Creepy - I Clean Crime Scenes, Part 2

Episode Date: May 22, 2020

It's a job...***Written by dopabeane and narrated by Nate Dufort***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Music by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko 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.

This is the bloody disgusting podcast network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or our simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make me. graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. I clean crime scenes and hoarder houses for a living. Written by Dopabeen and narrated by Nate Dufort. Part 2. Update. My boss and I explored the painting in the suicide. house. I went back to the house early this morning. The smell of human rot still clung to everything like invisible fungus, but other than that, it was starting to look all right. The carpet still had to

come up, but everything else on the first floor was done. And I wasn't brave enough to go into the taxidermy room by myself. I did, however, check out the printer naturally clean bedrooms. The first was as spotless, impersonal, and unremarkable as I remembered, more like a hotel room than a bedroom. The second had a dirty plate on the bedspread and a crusty old coat crumpled on the floor. Someone had broken into the house last night, all because I'd been too chicken shit to go back and lock the door. Heart pounding, I checked the closet and under the bed. Nothing. Then I prodded the coat.

It looked big enough to cover a pocket. person. Massive pile of brown fur encrusted with dark dirt. Handfuls of tender green shoots sprouted along the shoulders and back. I plucked one, feeling a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and inexplicable paranoia. Then I looked at the plate. Crumbles of dirt and greenery mixed with what looked like sticks, all overlaid with an odd gossamer shimmer. I leaned in. I leaned in. then almost immediately reared back, long, dark spider legs and tiny translucent bug wings. Shuddering, I swept through the house for intruders. I even peeked into the taxidermy room, but found no one.

The isolation and general weirdness got overwhelming, really fast, so I went outside and waited. My boss, let's call him Kurt, pulled up around seven. When he saw the taxidermy animals, his exact words were, Just fake freak show shit. The lady used to work for a circus. Yes, you found her mementos. He looked the giant hole-filled anemone up and down with a grimace. Real nice.

Anyway, you're right. We need an appraiser. What about the other rooms up there? They have beds and dressers, I hesitated, but didn't mention the sprouted coat or spider legs. I'm not sure why. I know it was dishonest. Gotcha.

He stepped toward the door, already set to leave. I'll make some calls. That way we can be sure we aren't throwing away anything or brother's going to want. After that, he cut off, frowning, just as a painfully cold breeze knifed through the room. Why is it so cold in here? I glanced at the painting involuntarily.

Kurt tracked my gaze and froze. long fern-like leaves swayed in the damp wind. Hazy moonlight filtered through thin ribbons of clouds, reflecting off a pristine scrim of snow that most certainly hadn't been there yesterday. Dead knots of flower vines clustered round icy tree roots, further testament to the senseless passage of time within. Kurt approached the painting with the same care and stance one might use

in a growling pit bull. I wanted to stop him, but didn't quite dare. Not like I could do anything anyway. I'm built like Frodo Baggins, and he's basically grault of Rivia, except clean. He tapped the picture frame experimentally, then reached inside. The ambient light from the snow reflected off the hazmat suit,

turning it in almost angelic white. It's so cold. Did you know about this? Yeah, he frowned studying the feathery leaves on the trees. For future reference, this is not the kind of shit you sit on for 12 hours. He pulled his arm back, briskly rubbing some heat back into it. Then he turned and beeline for the door. A terminal case of the creeps overtook me the second he crossed the threshold,

so I hurried after him. To my mingled dismay and excitement, Kurt decided we were going to explore. We pulled ropes, pullies, and harnesses out of the van and got to work. I did tell him about the figure I'd seen yesterday. Rather than fear or trepidation, a wild, almost feverish excitement lit his face. So there are people in there.

We harnessed up and anchored the ropes as if preparing for a descent, rather than a simple walk. And of course, he went in first. I watched, harden my throat as that silvery, wraith-like light washed over him. The tree branches cast spidery shadows that played over his form like living things. Ice crunched under every careful step.

He grew confident quickly and kept moving, growing steadily smaller until he disappeared into the trees. By the time the rope pulled pot, he'd been inside the painting at least five minutes. I strained to hear, except for the gentle rustling of the wind. Everything was silent. Finally the rope went slack. A breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding, whooshed out of me.

Several minutes later, Kurt's form finally came back into view, jarringly anachronistic and terribly, terribly small against the primeval backdrop. The towering forest spilled into a field of boulders, almost eclipsing him. The trees and enormous tangled roots in the foreground framed the landscape strangely. Baved in that cold, hazy moonlight, it all looked like something out of a fever dream. Excitement coursed through me, overtaking my fear. I could barely wait for him to get back. I wanted to go in there more than I'd wanted anything in my life.

He finally emerged, shivering, and immediately reached for a water bottle. Mud, leaves, and a delicate webbing of moss coated his gloves. It's cold in there, he breathed. I can't believe how fucking cold. I can't believe it's fucking real. I clipped my harness in, and we switched places. The second I stepped across the frame, I gasped. The chill was so powerfully shocking.

I felt like I'd been punched. I tried catching my breath, but the stunning, alien beauty of the scenery made it impossible. Everything was so much vaster inside. The boulders in the near distance were at least the size of houses. trees, easily ten times my height, towered on all sides. Enormous nets of moss hung from the branches, drifting dreamily in the wind. The thought of entering that ancient forest made me shudder, so I veered to the right instead. The snowy landscape extended several hundred yards, terminating in what looked like a ridge.

I walked briskly, trying to ignore a highly uncommon. uncomfortable unnerving sensation. It felt like my muscles weren't contracting correctly. It's hard to explain, but you know how whenever you breathe or take a step, everything contracts, then expands? It's like I was stuck in that expanded state, like my body couldn't tighten up again, leaving everything unnaturally loose. Winds strengthened dangerously as I tromped towards, the ridge. The snow seemed old, possibly refrozen, crunchy, thin, and deceptively slippery. I moved carefully, steering clear of crystalline rocks and the occasional struggling sprig of greenery. I searched the sky for stars, but the dreamy haze created by the moon reflecting

off gauzy clouds, obliterated whatever constellations there might have been, steadfastly ignoring the unsettling, boneless quality of my movements. I made it to the ridge, straight down a sheer, rocky slope glittering with ice and deep blue veins of crystal set a dark valley. Nestled in the center where labyrinthine ruins dominated by a looming black pyramid, arranged and weathered steps, it looked both inexpressibly ancient and eerily futuristic. The side facing me reflected the skyline like a hallucinatory collection of enormous silver mirrors. The rest of it was indistinct shadow. It looked alive somehow, like sinient darkness masking itself in a facade of light.

At the very top of the pyramid stood a tall, thin figure. Face turned to the sky. Long hair whipped wildly in the wind, bright and flimsy as the clouds overhead. A heavy gust of wind shrieked pass, the fang me dangerously close to the edge. I turned sharply and hunched down, hurrying back to the house. Temperatures dropped as the winds grew, and soon enough I was shaking. Ice and moon and bright snow mingled together,

creating a glistening, dreamy atmosphere. Tree branches groaned as the wind tore their delicate nets of moss away. Somewhere in the distance opposite the pyramid, that strange atonal song echoed. My bones and muscles felt looser than ever. The vibrations from that voice coursed painfully through my body, and for a few delirious moments, I was afraid the frequency would rupture my insides. Finally, the warm, mundane glow of the taxidermy room appeared among the trees. I caught a glimpse of Kurt's face peering around the edge, and I rushed inside after the bitter chill of the painting.

The room felt dangerously, oppressively hot. What did you see? Kurt asked. I described the pyramid as best as I could, as well as the slender, long-haired giant gazing at the clouds. What about the thing making that sound? The song continued to echo in the distance. brimming with emotion, I felt too insignificant to comprehend. Did you see it? No.

Kurt started pacing, all the while staring nervously at the painting. Have you put all these things on the manifest? Yeah. Redo it. Take it off. Kurt. What? What's your solution?

You really want to put this shit up for auction? Don't know about you, but I don't want to end up shot by the fucking men in black. He paused and took a deep shaky, breath. Tell you what, I'll take care of the manifest. That way, nothing's on you. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut. We're done with his house in a couple days. Then you don't have to worry about it anymore. Panic and anger exploded. No, you don't get to take it. His eyebrows crawled all the way up into his hair. My insides instantly withered, but I held my ground. I found this painting. I stolen the damn thing, and he wouldn't have been any of the wiser. He didn't get to steal it from me.

Kurt's expression smoothed, and to my surprise, I saw a hint of relief. Not like I want to do it alone, kiddo. You look scared there for a minute. Thought you didn't want anything to do with it, that's all. Well, I do. Good. He peeled his gloves off and absently scratched his palms. We'll leave it here till we clear out on Thursday. Give ourselves some time to figure out what to do with it. Sound good? Yeah, I answered because there was nothing else to say. We spent the rest of the day pulling up the carpets downstairs. He wasn't scheduled to help me today, but he understandably wants the house clear as soon as possible. I'm not complaining. At this point, looks like I'll be getting paid to explore an alien world.

Kurt cut the day short after developing a pretty ugly allergic reaction to the filth under the carpet. Even with the hazmat suit, he ended up with huge hives spreading from his fingers all the way to his elbows. I wanted to stay and finish it, but he didn't want me alone with that painting. That's fair enough, I think. On the way out, I asked to spread fresh salt along the stairs and sheepishly told him why. He made fun of me for believing in superstitious bullshit, but let me do it.

Honestly, I'm glad Kurt knows, and I'm relieved he's taking the lead. Having someone else in charge makes us less frightening and more exhilarating. I'm scared, don't get me wrong, but for the first time in my life, I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow. videos of the stories told on this podcast or to suggest stories for future episodes please visit us at Creepypod on Twitter

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