Creepy - Discount Vacation Challenge

Episode Date: February 3, 2025

Discount Vacation Challenge***Written by: No One of Consequence***Twigs ***Written by: L.R. Pearl and Narrated by: Meagan McDuffee***Tropical Dangers ***Narrated by: Nate DuFort***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. For our first story this evening, when a man finds a deal on a vacation that seems too good to be true, it doesn't take him long to figure out that the price for the vacation is more than he's willing to pay.

Creepy Presents Discount Vacation Challenge Written by known of consequence. When it comes to taking a vacation, most people I know, like to just stay home or go camping. They claim it's fun to simply sit back and relax or something about spending time in nature is recharging. What it sounds like to me is a cheap option compared to selling out big bucks on something I deemed to be worth doing. With the state of the economy, it makes sense, but I found something new to try. A friend of mine turned me onto a company called

ballistic, with two A's and one L instead of one A and two L's. No, I'm told it's pronounced ballistic. They're a company that specializes in discount programs for virtually everything. When I went to their website, the first thing I noticed on their homepage was a flashing button that said, Vacation Getaways. It showed me some major destination vacations with serious discounted prices, but it was still very pricey. The main part of this page lists off all the places you could visit and how much one of those trips will run you. On the far right is a filter function, and one of the features lets you declare how much you're willing to spend.

My budget's pretty strict with how work is going right now, so I only enter $500. I've got a mandatory two weeks off of work coming soon, and I really don't want to spend it at home watching TV and being bored out of my mind. I'd love to be able to sit on a beach and drink something alcoholic and fruity from a coconut. But that's not in the cards. At least, that's what I thought. The results show only one option for a vacation that cheap, and it's called the Discount Vacation Challenge. The strange thing is the price list that states it starts at a hundred bucks. Sounds sketchy as shit.

But I enter my desired departure and return dates, then click on. it. I'm curious what it has to say. A list of locations populates and it tells me to pick four desired destinations. I don't recognize most of them, but a quick search on a new tab in the web browser lets me know a lot of these places are small towns or villages. But very close to major vacation destinations. On a whim, I click on a few places in the tropics that sound good. When I click the fourth location, a loading icon pops up in the center of my screen. The screen eventually changes and shows me an itinerary. My flight from the airport of origin leaves at 5 a.m., and I have to hop between two other airports before landing on my first destination at 3 p.m.

Each layover looks to be about an hour, but there are challenges for me to do before I can get to my next plane. It tells me absolutely nothing about what these challenges are, but the last thing. listed charge for the airfare is ridiculous. If I complete each challenge, the overall cost for the flights is $27. There's no way this is legit. Either that or the challenges are going to be so ridiculous that I'd either never be able to complete them or it cost me an arm and a leg to do it. Sadly, my curiosity has me looking at the rest of the itinerary. It turns out there are five locations I'd be visiting before coming back home. The last one wasn't one I got to choose.

According to this, I'd be on this random small island I've never heard of for three days. This is the part that really grabs me, though. If I complete the final challenge on Balland, not only will my flight home be free, but it'll be first class, and I'll walk away with a cash prize of $1,000. Seriously, this can't be on the up and up. There's a video at the bottom of the screen of the previous challenge's winner. She stands on a beach with a little umbrella drink in her hand and a smile on her face. She's swaying ever so slightly, and as she talks about how amazing her trip was,

I get the impression that she's either very tired or completely drunk. Her words aren't slurred and her eyes look really tired, so I'm leaving. more towards exhausted. I do notice that she doesn't divulge anything about the challenges themselves, only that they're unique and unforgettable. Things at work have been getting really crazy and I seriously need a vacation. Staying at home business-owned appealing and camping isn't my thing. So I secure my spot in the discount vacation challenge. Interestingly, one of the registration steps is to sign up for a special zero percent interest

credit card that'll be used for all my purchases during the trip. As I read the terms and conditions, it seriously emphasizes using this card and only this card on my trip. Some of the places they'll take you to are notorious for skimming tourists and identity theft. The rest of the work week goes by as slowly as expected. Drama is so high between my coworkers that it's like being back in high school, but worse. My boss and supervisors are being royal pains in the ass for their constant asking of contradictory things since they don't talk to each other before coming to the rest of us.

That and their need to micromanage things makes me want to jab a pen in their eye. Thankfully, Friday comes around and one of them has the nerve to tell me that they need me to come in on Saturday. With great satisfaction, I tell Bill that I can't because my vacation starts at 5 p.m. Monday morning has me sitting in a small passenger plane death gripping the armrest because everything is so shaky on smaller planes. It only takes two hours to get to the next airport, and as soon as I step off the plane, a representative from ballistics greet me at the gate asking me to please follow them. I definitely didn't expect that, but I follow the tiny woman.

She leads me into a lounge that looks like it should be for high rollers with its private bar, pool tables and... Wait, is that a blackjack and poker table over there? Whatever the hell this translucent lounge is. I know I can't afford to be here. From here, the ballistic wrap hands me off to a woman that looks to be a waitress of sorts that belongs to this lounge. The woman I'm following, Molly, escorts me through the lounge,

past an honest-to-God smoking room, and through a door I hadn't realized was there. We enter a stark white hallway full of doors, and we turn this way and that. I always knew the inner workings of airports must be complex, but I had no idea it was like this. Eventually, we go through one of the many doors we passed, and I find myself in a small room, about twice the size of a jail cell. There's a table with two chairs, and one of them is occupied by a man in a red and black checkered shirt. As instructed, I sit in the chair and wait for the checkered shirt to take a chair.

tell me about this challenge I'm required to do. However, my participation in it is actually optional, but at a cost. He doesn't bother to introduce himself before getting into the specifics. Each challenge is going to be different from the last, and I have two options. Take on the challenge and receive my next ticket to paradise, his words, or hand over my new credit card and pay a fee to bypass the challenge. A donation will be charged to this. the card and I'll be given my next ticket.

The challenge here is to play a simple card game. If I win, not only will I get my ticket, but a small prize. If I lose, I just get my ticket. This is the easiest of the challenges. I already know I'm going to play the game, but out of curiosity, I ask how much the donation would be. He tells me it gets higher with each challenge, but this one's only $25. So, yeah, I play a simple game.

game of war with ten hands. I end up winning and my reward is a $25 credit to my card to be used on future purchases during my vacation. Wow, that was easy and makes me think I'm in for a very interesting vacation. Getting to the airport is a lot like the last, but we don't go through one of those lounges this time. Instead, I'm escorted through the airport itself into an inactive area of the runway. Once there, I see a handful of people with their hands. Tried behind their backs and gags in their mouths. Severely confused, I ask what's going on thinking the worst. Especially when I'm handed a gun.

It's not real, but a paintball handgun. The guy that brought me here says the challenge is for me to shoot as many of the people as I can while they run away. You won't tell me how much the donation will be if I decide to bypass the challenge, so I'll point the gun. The bound people scatter, and I try to try to. I shoot him, but the wind is high. I met one person, but somehow managed to hit the person to their left. I don't know how I manage it, but I hit three moving targets before the gun is empty. There are only ten shots to begin with.

Taking the paintball gun from me, the guy escorts me back to the airport and tells me a $75 credit's been added to my card for completing the challenge. It was kind of fun, but it has me worried. Those people didn't exactly seem to be willing participants. They ran for the fences and didn't turn back when the challenge was over. Maybe they have a rally point out of sight or something so it doesn't ruin the effect of the challenge. When I finally get to my first vacation destination, before I check into the hotel I'm staying at, I'm taken to what looks like a gymnasium.

Inside are five other challengers, and this one's a competition between us. no bypass available. A group of well-muscled locals are standing on one side of the court and along the center line are a bunch of red rubber balls. Before the challenge coordinator tells us, I know this is a game of dodge ball. The only difference is we aren't trying to get the other team out or just trying to not get hit. I've never been much for sports, but I remember being tortured by this infernal game when I was in school.

The bullies always like to try and gang up on me, so I've got a lot of experience dodging those painful blows. Granted, it's been several years since I've done that, but I'm not even 30 yet. I should be able to hold my own. The game commences and all those muscled guys rush for the balls. Instead of picking them up to throw, they each kick the ball as if they were soccer balls. In an instant, three of the five of us are out. What's more? they're on the ground holding themselves where they were hit.

I heard the echoes of the impacts and damn it sounded painful. I nearly managed to dodge the one coming at me. The other guy that managed to not get hit ducked behind the closest person to him. Clever, but it's not going to work on me. The ball hits the other contestants and back walls hard enough that they bounce back to the opposite team's side. Now they've got those balls in hand and try to hit us the old-fashioned way. The other guy keeps trying to hold behind me, but I continue to move not giving him the chance to use me as a shield.

Then he tries to push me into an incoming ball and I've had enough of his shit. If that's a legal move, then so is grabbing him by the neck and holding them in front of me to shield myself. As planned, we become one target and everyone on the other team throws their balls at once. Each one hits the guy I'm holding and at least two of those balls take him in the face. I drop him to the ground when a coordinator blows a whistle, they're clearing me the victor. The annoying guy doesn't appear to be moving. His face is a bloody mess.

Well, that's what you get for being a little prick and not playing the game fairly. My two days stay at the hotel is completely comp to include meals, but not beverages. That's okay. I got a hundred bucks to get me some of those coconut drinks while I lounge on the beach, and that's exactly what I do. During my time at the beach or visiting the villages around the hotel, I don't see any of the other contestants. I wonder what happened to him since he didn't win, but not enough to actually ask anyone.

I do have two more smaller challenges, and after winning both, I've accumulated another $185 in credits to my card. As my trip progresses, the challenges get stranger and more unpredictable. My next destination's initial challenge has me adopting a puppy for my three-day stay. I always wanted a dog when I was going to be. kid, but my parents never let me have one. The hotel had a variety for me to choose from, and I picked an adorable black lab. It's an instant connection, and I take her everywhere. Laundering at the beach and seeing the sights is fun enough, but it's so much better with my four-legged friend with me. Big surprise, I end up spending some of my winnings on her, and she

is the happiest dog I've ever seen. Makes me want to adopt her for real and take her home with me. I'm about to ask on that during my last day when the main challenge for the destination's presented. I have to take part in a local custom. In this part of the world, dogs are considered a delicacy, and the more loved a dog is, the better they taste. The challenge is to kill the dog I've adopted, butcher it, and serve it for dinner to the hotel staff. Can't believe this. But these people are dead serious. I've never been the sword to devalue an entire culture's traditions, but this one has me

wanting to set them all on fire. I mean, what the actual fuck, you sick bastards? I want to scream at them, but the guys around me make the dodgeball throwers look like lightweights. Instead, I have to bypass the challenge, and it costs me $500. But this loan doesn't include my new friend. I'm really about to pick up the chair I'm sitting in and use it as a weapon, but the guy across the table can clearly see him take an issue with what they're planning. He decides to give me a further option. I have to shell out another $400 to keep my precious CC from being on tonight's menu and another $200 to secure her passage back to my home.

This includes boarding until I return, which will not take place locally. With this new turn in events, I don't think I want to continue my vacation. If things are only going to escalate from here, I'd much rather take CC and go the hell home. Spending the rest of my vacation at home with her, or even camping with her. seems like a much more worthwhile vacation. That's when I learned something more disturbing. The only way to end my vacation early is to fail a main challenge, and it'll cost me dearly.

I really should have read the fine print on this vacation. The man across the table tells me what happened to the guy I used as a shield during Dodgeball. He was admitted to the hospital with several broken bones. The hospital he went to his actually. run by the airlines and ballistic. The entire bill for his treatment and stay is his sole responsibility. This and the donations to bypass challenges is how they recoup costs for the cheap airfare and hotel stays.

All spare the gritty details are the rest of my destinations and hit the highlights. The smaller challenges get worse too, but not nearly as much as the main challenges. For some of the more mundane stuff, I have to play that knife game where you spread out your hand and stab down repeatedly as fast as you can while avoiding stabbing your own fingers. The big difference is it's not my hand I'm trying to avoid stabbing. But that of a 12-year-old girl being held in place by two large men. She was sobbing and screaming the entire time. I felt like a monster for doing it to her. Another challenge was to play lawn darts with moving targets, none of which were older than 16.

I managed to not accidentally stab the girl during the knife game, but I did hit two teenagers with the darts. The more things progressed, the more I understand why the challenge winner in the video looks so tired and drunk. I'm going to need some serious cocktails after all this bullshit. after the main challenge where I had to throw razor-sharp knives and tomahawks at live animals. I tried to sneak away and escape. There were several large men and women watching me to keep me from doing just that. This had quickly gone from being a weird vacation to a traveling prison situation. There was no escaping.

No coordinators made it perfectly clear that I didn't have a choice. Either I play the game or he honestly let it go unsaid. But the meaning was clear. Each and every challenge got more disturbing. There was even one where I was standing in a pitch-black room with a machete in my hand and something was moving around. It moaned and groaned unintelligibly, shuffling around and getting ever so close to me. I was so freaked out, but I stayed as still as possible.

trying to control my breathing so whatever it was might not find me. I could hear it getting so close that I started swinging the machete as hard as I could. The blade connected with whatever it was several times, and when the lights came on, I found a man and woman that had been tied together lying on the ground. Not only were they bound together, but they were gagged and blindfolded. The ever-widening pool of blood around them told me what I didn't want to know. I was slightly numb after that challenge, and I didn't remember boarding the plane for the final destination.

The stewardess kept coming up to me during the flight and either asked me questions or made statements, but I wasn't paying attention. I had more than enough of this vacation, and my mind was checking out my body to hopefully hold on what sanity I had left. Eventually I'd come back to my body, finding myself no longer on a plane. but in what looks to be a primitive village. I'm naked and in some kind of hot spring being washed by a pair of locals. I remember drinking something on the plane, but nothing more after that. I glance around and there are several people around. Some looking like they belong in the village, but more that look more modern.

Those in modern clothing are grouped together, and watch as a villager is built to very large fires. My fear starts coming back when I notice there are four other baths. Each one is someone else that looks to be coming out of some drug-induced trance like me. I guess these are the other contestants for the final challenge. I can only imagine what it could be, but considering what I had done in that pitch-black room, something tells me only one of us are going to be walking away. away from this. The bathers are very thorough in cleaning me, and under normal circumstances,

that would be rather awkward. But I can't bring myself to care. If getting fondled and washed by complete strangers was the worst thing to happen tonight, I'd consider myself lucky. I'll be downright happy about it. But this vacation hasn't been that kind since I was allowed to pay for CC's secured future. As the sun begins to set on the horizon, and the sky's coloring turns to burning colors. The two large fires are lit. The other contestants and I are taking out of the baths,

dried off and dressed. Once we're dressed and clothes that look like theirs, but fancier, a trio of people appear just on the other side of the two fires. One is a decorated man. He raises his hands above his head as he begins to speak in an unknown language. It's not until someone starts talking to me in low tones that I realize the modernly dressed locals have moved up to us. Each contestant has a group near them.

It appears that someone's translating to each of us. The high priest is calling on their gods to bestow their graces on this island as they make sacrifices in the old ways. As he does this opening prayer, The plainly dressed woman of the trio moves to the robed figure and removes the covering. She reveals a very pregnant woman. So swollen, she's likely to pop at any moment. Originally, I thought the sacrifice was going to be pitting the five contestants against each other in some kind of gladiatorial challenge. I'm not so sure now.

The person next to me continues to either translate what the high priest is saying, or he's giving me an abridged version of what's going to happen. Once the sacrifice has been made and the transformation is complete, the contestants will play a simple game of tag. That doesn't sound right. So I asked the guy for details. So the guy further explains the game, and it sounds more like manhunt than tag.

The entire island is our playground. We can hide anywhere, but sooner or later, the pursuer will kill. catch up to us. The goal of the game is to be the only one not tagged when the sun rises. He hesitates on the word tagged, and I know he's making it sound less harmful than it's bound to be. The priest stops talking as more of his tribe form a circle around the fires and women.

As I start a chant, a pregnant woman squats between the fires and lets out a cry-filled yell. I've never been present at a live birth before and could have lived the rest of my life never experiencing one, but I'm pretty sure the woman isn't supposed to be actively standing during the process. As the woman screams louder and louder, the chanting increases in tempo and volume. None of the modernly dressed locals are facing the spectacle and takes a few minutes to realize that none of the members of the tribe have their eyes open. Looking closely reveals that there's some kind of clear gelatin-like substance covering their eyes, preventing them from opening them.

A wet splashing sound accompanied by a violent scream brings my attention back to the woman between the fires. There's something writhing on the ground underneath her. I can clearly see the umbilical cord running from her to it. Under normal circumstances, I'd be gagging and probably vomiting from seeing all that red and God knows what else. But I'm too mesmerized to throw up. The writhing mass begins moving more, gaining height as it stands on. Oh, holy shit. It has four goddamn legs.

What the hell is that thing? It shakes itself off, sloughing off. off the globs of viscous fluid and placenta. I can see short fur and horns emerging from the animal's head. Those eyes glare out at the five of us spread around the circle. The eyes of a goat land on me and I'm chilled down to the soul. As it stands tall, a fully grown goat. The woman at birthed at falls over, presumably dead. Chanting comes. to a stop and there's silence. As if that wasn't strange enough, the goat begins to bleed.

The chanting starts again. It holds the same pace as it did with the woman, starting off slow and soft, but picking up speed and volume as the goat bleats louder and longer. The belly goes from being normal to swollen in moments. Something wet explodes out the backside. My eyes grow wide as I see fingers emerging, gripping the orifice as the thing inside starts pulling itself out. Hands, arms, and a head slither their way out. Before long, a woman emerges from the goat and the unfortunate animal falls over to no longer move. I notice an umbilical

cord leads from the fully grown woman to the goat. Again, The chanting stops. The woman now standing between the fires wipes off the birthing leftovers from her face, and it dawns on me. It's the woman that gave birth to the goat moments ago. But she looks strangely younger by ten or fifteen years. Once again, the chanting picks up and her belly swells to full pregnancy. The cycle starts over and over again,

going from woman to goat back to woman and again. It's an unending cycle that reverses their age until something small and unrecognizable remains. I'd call it a baby-sized egg, but it's barely there long enough for me to really form a description of it before the pink blob splits in half. Emerging from that gelatinous shell as something known outside of a mental facility

as ever dreamed could be possible. It's impossibly thin, stretching itself higher and higher, sporting jet black fur and eyes that look like a goat. But support intelligence, it isn't quite what I'd call human. Demon seems more fitting, considering how this creature was burst. The form begins stretching out wider,

going from willowy to sturdy, and I finally remember what's supposed to happen next. I bunch up my muscles and attempt to fling myself away to run the hell away and get somewhere safe. But I'm unable to move. There's no one holding me in place or anything like that, yet I'm as ridded to the spot as a hundred-year-old oak. Then the monstrous goat, human-demon hybrid,

reaches down to the umbilical core, connecting it to every variation of the being that came before it. With a black tail and it cuts the thin tissue and bleats out a ferocious roar that would make a tiger cower. I can suddenly move and I fling myself into the night. As I run as fast as I can, I hear the sound of a man screaming his final breath. I guess not everyone was lucky enough to shake themselves out of the mesmerizingly horrible

spectacle as I was. I run and run and run. looking for any suitable place to hide, but nothing seems substantial enough. There's no tree tall enough, no structure sturdy enough, no rock solid enough that I would feel secure hiding in, on, or around. I hear another scream in the distance, and another sometime later. I've pushed myself past my normal limits by the time I come to the water's edge. So far, I've heard three screams telling me that,

there's at least one more contestant than I need to outlive. With no better idea, I move out into the water. The guy that told me the rules said the entire island is our playground, but he never said the water wasn't fair game. Moving out as far as I dare, I submerge myself until only the top half of my head is above water. The waves are small tonight, for which I'm grateful. My feet are touching the bottom, so I don't have to tread water,

but it doesn't stop things in the water from brushing past me. I keep telling myself that it's only fish, maybe a turtle and not something larger with lots of teeth. Though that is a slight concern, I'm more concerned about feeling wet fur brushing against me. As I continue to hide in the shallow part of the ocean, I noticed the sky is starting to light up on the horizon. I still haven't heard another scream.

Then something bursts out of the trees. It's pale and average height, dressed similarly as I am, so clearly it's another contestant. Then something else bursts out of the trees and grips the poor soul from behind. I take a deep breath and dunk myself completely under so I don't have to watch. Both feels like a long time and too short before my chest is on fire and my lungs beg for air. I pop my head up and gulp in as much air as I can while trying to remain quiet. The sun hasn't come up yet, but there's enough light for me to see that dark figure is still on the beach. It hasn't moved, but there are two different masses of red splattered flesh on either side of it.

It looks like the beast ripped the other contestant in half. I really hope that thing doesn't like the water enough. To come out after me. For our second story this evening, left alone during her husband's trip, a woman encounters eerie disturbances centered around a sinister tree and an uninvited figure, blurring the line between safety and terror. Creepy Presents Twigs

Written by L.R. Pearl. And narrated by Megan McDuffie. My husband departed for a four-day-long work trip that morning, leaving me alone at home with our British short hair, Penny. We named her after our mutual love of Stephen King, in particular it and Pennywise. She was a smart cat, always aware of her surroundings. Her ears would fold back at every little creek around the house. I liked to think she was a sort of guard cat, in a way, looking out for me, especially during those times I was home alone. Now I'd always been a huge introvert, very small group of friends, and most of them I made online playing various multiplayer horror games.

I was a homebody, through and through, only venturing outside if it was absolutely necessary, like getting Penny's kibble, or stocking up on groceries. I couldn't drive and primarily relied on my husband to get around. This left me basically stranded when he was away, cut off from the outside world. which I wasn't exactly mad about. Our house was open-plan, carpeted throughout, with huge, screenless windows situated in every room. The front door immediately brought you into the living room and dining-room, which were connected as one.

Through the dining-room and narrow kitchen, and behind that, a small downstairs bathroom and laundry room. Climbing the horrifically steep staircase, brought you to the upstairs bedrooms. Two, to be exact, and a full bathroom. I wouldn't say the house was large, but the space was sufficient, given that we didn't have children. Anyway, it was 7 p.m., and I was stirring a pot of pasta and tomato sauce when Penny growled from the other room. Surprised to hear such a strong reaction from her,

I plopped the spoon on its rest and made my way into the living room. I'd forgotten to turn the lights on, so everything was completely drenched in darkness, save for the slice of silvery light peeking through a gap in the curtains, where the back of Penny's body was poking out. You okay, girl? I asked, stepping carefully and quietly toward her. She didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge my voice, which I thought was strange. She was fully focused and invested in whatever she was looking at through the window, it seemed. Curious, I crept up right beside her and slipped my head through the curtain. Her eyes were wide, ears, pinned all the way back. A subtle growl escaped her mouth. I reached a hand over to her to gently

stroke her, comfort her, but she refused, hunkering down instead and keeping her glare fixed to the window. Hey, Penny, I whispered, lightly tapping my fingernails against the window cell. Penny? What's wrong? I moved my gaze toward the window, searching the immediate area outside. The clocks had recently gone back another hour, so it was pitch black outside, aside from a small motion-censored light from a neighbor's house opposite. The light shone a silvery glow across the bark on a tree that stood centered in front of our house. It was a strange shape, with jagged branches that looked like floating tendrils in the breeze. I never liked that tree. On the same day, my husband and I moved into the house, a neighbor, who was unfortunately called,

quite sick at the time, had warned us about it. He told us, adamantly, to never eat from it. I thought it was weird, given that it wasn't a tree that grew anything, to my knowledge. Before I could prod any further, the man had disappeared. Some said he died, and others told us he was in intensive care. We never really found out what happened to him, but I could never look at the tree without feeling a deep discomfort again. The area was silent. No neighbors in sight. Wildlife, birds, or other cats. I couldn't imagine what it was that was scaring Penny so badly. It's probably just the breeze, Penny Girl. I told her, exhaling a deep breath. And then the doorbell rang, startling me. I shot out from behind the

curtains, staring at the entryway, my pulse picking up speed. I thought to myself, I didn't see anybody outside just now. I would have noticed if somebody was at the door. Reluctant to open it, I swallowed the lump of growing dread in my throat and walked toward the front door. We didn't have one of those convenient little peep-holes that you could look out of before opening, so I knew I either had to ignore it or open up and potentially risk something bad happening. Nothing bad is going to happen. You're fine. Everything is fine. Everything is fine. It's probably a neighbor, and you just didn't see them in the dark, I told myself in my head. As I reached for the lock above the doorknob, something scratched against the surface on the opposite side.

Not like the scratching from a mouse or a cat, however. No, it was like sharp claws or the very tip of a dagger being dragged down the wood. I felt it traveled down my spine, covering my flesh in ice-cold goosebumps. "'Who's there?' I asked. "'No reply, but the scraping continued, "'traversing the entire length of the door. "'Stop it,' I demanded. "'Whoever is doing that, stop it now, or I'll call the cops.'

"'And it stopped.' The sudden silence was deafening. "'My heart crashed in my chest. "'My palms were slick with sweat, "'and my fingers trembled as I turned the lock until it clicked. releasing a tense breath, I gripped the doorknob and twisted it. The cool breeze pushed against the door, widening the small gap I had created to glance out of. A scattering of burnt orange-colored leaves swooped into the entryway, dancing around my feet,

which were planted firmly in one spot, too nervous to move even an inch closer to the doorway. To my surprise, there was nobody there on the other side of the door, but it looked as if whoever was there had left something behind. A pile of twigs all scrambled up into a heap right in front of the door. It reminded me of the little campfires we'd make in Girl Scouts back when I was a teenager, a very long time ago, but it immediately took me back there. I angled my head to one side, noting a strange pattern etched into the front side of the door. It was like that of a carving, almost, but messy.

The crevices stained with a deep brown color. It read, help me. My jaw dropped. I slammed the front door shut, locked it, and stood with my back against it. Beep, beep, beep! The fire alarm was screaming in the kitchen. Smoke had enveloped the space. Crap, I thought to myself, running straight into the kitchen.

to turn off the knob. I'd forgotten I was cooking. After a moment of holding the reset button down on the fire alarm, it finally stopped blaring. My eardrums continued to vibrate. I felt oddly dizzy all of a sudden. I'd lost my appetite, which was probably good considering my tomato pasta was wrecked. As I poured the remnants of my destroyed meal into the trash can, Penny screeched from the living room, making me jump so aggressively the pan went tumbling to the tiled floor below. Penny, what on earth is... And that was when I saw it. A figure, splayed across the front bay window,

the one Penny was still perched up against. It looked right at me. A man, clutching a mass of brown twigs in both palms, and even more inside of his mouth. Twigs tangled within his hair, some standing impossibly tall and upright. I'd never seen anything quite like it. I thought to myself,

why is he eating twigs? Is he drunk? Crazy? I need to call the cops. I clicked my thumb and middle finger together, alerting Penny. Penny, get down from there. Come here, I told her.

Luckily, she finally listened to me and scurried away from the window. The man remained, but I didn't move any closer to it. him. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I held it up to him, making the threat clear. I'm calling the cops, I shouted across the room, loud enough for him to hear me, even through the pane of glass. You need to leave. You hear me? They watched as he lifted an arm a little higher, smashing it several times against the window. The glass shook and bounced under the force

of his punch. I was afraid he might just smash it and come. come inside. I dialed 911 on the number keypad on my phone and rotated the screen to face him. Leave right now, or I swear I'm calling. I yelled one last attempt to reason with him. The twigs he held, scraped down the glass before he slowly backed away, lingering for a moment, and then running in the other direction. I slumped my upper half over the countertop and wiped away the layer of sweat on my forehead with the sleeve of my sweater. I was relieved, he'd left. I didn't want to call the cops and deal with the whole situation like that. Not only is it nerve-wracking, but it's also something I've never done before. The thought of it almost triggered a full-bone panic attack

in me. Folding my body, I picked up the pan that I had dropped earlier and placed it into the sink. I grabbed a protein bar from the snack cupboard as a backup meal, turned off the kitchen light. and made my way back into the living room. Despite my nerves and hesitation, I crept toward the window, wanting to ensure the man really had left and wasn't just hiding next to it, or underneath.

As I neared the glass, I noticed a streak of deep brown in the very center, right where the man's fist had been. Dirt was my immediate thought, from the twigs, probably mud. I let out of frustration. sigh and told myself I'd deal with it in the morning once it was light outside and I'd feel safer leaving the house.

As it stood, the man really had left. Penny seemed unbothered too, which was a good sign that there was nothing here to scare her anymore. Feeling satisfied, I flicked the light switches as I exited the room and climbed the staircase to my bedroom. As I sunk myself into the bedsheets, my eyelids quickly grew heavy and the room darkened around me. Two hours later, I awoke to a familiar scraping sound, but this time it was close, very close, as if in the room with me. It grew louder with each second, like something scratchy was being dragged across the carpet into my bedroom. I couldn't see anything from the angle I was at. I could only see it directly ahead at eye level and above. The room was dark, but I'd left the curtains open, letting the glow from the moonlight stream in

enough to cast a dull illumination of my surroundings. I propped myself up on my elbows in bed. Penny? Is that you? I asked. The dragging continued, bringing with it the stench of wet dirt and soil. I scrunched my nose at the unpleasant smell and threw the duvet to the side. Swiftly, I slid a foot out, lowering it to the carpet. it below. The arch of my foot was met with a sharp needle-like sensation, a stab that brought me to the floor, collapsing into a pained heap. I chewed on my bottom lip, cradling the foot that was injured with my eyes scrunched shut, the searing, hot pain overwhelming me. Once I built up the courage to open my

eyes again, my stomach soured. It was a twig, sliced through several layers. It was a twig, sliced through several layers, of my flesh under my foot. Blood seeped out from the hole it had created. A slow but steady stream of red drizzling down the length of the twig, staining the carpet. I didn't know what to do. Rocking back and forth, I stared at the hole in my foot in shock and horror, unsure whether I should try to pull it out or just leave it.

I knew I had to do something, but the pain was unbearable. Before I could decide what my next eye was, action would be, something hard poked at my back, which faced the bedroom door. My spine tensed in response and shut up. Help me. A voice croaked from behind, deep and mournful. Keeping my body where it was, with my injured foot in my hands, I turned my neck, far enough to peek in the reflection of the mirror positioned just to my side. I couldn't believe what I saw. Crouched behind me,

it was some sort of creature, posed in a tarantula-like position. It wasn't human, not quite. Some of its human parts remained, like the head and one of the arms. But the rest? The rest was twigs. Twigs growing out at every angle

of every part of its body. its skin peeled away in places, allowing for the twigs to rupture through, leaking a slimy mixture of deep brown and red down the rest of the deformed beast. Bile rose in my throat. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I was too scared to. Please, I begged, a single tear falling from the corner of my eye. The creature leapt toward me, pulling me down until my spine's spine. slammed against the floor. My back cracked, and all of a sudden I couldn't move. My body was frozen in place, either by fear or force. As I stared up, the beast came into view, hovering its half-human face over mine. Twigs burst from its mouth, and that was when I realized it was the same man from earlier, banging on the window. Only now he looked worse.

We had somehow transformed into this thing. Don't eat that twigs, it said, before gripping the sides of my head in a tight hold. I screamed before the twigs poured from the creature's mouth directly into mine. I kept my throat closed, but it wasn't enough to stop the twigs from slicing into my gums, drawing hot blood onto my tongue. I thrashed back and forth, an attempt to loosen the beast's hold, but it held strong.

Its breath was rancid, rotten like an old, decayed garden. I kicked my legs, forgetting about the twig in my foot, and slammed against the carpet, sliding further into the skin. I saw stars in my eyes. The room started fading,

the grunting and crunting and cruding. crunching from the beast, slowly muting. I knew I was losing consciousness. I knew that I was dying. Before my eyelids shut, the creature's grip left my skull as it launched backwards out of view. Instantly turned my head over, coughing up the shards of twigs in my mouth. Filth and mud and spittle flew everywhere, but I could finally breathe. I wasn't going to die after all.

Penny shrieked, a type of cry I'd never heard from her before. My blood ran cold. Penny! I yelled, desperately twisting my body around to face the opposite direction where her cry had come from. She was in the room with me, with the creature, chewing away chunks of twigs from its warped body. The beast tried to attack back, but Penny was fast, darting back and forth, missing each swing. My body was too weak to move, too hurt to help. But I watched her as she bit right onto the creature's face, knowing and scratching away at it, growling and hissing in between her ferocious bites.

By the time she'd hopped off, the creature was nothing but a mound of dead twigs and left over flaps of human skin on the floor. Penny, who was caked in deep brown ooze, Began gagging. Concerned, I dragged my body toward her, but before I reached her, she'd coughed it up. A bloody twig. For our final story this evening, stranded after their boat is damaged, three friends encounter blood-soaked mysteries, automated weaponry, and an ominous presence on an uninhabited island. Creepy Presents

Tropical Dangers is narrated by Nate Dufort. The boat coasts across the water as we try to decide where to stop. A buddy of ours had given us the coordinates for where he'd caught the largest fish of his life a couple years ago, but I don't think I realized how remote the area was. As far as I can see, there's only one island within sight, and though it does look sizable, it's uninhabited. That doesn't mean tourists and boat owners don't occasionally drop anchor and visit.

After all, I do see smoke drifting up from an area just beyond the beach. One of the things that people tend to forget is that there are still pirates in these waters. They're far more sophisticated than the sailing peg legs of days gone by, though they do tend to remain dirty and drunk thieves that will steal, rape, and kill. not the sort you'd want to come across unarmed. And that's why we've got ourselves a few semi-auto rifles. After killing the engines and dropping the anchor, we get our poles ready. Just as I'm getting the bait bucket out, gunfire erupts from somewhere in the distance.

Water behind the boat starts kicking up in specific spots, moving closer to us. My brain registers what's happening in time for me to take cover as bullets start peppering the hull. We're only in a speedboat for crying out loud, so it doesn't take much for the bullets to do some serious damage. Then, almost as soon as it started, everything is quiet. Carl and Frank get the rifles while I pick up the binoculars. Scaning the water, I don't see another boat at all. The only thing close enough to have shot at us is the island. After adjusting the focus, I look toward the area where the smoke is,

but don't see much more than general shapes. Under normal circumstances, we'd get the hell out of here, but we've got a problem. The bullets tore into the hull bad enough that we're taking on water, and if we don't figure out a way to plug the holes, We won't make it back to port. Frank calls a Mayday over the radio as Carl pulls up the anchor. We don't have any choice but to get to the island in shallower waters.

That way, we can assess the damage better and figure out how to patch the hull. Who knows, we may even find the jackass that shot at us in the first place. I'd sure as hell like to know what that was about. Carl and Frank still have their rifles in hand as we close the distance, It does alarm me that Frank isn't getting a response on the radio. We're not nearly far out enough to be outside radio communication, so something must be wrong. I can see the smoke is definitely drifting up from among the trees and decide to veer off to the left. I can't tell what's on the beach, but I do see something, and the last thing I want is to go directly toward whoever shot at us.

As we get closer, I can see whatever is on the beach isn't moving, so it's not people. Getting the boat as close to the beach as I dare get, we drop another anchor about 150 yards from those objects near the smoke. We get out, and I began assessing the damage while the armed pair investigate the smoke. There's a bunch of holes in the hall, and if all of them were above the water line, repairs would be easier. Unfortunately, some of the holes are underwater. I start going through the emergency kit when I hear Carl shouting. At first, I think they found the jackass that shot at us.

But then I hear what he's shouting more clearly. Richter, you need to see this! Carl's shouting as he runs this way. Thankfully, we have a tube of waterproof sealant and another of waterproof adhesive. I can use the sealant to patch up the holes, but it would be ideal if we could wait at least a few hours to let it set properly. If we need to get out of here in a hurry,

I'll need to find something to stick outside of the patch with the adhesive to protect it. By the time I make it to the beach, Carl is catching his breath. He's breathing kind of heavily, which is strange because I thought he was in better shape than this. I make a joke about him being white. Sassy and Timmy falling down the well. When he's got enough breath back to speak, I get the sense that this isn't the time for jokes. You'd think I'd know that considering someone was shooting at us.

I've been told my lack of ability to take things seriously is a problem, so decreed by my ex-wife. It only takes a minute to get to the objects on the beach, and I can't believe what's there. Three seriously beefing-looking tripods, standing three feet tall with some kind of machine guns on top of them. They look like AK platform weapons, but appear to be belt-fed, only I don't see a trigger. There's also a lot of extra equipment on the tripod, and when I go in for a closer look, the weapon swivels to point right at me. There's an audible click, but no bullet slams in.

to my chest. Holy fucking shit. These are real-life sentry guns, and it appears that all three of them are out of ammo, so I guess it wasn't a person that shot at us, but these things. Looking to the sandy ground, I see lots of spent brass casings and beltlings. Between the three weapons, there must have been more than a thousand casings, so what hit our boat must have been the last of the rounds. The question is, what the hell were they shooting at before us? The water's edge is several yards ahead of the guns, but I don't see any bodies. Could there be a now sunken boat in the water just beyond? Now, I've been so focused on the sentry guns that I didn't realize Frank had wandered up to the trees until he calls out to us. Apparently, there's

more to see than these. Considering he's not trying to be quiet, I start getting an uneasy feeling. Hardware like this just left on the beach for anyone to stumble across. Can't be a good sign. There are crates all over the place. Equipment I can't identify. Too large tents to indicate this is some kind of camp and even a few rafts,

though none seem to be intact. There's rifles, shotguns, and pistols scattered around the ground, along with corresponding shell casings like shiny pebbles when they catch the light just right. The fire in the center of the camp was quite large at one point, but what's in it now is smoldering coals left over from a bonfire. It should be rather easy to pick up on all these things that I'm seeing, but it takes me a minute to look past all the blood. literally everything in the camp is covered in various versions of blood splatter. There are small pools of it here and there and even some meaty bits among the chaos, but what I don't find are any bodies, not even body parts, just those unidentifiable chunks and maybe some fingers.

I don't look too closely because the smell hits me, and I start gagging. We look around for any signs of life, for tracks that would indicate where whoever did all this went, but we don't find much. I've never been much of a hunter, but I do find drag marks and oddly shaped footprints around the tree line. The prints don't look like footwear, but they sure as hell don't look like people or animal prints. The only thing I can say with any amount of certainty is that they look like they were headed back. to the water. Carl gets his hands on an AK that doesn't have any blood on it and is rummaging through a crate for ammunition. Frank is opening a crate marked MK1S 40mm, whatever the hell that is. Me, I find something shiny on the ground, unlike anything I've seen in this camp so far.

I managed to get the phone on and luckily, the lock screen doesn't require a pattern, pin number, biometrics to unlock it. Instead of coming to the home screen, the camera app is open and ready to record, not take a picture. That gets me curious and I press on the gallery. I see a series of recordings over the last 36 hours, anywhere from 15 seconds to five minutes long.

I play the earliest one. Whoever owned this phone didn't speak English, and whatever he says goes over my head. There are some languages I can identify by hearing them, and this sounds Russian. Frank used to be a special operator, and I ask if he knows any Russian. Only enough to be dangerous is his response, which is typical. I replay the 30-second video, and he gives me the gist. A group of Russians were setting up camp for a weapons deal with a cartel on this island.

The guy on the phone was about to give some details, but he got yelled at by someone off camera. Quickly, I pull up the next video, but this one only has more yelling and very little visual. I think the guy accidentally pocket recorded while he got his ass chute out. Frank caught the guy's name, Mikhail, but little else. We continue to scroll through the videos, and on the fifth one, I finally notice what Frank is holding in his hand. He's holding the largest handheld weapon I've ever seen, and it looks like a comically large revolver. I can't believe it. Frank armed himself with a freaking grenade launcher.

Hey, look at the state of this place. You really think our rifles are going to be enough protection from whoever did this if they come back? I do point out that it didn't help the people here before us, but he just shrugs. The next video takes place at night. Instead of talking, all I hear is the splashing of waves and a weird slapping sound. It's not like someone is open-hand slapping someone else in the face, but more like something long and flat hitting the water. I've heard a beaver slapping the water with their tail if people get too close.

This sounds a lot bigger than a beaver. The slapping is, been going on for a while, according to Mikhail, but no one can tell what the source is. Twice a minute, there are three slabs with a few seconds between each. Mikhail goes to the beach to see if he can spot anything in the water, but it's far too dark, and the camera doesn't pick up anything but reflected moonlight. However, the next recording is in the morning, and according to the guy that yelled at him, two of the men have gone missing.

The next series of videos are all about looking for the missing men, but there hasn't been a trace of them. The guy who yelled at Mikhail, the leader of this group, asks to go over the recordings. Apparently, after they did that and found nothing, Mikhail was ordered to use a real camera and keep filming. That was the last video, so we get Carl to help us locate that damn camera.

We spend longer than I'd like tearing the place apart looking for the camera and only to come up empty. Deciding it's best to focus on fixing our boat, I start salvaging items that'll work as protective patches for the sealant. I got a handful of items and decide to get to work. Frank has his grenade launcher to watch over me while I make the repairs. Carl stays with the camp to continue looking for the camera, but I suspect he's going to go through the rest of the unopened crates. It wouldn't surprise me if he's looking for his own grenade launcher,

or, dare I say, something bigger. Or it'd be bigger than a freaking grenade launcher? Well, maybe a rocket launcher. I wade into the water and start the repairs. It'd be a lot more efficient to do this with the boat dry docked, but that's not exactly an option. If this had been my boat, I'd have some of those quick patch adhesive strips they advertise on daytime TV in the emergency kit.

The kind that brags they can be put on while in the water and immediately seal any leak. I doubt they work that well, but it'd probably be better than what I'm working with at the moment. Seriously, it's like I'm in sixth grade art class again and dealing with paper mache. I can feel frank staring from behind and that only puts me on edge more. Yeah, the bloody camp was enough to get me to stop joking around, but when a former special operator arms himself with a goddamn grenade launcher and acts like he's back in a war zone, it'll get anyone worried. Who could have caused all that carnage and not leave any bodies around?

More disturbing, why leave all that hardware behind, but take the bodies? Did the cartel have betrayed the Russians? that have taken the guns and the bodies. For that matter, I can't think of anyone that would have left all those guns in the camp, not to mention the sentry guns on the beach. I got three out of four holes below the waterline plugged up when Carl yells out at us from further up the beach. The tension running through me and the sudden noise makes me jump, and I lose my hold on the sealant tube.

While Carl runs over to us, I dropped down into the water to retrieve the tube. I don't even get to see where the tube went before I'm thrashing in the water to get the hell away. I didn't see what it was attached to, but a tentacle the size of a large man's arm had been slowly slithering its way closer to me. While screaming underwater and frantically trying to get away,

I surface and freak the hell out. Carl's made it over to us at this point, and he and Frank both point their rifles in my direction. direction. I can't get words out as I desperately try to get up on the beach. Either Carl sees something or my panic gets him to panic, but he starts shooting behind me. Hopefully he's not hitting the damn boat because I'm not going to be able to fix it any more than what I've done. There's a small chance that could get us to a populated area, but probably not back to our original port. Carl reloads his machine gun, and even though my ears are ringing, I can hear Frank yelling at him.

Carl didn't actually see anything, but jumped the gun at my panic, missing the boat by a mile. I'm so glad he didn't find his own grenade launcher or that rocket launcher I thought about. I'd be in pieces if he shot at the water with one of those. When I'm finally on the beach, I relay what I'd seen. Frank stands up straighter and looks to the water with a warrior's piercing gaze. Since he was in the Navy, he'd know more about what lives in these waters. is better than me. The fact that he somehow seems even more in the warrior zone than he was

while pulling Overwatch has me kind of scared. Like, let's get back to that camp so I can find the largest gun I can find kind of scared. We double-time it back to camp, Frank keeping his eyes to the water the whole time. The first thing I do is go to a crate and load up with something I've never fired before. If kids in war-torn countries can use him, A.K., I should be able to. I find a pistol in the crate right next to this one and load it up, too, sticking it in my back pocket. While I do that, I ask Carl what he's been yelling about.

It turns out, Carl found the camera. What surprises me most is that it was in plain sight the whole time. We just didn't think to look up. Attached to the top of a pole on one of the tents is a serious-looking security camera. We get inside the tent and find cables hooked into a laptop that thankfully still has power. I don't have to go looking for the video because it's already pulled up. I have expected to find it still recording, but it seems to have stopped sometime in the early morning. It ran out of usable space from the looks of it.

Frank comes over to translate while Carl stays close to the tent flap. He's scanning the area looking for anything moving. The video starts up in the early evening, and as the sun starts going down, the slapping sound from the previous night can be heard. Several armed men go to the water to see if they can spot anything, but since the camera doesn't move, we don't get to see anything new. and after a while the men come back with no news

there's a lot of that going on and a bunch of them get to work building a very large fire there's a handful of flashlights but more and more men start carrying around torches and i'm amazed they didn't burn down the whole island with as much fire as they carry around at some point in the night there's several screams in the distance chaos ensues and everyone scrambles They seem to be looking for the source of the shrieks, and there's even sporadic gunfire, but there's too much confusion. The man in charge is trying to regain control of his people, but they're too scared and panicking to take orders.

When morning comes around and their leader finally regains control, three more men have gone missing. That's when Frank rewinds the video and turns up the volume. The conversation going on between, the leader and two of his men wasn't loud enough for him the first time. According to what he can hear, something happened to their boats. They'd been there in the evening, but as soon as the sun was up enough to see, they were gone. Some items drifted to the beach, so they think whatever took the men sunk the boats as well.

Getting impatient, Frank scrolls forward on the video, giving us a very edited version of the cartel showing up and the entire camp panicking. He slows it down when they pop open three identical crates and start taking out the components for the sentry guns. What follows is a sight worthy of a sci-fi horror thriller. The darkness beyond the trees lights up with orange and yellow gunfire as the three guns sweep back and forth over the water, tracer rounds peppering the space beyond.

We can't see much more than that, but over the insanely loud gunfire is that same slapping sound. Okay, we've seen enough. Grabbing the laptop, we sprint to our boat willing to take the chance. Even if that boat sinks while we're trying to make it back to port, it'll get us away from this place and closer to safety. The only problem is, when we get to the beach, our boat is already halfway sunk. The tentacle that nearly snatched me up must have damaged the boat after I got away,

just like it did to the Russian boats, and probably the cartel boats too. It's hard to tear my eyes away from our sinking boat, but something slithering just above the waterline catches my attention. It's a much smaller tentacle than the one that nearly got me, and it's drawing something in the sand. We watch as the letters form find. words, but it doesn't make much sense to us. Join the madness or death?

I'm getting the impression that we'll be driven mad when we see what killed all those people at the camp before it kills us. So what kind of question is that? I give the only answer I can. I chamber the first round in my AK and fire a burst at the writhing tentacle. It just so happens to pepper the word death too. The sun is beginning to lower on the horizon. And we hear that dreaded slapping sound coming from over by the sentry guns.

It's a lot louder in person than it was in the video. For more 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 Sherrillite 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.