Creepy - Do Not Enter The Mirrors

Episode Date: July 12, 2021

Are you sure?***Written by Kyle Harrison and narrated by Michelle Kane***Bonus Episode: I Spent The Night in a Serial Killer's Murder Cellar", written by R.M. Staniforth, narrated by Nate Dufort***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic definitions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. Do not enter the mirrors. Written by Kyle Harrison, performed by Michelle Kane, and produced by Steve Blizzin. If you visit the Denier Fun House, do not enter the mirrors. My best friend's sophomore year was Heather Bradford.

She was preppy, fun. energizing. In short, everything I wasn't. And what made Heather so endearing was that she was a friend to everyone. She never judged anyone because of what they looked like or what sort of talent they had. She was the friend everybody wished they had, and for some reason she chose me. I wasn't popular, I wasn't pretty. I was just Janet. teased and picked on by kids every day. Heather was one of the few bright spots I had left. She encouraged me to try new things that I never really knew I could do,

like join the swim team or start a campaign for class president. I lost, but she still said it was trying that mattered. It was her idea to go to the county fairgrounds that October, not mine. It'll be fun, get you out of the house and your mind off midterms, she told me. The dinner fun grounds are the most active place, the site of Tacoma, with music, games, and fresh food. But they are also extremely expensive, so I declined. Heather didn't take note for an answer, though, and she bought us tickets anyway. Can't back out now, she teased.

I felt like I was being forced to have a good time at first, but Heather's personality was easily infectious. I was laughing, eating cotton candy, and standing in line for teacep rides in no time. Hey, let's go check out that fun house, that's new, she told me. I didn't bother telling her the attraction had been a staple of the fair since we were both in grade school. By this time, I was pumped up on sugar and having a good,

good time. Besides, the massive assortment of traps and mazes looked like it could be fun. An absurdly tall clown, dressed in a multicolored plaid suit, stood at the door, waiting for anyone who dared to enter. I guessed that the attraction was supposed to resemble a haunted house of some kind, because the side of the front entrance had a massive list of instructions plastered on the outside of it. Before you go in, you have to agree to the terms, the clown told us. Heather and I skimmed over it. Pretty basic stuff, if you asked me. Must be this tall to ride, not liable for accidents, nothing out of the ordinary.

Then Heather saw something that made her chuckle. What's this one supposed to mean? Don't enter the mirrors? You got Wonderland back there or something? she giggled. The clowns squinted at us. It was kind of hard to take the costume and employee seriously, honestly. Some of the set pieces are antiques. The owner specified that they shouldn't be bothered, or the person responsible could face a steep falling, he said.

We straightened up our faces and saluted smartly, crawling into the twisty entrance of the fun house. He doesn't get paid enough, I giggled, as we made it to the first time. room. It was one of those typical cord maces where the large plush pillars moved about, and we had fun bouncing against them, tripping over one another, and finally reaching the next obstacle. We caught our breath and stepped into the dark room, giggling at the conveyor belt we were now riding on, and Heather said, this is pretty cool. I didn't respond until we made it to the other side,

too out of breath to argue as we made it to the final room. This chamber was even darker than before, but both of us immediately recognized it as the mirror maze, and Heather frowned as the multiple reflections of herself stared back. How in the world are we supposed to not touch these? This is insane, she commented. Slowly I got a bearing on the floor and noticed there was a soft lining. There, if we keep fixated on that, we can find our way out. I told her and then gestured for her to go one way and I could go the other. It'll be easy.

See you on the other side. Heather nodded and disappeared around the corner to the other side of the maze as I focused on the lining. It was still a little disorienting, especially because occasionally the fun house would cause these pink flashing lights to cascade across the entire room. But somehow, after about six minutes of stumbling about, I found my way to the exit. Wow, that was crazy. What fun! I said as I rushed to the side of the funhouse. It was then that I realized I was talking to myself. I blushed as a few passing guests looked at me,

and then turned back towards the exit and waited for Heather to come out, thinking it would only be a minute or two. After ten minutes went by, I tried to go and get her, but the exit door refused to budge. So I decided to walk around to the front, figuring she must have given up and come back out the other way. Hey, did you see my friend go by? I asked the clown.

The tall employee, tilted his head and smiled. Nope, but I wasn't paying attention. Was she supposed to? He asked. Look, Bozo, we went in together a few minutes ago. But she hasn't come out. I think she might have gotten lost in the last room, I told him.

The clown made his most unsy pathetic frowny face and remarked, Well, if you want, you can go in and find her. I nodded and thanks, about to do just that, when he stopped me cold and rewritten. remarked, but nothing is for free. It's two more tickets, miss. I sighed and rummaged through my pockets, suddenly realizing that we had spent our last tickets on this frustrating attraction. Fine, I'll be back, I told him, running across the fare to the ticket counter. To be honest, at this point, I was a little worried about Heather. I knew that occasionally she had some panic attacks in school.

Last semester, she literally curled up in a ball on the gym floor because a boy broke up with her. I was sure she was in trouble in that fun house. I used what little money I had left to grab the necessary tickets and ran back as fast as I could, part of me hoping desperately that she was already out and waiting for me. But she wasn't, and for some reason, stepping into that fun house a second, time, I was really scared. I've never really been without her for a long period of time. We are thickest thieves, I guess you could say, and maneuvering amid those flimsy obstacles to make it to the mirror maze without her by my side, it just felt wrong. Everything about the place did

now that I was alone, the maze especially. Staring at those hundreds of mind-boggling reflections of myself. I worried I may not be able to find her at all. Heather? Are you there? I'm sorry I went out earlier. I'm here to help. I called to her, hoping for some kind of response. I followed the right path, the one she had taken into the dark and winding hall of mirrors, searching for any glimmer of a reflection from her. It was a little more difficult this time to make out anything because I wasn't keeping my eyes on the lining. Seeing all those myriads of reflections made me feel dizzy, so I called out to her again. Was she hurt? Having an anxiety attack? I started to rush through the maze. Then I slowed down as I

realized I had reached a dead end, and the shimmering glass and saw there was something on the reflective surface. A handprint. Had Heather made it this far and then turned around? I reached out and touched the prints, running my fingers along their edges and then squinted my eyes. It looked like the mirror was shimmering the way an ocean would. I took a step back, surprised that my eyes were playing tricks on me, and then realized that my reflection did not do the same. I felt a lump in my throat, as the room got a little darker, and then those annoying, iridescent lights flashed around, and suddenly the reflection moved toward me.

I didn't even know how to react. How can you when you're in a situation that bizarre? Before I knew what was happening, this doppelganger was on top of me, wrapping her fingers around my throat and trying to choke the life out of me. It took me a moment to register what was happening as I guessed for breath.

This evil version of myself was so much stronger, so confident in their abilities. Everything I was not. I knew that if I didn't fight back, it would be the end for me. I jabbed my fingers against her eyes and screamed, thinking of Heather. Have this been what had happened to my best friend? Some Funhouse Ghost was doing her in? The thought of her being sedued by such a horse, drove me to fight. I didn't want to become the next victim of this murderous mirror.

I pushed my doppelganger back against the glass where it had come from, and then with all my strength slammed their head against it. Shards of reflective, sharp glass cracked as we fought, pushing each other back and forth in the cramped space as my evil twin grabbed a piece of broken glass, eager to slice my throat. I dodged the first attempt, a sliver of material striking against my forearm as I slammed her against the mirror again, and this time the entire thing shattered. Suddenly, the world around us seemed to collapse. She fell back into the strange mirror world from where she had come, trapped. I was still standing on the other side. My clothes soaked in blood and scars running across my hands and arms. I almost didn't believe it had happened. Then I saw that

strange evil replica trying desperately to press against the glass and get back out, and I screamed. I ran out of the maze, stumbling, and trying to avoid getting close to any of the mirrors as I did. The reflection of myself kept pace with me the entire time. That same bitterness and cruelty evident every time I glanced towards the replica. I think I ran harder than I ever have in my life to escape. Once outside, I coughed up a little blood and looked at the cuts on my arm, still in disbelief. What had happened to Heather? I ran to the entrance, demanding that the employee get their manager.

My friend is still lost in there. The fair's going to close in 15 minutes! The clan looked at me as though I had lost my mind. Fine. Stay here. But instead, a moment later, they returned with security, as I was, rudely, as courted out, I desperately tried to explain that my friend had anxiety issues. She could be trapped in there all night, I explained.

Rides will be checked before the final shutdown. Your friend probably ditched you and went home separately. The guard said, gazing at my scars and remarking, you get in some kind of fight with her. I didn't even bother to explain. I was too exhausted and frightened. I called my mom to pick me up and waited to see if maybe, just maybe, Heather would come out too. But mom said we couldn't wait any longer, and she was sure Heather would be fine.

I texted Heather's mom, but never got a response. Sleep was all but impossible. I avoided mirrors as much as I could, afraid that strange evil twin would resurface. The next day, I heard nothing from her. Her mom called frantic that we hadn't heard anything. I thought maybe you girls had a sleepover. Then I got a call and found out her vehicle was told last night. I tried to go back to the fair a few days later.

I would have gone sooner, but school got in the way. No one had heard anything from Heather, so I figured maybe I could go and see if maybe there was something left inside that bizarre mirror maze, the handprint maybe, anything to prove that. Something horrible had happened to her. But to my surprise, the fun house was now closed. I saw a man locking the door and shaking his head, upset about something. Sir, what happened?

Why is this attraction now closed? I asked cautiously as he turned to me. Too many complaints. There were people running from the attraction, screaming bloody merry like they had seen a ghost. Even one said they had a teen girl about your age. The guy said, I tried my best not to vomit, as I realized it could be Heather. The man kept rambling. I tried to tell the boss there was something strange about those mirrors, caught them from a disreputable source anyway.

Said that it was an antique and it would add to the authenticity of the fun house. But I knew those mirrors felt evil from the moment I put them up. That's why we had the rule. But all I could think about was my friend. I had to try and get her back. And that night, I did something I never thought I would just for that purpose. I waited until my parents were asleep and drove to the fair to break in. I don't think I was really imagining I would get caught.

I was focused on getting into the fun house and saving Heather. I found a twisted tree just on. the other side of the water slide. The fun house was still locked up, of course, but I had also brought my dad's bolt cutters from home to get in. Since the fun house was now shut down, there was nothing for me to find my way through that maze. I had stupidly left my phone at home, thinking that if I did, my mom would never realize I had left at all. But now, here in this dark cramped space amid supernatural mirrors that could harm me, I wished I hadn't. I did what I didn't want to do and reached out my hand aimlessly searching for a rough surface to guide me.

Touching the mirrors now felt wrong like I was inciting evil to come and find me. I hurried, calling out to Heather to try and respond to my desperate pleas. Then at last, a glimmer of hope. I saw something shimmer and my eyes adjusted to the shadows. It was her. Heather, thank God, I said as she ran up to the reflective surface, she was desperate for me to help her out. All right, stand back, I told her, remembering how shattering the glass had forced my evil twin inside last time. I felt like I had to damage the strange mirror somehow to free my friend.

I slammed the bolt cutters just one time to cause the reflective surface to splinter. And then I asked her, can you make it? Through. Heather pressed against the fractal patterns and in motion that I would need to help. I immediately responded and pressed my fingers in the cracks, feeling the strange, ethereal surge of pain coursed through my body. The mirror was fighting back my attempt to save her. I fought back against the mirror, pushing as hard as I could to squeeze my fingers and intertwine with hers. The reflective surface of that other, the world surged and shimmered, and I felt her skin touch mine.

We can do this. We're almost there, I said excitedly. She screamed in agony as we pushed through the shards of glass. Her face and body being cut and sliced as the mirror struggle to hold on to its prize victim. Then at last she was lunging forward and pushed me backward, as though the strange otherworldly thing had chosen to spit her out after all. She coughed and shivered, hardly able to move as I held her to her feet, and desperately scanned the darkness to find the way out. Finally, we found our way to the fairgrounds,

and I called out at the top of my lungs for help. Heather was hardly breathing, too tired from the loss of blood to stand up, and collapsed to the cobblestone path beneath us. Finally, a security guard came around and shined his flashlight straight in our faces, looking at us like we were just a bunch of vandals. He used his walkie-talkie to contact the police, and my friend and I clung to one another as emergency services came. Heather was taken to the ICU, and I was grounded. My parents didn't understand at all why we had gone out to sneak into the fair when we had just been there the other day. I didn't bother explaining any of it.

All they saw was what they wanted to see. I was just happy to get my best friend back. A few days passed, and I pulled out all of the stops with my parents to get a chance to drive up to the hospital and see her. Heather had had to have some facial recovery surgery from the many scars the mirror had caused to her skin. She'll be going home tomorrow, but seeing a friendly face couldn't hurt, her mom said encouragingly. So, after finishing all my chores plus extra school work, mom took me up there and I used the last of my allowance to grab her a necklace. She had lost hers in the maze. Entering the room, I smiled hesitantly at my friend. Heather barely registered a grin, but gestures for me to sit down. Sorry, I haven't been by. It's been crazy at home. Are you okay? I paused and then realized that.

was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't. Anyway, I brought you this. I passed her the necklace. What is it for? She asked as she took it. I gave her a crooked smile. Don't be silly. It's our friendship, locket. I just wanted to get you a new one since we didn't get a chance to find the old one, I chided her. Oh, yes, of course. Heather smiled and put it down to the side of the bed. Suddenly the room felt very, very cold as I had a realization hit me. You weren't wearing it on the other side of the reflection. I said as I looked at her. She didn't say anything. Her cold stare was all I needed to know. I stood up and hurried out of the room, making up an excuse as to why I couldn't stay and then slowly hyperventilated in the nearby restroom.

This was crazy. I was just imagining things. My best friend was just a little shaken up. That's all. I recomposed myself and looked in the mirror, trying to give myself a pep talk that it was all going to be fine. Then behind me, I saw Heather standing in the doorway of her room. With a look that told me, I wasn't wrong.

A mischievous grin played across her face in the refaithes. reflective surface, and she raised one finger to her mouth to signify I needed to keep quiet. All I did was nod and leave. Who could I tell? Who would believe something like this? All I know is that after that day, Heather stopped talking to me. She stopped being the Heather I knew. Deep down, I knew, of course.

This wasn't my Heather at all. I had brought back something else entirely. Your bonus episode, creepy presents. I spent the night in a serial killer's murder cellar, written by R.M. Staniforth and narrated by Nate Dufort. My name is Clyde, and a few decades ago, my town was plagued by the horrors of a now infamous serial killer, whose name I'm now too afraid to mention.

From this point on, I'll refer to him only as X. X is still a well-known legend here in my hometown, as many of his murders occurred in or around my local community. Regretfully, I had the bright idea of spending the night at the property where he is believed to have murdered many of his victims. Chances are, most people would know who X is or have at least heard his name. I'll give you a quick rundown. X was one of the most notorious serial killers in modern times.

He admitted to killing at least 33 women across the country, but it is suspected that his actual body count is 80 or more. In my hometown alone, X admitted to 12 murders. Local police records that have since been released show that he may have committed as many as 17 local murders. After a long reign of murder and terror, X finally met his fate at the electric chair. Now, back to me. I've started a YouTube channel that I'm trying to grow, seeing as X was a pretty high-profile name,

I thought that making a Halloween special vlog of a full night stay at X's murder cellar would garner thousands of clicks and subscriptions. I'll regret this decision for the rest of my life. Many locals around my hometown and surrounding cities have at least visited the property as teenagers. Despite efforts to keep the address under wraps, the location of the property is widely known. Although X himself actually lived elsewhere in the city, in a small apartment that is still inhabited, the local urban legend has it that his killings took place at his small farm. shack of a cabin. The property is located just past the entrance of a beautiful forested canyon. My research shows that the cabin has since been demolished, but the cellar and its entrance

are still standing. The cellar is where he apparently tortured and killed his victims. To avoid drawing any attention, I parked my Subaru about a mile away near a local trailhead. After making sure that nobody was watching, I took a turn off trail and into the woods, stepping off towards my true destination. It's truly beautiful in that canyon. I watched the sunset peeking through the orange and yellow fall leaves. It was quiet, too. I could barely hear the gentle whoosh of passing cars on the nearby road.

The only other audible sound was the rustling of the leaves and the cool autumn breeze. It's hard to understand how anyone. could have any violent intentions while standing in this peaceful of a forest solitude. After a 45-minute hike, I finally found it. There was the cellar, standing alone in a gentle wooded clearing. It was painted white with a red pentagram spray painted on the outside. The wooden door had a thick padlock on it, but there was a large hole in the middle as if someone had smashed through it.

Next to it, you could see the foundation. outlining the small shack of a cabin that once stood there. The sunset provided a perfect time to start filming. I pulled my camera out of my backpack. Holding my arm outstretched, I pointed the camera back at myself. Welcome back to the channel and happy Halloween. Today we're doing something truly terrifying. We're standing now at the remains of X's murder cabin.

I flipped the camera around to show the cellar. Inside here, down these stairs, is where he tortured and murdered as many as 11 women. This is where I will be spending the night. Should we go inside? Honestly, I'm not even sure if this truly was ex's cellar. There's a lot of conflicting information out there, but not a lot of substantiated evidence. Chances are, the stories of the murder cabin were nothing more than a local urban legend passed around by teens looking for a thrill. The viewers didn't need to know that, though, and it made the event less scary for me.

I took the camera with me through the hole and down the dreary stairs into the dank cellar. It was dark, so I clicked on a flashlight attached to my camera rig. I pointed the camera to various parts of the small cellar room, showing the cement walls covered in graffiti, the dirty floor, and old rusty pipes. While showing the room, I told the viewers about the stories and legends of X's infamous murders, making them as dramatic and horrible as I can. After turning on my larger lantern to light up the room, I realized what I was standing on, Painted on the concrete floor was a large red pentagram.

This was not a sloppy spray paint job like was on the outside of the cellar entrance. This was a perfectly proportioned pentagram. That really should have been my first clue to leave. It was night now and completely dark. Time to get the real show going. I set the camera on the tripod and focused the view at the center of the pentagram. Out of my backpack, I retrieved the prop that would really draw views. An old Ouija board that I'd purchased on eBay.

I honestly didn't believe that anything would happen. My plan was simply to make the planchette move on my own and pretend as if the ghost of X's victims were talking to me. I showed the board to the camera and lit a few candles for a creepy vibe. Setting the board down in the middle of the pentagram, I made circles with the planchette. while chanting, Ouija, Ouija, Ouija, Ouija. Google taught me that was how you start the game. Are there any spirits in here that would like to communicate? I asked loudly to nobody but the camera.

I slowly moved the planchette until it rested over the yes. I gave a shock to the camera. What is your name? I asked the imaginary spirit. I slowly move the planchette to the letters. intending to spell out the name of one of X's victims. R.O.S. At this moment, I felt a small tug on the planchette. I stopped moving towards the E. Although I had stopped moving it, the planchette continued to move in an arc by the edge of the board.

I was no longer controlling the planchette. It was moving on its own. Now I was truly terrified. This was not what was supposed to happen. The planchette completed its arc and cut diagonally through the center of the board, where it curved back up. It sped up at this point, completing a figure eight and continuing into the next one. Terrified, I let it go, but the planchette kept moving in figure eights.

It was speeding up, going faster and faster. That was it. This was too much and it was time to go. I got up and turned for the stairs when everything changed. Immediately, a different type of darkness fell and it was suddenly so cold that I could see my breath. My eyes and ears were deceiving me. Everything around me was altered. All sound ceased to exist. I felt like I had taken acid and slipped into a different dimensions somewhere between earth and hell. That's when the shadows appeared around me. These were the shadows of monstrous winged creatures. The shadows moved around the room, reaching at me. My hearing returned with a vengeance. I could now hear the horrific sounds of

painstaking screams and cries, combined with the horrendous laughter of the shadow creatures. As I started for the stairs, a foul shadow beast appeared right in front of me, screaming at me as it grabbed at my chest. I stumbled backward and slipped on the wooden planchette. I fell to the ground, smacking my head in the cement ground. Everything went black. When I came to, I was walking through a house that I did not recognize. I was horrified to realize that I had no control over my movements,

as I was reaching for the doorknob, I saw that my hands weren't my hands at all. It was as if I was living a vivid dream, getting the first-person view of someone else's life. We quietly entered the room that was behind the door where a young, beautiful brunette girl was sitting at a desk reading a textbook. It crossed my mind that I might be an ex's mind

or somehow in his memory. The floorboard squeaked, underneath my left foot or whoever's left foot, and the girl stopped what she was doing. Just as she looked up, we swung down a hard metal pipe, knocking her out before she could scream. Everything went black again. Now we were in the cellar again. I was still watching from the eyes of someone else with no control over our movements. The beautiful girl was awake now, her hands and feet bound tightly with her. thick black strings. She was crying, begging, and pleading for us to let her go. In all my life,

I've never seen someone look so scared. I saw X's hand rise, holding a kitchen knife. No! I tried to scream, but I couldn't. I tried to take control of the body, but I was powerless. I watched horrified as X plunged the knife into the girl. He ripped the knife out, splattered, blood on our face. He continued to stab the girl, stabbing over and over and over. I could hear the ribs crunching under the force of the knife, as blood spattered everywhere. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't even close my eyes. I was forced to watch the entire heinous murder.

Finally, just after she took her final gurgled breath, everything went black again. I woke up on the cellar floor as the sunlight was trickling back in through the hole in the cellar door. My head pounded from the fall. I sat up, recalling that awful dream. It was relieving to be in my own head again. I remembered the events with the shadow creatures, and I thought that possibly the ghost of Axe had shown me one of his kills through my dream. Disgruntled, I sat up and realized that my shoes weren't done.

Also, I was wet. Everything was wet, as if I'd been sleeping in a puddle. As I looked down, I realized that I had indeed been laying in a puddle, a puddle of blood. Horrified, I realized that I was covered in blood. My hands were coated in partially dried blood, and my clothes were covered in it. Panicked, I stood up to look down at the bloody mess. On the ground was the girl from the dream. She was pale, cold, bloody, and dead.

I gazed at the once beautiful and lively girl now covered in blood and stab wounds. No! I screamed out loud. I dropped to my knees and I checked her pulse as if there was some chance she was still alive. Needless to say, there was no pulse. I hurried over on the camera, still on the tripod. The battery was dead. I fumbled through my backpack in a hurried panic.

At the bottom, I found the extra battery and inserted it into the camera. Hopefully, I at least caught the true killer on camera. I played the video. What I saw wasn't X. Nor was it a serial killer or shadow creature. The horrifying footage showed me. dragging the helpless girl down the stairs of the cellar. It showed me as I used my shoelaces to bind the girl's hands and feet.

I watched the video which showed myself lifting the knife and stabbing the girl while she cried, screamed and pleaded. My hands started to shake, and my legs felt as though they would give out. Every portion of me wanted to collapse, but I had to get out of there. I grabbed my camera and backpack and ran to the exit. I stopped and looked back one more time to the girl. I'm so sorry, I told her through my tears. Then I turned and ran back to my car.

After I got home, I removed my bloody clothes and stuffed them in a black garbage bag. Even my socks and underwear were soaked. I hurried to the shower and began vigorously scrubbing the blood off my body, with hard brushes and even steel wool. The puddle of blood I'd been laying and had soaked through my clothing and covered me completely, covering every part of my body and blood. After I finally felt comfortable and clean, I went and sat by my bedroom window to think clearly.

I needed to try and relax as much as I possibly could, so I could process the events of my horrifying night, although I didn't know if I would ever be able to cope with the fact that I had murdered a girl, girl, even though I didn't have any control. I don't deserve to go to jail for this, though, so I knew I had to cover my tracks, as much as the thought of going back to that cellar terrified me. After nightfall, I drove back to the same trailhead, but parked with the back of my car right beside the wood line.

I'd covered the trunk space in plastic and 50-gallon garbage bags. My backpack now contained duct tape and two gallons of my bag. the bleach. The plan was simple. Get in, bleach the body and knife, bag the body, and dispose of her in a random dumpster. No body, no DNA, no murder charge. I reluctantly but discreetly followed my same path to the cellar. The woods did not provide the same sense of serenity as it previously had. Now, instead of peace, I felt panic and dreads. that made me jump at every last sound. I looked around, paranoid and suspicious of everything.

Finally, I was almost at the property. As the entrance came into view, or to throw up just thinking about what I was about to do. After looking around once again to make sure I was alone, I made a quiet but quick run to the entrance. Just as I was ready to make my entrance, I realized the hole in the wooden, door wasn't there anymore. In fact, the door wasn't even wood. It was solid metal. I clawed around

looking for a way to open the door, but there was no handle or lock. In fact, the metal door was welded shut on all four sides. I took a step back to realize that the cellar looked completely different than it had yesterday. Last night, it had been white. Today, It was gray. Even the graffiti was different. Instead of the red pentagram, there was a colorful skateboarding panda painted there. I looked around initially thinking I was in the wrong place, but everything was exactly the same. I was standing in the same clearing by the same foundation outline.

It was definitely in the same place. I walked around to the backside of the cellar entrance where I received my second mortimer. horrifying shock of the night. There was the Ouija board, my Ouichi board that I'd used last night, leaning neatly against the exterior wall of the cellar, as if the board knew I would come back. Beside the board sat the planchette. I picked up the board to realize that there was even still blood on it. The blood wasn't even completely dried. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a light, snapping my attention back to the moment. I could see someone walking my way with a flashlight in hand.

Hey, this is private property. Get the hell out of here before I call the cops, the man yelled. I didn't need to be told twice. I tucked the Ouija board under my arm and ran as fast as I could back to the car, getting whipped in the face by branches in the dark. I'm home now and trying to think as rationally as possible in my current emotional state. I've done my research, and that infamous cellar was actually welded shut years ago. So what the hell happened to me?

I've reviewed the footage, which clearly shows me murdering the girl. The footage even showed the correct outside surroundings woods. I've even compared it to existing pictures of the property. It's the same. But how was there a different door last night? The worst part is that the local news is now broken of a missing girl who appears to have been abducted. I've seen the pictures,

and I know that it's the girl X had murdered, or apparently that I had murdered. Here in my bedroom sits all of my evidence, a bag of bloody clothes, a bloody Ouija board, and most importantly, a memory card containing the footage of me murdering the girl. Everything I need to know that it really happened and everything a jury would need to give me the death sentence. I know that, although it was my physical self that committed the murder, I didn't do it. I had no control.

It was as if the evil spirit of X himself had possessed my body, and I was forced to view the crime from a first-person perspective. The police won't see it that way, of course. I'm stuck with two options. I can either destroy all of the evidence and try to carry on with my life or take all the evidence to the police and turn myself in, hoping a jury rules be insane.

Part of me believes that I ought to be in a mental institution anyways. Clearly, I'm not well. And I'm terrified to go to sleep. What if X takes me? me again, and I kill someone else. I'm going to take some time with my decision, but I'm writing this account to tell the truth of what happened in the instance that I do end up being arrested. I understand that it's hard to believe. I just hope my family and friends do believe me. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com.

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