Creepy - Grip

Episode Date: July 22, 2024

Written by: Joshua Bryant***Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Bonus episode: "The Cardboard House" written by: gtrpup2***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Cardboard_House***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/***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.

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Now, this is creepy. 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 GRIP Written by Joshua Bryant and narrated by Rissau Montanaz.

He is not my dad. He never was. Never will be. I keep thinking that over and over as if it will make any difference. As if it'll pull me up and take me away, but it won't. Lying won't help either. Would I do or think or feel? Never had any power over him.

I'll start from the beginning. I'll cover it all. I do it every day. It's the only thing to do now. Todd and I had just got kicked out of the place we were renting. We didn't have anywhere to go. Todd didn't have family. Mine hated us, so he asked his friend from work if we could stay with him for a while.

That friend was Myrick, the man who is not my dad. Old Myrick. Bullet-headed, slope-shouldered hands that swung-like plates next to his knees. Myrick. He's very tall, very strong. He's something like 30 years older than me. doesn't have a wife. Todd told me he was a hard worker, always willing to help a person out when they're in a tight spot, and we were in a tight spot. When we drove out to Myrick's place, the sun was just

setting. It was at the end of a dirt road. The dust rose up under the tires and clung to the windows. Todd and I were sharing a warm bottle of flat beer. We pulled up alongside Myrick's white pickup and looked the house over. It was squat. almost like half of it was buried. Cracked yellow blinds were drawn in every window, and the door was black. Todd drained the beer and tossed the empty bottle into the back seat. We got out and walked up to the front door.

A dog was barking behind the house. It sounded awful big. Todd knocked on the door. I lit a cigarette. The door squeaked open and Myrick appeared. He smiled crooked and greeted us. extending his hand to shake Todd's, but his eyes were locked on mine. Now, a woman comes to understand the looks of men and just by Myrick's look.

I knew what was going through his head. Of course, Todd didn't notice. I didn't say nothing. Just shook Myrick's hand and stared at my shoes. We went inside and it stank like a dog. The ceiling was low when the floor was covered in old pink carpet. We followed Myrick down the dark hall into his left. living room where a dim lamp was on.

Myrick told us to have a seat and waved a hand out of stained couch. We did, and he asked if we wanted a drink. Todd Grant and nodded. Myrick left. I was looking at the huge painting that hung over the television directly across from us. It was the biggest picture I'd ever seen. The canvas was all black and mounds had formed where the paint had been layered on, thick. In the middle of it, there was a giant purple hand.

The tips of each finger on this hand were smaller hands, and the tips of all those fingers looked like little hands too. Something about that paint and made the warm beard my belly turn. Myrick came back with three glasses and a bottle of tequila. He poured us each a shot, and we threw them back. Again, I noticed just how much. Myrick was watching me, and when he talked, it was mostly questions directed at me. All Todd cared about was the booze.

I just let it ride. I mean, we didn't have anywhere else to go, and sometimes you just got to bite the bullet. So, we got drunk. Myrick drank alongside us, matching Todd shot for shot, but I swear he never even acted buzzed. I stopped after my third. My head was already spinning and that painting looked bigger than the whole room that point. All those hands, going deeper and deeper into the black background. Forever. I asked where the bathroom was. Marrick got up and said he'd show me. He stood real close. I could see his chest

rising and falling with each breath. Todd was flopping back and forth on the couch, laughing at some joke he'd made. I wanted Todd to come with us. I didn't want to be alone with Marik. But the older man was already walking away, and Todd was still carrying on. So I followed Myrick out of the living room. He led me through the kitchen with its vinyl floors and peeling wallpaper. Cigarette butts were gathered in a chipped enamel plate on the dining table. We passed lots of closed doors. My heartbeat was getting faster.

I couldn't help but feel like Myrick was leading me deeper into his pit. But eventually we stopped at a certain door and he pushed it open. and turned on the light. It was the bathroom. I thanked him and began stepping inside, but he barred my way with his arm. I flinched. He laughed and leaned in close, towering over me like a windmill. He told me in a whisper that he was glad we trusted him. He told me he'd help us out as long as we needed. He told me I was safe in his house. I looked back the way we had come as if Todd would suddenly appear. He didn't. Felt like that living room was on the other side of the moon.

Thanks, I replied, finally. Todd and I both appreciate it. Myrick nodded and slowly moved his arm out of my way. I went in and shut the door. I heard his soft footsteps as he walked away. When I returned, Todd was passed out on the couch. Marik had disappeared into one of the many rooms of the house. I squeezed between Todd and the cushions, tried to ignore how bad they stunk and stared at the ceiling fan. Eventually, I went to sleep. The next day, Myrick woke us up before the sun had risen. Todd was hung over bad, but they had to go to work.

As they piled into Myrick's pickup, he told me to help myself to anything in the fridge. Then, he flashed a smile at me, one that made me squirm inside my own son. skin. Then they left, and I went back inside. I spent the day just sitting on the couch, watched a little TV, roused my phone, but the house made focusing on anything for very long, difficult. The house didn't feel like a house should. It felt more like it was holding me. The wall's sweaty and too close. The carpet's stinking like dirty fingernails. I took lots of trips outside for a smoke. When Todd and Myrick returned that evening,

they just busted out another bottle of booze and got snorted. At least, Todd got snorted. Again. Myrick drank the stuff like water and affected him about the same. While Todd was acting goofy, Myrick asked me more questions, made more comments. I was not comfortable with the amount of attention he was given,

but I was trapped. So I just played along, hoping we'd be there only a few more days. But no, two weeks passed. Every day, basically the same, except that Myrick's questions got more and more personal. His smile got wider and wider, and every chance he could, he would stand so goddamn close to me I could count the hairs on his arms. Then one night Todd and Myrick were watching a box and match on the TV These two guys, one in red trunks, the other in purple

Were beating the living shit out of each other Blood was coming down their faces Sweat gleamed on their scalps I would look from this up to the Peyton that loomed behind it I felt sick I got up and walked to the kitchen After a minute of breathing I decided to do the dishes just to occupy myself.

I filled the sink, poured the soap in, and rolled my sleeves up. I never liked doing the dishes, but that night there was something about the repetition of it that soothed me. That made me feel I could be in any other kitchen in the world. It was such a relief.

Then I felt somebody walk up behind me. I didn't turn around. I didn't want him to know I knew he was there. there. I wanted to pretend he wasn't. My elbow bumped his stomach. Of course. I had to acknowledge him at that point. Oh, hey, I didn't see you there, I said, trying to keep from sounding uneasy. He laughed a little. Then he started talking, his face hanging close to my ear. He told me that the past couple of weeks had meant so much to him. He told me that I reminded him of his daughter. In fact, that's how he saw me, as his daughter.

That was when he put his arm around me. His huge tarantula-like hand gripped my bicep. I felt his finger squeeze. He pressed my body against his. After that, he asked me if I saw him like a dad. I looked up. He had stood up to his full height. A light bulb burned over his head, casting his face in deep shadow.

He had to be about six foot nine, at least. Pushing 300 pounds. Alone with him in his kitchen, my arm's elbow deep in dishwater. What the hell else could I say? Yeah, I see you like a dad. He squeezed my arm a little tighter before walking away. I looked at the suds in the sink and began trembling. In the living room, Todd was cheering.

I guess one of the fighters knocked the other one out. Later on, when Todd had fallen asleep and I was laying next to him, all I could think of was what had happened. I felt so small and scared and alone. I wanted to wake up Todd to tell him. I wanted to leave and never look back, but I knew how little money we had. I knew we couldn't even afford a tank of gas. let alone a motel room.

And above that, I was terrified that Myrick wouldn't let us go. At this thought in particular, I felt something move up and down my arm. I jerked away, thinking maybe it had been a spider. My eye searched the darkness, but couldn't find anything. Then it happened again. It felt like hot, sticky fingers caressing my skin. But there was nothing. and there.

Beside me, Todd was snoring with his mouth open. I reached out for him and something grabbed my wrist. I gasped, but before I could scream, it felt like a huge palm clamped over my lips. Suddenly, it was as if my entire body was being rubbed and squeezed and gripped by dozens of massive hands. I tried to move, tried to break free, but they were all over me and would not stop.

I started to cry. My voice was a shaky moan in my throat. I gave up struggling. So I just lay there, staring through my tears across the living room where I knew the painting was. I couldn't see it through the darkness. But I had this awful thought that it was wriggling, that all those purple hands were moving like waves on a stormy sea. The fingers clenching and twisting and scratching against each other. So many long, cruel minutes went by before the horrible sensations stopped. When it did, I sat up and held my knees. I jerked back and forth with sobs. Todd didn't move. He was still snoring. I kept whispering to myself that it had been a nightmare, that it wasn't real, that I was okay. I couldn't stop clawing at myself, trying to scrape away the lingering feeling

of all those hands on me. I stood up and staggered to the door. I opened it and stepped outside. The wind was howling. Frantically, I lit a cigarette. I didn't end up going back to sleep that night. The pale gray of dawn spilled over everything. I sat on the edge of the couch.

Somewhere in the house, I heard a faucet start running. Todd stirred, then sat up. He blinked his eyes and rubbed the crust off of them. Without thinking, I said, I want to get the fuck out of here. Todd opened his mouth and closed it. He looked around the room. Finally, he asked me what was wrong.

All I told him was that Myrick was giving me the creeps. I figured if I told him about the invisible hands, he'd just assume I'd lost my marbles. But, I guess, the look I gave him was enough to really get the message across. He swung his legs off the couch and scooted over, so he was sitting right next to me. He put his scrawny arm over my shoulders and combed a few strands of my hair with his fingers. He asked if Myrick had done anything in particular.

No, I replied. It's just the way he talks to me and gets too close, you know? It just don't feel right. Todd nodded. took a deep breath. Elsewhere in the house, a toilet flushed. Then, in a whisper, Todd told me that payday was just a little ways off.

After he got the check, we could go somewhere else. But in the meantime, he'd be keeping a real close eye on Myrick. He smiled at me, and we kissed. I wasn't really comforted, but couldn't think of anything else to do or say. Todd got up and got ready for work. Pretty quickly, he and Myrick left and I was alone again.

I spent another five minutes in that living room before I decided I'd rather be outside. Outside the house, there really was nothing around except wide open fields of dried out buffalo grass. The ground was red dirt, and I'd run out of cigarettes. I walked around the front yard, keeping my eyes off the house as much as I could. I kicked at old beer cans, listened to a pair of pigeons cooing up on the electric wire. Then, without thinking, I rounded the corner of the house and went behind it.

Myrick had kind of a junkyard back there. A few cars, red with rust piled on top of each other. Great big spools of barbed wire that half buried in the sand. All the windows on the back of the house were boarded up. But there was one thing back there that really, caught my eye. It was this kind of pot-bellied stove that stood on three legs. It was really big, too, with a long black pipe for a chimney. It was pretty close to the house, and there was this metal shoot that connected the two. For some reason, the side of it was alarming to me. The ground all

around was bare and smooth. I stared at it for a while. It was so dark compared to everything else. like a spot of coal on snow. There was no fire burning inside it, no smoke blung from its chimney yet. It still stink like charred things. I found myself taking slow, uneven steps towards it. I don't know why. It was disgusting.

I knew that, but the side of it drew me forward. I didn't blink. I hardly breathed. A chain suddenly rattled, and there came a horrid. horrible snarling. From the other side of the stove, a huge white pit bull came charging right at me. I screamed and scrambled backward, barely getting far enough for the chain to snap tight and keep the dog from getting a hold of me. I held my hands to my chest and swayed back and forth

with my breath. The dog lunged and barked, the chain bouncing hard against its spiked collar. Its teeth gleamed white and slung drool all over the place. I've seen plenty of rough dogs. but that son of a bitch was by far the scariest I'd ever run into. Its neck was thick as my thigh, ears cropped, tail stubbed, and it rippled with hate. It would have been perfectly white, if not for the two black spots around its eyes. But as I calmed down, I realized those spots weren't really normal. They look like perfectly black handprints.

I shuddered and ran back. to the front yard. The dog kept on barking, kept on clacking its huge jaws. Instead of going back into that horrid house, I got into the driver's seat of Todd's car and locked the door. I slumped against the steering wheel, held my head. It all felt so unreal, like a nightmare that I couldn't walk away from, like a nightmare that could actually make me bleed. I glanced up at the house, and an idea popped into my head. I just knew that the stove in the back had some evil purpose, and I knew that it was connected to the house. Marik wasn't there, just me. I smiled and got out of the car. I tried it up to the front door and went inside.

I figured if I could find the room that was connected to the metal shoe, I would discover something and Todd and I could hold over Marik's head, something that would ensure we could get out of there in one piece. I was excited about it just as I ran through the kitchen and into the hallway where all the closed doors were. I opened one and a big pile of dirty blankets and dolls fell out. I opened another, and behind it was only a wall. Another opened into a closet with a shelf covered in nails. It was so strange. I'd never been in a house. house with that many doors that led to absolutely nothing. And every one of them that I opened made my heart sink deeper, made the sweat on my back colder. Finally, I rattled one doorknob

and found it locked. I pushed and pulled, making the wood of the door grown. I stepped back and kicked it once, twice, three times until it began bend and inward. I stopped to catch my breath. This had to be it. Myrick had had that door locked for a reason. I raised my foot and got ready to kick it again. Then, something slapped me in the face. I fell hard. My ears ringing, my face stinging, and tears already jumping out of my eyes.

I looked up and around and there was only the empty hallway. I held a hand in my cheek. Slowly, I got back to my feet. I looked at the door that I had been kicking and reached for the knob. There was a loud clap as something struck the back of my hand. I yelped and clutched it close to my chest. I looked at the redden skin and rattled off a scream. The welt that was forming was in the perfect shape of four huge fingers.

I stumbled to the living room, looking over my shoulders and seeing nothing but the suffocating walls. I was almost to the front door, when something grabbed the back of my shirt collar and threw me down. I was dragged across the pink carpet as I screamed and kicked and floundered. I was fighting the air. I shrieked for help. I called out again and again for Todd,

even though I knew he was nowhere close. The invisible force that had me was yanking me towards the painting. And when I saw all those purple hands on the canvas were clenched in countless fists, I screamed one last time. and then blacked out. When I came to, I was laying on the couch with Todd pressing a wet rag to my forehead. As my vision cleared, I gave a cry and threw my arms around him.

He was whispering, comforting words in my ear, asking gently what had happened. I didn't answer at first. All I could do was tell him over and over how we needed to get out of there. My arms were covered in rug burns and my face still stung from the blow I'd been given in the hallway. Then my eyes fell on Myrick. He was standing in front of the TV, with that disgust and painting behind him. He smiled at me and mouthed the words. It's okay. I screamed and buried my face in Todd's chest. I begged him to take me out of there. I couldn't

stand it for another second. I couldn't bear to be near Myrick anymore. That was when Myrick began laughing. Todd and I both grew still and looked over at the huge man. His laughter boomed about the walls and made them shake, made streams of dust come pouring down from the ceiling. He held his sides and rocked onto his heels, throwing his head back, revealing huge yellow teeth. He laughed and laughed and everything felt like it was closing in on me. Todd stood up, obviously as unsettled as I was. He bawled his fists up and told Myrick to shut up. Myrick didn't.

Todd began yelling. Myrick kept laughing. I could see that Todd's ears were bright red. Sweat was streaming down from his hairline. Vains pulsed at his throat. This house felt far too small for all the noise the two of them were making. Then, Todd leaped at Myrick. He swung his fist and hit the bigger man twice in the jaw.

Myrick stopped laughing and his face twisted up and his eyes flashed wide. There was a pause where all I could hear was the hot breath rushing in and out of Myrick's nostrils. The pause ended and I shrieked. Myrick wrapped his hands around Todd's throat and slammed him to the ground. Todd gasped and choked in his face rapidly turned purple. Myrick straddled Todd, his huge body like a mountain rest. and on top of my much smaller boyfriend. Without waiting any longer,

I jumped up and flung myself forward. I reached out, meaning to drive my fingers right into Myrick's eyes. I wanted to gov to them out. I wanted to blind him forever. I wanted to save Todd from his relentless grip. But, just before I reached them, Myrick looked up, met my eyes, and grinned.

He said, you would have hurt your dad now, would you? Right after these words left his mouth, I felt hundreds of fingers tangled my arms and legs. Hundreds of palms squeezed my limbs and wench my arms behind my back. I screeched in anger as much as fear. I struggle hard. I fought with everything that I had. But all those hands had me tight and were not going to let me go. I watched through tears as Myrick kept choking the life out of time.

Todd. I watched Todd's pale hands grow limp and sink down. I watched his mouth go slack. I watched his eyelids flutter. I watched him die. Myrick finally let go and stood up. He was breathing fast and mopped the sweat from his brow. He looked down at Todd's dead body, laughed a little, and shook his head. He looked at me and his expression softened. I couldn't speak past the jammed in my mouth. All I could do was whimper. Marrick walked past and the hands pulled me behind him. I looked at Todd as long as I could before we went into the kitchen and I lost sight of him. We went down the hall, passed all the meaningless doors and stopped before the single locked one. It opened by itself.

Myrick stepped in and I was dragged along. The room wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before. The floor was bright red. There was no light on. But it wasn't dark. There was no wall and no ceiling. Just black space. In the center of the room, there was a table with a woman laying on top of it.

As we got close, I saw that she was alive. She stared at me with the saddest eyes. She seemed to be held in place as well. I noticed that she was older than me, but still quite a bit younger than Myrick. I wondered who she was. He scooped her up in his massive arms and took her to the back of the room. In the emptiness, a metal opening appeared. I realized it was the mouth of the chute that fed into the stove.

The woman began crying. Myrick didn't care. He threw her into the chute and I looked. listen to her body slide down it. Then the invisible hands laid me gently down onto the table. They did not release me, and they never have. Marek walked over and stood above me. He smiled and patted my cheek. He leaned down and promised me he would take care of me, that I would be safe. He called me his daughter and kissed my forehead. So I've been here. trapped and held down, caught up in the grip of a man that is not my dad,

who never was, who never will be. For your bonus episode, creepy presents, the cardboard house, written by GTRPUP2. A couple weeks ago, my wife made her two young boys a playhouse out of a cardboard box left over from some IKEA furniture. It stands about six feet tall and is in the corner of our living room. There's a small door and then a small window next to the door. It's a pretty amazing little piece that I wish I had when I was my boy's age. It's just one of the many reasons I love my wife,

her ability to throw things like this together for our boys. The kids are seven and two years old. Even with the age gap, they get along and love to play to play. together almost all the time. When the cardboard house was first built, it was their first thing to play in together. For about a week after we built it, we had a hard time getting them out of it. They'd take in a bunch of blankets and toys and just play. At bedtime, we'd have to literally drag them out to take pads and go to bed.

Sometimes they'd play peek-a-boo with my wife and me on the outside. I'd pretend to be scared or surprise. surprised every time my toddler jumped up and made a ah sound. It was typical cute kid stuff that makes parents happy to no end. And it did. We loved sitting outside while the kids jumped out to scare us. Over and over we do this, laughing and loving, every minute of it. On Sunday, everything changed.

We'd noticed over the weekend that our oldest wasn't inside the cardboard house as much anymore. and just assumed he was losing interest. He's a little bit older, and we were kind of surprised anyway that he was as interested as he was when he first put it together. So it wasn't too big of a deal when he gradually stopped playing inside it.

Our toddler, on the other hand, went in the other direction. We couldn't keep him out of it. He'd wake up, get his bottle, and go in the house. He'd even close the door and get upset if anyone came too close or looked in over the top to see if he was all right. On Sunday morning, he woke up at 3 a.m.,

which was strange in the first place because he'd slept through the night for almost a full year now. He was screaming at the top of his lungs. There was a sound I hadn't heard from him since he was an infant. When it woke me up, I had the strongest sense of being out of place, like I'd woken up in someone else's house. I had to convince myself I wasn't dreaming. I'd dreamt recently of when he was younger,

of when he'd sounded exactly like that. When I rolled over and saw that my wife was looking right back at me with the same kind of confused face I must add, I asked her if she'd heard it too. She nodded, but didn't say anything. Dad, dad, mom, mom, came from his room then. That was more like him. When he refused to nap, he'd do this routine of yelling dad or mom at the top of his lungs until

one of us gave in and got him out of his crib. I rolled back over and put my feet down on the floor. I felt a creaking over old wooden boards and knew I wasn't dreaming. I got up, left the bedroom, crossed the hallway, and entered my son's room. His crib was directly in front of the door, with an old rocking chair of my mom got us in the corner opposite his bed. I was still halfway asleep, but I just barely noticed the old rocking chair and stopped cold in my tracks.

It was moving, but so slowly that it stopped only moments after I noticed it. I realized that Mason had thrown his bottle, blanket, and everything out of his crib. No big deal. He must have hit the chair with his blanket or something, I thought, and lifted him out of his crib to make another bottle. Something I'd done a hundred times. I had for the kitchen to get some milk. After I finished, making sure to warm it up, I went to take him back to his room down the hall.

Our house is one floor. Bedrooms are all connected to a single hallway at the back of the house. As you walk down said hallway, you're looking directly through the entryway and into the family room where our TV, the cardboard house, and the boys' toys are. So that came out of the kitchen had taken back to his room at the end of the hall. He was looking over my shoulder towards the living room. Dad! He yelled at the top of his lungs, pointing over my shoulder. He did this regularly, too.

Whenever he wanted to go watch cartoons or play with his toys, I told him, it's time for bed, Maisie. I glanced over my shoulder. This was when I noticed there were two little red lights in the playhouse window that went out as soon as I turned around. I froze and waited to see if they'd come back. Maybe it was just a car's headlights or something coming in from the window. Maybe it was one of the dogs.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity. Nothing happened. I had it back down the hallway again. But Mason started screaming. Dad, dad, dad, dad, at the top of his lungs. I got to his room. gave him his bottle and put him back down in his crib. He almost instantly went back to sleep like it.

It never happened. I turned to grab the blanket and pillow he threw. Oh, God. The rocking chair. It was moving again. This time, it couldn't have been Mason. It couldn't have been him. I panicked and turned back to get him out of his crib.

He was already standing up, looking directly at me. with a smile across his face. I grabbed him, slammed his door behind me, and almost sprinted back to my bedroom where my wife was still asleep. She mumbled and rolled over. Mason was still looking right at me. I put him in the bed between my wife and I

and lay down next to him. He never broke eye contact with me. As we were laying there, I eventually noticed that he curled up with mom and drifted off to sleep. Of course, I couldn't sleep at all. It was the first time I'd ever been this scared in my own home. Something, or even worse, someone, had looked out at me from that cardboard house.

Something had moved the rocking chair. And whatever it was, it'd been in that room before Mason screamed. It made my skin crawl just considering it as a possibility. The next day, everything was fine. My wife swore she hadn't heard Mason screaming, even though she'd woken up and looked me right in the face and nodded when I asked her if she had. My seven-year-old Presley said he hadn't heard anything either. I thought I was losing my mind.

Maybe I'd been dreaming after all. But then how did Mason get in bed with us? The whole day I just felt off Like there was a film over my vision Everything was darker and somehow tainted Even though I'd been at work all day And my mind kept getting dragged back to that set of eyes Or lights looking out from the cardboard house

In the rocking chair moving on its own Even though I hadn't taken notice then I realized they the lights were watching me. Waiting and watching. I was sure of it. They were sizing me up, seeing what I was capable of. Monday night came and the entire family was at each other's throats.

My wife and I had an argument about a bill or something stupid. The boys were screaming at each other over toys and Mason wouldn't let Presley into the cardboard house no matter what. I knew something was wrong as soon as I heard him scream. It was the same infant-like scream from the night before, but worse. It sounded as if it was full of pain. My wife and I were in the kitchen, having been arguing. We both stopped immediately, and I could tell from the way she was looking at me that she had heard him screaming last night.

I knew something was horribly wrong. I dropped the beer I'd been drinking as I turned and ran around. the corner to look into the living room. Presley was curled up in the corner in the fetal position, covering his ears. Mason was in the cardboard house, looking through its window at me with a thousand-yard stare. His face was too white and too blank. His eyes were bright red and seemed to be getting brighter. I was stuck. I couldn't move. His eyes wouldn't stop getting bright. and I was sure I was about to be blinded. My wife was stuck behind me.

She fell to the floor and began writhing back and forth, clutching her ears. I didn't hear anything besides her and my son's moaning, as well as glass breaking once a vase fell off a table that she'd rolled into. Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad. Each time he said it, he yelled louder and lower until I couldn't take it anymore and put my hands to my head. That was when I heard the screaming. When I covered my ears, my every thought was pierced by a newborn's cry.

I fell to my knees and tried to look up at my son. There were two sets of eyes staring back. Two sets of bright red eyes looking directly at me. The door to the cardboard house started to open. Darkness. Complete and total darkness enveloped everything. I woke up in the emergency room. Our house had caught fire.

Luckily one of the neighbors saw the smoke and called 911. I was the only one pulled from the flames. Right after they got me out, there was an explosion that prevented the firefighters from going deeper in to get my boys. They say they haven't found any remains. Even though they've checked twice, my sons, my boys, my wife. 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 share-a-like licensing, or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroaded. or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.