Creepy - Hollow Eyes & Down Here, Where I Can Keep You Safe

Episode Date: March 2, 2023

Hollow Eyes***Written by: The ginger With No Soul and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***Content Warning: Animal harm***Down Here, Where I Can Keep You Safe***Written By: Sasha Brown and Narrated By: Alicia Atkins***Content Warning: Body Horror, Decaying Bodies, Pregnant Person In Danger***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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 biocations of biocations. Silence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepie presents, hollow eyes, written by the ginger with no soul, and narrated by Heather Thomas. My dog who was missing for five months returned home one morning. This is an account of the first two nights at home with him. I was just about to put on a pot of coffee when something brown caught my eye

right outside the kitchen window. At the first glance, I thought I must have left a coat out in the porch, but upon closer investigation, I realized it wasn't a coat after all, but something alive. I nearly leapt through the glass when it hit me that I recognized this animal.

On the porch was my dog, Moose, who disappeared one night five months ago. I'll never forget that day. I came home from a little, late shift at work to a vacant house. Moose was always there to greet me at the door, wagging his bushy tail, with his tongue hanging slightly out to the left side of his jaw. That night, though, it was deathly silent. My attempts at calling his name were never answered. I searched my house front to back at least ten times. When that didn't pan out, I took my search outside where I

covered the yard, then expanded my search into the nearby woods. I never found a trace of where he might have gone. The following days were spent calling anyone I could think of and putting up posters everywhere. My efforts never bore any fruit. My soul was crushed. It was as if moose vanished into thin air. Now, though, there he was, curled up into a ball on my porch.

I flung the door open with enough force that threatened to fly off the hinges and wrapped him in my arms. After I completed my warm reunion with my dog, I pulled away and took a good look at him. I noticed that he hadn't wagged his tail or made any sort of noise at all like he normally did, which made me worry.

Hugging him felt like I was wrapping my arms around a statue. Then I noticed something that made me scream. His eyes were gone. They looked like they had been deliberately carved out of his skull with a sharp object. Not like anything that could have been caused by an accident. A feeling of shock took me over, which slowly dissolved into rage.

What kind of twisted individual would do this to an animal? Worried for his health, I decided my best plan of action would be to take him to the vet. Moose didn't complain or emit any kind of emotion as I picked him up and put him in the back seat of my car. I honestly felt so bad for him, for him. I had no idea what he might have gone through. I knew whatever had happened wasn't pleasant at all. In my mind, I pictured a small, rusted cage where he was tormented day and night. I bit down hard

enough on my tongue that I tasted blood and tried my best to shake these kinds of thoughts out of my mind. It wasn't going to do me any good to think like that. I was just happy Moose was back. An uneasy feeling crept up on me as I drove. My gaze shifted upward to the rearview mirror, where I looked at moose in the back seat. When I did, I nearly swerved off the road. His head was tilted slightly at an odd angle that made it appear as if he was staring right back at me

through his hollow eyes. I refrained from looking again for the rest of the ride. We finally made it to the vet, and I took him in. I had the vet do a full workup on him to make sure nothing else was wrong with him. I was told he was in good health, aside from the fact that my dog was now blind. I received some medicine to help prevent any infection in his eyes

and a pamphlet about living with a blind pet, with tips on ways to improve their quality of life. I finally got Moose home after the long ride, where I focused all my attention staring at the road, letting Moose out of the car. I noticed he seemed to have no problem whatsoever getting up the stairs and making his way into the house, which sort of freaked me out.

I just assumed he had memorized the layout because he's been there so long. That night I double-checked every possible way out of my house to be sure everything was locked. I didn't just get him back so he could wander out an open window or door. Moose tried to follow me to bed like he always did. But I led him out and back to the couch. It was harder for me to sleep than I anticipated.

The feeling of eyes on me kept me up. I kept looking through my cracked bedroom door, almost anticipating someone being there. Eventually, though, my eyes closed and I drifted off. I woke up sometime early in the morning, bright as the sun was trying to breach the horizon. I reached over to check the time on my phone. Before I got to my phone, a shape outlined in my doorway caught my attention.

I turned my head to see moose, peeking through my cracked door, looking dead at me. He was barely illuminated, but I could tell something was wrong about his outline. He looked bigger, and a silhouette contained sharp protrusions shooting out of it. My heart raced upwards as I took in the sight before me. I guess he somehow noticed me looking, because he slowly disappeared past the door. I heard floorboards bend and creak as he made his way back down the hall. I laid in my bed well after the sun came up. I cracked my door and tiptoed into the living room, where I saw moose sitting at the front door. He looked like he should. I felt like a fool for being scared of my own dog. His head turned as I entered, and I walked over to pat him on the head.

I was relieved I didn't walk in to see some mutated horror that was once my dog. I tried to shift the blame on me, still being half asleep. A little while later I got ready and left for work. Before I did, I made sure Moose had some food and water, then told him goodbye and left for my shift. The whole time I was at work, I couldn't help but think back on what I had seen that morning. I was just seeing things. Right? When I pulled into my driveway that afternoon,

I saw Moose looking out through the living room window at me. I say looking, because of the way his head was facing the window, peering out at me in my car. It was like I could feel his gaze on me. I tried to ignore the goosebumps breaking out over my body as I got out of my car and headed for the front door. I watched the window as my foot landed on the first step.

and Moose hopped down from the window. I knew where he was heading. Right as I opened the door, Moose was there. I was happy for a moment because it reminded me of how it always was before he vanished. I walked past him and gave him a pat on the head and told him he was a good boy. Sure, he unnerved me a little, but I could never be scared of Moose. I still remember the day my parents brought him home from the shelter. her. Since then, he's always been at my side. The rest of the evening was uneventful. I cooked dinner and gave

Moose a healthy scoop of dog food that he practically inhaled. Me and Moose sat in a living room with a movie playing. I have the weekend off, so I had a few drinks during the movie. I noticed Moose was acting strange. Looking over at him, he was stiff as a board, peering out the window into the night. like he was seeing something out there. When the movie finally ended along with my drinks, Moose was still looking outside. I figured I would give the yard a once over with the flashlight to calm my nerves. I grabbed the flashlight I kept under the sink

and opened my front door to peer out into the abyss that my yard became after sundown. My house is positioned a good ways off from the road, so the street lamps glow doesn't reach it. I scanned the tree line, trying to see if anything was out there. Staring out, I felt as if the trees themselves were looking back at me. After a few minutes of scanning back and forth, I gave up. Whatever had Moose so spooked was beyond me. I got back inside and was getting ready for bed while Moose was still looking out the window.

The only time he got up was to follow me into my bedroom, where I walked him back to the couch. and told him good night. That night, I woke up to Moose barking. I leaned over to grab my phone, which told me it was 3.15 a.m. I hurried out of my room, but froze halfway down the hallway.

There was something off with Moose's barking. It was like he was reaching a lower octave with each bark. It didn't sound like it used to either. There was something predatorial about. it. I slowly reached the end of the hall and peered around the wood paneling to get a look at where moose was. When I saw moose, I nearly cried out, but stopped myself with a hand over my mouth. He looked as if he had put on at least 50 pounds. But that wasn't all, though. His back was arched upwards, like a cat when it's scared, and parts of his spine had broken through the skin.

Each exposed vertebra was sharp and serrated. His teeth were bared with his mouth curled into a snarl. I was so close to his bark now that it seemed to shake my very being. His attention wasn't on me, though. His body was positioned facing the window. The same one he couldn't take his eyes off earlier. This time it wasn't only the darkness looking back beyond the window. It was accompanied by two wide.

eyes and a manic smile. My heart nearly jumped into my throat when I saw it. Then his gaze, which was fixed on Moose, shifted over to me. And this time, I wasn't fast enough to suppress my scream. Moose began to turn around. His head turned with his body as he stood mere feet from me. Empty sockets instantly locked with my eyes. He stared intently for what felt like. He stared intently for what felt like forever until I heard a knock at the door, followed by what sounded like stifled laughter, like a hand clasped over a mouth, only allowing little pieces of it to escape. My attention shifted from Moose to the front door as the knocking began to grow louder. Moose whirled around to face the door and began barking again. I just stood there, shaking.

I couldn't move. My heartbeat was in my ears and I was shrew. it was about to give out. The laughing grew and grew as I saw the doorway start to give under this person's inhuman strength. The door cracked and splintered as the man's blood-soaked hands began to appear from the other side. Moose was growling, guttural and low as the man reached one of his arms through the new hole in my door, trying to open it, ripping off little ribbons of flesh as he worked his way down. Laughter exploded into the room as the man's grip finally found the inside block and began to turn. Horror possessed my entire being as the door slowly opened to show a man who was at least seven feet tall and bone thin.

He stood right in the doorway with one of his bloody hands over his mouth, cackling like a disturbed child. There you are. Those were the only words that escaped his lips before. Moose launched himself at him. The man would completely airborne when Moose struck him. He crashed through the railing on the porch and was swallowed up by the darkness beyond. Moose trailed right behind him into the abyss. I sat there with my now empty bladder as the laughter from the man, and Moose's howls grew quieter and quieter. How long I sat motionless before moving again, is anyone's guess. When I regained myself, the only thing I could think of to do was call the police.

I repeated the night's event, only leaving out the part about what happened to Moose. I doubt they would believe that. At the time, I wasn't sure I believed what I had seen either. I just told them that Moose chased him off and hasn't come back. It wasn't long before I heard sirens, and blue lights filled my yard. They asked me a few questions before a few officers went and scanned the surrounding woods and streets. I sat in my kitchen on a stool, trying to process what had just happened. The sun rose before I heard any news. It didn't call my nerves in the slightest.

I was told they found signs of a struggle in multiple locations, but never found the man I described. There was no sign of moose either. A detective gave me his number and told me to call him if anything came up. and with that I was alone in my house. Trying to do anything that would help me not be alone with my thoughts, I decided to go pick up a new door. There was no way on earth I was sleeping without one.

Well, that's if I could even fall asleep. After a long and quiet trip to Lowe's, I came home and started my work. It was slow at first as I had no carpentry experience whatsoever. along with last night's events playing on an endless loop in my mind, I found myself worrying about Moose. I was scared senseless the moment I saw him, but somehow I still thought of him as my dog.

That night it felt like he was trying to protect me. I hoped he was okay. I wanted him back home, even though he wasn't the same dog I knew before he disappeared. I finished putting in the new door the best I could. I was honestly proud of myself. It actually turned out better than I had hoped. The remainder of the day was spent periodically checking outside

and doing chores around the house to quiet my thoughts. I had just finished eating dinner when I heard a movement on my front porch. It was muffled behind the door, but I could tell something was there. Slowly, rising to my feet, I grabbed a knife from the king. kitchen, seeing that man's crazed eyes and smile in my mind. My heart rate quickened as I held my breath while creeping up to the door. I was trying my best to stay calm, but I was losing the battle. I slowly looked through the peephole in the door and dropped the knife to the ground. I didn't see the man from the night before. Instead, Moose was lying curled up on my welcome mat.

All fear I had of him, drained out of me, as I opened the door and wrapped him in my arms, just like I had done when he showed up a few days ago. There were cuts all over him and a large gash in his leg, which I quickly wrapped the best I could. Moose laid on the floor panting as I made him a meal and called the vet, completely forgetting that they weren't open. I just sat with him for a while to make sure he was okay. until I noticed he had fallen asleep. It's been a few weeks since then.

Now me and Moose are almost inseparable. Slowly, as time passed, he began to act more lively, like he was before he vanished. I haven't seen him in that form, like he was that night. I still think about it every once in a while, but then I'd take a good look at him, and, honestly, it doesn't really affect me anymore.

I know Moose would never hurt me. Every night I still make sure my house is secure. Not to keep Moose in, but keep whoever showed up that night out. The police never found the man. I still dream of that face in my window, and it makes my blood turn to ice. One more thing that's changed. After that night, I no longer bar Moose from my bedroom at night. He follows me in and lays on the new dog bed I have placed right beside me.

Creepy presents, down here where I can keep you safe, written by Sasha Brown and narrated by Alicia Atkins. He let out a hacking cough as he thrusts into me, and something wet landed on my face. I flinched and tried to clean it off. Wiping my hand on the nightgown. hiked up around my waist. His eyes were shut anyway. I didn't even think he noticed. The storm lashed the windows of our bedroom. Our wedding night was sweaty and awkward. Our limbs didn't fit together. Our bodies had incompatible angles. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would when we finally managed to get him in. But I didn't like any of it even before he coughed

wet on me. Just get it over with, I told myself. I peeked at his shadow grunting above me and told myself it wouldn't have to be often. Enough to have children. That's all. He didn't seem to be making much progress towards it, though. I'd hoped it would be quick. I stroked his flabby arm to encourage him. Oh, Percy! I said, trying not to sound sarcastic.

He tensed above me, straining, finally, and let out a last groan that turned into another coughing fit. Again, something dripped onto my face. God damn it! I snapped, revolted beyond self-control, and finally he opened his eyes and looked down at me and shrieked. I looked at my hands, gleaming red in the dim moonlight. My nightgown, too, was smeared crimson. He'd coughed blood all over me.

I screamed back and threw him off. He would be dead not two months later. The mansion was huge and oppressive after the funeral. It was pouring again, and the drumming of the rain hushed my footsteps. On a maudlin whim, I changed back into my wedding nightgown, with its virginal ruffles and stubborn rusty stains. I climbed upstairs to the old master bedroom, where I'd found my mother shortly after Percy proposed,

with lines of dried tears marching from her eyes. Her wrist had been flayed apart. Tendons showing stringy and white. And the bed was shiny with blood. She lectured me a thousand times about the importance of continuing our pure bloodline, of which only I was left. Her final note read, Your duty now, Marion.

The maid cleaned up and then gave notice. The young butler disappeared the next week. Now I was truly alone. I opened the windows and let the storm blow in. It had to be 50 feet down to the back courtyard. Far enough, probably. It would be quick. There had been no long line of suitors for me,

with my cursed and fatal family history. Only Percy had been too kind, or too weak, to avoid me. And look what had happened to him. I had never managed to ensnare anyone else. I had done my best to keep my attenuated lineage limping along. But I'd failed. Better to go out like this, quickly, than to grow old alone.

Watching the dust spilled in the mansion until it covered the furniture, until it finally closed over my head. I climbed onto the window frame and the rain began to soak my nightgown. I looked out over my ancestral grounds to the swaying willows that marked the family graveyard. Percy would be there now, joying the rest of the ill-fated Ruthians and their loves. I imagine I could see him beckoning for me. After a minute, I climbed down. I'd go one last time to say goodbye.

Part of me enjoyed wallowing like this. I've been doing it for a week. Linguid and hollowed-eyed. Unable even to keep food down sometimes. Now I went downstairs and out into the tempest. My gown plastered to my body, and my blonde hair turned dark and matted against my face. I made my way through the litch gate to the family plot.

There was the tombstone of my father, Nathaniel, whose broad chest was my earliest memory. We have to be as close as we can now, he used to say. As I lay against him and listened to his heart, I'll leave you soon enough. And he did, when I was twelve, run over in the street by a carriage. Mother was buried next to him. then great Aunt Tabitha, the beautiful adventress who fell out a window during a party. Grandpa Michael drowned.

Grave after early grave. In every generation, tragedy. All the way back to the great matriarch some two hundred years gone. Agnes Ruthen, who lost her husband in a stable fire, gained his fortune, and wasted away in mourning. The curse had begun with that husband. Horace was a dark man. My mother told me. A violent one.

His death initiated a trail of sorrow that led directly to me, and to Percy. Spouses, lovers, siblings, children. The family tree pruned to a tenuous vine, the grave spreading like poison ivy. And at the outskirts, the fresh rain spattered earth at the plot of Percy, who had begun dying even as he set his vows. I splashed to my knees in the mud. I'd thought, maybe I'd say something dramatic, but now that I was here, it seemed pointless.

I'd tried to love him, and I was sorry he was dead. I should have believed more in the family curse. I should have accepted that I'd die alone, instead of sending him down ahead. I dug my hands into the muck, covering them to the wrist. The rain coursed down my face, got up my nose when I sniffled. made me sputter.

The mud was cool, and my morbid mind imagined Percy's clammy hand holding mine. There was something down there, at least. Tree roots, maybe. I pulled my hands free with a quiet squelching noise. Pale fingers clutched out of the grave after me. I cursed and fell backwards. The hand scrambled blindly, hauling itself out inch by inch. Percy's wedding ring.

glinted dolly on its finger. I crawled away, horrified and revulsed, taking cover behind great Aunt Tabith's tombstone, watching as my dead husband's white wrist, streaked with grime, emerged from his grave. His whole arm was out now. Sticking straight up from the ground, fingers outstretched as though in anguish,

reaching towards the pouring heavens. In a moment the shoulder would be free, and in the face. and what dread expression would be on it? Fear? Rage? The lightning was gone in a moment, but the grasping arm still cast a shadow against the grave. A lantern shone through the storm towards us.

I crouched low instinctively. Oh, God! Came a tremulous voice. Oh, God, oh God, oh God, this is awful. A young man appeared, his dark shirt, clean. him to his thin chest. A horrified look on his face. It was Dudley, the butler.

I thought he'd run off forever. He looked awful, pale and gaunt, but he ran straight towards Percy's flailing arm and grabbed it firmly with one hand. I'm so sorry, sir. He brought out a small wicked saw, knelt in the mud, and began sawing at Percy's shoulder.

The arm jerked and wriggled, but Dudley had it braced firmly. Oh, God, he moaned as he sawed. I'm so sorry. Oh, God, this is awful. I'm so sorry. It was hard to tell through the pouring rain, but I thought he might be crying. His gory blade sliced muscles and tendons. The hand shuddered with each grinding stroke.

His finger is sometimes spasming as though in pain. Sometimes the saw got stuck, causing Dudley to whimpered despairingly and adjusts his angle. But he made bloody progress, and Percy's arm weakened. Finally, the last strip of flesh tore away. Dudley panted on his knees, the bone saw in one hand and the severed limb in the other. I'm so sorry, sir, he repeated one last time, speaking to Percy's tombstone. I'm sorry she made me come to you. you. Then he moved away into the graveyard, holding Percy's hand and letting his severed arm trail

behind him through the mud. The operation had taken maybe ten minutes, and I hadn't moved from my hiding place. The mud oozed shut over Percy's gaping shoulder, and soon it was as though nothing had happened. I imagine flinging myself back on his grave, scrabbling at the dirt, trying to dig the rest of him out, like a devoted wife. But there was nothing for me down there. He had moved, but I felt certain somehow that he hadn't breathed. I wasn't superstitious. The servants had used to whisper about necromancers,

about dark magic fueled by the dead, and I'd laughed at them. But I couldn't explain what I'd seen tonight. And what I felt surprisingly to myself was rage. When I'd stood in the window, I'd hoped for an escape from this bleak world. But Percy had been dragged back into it, hacked at, tortured. And if I jumped, would Dudley come for me as well?

Would he be sawing at my body next? No. I might choose to die, but I wouldn't be defiled. And I wouldn't have my family preyed upon. I sat out through the howling storm on the trail of Dudley and his grisly prize. I was still barefoot, and my shins were filthy. The rusty stains on my nightgown disappeared under heavy mud. I kept to the shadows, but Dudley never looked around as he trudged to the heart of the cemetery,

to the tomb of Agnes and Horace Ruthen. He fumbled with a lock, and then disappeared inside. I crept to the entrance and peaked in. The chamber was about ten feet square, adorned with macab carvings of skulls and bones. Benches on either side held two ornate wooden coffins. Dudley opened Agnes' casket. I had time to see it was empty, pristine, no ancestor moldering inside. Then he climbed in, clutching Percy's severed arm, and pulled the lid down over himself.

There was a sort of glumping noise, and all was still. After an eternity, I crept in after him. The storm was muted in this hushed room. No sound came from the coffin. I re-sat a trembling hand, breathed deeply, and yanked it open, ready to fight or scream. It was empty.

There was a light cracking, and I looked wildly around, but I was alone here. A finger had broken free from one of the decorative skeleton hands. That was all. Now it hung down, as though pointing into the coffin, almost as though directing me.

I stared at it, and then, on a sudden flash of intuition, reached inside Agnes Ruthen's casket Running my hand along the seam I found it A sort of catch, a button And I understood I climbed into my ancestor's coffin

The bony finger hung above Pointing my way Thank you I whispered close the lid And pressed the catch The bottom dropped out And I tumbled into a world of death I landed hard in the dust

dust, gaping empty skulls goggled at me. Lattices, wards, spirals of human bones adorned the walls. It was a catacomb, and the walls were lined with bones. The ceiling was low above my head, vaulted with femurs. I was in a chamber, with a corridor stretching away. How many corpses had built this place? Their skeletons had been dismantled and arranged into a geometric celebration of decay. Guttering torches hung in pelvic scones, ribcages stacked into pillars. It was beautiful in its own way. As horrifying as it was, I felt something profound in its embrace of the remnants of life. But Dudley was nowhere to be seen. I set off in search of him, hugging tight to the bones, trying to stay hidden. My ankle snagged on something, a skeletal hand, sticking carelessly out of the wall.

i kicked at it irritably and the hand closed with sudden force and yanked me back all at once the bones ratcheted out to grasp me they ticked and clacked up my body encasing me as i screamed and struggled My knees, then my thighs, around my hips and waist, over my breast, my arms pulled up and out, until I was cocooned like a spider's prey. When only my face was left, a skull plate skittered down the wall and closed over me, and then I couldn't scream anymore. I strained my muscles, whimpering, but it was no use. I was trapped in the wall of bones, and something was making its way towards me. I heard it first.

A lopsided gate, a heavy step, and then a dragging shuffle. It moved slowly. The walls flickered with a misshapen shadow. I could only see directly ahead, through the eye sockets of the skull fixed over my face. A grinning corpse alerts in front of me. Gray flesh still clung to its face. Molded dead flesh, hanging like raw pie crust over a dish. A few patches of white hair tufted from its spotted scalp.

Its nose was gone, leaving two slits. Only the eyes seemed alive. The bloodshot orbs twitched in sockets rimmed a bright infected red. The thing tottered near, filling my field of view. The lips were gone, as though they had been gnawed away. A tongue slithered out, a thin and gray thing between crooked teeth. sweet lonely marian it wheezed in a voice like sand falling it's been so long since i've gotten a visit from family so kind of you to come all this way face to face at last with death i found myself revulsed i'd pictured it as a fade to white a rush of air and a closing of eyes but this was death in all its putrid essence, breathing the stench of the grave at me. It was too raw. This wasn't the death I'd wanted.

The jaw of my skull mask relaxed, allowing me to speak. I was helpless. The creature wanted to talk. What kind of monster are you? I breathed. The hag let out a ratcheting cackle. Have you taken all my portraits down already, dear? Do you not recognize your matriarch? The maker of your fortune? Dear old Agnes? Sweet, lonely Marion. It's been so long since I've gotten a visit from family.

So kind of you to come all this way. The witch raised her left arm to point at me, and I flinched in horror. It was a decaying nightmare. What skin was left had a greenish putrid tinge. In parts it slothed away, drooping and exposing gray muscle. A maggot wiggled out from under one long and yellowed fingernail, waved curiously in the air just inches from my eye, and then retreated into the rotten meat, leaving an open hole. "'Well, I know you,' said the hag.

"'I've known you all. I've watched you mourn as I take your loves away. Generation after generation. I felt your pain. I started it. My own horace was the first to go. She weezed again. Necromancer, the story's called me.

Litch. But it takes more than sorcery to live forever, child. It takes sarser. sacrifice. I felt pressure through the bones over my stomach and realized what disgust that Agnes was pressing that rancid hand against me. The lich cackled. And you've brought me a new one, haven't you? I moaned through my skull mask. The nausea in recent mornings, the lethargy. It wasn't sorrow. Percy had managed to impregnate me on that horror of a wedding night after all. "'Oh, honey,' cackled the hag.

"'You didn't know, did you? "'I wouldn't have taken him otherwise. "'I would have left you for as many sweaty visits as he needed. "'It would have been awful, pulpit, don't you think? "'You don't have to lie to me. "'You didn't like him any more than I liked Horace. "'You should thank me, dear. I spat in the lichess

Friended Her snagletooth grin She didn't wipe the spit away It stayed It stayed foamy and white On her haggard visage Some trickled into her eye socket There were no lids left to blink it off

It's okay She said I see why you're upset Hungry, probably Is all Don't worry. I know just the thing. Wiggling down from the ceiling over her shoulder came a pallid white worm. It wasn't quite a worm.

It was too big, as thick around as my wrist. But it had a worm's blind questing head. It was pale and moist and long, when an orifice at the tip that looked like a tiny puckered hole. And it hung twitching from the shadows above as if looking for something. "'Open wide for me, dear,' said Agnes. "'This will only take a moment.' The skull's mass jaw creaked down and brought mine with it.

My mouth was forced open, and I uttered a panic groan as the white worm reared back, and then plunged forward, wriggling between my lips. I tasted it on my tongue, warm and sour. It filled my mouth, nuzzled at my throat. Pushed, and forced its way into my esophagus. I gagged, convulsing, but it was inexorable. It squirmed down until it finally came to rest in my stomach, like a writhering feeding tube,

leaving me choking and trying hopelessly to vomit. The litch showed her jagged grin. You're really quite a revelation, child. She said, The young have so much to teach. All this time I've been stalking my generations, cursing them one by one, sending my minions to dig them up. I should have let you come to me ages ago. Down here, where I can keep you safe.

What a wonderful idea you had, darling. Agnes patted my belly again as I rolled my eyes, choking on the worm. My creature will nourish you, said the hag. Like a little baby bird, dear. It will keep you alive, and your child is well, for as long as it takes. And after? The rotting hands slipped further down, tapping between my legs. I'll invite my friends over, Poppet.

Open a hole in your pretty bone dress. You'll have so many visitors, so many children for me to cherish. I'll keep you safe for years and years. You won't have to worry about a thing, dear. After all, you are family. Cackling, the litch turned and shuffled, away with her odd, uneven gait, leaving me retching in my skeletal prison. The worm pulsed.

Intimate and warm in my mouth. Some sort of fluid was flowing through it, down my throat, disgorging into my belly. Oh, God, what was it feeding me? What was it dripping into my system? I struggled to breathe through my nose. The worm was so big as nearly block my windpipe as well as my throat. I could barely move at all.

An inch, maybe, before I met bones in every direction. I would be left here, forever, a living corpse, entombed. And the child that I now knew was inside me. The wall would budge out around me as it grew, like a tumor. The child itself was almost an afterthought. I never really wanted to be a mother, now that I knew the horror that haunted my family. I would gladly be rid of it if I could.

And the thought of being frozen here for you, years, decades, the unspeakable defilement, and the wall bowing out and then in again and out again, as I was forced to produce offspring for the lich's hideous rituals, I growled a guttural, furious growl, and tried to bite down on the worm that engoreds my throat. It was too big, though. My jaw was forced open by it, and I had no leverage. I couldn't pierce its slimy flesh. But I wanted to live. Not for the survival of my bloody family. No. I'd staggered all my life under the weight of that cursed bloodline. But what fate would I write if I controlled my own story? I growled again, eyes bulging, and shook my whole body in its sarcophagus. I stood on my tiptoes, bumping my head,

and then dropped my weight down as hard as I could. It was maybe two inches, hardly anything at all. It was just barely enough to drive the worm into the teeth of my skull mask. Something viscous and dark spurred it into my mouth. It had the salty, coppery taste of blood, but it was sludgier. I gagged again, revulsed, but I'd hurt the worm. I tiptoed up and dropped again, and this time I thought the bones entrapping me sagged a tiny bit. The thick fluid was dripping down my chin. I made a low sound, almost like laughter, gnawing at the worm, and throwing my weight down again and again.

I grunted as I chewed, that I'd considered suicide because of my rotting ancestors' machinations. That my life could be dominated, twisted, rendered dark by this grasping hag. I was not fodder. I was no sacrifice. The worm flailed in my throat, but I wouldn't. let it escape. It was weakened, shrinking. And finally I found leverage in my jaws and ground down, biting through cartilage and tendons, rancid ecore spurting onto my face, and down my neck, soaking me until finally my teeth clicks shut. I immediately opened again, vomiting. The end of the white worm flopped deflated out of my throat and splattered on the floor below.

The severed end flailed wildly for an instant And then hung still from the ceiling The bones around me were loosening Weakened maybe by my struggle I could move I tried to bring my arms together My legs up tensing every muscle at once The bones creaked and groaned

Get the fuck off of me I snarled And they did As though the hag's magic had snapped they let go all at once and clattered down in an avalanche of bones. I fell to the ground, gasping at a puddle of vomit and bright red ecore. I was still trying to recover, just starting to consider what to do next, when I realized I wasn't alone.

Exhausted as I was, I tense to fight. Some of the bones seemed to have snapped, and I found a jagged femur under my hand. I clutched it, and prepared to spring. I knew you'd escape. Dudley stepped out of the shadows not ten feet away. I glared at him from my knees, panting, my hair hanging matted and red around my face. My voice sounded raspy and damaged.

Why didn't you fucking help me then? I croaked. I'll help you now, he said. There's a way out. I can show you. He held a hand down to me. You don't need a weapon, miss. I mean you no harm. Who said it was for defense?

I stood on my own, ignoring his hand. I wanted to stab my makeshift blade into his chest. It hadn't been so long ago that I'd watched him hack at my husband's corpse. But if he knew his way through this dark catacomb, I hitched my bloody nightgown up to my waist and tucked the bone shard into my underwear. I felt no modesty, uncovering my red streaked legs. I was past modesty. I was covered in gore.

I leaned over and spat crimson and vomit, wiping a thick strand of red away with my hand. Why would you help me? Dudley beckoned me down the corridor. The bones listen to you, he said. They let you go. What's that supposed to mean? Watch.

He reached into the grinning mouth of a skull in the wall and yanked down on his jawbone. It clicked back into place when he let go. So? You try it, said Dudley. I mimicked him, yanking the jaw down, and the wall of bones before me folded away, like machinery,

to reveal a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness. See? The bones listen to you. They'll let you out. He went down ahead of me. They'll let me out with you. The staircase coiled around a center pillar formed of skulls. The faces turned with them, watching the two descend until they turned the last corner into a scene so colorful as to give a fleeting impression of cheerfulness. It was a disorienting change from the astore, black, and white above.

In the guttering light of the torches, it took me a moment to realize what the oranges and greens really were, clinging to the skeletal walls. Down in the deepest and wettest level of the sepulcher, was a wild symphony of molds and fungi. Bright orange slime dripped down the walls. Moss crawled out of skulls sockets. Delicate yellow lightens meandered along the ceiling above us. It's beautiful, isn't it? said the youth serenely. I slipped, catching myself by plunging my hand into a patch of glistening slime.

I wiped my hand on my sodden gown. It stinks, Dudley. "'Does it?' he said, distracted. "'How much further is it?' "'It's just here,' he said, leading us through a doorway into a round room. I had just enough time to see Agnes turning her grinning, gaunt face when the thick oak door slammed shut behind me. In the deepest chamber of the dungeon, the litch lay on a bloody table.

The ceiling arched above her like an orb. He was encircled with skeletal arms holding hands, linking their way around. At irregular intervals, they reached out to hold candles. Bookcases lined one area, filled with tomes and grimwars. On another hung instruments of injury, the bone saw that had cut up Percy, still red with gore, among a collection of blades and pincers. Next to them was a large mirror, and I caught sight of myself. ghastly red from head to toe.

Two ankle tables occupied the center of the room. One was inscribed with a pentagram, cornered with skulls and scribbled with arcane ruins, like some infernal altar. On the other was Agnes. A sheet covered her body. She was turned away, busy. One shrouded arm reached across her chest,

plunging a needle into herself again and again, as though she were operating on herself. She smiled with her jagged skeleton teeth when she saw me. Such spirit you have, dear. She rasped. She almost escaped, cried Dudley. I tricked her. I brought her to you. I slapped him with the back of my hand.

Pig. I hissed, loathing, overcoming my fear. I should have stabbed you. he stumbled back looking somehow offended agnes cackled the bones listened to you didn't they dear you'd be a powerful sorcerer if i let you but you are more used to me in the wall she resumed sewing as she talked and as for you dudley she said she's right nobody likes a snitch Her free hand twitched, still holding its needle, sketching a sigil in the air. Skull sprang from the altar on spinal column springs. They bit him at the wrist and ankles, grinding their jaws as he shrieked with pain.

Blood oozed out around their gray teeth. They whipped him backwards onto the altar and held him down. What was your plan? The Litch asked him. Did you think I would sacrifice her instead of you? "'Stupid boy. "'She's family.' "'I backed up, trying to get to the door,

"'but something came at me from behind the operating table. "'The lich's maggotty, rotted arms scuttled across the floor on its fingernails, "'detached from its body, and dragging its putrid meat behind it, "'until it gripped my ankle and held me there. "'The lich cackled. "'She'd finished sewing. "'I don't suppose you'd help you'd help you. me tie the thread off?"

She asked. No, you're still upset about the worm. It's okay. I'm used to working alone. She bent and gnawed the thread with her lipless teeth, then nodded at one-handed and expertly. She stepped off the table, and the white cloth fell away. Now, dear, she said.

How do I look? I let out a strangled cry as the covering fell away. There, before me, was my family. The lich's grinning head was stitched by thick cords to a muscular male torso. I recognized the broad, sad chest I'd rested on as a young girl. It was my father, but there was no more of him. Attached the one's shoulder with jagged stitches with a woman's arm, pale and slim. It was flayed open at the wrist.

Skin flapping loose, tendons and muscles working inside. It still looked just as when I'd found my mother, wide-eyed and extenuated. On the other side, the new stitches from its jagged edge still oozing blood and pus. Hung a flabby limb almost as familiar. The wedding band on Percy's dead finger matched my own. It hung limp from the shoulder, as though inanimate. There were no genitals, just a conundial. infusion of stitches at her crotch.

Her legs didn't match. I didn't know whose corpse they were stolen from. One was a woman's shapely and long. Great Aunt Tabitha, maybe. The other was obese and trailed behind her, as though injured. Its veins were black, tracing up through the flesh. You see why I keep people around? Agnes shambled to the wall of blades.

Parts don't last forever. I have to replace them from time to time. Tireesome. What a small price to pay for immortality, don't you think? My mother's hand wavered over swords, flails, and wicked tiny scampals. She picked out a twisty dagger. There's just one thing left to do, she said. Your late husband, that sniveling cunt.

he's given me his arm but it's a bit deathly isn't it she poked it with the dagger it didn't respond please please dudley's eyes rolled with panic please help me his pale body seemed so vulnerable stretched on the altar over the mystic sigils bitten by the skulls we need a touch of life that's all said agnes She was beginning to wave her working arm through the air, tracing arcane designs with the dagger point. It left the faint violet trail of fire as it drew. That's where Dudley comes in. You see, dear? A little stabbing, a little... The lich made an exaggerated twisting motion with the dagger, laughing her emaciated laugh.

You see how the magic works. His life force for your husband's arm. and my body will be whole again. I nodded. I did see how it worked. I'd been watching her movements. I could see the lines of magic. I see it.

I said. I get it. I hitched up my gory nightgown and drew the jagged bone from my underwear. You shouldn't have told me. I stomped on the rotting hand holding me, feeling it squirt beneath my heel. And then I dove forward. and plunged my makeshift dagger into Dudley's chest.

The youth squealed as the femur drove into his flesh, but it stuck there only an inch in, stopped by his ribcage. God damn it! I grunted. Please! Dudley moaned, writhing, trying to curl up into a ball. It hurts! Agnes screeched and shambled towards us. Little Slit!

She hissed. You have no idea what you're doing! She was only a few feet away. I jumped up on the altar and straddled the boy, leaning down on the end of my weapon, twisting it, trying to force it in. A horrible grinding noise came from his body, and he whined in agony.

Fuck! I yelled. My mother's flayed arms snaked around, clutching at my throat, and I shrieked and threw my weight down again. Finally, the makeshift dagger cracked through his ribs like a foot through ice and sank deep. He coughed, spraying blood into my face, and the light left his eyes. What have you done? You stupid bitch!

Agnes said. Then she staggered and collapsed, and I did the same. I came too slowly, by degrees. I was on the floor. My body felt heavy, and my head fell light. My vision was blurry. I lifted my hand to my head, but it felt wrong, clumsy. I held it in front of my face, peering at it. The familiar wedding ring, but on a larger finger. The freckled and flabby bicep.

It wasn't mine. It was Percy's. I stumbled to my knees and crawled over. to the mirror. A pale dome came into view, a few limp strands of white hair. I knew what would be beneath them, and I had to force myself to rise up further, until the desiccated face of the lich looked back at me. I staggered to my feet. The chamber was an apertoir. Dudley was dead on his altar, his eyes empty in his chest smeared crimson, and in the corner hunch up as if thrown there, the frail body I used to call my own.

She looked so small, there among the bones. Her nightgown was splattered with scarlet ecor, but she looked innocent, pure, almost at peace. I looked back at my new ghastly visage. The spell was designed to animate the dead. I'd seen the magic in the sigil trails. Whoever completed the sacrifice gained control. It was simple enough. I could do it myself, I thought.

I raised my mother's hand, dreamily, and waved it in a complex figure. New patterns emerged in the air, new power. It made sense. The walls were lined with books, and the books were filled with magic. I could master them. I understood. I understood everything. I heard a shuffling noise behind me.

My body, my old body, was crawling away. Quietly, stealthily, it was crawling towards the exit. Agnes? Is that you? The young woman froze. Then, with a frenzied burst of energy, she bolted. But I caught her. I wrapped Percy's fingers in the girl's hair, holding her fast.

I dragged her back, heels battering the floor, loomers. over her. How did you get in there? I asked. Tricky witch. Wait, cropped the girl. She looked up with wild eyes.

I'm the last of the line. You need me. You need what's growing inside of me. And more. Besides, Let me go. She said, grinning, her teeth showing white in her bloody face.

Let me go. out in the world. I can serve you. I can grow your limbs and limbs. I'll bring them all back to you. I cackled down at her. Rich, I said. I know how the magic works. You never had to keep it in the family at all. Did you, dear? Any old limbs will do. The girl struggled. You wouldn't, she cried. you wouldn't dare renew my body with mongrel parts. They must be of our line or chosen by it. The purity of the family must be maintained. I smiled my nightmare smile.

Pompous little slit. You've plagued our family with tragedy through generations, out of sheer snobbery. All along it could have been... Why, it could have been poor old Dudley. The girl snarled at me, sucked in her breath and spat in my face. I didn't twitch. It's okay, I said. I see why you're upset.

It's hard to hear you're not needed. But you do have one more thing to offer me, Agnes. I don't like this face of yours. It's ugly. I need one more little operation. One last last. sacrifice from my poor exhausted bloodline. I went to the weapon wall, dragging the young woman behind me by her hair and grasped the gory bone saw from its hook. I waved my mother's flailed arm,

and countless skeletal arms spring out from the walls and ceilings of the round chamber. Some grasped the girl's body, clinching it in a dozen places. They jerked her head back, exposing her delicate neck. The rest reached out to me, as if desperate to be closer to the necromancer, as if pleading for my attention. The girl struggled and gurgled, but the bones held her fast. I only need part of me back. I said and began sawing. 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 rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production. team and the story's author.