. He's tried to leave before, years ago. but he couldn't do it alone Tony just knew that we needed to take out this group of men before we could do anything more he's never been able to kill them all before the day I chose not to remove my chip was the day I happened to take out every man in the hallway

I was in shock who'd been trained for months and I'd finally done it Tony seemed impressed move quickly he said stooping to pick up a rifle from the floor Tony fought in Vietnam apparently I'm glad to have him on my side We ran down the hallway as fast as we could

I'm only about 25 years younger than Tony But were similar in physical shape I could barely make out the shape of the door at the end of the hallways my brain exploded in pain I fell straight to the floor My head banging hard against a concrete floor I woke up the next morning feeling like an idiot Fucking close and I ruined it This chip in our heads is the key to all of this bullshit.

We haven't gotten as close as we had that day. We try every evening. But I'm not as lucky anymore, it seems. I'm not really sure why we're here in the first place. I'm not sure what these people want. If they wanted me to stay here, why would they let me continue to attempt an escape without any form of punishment? It's all so bizarre.

I've lived the same day for the past two years now. and you've been here for the whole thing. I don't know what's behind that door, but I hope to get out of here soon. I miss my daughter so much. I've missed almost three years of her life now. And Miranda, she was pregnant when I first woke up here, you know.

Every now and then I check her Facebook page. Our little boy, Will, is walking now. I hope I get to meet her. him. God, I want to go home. Part of me doesn't accept that you're real. The thought first occurred to me about a month ago. Death seems to me nothing here. If the deaths I witness around me are fabricated, then what's stopping my interactions on this computer from being anything but fiction? I try to hold on to hope, though. If you aren't real, then I don't have much of a reason to keep going. Once I post this online, I'm going to hang out here for a few hours before destroying

the computer. I have a few hours to spare anyways. I have no real reason to believe today it will be the day, but I have to keep trying. Tony isn't going to let me rest. If you wake up tomorrow and remember me, then you'll know I made it out. It ended. It's over. If not, then I suppose we'll meet again soon. Creepy Presents. Don't go to a movie set in Latonia, written by Drunk Till Tuesday, and narrated by Danielle Hewitt. Looking for extras, Latonia, Connecticut. Total fucking clickbait, I thought.

As I clicked it. We don't all make good decisions. I was surprised to see that the link Facebook had known. notified me of actually wasn't filled with hundreds of ads, a porn of someone I knew, and a bug that would crash my whole phone immediately. It contained a description of the movie, the name of the director, the general description of the person they were looking for as extras, an address, a time and date. Short and sweet, simple enough. For once, I fit the description they were looking for. I recognized the director immediately. The guy had grown up in this town.

He was only a few years older than me, and was incredibly famous already, considering he was known for pretty B-rate horror flicks. I'd seen most of them and had a lot of admiration for him. I could easily see him moving up the ranks and creating something A-rated and forever memorable in just a few years. So, of course, I was interested in going, even with the complete lack of detail in the link, even though I saw it on Facebook,

and it probably wasn't even real, even with the possibility that I wouldn't be accepted as an extra as I drove my happy ass 20 minutes into the farmland and country surrounding the sleepy little town of Latonia. Anne showed up on time and day mentioned in the link. I jammed out to some of my emo favorites on the way there. The director used a soundtrack pretty similar to my high school playlist in all of his films. The songs are angsty, gritty, angry, be rated, just like his flicks. My GPS told me I had arrived when I was at the base of a winding and unlit driveway. Bushes and weeds crowded the gravel and I got a rundown vibe even before I saw the house.

Which was pretty fitting, considering. I whipped into the driveway and crept slowly toward the rest of the property, wincing at the scratching sounds that erupted on both sides of my car as I pulled through the overgrown brush. I pulled behind a short line of cars and peered up at the barn through my windshield. The property we were filming on apparently didn't contain a house at all. With the sun going down, the dark barn grew darker and cast long shadows around it. The driveway behind me was practically invisible in a matter of minutes. I swallowed my slight fear.

This was just a horror movie shooting, after all. You were meant to be a little creeped out, right? The gravel was uneven beneath my boots when I finally climbed out of the car. Even more weeds surrounded the corners of the car. barn. A few of the cars at the front of the line I parked in seemed abandoned. Maybe they would be used as props. Maybe everyone hadn't arrived yet. And that was why there seemed to be so few people here? I asked myself a million questions as I struggled to find the entrance to the barn. There were no signs indicating I was even at the right place. Was I trespassing right now? And I read the link correctly?

My heart was properly racing by the time I found what I thought was the entrance and pulled the door back. The whole property was so quiet. I couldn't be sure if I'd pulled the right door, but I had to try. A shiver rolled down my spine as I glanced behind me and saw how far from my car I was. I walked down a brief and unlit hallway of sorts before entering a large open space. Hay was scattered on the floor in clumps, and the place smelled horrible. I could make out a large group of people towards the back of the barn and thought, finally.

I walked towards them quickly. My feet crunched on the hay, and the shitty moving lighting behind me made my shadow tower in front of me. I couldn't tell if the group was just mumbling amongst themselves, or if the barn was really that big. Hey, sorry I'm late. I must have read the flyer up. I tried to explain, but a tall man in a blood-stained clown mask flung up a hand to stop me.

A quick glance around me told me that everyone was wearing masks. Each one increasingly more disturbed and graphic than the next. Extras don't talk, the guy said. His voice was deep, his tone was authoritative. I thought immediately that he might have been the director. Why was he wearing a mask and keeping his identity hidden was beyond me? I didn't even bother to tell the guy that I wasn't even sure if I was an extra. I fit the brief description in their email.

short, medium stature, female, natural, long hair that's either blonde or brunette, 100 to 125 pounds, 21 to 23. No point starting the shoot off by upsetting the director. Extras wear these. Creepy clown mask commanded, handing me a black choker. I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Were we playing pre-teens going through their angsty blowjob phase? I pulled the choker over my head

and shook my long hair out of it instead of laughing. I really wanted to be a part in this guy's movie. And when I looked around the group again, I could see the females were all wearing one anyways. Extras don't ask questions. Extras run when they're told. You scream when it fits.

You'll know when. Extras don't leave until they're told to leave. Creepy clown mask rattled off a quick list of rules. The other extras and I not. nodded dumbly along. This was not at all how I thought movie shoots were supposed to go. The chick next to me was wearing her hair down. Her long, long locks didn't come close to covering up her nipples, though.

Those poked right through her incredibly skimpy crop top, while her ass hung from her shorts and her shiny purple ugs matched her aggressive makeup. She must have seen me checking her outfit out because she giggled and whispered in my direction. I want to be that girl on set. I wasn't sure what the hell that was actually supposed to mean, and I didn't get a chance to ask. A hatchet whistled between us, and I heard it clattered to the ground behind us a few feedback. What the fuck? Was that a real hatchet? As in sharpened? As in could have killed us?

Extras don't. Talk. Creepy clown mask growled, stepping into the girl's space and staring her down, inches away from her face. Her eyes were wide, and I could practically hear her knees clacking together. She nodded, said nothing. Creepy clown mask grunted his approval and continued on with his rules. I was considering leaving. I was considering calling my mom in the car as I drove quickly away from this place as I could. What the hell kind of movie shoot is this?

It didn't feel right, and a chill racked my spine as I peered around me. I was trying to take in my surroundings, mark my exits, locate the door I had entered from. but everywhere I turned there was another, presumably male, figure clad in the back with a horrifying mask staring me down. They all stared so intently, so hatefully, that I would look away as soon as they saw me looking in their general direction. I caught glimpses of weapons in the little bit of light that they had in the barn. The guy wearing the rotting deer mask with the arrow through its skull was holding one of those sky things that I only ever seen in Children of the Corn movies. What? What was this movie about again? It, uh, it went pretty bad quickly.

Well, got worse pretty quickly. The creepy clown mask guy stopped his list of rules and demands, and waved generally to someone in the background. A few more lights popped on and several sets of blinking red lights lit up around us. I figured those were the professional stationary cameras. Creepy clown mask and over a half of the other masked figures whipped handheld cameras out and pointed them at us. Run, bitches!

Creepy clown mask shouted an incredibly monotone voice. I recognized that voice as the one who usually made the first kill. And I watched his creepy clown mask, grabbed the scythe from the deer head, and slammed it into the chest of the girl beside me. Blood poured instantly and coated her scanty outfit. I heard her attempt to say something, but only blood gurgled up.

I will admit, At first, I thought it was the movie. At first, I was impressed. They brought us all here and made us think we were all extras, when really there were some actual actresses among us. Already fitted with blood packs? Already aware of the script and what was happening? It was genius.

Until I realized how wrong I was. The girl collapsed to her knees and the creepy clown masks ripped the scythe from her chest. It made a wet sound as it tore from her stardom. More blood pulled out of her wound as she fell face-first into the dirt. We were all stunned. We all stood there and did nothing. His creepy clown mask flicked the sky quickly to his right

and followed the spray of blood that arped off of its tip and splattered up the side of one of his comrades with the camera. I think I said, run, bitches! Creepy clown mask shouted. Something. clicked in my head before the other extras started screaming and scattering. This wasn't a fucking movie. They may have been recording, but none of this was acting.

I tried to keep my wits about me, as I spun on my heel and sprinted toward the door I used to enter this hellish nightmare. Before I made it, Deerhead was standing in front of me, a GoPro taped to his chest, and a scythe in both hands. He took a swing at me and I'd barely ducked in time. The scythe went screaming past my ear. making a higher-pitched noise than the hatchet had earlier. He lost his balance a bit with his follow-through.

And I took advantage of it to slip out the door. I could hear the screams of the other extras and the maniacal laughter of six or seven masked men. Maybe more of the cameramen were joining in on the fun, too. All I could think was that if I could reach the safety of my car, I might be able to escape. I slipped and slid across the uneven gravel but didn't stop sprinting until I got to my car.

No one was behind me, I thought I was in the clear, until I saw them. All four of my tires were slashed and completely flat. Just like in any horror film, a quick glance up the line of cars I parked behind showed the same for the rest of them. I was fucked if I wanted to use a vehicle to escape here. I wiped sweat from my eyes and looked down the long driveway. It was pitch black. I couldn't have made out any shapes if I tried.

The best I could do was run and run fast if I was going to get out of here. Maybe someone would be on the main road and I can get a ride back into town. You let one of them escape? I heard the growling, angry voice of creepy clown mask man, and my heart skipped to beat. I looked towards the barn and saw two people outlined by a light inside the barn. The Deerhead outline pointed down the driveway. I think she went down there, boss. Deerhead said

Keep the cameras going Creepy clown mask said I heard their shoes slide across the gravel and I knew they'd reach me in no time I had seconds to decide slip into the woods around the property and run around completely blind and lost or hide under my car until the masked men went away

I chose not to be lost my panic was bad enough as it is I slid under my car quickly wincing at how loud the gravel moving under me sounded if they found me, I was certain they'd film one of the darker torture scenes I'd watched in his last movie.

I laid under the car and tried to control my breathing, listening to the men get closer, thinking back on the movies I'd seen. They were your typical gore flicks where no one survives, and the bad guys won. If what I had seen in the barn was how all of the filming of his movies went, then I was pretty sure they were all snuff flicks, too. I didn't think.

anyone still made those, and I definitely never thought you could get away with it with this day and age in a town this small. I heard them approach my car and slow their steps. Any minute now, they would look under my car, drag me out, and torture me to death. If they didn't think to look under the car for themselves, the sound of my heart beating like mad would alert them to where I was. Donald was taken care of the last girl with the scissors. And however this chase scene ends, will be perfect to edit in after that. I heard creepy clown mass say. I shivered again at how cold a human had to be to discuss video editing after slaughtering a group of innocent women. I was feet away from a fucking serial killer, and I was his next victim. If I escaped, I would never take another day for granted.

The tires were popped as soon as they all entered the driveway, so she's not driving out of here. She's either in the woods or back of the barn, dear head said. Creepy clown mask muttered something back at him, and the two of them retreated toward the barn. When I was sure that my heart wasn't going to explode from the stress of the whole situation, I scooted out from under my car and just laid there breathing hard. What did he mean when he said our tires were automatically popped when we came in the driveway? Was there a attack strip set up, and I'd been oblivious from the beginning of this whole fucking nightmare? In the silence I could hear screams coming from the top of the property.

Whichever girl had the misfortune of meeting the man with the scissors, was voicing her on happiness. I didn't even want to let my brain fill in the scary, unknown details of what was happening in that barn. I needed to get out of there. I listened for the men outside for only a few moments before I scrambled off the ground and hauled ass down the driveway. I ran harder and faster than I've ever run before. I thought my chest would burst open in my anxiety. would suffocate me.

Where was the tax strip, or whatever they laid down to shred the tires? And what kind of damage would I do to a human after what it did to those tires? More importantly, what the fuck would this group of raging psychopaths do when I escaped? Oh, don't think about it. Don't think about it. I told myself as I ran. I couldn't remember how long I had driven earlier, but the driveway was never-endingly long now. And too loud.

The gravel slid and flew out from under my feet and scattered. The sound of the rock smashing together was thunderous. How the fuck was I supposed to escape at every step I took let captors know where I was headed? I was impossibly picking up speed further downhill I went, and eventually I started to pinwheel, with almost no control of my arms or legs. I felt the gravel spin out from under me and heard a light snap.

I recognized it as my own ankle at the last second. The last second before I flew through the dark and pummeled my face into the ground. I jumped up in such a panic. I was not only crying, I was screaming. You know that part of the movies where the girls break their noses and just start wigging out? That was me. If they got my wipe out on camera, they had fucking gold on record. And there was no way they didn't know where I was now.

I stumbled out into the street, blinded by my own blood in sheer panic. My mouth gaping open and Banshee's, screech after banshee screech coming out of it. I had no way of knowing what time it was, no way of Ubering home. My phone was in my car and my plan had been to escape faster and quieter than one could in a vehicle with flat tires. Here I was, screaming in the middle of the road. Help me!

Over and over. Help me, please. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future evidence. Please visit us at Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Or email. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license.

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