Creepy - I Discovered Earth's Twin & Chicken Salad For The Soul

Episode Date: April 14, 2022

I Discovered Earth's Twin. We Must Never Make Contact***Written by: JGrupe and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Content Warnings: Enslavement***Chicken Salad For The Soul***Written By: No One of Consequence and Narrated By: Alicia Atkins***Content Warning: Alluded Acts Of Abuse, Sexual Discussion***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.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 creepy pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of books. Violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. I discovered Earth's twin. We must never make contact. Written by J. Group and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. My eyes stung with dry pain and I rubbed them with my palms. Trying to massage the last bit of moisture into them from the inside of of my eyelids. Like wringing out a sponge that's been sitting in the desert sun, there was a little benefit.

Still, I continued to stare at the computer screen in my home office, waiting for the final calculations to finish. If I was right about this, the dark silhouette of a planet I had been staring at for at least two days really was capable of harvoring life, maybe even intelligent life. The thought seemed surreal and dreamlike. Further evidence of my exhausted state, it couldn't really be happening. It just wasn't possible, was it? A second later, the status bar showed complete, and the calculations were finally done.

I began to read through the results, showing temperature variations and percentages of various compounds. Reading down from the top, my heart began to hammer faster and faster in my chest. Nitrogen, 78%, oxygen, 20.9%. Argon, 0.9%. Carbon dioxide, 0.03%. Additional gases, see further breakdown below. 0.17%. Median temperature, 58.43 degrees Fahrenheit.

Was impossible. The composition of the atmosphere, the temperature, the size of the planet, and its proximity to its star, which just so happened to be a G-type yellow dwarf main sequence star. All of these features. They were identical to Earth, which meant I discovered the one planet every astronomer had dreamed of finding. The unicorn, the Goldilocks, the twin of our one-of-a-kind blue speck in the middle of the impossibly vast ocean, that is space.

If there was one place among the stars that could harbor intelligent life, this was it. I sent an email to my superiors telling them what I'd discovered, but it bounced back, saying undeliverable. After several more attempts, I tried calling. The line was always busy, no matter who I dialed. Frustrated and exhausted, I decided to wait until morning. The cell service in this area of Hawaii was notoriously terrible, so I'd try from the landline the next day.

I hadn't slept in 48 hours, and it was all catching up with. with me at once, as my eyelids grew heavy and I wandered into the bedroom, collapsing onto the mattress. I fell asleep a second after my head hit the pillow and drifted into a deep sleep, filled with mysterious dreams of lost stars and hidden planets. I awoke to the sign of a bright bluish white light. It glared at me from the end of my bed, like an opening like a giant mouth. A silhouette emerged from the light, and then another.

Just like the planet I had been watching through the telescope for so long, the figures blocked out a portion of that light, but only momentarily. And then there were hands roughly grabbing me and yanking me up from the warmth of my bed, pulling me across the floor with my feet dragging abrasively along the rough carpeting. Hey, what are you doing? Where are you taking me? I shouted, thrashing as I came back to alert wakefulness. They said nothing, only gripping me tighter as we drew closer to the blue swirling

vortex of glowing light. We went into the portal and I felt extremely warm, then extremely cold, but only for a brief moment until we came out the other side. Two robed figures stood before me, and I saw that we were on a rooftop. overlooking a vast city. The buildings were towering. Their features angular and sharp. Their highly reflective surfaces were tinged pink and blue.

I suddenly realized why they looked so bizarre. We're there, aren't we? On the planet I just discovered. The figures standing before me didn't say anything. They only stared blankly at me. As I observed the foreign planet in wonderment, I saw that the aliens who lived here were far more advanced than humans on Earth.

This looked like a city from Star Wars. Floating spacecraft docked and took off from ports built into massive skyscrapers. These gargantuan towers extended thousands of feet in the air, disappearing into the clouds above. Floating spacecraft of all sizes and shapes were traveling through the city. On these docks, like bees, pollinating flowers. How did you know I found you? I asked. Can you even understand me?

They didn't answer. You must be able to understand me if you could read my emails and intercept them. Why didn't you want my superiors to know about this place? without responding, the taller of the two-hitted figures nodded down to the streets far below us. I looked over the precipice and saw the activity beneath us, a city full of life and aliens going about their day-to-day business. I couldn't make out much detail through the haze of smog. I couldn't make out much detail through the haze of smog,

but it looked dim and dreary down below. There was a noise and a flash of light, and we were suddenly standing there at street level. The aliens had advanced technology that allowed us to teleport through space in an instant. And they deployed it readily, it seemed. No walking around for these creatures, no elevators or stairs either. Vehicles which hovered above the ground at various levels packed the open air above the street. I looked up and I saw that despite the added third dimension being employed to ease congestion, that traffic jams were still occurring.

Each level of flying cars was honking, and there were creatures leaning out the windows of their vehicles, barking in an alien tongue, and gesturing with tentacles covered in fished hook claws on one side. Street vendors were selling paper plates filled with foul-smelling meat, I guess, to customers who had lined up to purchase lunch. A dozen or more were standing near us, and I was careful to stay close to the hooded figures who were acting as my guides. The creatures of this planet were tall, wide, and gelatinous.

They had proboscis instead of mouths, and tentacles instead of arms and legs, which they used to propel themselves, similar to how octopuses move in myriad of different ways. Some of them walked on their back tentacles, almost like bipedal humans, while others slithered and moved snake-like across the pavement. They also changed colors, I noticed, depending on the background behind them. Surprisingly, none of them seemed to notice as the three of us stood watching them silently

from a shaded spot near a building. The hunted figure standing next to me raised an extremity which was shrouded in rows. I looked where they were pointing and saw something very odd. A man was coming out of the sewer grate in the middle of the street. However, cars were honking in him and splashing him with mud as they sped past. He seemed not to notice. His face was calm. and passive, and there was a collar around his neck covered in blinking lights.

What the hell? I muttered, watching him go about his duties. He was bringing buckets of brown slimy muck up from the sewers, and his face and clothing were smeared with it. I could smell the disgusting stench from where we stood, at least 30 yards away. Why is there a person here? I asked the hooded figures. There can't be a person here.

We're further away from Earth than any spacecraft is capable of traveling, assuming we are where I think we are. Then, a moment later, we were teleported again. We were no longer on street level, but instead we were far below ground in a dark mine. The sound of pickaxes, chisels, and hammers could be heard over the cacophony of voices and mine carts which traveled across nearby rails. The voices weren't human, I realized, and we drew closer to see a group of men working at the walls with crude tools.

Each one had the same collar, covered in blinking lights snugly secured around their necks. They were the same collars as the one I had seen the man wearing up the street level. Their faces were calm and passive. None of them looking angry or upset. Instead, they wore no expression at all. As they loaded up Minecrafts full of rock material, I saw that once they were full, they would send them off down the tracks. More carts would come back to take their place and they would fill those up,

sending them off down the tracks as well, in a never-ending monotony of movements. The men and women worked tight. Firelessly, and none of them stopped for an instant to rest. I looked at my guides beginning to grow angry. What is this place? What are you doing to these people? The hooded figures looked at each other and nodded, then turned back to me and revealed their faces.

My guides were human, but they looked different. Battle scarred and branded with strange numeric tattoos and barcodes which covered their skin. The one on the left was a man, the one on the right, a woman. Both had shaved heads and brown eyes. We needed to show you what will happen if you contact your superiors about this planet. If we didn't, then this timeline would become prime. Trust me, you don't want that. I looked back and forth between their unreadable faces, then again at the hordes of human

servants being forced by giant aliens into servitude. I was terrified, but the scientist in me needed to know what all of this meant. And I'll admit it. Looking back, my pride was badly wounded just thinking about denouncing my findings. They were huge. I discovered another planet capable of supporting life in the most optimal conditions imaginable. Not only that, but there was actually life on this planet. What are you saying?

I can't tell anyone about my findings, or else this will happen? Let me guess. This is a simulation or hallucination or something like that, right? This isn't even real. This is very real. This is the future you choose to continue on the path you have chosen. Despite what you may think, this will come to pass within your lifetime. if you do not follow what we tell you.

I thought about this for a minute. I can't keep this discovery to myself. I just can't. I live by a code as a scientist, and I cannot break that code. I can't just keep something like this secret. But don't worry, we won't try to contact this other planet. We'll just observe it. I'll be sure of that.

The man turned to look at the woman. You were right. He's too stupid to say. No matter what we do, he'll tell them what he found. He sighed. I regret to say that you're right, Zenhuk. We'll have to leave him here. She snapped her fingers and I noticed that a slight hissing sound,

which had been surrounding me without my notice, was suddenly gone. Like when the power goes out and you realize how quiet it is without the the fridge running. The aliens, and all of the humans nearby, turned to look at me. And I realized they could see me now. He's trying to escape, one of the men nearby said, blandly and with no emotion. His collar blinked yellow, and then green, making a pleasant chiming noise. His eyes rolled back at his head as if he had just received a boost of dopamine to his brain.

I'll stop him, a woman near me said, reaching out to grab a hold of me. He is tall and looks strong. He will be a good worker for the mines. I pulled away from her, and several others started moving in towards me from all around. Help! Please! I won't say anything. Just let me go back. I want to go back. I screamed, trying to get back into the faint hazy blue bubble that was surrounding my hosts.

The people had brought me to this place could no longer be seen inside. But I imagined them shaking their heads. I'll tell them that this planet is a wasteland, uninhabitable. Please, just let me go back. They seemed to consider this. After a few long moments, just as the dirty hands of the mining prisoners all around me were about to grab hold of me. They pulled me back into the protective bubble of invisibility.

Once I was back inside, they looked at me sternly, and the woman began to speak. We are from the future, even past this one, when humans stand up against their captive overlords and begin to fight back. Unfortunately, we are numbered and outgunned. However, we have managed to gain one advantage. A mission to capture several pieces of enemy technology allowed us this one opportunity. This one chance to go back in time and fix things. Now that you've seen it firsthand, you must understand why you cannot share your findings about this place with anyone for as long as you live. You must keep this place a secret, the man said gravely.

I will. I can see now that this is real, and that you're trying to protect us from contacting these creatures for a reason, I said, too terrified to argue with them. We all talked about this possibility amongst each other in the break room, in the lab, around the computers, while we looked at images of planets we'd discovered. The question was on all of our minds. What if we find intelligent life? but it turns out they're much more advanced. What if they're a super predator? And they don't want to share this universe with anyone else.

That is exactly one you must keep this a secret. I repeat, you cannot tell anyone about your discovery. If you do, this is what will come to pass. And this is what will become of the human race. We will live in chains for hundreds of years, and perhaps much longer. He snapped his fingers and I found myself back in bed in my home once again. It was morning and the birds were chirping outside my window. The possibility occurred to me that it all could have been a nightmare.

It felt so real, I thought to myself. But it wasn't a dream. I was sure of that after seeing the bruises on my arms from where the future humans had roughly grabbed me. But still, My discovery was too big to ignore. I couldn't just let it go to waste. I went over to my desk again and looked at the unsent email from the night prior, which I tried to send to my boss. The coordinates of the planet and makeup of its atmosphere, so similar to Earth, it was all right there waiting to be seen.

I couldn't help myself. I hit the send button. I know some of you will be upset with me, but you are you. You don't understand. This discovery is going to be huge. It's going to change the world. It's going to change everything. Creepy presents.

Chicken salad for the soul. Written by no one of consequence. And narrated by Alicia Atkins. As the newest employee of my little sandwich shop, I need to explain a few things to you. You've got questions. Everyone always does, and I'm going to address them. The most frequent ones are, why is my employee turnover rate so high? Isn't being open from only 1115 a.m. to 2 p.m. a bad business model?

How come I only make 250 sandwiches a day? What justifies me charging $40 for a sandwich? And why would anyone pay that much for a chicken salad sandwich? If you can answer the last question, then you wouldn't be here. You see, I can't employ anyone who's eaten one of my sandwiches, but that explanation comes later. The first question is easy to explain. I take good care of my employees. Half my staff have been with me for years. Starting pay is $35 an hour, and we work at most five hours a day. clock in is 9 a.m.

The first two hours are spent in the kitchen cooking, baking, and assembling the sandwiches. We take a 15-minute break. Most of us spend it having a smoke out the back door. From 11.15 a.m. on, we sell the sandwiches. And more often than not, we're done early. Three employees are cleaning the kitchen at this time, so when the last sandwich is gone, we close up and leave. regardless of when we leave, I pay for the full of five hours. It's easy work, but my number one rule gets broken by the newer employees,

and that's why there's a high turnover rate. No one is allowed to even taste the finished chicken salad, and for some, the temptation is too great. The problem is, my sandwiches are addictive, and I can't have my employees craving the product. it's bad for business. However, this won't be a concern for you. I could be world-renowned instead of regionally famous.

My fortunes could more than triple what I'm currently worth, but I don't want that. There's a lot that goes into making my sandwiches, and being that high-profile comes with a level of attention I simply don't want. My prices won't ever rise unless our economic standpoint shifts in a very harsh direction, but more than half my revenue comes from tips. How many people do you know that have a five-gallon water jug for a tip jar? Most clients tip exceptionally well, not for the service, but for the privilege of being picked.

Not everyone that wants one of my sandwiches will get it. Demand is high, and the clientele shifts with the color of my wrappers. While the basic recipe of my food doesn't change, each of my five-color wrappers indicate a different effect of my secret ingredient. You can ask everyone who's had my food, and they'll tell you their favorite color, but they can't tell you why they prefer it over the others. It's all about the secret ingredient,

and no one can duplicate it. Only I have the skills for this. I could make the sandwich from the worst ingredients, and people would still fight over them. But I do have my pride. Even without the secret ingredient, my sandwiches are pretty tasty. It's what makes it addictive,

but it doesn't change the flavor. I start off with a delicious brioche bun, baked fresh each and every day. It's very important to me that each individual bun is light, buttery, and fluffy like a cloud. If a bun doesn't meet my standards,

then it is immediately removed from the assembly line. Next up is the chicken itself. Most people will choose either light or dark meat, but I like to have both. Boneless, skinless chicken breasts and thighs are seasoned with salt, pepper, garlic, and onion powder. Bake to a delicious golden brown, left to rest for 30 minutes, then put in the fridge.

It'll surprise you to know that the chicken is left to cool overnight and use the next day. The cold chicken is then individually shredded and tossed into the large mixing tub. Look, I can see you rolling your eyes, but it's important that you. you understand the steps and care that goes into this process. Trust me, the good part is coming. Just be patient. All will be revealed.

Red onions and celery stocks are chopped up and added to the mix. It's very important that each individual piece is small. Not necessarily uniform, but close enough is fine. I'm not quite that anal. This adds a much-needed crunch element to the sand. But the small size is important, because the clients won't want to bite into a big piece of onion. Would you want that? Of course not.

I can read that about you without you saying a word. Once that is taken care of, we add in the mayonnaise. I wish it was made from scratch, but sadly it's store-bought. And no, I'm not telling what brand. I've made my own mayo before, and it was really tasty. Unfortunately, the amount needed would require too much time to make, and my spare time has spent working on the secret ingredient. Are you ready to hear what it is?

I know it'll sound strange to most, but there are those that agree with me. I mean, besides my clients. Here it is. Sweet Pickle Relish I prefer my food to have much more of a sweet flavor. I can't stand regular pickles. Tart, tang, and citric are flavor profiles that simply don't appeal to me. With the amount of food in the large tub at this point, one jar of sweet relish is added.

Granted, it's a large jar, but not so big that it completely drowns out everything else. Trust me, it works. Once that's in, it's time to mix. All of us grab the largest wooden spoons I've ever found, and we spend up to 20 minutes mixing it all together. We are very careful to get everything, not a clump of chicken left untouched. Then it's all about putting the exact right amount of chicken salad on each bun,

in wrapping the sandwiches in the same color wrappers as the relish jar lid. Following this is our 15-minute smoke break, then the shop opens. Now for the parts no one else gets to know, except for you. Because you're special. Did you really think that that was all there was to my sandwiches? No, there are worlds more to it than that. You see, that's not just a store-bought jar of sweet relish. It's the delivery system for the special ingredient.

In order to understand how the secret ingredient works, you need to know a little more about me. At a glance, I'm just a kitchy, 30-something woman with pink streaks in my blonde hair. hair, visible tattoos, and more piercings than meets the eye. I have a gift for seeing into people, a combination of empathy and fortune-telling. Back in college, I had a part-time job in a psychic shop reading fortunes and doing palm readings. The money was crap, and people always assumed I was a phony. They'd say horrible things to me when I gave unfortunate readings.

It was always worse when I told the truth. Most people don't go to a psychic when things are going well for them. I think I told three fortunes that were positive. Quitting that job was the best decision I've ever made. When you have a natural psychic talent, if you try to suppress or ignore it, it'll come out one way or another. The dangers of an empathetic talent going amok

is a lot more surprising than you'd think. I won't go into details, but let's just say it can be deadly. mostly for those I come into contact with. Control use is the best. But I wanted to find a way to make it work for me financially. Instead of finding a different job, I decided to become a gambler. Empath playing poker. Can't really lose there.

The big trick is to know when not to win. If you take every pot, then you get accused of cheating and it becomes this whole thing. You hear a lot of interesting things at a poker table. Most of them aren't true. The best games are in the underground, places where otherworldly types play. I'd play, but with other psychics in the mix, refraining from using abilities is the way to go. Otherwise, you'll get your ass handed to you.

I'm no good in a physical confrontation, and yes, it's because I'm a woman. I can fight. I'm no wimp. But when your opponent has 75 pounds of muscle on you, you ain't gonna win. Anyway, at one of these games, I heard of a place deep in the Amazons where psychics that don't want to utilize their powers go. It took some time and a few hundred bucks lost at a table

to find out the truth. There's a parasite that lives in a grove deep in the jungle. It feeds on the essence of other living creatures, not blood, but a form of life force. If you're from the otherworldly community, it's a lot easier to understand, a concept that has learned early on. For psychic types,

it will siphon off the magic that gives them their abilities. The tricky part is removing the leech before it kills you. If it were to attach itself to a regular person, it will siphon off their soul and kill them. By that point in my life, I had long since stopped trying to ignore my psychic abilities, but I was intrigued. My curiosity won out, and I set out to see if the story was true.

As a gambler, I made more than enough money to fund my trip. After graduating college with a business degree, I made my way down south. Took about a month for me to find the grove, but not because I stumbled on it. The creatures call out to psychics, drawing them in like a sirens call to sailors. This thing wanted me to welcome it with open arms. But this wasn't my first tangle with a psychic leech, just the first that was a physical one. Where a younger psychic would immediately give in, I made the worm work for it. We communicated in a way that had nothing to do with words, but I learned what I needed.

If psychics from all over traveled to this remote place to let one of these feed off their power, maybe I could turn it into a business. It took some doing, but I managed to get a couple of slugs and enough of the full. foliage to breed them back in the States. Six months into my project, I was successfully cultivating the vegetation required for the critters to live. When I had 17 of them, a fraction of what I have now, two of the little bastards escaped. It happened when I was out of the apartment. That's why they didn't leach on to me. My neighbors at the time weren't so lucky. They were a wonderful couple, but they're not

Nocturnal habits were vivacious and constant. By the time I realized what happened... Hey, would you stop it already? You're not going to break through those restraints, so don't bother. I've had guys twice your size there, and they couldn't get out. Crap. Where was I? Oh, right. My happy-humping dead neighbors.

Yeah, the leeches sucked out their souls. Life essence, whatever you want to call it. They were dead by the time I got there. The leeches were fat and happy, but I was livid. Sure, the couple kind of annoyed me with their constant love-making, but I liked them. Their happiness was a boost to me because they were so happy. I couldn't empathetically ignore it. I got the fat grubs back to my apartment, and in my fury smashed them like the bugs they

were. This is where everything changed. Some of the fluids from inside those slugs splattered on my face and in my mouth. I'll skip over the details of my trial and errors over the years following my neighbor's death. Instead, I'll just tell you about my current methods behind the color-coding wrappers. Methods I spent years perfecting and have become an old hand at. I feel comfortable telling you this because, essentially, I'm a serial killer, and you're not going to make it out of this alive. Human emotions have their own flavor, which isn't surprising to me. As an empath, I always labeled emotions by color. It's how they appear in my head. Through many trials, I found the five taseous emotions and focused on cultivating them. The day my neighbors died, I discovered the red

flavor, lust, sexual desire, and satisfaction. The dose I got from the worm guts was way too potent, and I nearly died from an orgasmic overdose. I needed to find a way to dilute the potency. What I do is I take a fat grub that's just fed, put it in a blender, and puree it down to a liquid. From that point, I mix the puree with the relish. Off one worm, I can get enough for three jars. To dilute the puree enough to only give the bearers of taste, I use three slugs on one victim. In order for this to work, the victim has to be experiencing the desired emotion for the

flavor to come through. My neighbors were in the middle of sex when the leeches latched on. Took me nearly two years to figure that out. Hey, don't look so hopeful. I'm not going to attach a slug to you and have sex with you. What kind of girl you take me for? I knew the conditions of that first time were unique. There was no way I could duplicate the scenario. More importantly, I didn't need to.

With my empathic senses, I walked around the city looking for a decent candidate for whichever flavor I'm looking for. With red, I'm searching for someone virile, potent, and active. A sexually frustrated virgin doesn't work the same way because there's no experience. No satisfaction from the act itself. Fantasies are no substitution for the real thing.

And it comes through in the flavor. There's something else I look for in my employees. Sorry, I really hate saying victims. In my head, I refer to your type as employees. Vital, but temporary. Anyway, as I read their emotions, I look into their future, too. I don't pick just any sexually satisfied person. I look for one that has a dark future ahead of them.

Usually they turn into stalker types, obsessive types, and eventually killers. I like to get them before they turn bad, to prevent others from suffering later on. Black wrapping paper represents bliss, and this is another flavor I almost died from. Experiencing pure bliss makes you want to sit around and just feel it. Other desires, needs, and wants get completely ignored, all so you can continue to feel bliss.

If given a high enough dose, or repeated doses, you will literally sit in one spot and let yourself die. There are a number of ways to get this flavor, but my employee type usually comes from businessmen, of a sort. Sometimes they're legitimate. Others are like drug dealers, pimps, and crime boss types. With the legit ones, I look for someone currently, or going to commit, some very shady practices that will potentially hurt a lot of people. The illegal types already hurt people, so they are easy to find. Green is probably the most well-known and easiest flavor of them all. Fear.

In so many monster movies, they talk about smelling or tasting fear like a delicious spice on their food. Couldn't say I was surprised to find out they were right. The trickiest flavor of all is white. White has long since been a symbol of purity and innocence. I have to basically stock potential employees to find the right one. It's more about seeing into their future and searching for someone whose life will eventually turn to shit. Destined to be killed at the hands of an abusive parent,

grows up to be a sociopath or the next Hitler. I try to avoid the very young, but these are hard to find. Okay, I see you're confused. Let me explain my process. Once I find a new employee and get them in this chair, I will use an aspect of my ability that most impasse can't. Not only can I read people, I can flood them with images, experiences, and emotion.

I feel their minds to the point they're practically in a coma and attach the slugs to feed. Reds get the best sexual experience of their life. Black gets the experience of having everything they have ever wanted. Green, those that love to make others afraid, live out their darkest fears in unison. I always cry with wine. They live out the greatest, happiest,

moments of their short lives, when the dial turned up to ten. Sorry, just thinking about it makes me cry. You see, the extraction process is lethal, and getting white is a mercy-killing. Unlike my other employees, white never did anything wrong. That's why it works. Last of all, what you are is blue. The other day I couldn't help but read my favorite employee, Kate. I know what you did to her, what you could potentially do.

And that's why I chose you. People like you, blues, are all the same. Men, women, they're all capable of it. You find something to prey on, to belittle, and beat down. given enough time you'd have killed her. But I won't let you. Blue is for punishment. The taste of a predator turned into the victim. And you are going to be quite tasty.

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 common 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 stories author.