Creepy - Frozen Madness & My Wife Died but She Won’t Let Me Go

Episode Date: July 6, 2023

Frozen Madness***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Nate DuFort***My Wife Died but She Won’t Let Me Go***Written by: Dylan Vaughn and Narrated by: Cole Burkhardt***Content Warning: Graphic depictions of gore***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex AldeaHosted 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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of biosephabicions, and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. Frozen madness. Written by no one of consequence and narrated by need to fort. When you run a multi-billion dollar worldwide company, you get a lot of wackos that want a piece of you. It could be thereafter your money,

intellectual property, or even your life. I have people that go through my mail, handle my social media, and even my phones to weed out to crackpots and crazies. However, every once in a great while, someone manages to contact me through my personal secret channels. I have a cell phone and email account that only five people in the world know about. I have absolutely no idea how this person managed to get a hold of my email address. This account doesn't even get spam or junk mail. It helps when the server's responsible for the account aren't accessible by the public.

Yet, here I am. Reading a message from someone claiming that my business interests are going to be attacked. Not that this is anything new, but the division of my company mentioned in the message is alarming. No one's supposed to know about project level that isn't directly involved with it. After I read the email, I have my head of security find out everything there is to know about Emma Jones.

Two hours later, she hands me a hefty file. Not many private investigators have a government file, and certainly not one this thick. With my connections, the content should be untouched, but there are entire pages blacked out by redaction markers. I wouldn't be surprised if the printer that made this file is in need of a new toner cartridge. Most of the redactions in the beginning of the file from when she was a teenager. Once she left her family's property after graduating high school, entire paragraphs begin to survive the redaction. I have no idea why the government's been tracking her for so long,

but it's clear that they haven't stopped. The last logs and her activity are from less than a week ago. She's been working missing person cases, and the majority of them have to do with cults. For some reason, the name of the cult or cults are either unmentioned or redacted. What this has to do with me or my company is beyond my understanding. Environmental groups are about as close to cults as my business interests deal with, but project level isn't something they'd attack. In fact, if they knew what it was about, they'd be fighting.

to protect it. Against my security advisor's recommendation, I have my people pick up Ms. Jones and bring her to Project Level's main facility. If she has knowledge of a group targeting this division, maybe she'll be able to identify anyone that could have already infiltrated. Corporate espionage is always a concern with operations like this, especially with as large an impact as it'll have on the world. Add in the new technologies being used and developmental processes, a fortune is at stake. With our extensive vetting procedures showing no concerns, I believe this visit will be beneficial and have no risks. I meet her in the lobby and get my first in-person look at her. She's younger than I expect, mid-20s with dark hair and a posh style.

From the few photos in the file, I expected lighter-colored hair and a mindful style. This speaks of money beyond what a private investigator should be able to afford. Then again, with the gaps in her past, there's no telling what she can and can't afford, with younger people dyeing their hair so wildly, and I'm just glad she doesn't have an outlandish color. Then again, such colors would make a person stand out, and that's the last thing a private investigator would want. After introductions are made, my first question for Miss Jones is about how she found my private email address. All she'll say on the matter is,

it's my job to find what isn't meant to be found and naturally refuses to expand on it. I have reason to believe the Eldridge conglomerate takes issue with what you're doing here. And here I thought this was going to have something to do with the cult she's been investigating. My question is why. That is a good question.

What we're doing here is for the good of mankind, so no one should be opposed. Yet, if something as big as Eldridge has an issue, then there's reason to worry. Eldridge has a wide reach and powerful influence. This is far from the first time my interests have rubbed them the wrong way. But I don't see why this one would. All I'm trying to do is prevent a global disaster.

In order to root out Eldridge's motivation, I have to explain what it is we're doing. I expect Ms. Jones to already know, but she claims ignorance. Security's been monitoring our interaction through the high-tech systems we have in place. There are cameras, scanners, and a slew of devices that check for weapons and transmitters. Basically, anything that could record, scan, or potentially wirelessly connect to the network. Getting a nod from my security advisor, we leave the lobby, and the tour begins. The facility is in an undisclosed location near the North Pole.

Our main focus is managing the rising sea levels across the world, but we're doing a lot more than monitoring. We're actually trying to do something about it. As we continue into the facility, we come to an observation window for one of the four factory floors. It's an incredibly large space with a domed ceiling and vents at the very top. The ground floor is covered with four-foot-by-four-foot tables that are basically elevated grates. Underneath each table is a large plastic tub for collection.

There are four equally sized sections to each factory, with a claw system that places large blocks of ice on each table. Workers in extreme cold temperature suits center the blocks, making sure everything that falls down will go directly into the buckets. Once the tables are fully loaded, the factory floor is cleared of personnel. The ice is flash melted and turned into vapor, separating the water from all impurities which are collected in the bins below. The vapor is sucked out through the vents and sent through a filtration system.

From there, the fresh water is re-frozen in manageable 20-pound blocks, loaded into refrigerated storage containers and shipped off. The ice can be used for anything from drinking water to replenishing aquifers. A sizable portion is sent off to third world countries for drinking water and farm irrigation. The bins themselves are sitting on top of a conveyor belt system that shuffles them to another part of the factory. From there, they're dumped into a sifter that separates the leftovers

which are bagged, tagged, and shipped off to another location. I don't go on to explain what happens beyond that. I don't understand. What do you mean by leftovers? And where does the ice come from, Miss Jones asks? Leading her to another section, we come to another observation window. Opening the storm shutter, I show her the snowy terrain outside. A section of an iceberg sits between the facility and the frozen coastline a quarter mile away.

More workers clad in extreme temperature. suits are using heated water saws to cut blocks off a three-foot thick sheet that has been previously removed from the larger section. The iceberg itself was removed from a glacier at the North Pole and transported here for processing. However, the portion removed didn't come from the surface. In order to reduce the rising sea level, we only get our ice from under the water. The leftovers are the salt and anything that has been trapped in the ice. The facility's only been operational for a few months, so our impact hasn't amounted too much so far.

After a full year, there'll be more than enough data to judge how profitable this endeavor will be. If it works out well enough, more of these facilities will go up, increasing our impact, and producing a new source of fresh water. What about carbon emissions? Surely a facility this size creates more emissions that only add to global warming.

Flash melting that much ice takes a lot of energy. I have an entire R&D division dedicated to creating new technologies that reduce carbon emissions and production facilities. A handful of years ago, one of my teams developed new battery technologies that removes a tremendous amount of toxic components in large-scale energy storage. After extensive testing,

and combining it with our newest solar magnification technology, the result is this entire facility operating on solar power. If things run smoothly here, we plan on implementing our tech in all facilities and potentially changing how the entire world operates. Why take submerged portions of ice instead of pumping water directly from the ocean? Wouldn't it take less energy to evaporate water?

Our initial thought was to do just that, but the R&D team behind this brainchild pointed something out I didn't know. The icebergs have a lower salt density than salt water, so it'll produce less leftover byproducts. I also learned that salt requires a lower temperature to freeze than freshwater, but that tidbit of information isn't exactly useful. So you're working to reduce rising sea levels,

providing a new fresh water source and attempting to remove the need for fossil fuels across the world. In a nutshell, yes. I can see why the master would be displeased. Now that we're back in my office, I ask about these people who are planning on attacking my business interests. The only people I can see having an issue with what we're doing is ill-informed environmental groups that don't understand what's going on,

the oil and coal industries, and anyone who profits from having a monopoly on fresh water supplies and poor regions. However, when she first arrived, she mentioned the Eldridge conglomerate, but referring to some kind of master speaks more about the cult she's been pursuing. Naturally, I ask if there's a connection between Eldridge and the religious groups. It's not a traditional religion. There are a radicalized group that preaches about unity and love, bringing people to together under the master's design for a perfect world. The Eldridge conglomerate is run by

the master, and Embrace is a shadow division. I've heard the stories about Eldridge, but this is a first. They were found it a century ago during the beginning of World War I. At the time, their main interests revolved around natural resources, mining operations, and mass production. Their goal was to own everything from the supply of raw materials, processing, and manufacturing, anything from field rations for ground troops, weapons and munitions, to war machines. Their ventures thrived where others fell, but during World War II, more than three quarters of their operations suddenly stopped. No one knows why. At least, that's what I thought. It's hard to run a conglomerate when the government captures you, sticks you in a water tank,

and uses your genetic material to create experimental hybrids. My blank state, says it all. I have no idea what she's talking about. Thankfully she explains, but what she tells me is more like science fiction than historical fact. Nazi scientists were doing all kinds of genetic experimentation, so the U.S. decided to fight fire with fire. They somehow managed to capture this master and extracted DNA samples to introduce to other species native to Germany. The idea was to breed a vicious race of creatures capable of multiplying in enemy territory and become a major hurdle for Hitler, thus weakening his defenses. The biggest problem wasn't getting the DNA to alter the test subjects, but controlling them. No matter what species was used or how severely altered

they became, the test subjects kept trying to free the master. It had some kind of psychic connection to them, and could manipulate or control them to do his bidding. At one point, the personnel in the secret facility became enamored with the master, and tried to free him as well, but the soldiers on standby managed to stop them. After the second attempt, ear protection was made mandatory for all personnel, so they couldn't hear the creature's song. Eventually, the project was scrapped for two reasons. First, the work was too dangerous and caused more problems than it would have fixed.

Second, the war ended. The test subjects were incinerated, the facility locked up, and subject L.C. was left to rot in its cell. There it stayed for more than 70 years until Miss Jones and her sister stumbled upon the facility, and her sister let the creature out. There had been a plague at the bottom of the tank that said subject Lovecraft. It's not that they believed he was a creature from that mythos, but shared a lot of physical characteristics with some of the old gods. I've never done a lot of pleasure reading, so I'm at a loss.

Not entirely believing what Ms. Jones is telling me. I ask what those characteristics are. Her response is, Would you care to see for yourself? and all hell breaks loose. There's a loud crash from below, and alarms start blaring. Looking out the window, I see bulky figures marching from the coast, but I can't make out any details.

The workers that had been cutting ice are being torn apart. Red splashes streaking the white snow as more enter the facility. I hear gunfire as security personnel converge on the breach, followed by screams. Ms. Jones doesn't seem phased by this unexpected turn of events. When she said attack, I assumed industrial espionage, not a physical attack. Why didn't she warn me? For some reason, she continues with her story as if my people aren't dying out there.

I get on the phone, but the line won't go through. When Emma let it out, I got the hell out of there and ran right into the arms of heavily armed military men. I watched as the master went at them, taking bullet after bullet and not slowing down as he tore them limb from limb. In the presence of such power, I could do nothing more than embrace his song. Since then, I've loyally served as his right hand with Eldritch and embrace. I dropped the phone as I realize what she's been saying. This isn't the private investigator that reached out to me, but the sister. Grabbing the letter opener from my desk, I'm about to lunge at her when my office doors are kicked in.

A hulking mass stomps in on thick legs, long arms nearly dragging on the ground with suction cups on the underside, not arms, but tentacles. The torso is pure muscle, leading up to a neck hidden by smaller tentacles as thick as a finger. If there's a mouth under all that, I don't want to know. Eyes as black as a shark stare at me with cold indifference. Wavy tendrils of black squirm on its head like living dreadlocks. It wears nothing but clinging seaweed over gray green flesh. This can't be the master Ms. Jones had been referring to.

There are two more identical monsters in the outer office, one holding my personal assistant with a tentacle wrapped around her head to muffle her screams. i watch completely helpless as the other one lifts her shirt to reveal her belly button it pokes at her with tip of its arm but it's not a gentle thing her muffled screams get louder as the monster forces its appendage into her stomach ripping her flesh to get more of its thickness inside the damn thing shoves so much into her that the other one lets go Blood gushes out of her mouth as the tip emerges, slithering further and further out. It wears her body like a sleeve, breaking off her arms and legs with ease. I can't help but vomit. It's the single most horrifying thing I've seen in my entire life. Annette had been with me for 13 years, and that monstrosity is wearing her head and torso like a fashion accessory.

This was senseless violence. Brutality for the sake of brutality. What could these things possibly gain from this? What were they doing that was so horrible that we deserve this level of violence? All we were trying to do was save the world. Not the world. You were trying to save humanity. Who do you think started global warming?

The master designed it to melt the polar ice caps and drown the world, and you're trying to undo that. These soldiers are the new race, the new humanity made in his image. Once production of Shadow Cove Prawns flood the seafood market, more and more people will transcend the follies of man and embrace the madness. I could tell her that she won't get away with this, that humanity won't be defeated so easily. But what would be the point?

She's a zealot commanding an army of monsters. There's nothing to reason with in that pretty little head of hers. Instead of wasting my final moments on pleas that will only be ignored, I lunge at her with the letter opener. She manages to mess up my attempt to stab her in the face, but I do manage to bury the blade deep into her shoulder. One of the creatures wraps me up in its tentacles, holding me back from continuing the assault.

Miss Jones is in pain, and I like that. She calls to the two in the outer office. Natalie, Heather, I want you to rip this human's arms and legs off and save his head for last. I want him to feel everything. Pissing off a powerful woman, never felt as good as it does, hearing the rage in her voice. Creepy presents. My wife died, but she won't let me go. written by Dylan Vaughn and narrated by Cole Burkhart.

My wife died on a Saturday morning. I woke up, rolled over to see her bright, smiling face, only to see her beautiful frame stiff and lifeless. We both knew this was coming when they found the lump in her breast about three months ago. We tried not to look at it as a death sentence, but to see it as us knowing how much time we had loved. left together. We had spent 50 years married to each other and

with no short amount of rough times, just like any other marriage. Those last three months, though, man, we spent every moment we could together and it was wonderful. It's funny how you can spend so much time with someone,

but once they're gone, you wish you had just one more conversation with them. Lucy would say, I shouldn't be too worried, about it. It's not like I would live 30 more years or anything. All right, she would have been. She always knew what to say to drag me out of myself loathing. Now, though, it's all I have, except for the few grains of sand left in my hourglass. Since we didn't have any kids, and both of us

were only children, the funeral wasn't big, just the few friends that were still above ground with me. As I watched My Lucy being lower. in that cheap casket into the ground. Breathing became hard, and it felt like my world was closing in on me. I had to sit down and catch my breath, when my friend Tom hobbled his way over to check on me. I assured him I was all right. It just hit me all at once. Tom told me, if I needed to talk, all I had to do was call, but I knew I most likely wouldn't.

It took me more effort than usual to get out of bed the next morning. My body was stiff as a board. Not that this is unusual for a seven-year-old man, but it was worse than normal. It quickly faded to the background as my thoughts drifted back to my Lucy being gone. I sat looking at pictures and reminiscing most of the day. The next day is when I noticed the blisters. small, round blisters on my arms and chest. Not one or two, but a bunch that seemed to pop up overnight.

I told myself I needed to get that checked out. The doc didn't quite seem to know what to think about the blisters. He said it looked like poison ivy, but I don't do any gardening or anything of the sort, so not sure how I got poison ivy. He took a sample of the fluids in the blisters. I think that was more to satisfy me than anything. I went back to the house and sat in Lucy's room.

She always came in here to watch the birds out the window and read her Bible every evening. The next morning, I noticed my arms were back to feeling like their normal, old, wrinkly selves. I thought I was back to normal until I looked at my chest. The blisters had gone away, but a black bruise had replaced the blisters. It covered almost my entire chest. It looked like a bruise, but it wasn't sore, almost like it was farther under the skin.

It was the next morning when I realized just how much of a problem I had. When I got out of bed and brushed my teeth, that's when I saw it. As I walked out of my bathroom, I saw an imprint on my bed. It was on Lucy's side of the bed. As I crept up to the bed and pulled the sheet back, I was met with dirt, black dirt, just a thin layer of it in the shape of my Lucy, like she was sleeping beside me again. Seeing this, I finally realized something ungodly was happening.

It only got worse, though. Every morning I would wait to find more dirt in my bed. Well, more dirt everywhere. In the bed, in Lucy's chair, on her Bible. even in our car. I eventually stopped cleaning it up because I knew it would be back the next morning. I had my own problems to deal with anyways.

My skin is almost entirely black now, and it's soft, to the point where I rubbed my arm a huge strip of it peeled off. My legs are to the point where I can barely use them. I take into using Lucy's wheelchair to get around the house. I finally smartened up,

and looked up some of the stuff that has happened to my body, which I already had my suspicions about what was happening. I was proved correct when I found an article detailing the stages of decomposition. It has been eight days since my Lucy went to be with our lord, and by the midst of black bloody fluid leaking from my nose, I would say I'm getting close to black putrefification. This lasts for about a month, but I'm still worried about what comes after.

Am I just going to die at some point, or will I just keep decomposing until I can't move anymore? I can't help but wonder why my Lucy would do this to me. She would have never wanted this. No matter of once, it's happening. I didn't know of anything I could do, so I prayed. Lucy was always the more religious one of us, but I had to try something. I prayed to God, Jesus, and even Lucy after I hit a certain point. of desperation, but it didn't seem to help.

I'm writing this, so the poor soul that finds me would know what happened. Like anyone is going to believe this. I can't get out of bed anymore. Well, I might could, but I'm worried my calves will fall off my leg, so I think I'm going to sit here and wait. If Lucy is on the other end of this, it will all be worth it. information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration. Please visit creepypod.com.

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