Creepy - Forgotten Item & Son of Nobody

Episode Date: January 30, 2025

Forgotten Item ***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***Son of Nobody ***Written by: Joshua Bryant and Narrated by: Owen McCuen***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***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. Forgotten item.

Written by known of consequence. And narrated by J.V. Hemp and Van Sant. It happens to everyone at some point or another. Some more often than most. I've taken a lot of precautions every time I plan a trip, but sometimes it still happens. I forget. something. If I'm lucky, it's something I can do without, but it still annoys me when it happens.

When I was younger, I used to forget something pretty much every trip we ever took. Considering I was a boy scout and a member of a troop that was very active, it happened a lot. My parents started making checklists for a packing guide. As I grew older, they started leaving it to me to make my own checklist, but really, I just reused the ones they'd given to me in the past. For those camping trips I did want to miss out on, I would accidentally forget to pack my allergy medication. I'm ridiculously allergic to a number of things regularly found outdoors, so not having my medication was a serious thing. By the time I reached my teens,

I recognized that there were certain trips that I really cared about. For instance, when I joined the venture crew and we planned a skiing trip in Colorado, I did everything I could to make sure I didn't forget anything. Venture crew was co-ed, and this was back when the scouts were broken up by gender,

so going on a trip with a mixed group was a big deal. I created several lists, packed and repacked three times, to make sure I had everything I would need. I did not want to be the person that left something critical behind in the face of the opposite sex and seemed like an absent-minded idiot. That level of embarrassment would have meant death in the eyes of the hormonal teenagers, and since we were going to a ski resort, an accident wouldn't have been hard to arrange. As luck would have it, I managed to not forget anything that

trip. So I got to keep my head. This was very important because there was a girl on the trip that I desperately wanted to get to know better. Her name was Laura, and she was the most beautiful girl I'd had occasion to interact with. This had been during my rebellious stage, and one of the things I did to rebel was occasionally smoke cigarettes. I'd worked so damn hard to make sure I packed everything, but when it came time for me to sneak off our first night at the resort to have a smoke, I realized I'd forgotten my lighter. It's always got to be something, I muttered to myself, with a sig hanging from my lips. That's when Laura came out of nowhere and offered me her lighter as she took out a

SIG from her own pack. That trip was magical for a lot of reasons, and only partly because I managed not to break my leg. I sucked at skiing. Laura and I saw each other off and on after that trip, since we went to different high schools, up until we went to college. We didn't split up, but got more serious, made possible by going to the same college. We helped each other pack, and that's when she discovered my uncanny ability to be rigorously organized with packing lists, and yet still somehow managed to forget something.

College was a lot of fun, especially our second year, when Laura and I decided to get an apartment off campus. It was a lot of work with both of us being full-time students, and we were. and working jobs to pay rent, but it was well worth it. I may seem like I'm painting a picture of domestic bliss, and sometimes it was, but we had our problems. We would argue and get pissed at each other, and aside from a couple times, it was typically over little stuff. The one that nearly ended us was a camping,

trip we'd taken in the fall. We went off to the mountains for some alone time. Of course, this included sex, but you wouldn't know it. Guess who forgot to bring the condoms. I'd run down to the closest gas station to get some, which was 30 miles away, but they didn't have any. What was supposed to be a romantic getaway was fraught with sex. sexual tension and irritation.

Eventually, we gave in and had sex, but it was several weeks later that the near-relationship-ending fight happened. Pregnancy scares are no laughing matter, especially for a couple college students working their asses off. After the initial fights where she blamed me for forgetting the condoms, and I didn't have anything to come back with, I spent a few nights in a motel. It was at her request, otherwise I wouldn't have gone.

When we eventually got together, I didn't do something so stupid as to propose, but I did tell her that I wasn't going to abandon her and that we'd deal with this together. Apparently, I'd said what she needed to hear. When it became clear that Laura wasn't pregnant, we were both relieved and a little sad. I think that's what got us to seriously start planning our future together,

which was about 14 years ago. Now, here we are, with our house in the suburbs, both with flourishing careers, a six-year-old daughter and a five-year-old son. Lisa and Kevin are a delight, and they love camping. With our scout and venture crew background, we introduced the kids to camping when Kevin turned one. We wanted them to appreciate the outdoors early on, not only because Laura and I still loved camping, but because camping is a fun activity that doesn't cost a lot of money.

When the kids got older, we knew they were going to want to do more expensive vacations, like overly priced theme parks. We just wanted to make sure they could appreciate more cost-friendly outings, too. It's not like we were going to deny them the theme parks. Laura and I both love roller coasters. Right out of college, I landed a decent job with Pyramid and have worked my way up the ranks. The department heads got together a few months ago and designed a competition for the employees. without going into the details of what it entailed. I'll just say I managed to win.

The prize was a paid two-week vacation at an exclusive theme park and wildlife resort I'd never heard of. I tried to look the place up on the internet, but I couldn't find anything. My boss gave me a brochure to look at, but I was given strict instructions not to share it with anyone. It's not available to the general public, and the only way you can get in is if you are invited. It's the only vacation I've been on where I was forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

Getting to the resort was a new experience. We took a private jet to a remote airfield where we were then helicoptered into the resort. The really strange thing was all the windows on the plane and helicopter were blacked out so we couldn't see. As soon as we stepped foot off the plane, I began to get it. The view was absolutely breathtaking, and though I'd been to a lot of remote places, this place was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. For a theme park with several rides, you couldn't see any of it from the airstrip.

The staff took us on an open air shuttle to the hotel and checked us in. The whole time, I couldn't help that my jaw was dropped. The way the buildings blended in with the trees and vegetation was comparable to a chameleon's camouflage ability. We were in a valley surrounded by towering mountains, and I really hoped one of the many hiking trails I read about in the brochure took you up some of those. You weren't allowed to take pictures,

but I definitely wanted to see the view of the entire place for myself. I wondered if the buildings blended in well enough that I wouldn't be able to see them from up there. Looking back on it, that first week flew by in a heavenly way. There were very few visitors at the resort, and though I didn't count, I could have sworn there was at least three staff members per visitor. The layout was rather ordinary on the surface, which the last. threw me off because I saw no roller coasters or rides. Underneath the surface was another matter entirely. Quite literally, the entire amusement park was underground.

The roller coasters were built in the walls of the underground caverns and regularly popped out to tower over the open space. Everywhere you went was the aroma of popcorn, funnel, cakes, various meats on a stick, to include the coveted bacon on a stick. There were lots of child-friendly rides and even more adult ones. The best part was that there were virtually no lines. We were on our ninth day at the resort when we decided to go on a long hike with a picnic lunch to enjoy at the summit. The concierge's hook. The concierge's hook looked us up and the only thing he said in warning was to stay together at all times, which

just seemed like a smart idea no matter what. If there was one thing we were good at, it was keeping a close eye on our kids. The trek was several miles long and went up a few thousand feet in elevation, but it was a magnificent trail. The kids complained a little. but there was always something new to spot that they hadn't seen before. Strange-looking plants, reptiles, and small critters that came and went, birds that I wasn't at all familiar with. As experienced with the outdoors as I was, it took me a while to realize that I didn't recognize much of anything that I was seeing.

When we finally got to the summit and the overlooked point at the very top, we were dumbstruck. The view was absolutely stunning, and I really wish I'd snuck a camera in with us. As it was, we weren't even permitted to have our cell phones outside the hotel. We couldn't see a single building of the resort because they truly did blitzel. lend in. The picnic we brought was amazing, and the kids gobbled it up. Lisa had her ever-present stuffed rabbit, Roger, and even pretended to feed him. According to what she told us, even Roger liked the food, and Roger is even more of a

picky eater than Lisa. We stayed up there for about an hour before heading back to the resort, and I'd say it was about halfway when the unthinkable happened. Lisa, the one who takes after me more, realized she accidentally forgot Roger at the summit. Kevin was getting cranky from all the walking, and Lisa began to sob. It was obvious the children were tired and needed a nap,

so everyone turning around to go back was out of the question. I don't know why. but I decided to volunteer to go. Laura was grateful and said she'd thank me properly later after the kids went to bed. Did I mention the room we had was a suite and had multiple rooms? I turned around and started hiking back up the trail. This was far from the first time Lisa forgot Roger somewhere. It was only about one in the afternoon.

But either the cloud coverage got denser above me, or it was later in the day than I thought, because the trail seemed darker than when we first went up. I know I was getting tired at that point, but Roger was too important to Lisa, and finding a replacement wasn't an option. First off, even despite the five-star service at the resort, I highly doubted they'd be able to find an exact replacement for the wayward toll. Secondly, we tried that twice when we thought Roger was lost for good, and Lisa somehow knew the difference. Somehow the plant life looked more ominous and less friendly than it had when we went up the first time. I saw more odd creatures and furry friends than before, but these ones weren't cute and cuddly like before. They were much larger and hungry-looking. Oddly enough, the one that weirded me out the most was a roided-up rabbit-looking thing.

It was a beach ball-sized mass of muscled fur with large buck teeth and bloodshot eyes. It seemed to take me a lot longer to get to the overlook than it had when I was with my family, and I knew I was moving faster solo. If the kids had been a few years older, we would have all gone back up together, or at least Lisa would have been with me. Strange as it sounds, I would have felt better

even having a preteen with me at the time. It was when that thought creeped into my head that I remembered what the concierge had said about us sticking together. I was huffing and puffing by the time I finally made it back to the overlook. I'd practically started running up the trail toward the end because I was getting severely creeped out. I could literally feel several pairs of eyes on me,

and I was beginning to suspect there were larger things in that wilderness than that weird rabbit. Looking around for Roger, I recognized the area we had lunch at, but everything seemed different. It wasn't just the plants that seemed to have moved, but the rocks as well. The overlook was in the same general spot, but the rock I had leaned against with Kevin and my arms was on the wrong side of the wooden rail.

What was worse, I didn't see Roger anywhere. I know the damn toy wasn't stashed away in the pack we had with us because Laura and I both searched it. Neither of the kids had a bag with them, so the toy had to be up here somewhere. As I searched the surrounding area, doing my best to ignore the growing sense of doom that was creeping in through the back of my mind,

I found something unusual. Animal tracks by themselves are common in nature, but these tracks weren't from any animal I was for, familiar with. Not for the first time, I wondered where the hell was this resort located in the world. The footprint in the dirt was about half the size of my hand, with what looked like four digits at the front and two pointing backward. They kind of reminded me of raccoon prints, but with the size, they'd have to be bigger than the roided-up rabbit thing. I've never been much of a hunter or a violent person,

but at that moment, more than anything, I wanted a gun with a high ammo capacity. Those exotic bird noises we found so fascinating before sounded more threatening, like I was trespassing in various predators' territory, and the hunt was already on. I looked around for anything large enough to use as a club, and I found a decently thick stick,

but it was a little too long and had various smaller branches on it. The limb must have been knocked off recently because it was still moderately green, and breaking off the smaller branches was a lot harder than it looks in the movies. I'd only gotten off a few when some of the small. Something large rustled in the trees around me. Looking over toward the disturbance, I spotted something just before the foliage got too dense.

It was a dull gray with faded white on the belly, dark eyes that caught the light just right to shine, and ears long enough to tie around my daughter's neck. I'd finally found Roger, but this felt like a trap. and Lisa's coveted stuffed animal was the bait. Using the sorry excuse for a club, I reached over to try and get the stuffed animal caught in the branches. The moment one of them touched Roger,

the foliage around it came alive with activity and latched on to the branch. It became a tug of war as whatever was hiding in the plants grappled on, and started emitting this unnatural, base-heavy grumble. Try as I might, I was losing ground as the branch was being pulled in. Letting go with one hand lost me a lot of control, and my end of the branch started swinging back and forth. It made reaching down a lot more difficult, like one of those ridiculously difficult prize machines

that have taken the place of the classic. claw machine. I wasn't even good at the claw machines and didn't stand a chance at the newer ones, but by some miracle, I managed to reach down and grab Roger by the ears. The moment that soft toy was in my hand, I let go of the branch and stumbled backward. My feet got tripped up on something on the ground as I moved backward, and I fell, slamming the back of my head into the railing of the overlook. It took a few moments for me to get my wits about me again, and as I slowly got to my feet, I heard something new from the rustling plants. The base-heavy grumble was turning into an angry growl, and something began emerging from the foliage.

At first, it appeared to be massive, standing at five feet tall, but at least six feet wide. My eyes took far too long for me to comprehend what I was seeing. The creature that came out of the plants wasn't one massive monster, but a collection of smaller ones that came together to act as a single entity. They moved and flowed over each other on the outside, but the main part of the body was two identical larger creatures. The only thing I could truly focus on was their eyes. There were far too many on each of those faces,

and they caught the light just like Rogers. The glow it gave them revealed each being a different color, like they were salvaged from different people. I stood there too long, trying to figure out what this thing was, and it dawned on me why the eyes were all different. The smaller creatures flowing around these two weren't any more natural than this thing as a whole. They were smaller parts of other bodies, some of which were human. I distinctly spotted a few different-sized feet, a hand or two, several fingers,

and even some rogue ears. Some of the parts were definitely not human, and probably came from those smaller woodland creatures I spotted earlier. It had halved the distance by the time I realized it was getting closer, and I did the one thing you're not supposed to do when confronted by a wild predator. I knew from certain experiences that you're supposed to make yourself look as big as possible and make loud noises to try and scare it off. It works for bears, but somehow I didn't think it was going to work for this thing. I ran, like a scared little kid. Lisa's stuffed animal clushed

in my hands as I barely contained the girlish scream that wanted to bubble out of me. You know how running down the stairs is a lot easier than running up them, and you have have to keep hold of the railing in order to stabilize yourself? Well, running down a trail with several thousand feet in elevation is a lot like that just without the railing or the uniformity of stairs. I picked up too much speed and tried to slow myself down, but I took a tumble and rolled down a long way. I banged myself up pretty good, but somehow managed not to break anything, just some serious bruises and minor cuts. After nearly falling a second time, I looked behind me

and discovered something truly shocking. I wasn't being chased. It didn't take long for me to reach the bottom, and as soon as the concierge saw me, He was already calling for more staff to come over. They rushed me to their infirmary and got me taken care of. While that was happening, I asked the concierge to have Roger taken care of too. He'd gotten a little bloody and dirty on my way back. The staff took good care of both of us, and by the time I was back to my family, we both looked just fine.

It wasn't until Laura got me alone that night in the shower that she discovered how banged up I was. There was no way she'd believe what actually happened, so I told her everything, save for the creature. One thing was for sure. We wouldn't be splitting up on nature walks ever again, no matter where we were. Creepy Presents. Son of Nobody. Written by Joshua Bryant. and narrated by Owen McCune.

The smoke from her cigarette blew against my face. It was warm. I turned to look at her, and the smoke stung my eyes. I didn't blink. I don't think I ever loved her. When I had fallen asleep last night, the movie was on. When I woke up this morning, the power was off. The blinds clicked against the windowsill

as the breeze pulsed in and out. from the street below there were no car sounds only the occasional laugh were grown from the people down there people like her and i the people left behind i sat up and looked away from her surveying our room and all the garbage we'd let pile up over the years it was no wonder the pillars hadn't taken us they only took the best the pillars took that artist from across the hall took my brother the architect took her cousin the janitor, but they left us. I called them pillars, because that's what they looked like. Colossal pillars of black glass, multifaceted, coming to two opposing points of extreme sharpness. When they first came floating down out of the sky, the scientists and politicians had given them some utilitarian label, and the pillars hadn't taken a single one of them. So we still had a president, congressman, a Senate, and leagues of lab coats with arms and legs walking around,

reeling off a million reasons why what was happening was being contained. But I woke up this morning, and the power was off. I guess the pillars took the actual important people. She hadn't stirred, only lit another cigarette. Her arms and legs were bare, her feet the only thing. things beneath the covers. Her skin looked tinged with green. I don't think I'd ever even thought she was pretty. I walked across the stained carpet and felt all the crumbs beneath my feet. I went to the kitchen and left it after looking at all the unwashed dishes piled chin high in

the sink. I never looked at anything with such scrutiny before. It was suddenly galling. I sat on the couch and felt between the cushions. I found the bottle and pulled it out, looking at the amber liquid that swirled at the bottom. Now I heard the bed springs squeaking. I heard her patter across the floor. She sat down next to me and asked for some. I gave it to her without drinking any myself. Just like the pot, I'd grown bored with it. She drained what was left and tossed the bottle away. It tinkled across the floor and disappeared beneath the TV stand. I thought of food, but I wasn't hungry. I don't know what I was. I was thinking too much to know. A shadow fell across the room, deep and cold. I glanced at the window and saw a pillar drifting by.

The sides did not sheen. It made no sound. It was like a shard of a moonless midnight that had broken free from the sky. It moved lighter than air, moved like certain terror. After several minutes, it departed, and the pathetic sunlight came creeping back. She laid her head on my shoulder. After taking a whiff of her greasy hair, I stood and walked to the front door. She said nothing until I started turning the knob. Pick up Sigs. I'm all out. I didn't reply. I didn't shut the door. I knew that I wasn't coming back.

In the hall, it was almost pitch black. I heard some of the junkies murmuring. They lined the walls, slumping against one another, stoned, sleeping, or dead. It stanked so badly of shit and piss and vomit, they had to cover my nose and mouth. I stepped carefully over in between them, still barefoot, and feeling all the ambiagnet.

U.S. wetness puddled here and there. I made my way to the stairs and began descending. I didn't use the handrail. The idea of stumbling and crashing down the stairs appealed to me. It would be far more possible an end for me than suicide. But I made it to the lobby, and I wasn't really disappointed. I wondered how long it had been since I wanted anything enough to be disappointed. I stepped outside and the city was a ghost.

It did not tremble. It did not rattle a dying breath. It stood like a forest of shadow figures and there were no camera flashes to make them flee. The breeze welled up from the concrete and it was tepid. I looked down at my pale toes, rimmed with grime, blending almost perfectly with the cement. A guy walked up to me and asked if I had a lighter.

I told him I didn't, and he called me things. I waited till he'd left before walking across the street to where my car was parked. No one had messed with it. I suppose I should have been grateful. But very high in the sky, another pillar was passing before the sun, and the street was submerged in shadow once again. I looked up at the Titanic object. Then I opened the car door and got behind the wheel.

I started the engine and just sat there. The radio was static, so I turned it up as loud as the speakers would take. I reclined my head and put my gaze on the ceiling. There was a fly, walking slowly, fidgeting with itself. It had red eyes. I reached into my pocket, grabbed the lighter, and brought it out. I watched the fly for a few more sets. seconds. I sighed and held the lighter beneath the fly. I struck it with my thumb and the

tongue of orange licked upward. There was a brief buzzing and a black spot appeared on the upholstery. I felt the tiny charred body bounce along my knuckles, roll off, and it fell right into the cup holder. I looked at the fly. It was curled up, legs drawn like bent straws against its shriveled thorax. Its eyes weren't red anymore. I blinked and found myself remembering something. I had done that exact thing before, when I was 17, but it had been a moth on the wall at that time. Right after I had done it,

after the little white thing had fallen, struggling with its burned wings to the floor, Natalie had broken up with me. She had proclaimed it, her voice subdued yet full of conviction. I'd laughed at her, and I never saw her again. She had been my girlfriend for the summer. She was 16, a year younger, yet she was infinitely more mature.

I couldn't say what had attracted us to one another. No, I couldn't say what had attracted her to me. She loved poetry and would recite it quietly in the library. Edgar Allan Poe, obviously, but she also liked her. Wordsworth and Tennyson. Her hair had always been long and she wore it down. It swept past her shoulders, lay over her back. It danced at her legs when she walked. Last I heard, she had become a writer. She still lived in that same small town, though, in that same little house. Just like that, I knew where I was going. I put the car in gear and went down the street. None of the traffic lights were

working, but there were so few people still driving that it hardly mattered. The only thing I had to stay mindful of were the pillars that passed intermittently before me. I had seen what happened to anything that collided with them. I had seen the twisted remains of tanks and airplanes and so many more things that dwarfed my car. The politicians and scientists had said the pillars were destructible, but I would have been more inclined to believe them if they said the sun wasn't high. I left the city.

The outskirts weren't any more alive. Yes, there were trees with green leaves, and the sky was not marred by smog, but it felt lifeless. Like all the vegetation were paper mache, and the colors were all produced from melted crayons and applied to the world with doll fingers. I drove past upturned semis, some of them still coughing smoke. I saw corpses, too. They were one, scathing. or piled, clothes waving in the breeze, waving me on as if to say there was nothing worth stopping

for. I didn't stop. I rolled all the windows down. The pillars droning through the sky were bigger than clouds and more silent. It wasn't the pillars that brought these feelings out in me. They were there before. All my life, really. I had looked at it all with this belief that between my sight and the reality of

there existed some sort of disparity that I could not quite put into words. I always felt that I was experiencing something different from what everyone else was experiencing, and it wasn't from being unique. In fact, I struggled with the idea that there existed anything or anyone that could be described as unique. It all blurred together for me with an unending sameness. I wasn't even sad about it. Rather, it gave me a certain impression that I was. I was superior to those around me, particularly those who enjoyed life, who used the word beautiful.

I felt that they were dishonest or stupid, and that I was closer to the truth than they could ever be. I could have lived this way until I died, except the pillars came and changed everything. It wasn't the fact that they were taking people that elicited change in me. I was frightened, like everyone else, that I could be next. But when it became obvious that the only ones being taken were a certain kind of people, my sense of superiority had increased, as if I was chosen in some way. This only changed when, without these certain kinds of people, the world around me started dying. I hadn't even known the world was alive until then.

After this realization, I grew ever. envious, then angry. Then I returned to my former indifference. Except this morning. I didn't know how I felt anymore. I only knew that I had to see Natalie. I had to know if she was still alive, or if she had been taken as well. I looked out the window and realized I had missed the exit.

I glanced at the gas tank and took a deep breath. I'd have to start walking at some point. I slowed, made a year. U-turned across the median and drove back over the unnecessary miles. I ran out of gas just before sunset. The wind had shifted so that it came racing down the silent fields from the north. It was very cold. I let the car drift slowly along the shoulder until the momentum faded and it rocked to a stop.

I took the keys from the ignition and looked at them. My finger threw the ring. The keys splayed out on my palm. my apartment key, my car key, my mailbox key, and another whose use I'd forgotten. I jingled them. The wind moaned over the car, made the metal rattle and squeal. The clouds is stretched out like painted snakes against the darkening sky. I opened the door and threw the keys into the middle of the road. I felt the gravel strewned shoulder beneath my feet and wondered if I should spend the night sleeping in my car. It would be more comfortable than walking in

the dark chill. I shrugged and stuffed my hands into my pockets. I walked off the road into the field just past a sagging wire fence. The ground here was much softer, but it was also very cold. I watched as the sun began bleeding and puddling on the horizon before me. There were no golds or oranges, just the intensity of a dying scarlet. Sprinkleed about this sunset, I could see pillars floating, obstructing the light. Some were motionless, others moved like how satellites used to, with that same inexorable and mysterious intent. I was walking towards a forest.

On the other side, I knew there was the old town, situated in and out of the trees. There had been hardly anything there when I left. other than the houses, and these were slowly being boarded up, abandoned by dead owners. The sun finally departed, and the moon appeared, but it had waned nearly to nothingness. I was shivering. Suddenly, just inside the tree line, a line of flashlights blinked on. I stopped and stared. I wondered for a tiny and stupid second if they were after me.

I counted a dozen. I took a step back, looked over my shoulder, and then saw what it was these people were really after. A pillar was moving across the field, its bottom point hissing through the long grass. They looked again at the flashlights and saw that the men holding them were emerging from the trees. They were dressed in camouflage. They had rifles in their hands, ammunition belts slung over their shoulders. I laughed and trotted back up to the road. I didn't want to get shot, but I did want to watch.

I sat on the asphalt, crossed my legs, and waited with a smile. After a few seconds advancing, the men all stopped. Some of them got to one knee, the others remained standing. The pillar kept driving slowly towards them, taller than a skyscraper. The beams of their flashlights fell on the black surface and were all swallowed. The wind tossed the sky scraper. grass, tossed the leaves, producing a sound apathetic to this futile moment. Without a word said, the men opened fire. The muscles flashed. The rifles made that strident rat-tat-tat.

My ears rang. The bullets struck the surface of the pillar. They didn't even scratch it, didn't even make a sound. I watched the bullets bounce away and fall like popcorn jumping out of the kettle. The men didn't stop, though. Not until until they had fired every last round in their clips. At this point, the pillar was nearly upon them, and I could hear their murmurs of fear. First, one man broke, then another. Then they were running.

They scurried like mice all the way back to the trees, where they melted into the shadows. Except one. One stayed behind. He was reloading, standing there in the middle of the field, the tremendous pillar sluggishly bearing down on him. He began firing again. I wanted to call him stupid. I couldn't. He stood there, firing that gun alone. No one came back for him. When there was about a yard between them,

the pillar finally froze. He had run out of bullets for his rifle, and this time he had in another magazine, so he flung it aside and pulled a pistol from his hip. He fired this directly at the pillar and the bullets fell in the same way. I stood up and walked a little closer trying to get a better look at his face. I couldn't tell if he was young or old. I couldn't tell if he had a beard or if he was only dirty. I couldn't even tell where his eyes were. Then the light flashed.

It hummed, a great cone of red from the midsection of the pillar, and it pulled over the man. He kept shooting, reloading, shone. shooting. The light became more lurid. It stung my eyes and skin. It drained all the color from his clothes. It washed out the shadows and his folds and creases. It turned everything white and gray. My head began hurting. My skin tingled with goosebumps. Saliva welled in my mouth and dribbled past my lips. He kept shooting. There was a moment less than a moment when the light was there. and it wasn't. I felt peeled from scalp to souls. My blood stopped moving because my heart stopped pumping and my brain collapsed to thoughtlessness. My eyes saw but didn't see. There were a thousand

colors that bathed the world and all of them were darker than black. The pillar rose into the sky and drifted away. I coughed and sank to my knees, the sudden rush of living too much for me. The man wasn't shooting anymore. When I could, I got up and kept walking, but I did not return to the field. I didn't care that the gravel was hurting my feet. I didn't care that I was losing feeling in my toes. That pain was so much better than getting close to what the pillar had left behind.

I made it to the trees hunched and shuddering from the cold. I kept sniffling and kept wiping my nose on the cold. the back of my arm. I was miserable. I needed to see Natalie, or what happened to her. I walked through the forest, and I heard nothing but sounds of it. There were no voices, no footsteps beyond my own. I walked along the road and could not handle a glance to either side. I clutched at myself, trying and failing to keep warm. My feet were aching terribly, yet I could not tell if they were bleeding. I walked and walked, and after midnight, I stepped foot into the town. I took a moment to look at the place, the way it expanded away from the road that carved its center,

the way it rose up on the hills with unkempt yards and houses with tin roofs. There was a sign, but I ignored it. I weaved through the side streets, through the alleys, up and over fences. I didn't hear anybody, but I saw a man sitting on a porch once. He was very still. His face was obscured by the darkness, and his hands were like pale flowers resting on his knees. I didn't linger. It was very strange to walk through the streets of my youth and find them so dead.

Not dead in that silly way I used the term before, dead in the actual sense, like a rack of bones half submerged in earth as deeply soundless as eye sockets. It didn't make me feel alive by comparison. I just felt like another shadow walking around a hollowed world. I didn't recognize Natalie's house at first. I stopped and gazed at it. The walls were painted in very soft blue. The front porch had been completely redone.

There was even a bird bath and a tree growing in the front yard. I leaned on the chain-link fence that came halfway up my chest. It was frigid beneath my palms. The windows were dark and open. The white curtains fluttering out. I had expected the same house that I had visited when I was young. The same splintered porch swing where we sat, shoulder to shoulder, whispering to each other, even though there was no one else around to hear us.

I had thought it was so interesting because I smoked and disliked all the things she liked. She was interesting because she was interesting. The leagues between us were uncountable. But now the house was. was different. It was cleaner, better. I couldn't imagine myself inside that yard fence even for a second. So, I called her name. There was no answer. I called again. Only silence. So, very cautiously, I unlatched the gate and let it squeak open. I walked down the little brick path. I walked up the porch steps, and they were so smooth beneath my roth.

feet. I knocked on the door and it opened. The scent of the house spilled out and touched me. I looked back towards the road one time before entering. The carpets were so soft, so white, and I left bloody footprints behind me. I looked, and on every wall there were paintings and photographs. It was impossible to see their contents because of the darkness, though, and I was happy about this. On the wooden coffee table there was a simple tea set. The kettle was a shade of pink. The cups as dainty as spiders. I turned down the hall and walked toward Natalie's bedroom. The door was closed and I halted before it. There was a slip of moonlight at the bottom and I heard no one moving within. I put my hand on the knob, twisted it as quietly as I could.

My heart was beating weakly, but it made my body quake all the same. I pushed the door open. She wasn't there. Nobody was. The bed was made and covered in a layer of dust. The bookshelves were full of worn spines. A bowl of dead flowers rested on the nightstand beneath an ornate lamp. I stepped inside.

I walked to the window and drew the curtains. From the sill, A little sheet of paper fell and landed like a butterfly on my foot. I bent over and took it between my fingers. I brought it up to the glass as close to the scant moonlight as I could. I squinted and read Natalie's messy handwriting. She had doodled hearts along the corners and smiling faces. I realized after studying the note for a time

that there was a list of books she had published, each title written in a different color ink. There were at least 20, if not more. That note was all I needed to know she had been taken. Somewhere, maybe in the grocery store parking lot, maybe while she was driving home from the theater, maybe in the forest somewhere while she was taking a walk. It didn't matter where.

All that mattered was that it had happened. That was proof of her beauty. I had known that. I'd been a part of that. She'd been alive, and I had been alive alongside her. I smiled and threw the window open. I leaned outside and began screaming, I know what it is.

I know now. Take me. Take me! My eyes scanned the stars, scanned the darkness between them. I looked at the underbellies of passing clouds. I looked at the moon. There wasn't a pillar in sight. I blinked and waited, but nothing came.

I turned round and, crumpled up the note. I upended Natalie's mattress and smashed the bowl with the dead flowers against the wall. I spilled all of her books onto the floor and kicked them with my dirty feet. I tore the place apart. When I had finished, I sat in a corner and took my lighter out. I struck it with my thumb and looked at the little orange tongue. I watched it dwindle. I thought of the impossibility of killing myself. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons Sherylite 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.