Creepy - I Clean Crime Scenes, Part 5

Episode Date: June 3, 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 pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make. 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 Dopa Bean and narrated by Nate Dufort. Part 5. Fourth update. I have to go back to the story. suicide house. One more time.

Kurt has a closet full of sprouts and human bones. And I found it by accident the other night, after he and his parasite doppelganger fell asleep. It looked like a shrine. Tangles of vines coated the walls, competing for space with glossy striated leaves and those luminescent night blossoms. The bones were suspended from the ceiling. Vines snake through sockets and ribs, hoisting them up as effectively as a harness.

Sprouts cover everything like confetti. Unlike the flowers, they're dead, whole but dry, fragile and crumbling from root to crown. I reached out to touch them, and I don't know why. I didn't want to. It was a numb, thoughtless compulsion, almost like a spell. The greenery enveloped my arm, gentle and cool like mist. My fingertips quivered a fraction of an inch from the sprouts, and one of them twitched. Dry matter plumped and darkened growing into a rich green chute with lush leaves.

The root snaked upward. At the bottom, I saw an eye, small, round, and metallic, like that of a goldfish. I reared back and slammed the door, then obsessively scanned my skin for sprouts and eyes. I heard footsteps from the living room. What are you doing? Kurt's shadow preceded him, stretching over the wall. What's in there? I screamed. Evie, he halted in the mouth of the hall.

Bruzy shadows and painful hollows marred his face, making him look horrifically sick. The real one. What do you mean the real one? The body I found in the house wasn't her. It was the younger copy, the one I told you about. He motioned vaguely to the living room, to his parasite twin. More like him than anything, but not quite. He rubbed his neck fretfully.

I'll tell you what I know. Come into the kitchen. I did as he said and sat at the table where he clattered around trembling. He threw on a pair of yellow dishwashing gloves, then brewed tea and put together a plate of cold leftovers. He set both in front of me and took a seat at the opposite end of the table. Only when I started to eat and drink did he speak. Evie had a lot of problems, he began. Actually, from what Kurt described, Evie was insane.

She claimed to be the victim of an adoption gone wrong. A kid who'd slipped through the cracks and been sold to a new parent. That parent was a rich woman who supposedly ran a network of private schools for disadvantaged youth. Evie told Kurt the schools were just a front for a breeding program and a training regimen to create what she called obedient sociopaths. According to Evie, the babies were invariably used in rituals. Rituals for what? I asked.

To create circuses, he answered, among other things. Evie told Kurt all about circuses basically from day one. A circus is a locus, a place where several planes of reality converge. Circuses do not occur naturally. They have to be built. And building a circus is a horrifically violent process. Even worse, the builders have no say over which planes converge.

More often than not, you end up with a circus you can't control, filled with beings and artifacts that actually use you, entities that possess the ability to manipulate or rewrite reality on a whim. We can't comprehend these beings because we exist on the most mundane of planes, not due to chance, but because we as a species expect and require the mundane. We influence and shape our own reality to suit our comfort zone. Our collective will function as a creator force, but that collective will isn't enough to control these entities.

Circuses help with that. A proper circus acts as a cage, but like all cages, the bars rust and the locks break if you aren't careful. That was why Evie left him, her guardian, old now, on her death. bed, ordered her to take care of the circus. Kurt was flabbergasted. What kind of horror story, fairy tale M.K. Ultras shit was this? Evie claimed they'd kill him if she didn't do it, that his life was in danger as well as the world itself. When he tried to stop her, she assaulted him, and he got her temporarily committed on a 72-hour psychiatric hold. But when he went to see her the next day,

She wasn't there. No one even confirmed that she'd been there at all. She disappeared. Two years later, he found her by accident. She looked awful and was desperately lonely. A bad guardian, she kept saying. I'm a bad guardian. Then she asked him to stay with her.

He was happy to do it. He worried about her. He missed her. He loved her. The next day, he zipped back to his place to gather some belongings. When he returned to Evie's house, it was gone. In place of her charming little two-story set a sprawling ranch house, occupied by a couple with a kindergarten-age daughter and a newborn son,

Kurt came back every day. And each time, he saw a different house occupied by different people. No one noticed but him. After a couple more years of this, the young version of Evie came to his house, just like he'd said before. He followed her back to the circus house and made it inside, where he found the real Evie. The wrong one got violent and knocked him out. When he came to, both were gone. The wrong version returned to him several times after that.

Even though he was afraid, he always followed it. every time, because that was the only way to reliably find Evie's house. Evie herself was never there. He saw her in the painting once at the side of the pale, long-haired entity. He couldn't get inside it, though. It was like staring through an unbreakable window. He saw them, and they saw him, but they were trapped on opposite sides of the portal. Sometimes, though,

there'd be dry bundles of sprouts and vegetation on his side. Over time, the taxidermy animals and specimen cases appeared too. He assumed this meant he wasn't the only one using the circus. But as of now, he's never seen the other user. At some point, he claims he doesn't remember, but I call bullshit. He found out the sprouts are regenerative. All the plants from the painting are in some form or another. They bring dead things back to life.

Sometimes they create life from nothing. Sometimes they transfer life between creatures. On his very last visit with Wrong Evie, he once again saw the real Evie in the painting, dismembered and flayed to death just beyond the threshold. The barrier was gone. He ran in and cradled her. She was still warm.

Wrong Evie followed him in and laughed. In a rage, he killed her and left her in the house. Then he packed up the remains of real Evie and took her home. He coated her with sprouts and vines. He's been waiting ever since. Then why the hell do you think she's still in that painting? I demanded. Because she is.

When he went into the painting with me, me, he followed the song. That wordless, eerie, open-throated song all the way into the woods. Even though her bones were in his closet, Evie was there under a giant rip cage and a grove of thistles. He couldn't touch her, though she could touch him. In fact, she gave him the parasites to show him what must be done, she said. She told him the secret of the God in the pyramid that no dead thing resurrected unless it willed resurrection. It didn't want to resurrect her. It wanted to keep her.

The only way to trick it is with the help of its guard. The pale, long-haired man with scales. He alone can override the will of the God, but he needs a worthy bribe. That bribe? is freedom. Why didn't you ever bring the painting here? Because, if it isn't at the circus, the thing in the pyramid escapes.

I stared down into my cup, trying to hide my anger from him. Tendrils of steam curled upward, warm and strangely soothing. I stirred the tea, taking savage pleasure in the obnoxious clink of silverware against ceramic. Crumbled leaves surfaced and spun in a vortex. Why me? Why am I involved at all? The bribe is an escape. The guard can only leave if someone else takes his place.

I need a body. Within the whirlpool of T-Grit came a flash of gold. It spun around and floated to the surface, resolving into a small metallic. I couldn't inhale or exhale. The guard needs replacement and that God needs an offering. Then I'll get Evie back. I don't want to kill you. That's why Evie did this to show me it's safe.

You have to let them grow for a little bit. Then you pop them in the sun. When it's grown, we give one to the jailer, one to the God. You don't even have to go through the portal. We can control them. We can make them do what we want. It's completely safe. Yours were only on your skin, I said.

You made me drink them. He stared at me with a sort of pained, guilty shock. The room was silent and deafening at once. The air felt heavy, terribly, terribly heavy. I bolted. He caught me before I reached the living room and lifted me off the ground. I flailed, kicked, driving him into the wall. His grip loosened and I squirmed away, only to slam into his parasite double. Together, they dragged me to the hole. Up close, Kurt's arms were a

horror show. The inflamed flesh inside the holes bubbled up and spilled over his skin like burn scars. Parasite Kurt looked almost translucent, like a thin scrim of water was trapped between layers of flesh. In a panic, I bit down on parasite Kurt's hands. A gush of thin, sweet liquid erupted from the puncture. I accidentally aspirated it, and my entire mouth and throat went numb. While I struggled to breathe, they forced me to the closet and locked the door. I fell under the pile of bones, tangling in the vines and tearing blossoms apart. When I finally straightened up, The skull dangled inches from my face. Bright flowers glowed from each socket, equal parts horrifying and dreamily lovely.

All around me, the dead sprouts came to life, golden eyes opening along the roots one by one. I tried to move but couldn't. The numbness had spread, overtaking my shoulders and chest. Sleepiness came with it. The thing I saw were the eyes. than a thousand sparkling like miniature searchlights in the dim glow of the flowers. As I drifted off, I became dimly aware of a maddening itch in my heel. I woke to a sensation of uncomfortable pressure and painful tugging,

like something was pulling muscle out through my skin, slowly turning inside out. My throat hurt, my arms hurt, and my foot radiating a deep, maddening itch. Everything flooded back, and I opened my eyes. Long-glissening larvae towered from dozens of holes in my right arm, thick as tentacles covered in round, glittering eyes. They stretched painfully straining toward the wall. Little pockets of my swollen tissue stretched with them,

tenting along the base of each larva. I threw up, brackish fluid choked with plant matter and metallic eyes flooded my lap. I kicked away, then shrieked as something shifted inside my heel. It felt like a snake coiling and sliding across itself. My shoe shifted as something pushed it off, tickling my arch as it fell away. The parasite snaked out of my foot, rough edges scraping the skin of my heel. A sparkling serpent ripped up like a cobra. Rippling fins propelled its narrow body upward.

bright blue eyes glittered from the sides glinting like crystal in the dimness. After regarding me curiously, it darted upward and wove itself into the ribcage. All of its eyes were fixed on my left arm. Quivering, I looked down at my arm expecting the worst. Roots and sprouts dusted my skin, but the flesh was whole and unblemished. Even the injury inflicted by the sprout beast, the wound the guard had sucked clean, was gone. All that remained was a patch of strange white flesh that glimmered with an iridescent sheen.

I looked up with the larvae. They too were focused on that patch of skin. That was why they were straining. They were trying to get away from it. On impulse, I thrust my arm toward them. With a volley of pain unlike anything I've ever experienced, they plunged down into my arm. They were big, much bigger than Kurtz, and my skin bulged with the strain. Electric bursts of pain shot through my body, subsuming all my senses and a white nova of agony.

I screamed helplessly, which quickly devolved into wet, painful coughing. Another torrent of fluid came up. To my horror, tiny larvae wriggled weakly in the puddle. I sobbed and reached for the doorknob. To my shock, it turned, spilling me out into Kurt's hallway. Soft midday shadows cloaked the hall, but I saw clear, clean sunlight streaming into the living room straight ahead. I tried to stand, but my legs weren't strong enough. Sobbing weakly, I crawled to the living room and collapsed in the light.

Both Kurt and his double were gone. The house was quiet, enveloped in that soft, stuffy stillness peculiar to hot days. I writhed miserably weeping and screaming as my larvae erupted. They were easily five times the size of Kurtz, thick and rope-like and several inches tall. Even worse, they made noises, keening, high-pitched shrieks. that seemed to slice through my head. I coughed helplessly the entire time, stomach and lungs expelling incredible amounts of dark fluid.

Roots, sprouts, and weak parasites came with every expulsion. It smelled sweet, almost tropical, with hints of citrus and flowers and warm rain. The larvae were too large to simply explode. Instead, they ruptured swelling and splitting like overcooked sausage and spattering everything with thick translucent icor. Had I been physically capable, I'd have crawled out of the light just to escape the pain, but between the endless coughing and weakness, I was as good as paralyzed. Eventually, I faded out.

A sensation of warm heat and softness woke me up after sunset. I turned over, something squelched under me thick and damp like jelly. I sat up and found myself wallowing in a pool of exploded larvae. Strings of their tattered skin trailed from inflamed holes in my arm, reminding me absurdly of seaweed. Their eyes lay everywhere, glinting, dully in the dying light. My foot twitched, whimpering. I looked up as the serpentine thing snaked out of my eyes. heel. The skin around it was baggy and pale like a blister. The serpent darted over the mass of jelly,

picking out the eyes and eating them eagerly. Stomaching, I glanced at the holes in my arms. Puss rimmed the edges, paleness contrasting with the furious swollen red. Each pit bore downward like a honeycomb cell. At the bottom of one, I saw a quivering mass of tissue studded with small eyes. Altogether, I counted ten. Ten ruined pits in my skin glittering with fresh larvae. They're growing back.

I tried to pull the rippling snake from my foot, but before I could touch it, it burrowed deep. I swear I can feel it curling around the bone. Maybe that's why I'm weak. It's damaged the tendons and muscles. Breathing isn't easy. Each inhale is ragged and thick. Soreness radiates from my ribs and down to my stomach.

It's more larvae. They're inside me. I know it. I have to go back to the house because my only hope is the guard. Kurt said he needs a body as a bribe. That's fine. I've got my own slippery doppelganger growing. The larva jelly is bubbling up before my eyes, slowly resolving into a copy of me.

If it doesn't want a doppelganger, and I can always give it Kurt, even now, after all the lies, I feel for him. I really do. But if he wants his wife back, he has to pay the price himself. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories to be. on this podcast or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us at creepypod on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook or email us at creepypod at gmail.com. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wiki.com and our Protected by a Creative Commons license.

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