Creepy - Excerpts From Newsletters from the Hillcrest Park Homeowners’ Association & Araña

Episode Date: July 17, 2025

Excerpts From Newsletters from the Hillcrest Park Homeowners’ Association***Written by: Jason P. Burnham and Narrated by: Cole Burkhardt***Araña***Written by: Andrew Graves and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Get your merch at creepypod.printify.me***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. Excerpts from newsletters from the Hillcrest Park Homeowners Association.

Written by Jason P. Burnham and narrated by Cole Burkart. February newsletter. Excerpt. And remember, the last Thursday of February will be the final street cleaning until next fall. From now until September, you'll have to keep those street gutters clean all on your own. Helpful reminder here, yard waste pickup is on Tuesdays. Don't forget to put out the green yard waste sign on your front door by 6 a.m. on Tuesday, or the Republic Service workers won't know you've got bags to date.

Thank you for keeping Hillcrest Park beautiful. March newsletter, excerpt. Happy Spring Hill Crestians! Something approximating spring, at least. Depending on when you're reading the notice, you're either prepping for, living through, or recovering from the aftermath of the once-in-a-millanium polar vortex hitting us. I know it seems silly to bring up the height of the grass in your yard

when facing multiple feet of blinding snow and frigid cold, but as I type this, I'm seeing several. out of regulation yards from my window alone. If you'll recall, Hillcrest Park requires that your grass be no longer than six inches at all times. As a rule of thumb, if it's past your ankle, it's time for a trim. And don't forget your backyard, the regulations apply to all grass. And to preempt any queries, no, stone, rock, or gravel yards are not permissible. Speaking of spring, don't forget to sign up for our annual Spring, Sprang Sprung Barbecue.

To register what you'll be bringing, stand the QR code at the bottom of this newsletter. I don't know if anyone will be able to top Madeline Montgomery's Pork Barbecue Volcano from last year, but... April newsletter. Excerpt It appears that the polar vortex has caused changes in our grass, and perhaps, in either Hillcrestian memory or motivations. Over half the yards out my window have grass longer than six inches. The polar vortex was a beatdown, no doubt, but your cabin fever should be over by now. It's warm.

If you had water damage from the melting snow, it's bound to be dried out. Please, help us out. The Edgewood Forest neighborhood has instituted a grass-cutting fee to keep everyone in line. They hired a groundskeeping crew, and any yards out of compliance at the end of the month are shorn. Their owners charged a fee of $150. I don't want to have to institute that, but I know I have the backing of the entire HOA, if necessary. Please, don't let the May newsletter contain my ratification of grass-mowing fees. In other news, congratulations are in order for Madeline Montgomery.

If you weren't at the Triple S Barbecue, you really missed out. Madeline won the competition with the swine-slag extravaganza. I'm still not sure how she made crispy barbecue-coated pork erupt out of the grass in the pocket park, but it was a sight to behold. May newsletter, excerpt. It is with a heavy heart that I write this newsletter. letter. For two reasons. One greatly outweighs the other. First, we are all devastated to hear that the police have deemed recovery in the case of Madeline Montgomery's disappearance to be approaching zero.

Keep her in your thoughts and or prayers, but without so much as a shred of evidence and her being gone for three weeks, the police department doesn't feel there is any meaningful chance. of finding her alive, if at all. Secondly, and I hate to transition this way, but the HOA has decided unanimously that we will begin imposing grass fees. I've spoken with some of you on this matter to get a sense of your headspace, and I've been unable to come to any conclusion with a path forward that does not involve grass fees. For those of you, I haven't been able to contact. I do hope to see you around the neighborhood soon. I know these are hard times, but getting out and communing with your neighbors may brighten your days. I promise I won't talk about grass, at least

not more than usual. June newsletter, excerpt. I don't like taking your money. I really don't. On the other hand, I'm seeking your input for what project the HOA should take on, seeing as we collected over $3,000 last month from grass fees. I really underestimated the cognitive impact of that polar vortex. Add that to Madeline's disappearance, I think we're all in a bad spot mentally. Unfortunately, my hands are tied on the grass fees. They will continue this month. July newsletter, excerpt. I'm confused. I must. I must. say. It's the beginning of July. Temperatures are regularly going over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. None of you are mowing your lawns anymore. And yet, and yet, you're giving your grass growth

promoters or additives? You must be. How else would your grass grow so tall it slouches? I estimate that some of these yards have grass longer than 12 inches. The mowing service was just here last week. Effective immediately, we are imposing a three-inch grass mandate, which means we will be doubling our lawn service and therefore doubling our grass fees for the month. I hope that this notice will encourage you to, if not at least, begin cutting your grass, then please, please stop putting growth promoters on your lawn. I would encourage you all to listen to the podcast Community Murders, which has taken an interest in and produced an episode about Madeline Montgomery. Her remains have yet to be found, but the hosts have been following her case closely.

If it sparks any memories in you, please reach out to the police tip line at August newsletter. Excerpt. I feel, to be honest with you, my fellow Hill Presti, baffled, to say the least. I've been watching, as much as time permits, all of you. Rather, I've been watching your lawns. I rarely see any of you caring for them. Are you putting the growth promoters on at night?

How is that possible? Just since the July newsletter, I've had to institute weekly grass fees, and that still isn't enough. Already, your lawns are at six inches, and the moan was just completed yesterday morning. Frankly, I'm scared. I'm scared the HOA is going to have to revise our rules and regulations to require rock, stone, or gravel yards.

We cannot continue to have grass this length in the neighborhood. Aren't you all tired of the fees? We've collected tens of thousands of dollars and the first freeze is still at least a month. month away. September newsletter. Excerpt. August was unseasonably warm, and September threatens to be as well. On the upside, I've found a use for the obscene amount of money we have raised in grass fees. We will be subsidizing rock, stone, and gravel yards for the entire neighborhood. This project will go on until the first freeze, then resume,

again in the spring for all uncompliant yards, which appears to be nearly everyone at this point, including a few HOA members. Cruise will begin digging up lawns next week. You'll be notified individually if your yard is to be dug up. I have checked with the city, and per their signed order, this HOA will be breaking no laws by initiating these lawn reclamation projects. We cannot and will not live in a jungle. Mid-September newsletter, excerpt.

I don't typically write two newsletters per month, but I wanted to update everyone on the progress of the Lawn Reclamation Project. Nobody will tell me straight, so I'm using this medium to ask you. What did you put on your lawn? The landscapers are reporting to me that they've never seen dirt like this before. Never smelled dirt like this before. I've seen it myself, and I imagine you have too. Beneath the grass, just beneath the topsoil, there is a sludgy, milky layer that smells of rotting carcass.

What did you put down there? And where did you get it from? Who told you it was safe to use? Was there a group rate to buy the product in bulk? The landscapers fees are increasing because of the tenacity of this sub-soil layer and the waste management it requires. Fortunately, the work is slow, and the HOA is still benefiting from grass fees from the rest of you whose lawns have yet to start the reclamation process. In the name of all that is holy, please. I beg you, stop putting this chemical on your yards, whatever it is.

October newsletter, excerpt. I suppose you've already heard. Or maybe you haven't. You all look away from me when I see you out and about, so I assume you know. I cannot help but think you had some hand in this, you as a whole. Maybe you heard it from the police. Maybe you're a patron of the Community Murders podcast. Maybe you heard it on the 6 p.m. local news.

Hell, one of the national networks got a hold of it too. Madeline Montgomery didn't deserve this. I don't know how it happened. I don't know how you did it. But the landscapers found her. beneath the viscous, foul, milky, subsoil layer. They found her there. The police say that the DNA testin revealed nobody's DNA, but Madeline's own.

No human DNA, that is. She was buried in a fetid layer of thick, cloying black ooze, which the police said was much warmer than it should. should have been, given the depth at which it was excavated. They also said it was full of porcine DNA. Was it GMO pork products that you were pouring on your lawn to feed the grass? Did you carnivorize the coastal Bermuda grass somehow? Consider this newsletter, my resignation from the HOA.

I can't take it anymore. I don't know what you've done, but I want no part of it. anymore. I don't care what happens to your lawns. I don't want your grass fees. I think I'm going to move into a condominium with no yard. I hope Madeline Montgomery's ghost weighs heavily upon your yard ravaging souls. Creepy presents Aranya, written by Andrew Graves and narrated by Rissa Montanaz. Love. It takes many forms, doesn't it? It's in the shelters we weave above our heads.

It's in the blood that flows within all creatures. Love. The nourishment that sustains who and what we are. I honestly never thought I would know love myself. Not because I didn't want it, but because I feared what it might reveal about me. I kept it at a distance. like a fire admired from afar.

There were moments, yes, when I longed to be seen, to be touched, to be chosen. But desire alone isn't love. And love, true love, feeds more than the body.

It feeds something deeper. The soul, perhaps. If I even have one, If only things had been different for my mother, I stay guarded because of what happened between her and my father. To this day, I don't know who he is, and I doubt I ever will. I'm told he was very handsome, and quite the catch.

It wasn't just his looks, though. He had a way of speaking that made her feel like she was the only one in the world. That's what drew her in. That quiet charm, the same kind I would later see in another. Despite that, it ended as abruptly as it began. He abandoned her on their first night together, leaving her pregnant and alone. It pained my mother to talk about it with me. She said he saw her for who she truly was.

raw exposed without pretense not some masks she wore to survive but her most honest self and rather than embrace his fate with her he fled no words no goodbye just a vanished presence and the echo of retreating footsteps in the night maybe it was fear maybe it was disgust Maybe it was simply the truth she'd come to believe That even when she let someone see the real her She would always be rejected That she wasn't who he thought she was That she wasn't good enough And never will be

Such an asshole My mother wasn't disgusting She was beautiful Fierce and graceful in her own way. But it didn't matter. She believed him and carried his silence like a curse for the rest of her life. She never married again, never loved again, not even herself. That didn't stop her from seeking out other men, though. Perhaps she held onto some hope of finding another like my father, or maybe it was simply to fill the void he left behind.

Regardless, she knew that in order to survive, we needed to be provided for. She would beguile them with the facade of her own making and lure them home. They never lasted more than a night. To her credit, at least she made the effort for us. But it wasn't the same for her. She eventually stopped eating when she died. the void my father left had passed on to me and the only way I knew how to move forward

was to mask who I really was from the world just as my mother did I've been alone my whole adult life I stayed in the woods by myself it was quiet dark and peaceful it simply felt safer for me I was hidden away from the world Love had destroyed my mother, and I refused to let it do the same to me.

I built my home in the trees, far from the world. I wore my solitude like armor, with nothing but the wildlife providing me company and sustenance. Prey was easy to snare with traps of my own making. All I had to do was wait. I'd bait them with what they wanted. scent, warmth, of false sense of safety, and they'd come willingly. Survival has always been about knowing what they want, and letting them think it was their idea to take it.

It wasn't so different from how my mother lived, luring strange men with a pretty face and a practiced voice, letting them believe they were the hunters. But I swore I'd never. be touched by a man. My traps weren't for pleasure or companionship. I didn't seduce or coax. I waited, quiet, hidden, letting them come to me. It was a vow I held onto without question, a rule I never thought I'd break. That was until I met Miguel. Late one night, while stalking along the edges of my domain. I caught a flicker of orange between the trees, a campfire that was far too close to home. Who would dare camp this close? I valued my privacy, and the thought of it being

disrupted irritated me. I ventured over, but stayed just out of the fire's ring of light. I wanted to see who these people were and what they wanted. But there was no one, only the fire and a tent. But suddenly I heard a snap. A young man had appeared from the far side of the tent with an arm full of branches, which he tossed gently onto the pile beside the fire. He knelt down, picked up a stick, and stir the glowing embers until they flared to life. Sparks leapt into the air, chasing the shadows back for just a moment. The light grew stronger, small but steady. and that's when he looked up in my direction. I quickly hid behind a tree.

I held my breath hoping he hadn't seen me, but I could hear him getting up. I tensed myself. Was he coming for me? Why? What did he want? I heard the crunch of the leaves under footsteps, each one getting closer,

slow, deliberate, unafraid. Every part of me, main still as my mind began to race. I still had the element of surprise. I could attack. I could run. But at that moment, all I could think of was, what would my mother do? I'd seen this pattern before. Men always moved first. My mother never chased. She let them come to her. She was able to lure them, control them with nothing but glances and a smile. That was a power I never needed to use until this very moment. But it was a power I possessed, nonetheless.

I composed myself as best as I could and waited. This was how the game was played. This was how you trap men. But then the footsteps stopped. At first, there was only the crackle of the, the distant fire cutting through the silence of the night. I thought that maybe he hadn't seen me after all, but then he called out, asking who's there. I remained silent and hidden, but curiosity was beginning to outweigh my caution, so I dared a brief glance from behind the tree.

He stood just short of the fire's light and called out again, but more gently. I didn't understand. If he knew I was there, why didn't he just come to me? He didn't move. He just waited there. I didn't understand. That wasn't part of the pattern. Men didn't wait. They advanced, they chased, they took.

So why was he standing there, acting so calm and patient? I didn't know what game he was playing. But it certainly wasn't the one I knew how to play. Then again, I can't. I can say I knew for certain how to play my mother's game either. What would she do in this case? I don't know how long we stood there, but my heart was beating rapidly the whole time. My body started cramping from being frozen in place for so long.

I couldn't wait any longer. With a deep exhale, I emerged and stepped into the light. That is when we locked eyes for the very first time. It wasn't love at first sight like it had been for my mother. Honestly, I didn't know what I was feeling at that moment, but I felt the warmth about him. Or perhaps that was the fire. I kept my guard up.

I flinched when he took a step toward me. So he stayed his distance, but said I was welcome to join him. He spoke to me in a calm, relaxing voice. He then turned and sat back down at the fire, giving me one last look over his shoulder. It could have been so easy to attack him and run at that moment, but my curiosity was piqued. I wasn't used to this kind of treatment from a strange man. I took one step after another, until I stood over him. He looked up at me. His

eyes reflected the fire's light. It felt too late to turn back, so I sat down next to him. That's when he told me his name. We talked throughout the night. It was comfortable. A feeling I'm not used to. He had no family either. His father was abusive to him and his mother. But once he was old enough to defend himself,

he threw his father out of their home. Sadly, his father came back later that night in a drunken rage and burn the house down. Miguel had escaped with his mother. His father, in an act of karma, died in the fire he started. But his poor mother had breathed too much smoke and died there in his arms.

I thought of my own mother in that moment and wondered if things could have been different for us if I'd been that brave for her. I lowered my head and tucked my knees into my chest. Miguel, thinking I was cold, grabbed a nearby blanket and threw it over my shoulders. He immediately recoiled and held his hand, wincing in pain. Startled, I looked up. Suddenly, something brown and fuzzy skittered up his arm.

I quickly jumped up and caught it just as it reached his shoulder. I held the spider in my palms and glared at it. It trembled as if it. knew I was angry and stayed frozen in place. I was about to crush it when suddenly Miguel told me not to. I looked at him confused. He held out his palm. I gave him the spider and he knelt down, placing it on the ground.

I asked him why he was releasing it. He said it's not the spider's fault for being what it is. It's more afraid of us than we are of it. We shouldn't blame it for being scared. We should pity it. I was surprised by this. As he went into his tent to find ice for his hand, I pondered the meaning of his words.

I felt a warmth in a place I'd never felt before. And suddenly the void my father left, felt smaller. I knelt down at the spider. It cowered under my shadow as I had. leaned in close to whisper to it. Afraid? You should be. It's only due to his kindness that you're still alive.

I am usually less forgiving. I stood and left one final warning. Don't ever encroach upon my domain again. And then it skittered away. This Miguel was a different breed of man. different from any that I had ever known. He didn't fit any pattern. He wasn't one to run or chase.

He didn't need to be lowered or trapped. He was calm and compassionate. I was touched by his words. And at that moment, I made a decision. I was never the spontaneous type, but there was something about him, something I couldn't name, an unrelenting pull with the softness of silk and the tension of a wire before the snap. Was it love? I wasn't sure. I wouldn't have known what that felt like, but it overtook me.

It felt like instinct, like a ravenous hunger that needed to be satiated by him and only him. With nothing more to go on, I stepped into his. tent. Miguel looked up from where he was icing his hand. Unable to resist, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to pull him up for a kiss. He was surprised and hesitant, but as our kiss lingered, he relaxed and started to give in. Tossing the ice back into his cooler, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me towards him. The chill touch of his hand made me shudder. There were no more words to be exchanged,

not when the mood is that right. Our lips remaining locked, we laid ourselves down on his sleeping bag. He wanted to have me. And I wanted to have him, too. And that moment, nothing else mattered. No tragedy, no void, no loneliness. Nothing was on my mind except how good it felt having his body pressed against mine.

Time is a strange thing when you experience a change. It feels like an eternity when you're miserable, yet over in an instant when you feel happiness for the very first time. My time with Miguel never felt like enough. I don't know for certain how many nights we spent together. All I know is that eventually I had to tell him, something. We were pregnant. Despite how we felt about each other, I still had no idea what his reaction would be. So on that night, I made preparations for whatever may happen. We carried on our passionate

trist as usual. I felt it might calm my nerves. We both lay still for a while afterward, drifting in and out of a very euphoric sleep. As I was about to speak, I felt him shifting around next to me. Was he uncomfortable? Should I move? I felt my throat tightened as my worst fear crept into my mind. Was he leaving me? Just like my father left her?

I felt my heart leap into my throat. As much as I wanted to cry out to him, I waited. I wanted to watch and see what he did. So I lay there quietly, pretending to still be asleep. relief washed over me when he brushed my hair aside to kiss my forehead. He was just going to relieve himself. He stood up and stepped outside the tent. A few moments had passed.

Then I heard him yell. His foot had tripped the silky threads of my trap. His foot had become ensnared. He struggled to get loose, only for him to lose his footing. He tumbled and fell. There was no loud thought of his body hitting the ground, no grunts of pain or cursing. Only panicked gasps of confusion as Miguel dangled there, suspended in mid-air. I knew better than my mother.

I learned from her mistake. Even with love in my heart, I refused to be blinded by it like she was. So I made preparations. Miguel looked around. It was all around his camp. Just outside of the fire's ring of light, he had no chance of escaping even if he tried. He looked more closely at the material sticking to him.

It was silky, like the webs of a spider. I emerged from the tent. He looked at me, eyes wet, widening. I didn't blame him for being scared. I pitied him. He is what he is. And I am what I am. My face and body began to crack and peel. Pieces of dead skin fell onto the ground. I peeled off my scalp by the hair, revealing my bristly hide underneath. I opened my other eyes. First, the two on my forefew. head and the next two at the top of my head. And finally, the last two above my ears. I blinked all eight

of them and gave him a loving smile. I then whipped my head back and pop my jaw wide open to let my fangs drop from within my mouth. I shook out their bristles and gave a few hisses and clicks to loosen them up a bit. I lifted my arms above my head. The wet sound of flesh tearing and joints cracking echoed as two more arms burst from both sides of my rib cage. Two more out of both sides in my torso. Keeping all my arms concealed was quite uncomfortable. It felt so good to let them out and stretch. They glistened in the moonlight, long, slender, and elegant. They were my greatest tools

that wove beautiful, silky patterns in the webs I spun, and the traps I laid. I let the fibers release from within them and fell forward. I gently landed, using the tips of my legs to dig into the ground for support.

I lifted myself up and it unfurled the rest of my body. My joints bent and cracked as all my limbs expanded outward. I relaxed and shook them loose as my true shape took its form. My abdomen extended itself from behind my legs. I breathed a sigh of relief as the bristles on my back and limbs sprang outward, tearing off the remaining skin of that humanly husk.

My colors changed from tan to black as I felt my body harden. I looked down to see the familiar deep red hourglass. on my underbelly, and I smiled. I was myself again, but I was also more. Exposing all that I was to Miguel had awakened something in me. I didn't feel vulnerable like I thought I would. I felt powerful and beautiful, like my mother truly was. Miguel looked at me in terror.

He screamed, pleaded for release, and tried to break himself free to no avail. Did he really find me so ugly? Just as my father did my mother? I used to be afraid of that my whole life, of being seen, truly seen, and cast aside because of it. But as it was happening, I didn't feel pain or shame. I didn't feel anything close to what my mother must have felt. I just looked at him and felt pity, the same kind he showed that tiny spider trembling in his hand. He was afraid of what he didn't understand, and it wasn't his fault.

But it was never my fault either, or my mother's. It was then that I understood what my mother didn't. What had happened with my father was inevitable. We were different. Always have been, always will be. Miguel helped me realize that we will always be feared and misunderstood. And yes, even rejected. But we mustn't hate them for it.

We must pity them. They will never know the strength it takes to be what we are in a world that fears anything different. And that is why they would always be prey. Well, not always my prey. I touched the strands of silk holding Miguel in place and felt the vibrations of his struggles intensify. I pulled him towards me until he was directly beneath me and started to turn him over as he flailed. More strands of silk released from my spinnerets, tightly wrapping him, containing him as he struggled. I did it with care as a good lover's shot.

I left his head and shoulders exposed so that we could share one more tender kiss. His heart was beating so quickly. His pulse was elevated. I could feel his blood rushing through his veins as I brought him close. My bristles whisked together and hissed. My fangs clicked excitedly, already dripping with venom. I whispered to him, Thank you.

He could only let out one. one final horrific scream of sheer terror as I sank my fangs into his shoulder. Now they were screams of pain. A mist of blood sprayed into my mouth. He tasted as delicious as he did in bed, rich, wild, and electric. Every drop of him lit my nerves on fire. His screams, once sharp, were now music behind my eyes. I savored him. his flavor like he was the first real taste of food I'd had in years. My fangs pulsed with delight, my body shuddering with every twitch of his. More blood flowed from the wound and pulled into his web sack.

I applied pressure and felt the venom blow into him. His body spasmed as it course through his veins. He started frothing at the mouth with blood and foam. Any remaining cries for help or pleading turned into gargling screams. His body began to shake violently. Such ecstasy. Then the screams faded into idle breaths. I felt his pulse low and his body go limp.

The color drained from his face. I continued to embrace him close to my chest, cherishing this moment with him. His warmth had faded and his breath was faint. But he was alive. I pulled back and retracted my fangs. There was no motion as they exited his body. Blood dripped from them into my mouth, graciously allowing me to taste him one last time.

He no longer felt any pain. He no longer felt anything at all. His pale face blankly stare at me in a terrified expression. Only muffled gurgles could be made as he attempted to breathe. But it was no use. He had no control anymore. Rest, Miguel. Rest and be proud.

You have healed my wounds and more. Because of you, I am able to forgive my mother and my father. That is why you are the love of my life and the father of my children. I tied a strand of silk to his feet and began to climb. I brought him up to my home high up in the trees. The tree barks were laden with silk, and many dried up husks of my former meals dangled off the branches. I found the spot where I kept them.

our children the pulsating sack rested near a good number of wildlife I preserve just for them but tonight I brought them someone special here he is little ones the man who gave you life

be gentle with him and let his love nourish you I place Miguel comfortably near them, facing them so that he would be the first thing they see when they are born. His widened eyes trembled as he realized the truth. And its cost, as I saw them move within their eggs, I knew it wouldn't be long now.

I have given our children the gift that I never received. They will meet. their father. They will know what he looks like, what he smells like, what he tastes like. They will feast on every moment, and they will cherish that memory

for the rest of their lives. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepy pod. You can also follow us at Creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons share-a-like licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed

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