Creepy - Fearless

Episode Date: April 25, 2022

We're all afraid of something...***Written by: Alison Kaiser and narrated by Danielle Hewitt***Bonus Episode: "I logged into an online store for the first time. It still recommended I buy certain things "again"" written by JoeMorgue***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepy pastures 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 Fearless Written by Alison Kaiser

and narrated by Daniel Hewitt. I've heard the tale of the Witch of Elmwood many times. Over the course of the summer spent away at the Elmwood's girls camp, but I always remember it the way the older girl named Shona told it that first night, the way her mane of deep red curls brightened in the firelight. Stacks of rings glinted as she gestured her their hands. The rhythm of her voice clung to unexpected words, leaving me entranced and unsettled.

When the witch of Elmwood was hanged in 1642, her body disappeared from the galley in the dead of night. It is said she used her dark magic, to persuade the devil to bring her back to life. He agreed to resurrect her, and he would allow her to roam Elmwood Forest for all eternity. Under one condition, she had to fuel her new, eternal life.

With human fear. It is well known that she visits Elmwood Girls' Camp every night to extract fear from the breath of campers as they sleep. Most of the time, she can harvest fear from all of them, and awaken the next morning none the one. her, unaware she lurks about and hovers over them as they lie dreaming. Those are the peaceful nights.

She gets all she needs without causing anyone to stir. But if the witch comes upon a single camper, who harbors no fear in her heart, she will incite terror by waking one girl each night. If by the third night, the witch still cannot garner all the fear she needs, the most fearful girl must make up the difference. Some say the girl dies To allow the witch To extract the fear directly from her soul

Others say the witch Merely grows too famished And cannot control herself But the result is always the same The girl never wakes Tamera and her friends Always seem to quicken everyone's pulse enough To satisfy the witch's hunger

They were bullies And they found fault in everyone eventually There were times they'd even turn on each other But the year I turned 50, things got out of hand. That year, there was a new girl at camp. I spotted her right after check-in near the counselor's cabin. She was dressed unusually for a camper.

She wore hard-sold, laced-up boots in a long corset address. It was the type of outfit you might seen worn in the Victorian era. She was ahead of me, and Tamer and her clique were behind me as we all trudged up the hill toward the platform tents. The girl's only luggage, a satchel full of her. mason jars, clinked with every step. There were whispers behind me, and then Tamara and Rebecca started laughing hysterically at a joke Tamara had made about the girl's outfit. They were so loud and obvious. The girl picked up her pace. She was walking stiffly with her head down, and as I got near,

she turned away from me. I was sure she was hiding tears. I knew that once Tamara zeroed in on someone, they'd be ostracized like I was last summer. It was hard enough with Amanda still talking to me, but the girl didn't know anyone. I quicken my pace gradually, careful not to draw the attention of the girls behind. When we were out of earshot, I told her not to worry about Tamara and Rebecca. They made fun of everyone. It says more about them than it does about you, I told her. The girl kept walking.

She still wouldn't look at me. I just stared at the line of buttons on the back of her dress, willing her to turn. I asked her if she'd ever been camping before. He didn't answer me, not directly. She never said yes or no. I know everything about this forest. She said raising her head slowly. It was only after she finished speaking that she turned to look at me,

and I could see that she hadn't been crying at all. Her answer surprised me, but her expression left me dumbfounded. I had been expecting her to say no and to be upset. but she gave me this knowing, yet at the same time, pitying look, as if she were the one trying to show me the ropes at camp. Even if she ignored me completely, I might have known how to handle it. A long silence passed as we continued toward the tents. She started peeling off toward tent number eight, and I decided not to follow.

Instead, I told her I was staying in tent seven right across from her. if she needed anything, even just someone to talk to, she'd know where to find me. Something about the way she smiled at me before heading back to her tent left me feeling like I shouldn't have told her. I stepped into my tent feeling agitated, unsure of the exact emotion stirring in my chest. I threw my bag under the middle cotton unrolled my sleeping bag over the thin, lumpy, plastic-coated mattress. Amanda called for me to come out and join everyone at the mess hall, but I yelled back that I was still unpacking. I didn't feel like moving just yet.

I laid down and stared into the sea of cobwebs at the peak of the tents wooden frame. What was it about the new girl that made me so uneasy? A spider, suspended on a strand of silk, descended over my bunk. Its silhouette was unmistakable. A widow. I closed my eyes.

I'm saving everyone, I told myself, as I felt its spindly legs against my face. I forced myself to lie still. I itched to spack it away, check its back for the distinctive red mark, to make sure it wouldn't get away and bite someone. But I wanted to milk it for every rapid heartbeat I get out of it. I could feel it now. My pulse pounding in my throat.

I imagined her, the widow, tasting the salty sheen on my brow. Only then I was struck with the answer to my own question. the new girl wasn't afraid of Tamara. Amanda burst through the tent flap just then. She walked over muttering something about me always falling asleep everywhere. But when she got closer and looked at my face, she screamed. She started pacing a tight circle back and forth, arms flailing.

I could tell she was looking for something to smack it with. Thank God she couldn't find anything in a frazzled state. I sat up and put my hand out to calm her. I lifted my other hand to my face and placed it just beside where I felt the spider's legs tickling. Slowly, steadily, I moved my hand away from my face. As I moved the spider away from my eyes, it came into focus. It looked like two red triangles from that angle. My hand trembled, and I wondered if trembling would startle it, if it would startle Amanda. What if she did something stupid and whacked it? What if she whacked it not good enough to kill it just enough to get it

ready to defend itself. What then? I locked eyes with Amanda and gave her arm a quick squeeze where I was still holding it. I shook my head as if to say, don't worry about this. Don't you move. And I flicked my hand as hard as I could toward the ground. Amanda screamed and jumped back as I searched the floor. I spotted it and tracked it as it moved along the floorboards. When I was sure I'd centered myself over it, I brought my boot down over it. I heard it snap. but when I scraped my boot over the plank, there was nothing there. On our way out of the tent, Amanda spotted an open mason jar and pointed at it. Her eyes narrowed with accusation.

I knew she'd seen the new girl with her satchel, but I insisted that we shouldn't draw conclusions. I reminded her that Tamara had told everyone I stole her sweater after Rebecca told me it was hers and let me borrow it. I had the sweater, I said. When we told counsel Agnes, she said we were lying. When she insisted black widow spiders weren't native to the region, Amanda shot me a look as if that proved the new girl had brought the spider with her. To counselor Agnes, the look confirmed that we were up to something.

She accused Amanda and I of making the whole thing up just to get reassigned so we can bunk together. When we kept insisting, she conceded that there was room to reassign four of the five girls from tent seven. I told her I was fine. Reassign everyone except for me, I said, but to her. It was only proof I'd been lying. Who would ever willingly sleep in a tent with a venomous spider? In her mind, I was just being clever and trying to convince her that reassignment hadn't been my goal all along.

It was by chance I found out the new girl couldn't swim. I learned that fact before I even learned her name. I saw her on the way back from the mess hall after lunch. We're all going to the lake, I said. She was sitting on the wood plank steps of her deck tent, whittling a twig. She stared at me and kept whittling as if her hands were guided by someone else.

The intensity of her stare made me want to look away. That's when I felt my pulse quicken, but I kept our eyes locked. You want to join? I asked her. I've got an extra suit if you need one. I don't do water, she said.

Her eyes bore into mine and kept whittling. I wanted to see what she was doing with her hands, but I couldn't allow myself to look. away. I tried to keep my tone even, to be as calm and friendly as ever when I insisted again. I swear it looked like some fuse had lit within her and carried a spark to her eyes. Her pupils retracted and the irises around them seemed to swirl a lighter shade of blue. Her gaze didn't falter as she snapped the knife shut. The movement was sudden. It couldn't help but jump.

That's when I caught sight of the stick she'd been whittling. It was carved into the shape of a safe. snake. She said something to me as she tossed it into the puddle beside the path, but I couldn't focus on what she was saying. I was distracted, wondering why there was a puddle there when it hadn't rain the night before. Then I looked up because I could swear that I'd seen a drop of rain hit the puddle surface. But the sky was blue and cloudless. I looked back at the puddle. It was still undulating. Had it stopped? I was short. I was short. had. The skin on the back of my neck prickled as if a raindrop had landed there. When I ran my hand over it,

it was dry, and I could still feel the chill. Well, you lead the way then, she said. I was still in a daze, and I startled when she slapped me on the back and said, What? You're acting like you didn't just invite me. The walk down to the lake was awkward at best. I tried introducing the new girl to Amanda, and that was when you were a little. And that was one I realized that I hadn't learned her name. It wasn't just awkward because I hadn't remembered to ask. It turns out she has this weird, old-timey name, Beth Sheba, and she had a real chip on her shoulder about it.

She'd been walking ahead of us, and as soon as her own name left her mouth, she snapped her head around as if she expected to catch us giggling. Amanda tried to say something nice about it, but it felt like a reach. A few times I caught Amanda pleading with her eyes for me to end our little group hike. To take care of Bathsheba like I'd taken care of the spider. Sure, Bathsheba made me uncomfortable too. But could I just leave her flat now? Everyone would pick on her like they picked on me.

When we got to the lake, Bathsheba sat down on the man-made bench and announced again that she doesn't do water. The train of her dress was already crusted with muddy sand. I looked back at her a few times as we swam. Mostly she just stared at Tamara. But occasionally, I would see her hunched up. over looking down as she dragged a stick to the sand. Rebecca swam by and saw me watching Bathsheba. She told me she was drawing weird symbols and that I should keep away from her because she was

probably putting some sort of curse on everyone. I figured that Amanda had told her about the spider. Now every quirk this girl had was evidence that she was pure evil. I pursed my lips to ask what it was that made her so sure when a snake darted between us on the surface of the water. Rebecca shrieked. I reminded her that if it were going to start her. strike, it already would have. I could see that I was failing to reassure her. She was still terrified, but there was something about the way the corners of her mouth were drawn down. There was more to read there, but I couldn't place it, so I kept trying to reassure her. By the time I'd finished explaining that the snake wouldn't bother us since we weren't fish or tadpoles, I'd placed it. She told me I was

making excuses for Bathsheba. My mind started to race. I thought back to the carving, the way the water seemed to ripple again after it was still. Was that really what I'd seen? Had Amanda seen it too? Had she already told Rebecca? It wouldn't strike, I said. Not unless we bothered it. If she's a witch, who's out to get us, why summon something harmless?

I gave myself a break from treading and tried to float, but I couldn't keep calm enough. every time I'd pull in enough air to buoy me I would itch for another breath and another much too rapidly and I'd start to sink I felt lost out there alone on the water wondering what Bathsheba was up to wondering if I was doing the right thing

by trying to include her either way it seemed if I wanted to be safe that summer I knew I had to keep Bathsheba close the following morning at breakfast there was a lot of commotion. Everyone stared and whispered as the eyes darted back and forth between me and Vashiba. The usual clinking of forks on tin was absent. There was no laughter. The girls were pulling at their sleeves and biting their nails instead. Bathsheba didn't

seem to notice. Either that or she didn't seem to care. I watched her crunching happily away at her bacon. It made me suspicious that Rebecca was right, that Bathsheba had cast some sort of spell. And where was she last night? She popped the last strip into her mouth and licked the grease from her fingers. I offered to get her another plate, and she smiled. All eyes were on me as I walked back to the kitchen. We all took turns serving meals, and thankfully I recognized the girl standing over the line with a pair of tongs.

I asked her what was going on and why everyone looked so freaked out. She swiveled her head to make sure no one was with an earshot. She told me she shouldn't even be talking to me, that everyone thought that Bathsheba was a witch. and I was too because I hung out with her. Then she lowered her voice and she scooped up the second helping of bacon and told me that the witch of Elmwood had woken Rebecca in the night. The scuffed linoleum tiles seemed like they were shifting beneath me as I walked back to the table.

It was like my legs were wobbly from treading water all over again. Maybe Bathsheba was a witch. Had she drawn the witch of Elmwood near somehow, with her spells? Maybe Bathsheba wasn't a witch at all. Maybe she was just truly fearless. Either way, it wasn't Bathsheba who needed my protection. I laid the plate in front of her and she winked at me. She plucked up another strip and started crunching.

I tried to smile back, but I worried that it didn't quite reach my eyes. I swallowed a little too hard. I'd only just regained my social standing, after the sweater incident. And now, I was risking it all for Bathsheba. That day when I went swimming, I tried to get Rebecca's attention, but every time I got near, she darted away, kicking up huge arcs of water right beside my face. I swim up to Tamara, who looked disgusted and annoyed,

but wasn't willing to get her perm wet just to avoid me. I told her that I heard what happened to Rebecca and that I wanted to help. I was in good with Bishiba, and I was the only person they needed to keep her from hurting anyone, intentionally or unintentionally. She laughed and I felt like the water of the lake was rising around me. She didn't believe that anything Bathsheba was doing was unintentional, but I kept on arguing the point. I'll find out what she's afraid of,

and we'll use it to give her a good scare. Then we'll all be safe. Tamara rolled her eyes and sighed. Then she shot me a look that said, You get one chance, and if this doesn't work, safety won't be on the table for Bathsheba. And she swam away. I glanced at Bathsheba from the corner of my eye.

She had summoned the witch somehow, whether by a curse or lack of fear. And I had to think of something fast. After lights out, when Tamara snuck into my tent with her electric lantern, I had to tell her I had nothing, that I'd been spending all the time I could swimming in the lake to avoid Bathsheba. She doesn't know how to swim, does she? Tamara said. Her smile looked sinister with the beams of the lantern shining up from beneath her.

We know the witch of Elmwood is after her. us, and we don't know why. We know it has something to do with Bashiba. I say she's a witch, but you say you're not sure. She stared at me right between the eyes. I could tell she wasn't inviting me to speak. She just wanted to see me squirm through her attracted paws. What we need is a trial. Like in the olden days, they used to throw the woman suspected of witchcraft into the water. If they drowned, they were innocent. If they floated, it proved they were guilty and they were hanged. Don't worry. I won't let her drown if she's innocent.

But it might save you if we give her a little scare. It'll be up to you. She trusts you. We'll need you to lure her close to the water. Have her at the lake tomorrow morning by 11. After the lifeguard calls us out for lunch, they'll leave their posts. I'll have everyone go out onto the dock and we'll pretend we're seeing something in the water. think about something she'd like to see.

It's your job to get her out there, convince her to look. We'll take care of the rest. She said and she left. I never even agreed. It was like Tamara had decided for me. I was going to trick Bathsheba into almost drowning. I lay awake that night, staring into the canopy of the moldering deck tent, wondering,

what have I done? What if she floats? What if she's a witch and she knows that I conspired against her, betrayed her trust? What fate would be in store for me? And if she sank, could I really trust that everyone would pull her up in time? Would we be guilty of murder if we didn't? I wrung the edges of my sleeping bag till it grew damp in my clammy palms. That was the night, the witch of Elmwood came to visit me.

The tent was so dark, I couldn't see one caught. over to the girl next to me. But I could just make out a faint sliver of moonlight along the seam of the tent flap. It must have been the tapping that woke me, outside of the tent, like long nails drumming over the canvas. Then a few taps on the toggle of the zipper.

My heart started racing in my ears. My mouth went dry. The flap parted. At first, it was just an inch. Then two. Then three. The sound of the zipper peeling down was impossibly slow. Each tooth of it parting made a distinct sound,

separate from the last, and each one felt like it had been the only thing holding my guts in place. With each pop, my stomach came closer to spilling out of me. A dark shape crowded in the slit of light. When the tapping started again, I was sure it was a hand, a hand with long fingernails wrapping on the inside of the flap. It was a rustling, and then the sound of a zipper tearing to the floor.

The figure loomed, backlit in the silvery light of the moon. It's just one of the other girls, I told myself, and I tried to turn my head, to scan the other cots and see who might be missing. But I couldn't move. A hard-souled boot clapped against the planks of the deck. There was a creak, and then the boot clapped again. The figure loomed closer with each step. I tried to scream, but I could barely breathe, and I still couldn't move.

Then I felt weight pressing at the foot of my cot on either side of my ankles. Slowly, the weight shifted to one side. Then the other. And my whole body was flush with chills as I realized the figure was climbing on top of me. The flap of the tent blew open in the front. the breeze for just a moment. And I could see her face. It was covered in boils. It looked bluish and pale in the dim light, like something dead. All around her face, what I thought had been a hood or a robe, was now revealed to be a mat of tangled hair. There was a strange smell to her, like camphor and

swamp mud. The more I tried to hold my breath, the faster it came, and all the while she was crawling over me, up my body. She sat on my chest. I struggled to breathe as she threw her head back and laughed. I could smell her sulfurous breath. That's when she started to strangle me. Her hands were ice cold against the blood pooling in my face. My vision started to go dark. It was looking down a tunnel. Then suddenly, I could move and she was gone. I sat up in my cot gasping for breath. It was dark in the tent. The zipper on the flap was zipped as if it had never been opened. I couldn't sleep after that. I just kept wondering how I could have been more afraid than Rebecca was. If she'd gone through a visit like that, the night before, it didn't seem possible.

Had she experienced what I'd just been through, or did it get worse night after night? The only thing I was certain of was if something didn't change, someone would be dead by the following morning. At breakfast, spirits were high again. Melodious banter filled the room, along with the merry clinking of cutlery on tin. Everyone else's lightheartedness only served to underscore the weight of my own fear. Bathsheba didn't seem herself either. She was quiet and wasn't eating.

I grew more paranoid as more time passed, and Beth Sheba didn't say anything. Did she know we were up to something? Did she suspect that I was in on it? Some groups at the tables along the wall started sending their hoppers up for second helpings. I wondered how much time she was going to let pass without confronting me. Maybe she didn't know. I was still mustering up the nerve to speak to her when she finally started talking. She told me she had lost the heirloom brooch that she wore on a collar of her dress.

She explained to me that it was a talisman that she'd. used to ward off evil. That got me thinking that maybe she was a witch. Like a spell? I asked. She shrugged. I guess, sort of like that. I studied her face. If she were really a witch, wouldn't she be trying to deny any involvement with a spell? To me, she just looked sad, like a girl with only one friend who'd lost something that meant a lot to her. I felt bad for the part I'd played in plotting against her. She may be be odd, but she wasn't a witch. And I couldn't believe that she was deliberately out to do harm to anyone. Maybe I was reading too much into one expression. Maybe I was just having second

thoughts on going through with the plan and already looking for a way out. But I couldn't help but ask. Can a talisman protect you from fear? She looked me directly in the eye and told me a talisman can protect you from anything. I tried to hide my relief. It was the talisman that had been keeping her from feeling afraid. Without it, it would be just as frightened as everyone else. The witch wouldn't wake anyone. And we didn't have to throw Bathsheba in the lake.

I was convinced we'd be okay as long as she didn't find that talisman. But I worried about convincing Tamara. I put my arm around Bathsheba to comfort her. It was hard to reassure her with my own stomach fluttering and sinking. I hoped she couldn't see how jittery I was. I pulled my arm away and tried talking. to her instead. I reasoned that would help us both feel better. I asked her what the talisman

looked like and where she'd last remembered seeing it. She said it was a small silver button embossed with a pattern of vines and she'd last seen it that morning on the way to mess hall. Some of the girls had already cleared their tables and exited the dining area. I had to make sure that I talked to Tamara before everyone headed down to the lake. I told her we should split up and look for it. We'd cover more ground that way. Basheba hugged me and thanked me for being such a good. good friend. My face burned with shame. I looked away and said she didn't have to thank me, not until we found the talisman. Of course, the real plan was not to find it at all. But I scanned the field outside the mess hall in search of Tamara. A small reflection in the grass caught my eye.

I glanced behind me to make sure Bathsheba wasn't watching, and when I was sure she was still inside cleaning up our trays, I bent down to scoop it up. It was the button. It looked just how she'd described it. I slipped it in my pocket and pretended to keep scanning the ground as I headed back to the tents. I finally caught up with Tamara in her tent. She was sliding the hot pink strap of her bikini into place. She barely looked up when I burst through the flap. She was too busy slathering herself with oil. I didn't have time to catch my breath or wait for her to look at me. We don't need to do it, I said. She has this talisman, a little silver button with vines on it. But now it's gone. She lost it.

She's not a witch. It was the talisman. It was protecting her from feeling any fear. Now that it's gone, we're safe. We don't need to throw her in the water. We don't need to risk it. I mean, what if she were to really drown? Tamara still didn't look at me.

She finished rubbing oil on her arms and smeared a dab on her ankles. She asked me more about the button as she worked the oil up her legs. I didn't want to tell her that I had it. If she knew I did, she'd want it for herself. I couldn't trust she'd give it back to Bathsheba at the end of camp like I wanted to. Tamara thanked me for the information and dismissed me with a snooty wave of her hand. Despite finding the brooch and catching up with Tamara in time, I walked down the path to my own tent, feeling as unsettled as I had that morning.

Why didn't Tamara seem as relieved as I was? Had she or one of the cronies seen me slip it in my pocket? My heart raced. I reminded myself that I was the one who had the talisman. I was the only one who was guaranteed protection, but it was little comfort to me. As I clutched the button in my pocket, I felt anything but fearless.

I changed into my suit but put my shorts on over it so I could keep the button near. I should have skipped the lake altogether that day, convinced Beth Sheba to go hiking instead. But I didn't want to raise suspicions. I didn't want her to ever find out about the plot for a trial or that I had a part in it. I've got to keep the routine the same, I told myself, or she'll notice something's not right.

When we arrived at the beach, I started to panic. I couldn't take my shorts off and leave them on the beach with Bathsheba. Even if she didn't go through my stuff, I'd be worried she'd come across the button accidentally. Suppose she picked the shorts up and felt it through the fabric, or what if it fell out somehow when she was handing them back to me? I'd been so afraid Tamara would find the button that I hadn't wanted to risk leaving it behind. but Tamera and all her friends were at the lake despite what I told her. Rebecca started heading toward the dock and I froze.

My breath caught in my throat and it was hard to swallow. Bathsheba asked me what was wrong. Wasn't I going in the water? I was trying to think of an excuse, but I couldn't even speak. All I could do was watch Rebecca walking toward the end of the dock. Tamara was getting up from her towel in the sand. She made a show of winking to the lifeguards on her way to the dock. I couldn't let Bathsheba fall into their trap.

I couldn't lie to her anymore. Just as I was about to tell her everything, there was a splash, followed by a fit of laughter. Rebecca had dived into the water, and now the girls were taking turns running up the dock and diving as well. I convinced myself that everything was fine. They weren't going to gang up on Bathsheba. Why would they? As far as they knew, the talisman was missing. No one was in danger.

All I had to do was keep it from Bathsheba until the end of camp and everyone would be safe. I told Beth Shiba I didn't really want to swim. I couldn't enjoy myself when she was so upset. I suggested staying on the shore to help her comb the beach for the button. She argued with me, reminding me she hadn't lost it on the beach. A cool silence followed. That was when the lifeguards called everyone out of the water. The girls started wrapping their hair and towels and packing up their beach bags,

and the lifeguards went back to the boathouse to punch their time cards. Tamara made her move as soon as they were out of sight. She strutted toward Bathsheba and dipped her hand into the pocket of her cut-off shorts. She bawled her hands as if she'd scooped a small object into it. I found this little silver button with vines on it, she said. It's old and musty looking. It seems like something you might wear. Is it yours?

I patted the front of my own shorts to make sure the button was still in there, and it was. I knew she was bluffing. I tried to keep Bathsheba from going. after her. I grasped her arm and clung to it. But I fell back into the sand as she left at Tamara. She snatched at Tamara's hand, but Tamara turned and started running toward the dock. Bathsheba ran after her, then Rebecca started running after both of them. I shouted, Bathsheba! She's lying! Don't listen to her! It's a trick! But she ignored me. So I started running after them. Tamara was nearing the edge of the dock,

and Bathsheba was already making her way over the splintering board. Rebecca was closing in on her. If I couldn't stop her somehow, she'd be sure to push Bathsheba over, and I couldn't let that happen. To hell if Beth Sheba knew I lied to her, that I plotted against her. I had done these things, and it was time to admit it. Maybe once I came clean about it, we could actually be friends. She was the only girl at camp besides Amanda who'd ever been completely nice to me. I couldn't let Tamara and her mean girl squad try to drown her for just being different.

Beth Sheba! I yelled. I have it. I found it and I kept it from you. This is a setup. I was in on it. I'm sorry. I want to make it up to you. Please come back. Bathsheba stopped near the middle of the dock and turned to me with tears in her eyes. Rebecca had stopped running and stood there downfounded at the foot of the dock. I walked right past her with my arm outstretched, offering Bathsheba the silver button in my palm. I heard Rebecca start running again behind me. As she neared me, I turned. And that was when Tamara made her move. She came up behind Bathsheba while I was distracted and pushed her over the side of the dock.

There was a huge splash and Rebecca slapped the button from my hand. The surface of the water rippled above where Beth Sheba had fallen. I had to keep track of where she was. I heard the button rolling, rolling down the plank, but I couldn't turn my head. I couldn't go after it. I had to save Bathsheba. Tamara caught my wrist just as I bent my knees to dive. She stared at me.

thrill-lust widening her eyes. By the time I managed to break free and rescue Bathsheba, she wasn't breathing. I'd rolled her onto her side to try to get the water out, like I'd seen people do on TV. I screamed for help and the lifeguards came running. My hands were shaking so bad I don't think I could have been able to do CPR on her, even if I knew how.

She looked so small and frail. I couldn't even watch them pumping and pumping away, as hard as they could into her chest. When I heard her cough, I was so relieved. She's going to be fine, I thought. But when she smiled at me, I no longer felt sure. How could she possibly remember everything that just happened and still be happy to see me?

That night at dinner, Councillor Agnes announced that Beth Sheba was going to make a full recovery, but that she was being kept overnight at the hospital for observation. Everyone seemed relieved despite how quickly they'd acted like they hated her. but their buzzy energy fizzled quickly when councillor agnes informed them that in the morning she'd be questioning each of us individually about what happened all the other girls in my tent stayed up late into the night whispering back and forth about whether they should try to lie to cover up for tamara they didn't bother asking me they already knew i planned to tell the truth it's not that i didn't think i'd be in trouble for my part in it it was more like i wanted to get in trouble i wanted to pay my penance i wanted to ask bath Shiba's forgiveness and move on. Even if she didn't forgive me, at least I knew I had the courage to face up to what I'd done. Maybe it was easy for me to be brave, knowing that the button was gone and Bathsheba was gone. The Witch of Elmwood felt far away that night as I drifted off listening to

their hush debate. I woke up to the sound of a siren. I peeked out the tent flap and saw an ambulance pulling right up to the other tent. Every adult in the whole camp seemed to be gathered there keeping all the girls away. None of them would answer any questions. They just kept telling everyone to go back to their tents. But there were so many more of us. They couldn't protect us from finding out the truth. Tamara's face was frozen in a scream. Rebecca had seen it when she tried to wake her. She said she could still feel Tamara's skin on hers all cold and rubbery and gray. She said she was sure it would give her nightmares. And then she started asking everyone if they knew what happened on the fourth night. She gets her fill on the third night, right? So the

witch wouldn't need to come back for a while after that, right? All morning, I wondered how it could have happened. With Bathsheba gone and the talisman gone, why had the witch of Elmwood still come and taken one of us in our sleep? And why take Tamara, the meanest and most popular of us all? After breakfast, I answered Councillor Agnes' questions about the day before, and she gave me special permission to go with one of the lifeguards that evening to visit Beth Sheba at the hospital. She wasn't brain damaged like I feared. She told me I was a jerk for not giving her back her talisman when I found it, and for helping a dumb bimbo like Tamara in the first place. I got really quiet when she mentioned Tamara, but it was like Bathsheba already knew. It was like she'd known everything

all along. You stood up to Tamara, and you told me the truth even though you knew that everyone would hate you for it. You took that chance to save my life. She said, You're fearless. And I had to believe that she was right, but I didn't respond. I just cleared my throat and placed her satchel on the bed tray. My specimens, she said, pulling them out with relish and surveying their contents. And each was a different type of spider.

I hadn't peeked in her bag, but my eyes must have widened as the contents were revealed. Well, they're my dad's specimens. she added sheepishly. He's an arachnologist. He swears up and down there's black widows and elmwood forest preserve. He promised to cite me in his research if I could find one. This is all I managed to get. She shrugged.

Not bad. I guess considering all I did was leave a jar outside each tent the first night. I wanted to visit anyway. I've known everything about the place for so long. But I wanted to see the place. the natural springs for myself. I locked out and found one right by my tent. You must have seen it too, remember? Pretty nerdy, huh? I was so relieved and so embarrassed that even now, somewhere in the back of my mind suspicion had lingered. All I could do was laugh, and when she laughed with me.

I knew that we could both finally trust each other. Counselor Agnes called everyone's parents to come get them the following day, and they never did reopen the camp after that. No adult would ever admit that it had anything to do with the Witch of Elmwood. They all cite the lack of supervision that led to the near drowning. But I saw Councillor Agnes' face when she questioned me. I told her everything straightforward and I didn't flinch. The statement she'd taken from me rattled in her hand, as she held it out for me to sign.

When I asked her why everyone else got to stay another day, she didn't answer. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents I logged into an online store for the first time It's still recommended I buy certain things again Written by Joe Morg I'm not proud of this

But I got myself into some pretty hardcore financial trouble several years back I'm not gonna give you all the bog standard bullshit excuses I was young and stupid Racked up debts I shouldn't have by buying stuff I don't need. Then by pure dumb luck I hadn't prepared for, I found myself out of a job. I was out of work for almost three months, which ate through a little savings I had, and the job I finally got paid much less than my previous one, barely enough to cover rent in a shoebox-sized studio apartment and gas for my junker car. Long story short, I defaulted

on a bunch of debt, my credit score tanked, and I barely stayed out of bankruptcy. The next few years, things were pretty tight to say the least. But I stuck through it. Eventually, the job gave me a small raise, and I was able to start working my way out of the hole. After a year or two, I was almost, almost back to normal. I had either paid off or at least made payment plan arrangements with my creditors. My credit scored inchback to the only mostly horrible instead of completely horrible.

Things weren't great. they weren't even good, but they were at least okay again. One day, would have been late November or early December, if I remember correctly, my aging laptop finally gave up the ghost. Luckily, by this point, having to buy a cheap computer was simply a major annoyance, not the financial disaster would have been not too long ago. But I still didn't have a lot of money to throw at it. I went online on my phone and checked out to check out

usual places for a cheap Chromebook or refurbished budget laptop. My needs were simple, just something to send emails and watch YouTube and do online banking on. But like most people, I am picky about a few things and was having trouble finding a laptop to check off all my boxes in my price range. In afternoon of Googling, I found several reviews for an old Lenovo model a generation or too old that seemed like it would work, and it was going for cheap. but it sold out on all the usual places outside of a couple of sketchy eBay listings. I googled the model number for the laptop,

and after scrolling through the first few sites that either smelled of scams or were just advertising front-ends back to sites I had already checked, I found a respectable looking site selling a model for a reasonable price. The shipping was free, and the site, although I'd never heard of it, looked professional and had the standard Better Business Bureau and visa-verified approvals. I mentally shrugged and figured what the heck. I created myself an account for the website and added the laptop to my cart. Here's when the first weird thing happened,

although at the time it was so minor I didn't really register it. The website did that thing where it recommended me some products and asked if I wanted to add them to my cart. What was weird looking back was that the website specifically said, based on your previous purchases, we think you might like these items, despite the fact that I'd never purchased anything from them. The weirder thing was what the recommended items were. A crowbar and a ski mask. It was almost comical.

A burglary starter kit. I half chuckled, half groaned. Some business startup's idea of a joke, I figured. I clicked, no thank you. Just take me to my cart. This took me to another screen, again suggesting the crowbar and ski mask. Okay, I thought. The joke wasn't that funny the first time.

I checked no again, and this time was taken to a normal checkout screen. I entered my shipping and payment info, completed my purchase, and closed out the website. Three days later, I received a laptop and was delighted that it was exactly what I ordered. About a week after that, I got an email from the website's customer service, a standard auto-generated message with a request that I leave review for the product I purchased. Fair enough, I thought. I made a mental note to, if I had time that evening, type out a quick review. With that, I went to work.

The website totally forgotten. That was until I got back home and checked my email. A new email was in my inbox. It was from the website. Thank you for the review, read the subject line. That was odd, I thought. I opened the email, and sure enough, embedded in it, was a review for the laptop with my account name.

I read the review, and that's when everything really started to move from confusing to creepy. I didn't remember writing the review, but it looked like my writing. It read like the kind of thing I would write, the tone, the vocabulary. It just, well, felt like something I would write. It even mentioned the features I was picky about the cosmic, me to pick this laptop. I sat down and read the review over and over. Had I written it? Had I had some sort of episode? Had it blacked out? Sleep reviewing sounded so absurd, but it made more sense than someone hacking my account and perfectly replicating my writing style just to leave a review

on a budget out-of-production laptop. Before I left for work, I noticed something else. On my review page on the website was a section called, please consider reviewing your other purchases as well. And there was listed the crowbar and ski mask. When I got home from work that evening, I sat down at my desk and decided to drop a quick line to the site's customer service department. Surely I convinced myself during the day that this was some kind of weird mix-up. Someone else's review wound up under my account. I mean, things like that could happen.

I logged into the websites and opened out my account page, looking for a contact to slink or something. It took me a minute to notice it. The review was still there, but it was different. There was a picture attached to it now. It showed the laptop, on my desk. The desk I was sitting at now. The exact desk, there was no question. There, in the picture, on the desk surface, just next to the laptop,

was the exact same black streak I'd accidentally made with a Sharpie months ago. Worst of all, on the screen on the laptop in the review page, was the website's review submission page, open to the written but not yet submitted review that I never wrote. I realized I was breathing fast and looking around my apartment. I took several deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down. The review I could have talked myself into thinking was innocent. But this?

Not this. I pulled out my phone. For some reason, I didn't want to use the laptop. I found the customer service page for the website and wrote out a half-angry, half-rambling email. I didn't directly accuse him of anything. It sounded too crazy every time I tried to describe exactly what happened. But I told them there was suspicious activity on my account.

It looked like someone else was leaving reviews on my account somehow. and asked them to look into it. Within minutes, I got a generic automatic response with a boilerplate. We have received your request and are looking into it. A representative will contact you soon, blah, blah, blah, message. I double-checked the doors and windows, pulled down all the blinds and went to bed. Sleep didn't come easy, but finally, it did come. The next morning I forced myself to have a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal before checking my email.

No response from the customer. customer service account. But my stomach sank when I saw two more emails in my inbox with the subject lines, thank you for your reviews. I didn't even open the emails. I went to the website and opened my account page. Now I had three reviews under my account, the laptop, and now the crowbar and the ski mask. Great for prying open doors and windows, five stars. Someone had written for the crowbar under my account. Keeps your identity secret. Must have for prowlers and burglars, read the review under the ski mask. Anger joined the fear and confusion.

Not only was someone somehow faking reviews and somehow taking product review pictures inside my apartment, they were basically all but bragging about committing crimes while pretending to be me. I spent several minutes trying to find a cancel account option for the website with no luck. I sent another email to the customer service account demanding someone contact me as quickly as possible. Work went slow that day. I couldn't concentrate. I fought that temptation to pull out my phone and check my personal email or the website.

When I got home, I went right to my computer. Still no response from the customer service, but I didn't care about that at the moment. There was now a picture added to the review for both the crowbar and ski mask. The crowbar review now included a fuzzy out-of-focused picture of the crowbar with the bent and wedged under the bottom of a window, ready to force it open. Through the window, even blurrier but still recognizable, was a family sitting at dinner. That was bad.

The picture that been added to the ski mask review was worse. Way worse. It was a selfie. Someone holding a crowbar up to a window wearing a ski mask. It was me. I mean, I know how that sounds. They were wearing a ski mask, but it was me. The eyes, the mouth, the shape of the head and neck.

I even recognized the shirt. But I had never done that. I didn't even own a ski mask or a crowbar, regardless of what the website said. I hadn't been anywhere but work in my apartment. I hadn't been skulking around any bushes outside of homes, crowbar in hand, wearing a ski mask, and I was scared. I was furious, was confused. I emailed the customer service again, no longer really expecting an answer, but having to do something. I demanded they cancel my account and delete my info and no longer do business with me. That night I didn't sleep at all.

I sat in bed refreshing with my email and my account page on the website over and over. Around four in the morning another product suddenly showed up under my, please, consider purchasing again section. It was a knife. A hunting knife. I felt sick. I didn't even go into work that day. I called in and mumbled some excuse about not feeling while then went right back to refreshing the website.

About 10 in the morning, my review of the knife appeared. Cuts flash like no other, great knife, my account proclaimed. By four in the afternoon, a picture of the knife stuck into the side of a tree in a deeply wooded area had been added on to the review. In the background of the picture, several yards away, blurry enough, but not fully recognizable, was something that I told myself was certainly, absolutely, without a doubt, a pile of rags. I wasn't fooling myself. I turned my apartment inside out, looking for the crowbar or the ski mask or the

knife. I know it sounds crazy, but if I found one or all of them, I could have convinced myself that I was having episodes. Hell, if I tell myself I was just going crazy, that would have been better. I didn't find any of them. I emailed the website again. I didn't know what else to do. I threatened them, told them I'd sue them for everything they were worth. I felt hollow even as I sent it. Not five minutes after I sent the email, but before I even got the automated receipts, response yet. Another product popped up in my recently purchased section on the website. I went numb. There were two items in my last order. A hundred combed bottle of doxolamine succinate sleeping pills in the book, The Complete Guide to Suicide Prevention, more than the other items,

this felt like a threat. Suddenly in my head, a frighteningly real image popped in of the inevitable review picture of my dead body next to an open, empty bottle. of sleeping pills. I gave up. I wish I could tell you more. I just never went back to the website. I never got another order from them. I sent my email to automatically delete any email

from customer service or order tracking emails. I called my bank and told them I lost the debit card I used for the order and requested a new number. I don't know if more reviews were ever posted under my account or if any items were suggested after all that. I never tried to intentionally find the site again, but I never saw an ad or sales flyer or a mention of it after that. I still have the laptop.

That's what I typed this up on. No other website ever did anything weird on it. But I don't spend time on the computer like I used to. I do what I need to and get off. I especially don't do much online shopping anymore. I like paying cash and doing it in person. I don't even watch Netflix anymore. I don't want to be asked to review anything.

I'm afraid of what will happen if I do, or if I don't. 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 common share-a-like 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.