Creepy - Deep Dark Sea

Episode Date: September 20, 2021

The ocean is a big place...***Written by Kyle Harrison***Bonus: "I’m a bookstore owner yet sometimes I wish I couldn’t read" written by NemesisLuce and narrated by Michelle Kane***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.

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These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents Deep Dark Sea Written by Kyle Harrison There are about four reasons why I'll be dead by the time this reaches out. anyone. I'm recording this message to sort out my thoughts and provide the most accurate information I can to those on the surface. I apologize if it's not the most cohesive possible, but given

circumstances I'm facing. It's the best that I could do. Number one, I have 47 hours of oxygen left. There's no way to stretch that out. Trust me, I've tried. When this mess started, I had a about a week's worth of supplies left. I knew that conserving energy would be a top priority. I closed off parts of our facility I wasn't going to use and ran everything on minimum power that required it. I did everything by the book to make sure I could survive. And it's probably only shaved off a few hours for me.

I don't know what day it is, but I'm sure it's my last or close to it because I don't see myself just sitting around and waiting to suffocate. You come to terms with your immortality down here pretty quick. I know I'm a goner, but that isn't really what scares me. Number two, I'm at the bottom of the ocean, and no one knows I'm here. For security reasons, none of us were allowed to know the base's location before we got here. At the time, I didn't question it.

Government officials always like to keep secrets. and I figured if it was at the bottom of the ocean, there wasn't much that could go wrong. It seemed like we'd be safe. They even had a lot of rules and security measures that we were viewed before the deep dive to make sure we all understood what we were getting into. They hid everything. All I'd been initially told was that six of us would be sent to one of the most important projects of this century, and that the reward would be beyond measure. Not just money, although they did offer plenty.

Fame and fortune, your name going down in history books, it was a hard thing to turn down, especially when the mystery itself intrigued me. I hadn't even been told who would be on the team, only that secrecy and duty would be the top priority. When things started going wrong, naturally, I asked the others to see if anyone might be aware of our location to get help. but those in charge felt it would be better if we were all on the same page. Or the other five that came here were lying. I guess it doesn't matter now though since they're dead, does it? Oh, yeah.

That ties into reason number three. Number three, all my crewmates are dead. Several of them killed by my own hand. I haven't the time to explain to explain. explain, and I'm not asking for forgiveness or some shit like that. The men and women stationed here with me went crazy. They turned on one another like vicious animals, and everything I did was purely for survival reasons only.

I don't want to go into detail of what I did. I still can't come to terms of those choices myself. These people were all good, smart, resourceful from every corner of the globe. None of them needed to be locked down here with this madness. When I ended their life, it was a mercy. At least that's what I tell myself. You see, we found something we weren't meant to here in the depths of the ocean. It was the entire reason that we came here.

During the dive, I remember thinking that our instruments weren't working properly. The oceanographer, Paul Stratton, commented that the electromagnetism of the region was off the charts. I asked what that meant. He winked at me and told me that it meant this was something big. The abyssal zone, one of the darker regions of the deep ocean, is where I figured we must be stationed given the lack of light and life. But I soon found out the reason for the void was far more serious than that. Commander Michael Watley met us in the main decompression chamber to go over a few regulations for our stay.

No communication with the surface. The monitoring station was to remain online at all times. Shifts to keep everything maintained would be determined in 12-hour increments. Dr. Agnes Booth, our chief physician, was the first to ask the big question. You make it sound like we've uncovered extraterrestrial life, Commander. What exactly is it that we'll be researching? Michael showed us to the observation deck, allowing the underwater floodlights beyond the deep ocean facility to activate.

and giving us all a chance to be in awe. It rested about 3,700 meters away from our location, according to the initial scans. And still, from this range, the object was massive. Its edges touched the trench walls, making it feel almost purposeful that the large object had been placed here in this remote location. Its hall was as white as ivory, unblemished and glistening across the entire surface. It didn't indicate life, nor makeup that told me it was artificial. Yet as the light refracted and hit it, I could tell that it wasn't truly a solid mass at all, but rather thousands or maybe millions of prisms that were all shimmering and moving in unity with one another to make up the object.

It was at least the size of a 40-foot skyscraper. This is what all of you are here to find out. For the next seven days, this monolith is your own. only priority. This facility has come equipped with everything you will need to safely observe, document, record anything surrounding this trench, Michael had told us. All of us were obviously surprised that the previous team hadn't made any sense of the strange object, but the commander had an explanation for that, too. Until recently, we've been unable to allow any personnel into the facility for fear of disruption.

The monolith seems to harm the area surrounding it, but it also tends to wane during the summertime, almost as if it's asleep or hibernating. This is the best chance we have to understand the thing, he explained. He paused for a moment to see if there were any interjections, and then explained how our mission would conclude. After the seven days, our reconnaissance team will dive to get you and to determine if further observations are made, Wally told us. Paul couldn't help but wonder if maybe the death trap we were observing might wake

The commander didn't answer that one, but instead rattled off a few other rules as he prepared for departure and finally concluded, I know all of you were chosen because you're the most capable men and women we have available. I have full confidence you can crack this. And we never saw him again. Number four, there is a force at work here that could destroy all life as we know it. It doesn't take all of us to wrap us. recognize that this thing cannot possibly be from this world, I stated once the commander had left

and the reality of our bizarre assignment sunk in. We began reviewing while little data the last team had managed to scrounge so far. As far as we could tell, the monolith was composed of literally hundreds of different geological sources. None of us understood at first how that could be possible. The data showed that the scraps of rock had been gathered from every ocean on Earth. It's very beautiful, and I admitted as I looked toward the darkness above. I couldn't even truly see the top of the monolith because how far down we were.

The doctor said it was an abomination. It's no wonder why they kept this quiet, I thought. This thing is changing everything we ever thought we knew. And it can cause disruptions in space and time too from the data we expunged. Whatever the hell that means. Whatley told us that we would be fine, so that's what we're going to rely on, I repeated. He seemed fine, didn't he? Paul asked nervously. None of us knew the man that well, so it wasn't ours to decide.

But soon enough, we found out just how safe we really were. A few days passed with few incidents. We did our best work under the circumstances we've been given, and so we started to become comfortable around the monolith. It was this sense of familiarity, I think, that led to the first mistake. Mason attempted to send a drone out to get a closer view of the prisms and had the camera feed on live so everyone in the facility could get a better look. But the closer the tiny submarine got to the object, the more erratic our feed became.

We tried to ride it off as faulty tech, but there was a growing unease amid the group. Something was beginning to change in my coworkers at that moment. Strange noises were emitting from the drone's feed. I could already tell it irritated Paul and Dr. Booth. Paul claimed it was so bad he wanted to rip his ears off. Myz had ignored it and pushed forward. We soon found what seemed to be writings on the prisms, different languages. Alien, I had guessed.

The scan was detecting over 400 spoken dialects from our planet. Instead, the answer was actually what turned out to be the most curious. All of these languages appeared to be human. Some were ancient, Mesopotamian, Inoccian, but some appeared to be far more modern, like the rocks. It had gathered pieces of our culture for as long as it had been down here. That seemed like the logical conclusion, but I wasn't so sure. about the stone seemed to have adapted since we got here. It was altering its makeup to show us things

that hadn't been seen before. It made me worry about why that was. Wasn't the obelisk supposed to be asleep? Some of the noises might be tongues that we don't recognize. Language of the future? I speculated that evening as we listened to the chatter that the radio picked up. There did seem to be a rhyme to the broadcast method, but I wasn't sure I was ready to accept it. the notion of time travel. Maybe this monolith doesn't exist within the framework the dimensions we're familiar with. Time and space seem to be meaningless to it. So it could be easily gathering information from all over the entire span of human history.

It's almost like a informational black hole. Our astrophysicist appeared soon to give his theory about the subject. Something in his stance and posture seemed off. But for some reason, I have... ignored it. The proper theoretical term is a white hole. Instead of consuming all things, including light, this monolith exudes constant power, information, and strength. It's an infinite chasm of possibilities, Gregory explained. So, if we could happen to understanding it, we would be basically breaking the very fabric of our reality. That didn't sound good to me.

He took a sip of his coffee, a strange glint in his eyes as he peered toward the monolith. Its very existence is the rip between our world and one beyond. It has pushed the limits. Now we are just teetering the scales further toward oblivion. All right, maybe we shouldn't be all doom and gloom, I suggested. You don't understand, do you? This thing can see the future, the past, as well as the endless possibilities of the universe.

It is everything. It's a god. And yet we stand here trying to comprehend it. That's like looking at the sun, he sneered. None of us have been affected yet, I said. No, but I knew that wasn't entirely true. Paul had been staying up to attempt to communicate with the noises, and Liza hadn't gotten much sleep.

I tried to tell Greg that it was fine. We weren't losing sanity. No, you idiot, it's worse than that. The monolith is going to exert power over us. It's only a matter of time before we turn on each other, Greg said. The next day he locked himself in his room. And I had to kill my closest colleague on this wreck. I felt my breath hitting my face as I ran down the corridor from him.

She lost her mind because of a singular excursion using a pressurized suit to the monolith. Gone for a few hours. When she returned to the main air chamber, she began speaking nonsense and tongues that we couldn't understand. Paul refused to let her on board. She used her own suit as a weapon against a glass until it shattered. Blood and pain at endless walls. They rise, walk, scream, and cross. into the abyss they scurried.

She shrieked as she came toward us like an animal. I found a nook to hide in as she clawed at Paul's face. His screams prompted me to try and stop this. Using the nearby fire extinguishers as a weapon, bashed her head on a metallic floor. When she was dead, the booth performed an autopsy, trying to comprehend what had happened.

Her brain and, body were accelerating through different quantum states, almost as if she couldn't exist in our dimension anymore. This is the answer that the doctor gave us. Paul mumbled an excuse of how he had warned all of us not to go near the thing. Speaking of the monolith, since Liza's untimely death, it seems to have gotten larger, Greg told us. We decided to try and communicate with the surface after that, but it proved to be a pointless effort even with our skills. Time wasn't on our side, and we were too far down.

Paul seemed determined to make it work, locking himself in the communication stray. The next day I started to learn that I was not immune to the grip of the monolith. I was having hallucinations. It would often be Liza, her skills, her skill, Rippling and transforming on the edge of my mind, even as I walked down the corridor and tried to perform a simplistic past. She was always in constant pain, screaming about her suffering.

It was those same hallucinations that made me kill Branch next. The illusion was mixing with the facility around me when I bashed his head in. Then I went to the forward command center and glared at the monolith. It was a reminder to me that I was being watched. The chances of escape without being caught were less than nil. Agnes met me with an unusual request. She said she wanted me to kill her. What?

I whispered in shock. I know you've been struggling with your mental health. We all have, and I want to end it on my terms. If I die, it will be easier for the rest of you to start. survive longer. It's simple math. I don't have anyone on the outside to wait for. Nobody will miss me. This is how it has to be, she insisted. I think most people believe death is easy. For her, it wasn't. When I cut her throat, she choked on her blood for maybe 15 minutes. As I watched her die and vague and struggle to breathe.

I wondered if she changed her mind about this, about all the sacrifices that led her here. I should have told her I never intended to cannibalize her body. The truth was I'd kill the others and then commit suicide. I know I can't let the research we found come to light. The monolith is too dangerous. It's been seven days that have passed now. Paul wound up starving in the communications room.

Branch and I found his body on day five and saw that he carved more strange archaic symbols and his own blood on every surface. The monolith was trying to tell him something, Red whispered. What could it be? I asked. He turned to me and whispered the final reason why I know I will die down here. We aren't alone. Greg's body began to break apart the way a cocoon splinters the moment of metamorphosis. But this was not a beautiful, godly creature emerging.

Long black skeletal claws that crushed apart his skin and muscle revealed rows of endless teeth and eyes as hellish abomination screamed in a million tongues. I locked myself in the next room. The creature is smashing its body to reach me over and over as I frantically worked to cause an implosion in the room. When it succeeded, I saw the creature tear apart into another thousand pieces, joining the ocean's vacuum as it was forced into the monolith. The object is all encompassing now. I see it everywhere I look. I know that the forces from beyond are closing in.

They taunt me with their scream. as I struggle to finish these notes. I've discovered the horrible truth. This monolith did not come from Earth, but from what came before our world. An entire dimension of chaos and destruction is what it harbors. Our days as the dominant species in this world have come to an end. The truth is that this was never our world to begin with.

all this time the monsters in the hell that rest beyond the gates of reality have only been hibernating the monolith is the key to their world and something is about to unlock it I am thankful I am about to die now I can't even imagine the apocalypse that will rain down when this thing finally chooses

to stir the world above for your bonus episode Creepy Presents I'm a bookstore owner yet sometimes I wish I couldn't read written by Nemesis Luce and narrated by Michelle Kane

The biggest pride of a bookseller is being able to cater to all sorts of customers If you enter my store Looking for a niche fantasy novel Or an obscure philosophical essay and I don't have it, I will make sure to order it for you and maybe add similar references to my inventory. I would have chosen a very different career path if I didn't have both a thirst for knowledge and curiosity about the human mind. Knowing what people enjoy reading, where they like to take their imagination when they have free time,

and managing to offer them something that I know they will appreciate, gives me immense satisfaction. I feel like knowing someone's reading habits establishes a deep intimate connection. I would not have opened my store if I didn't believe in the power of books. Then life happened, and now I'm selling books that have a bit too much power. And I'm not sure I like it as much. But I will back up a bit. After sleeping for a solid nine hours, something that hadn't happened to me in years,

I ended up deciding to leave the store closed until the afternoon. My voice had come back, but my throat was still hurting like hell, so I texted Alex, the part-time employee that was supposed to help me open the store today, and told him that something had come up and we wouldn't open before two. I used my unexpected morning off to do some shopping. First, stopping by the butchers to try and find some quality meat that would be equally delicious raw or cooked. I didn't know what Kathy's kids would enjoy more

and figured that if raw meat wasn't to their taste, then they would at least have a nice dinner. I then went and purchased five adorable red panda plushies just as an extra token of appreciation, and also because they were way too cute and I couldn't not get them. Back in the store, I went to assess the damage non-human saliva had done to my carpet. I sighed with relief as the stains did not seem to

possess any unnatural quality to them. You can never be too careful. I decided it was an issue for future me. Spoiler alert, future me usually ends up hating past me and move some tables around to hide them for the time being. Don't judge me. The store is closed on Mondays, so I would only leave them as such for a couple days. I still had a few hours before opening and I wanted to get some work done. I'm not going to lie, my job is pretty cool. Even office work is interesting when you're a bookseller. You check your inventory, examine sales numbers to see what people tend to buy, and place orders with publishers, hand-crafting a selection that represents your store's identity while keeping your customer's desires in mind. The occasional meeting with the sales rep,

is always fun. We go over the publisher's catalog over coffee and discuss our personal tastes. Of course, things go a bit differently when it comes to the night inventory. I've said previously that I first got my hands on rare books by chance or at flea markets. While that was enough to get started, it is not an effective business plan when it comes to running a store. Talking with my night customers, however, has made me aware that there were non-hearts. writers and publishers, focusing on the struggles and history of cohabitating with a different inferior species. Working with the non-human publishing houses has given me an insight I'd never thought I'd get into non-human society. While some of them consider humans to be prey,

most non-humans simply wish to live their own lives, unbothered and left alone. They write and read books to share their thoughts and views on the world with similar-minded folks, pretty harmless if you ask me. Some non-human books even make it to human bookshelves. Have you ever come across a book about the occult and didn't recognize the author's name, nor the publisher? Chances are it was written by a non-human. In my experience, witches are the most prolific writers, and their teachings found their way to a more mainstream audience. Now I'm not saying you can learn how to become a quasi-immortal non-human by reading their writings about witchcraft. But if you're interested, you can learn more about nature, spirits, and channeling energies into rituals that will help you toward your goals.

Their books don't make it to the top seller lists, but they help people get a better understanding of our shared world, whether the reader is aware of it or not. As I've said before, I love my job, and I wouldn't trade it for anything, even if I could. I truly believe that what I'm doing is good and helps all sorts of people navigate through life. So now that you know a bit more about what I do and why I enjoy doing it, let me tell you about Exxon, Publishing House. You've probably never heard of them, and for good reason. I asked some of my nighttime customers about them, and they told me that they had heard of it, but their books were pretty hard to find. When I first got their catalog in the mail, nothing seemed to stand up that much.

They had both fiction and nonfiction. Fiction, focusing on what appeared to be romance, nonfiction being mostly biographies of famous non-humans, some of which I had actually heard about. I figured it couldn't hurt to give them a try and ordered a selection among their fiction. Even though I was new to dealing with non-human publishers, I was a fucking idiot. They didn't send a free copy of their bestseller with the catalog, as publishing houses usually do. I ordered blindly. I had no idea what the novels contained besides what Exxon themselves had to say about them.

I was careless, and blaming it on inexperience doesn't help with the guilt. I didn't pay much attention to the Ex-Song shipment when it first arrived. I moved quite a lot of inventory and have to sort through dozens of boxes every month between new arrivals and returns. Nothing stood out to me. Funny, isn't it? How usually when you remember looking back at a strange situation is how everything seemed completely ordinary. It wasn't until I went to put the new arrivals on the appropriate tables that I realized something was sort of off. None of the Ex-Song books had neither a price nor an EAN code.

Now, there are strict laws regarding bookstores in my country. I can't just make up a price for a new book sent to me by a publishing house. I went to check the email exchange so I could find the retail price that should appear on the invoice. No, nothing. I never delete work emails. Never. If they're not in my inbox, they're saved on my computer. The invoice from Ex-Song, the order of confirmation, I couldn't find anything. I went to check my bank statement, getting a bit spooked at this point. The transaction between the store and Ex-Song showed up, followed by a message telling me it was canceled, and no money had been taken out of the store's account. Bewildered, I tried to sit down and think. I had gotten the books.

I scanned the box they arrived in, so the transporter must have sent confirmation that I received them. If it was a banking error, Ex-Song would have contacted me by now or sent me another invoice. And if it was a banking error, the emails would still be on my computer. I tried to Google the titles, if only to see if I could get an EAN or price range. Nothing came up. Obviously. More importantly, I didn't feel comfortable selling books I got for free, especially since what I was now left with was a gift from non-humans.

And that, my friends, is something that never comes without a price. I took a closer look at the books. they looked like your regular, sappy romance novels. Nothing really stood out besides the fact that the protagonists were all monsters of some kind. I still had no idea what I was supposed to do with them. I could have just given them away, but that felt wrong, not because I'm a greedy store owner, but because I felt this was exactly what Ex-Song wanted me to do.

And I couldn't trust them at all. I ended up storing the box in a locked cupboard in the night inventory storage room, but not before doing the stupidest thing a bookseller could ever do. I thought I'd read one of their books. I can't explain what made me think, Hey, weird books from a weird publisher who apparently can manipulate emails. This must be a good read. In retrospect, I can only assume I was overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all

and thought this would give me answers. I picked the one that seemed most interesting, the story of a depressed demon that had never been able to find love until he meets a human girl that makes him hope for happiness. It was written from the demon's perspective, and to be fair, it was an interesting dive into how depression affects non-humans. Caleb, the protagonist, grew up in a society where love was non-existent,

something his kin simply could not feel, yet it was all he craved in the world. I ended up feeling quite invested in the story. There was something so raw in the feelings described, something so universal and yet so intimate, that I found myself profoundly moved by some parts. I mean alienation, check, depression, check, forbidden desire when he meets a human girl? Check? Look, despite my profession, I'm an easy reader. As long as the story is interesting enough, I will get invested. I don't have much of a love life, and even though romance is far from being my favorite genre, I am kind of a sucker for it when it hits the right nerve, which this one

surprisingly did. I found myself to be invested enough, to be extremely annoyed and disappointed when the story ended with Caleb, basically kidnapping the human girl and hoping Stockholm's syndrome would work its magic, especially since that's basically the plot of a bunch of myths and folk tales. Too easy, man, too easy. Easy and creepy. I checked the time as I closed the book. It had been two hours since Henry had completed his usual shopping, and I had not had another customer since. I sighed and got up to put the novel with the rest of the Ex-Song shipment. I heard the door open from the back of the store and hurried to the counter, annoyed at the fact that apparently all it took for me to get customers was to leave the floor.

It was a man impeccably dressed in a navy trench coat and leather shoes, a soft face framed by wavy shoulder-length hazel hair. As I greeted him into the store, I tried to discreetly examine his features out of an instinctive curiosity. when dealing with nighttime customers. But couldn't find anything. He looked perfectly normal, attractive even, with gentle brown eyes and a sharp jawline

that was softened by his friendly smile. He seemed familiar somehow. I chalked it up to my faulty memory. Maybe he had visited the store before. If you need help, finding specific volume, don't hesitate to ask, I said as he was lazily browsing the shelves. He nodded. I won't. Thank you.

Despite his good looks and perfect manners, there was an eerieness about him. I couldn't quite place. But he seemed polite and respectful enough to abide by the rules of business, so I relaxed. He ended up buying the newest translation of Medea, and I couldn't help but express my enthusiasm, as it is my favorite piece of classical literature. As he left, I felt. found myself wishing all customers were as easygoing as him, even the human ones, especially the human ones. I propped the front door open and stepped right outside to light a cigarette. Something I could definitely afford to do as the night was very quiet. Inhaling the smoke,

I found myself thinking back on the X-Song published novel I just finished, and how the ending just didn't sit right with me. It was a shame, really, that the author resorted to such a cheek way of relieving the protagonist's anguish. When I'd spent a couple hours really feeling for this poor soul that craves something he thought he would never be granted. It felt so deeply human, and I resonated with his desire to love and feel loved at all cost, right until the end, when it all went to shit. I don't like it either, you know. I nearly let out a shriek that ended up choking on smoke, coughing my lungs out while trying to locate where the voice had come from. I had barely regained control of my breathing, and I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I didn't think it was the right thing to do, but they told me it would sell more copies if I satisfied the reader's desires. Apparently they like violence and kidnapping, so I obliged. I froze. This was my customer, my well-mannered, seemingly harmless customer had been waiting in the shadows and could apparently read my thoughts. Brilliant. Just brilliant. I turned to meet his gaze, trying to regain composure and not appear too rattled. That went out the window, when it turned out, the only words I could get out were,

What? How? And the fuck? He chuckled, tightening his grip. on my shoulder. You of all people should know that words hold power, and that books are nothing short of magic. My publisher, he knows how to connect the reader to the writer. He knows how to enhance the magic contained in books. I could feel your emotions as you read my words. They were so pure, so strong, I knew I had to find you. I took a

deep breath. I could deal with that. Sure, it was weird, but it seemed logical enough for my brain to comprehend it. At least I had an explanation. But then it clicked. I took another look at my customer's features and burst out laughing. He was obviously taken aback, letting go of my shoulder and looking at me with a very puzzled look on his face. I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend you. I managed to say once my laughter had died down. I didn't expect it to be so obvious.

You're a spitting image of your character. It's about you, isn't it? You're Caleb. It's your story, right? I feel bad for laughing, but come on. Be a little less author. next time, especially when you end a story about yourself in such a ridiculous manner. I instantly regretted my tone as I heard his breathing grew deep.

While not a very muscular man, I was right about the obvious self-insert when he could kill me without breaking a sweat. I remembered that a bit too late. You're right. He conceded to my surprise and great relief. You are absolutely right. I am pathetic. I write about myself and when I feel readers such as you, sympathize for my character, when they root for me and are invested in the story, I feel comforted. I offered him a genuine smile. I can understand that, but come on, don't lose yourself in fiction. Living in your own little world is comforting, but reality has its perks too, you know. He stared at me in silence, long enough for me to feel unsettled again.

I had almost forgotten just how uncanny the whole situation was. He kept on staring, and I started to suffocate. It could have been a panic attack. It could have been a mystical influence on my body. All I knew in that moment was that I could not breathe and that the world was closing in on me. I stumbled forward and he caught me, pulling me against his chest. You're right, he whispered. Reality has its perks.

I could not scream. I could not fight. I could not think. He put his hand on the back of my head and my mind was filled with visions. of decaying bodies, lying on the floor of an enormous study, flies buzzing around filthy bookshelves, maggots crawling on scattered pieces of paper, a huge desk filled with notebooks, Caleb sitting and writing furiously, his face contorted by unbridled frenzy. Behind him, against the wall, bound in chains, was a lifeless version of myself.

I found you, my muse. I heard him say, unable to determine whether it was in the vision or in real life. You felt my pain and you rescued me. Now I will write to inflict suffering and feed on the anguish of the poor, feeble humans that will read my cursed words. We will thrive on despair and reign over chaos itself.

I was running out of oxygen and felt my body about to shut down. Yet I had a brief moment of clarity. I could not physically fight him. I could not antagonize him. The only thing I could do was what I knew best. Being a bookstore owner. Gathering the remnants of my fading strength, I shifted my balance and fell back.

He followed my movement, trying to prevent me from hitting the ground. but I managed to extend an arm. I had left the door to the store open. I grabbed the frame and felt air coming back into my lungs as my fingers touched the interior wall. I still had a psychopathic demon writer wrapped around me, but my strength was returning. I very carefully took a couple steps back

until I reached the threshold, then extricated myself from Caleb's grasp. I was in my element, and I was in charge again. I have an obligation to the store and to my customers. Who would sell the books you intend to write? Do you really wish to deprive your kind of the joy of reading? You're a writer.

You need me here in my store selling books. I sympathize with your pain, but I cannot follow you. I hid my instinct to cringe at my own words behind my best business owner that doesn't take crap face, and it seemed to work. Caleb looked at me in disbelief, with a hint of madness. I stood my ground, staring him down while the high of adrenaline kept me standing. You are right, again. He finally shook his head and conceded.

It would be selfish and immoral of me to steal you from your duties to this community. I nodded. As long as you're working here, we cannot be together. I nodded again. I will wait for you. As soon as you leave this business behind, you will be mine. I blinked, unable to find a polite way of saying, what the fuck are you on about now?

No, no, no, no, no, no. And also, no. Hell no. He smiled and left, just like that, leaving me to hurry and lock the door before collapsing on the floor, trembling with fear and rage. Mostly rage. I had been so stupid, so fucking stupid. Just typing this makes me angry at myself again.

I just had to read this book, didn't I? Fucking idiot. Sure, I handled things relatively well on the end. avoided immediate death with the promise of death. Where was my brain before things got to a critical point? No idea. You could say that at least now I knew it was up with Exxon. If what Caleb told me was true,

they had a way to prey on their readers using some sort of magic. I'm assuming only humans are vulnerable, but I'm not willing to put this theory to the test. Their shipment is to remain sealed and stored. in the vault, until I can meet someone from the publishing house and return their books after punching them in the face. I'm yet to see Caleb again. It doesn't prevent me from feeling on edge whenever I leave the store. I only go to my apartment to shower and eat once a day, preferring to sleep on the breakroom couch. My shop is the only place that feels safe to me.

It's the only place where I feel I'm in control, and I'm not ready to let anything. or anyone jeopardize that. Please, please support your local bookstore. You never know what could happen to the owner if they were forced to close. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com. If you'd like to submit a story for consideration or recommend a story, please see our submission page at Creepypod.

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