Creepy - Everyone Thinks My Brother Is A Hero...

Episode Date: January 28, 2021

If you only knew...***Content warning: Suicide/self harm, Child Abuse, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Spiders, Torture***Written by Christian Wallace and narrated by Cole Burkhardt***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***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.

This is the bloody disgusting podcast network. 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 simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make me. contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Everyone thinks my brother is a hero. But if you see him, you need to run. Written by Christian Wallace and narrated by Cole Burkart. I've lived with disability my whole life. It's not been easy. Even something as simple as lifting a bag is made harder without tinesis. Most of you probably don't even notice, but they don't put handles on them.

Can you imagine that? Imagine going shopping and having to lift the bags up one by one using your hands. Imagine having to take the stairs everywhere because you can't use the shoots. Imagine having to buy toilet roll to clean yourself by hand and doing it every time, not just when you're tired or have a headache. I know there's a big debate about how to define disability in our society. It's easy to look at someone like Dr. Adderson and say, they have ability. I mean, this guy's been doing knifeless surgery for years now,

effortlessly saving thousands upon thousands of lives from all over the world. We know he's doing well. But what about the guy who can only move a pencil, or has to strain for minutes just to shut a door? What about people with finesse, but no heft? What about people who can sew with their mind, but couldn't possibly be expected to lift their own weight up to the 56th floor of a skyscraper?

And what about people who go the other way? We've all seen the stories of that kid who can move cruise ships but can't even stop a paper ball thrown at his head. Is he disabled? Is anyone who can lift a truck disabled? But no one's prepared for me. No one's prepared for the guy with absolutely zero ability, but I exist. Others, too, though don't be surprised if most of them kill themselves before adulthood.

You have no idea how hard it is to live in a world built for the able-minded, while you can't do so much as move a grain of rice. They had me at it for years, you know. I was told it was my fault. There's no political correctness for my kind, let me tell you that. The assumption was always that I was lying or that I had some kind of mental plot. After all, I mean, my brother is world famous for his skills. How could one twin be a total dud and the other a real fucking real life superhero? I can't even go in cities anymore.

Without Tinesis, it's a death trap. I've been hit by flyers 16 times in my life, and every time the driver gets out and streams it me for not getting out of the way. The whole world is just pinning around with the power of their minds, and when they get to me, they don't even know how to process it. And when I tell them I can't just magic myself out of the way at the speed of thought, do you know what most of them do? They fucking laugh. My blood smeared up the windscreen, my bones broken. my teeth knocked out all over the tarmac, and almost all of them laugh when I tell them I don't have tinnis. They apologize quickly enough, but it's always just a shrug of the shoulders like I'm a spider with all the legs pulled off.

Sad, but ultimately insignificant. Maybe if I could hide it. That'd be something, at least. The average person burns 34,000 calories a day. You know what my calorie recommendation is? 2,500. The doctor had to do it with a calculator. We've all seen the little test kit they use when they move these soldiers to get all the metrics right

so they can calculate exactly what your nutritional needs are. Well, those levers don't go low enough to describe me. It's one thing if I can make my food by hand, but between the GM foods and the junk food, all pumped full of calories to keep us moving mountains, with our minds, I'm struggling to keep my weight below 250 pounds. I'm sure you've seen the internet stock images of that woman who stopped using Canisas for a month, and the weight she put on. Well, that's my life. I live in the arse end of nowhere now. I have a few neighbors who

store low enough to qualify for some government-sanctioned protection, but they all have some ability. At the very least, they can keep themselves thin by moving pennies around. I have to have a fucking hamster wheel specially made. I'd go running outside, but my carer's afraid of what might happen if I fall,

since I can't lift myself back to safety. I guess I don't have any reason to disagree. This whole thing got so bad that when I turned 17, the government offered me anonymity. And it was just about the only time in my life someone reached out to help me. Apparently, some scientists were planning to vivisect me, but someone had a pain of conscience at the last minute and reported them to the University

Ethics Board. That's about the extent of life's mercy to me. I don't even know why I'm writing this. Between the identity wipe and the fact that I am a living joke, no one's done to believe me. But maybe I can at least plant it. a seed of doubt. Dr. Adderson is my twin brother, fraternal, of course. The current record holder for Kinesis across all known metrics is my living flesh and blood, and I'm writing this to tell you that he is a sociopath. Those thousands of lives he saves only matter to him for his ego.

The only thing stopping him from pulling the moon out of the freaking skies is that there'd be no one left to blow him afterwards. He has tortured me non-stop since the day I was born, and it wasn't until I escaped that he left me alone. His initials are burned into my kidney because our mom put my name first on the shared birthday card. My left testicle was severed when I was 13 because I asked if we could share the bite he got for Christmas. It was six months before our doctor noticed and removed it, and by then the infection had spread. leaving me bed-bound for months. My bones have been broken and reset more times than you can count,

all done in the burgeoning early morning hours where he liked to practice his medical skills. My childhood was spent weeping on the bottom bunk with my vocal cords temporarily severed as he tinkered around with my insides. Since day one, he has been an unstoppable bully. all those fucking surgeries he can do Well guess who he perfected them on Guess whose ribs he cracked open

Whose blood he kept pumping with his mind While my heart sat in an empty ice cream tub Whose teeth he pulled out and put back in Over and over and over And it's not just me He tried fucking his chemistry teacher when he was 13 And when she said no You know what he did?

He put a bubble around her and compressed it with the force of a tectonic plate. I watched him turn that poor woman into a diamond, and it's been his go-to trick ever since. When he dies, when he dies, they'll find a suitcase full of diamonds, and they'll never really know where he got them from. But I'll know.

The odd patient here or there. A passing girl, he found pretty, a man whose jawline made him feel inferior. or they'll all be in there. Put aside like precious little trophies. That's the truth. Richard is a serial killer, and he always has been.

And if there was any justice in this world, even a drop, he wouldn't have been made an unstoppable force of nature. He would have been still born, but here we are, and honestly, I think you're all lucky he gets a kick out of lying to you.

And now, Somehow. The bastards dug me out again, and he's coming at me anew. I always thought he'd just kill me if he'd got the chance. He doesn't get that other living things feel pain, so torture, for torture's sake, isn't his thing. We're just meat to him, and we exist only in that we have utility.

But this kind of psychological torture I've been going through lately, I never really thought it was like him. I guess he must be learning. God, he must know me better than I thought. It started simple enough. I was smoking, and no, I don't get to strip the tar out when I'm done. I just have to live with it clogging my arteries. When I felt something crawling up my leg.

Out here in the country, it's not uncommon to get mosquitoes, so I went to swat it away, but I nearly had a coronary when I was saw a big fat spider on my leg. I hate the freaking things. Jesus Christ, they scare me. I'm getting sweaty just thinking about its long spindly legs spread across my skin. And I'm freaked out, right? I'm just, I'm freaked out, and I smash my hand down, and then I pulled it back, and I started doing that weird hoppy dance from terror and revulsion that, that teenage girls do. I had to barely process my own thoughts in the moment. I just, knew I needed to scrape my hand before I took a proper look because this thing was a big,

fat, bodied, hairy monster in the sight of its guts would have made me ill, so that's what I did. I scraped it off on a table ledge and shut my eyes and washed my hands with the hottest water I could. But then, when I went to clean the table, there was only dust. And that's when I felt a weight on my sleeve, and I looked, and there it was again. the same spider. It met my eyes and its legs tightened with the creaking sound of tensile strength.

I'd never seen a spider light it, and this time I didn't close my eyes. This time I slammed my arm so hard against the wall, I've still got the bruise. And you know what happened? Poof. The spider went up like a glitter bomb. It took me a moment to realize

it was just dust pouring down on me, like snow or ash. And yet, there was the, outline of the spider on the wall. I couldn't deny that it had been right there. Of course, at the time, I didn't really think of it like that. I just put the strangeness down to fatigue. In fact, it wasn't until a week later when I saw it again on the Kitchen Island that I took the time to trap it and get a proper look. At first, it stayed so still, I started to wonder if it was a kind of prank toy. The neighbors and I spaced out pretty far.

on a town of some protocol Zeta or some shit, but even amongst the losers, I was still the biggest outcast, and I wouldn't put it past them banding together to play a mean trick on me. Anyway, there I was thinking all this, staring at the misshapen legs of this thing, when I became convinced it wasn't not real. So I lifted up the glass, and it just flew at me, like something out of an old B-movie, like it was a cheap rubber prop. And all I'd to do in the moment was batted away, but once again it went poof and turned it to dust. Only when I looked back to the island, there it was again, like it had teleported.

So I grabbed a book and slammed it down over and over and over again until there was just the dusty, linty outline of a spider. Somehow, in front of my very fucking eyes, it popped back up into the shape of a three-dimensional thing, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to scream like a girl. So I trapped it again, and after what felt like hours of just staring at this thing, seeing clearly that it was a spider made out of whatever random material was at hand, that it finally dawned on me.

Richard was never into psychological torture, but he was a pragmatist, and I still have nightmares about the time he locked me in a basement and sent dust bunnies after me. He was only seven, but even back then it took weeks for me to recover. I still have nightmares about it. Only now, in the nightmares, the dust bunnies looked like spiders, and I don't know they'll do more than just scratch and bite. I don't know how he learned about that dream of mine,

but the second I realized what that spider was, I knew he was behind it all. It was like something out of my head had come to life, and only he has that kind of power. The next day, I went to check upon my neighbors, and my suspicions were all but confirmed. It's a long walk between houses. There are these chick-little 60s-esque trailers that were thrown up cheap just for us. The clean, rounded lines and pastel colors contrasting strangely against the overgrown Irish moors where we live,

close to the coast. Anyways, I dragged myself through the sodden muck and lumpy earth until I made my way to the home of someone I knew only as Allet. The strangest thing was that his house had been pulled apart. I've heard of people having latent tenesis in their middle age, and how they often end up hurting themselves with a sudden outburst. And for a moment, I thought that's what had happened to Al, but... But a closer look revealed him lying there, admits the revel. What little I could see of him was poking out between the ruins, all bloody and mangled. His face bloated and his pallid skin coated in dust.

He looked like a zombie out of one of those old movies with his face all taped in white makeup. And after seeing him, I immediately left to go tell someone. For some reason, I found myself rushing back to my place. The tall reeds and rolling hills appearing oddly menacing to me along the way. I couldn't say for sure, what with this place being so wind-beaten and visibility being so poor, but I had this sense of being watched by someone in the overgrowth. By the time I was picking up the phone, I was hitting the button so hard, but there was no dial tone. And a quick look at my roof revealed that the phone line had been bent and snapped off

and was laying amidst the mud and sand just outside my kitchen window. Seeing that made me certain that this was all part of Richard's game. The idea of him coming back to get me could have driven me insane then and there. Hell. I even messed around with the idea of hanging myself with a belt as a last resort, but even just the thought of it turned my stomach. I'd spent my whole life fighting against a society that's just not made for people like me. The thought of rolling over pissed me off, even though I knew Richard could just take me apart like a jigsaw and keep me alive forever.

He was playing a game. How much was for certain. Not long after finding the antenna, I went and checked on the others in this area. It took me most of the day, but each one was either missing or in pretty bad shape. One guy was buried up to his neck in the soil His tongue all fat and swollen And his face gaunt and thin It looked like he'd starve to death there But I couldn't say for sure

Another one A young woman who'd always look mousy and afraid She was up on the top of her home And while I couldn't see the rest of her The little bit of ankle that dangled over the edge Was bruised and broken Or skin the color of battered fruit I tried calling out to her, but it didn't take much to figure out she was dead.

Only one of them offered any clue to what had happened. It was hiding in his closet, clutching a knife in one hand and something very odd in the other. It looked like a bit of dried plants, maybe, but it was all dark and leathery. In fact, it looked a little like dried banana skin, except there was three feet of it, Not to mention it was pretty hairy, too. He'd also left some notes out, along with a few photos on his desk, clearly having spent his time around here, as some kind of naturist or bird watcher. The photos were odd, mostly showing the surrounding beaches,

except he'd circled some blurry shapes along the coast, and in some pictures of the nearby dunes and hills. Swinting closely, I couldn't make out anything, but he'd organized them in a way to suggest that he, understood the contents to have some great significance. It didn't make sense to me, but then again neither did these stetches of local wildlife, almost all of which he'd annotated with phrases like unseen in nature, unusually carnivorous, or simply just question mark, question mark, question mark. I took the papers and went back home, and sure enough, I found some of the stuff he'd drawn

growing around my place. In fact, there was more of it in my garden than anywhere else. I'll admit, they looked a bit odd, like punk-rock thistles and angry seed pods with teeth. They were just plants. And as for the things he'd circled in the photographs, at the time, I sure as hell couldn't figure out what he'd been trying to point out. But whenever I looked up at the endless hills and shuffling heather, I could have sworn something was out there, watching me. Come night time, I tried to lock up tight, trying to figure out if I could wait all of this

out until one of my carers arrived. But if Richard really was after me, then there was fuck all them or anyone else on earth could do. People had spent so long celebrating him, I'd hope to God at least one person, somewhere, had thought of how to contain him if he finally went Ted Bundy on the whole world. For all I know, I'm writing this for a wasteland. Maybe I'm his final victim, Maybe there's a mountain of diamonds somewhere, and I'm just the final person he gets to play with. You know, my parents got him a dog once? For the first time, I ever really dot a sense of his true abilities was when he started killing it and bringing it back, night after night. He'd sit there, hands hovering over its golden fur, while I tried to shut out the sound of cracking bones and creating flesh.

Meanwhile, he'd just sit there silently, telling me all the things he could feel. There's energy in it, Matthew, he told me. I can feel the cells pulling apart and knitting together. I can feel that energy. I can reach in and slow it down or speed it up and even, yes, I can even rewrite it. No one knew, except for me. people thought it was incredible that he did remove tumors, but he could do more than that. He could kill cancer at the genetic level.

He could extend lifespans, cure infertility, rewrite our very genes, and no one knew. If they had known what he to do, they might have understood how fucking heartless he was because he never once bothered to help the world beyond the odd surgery. Then again, why did he have to? He got everything he needed patching up politicians and movie stars or from turning up on talk shows. I think he knew that if people actually got wind of what he'd do, they'd put him under the knife, just like they wanted to do to me. Do you guys even know how close you came to total annihilation when Richard was born? I mean, every day you guys are millimeters away from a literal hell on earth, because if some dick in a lab coat ever decided to go after Richard, you'd remove pretty much every reason he,

ever had to control himself. Like I said, it'd be a mountain of diamonds. Maybe that's why he's doing this to me. Maybe he got sick of keeping it under wraps. He only ever messed around with our dog, switching its gender week to week, growing new heads, sustaining old ones,

altering it to grow flowers at its fur. He must have spent decades, knowing he had all that power and he just never acted on it. Deep down, I always suspected this kind of thing was his deal. The strange flowers that look like faces down by the beach. Centipedes made of fenders. The mastidos are the size of hummingbirds.

Richard really has gone all out, letting those things loose. I recently went to take another look at the homes around here, just to look for supplies. And almost all the bodies have been dragged away. The only one who wasn't gone was that I had been buried up to his neck and dirt. His flesh had started to grow into the very grass itself, his mouth stuffed with violet flowers that whistled as I approached. It was while I was there that I noticed how the horizon had taken on a strange, oily effect. The closer I got to it, the more I realized I couldn't see the damn thing on the other side. The closer I got to it, the more I realized I couldn't see a damn thing on the other side.

When I threw a rock into it, it was like the air just sucked it up. He barely traveled a few inches before it just disappeared into God knows what. He's trapped me in this hell on earth, and oh boy, the games he's been playing with me. I can barely sleep for all the spiders he'd keep swatting away. They turn up everywhere now. Magic out of the very essence of reality by the sociopathic deity I call brother. They're in my glasses of water, hiding in my food, in my shoes, the back. of my collar on one or two occasions, they've come crawling out of my yawning mouth.

They're like the very idea of a spider as opposed to the real thing. Their legs often split halfway down, and they're never the same size or shape, but they're nothing compared to that thing on the beach. The first time I saw it, I thought I was looking at a pile of fishing tackle and seaweed from a distance. It was a long way away, but the jumbled figure broke the clean lines of the shore and drew the eye. God, it wasn't until it had closed half the distance that it even dawned on me. I was in some kind of danger. It just, it looked quite unreal and maybe even faked like a movie prop,

but it kept coming, moving like an invisible hand that was bobbing it up and down, and I quickly realized I needed to get home quickly. It didn't make a sound, and I still suspect it doesn't belong in our reality, quite like you or any other physical thing might. It moved like it was suspended in water, like its movements weren't happening in the same space as the real world. And the way it looked meant it was impossible to see clearly amongst the rolling moors and dunes. I ran so fast I nearly sprained my ankle. Feeling the tremendous strain of thundering up and down the endless slopes,

some just a few feet high and some nearly ten meters, tall. And every time I glanced over my shoulder, there was a sense of something moving against the silhouette of grass. But this thing was in its element, perfectly camouflaged against the wind-swept grass. Only when I ran indoors and slammed my door shut did I get to see just how close it was behind me. Its body rammed into the door the second I clicked it shut. And looking out the small window, I got to appreciate the trailer-sized body it dragged along the earth. You'd have mistaken it for an enormous compost heap with misshapen, almost puppet-like arms branching from the center,

and every now and again some glistening, pinkish flesh would become visible as it thrashed around. Weirdly, its teeth weren't sharp, but blunt and flat, like the teeth of a large pig, and for some reason, that unsettled even more than usual. It wouldn't stop coming for me. And in a mindless sort of panic, I ran into a cupboard and tried to shut the door. There I stayed, squeezing my eyes shut in terror while my whole home was wrought back and forth until eventually the trailer was pushed over.

At some point, I must have hit my head and blacked out, but when I came to, I was confused to find no sign of the thing that had attacked me. Instead, something else had appeared in the hills. and there was no missing this thing. It looked like it came crawling straight out of a fucking dream scape. It hasn't moved once, leering at me with those black, featureless eyes. It's the size of a fucking mansion hovering over this increasingly alien landscape. Weirdly, if I stare at it too long,

its strange crab-like legs start moving side to side, almost like a nervous child. Before I finally left home, I took the time to use my binoculars, and I saw the thing that had attacked me lying below, crunched up and broken. Richard has created some very strange things to torment me. But that's not the real torture. No, that has to be what I found at the facility, just by the edge of this place. I only went there for shelter after my own place was trashed, but the things I found... I never knew Richard had that kind of insight into me. Age, I think, has turned him unusually cruel.

It's not just that the researchers there had been taken apart at the seams. In fact, that kind of brutalist body horror is what I've come to expect from Richard. No, it was all the notes I'd found that made consistent reference to Project Zeta. I stemmed some of them reading their notes on how latent Tenese could be disastrous in the disabled community. Specifically, those who manifested little to know psyched abilities as children and teenagers. At the very least, it explained why they separated us from society

and each other, given that in much of the reports, they spoke about us specimens, like we were watching e-bombs. It made me laugh that they'd written so much about us losers and not the fucking serial killer. I spent nine months sharing a womb with. But that? That was the elaborate joke Richard's been pulling on me all along.

The spiders, the monsters, the flowers. Does he really think I wouldn't recognize the things I drew as a child? And that pathetic email I'd found half-finished on a lead researcher's computer. Does Richard really think I'd believe he'd died? God, just read some of it. Hi, Will, I know you're new here and your clearance just passed, so let me give you the rundown.

As far as we can tell from the post-mortem deaths, Dr. Anson had no tenesis. He was, and the brainstands seemed to confirm this, a severely disabled individual. This, at the very least, might explain the recent uptick in activity at Site Gamma. We've known that, under intense psychological distress, some people can manifest their own equivalent to bad luck, And we know that people with close relatives, high on the scale, have higher survival rates in car crashes and during other disasters. So far, this has been written off as a peculiar quirk of human psychology, where a gifted individual is somehow able to loan some of their kinetic abilities to those they love, something that occurs exclusively under tremendous strain or stress. But we've never really considered the possibility of someone gifting their abilities to another out of sheer spite.

Either way, we are openly considering the possibility that Matthew was somehow sponsoring Richard Stenesis, providing him with gifts he otherwise lacked. At the very least, this explains why, after his brother's death, which we have carefully kept from Matthew, activity at site gamma immediately begins spiking. Normally, this kind of fringe theory would take years to investigate, but given what is at risk, the agency has decided to move ahead with increased funding and manpower at this facility, Hence why you're here now. Matthew's execution has already been authorized, just to be safe,

so if things look rough, we can act on that without the need for further bureaucracy. But be aware, if these power readings are accurate, we might need to consider something more drastic than a mere bullet. There are already reports of strange weather phenomenon in the Arctic Circle, and recent mutations among the annual flu virus epidemic in Europe suggest unnatural tampering with the gene code. And that's not even starting to mention some of the recent reports from the LHCCRAP. and the physicist in Tokyo. It sounds ridiculous, but we may not have a lot of time.

If Matthew has the tiny power we suspect, and he's not consciously engaged with it, then, without his brother to loan his power to, it might be his subconscious in control instead. In which case this whole world might be beholden to the anxieties and neurosis of a man who once requested states sanctions euthanasia because of the severity of his night terrors. The email was dated six months ago, and the mere sight of it made me laugh. It was a stroke of genius on behalf of Richard. I had to give him that. Framing me for my own torture?

And it's so unlike him to create a scenario where he's not the greatest person alive. It almost makes it convincing. Almost. I'm not an idiot. For some reason, he must want it so that I don't tell the others about the stuff he did. But you have to believe me. He's a monster, and if crazy shit is going on out there, then it's him you need to look at. You have a god watching him on you this whole time, and you never even realized.

If you're lucky, you can catch him unaware and end the bastard before he does any real damage. Otherwise, the world's going to look pretty weird when he's done with it. For more information, including pictures and videos of the story. told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com. If you'd like to submit a story for consideration or recommend a story, please see our submission page at creepypod.com slash submissions. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative comments, share-alike licensing, or with written consent from the authors,

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