Creepy - Dream Journal & The Dark Assailant

Episode Date: July 30, 2026

Dream Journal***Written by: Rosie Shrike***Content warning: domestic abuse***The Dark Assailant***Written by: Nadia Schluter and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***Support the show at patreon.co/creepypod***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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. Hey, y'all, it's after midnight.

The building is empty. It's a Wednesday night. Do you know where your parents are? Because your kids should be at home. But if you got boomer parents, you know they're doing something to embarrass you without a second thought. And they're going to post pictures on Facebook about it.

and then they're going to like their own post. Seriously, how's the guy supposed to compete with that kind of horror? Sure, I work overnight in a radio station, digitizing old voices of people who are probably dead, or alive, or in Florida. And there's no one around to hear me scream, because I've checked. A lot.

But boomers on social media are a different matter completely. Meanwhile, the mailbag continues as this week I got a teddy bear with the head ripped off. At least I assume there used to be a head on it. There isn't one in the box. But there is a note that just says, you get it. Sadly, I don't, and I will start to worry a little when I do. But thanks again. Feel free to keep the packages coming, but let's keep it decent.

Please. And keep in mind that I'm probably not the only one who's going to see what you send, and there's a strong chance that someone will see it before I do, so... Just a good thing to remember. Also, you know that thing where you say something, or even think it? And then all of a sudden, most, if not all the ads on your phone, seem to be centered around that? Well, after sharing the death whistle that one of you sent me on last week's episode,

I've been inundated with a business that evidently will 3D print your... face as an Aztec death whistle. This is not a joke. This is a real thing. And no, I'm not going to share the link to that because I do not want that in my life. This is not reverse psychology. This is my attempt to ward off that kind of thing from what I like to call my life. Fingers crossed on that one.

Okay. First up, from writer Rosie Shrike and narrated by Danielle Hewold. it. Creepy Presents. Dream Journal. August 29th. I didn't have the errand dream again last night. That's the first time since I left Seattle that I haven't woken up screaming. It felt weird getting a full eight hours, honestly. I guess you only realize how bad you had it once things go back to normal. Is that a symptom of anything? Or just part of being human? I know you told me to keep this journal between our sessions, but I honestly don't even remember getting up once.

I just took the pill you prescribed and slept like a baby. That's why I'm so relieved, I guess. But I'm sure it makes helping me unpack everything a lot harder. Sorry. My new house is nice at least. It's a fixer-upper for sure. The previous owners painted everything a sickly, goose shit green and seem to worship shag carpeting.

But it's peaceful. Michigan is beautiful, especially in the fall. And this neighborhood is sparse enough that there's plenty of nature between each house. You told me to practice positive mantras. So here's one. It's going to be different here. Things can be better. August 30th.

I remembered last last year. Night's dream. Most of it anyway. There's a lake near my new place, and I was walking to it shore on a foggy evening. It was late, but I had a good reason for being out, I think. It's fuzzy. I'm sorry. I remember feeling the air cool down the closer I got to the water. It was bracingly fresh, heavy with pine and a faint tinge of silt. Wet pebbly sand squished between my toes. my path a little uneven from the erosion smooth stones covering the shore. I could see my new old house up on the hill, there, on the opposite shore, nestled safely in a cradle of conifers. A light. I think it was my new bedroom light, was on.

And as the sun left the horizon, it grew brighter and brighter. I woke up feeling safe, really safe, like things were. would get better, and we're getting better every second. I hope that's true. September 3rd. I'm really sorry. I promised you I would write in this journal every morning, and I didn't even make it pass too. I just got busy with work and painting the bedroom.

I went with sky blue. Bye-bye, goose shit green. If it makes up for anything, I had a really strange dream last night. You know how your body falls asleep first and then pulls your brain down with it? I was right there. My muscles heavy. My thoughts getting harder and harder to string together. Warm.

Dark. Home. But as I was just closing my eyes, cold air tickled the back of my neck. Pine-scented, with a hint of silt. It whispered against each little divot of my spine, one by one, like gentle teasing fingers. I heard faint sloshing, rhythmic, like the heavy footfalls of some approaching creature.

Brackish water lapped at the soles of my feet, the curve of my back, my shoulders. I started to panic. I couldn't move my body, couldn't get away. But though the water rose, it never went any further over me. It was like I was a dam, holding an entire lake back with just my shoulder blades. Frid air ghosted over my prone body like a whisper. I woke up after that. I had freezing pins and needles all over my back and shoulders.

Everywhere, the water had touched me. I'll try not to read into it. I know I think about things like this too much. I know I spiral. But have you ever heard of something? something like this? Could it be sleep paralysis? Or am I just crazy? September 6th. I've had that same dream the past few days. It starts with me falling asleep, too drowsy to focus on my worries. Heavy brain, heavy body, heavy water. At first, the tide was at my back, then my chest.

Last night, it swallowed me up to my neck. The pins and needle sensation woke me up again, right as dawn started creeping in through the slats of the blinds. Hours later, when the tingling finally went away, I still felt cold from the neck down. Dr. Heather, I have to admit that I'm a little creeped out by these dreams. The water, especially. I feel like it's alive, somehow, like it knows what it's doing and enjoys it. That's stupid. I know I'm being stupid.

It's just water, just dreams. I've been walking around the lake after I get off of work. I think I'll stop and see if that fixes things. I'll tell you if it worked during our next session, okay? September 10th. My college psych teacher told us that dreams are how the brain filters information and gets rid of anything it doesn't need. Water cooler chats, the smell of fresh cut grass,

and the sun glinting off of vapes shop windows gets wrung out like excess water from a dishcloth. Not sure if that's true. You're the psychiatrist. You'd know better. But if it is true, then wouldn't I have reoccurring dreams of paint rollers and studfinders? You know, things I actually see every day? Why do I keep sinking into the lake?

September 13th. I haven't dreamt of anything else. I've barely thought about anything else. Just murky water, lake muck, and damp pine needles. It went past my temples last night. Frid water filled my ear canals, curling and nudging at my eardrums, looking for a way past.

I could barely see past the rippling waves, let alone keep my eyes open, with its cold tendrils sluicing behind my eyes. I heard nothing but the tide, the pulsing, my heartbeat. and something else. It was muffled, refracted by the water,

but strangely familiar like a lonely whale call. Aaron used to brag that he was a lucid dreamer. It was his fun icebreaker that he told on double dates and happy hours. He would find himself in a strange dream world, and, after pushing at it seems, he'd realized that he was in full control of it and do whatever he wanted. He said he could teach me how to do it,

He never did. I think he liked knowing more than me. I thought about him a lot as I sank. His face half remembered and blurry in my dreaming mind, as I tried to command that noise to become clearer. I've heard it before. I knew I had. But where?

Was it getting closer? But a person's voice? Beautiful. Like a railroad spike to the eye. Gentle as a promise, brutal as death. That word, of all words. The one he turned into poison, carved on my desk,

my driver's side, still in healing bruises on the inside of my thighs. Beautiful. My chest got tight with panic, made worse by the awful pressure of all that water, sinking me down into the dark, No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't resurface. I screamed, the sound bubbling through my waterlogged eardrums, my heavy body, and I woke up in a puddle of sweat. I put dead bolts on my door today.

If I could figure out how to put them on my windows, I'd put locks there too. I know I'm being crazy. I know it was just my brain filtering information. The nearby lake, the past, him, I don't Care. I'm going to check my locks three extra times before I leave the house and before I go to bed. I'm not leaving anything unlocked. Not ever again. September 16th. Things haven't gotten any better, Dr. Heather. I'm safe. I'm sure I am. But my mind isn't. I close my blinds on the lake-facing side of my house. And I'm up past my lips now.

I'm trying all the grounding exercise you showed me. I'm reciting the stupid mantras, checking my locks, taking a pill and a half to get myself drowsy enough to stop spiraling, but nothing is helping. I can feel the lakebed silt swirling below me. Sometimes it grazes the tips of my toes, forcing them down, trying to get a good grip so it can pull me all the way under, paralyzed and helpless.

My tongue feels like a bloated slug in my mouth. Fat and bitter with taste of the lake bed. I hope it's from the pills. But I'm not convinced. Maybe I need a sleep test. Maybe I need to up our sessions. I don't know if stopping the nightmares is worth all this. I don't know what to do.

September 24th. It goes past my nose, and I wake up. gasping and coughing for breath. My lungs burning. My body is still heavy, so heavy even when I wake up alone and dry on my bed. The doors stay locked, but it's getting higher. It's hurting me now, and it keeps getting higher. I feel it's cold fanning on my eyeballs. I'm sorry I missed our session. I just don't want to drive past the lake. I'm sure you understand. It's leaving marks on me.

There are little folds and rippling lines like waves pressing in my skin. I tried to press on them once I woke up and I could barely move my arms. The water has most of my vision now, like a soaking tongue tracing the bottom half of my pupil. I know it has to be the lake. My trash bags aren't opened. My bathroom window isn't smudged up. I check the locks four times each now, and I'm nine states over. I didn't post about the move anywhere he could see me.

I haven't even told my family where I've gone. No one knows I'm here. I'm supposed to be safe here. September 30th, there's someone at the bottom of the lake. The water is up past my eyes, and there's someone at the bottom of the lake. I can see them. Right there. A blurry shape standing upright on the lake bed, like the water tension doesn't even exist.

Like a dead body waiting in the basement of the world. Waiting for me. I woke up pressed into the mattress. Literally pressed. When I finally regained feeling in my body and rolled over, my hands had left craters in the mattress, hopper, like a great weight was pressing them down. Maybe they weren't from...

my hands. October 1st. I'm really sorry, Dr. Heather. I don't think I can take this anymore. I have to stop taking the meds. I know you said the dreams will even out, but I can't live like this. Maybe I'm stupid for stopping them,

or maybe I'm stupid for not stopping them sooner. Maybe it's just an awful side effect and we'll laugh about it at my next appointment. Hoping is all I can do. It's going to be a bit. different here. Things can be better. They have to be. October 2nd, after the police left. I'm sorry if my handwriting is hard to read. I can't stop shaking. I didn't take my meds. I didn't take them and maybe that's what did it. I was so happy when the dream began because I

could move. I thought about Aaron and felt like I'd shown him. He always made me feel helpless. In here, I thought I was proving him wrong. I'm so stupid. I'm so fucking stupid. I let the water take me at first. I sank effortlessly, silt curling at my feet as the water pressed me down, right to where the body in the water waited for me. I was going to face it. Finally.

I had to. The water echoed all around me. Shut up, I thought back. I could tell the body was looking at me, even though it didn't have eyes. The further I sank, the louder the voice became. My feet met the lake bed. I tried to take in the body, really make sense of it. It tilted the blurry mud smudge that was its head,

raised a nondescript arm to stroke my cheek. Mud. Just mud. It was just mud. Easy to grasp. Easy to scatter. Beauty. I dug my nails as hard as I could into its face,

carving the vague impression of a cheek out of its murky head. Its pained screamed was a muffled echo. All around me and somehow worlds away at the same time. Then louder. And louder. I woke up sweaty like I'd been sleeping under a radiator. Why was I so warm? I groaned, kicking off my damp comforter,

leaning into the relieving breeze coming from the window. The window. Dr. Heather. I didn't leave my window open last night. I was scrambling then, groping around my nightstand as my life depended on it, desperate to feel for the lamp switch. I flicked it on and lit up my room. My bed, my quickly cooling body, and my shaking hands.

Blood. There was blood under my fingernails. I checked myself for scratches for any wounds or little violations before I fully spiraled into a panic attack. I was completely unhurt, which meant... That was when I saw the trail. A splotch here, a drop there. Not my. I didn't need to follow it.

I already knew where it would lead. Right out my bedroom window. And next, from writer Nadia Schluter and narrated by Megyn McGuffie. Creepy Presents, The Dark Assailant. A faint ray of light was still burning in the bedroom that evening before the deafening ringing in her ears began. There was a pit of silence in the room, except for the subtle breeze that came in through an open window.

The white-laced drapes billowed ghostly, then returned to their original state. A dance to the song of crickets, a play illuminated by the moonlight. All a person needs for a good night's sleep. All of this would turn out to be a delusion. It had now become a habit to turn on the light shortly before going to sleep, even if she could not get any sleep these days. A soft whisper broke the silence. We are coming for you.

The soft voices bounced off the walls and reverberated like a hollow echo in her head. Did she really hear this, or was it just a dream? Suddenly the voices erupted right in her ear. We are coming for you. This time, it was significantly more intense, which caused her to wake up abruptly. The room felt different as if it was loaded with static energy. The ringing in her ears continued and disappeared in waves. faint at first, like a slight hum in the distance, then welling up in a deafening and all-encompassing sound.

When Jocelyn had a clear state of mind and really thought about it, she would always compare it to the sound of static on multiple televisions. Then she would imagine a room full of televisions stacked on top of each other, occupying the entire room up to the ceiling, with the light constantly shifting in a blur of black and white. slowly her consciousness returned to her and she felt goosebumps on her skin not the kind of goosebumps you get when you are cold but the kind that alert you in dire situations a bodily response letting you know that you were not alone and that in the worst-case scenario you might just have to make a run for it it was a stage between sleeping and waking yet her consciousness was always on edge so she could remember everything in detail after It always started with the ringing. Although sometimes she heard other sounds as well, voices it seemed, voices on a strange and different frequency as if they were on a different channel, people talking over each other about everyday things that happened, and sometimes she seemed to recognize some of these voices.

Occasionally she would hear colleagues from her work in a buzz that was near inaudible, While other times she would hear her parents' familiar voices clear as day, only she always knew for certain that they were not really her parents. There was something wrong with the sound and intonation of those voices talking, like they were unaware that they had Jocelyn's full attention, as if she were an outsider walking by on the street, catching glimpses of the conversation. But often the voices that were unknown to her were well aware that someone was listening. and she was sure that this was exactly what they wanted. Slowly, the whispers swelled up until she caught a glimpse of the conversation. They were mocking voices with disgusting laughs, whose words had haunted her all along.

We are coming to get you. The feeling of certain doom came over her that whoever hears these words or sees the ones who whispered them will find their end. But the question remained, how? She did not hear any voices this particular night, though. This time there were footsteps. It sounded as if someone was dragging something heavy up the stairs at a slow pace until the footsteps came to an abrupt halt outside the door.

The known tingle of goosebumps started from the toes. The unpleasant feeling slowly crept up her legs and up her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The paralysis set in, Go away! She heard her own voice shouting loudly inside her head. The danger was lurking and she was not safe now. The delusion of the serene room was gone and was replaced with darkness.

There were distorted shadows on the walls that seemed to move. She could not save herself even if she wanted to. This time it was too late and there was nothing she could have done or changed about the situation or the order in which it happened. Not only were her muscles paralyzed, her vocal cords stopped working as well. She could not utter a word or sound. There was no one to help, and any attempt to scream for help had proved futile. Her throat seemed to be closing anxiously.

Much pain and effort were needed to take in even the smallest amount of air. The drops of sweat began to collect on her back before slowly trickling down her spine like little pearls, She broke out in a sweat of panic, as one would say. She wanted most of all to postpone the inevitable that moment when she had to open her eyes. She wanted to postpone what she would have to be forced to see. The images were always different, and so was the sight of these shadows. Every night was like a different play that unfolded right in front of her, disfigured faces that she could never let go of, limbs contorted in.

impossible directions, hands closing around her throat while she had the feeling that something was sitting on her chest and was applying more and more pressure, a body crawling against hers under the covers. And when she woke up, she would discover that there was a small dent in the mattress in that specific spot. Still, she knew she could not avoid her own curiosity, and that curiosity always trumped the fear she felt inside, which later on she hated herself for. She cursed her own curiosity over and over again, but still that did not stop her from opening her eyes.

Not even once. Her heart began to beat louder as she feared it would burst out of her chest. That idea alone was enough for outright panic. It's strange how much a person could think in moments of misery and fear. It was pure adrenaline with the same choice time after time again, to freeze or run away. She could not utter a word, could not make a sound. There was no one to help, and now that choice had already been made for her. Someone else had chosen for her.

Our body had given up without a chance to fight or run to never look back. She had lost control over her own body. There was only one thing that somewhat worked. she could open or close her eyes. The fact that one day she would not wake up was something she was strangely sure of. A gut feeling she had deep down. The fear was irrepressible. She did what had to be done and opened her eyes, unsure, frightened.

Our throat was being wrung like a wet towel as she started gasping for air. A shrill squeak escaped through her lungs over her pursed lips. a stiff, shivering stripe that seemed firmly glued. Tears streamed down her cheeks and got lost in her neck while she tasted the salt of them on her lips. She saw it happen in the reflection of the window opposite her bed. At first, she saw her own anxious silhouette clinging to the bed. Then the door of the bedroom behind her slowly opened, and the creaking sound of the hinges was almost deafening.

As the door opened wide, a stream of intense cold air suddenly blew into the room, and with it the sudden stench of decomposition. The pungent smell quickly filled the bedroom, and the air seemed to feel denser and heavier while descending upon her. From the big and dark void in the doorway, she felt like she was being watched. Whatever was watching her from the darkness watched her for a while, before slowly a shadow started. started stretching across the oak floor. The shadow stretched further and further as it crept over the walls from the floor and took the form of a tall, imposing figure. It seemed to continue moving through the walls, passing the mirror in which she could see

the shape. Eventually, the shadow stopped behind the wall of her bed. Then from the doorway, a creature swiftly followed, five long, bony fingers. formed around the corner of the door, which were not human in shape or size. With its remarkably long, razor-sharp nails, it clung tightly to the doorframe and left deep scratches in the wood. Those scratches would be immortalized there, and no one would ever know who, or rather what, had inflicted them. The creature started to crawl towards her bed. The motor skills were incoherent, and its body parts swayed and twisted. Hidious claws with

the witch had dragged itself forward, a twisted, thin body she heard crackling, and then suddenly it was gone, as she just caught a glimpse of a foot disappearing under her bed. Something strange was happening this time. Everything was different from the previous visits of the shadows that besieged her. There were always several shadows, and while she had never seen this one before, she knew exactly who he was and what he came for. The shadows had announced his coming in various warnings and dreams. He was the one who had sent the others. He was the one needing madness, suffering, and fear to show himself in flesh and blood, king and ruler of his own legion in the underworld, the collector of damned souls. His emissaries did all the dirty work for him. His

creature had never been human, never walked to the earth. Its presence was clearly felt under her bed. irregular breathing as if it were a faint and it had never really learned to breathe before. Shortly after, a deep, unearthly growl followed, likening it to a rapid beast with its jaws wide open and waiting to ambush its prey. She was that prey, nails scraping the wooden slats of her antique bed. It took a morbid pleasure out of her fear and despair and fed on it. quickly she closed her eyes again, hoping to keep them closed until the first shimmers of daylight came through the curtains again. Then she could banish this event like all the other times to a place in her own head and lock it away forever. This was a place only she had access to, as nobody would ever believe her if she said this was more than just a nightmare.

Sleep paralysis, as others would call it. But she knew better. This was an intruder. something wicked. It seemed as if the agonizing minutes passed like hours. Very slowly, the feeling of relief came back when after some time she heard or saw nothing. After all, was it all still just another dream? It was, she assured herself, another hallucination created by her subconscious. She felt the gravity of fatigue, pull at her eyelids, and finally she became very sleepy. With a deep sigh she gave in to her tiredness. Jocelyn had finally been able to calm herself down a bit, but as she wanted to close her eyes to rest,

she noticed something about the reflection in the window. The reflection suddenly seemed distorted. Everything had become blurry. Images flowed into each other in a watery but gloomy color palette. Suddenly, confusion gave way to understanding when she saw something move behind her in the image opposite of her. No, there it was again. The black mass behind her grew, stretched, and she had that unmistakable feeling that someone or something was standing behind her. She lay there hopelessly with her back turned. The darkness seemed to contain a core of emptiness. It was a paragon of death.

and it had never left the room. God forbid if this is what awaited us after death. It was like the dark shadow you saw out of the corner of your eye when you were home alone at night, a dark image in the corner of your eyes, making you doubt whether you really saw something move. That which you later laughed off as paranoia or trickery of the eyes, but you still felt uneasy afterward. The thing's long arms hung limply at its sides,

with those claws curling inward at the end, waiting. The hissing started to increase to a deafening sound, but she heard nothing else. She felt threatened as if she was in mortal danger. This thing was not here to scare her, but to hurt her. The panic increased, and all she could do was cry and let another annoying squeak escape her lips. The squeak in her voice then mingled with loud, sobbing noises.

It was hopeless. This realization finally dawned on her. There was no choice but to surrender. Desperately, she tried with all her might to press her thumb against her palm. She truly felt that if she could achieve this, she would soon enough be back to the reality of an empty bedroom. With a sigh of relief, she would talk herself into a delusion of safety as she had done many times before.

It was exhausting, a battle she could never win, and a never-ending war against fear itself. The creature then slowly began to bend over, causing the ringing in her ears to swell to a sickening loud noise. That lugubrious dark face above hers as it was pulling her back to lay face up. Nostrils dilated as it sniffed her pheromones deeply and took in her fear. Quick and controlled, it then moved to the foot of the bed, only to stare at her for a while

with those glowing yellow eyes that almost seemed reptilian. Vertical-shaped pupils, fearsome and predatorial, moved fleetingly back and forth. It bared its pointy teeth and smiled at her with a menacing and sickening grin. Slowly it sank to its knees,

assuming a stooped position from the edge of the bed. The only thing visible were those yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. Never could she lose sight of those eyes. She felt movement in her sheets and then saw the creature's claws disappearing under the blankets. Razor-sharp nails worked their way up her legs, leaving deep, burning scratches on her sensitive skin. It felt like she was being gutted. The pain was unbearable.

The bump under the bed sheet grew larger and larger as its head and body soon disappeared under the blankets as well. The weight of its dead body on top of her was immense. Slowly the face that was still underneath the blankets started appearing right in front of her face. It was so close they almost touched. Jocelyn was truly horrified by this torment. The blankets slowly began to glide to the foot of the bed as if some unseen force wanted to pull it away to reveal this creature in all its glory. For a moment they were staring deep. into each other's eyes.

Its grin still hadn't disappeared, and it became even worse. It moved on top of her chest, closing its bony fingers around her throat and began to apply pressure. Its sharp claws pierced her skin, a truly hellish feeling. Suddenly she heard a loud banging around her.

There was knocking on the walls, doors, and windows, as if an angry mob was trying to force their way in to enjoy the scene was unfolding. Dazed her eyes searched the room in desperation for the origins of the sounds around her. All the while, the pressure around her throat increased. Its grip tightened. With all her might, she tried to scream one last time, but nothing came, just the sound of gargling. The figure was aware of her desperate attempts. She was hopeless, and it visibly enjoyed this sight, as if it only wanted to torture her more by first instilling more fear into her before.

confronting her with her fate. All the blood in her body seemed to rise to her head. She heard the pounding of her heart in her head, but with every second it seemed to fade more and more. So that is what it feels like to suffocate while death keeps smiling back at you. The air had left her body and had no intention of returning. Her eyes bulged and her head felt increasingly heavy. Fragments of her life flashed before her eyes like a slideshow presentation. The hands of the clock seemed to slow down while the ticking of the clock kept getting louder. Tick, tick, tick. Their field of vision blurred and she became lightheaded. Stars and flashes of light danced before her eyes like a sky lit up by a heavy lightning storm.

Her eyes rolled back into their sockets, leaving only the bloodshot whites of her eyes. eyes dotted with a network of red veins. The panic slowly ebbed into acceptance and embrace of the unavoidable. Finally, complete darkness. There was no heartbeat anymore, and the final gust of air left her body for good. She seemed to float in a lonely void. Consciousness, however, was an extraordinary aspect that remained intact for a while. Perhaps it was the soul that left the body and sought another home, a new purpose, Somewhere in the distance, the familiar voices loomed up again as if they were on a different frequency, and they became louder and louder. Mocking, they came closer and closer from the darkest reaches. There they had been waiting for her all this time for a close hug.

They were the dark emissaries. Was this the place between two worlds that you heard other people talk about, where souls with unfinished business linger, a kind of limbo? A cold, dark, and lonely place where any human being would go insane, a place even void of color. Fog swirled all around her. She gently touched the ground with her fingers and felt the touch of churned, clammy earth, accompanied by a musty smell. It was an overwhelming emptiness. There was nothing, but at the same time everyone was there. Time was an afterthought, an unclear concept.

Suddenly a crowd gathered around her with them, loud voices that suddenly were followed by a long, eerie silence. She was boxed in and all eyes were on her. It felt like there were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. They lit up in a white haze with sinister smiles underneath. Jocelyn was terrified. She felt she was in the midst of an important deed that was about to be completed. Jocelyn knew it was over, so she surrendered to it and closed her eyes. She had no choice.

Suddenly, a source of light loomed from afar between the dense fog. This contrast was so bright that her eyes had to get used to the light at first. Small at first, like a whirling firefly. It seemed to get closer and closer. The light stretched out into a large square its reflection visible on the marshy ground, Fearful and insecure, she forced herself to step through it anyway. Once through the bright glare of the light, it did not immediately dawn on her where she was and what scene was playing out before her eyes.

Eventually, the realization set in when she looked around and saw the shadows she knew all too well standing beside her on either side, all facing the center, and their heads bowed. They stood in a circle around a bed. She felt connected to these shadows, a different and unsettling but deep connection. It dawned on her that she was in someone else's room, a lit table lamp on one of the bedside tables, just as she had in her room every night, a light to create a false sense of security to banish the eerie darkness. Slowly she joined the shadows around the bed. There she saw an unknown young man lying stiff.

In another world, in another time, she would have gazed at his features admiringly, even marveled at his beauty. However, the boy lay there in a paralyzed and feeble position, as she had lain in so often on those well-known nights. There was a muffled cry from deep down in his throat as his hands clung anxiously to the comforter that crumpled around him, drenched and sweat. His reddish, teary eyes were looking around at all the shadow. Then terror set in as the boy locked eyes with Jocelyn. This brought a wonderful and nearly euphoric feeling to her. Her voice drowned out all the other voices, and with a smile from ear to ear, she whispered,

We are coming for you. 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.