Creepy - I Clean Crime Scenes, Part 6

Episode Date: June 5, 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 creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make me. DECISNs of Violence and Explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy Presents I Clean Crime Scenes and Horder Houses for a Living. Written by Dopabine and Narrated by Nate DuFort, Part 6. Final Update. Today, I saw something I don't. understand. I've always preferred pain to itching. Not that I enjoy either, but pain is straightforward. Even at its worst, pain is somehow clean. Pain also has the decency to kill you once it reaches a certain threshold. Itching, on the other hand, is filthy and consumptive. Itching can't kill you.

It'll just drive you insane. In fact, if you could transform the essence of madness, into sensation, that sensation would be itching. Itching was the only thing on my mind as larvae infestation worsened. Every breath produced a deep, explosive itch that wrapped over my ribs and organs. I saw vines in my mind's eye, thin and wet and tipped with golden eyes, winding their way through my body. By the time my parasitic doppelganger blinked awake, night had fallen, and my larvae had regrown. The new batch was small and stringy, ill-looking. They peaked out anxiously from the holes in my skin, quivering. My doppelganger was easy to control, and actually there was nothing to it.

When I moved, it moved. I was glad for this because I didn't have any energy left for conscious control. With a great deal of effort, I dressed it, and together we hobbled out to my car. There was a moment of confusion when it tried to climb into the driver's seat with me. I repositioned it in the passenger seat, struggling as it mirrored my movements. The larvae surfaced to watch, straining the tender flesh at the bottom of the holes. The drive to the suicide house, to the circus? was a hallucinatory nightmare.

Things crept around inside me, prodding and squeezing tissues. The winged snake in my heel thrashed angrily, nipping my skin as it attempted to chew through my shoe. Worst of all, I couldn't stop coughing. Every fit inevitably ended in a torrid of vomit choked with leaves and tiny golden eyes. My doppelganger ganged with me, identical except for its eyes. flat and golden, comprised of a hundred parasite irises. After what felt like eternity, I reached the circus and led my doppelganger inside. The living room had transformed into a grove.

Vines and glowing flowers covered every surface. In the corner, dimly illuminated by blossoms, sat the enormous anemone. Tentacles drifted dreamily, seemingly oblivious to the holes scoring its flannel. The five-eyed monstrosity lay before it, half-buried in vines. I shuddered and hobbled upstairs. My doppelganger followed hesitantly. Through my haze, I heard voices, men's laughter and a woman's playfully sarcastic bite, all underscored by atonal piping.

One of the bedrooms was closed off. A bar of golden light flickered along the bottom of the door. The door to the other room was torn to pieces, drooping on a single hinge. My larvae peaked out and pulled toward the open room. A mindless, blissfully calm compulsion overtook me. I followed their lead and ducked inside. A blanket of dead vines, curled leaves, and dry blossoms covered everything except a twisted figure on the bed. The larvae strained forward.

glittering in the moonlight. It was the warped girl, unnaturally stretched across a blood-soaked quilt. Strangely, slates lay atop each of her hands. They were piled with hairy spider legs and bloated tentacles, garnished with sprouts and dead flowers. Horrific details resolved as I came close. From throat to thigh, she was a bloody ruin. Glistening guts cascaded. from her butchered abdomen. Buried in the morass was a multi-limbed fetus with several eyes. Translucent hands clutched the gory remnant of a twin. The spell suddenly broke.

The larvae retracted causing a nauseous explosion of itching that radiated to my shoulder. I turned, retching and found myself face to face with the five-eyed taxidermy monster. It loped past me and loped. lunge plunging long, thick fingers into my parasite doppelganger's throat. Thicky core spurted like blood from an artery, and it collapsed. The serpent in my heel quivered. My knees gave out. I slid helplessly to the floor.

The five-eyed monstrosity approached and knelt before me. To my shock, it spoke. In all their forms, the parasites overtake and ruin your mind. Its voice was low and liquid, almost childishly. high, lips rolled above its vast mouth the way grasp rippled in the wind. Ruined minds make our doors. It touched my intact arm, the one the long-haired guardian had sucked clean. The unusually pale skin glimmered faintly, but he closed the one.

It wrapped cold puffy fingers, circled my head. The touch was sharp and oddly refreshing. My mind suddenly felt clear. The larvae in my arm shuddered, producing a thrumming tickle. that made me moan. The caretaker will clean you again. Find him. You just want me to trade places with it,

painful hysteria built in my chest. Something like pity crossed its face. The caretaker captures and releases charges at will. You were released once. You will be released again, though the vines will otherwise. Its eyes skated over my honeycombed arm. your friend the madman wants you to take the caretaker's place so that you will release his wife.

He will confront you. He surrendered to the vines. You may not recognize him. It looked meaningfully at the warped woman. She did not. Hysteria and horror continued to build, twining together like the vines. Go, it said, or I will make a door from you. I tore into the hall past the room where men laughed and pipes echoed into the taxidermy room.

The specimen cases were broken and empty. No taxidermy creatures remained. And the paintings showed only empty backdrops, forest and beaches, rocky canyons and golden fields, luxurious bedchambers, and bloodstained dungeons. In the center hung the familiar moonlit landscape. I ran through, gasping as deep cold settled over me, like a blanket. That familiar wordless song, beautiful yet so very close to screaming, echoed over the plains. I veered toward the slope.

The pyramid came into view, a cubist masterpiece of blinding silver and unfathomable darkness. Low veils of clouds clung to the top like a gathering storm. Itching ran along my bones as larvae shifted. I hurtled toward the labyrinth. dodging thorny vines and treacherous burrows, half hidden in the brittle grass. My intact arm glimmered strangely on my periphery, and too smooth. It frightened me in a way even the larvae could not. I sped up, grimly ignoring the serpent writhing in my foot.

Pale light guided me to the labyrinth's entrance. As I approached, I heard a low, resounding thrum. The ground vibrated in a chorus. of horns echoed through the night. To my shock, glittering beetles erupted near my feet and flooded across the grass. Other creatures followed. Antlered hogs, primordial cats, giant toads, tiny foxes with billowing clusters of tails and more. So much more, all running away from the pyramid. I reached the entrance just as a pack of long, low wolves, with tusks and bulbous eyes bolted past. Six winding paths flanked a marble promenade that led directly to the

pyramid. Horns and wordless wailing echoed off the black walls. The larvae and my arm peaked out of their burrows. I fought the urge to rip them out, the pain I knew would make me black out, and marched forward. More paths spun off the promenade, narrow and impenetrably dark. I hurried past refusing to look last I find something staring back at me. A tall, perfectly rectangular opening loomed ahead. Glimbering steps led to the entrance. I slowed to a halt at the base of the stairs. For a paralyzing moment, I thought about turning back.

This was, I thought, the very last thing I wanted to do. At that moment, the serpent in my heel convulsed, sending bright, electric pain coursing through my leg. It was an apt, perfectly timed reminder that actually, dying of an alien parasite infestation was the last thing I wanted to do. So I went inside. Soft, smoky incense enveloped me, along with an almost debilitating heat.

Vines and flowers crawled up the walls alongside veins of polished ore. Blossom and mineral glow dimly, illuminating a septet of enormous images on the antechamber wall. Five, I recognized. A bull, a locust, a malformed wolf, a breathtakingly beautiful person that could have been a man or a woman, and a golden dragon. Two I had trouble with,

a hideously proportioned human with wings, no eyes and three mouths, and a creature with a shape I couldn't quite comprehend. whose flesh glimmered with a mad array of stars. A sharp chorus of laughter echoed through the chamber, indulgent and somehow cruel, followed by a bone-rattling roar. I spun around anxiously looking for a door, but only saw another set of seven images behind me.

The laughter grew abruptly both in volume and glee. My arm itched, my feet ached, and a terrible pulsating pressure built in my chest. Breathing suddenly became impossible. A moment later, I felt it, long and wet, slithering up my throat. I gagged, tongue-rolling back and touching the tip of a vine. Those strange towering images swam before my eyes. Dreamily, I realized it wasn't laughter I was hearing, but screaming, punctuated with a chilling, inhuman bellow.

I collapsed painfully aware of the serpent shifting in my flesh. Everything blurred together soft and almost beautiful, as vines and larvae erupted from my throat. Tiny eyes and wet leaves glittered on my periphery. It scared me, so I closed them just as halting footsteps echoed through the chamber. I felt hands on mine, strong and cold. I looked up and saw the caretaker's

strange, sharp face staring into mine. One of its eyes had ruptured, red, swollen, and unwholesomely bloated. Horror and hope suffocated me along with the vines as the guardian lowered its mouth to mine. Cold lips closed over my chin and cheeks. The itching abruptly disappeared, and I felt a bare, blissful instant of relief before an overwhelming noval Nova of agony scorched me into unconsciousness. I surfaced to silence. Gasping, I shot up.

I was naked but could breathe just fine. No plant matter or worms choked my throat. I immediately looked at my arm. Pale, plump flesh peppered with half-heeled holes. I touched one experimentally. No itching, no larvae, just a dull, unremarkable ache. My heel was strangely horrifying, deflated and colorless, like an enormous drained blister. The sunken hole reminded me of rotting pumpkins, but at least it was empty.

No serpent, no larvae, no vines. I climbed to my haunches. My hand fell into a soft pile of vegetation, and I almost screamed. It was the caretaker, shriveled and glimmering like moonlight, covered in tall, luminescent flowers that looked like lupines. Fighting back tears, I inspected my skin for any scratch or puncture. There were none. The flowers had been soft, after all, softer than anything I'd ever touched.

But was that any guarantee? Just as I'd begun to calm down, a low, wet rumble, rumbled through the antechamber. I jumped up and saw the door where there hadn't been one before. under the feet of the bull, low and glowing with rich golden light. A hideous, incomprehensible shadow filled that beautiful doorway and lumbered into the antechamber. Seven enormous sinewy limbs exploded from a twisted torso. Four were vaguely human. Three were thick vines, studded with glittering eyes.

Sprouts and humming tangles of bright-eyed larvaeased each inch of. of its raw flesh. A human head crowned the monstrosity, warped and lumpy with clusters of subcutaneous vines. A feathery anemone extended from its mouth, straining the skin to such a degree that the flesh had split up to the eyes and ears. Blood, sheeded past its cheekbones, choked with vines and squirming with small worms. Dangling from a broken jaw was half an eerie translucent fetus. the twin, I realized, to the one at the suicide house. The anemone snaked forward and spun open, bearing a tangled spiral of teeth that made me think of sharks. In the center of that spiral, set into the throat like a gem, lay a massive cluster of golden eyes.

The anemonee shifted sharply, straining upward to offer full sight of the human head from which it sprouted, Kurt. Kurt's head, Kurt's body, Kurt's mind, warped and erupted and overtaken by the vines. His right eye found the dead caretaker buried in the cairn of flowers, then spun toward me, radiating madness and triumph. And I knew, somehow, what he was thinking. He'd won. I was the new guardian, and I would now release his wife. Sadness and profound rage swept through me,

just as the caretaker shifted under his glowing lupines. A deafening roar shook the pyramid. The anemone stood at attention and Kurt looked back at the small door, panic flickering across his ruined face. Then he lunged at me. The caretaker exploded from his funeral grove in a tornado of stems and glittering petals, launching himself at Kurt.

He reached into that nightmare gullet, ignoring the spiraled teeth, and plucked out the golden cluster of eyes. That roar sounded again. Dust rained from the ceiling. Leaves and flower vines rattled as if in a wind. The Guardian ignored it and continued his methodical dismemberment of Kurt. A chorus of shrill screaming issued from Kurt as larvae squirmed and shot out of his flesh,

swaying several feet in the air before diving down at the Guardian. Glistening bodies swarmed over the Guardian's snowy arms. I turned and ran. hurtling down the promenade, oblivious to the numbing cold. I don't know how I made it back to the suicide house, but I did. I stumbled past empty paintings and taxidermy monsters who now breathed past the warped woman's corpse and the laughing men, salt crunch under my feet as I tore down the stairs and out into the yard.

It was dark, and I was panicked, so my nakedness didn't matter to me. I slid into the front seat of my car and sped home where I inspired. expected every inch of flesh. My hands are smooth and unmarked. My feet are not. Small scratches and punctures litter the skin, but I think I'm all right. They're already healing, and the skin is smooth and unusually pale. But just in case, I drenched my feet in hydrogen peroxide, wash them, and sprayed them

with a cheap herbicide. It hurt like hell. I can barely stand and I'll have scars, but it's worth it. Then I showered in the hottest water I could stand and stumbled to bed. I woke this afternoon to a very familiar painting propped against my bedroom wall. It's just a painting for now. Rich oils and silver tones depict the scene as I first saw it. A crisp spring night with a tall inhuman figure framed by luminescent flowers and strange trees.

I left it there and went to the suicide house. Instead of Evie's two-story house, I saw a neat little bungalow with a breathtaking rose garden. I drove by three times before going back home. I haven't done anything with the painting, but I need to soon. I had a really good look at it just now, and there's a problem. In the distance, behind the caretaker, is another figure. Malforned and multi-limbed, coated in vague suggestions of vines and worms.

I don't know what happens to doorways when you burn them. But I'm about to find out. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told 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. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wiki.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.