Creepy - I Don’t Think I’ll Ever Sleep With My Girlfriend Ever Again & Tracy + Matt

Episode Date: December 9, 2021

"I don’t think I’ll ever sleep with my girlfriend ever again"***Written by: IOughtToBeThrownAway***Content warning: sexuality***"Tracy + Matt"***Written by: Queenie Webster and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***Content warning: Sexual Acts***Find our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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.

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 are 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 don't think I'll ever sleep with my girlfriend ever again. Written by I ought to be thrown away. My girlfriend told me she often experiences sleep paralysis and that she even sees a demon most of the time. She said it makes her panic because she feels absolutely helpless. and that the demon staring at her seems absolutely bent a malicious intent.

Of course I told her it was just a hallucination, and... Now I'm kind of ashamed to admit it, but I thought I might finally score with her if I convinced her that she didn't have to sleep alone, so I told her we could sleep together, just so she'd be less scared. Told her she'd feel safer with me. I wish I never had. It started pretty innocent,

And actually it felt really nice just to cuddle. It was the first time I'd ever been in a woman's bed before, so of course I had only one thing on my mind. But I didn't want to seem like... Well, I didn't want to seem like I really was considering my intentions. So I acted as polite as possible. Made sure not to touch her or grind up against her. But we were spooning.

And I couldn't help but think about it. I got pretty excited. But again, I didn't want to seem like a creep, so I had an awkward half spoon to keep my junk from pressing into her butt cheeks. But I could tell that she felt safe, and that alone was a good feeling. Even though I wanted to bone, I was legit happy and proud to make her feel so safe in my arms. Eventually her breathing slowed and she fell asleep. I had a rager and couldn't do anything with it.

So I was laying there watching her sleep. I hope that doesn't sound creepy. It's just that she's so beautiful. And I think I actually love her. All I wanted was for her to feel good and safe. But my mind was wandering all over her body too. I was kind of lost in fantasy and drifting off. to sleep when I heard her kind of make this adorable little peep sound.

Well, at first I thought it was adorable. It kind of sounded like she might be having a good dream, if you know what I mean? Her breathing was getting quicker, and I woke up a bit more and pressed against her. I was hard as a rock. I thought she was having like a chick version of a wet dream or something. Does that exist? Well, anyway, I did kind of push against her. I expected her to push back, but she didn't.

Instead, she made that sound again. Only this time it didn't sound so cute. It didn't sound sexy at all. I didn't think she sounded like she was in pleasure. If anything, she sounded distressed. I opened my eyes wider. I couldn't really see well in the dark, but I was worried. Wanted to make sure she was okay.

She was whimpering then. Actually whimpering. It sounded like she was panicking, and I realized she must have been having a sleep paralysis episode. And I felt terrible because I had hoped that my being there would have helped her feel safe. honestly, and I know this sounds stupid, but I felt disappointed in myself for letting it happen. I pulled her close and whispered,

It's okay, sweetie, it's okay. I stroked my hand through her hair and kind of rocked her side to side, but her breathing only got quicker, and her wimper's got all the worse. She sounded like she wanted to scream but couldn't. My brain was racing too. I wished I could help her. It was scary.

I felt totally useless. It was too dark to see her well. In fact, it was darker than I had ever seen. I could only barely make out her outline and her eyes wide with fright in the dark. And the area in front of her looked like a black abyss or a void. It was an unsettling effect, hearing her cry, and seeing her stare so fearfully at what was basically nothing. It was easy to imagine a face or form in the dark, and I knew that's how these types of hallucinations work. She wasn't seeing anything, not really, just the shadow, and her mind was filling in the blanks.

I wished I could see her better. I wished it wasn't so dark. because I wanted her to feel safe. That's when it occurred to me to just turn on a light. I'd see her. But more importantly, she'd see nothing, and her hallucination would be dispelled. I turned away from her to click the bedside light,

and she let out this low, drawn-out, pitiful moan. Like she was begging me not to turn away from her. I said, I'm not going to leave you, baby. I'm right here. I'm right here. You're okay. You're okay.

I'm not going anywhere. Just going to flick the lights on. And I swear to God, she moaned again, and it sounded like she said, no. But I figured that had to have been because she was afraid I'd leave her. So I kept my face pressed against her cheek and reached behind me, just barely able to click the lamp. The light flared. And I swear to God and all the angels. My heart nearly stopped.

The shadowy spot that had been in front of her wasn't empty at all. It was horrible. There was a fucking evil-looking thing glaring at her. It was squatting right on the bed next to her. It's facing mere couple inches from her. Its eyes wide and menacing. I fucking screamed. I screamed like a little baby.

Then the thing turned its terrible gaze towards me. Its eyes were like deep pools of hate. I knew it wanted to hurt me. It was like all the good feelings I'd ever felt were plunged into ice water. Like my soul had shriveled up and retreated into the deep pit of my mind. where there was only silence and hiding. I wish I could have retreated too. I felt absolutely broken.

I guess it might have been a flash of depression, though I've never been depressed. But there was something else too. Like a sense that something was unclean, dirty. I had this inarticulate revulsion. I didn't want to be anywhere near that. evil-looking thing. I didn't want to be anywhere near my girlfriend. I was worried that she'd passed this to me like some contagion. Awful images flashed through my mind. I thought she'd brought

me here deliberately to manipulate me, to infect me with this haunting. I wanted to hurt her for it. I thought, God, I don't want to admit this, but I thought about slidding. her throat and plucking out her eyes. And then I started to sob. I love my girlfriend and would never hurt her. But somehow the presence of this demonic entity made me hate her. Only temporarily. But still, it made me want to hurt her to kill her.

It made me insane. The woman I wanted to protect. The woman I wanted to love and make safe. Turned into some kind of raving blood fantasy by the parasitic demon. Couldn't stop crying. She was crying too, but I barely noticed. In fact, I recoiled away from her and raked my face with my fingers in a desperate gesture. Like I was pleading with my own broken psyche to come back to reality.

I don't know how long we stayed that way. me trembling with fear, her utterly still, still as a stone, still as the grave, until finally she moved a hand. It was a jerky motion, but the second she moved the creature fled. She turned toward me and wrapped her arms around me and sobbed desperately into my neck. She kept saying, thank God you were here. She said her demon was there, that she knew it was going to hurt her, but that my being there had stopped it. Then she sniffled and smiled and said,

But you were right, that has to be a hallucination. I couldn't speak. I didn't have the heart to tell her it was real. Or at least if it was a hallucination, I'd somehow seen it too. She said, you have to say, you have to. sleep with me tomorrow too. I know my sleep demon will probably eventually leave me alone if you're here beside me. She kissed me on the lips, but I was too shaken to kiss her back. She said she felt like my being there stopped the creature from hurting her, that tonight it had seemed more real

than ever, more dangerous than ever. She said she had had an overwhelming fear that the creature would slit her throat and pluck out her eyes. And she knew a hallucination couldn't do that. But somehow she also really felt like my being there saved her life. But that image was still burned into my mind. The image of me hurting her in the exact same way she had thought the demon would. She wants me to sleep with her as often as possible. But how can I?

She says I'll help her feel safe. and maybe she's right. Maybe my being there did stop the demon, but how can I sleep with her again? I don't think I can bear to see her sleep paralysis demon once more. I may go insane. I don't know if I can resist it. If it tries to tell me to hurt her,

to kill her. Do I protect her from myself? Do I abandon her to face this night terror? all on her own? Do I try to help? Or do I protect her from the night terror? I don't know what to do. And I'm terrified.

Creepy presents. Tracy Plus Matt. Written by Queenie Webster and narrated by Megan McDuffie. Two values are inversely proportional to each other when their product is a constant. At least, that's what Mr. Bellamy says. I wiggle my left toe. toes as he drones on about integers. I can feel my four smaller toes rubbing against the top of my sneaker,

but the big one has gone completely numb. There are no prickles, just nothingness, like it's not there at all. Mr. Bellamy grabs the chalk and slashes through a pair of threes to cancel them out. I copy it into my notebook to make it look like I'm paying attention, then loosen my shoelace to increase the circulation to my foot. I give my toes another little wiggle, but there's still. nothing from the big one. The desks are lined up in twos and seat 38 students in a room that was built for 25. We're so crammed together that Mr. Bellamy can't see anything that's happening beyond the

first row. I'm wedged in the last row next to Nick, who's great at algebra, but who has dandruff and smells like weed. Across the almost non-existent narrow aisle and one row ahead, Matt is sitting next to Jessica. His hand is on her knee. Mr. Bellamy, cancels out some more numbers, and Matt's hands slides higher. Jessica slouches back in her seat and spreads her legs. My eyes sting, and I try to look anywhere else but at them. Last week, Matt was sitting next to me. Last week, it was my knee.

I gouge an angry doodle inside the cover of my notebook next to a scribbled over heart with Matt's name in it. Sure, I'd been drooling after him since September, but he never. so much as asked to borrow a pencil from me. Then one day in math class, he just put his hand on my knee. Then I didn't stop him. Hell, I was flattered, but after, he never talked to me again. Nick nudges me with his elbow. Man, he's really pretending you don't exist, huh? He says. His breath smells like Doritos. I ignore him and wiggle my toes again. There's still no feeling in the big one. Jessica looks uncomfortable.

Matt must be grinding the seam of her leggings into her junk. That's how it was for me, at least. I wonder if she'll think to fake an orgasm to end it, or if she'll let Matt keep prodding around until it burns when she pees. I don't think that Matt cares one way or the other. Nick nudges me again. Don't take it personally, Tracy, he says. You aren't the first, and you won't be the last.

He gestures to his left. They look to where he's pointing and notice there are three empty desks on the far side of the room. Wasn't the class crammed full at the start of the semester? I try to remember who had been sitting there and draw blank. Who's missing? I ask. He shrugs and scratches his scalp. Flakes of skin stick under his nails and he wipes them on his jeans. Can't remember, he says.

He's looking at me like I've suddenly become very interesting. Can you? They shake my head and wiggle my toes again. I can't even remember what the empty deskers looked like. Have I really gotten so obsessed with Matt that I've stopped noticing the people around me? Jessica has apparently decided to fake her way out of a chafed vagina. She's breathing fast and gripping Matt's forearm. I raised my hand, asked to use the washroom.

Mr. Bellamy excuses me with a distracted wave of his hand and cancels out an enticing. a row of numbers. My eyes are so wet that it's hard to wade through the heavy sea of desks. When I get to the door, I glance back to see if Matt has noticed how hurt I am, but his eyes are glued to his math book. Jessica reaches for his hand, but he picks up his pencil and starts copying all the notes he's missed like he's the world's most dedicated math student. The fluorescent lights in the bathroom turn on automatically as I push the bathroom door open.

I run to the sink and wash my hot face with cold water. My makeup goes down the drain and a swirl of foundation and black eyeliner, and I wish the rest of me could follow it, so I wouldn't ever have to go back to class. I do my best to clean my face with the harsh pink soap, but it just burns my skin and smears the remaining makeup down my cheeks. I turn my back on my pathetic reflection and hop up onto the counter between two sinks. Maybe I'll tell Mr. Bellamy I'm having cramps. Would you believe it if I had cramps every math class between now and the end of the semester? The feeling still hasn't come back to my toe, so I pull my shoe off and drop it to the floor. The tip of my sock is baggy, like it's empty.

I frown and wiggle my toes again. Nothing moves in the sock. I bend my knee up and rest my heel on the counter as I slide my fingers along my foot. When my fingers pinch the tip of the sock flat, I recoil so fast that my butt slides into the wet sink. I scramble to right myself and yank the sock off. My toe isn't just numb? It's gone. There are no marks or wounds, only a blank spot where my big toe should be.

I slap my hand over my mouth and the stink of the cheap pink soap fills my nose as I scream against my palm. I rip at the sock to turn it inside out. It's empty, so I drop to the floor to grab the sneaker. I jam my hand into the shoe and feel around, but there's no sign of my toe. My stomach and ribs swell and compressed with every panicked breath I take. I wiggle my toes, and this time, I can't feel any of them. Two girls cackle in the hall outside the door, and I rush into the furthest stall. I slam the door shut and lean on it with my hands over my mouth as I start to hyperventilate.

The girls ship the bathroom door open, and I try to get my breathing under control so they won't know I'm here. I don't want anyone to see me sobbing and hallucinating. Am I hallucinating? I must be. I have to be. My hot breath puffs over the backs of my hands in trembling bursts as I look down at the spot where my toe used to be. Ew, look, there's a shoe on the floor. The first girl squeals.

Oh, that's so gross, the other says. Through the crack in the door, I can see her checking her makeup and the big mirror above the sinks. The second girl picks up the shoe by the lace like it's the nastiest thing she's ever seen. Hey, she says to her friend, want to sniff it? She tosses it at the other girl who screams and ducks. I turn and sit on the toilet seat. The back of the door is covered in graffiti. It's a wallpaper of hearts and sluts.

Over all the regular stuff are large words that someone has scratched into the door with something sharp. Across the top, in big letters, is Alicia plus Matt. I don't know anyone named Alicia. A big scratch slashes out Alicia's name, and underneath it, in different handwriting, is Kimmy. I don't know anyone named Kimmy, neither. Kimmy's name has been slashed out, too. Beneath that, in round, slashed out letters, is Jen. Below that, I try to swallow, but my tongue feels numb.

Below that is Tracy. I let out a terrified sob and run my fingers over my name. Hey, there's someone in there, the second girl says. through the crack in the door I can see them turn and face the stall Oh my God, are you crying? The first girl asks Our friend shrieks with laughter

Are you crying because your feet stink? I back up against the wall And my leg hits the tank lever The toilet flushes But I hardly notice I barely notice the other girls leaving either What I do notice is a loose screw Sticking out from the plastic toilet paper shroud

My hand trembles as I pluck it from its hole, and I hesitate for a moment, then slash out my name, and scratch Jessica at the bottom of the list. As I replace the screw, the lights go out. I squeak and surprise, but then remember they're motion-activated. I wave my arm in the air, but they don't come back on. In a blind panic, I fumble my way out of the stall and wave my arms around, but nothing happens. It's too dark to see my reflection in the big mirror, so I hold my hands out in front of myself and stumble toward the thin crack of light that shines under the door. Out in the light of the hallway, I look down at my body.

Everything seems to be where it belongs, except half my foot is gone, and I can see right through my left hand. I hold the hand up in front of my face and blow on it. The air passes right through it, and then the hand disappears. completely. This is no hallucination. I wipe the tears from my face and limp down the hall as fast as my remaining stub of foot will allow. In what's left of my bones, I know that whatever is happening has something to do with Matt, and I'm not going to let him get away with it. By the time I make it to the end of the hall, the rest of my foot has vanished, and my other shoe falls off. They hurry along

in a crazed hop for another few years. yards, but fall forward as the last of my feet disappear. My elbow stump slams into the floor with a loud whack, and the built-up snot flows from my nose. I curl into a ball as pain surges up the length of my arm. A moment later, the pain is gone, along with the injured elbow. A newfound rage overwhelms me. I get up on my knees and remaining hand and crawl toward me.

Mr. Bellamy's class. I'm sweating and the dirt from the floor clings to my clothes. My limp pant legs trail behind me as my caps disappear. My knee stubs are aching by the time I reach Mr. Bellamy's door. Loose hair from my ponytail is plastered to my face and my eyes are wide and wet. I turn on my side and my dirty palm slaps the door a few times before I'm able to arch up high enough to grab the knob. The door swings open and bangs on the wall as I claw my way into the room. I try to scream Matt's name, but I'm so angry. All I can do is howl like a trapped animal. The whole class freezes in shock and dozens of eyes turned toward me, but not Matt's. Matt is busy taking notes in his scribbler.

For several drawn-out seconds, his scratching pencil is the only sound in the room. Jessica looks scared. Tracy, Mr. Bellamy says. What's going on? Get up off the floor. I glare at him. How can I? I don't have any legs. They point in Matt's direction. He did this to me. And he did this to Alicia, Kimmy, and Jen.

Nervous whispers flutter through the classroom. Someone asks who Alicia is. Mr. Bellamy frowns and glances at the clock. It's 11.50s. All right, folks, he says. I'm sending you all to lunch early. Go straight to the cafeteria and don't roam around in the school until it's officially lunchtime. The class shuffles to its feet, all eyes on me.

Get moving! Mr. Bellamy snaps. There are lots of whispers as the other students made their way out of the mess of desks, past me and out the door. I lunge at Matt as he steps over me, but only manage to grab his ankles with my fading. stub arm. He blasts straight by Jessica, who is waiting for him in the hall. My left leg is completely gone, all the way up to the hip. My right leg still has a few inches of stump left. Whatever is happening to me is happening

fast. I rest my hot cheek on the cool, gritty floor as the last of the other students leave. Mr. Bellamy kneels down beside me. Tracy. What's going on? Where are your shoes? They raise my head a bit. My shoes? You're worried about my shoes? My legs are missing.

Mr. Bellamy sits on the edge of a desk and looks me over carefully. Tracy, neither of your legs is missing. Is this supposed to be a joke? He looks around for a camera. Is it a TikTok thing? Then his eyes narrow. What were you doing in the same? the bathroom. Drugs? Are you high? I grab an empty pant leg in my fist and flabbit at him.

My legs are gone. Matt did this to me. He's done it before and he'll do it again. Ask Nick. He knows. Mr. Bellamy squats down again. He slowly reaches out and put his hand on my knee. For a moment, it looks like he's touching an invisible leg, but then his palm drops flat to the floor. He stands up quickly and looks out over the sea of desks. There's a strange expression on his face. I see, he says. He opens his mouth like he might say something else, but he doesn't. He hesitates and gently picks me up and sets me in his own chair.

So much of me is gone that I weigh almost nothing. Tracy, he says, I'm really sorry this is happening to you. You're a good kid. Make it stop, I yell, please. I try to kick and my empty leggings flop uselessly. He backs away. Just try to stay calm, okay? Maybe put your head down on the desk and have a rest.

It'll be over faster that way. He hurries over to the door and shuts the lights off. Wait! I call after him. What are you talking about? Aren't you going to help me? Mr. Bell. Bellamy looks sad.

I'll talk to Matt's dad and I'll make him sit in the front row from now on, but there's nothing else I can do. I'm sorry, Tracy. I start to cry and he shuts the door and leaps. The doorknob turns a few seconds later, and Nick comes back into the classroom with a ham sandwich from the cafeteria. Bellamy just flew past me in the hall. He says as he choose, crumbs rain to the floor.

He doesn't want to watch. Nick, what's happening to me? Am I dying? Nick shrugs. I have no idea how it works. He scratches at his scalp and a flurry of tiny flakes fall on his shoulder like fleshy crumbs. Maybe you're slowly transporting somewhere else, or maybe you're evaporating and we'll all have to breed you in. Either way, guys like Matt and, I'm guessing, Mr. Bellamy know how to do it. I think he was a player back in his day.

You know? Nick is getting taller. It takes me a moment to realize that my butt and pelvis have vanished and I'm sitting lower in the chair. It's getting hard to breathe. I look down. My stomach is gone. My diaphragm is resting on the seat, making it hard for my lungs to expand. My underwear lies flat and empty beneath me. I don't think anyone can see what's happening, Nick says. You look at a lot of fine to them. Crazy, but fine. He watches as I shrank a little more. How can you be so heartless? I want to wipe my face, but can't. Nick shrugs. In a few minutes, I won't even remember you, so what's the point of getting worked up about it? He stuffs the last of his sandwich in his mouth and wipes his hands on his shirt. I fight to suck in enough air to speak. But let the

Empty desks. You knew there were girls missing. Won't you know I'm missing too? Maybe, Nick says. It might be some instinctual guy thing that lets me notice there's a hole, I guess, where there didn't used to be one. He scratches his head again and more dandruff falls. Or maybe I'm just good at math. My torso disappears, and my head and neck fall forward. My face smells. My face smet. against the edge of the desk and blood explodes from my nose. My head hits the floor with a sickening splat and rolls under the desk. My pants and underwear fall next to me as Nick moves the chair away. He kneels beside me.

I try to speak, but I can't. I gape up at Nick. My hair falls over what's left of my face. He brushes it back and I can see blobby constellations of gum under the desks. that seem to forecast a gloomy horoscope. Too bad it doesn't start from the head down, huh? He says, good luck, wherever you go. Nick stands and walks away.

I don't think I want to see this last part either. Blood streams from my smashed nose, and my tears mingle with the dust on the floor to make a gritty paste. My wet tongue flops onto a dried-out, dead fly, and my head rolls as the weight shifts. My upper teeth click against the floor. Nick shuts the door behind him. For even more from Creepy, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

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