Creepy - I Drive For Cerber, Part 1 & 2

Episode Date: April 7, 2020

It's like Uber, but for the paranormal...***Written by Mofucious 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 pastures and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make me. contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

He presents, I drive for server. It's like Uber for the paranormal by Mofus and narrated by Nate Dufort. My name is Jim. I've been in and out of construction contracts for the last 17 years. Between these contracts, I do what I can to make a few extra bucks, since you never really know when the next contract will show up and unemployment pays you just enough to lay awake and hungry at night. Most of us have heard of Uber and Lyft. I figured it was the perfect way to sustain my take-out burrito habits until my next work order.

However, my driving record isn't exactly clean. I owe a few thousand dollars in fines for my DUI from three years ago. Before anyone gets up in arms, no one was injured, and I wasn't in an accident. I was leaving the liquor store for the third time that afternoon and was busted by a cop waiting in the parking lot for me to wobble back to my car. It's pretty foolish considering the liquor store isn't walking distance, but my drunk brain was more concerned with being mugged than being caught by police. Lesson learned.

I'm sober now. Fat are from an oral fixation on Mexican food, but sober. When I failed to meet the requirements on Uber, I went searching online for something similar to ride-sharing or some sort of P-to-P smartphone-type work. I came across an app called Serber. I was reading one of those ten-way. to make money without bleeding out articles when I saw an advertisement for Serber on the side of an article. Big orange letters glowed against a black background with the phrase, hellish commutes made heavenly.

I found that to be cheesy marketing, but since I've never heard of the specific company before, I figured they were a startup and wouldn't be too picky about participants. I went ahead with filling out a brief application, submitted, and hope for the best. This is where it started to get weird. Immediately, after I hit Submit, my phone rang. It was 1147 p.m. when I pissed myself to the phone ringing. I looked at my phone to see unknown illuminating the screen in my dimly lit bedroom. I don't answer those calls during regular business hours, let alone during the late night.

I decided to respect their privacy, ignore the call, and not bother. to find out who was calling me. I shoved another tequila in my face and made my way towards my unmade bed. As soon as I dove into my flat and stale pillows to begin my pity party, my phone rang again. It still said unknown, but it was now coming in as an emergency. Why? I answered the phone to a woman's voice, yelled with a cheerful disposition that had to be fueled by caffeine and cocaine.

Hello, is this James Atwell? She chirped. Uh, yeah. Who is this? Hi, this is Adeline with Cerber, calling you back about the application you just submitted. Oh, um, I was still tonguing chicken out of my teeth.

I, that was awful fast. Did I submit incorrectly? I said with clear apprehension, but moderate enthusiasm. These folks were fast. No, not at all. I could hear her clicking her mouse as she spoke to me. I just wanted to alert you that we've reviewed your application

and would like to know when you could start. Uh, I struggled to get some pants on, cradling the phone between my ear's shoulder. Finish buttoning my pants and say, Now I guess. Are people active this late? Oh, yes. Our most active hours are between 10 p.m. and 4.30 a.m. She stops clicking her mouse.

Please download the application onto your phone. Quickly make a profile, and you'll be ready to receive requests. Do you have any questions? I can hear her smiling. Gross. Uh, no, I don't think so, I say as I finish zipping up my jacket. Wonderful. Thank you for choosing Cerber.

Give them hell, Jimmy Boy. She hung up before I could respond. Give them hell. What the actual... Okay, well, no time to waste. I suppose. I download the app, make my profile, and mark myself as available. I drive a relatively new SUV, so I'm not exactly convinced I'll be first pick. Gas isn't cheap and everyone wants to save money.

This means I have some time to clean up the taco foils and cardboard boats out of my car. About 20 minutes into trying to alleviate my car of the turgid smell of jalapeno and old cheese, I got my first ring. It was a ride request for one person, a man named Ray, seeking a ride to San Francisco. City's about an hour from where he's requesting the ride, but a drive I am very familiar with. I tap on except, throw the bag of trash in the garbage bin,

start heading over to the pinned location. To my surprise, I was directed to a neighborhood that was just a few blocks away from me. I parked outside the post-80-style suburban home, coated in a sharp spackle and salmon-pink paint. From the door, I see Ray emerge from his pastel green door, and immediately. I knew something was off. Ray was obscenely tall. He had to be an easy seven-and-a-half feet slouching. He shoved his pallet hands into the pockets of his gray jacket, hood-pulled well over his head,

so that his face wouldn't be seen. His long, thin legs adorning blue jeans and clean black dress shoes carried his slender frame at a calm stride to my vehicle. As he came closer, I noticed he was wearing a tie in a formal jacket under his normal hoodie. Different strokes, I guess. He approached my window, his head down, and said, Jim?

Yeah, you're Ray. He sounds so normal. This man is... anything but. Yeah, would it be too much trouble to ask you to fold the first row of seats for me? Because, you know, he gestures below his torso to his knees, all the while keeping his head down. He didn't want me to see his face, but I didn't feel threatened by him, so I just ignored his lack of eye contact.

Yeah, sure, no problem at all. He steps back so I can open my door and access the back seat. I folded the first row of seat so that the third row was. was the only place left to sit. Ray climbs in, takes his seat, and buckles up. Thanks, man. Of course. Bought this thing for comfort anyway, know what I mean? And I chuckled. He remained silent with his head facing out the window. Awkward. The silence of the drive was excruciating. I did my best not to spend too much time glancing back at him. He hardly moved. Every few minutes he would uncross and recrosses his legs. My nervous tendencies finally got the best of me, and I had to be that dick.

Those are some serious stems, I nervously chuckle. You play basketball as a kid? Maintaining his gaze out the window, he replies, That's a serious gut, you eat a lot of food. I got immediately defensive, but I brought this on myself and kept my mouth shut. Doesn't feel good, does it? Someone commenting on your size, he said so calmly. No, it doesn't. I apologize, I say through gritted teeth. I was no longer inspired to conjure up any more small talk for the duration of the ride.

About 30 minutes later, we arrive at his destination, which led me to old Fort Miley. I never recalled this place having an actual address. While my gaze was fixed on the location, dumbfounding me as to why anyone would want to be here, here this late. He slowly got out of the car and closed the door. He kept his back to me and pulled out his phone as he started walking away. I was still very much in a state of, what the hell, when I got a notification on my phone. He gave me five bat wings and a 20% tip, bringing the grand total to $1,279.37. My jaw about hit my lap at the astronomical. amount. As I brought my face up to try and stop him and alert him of what had to be a mistake,

he kept walking, put his hand up and gave a gentle wave. I watched him until he was far into the trees before I finally looked back down at my phone. He left a written review for other riders had read, Go easy on him. He's new. What the actual fuck? I sped home as fast as I could without tipping off any highway patrol. I ran inside my house, darted to my computer, and tried to make sense of what I just got myself into. To my chagrin, couldn't find a single thing on the internet about Serber, not even a website beyond the application page they offered to the advertisement. I sat back in my chair for a moment, my hands in my lap, continued to process everything. Who pays that kind of money for an hour,

ride. Who the hell was in my car? What the hell was in my car? I grabbed my phone and open the app again. Maybe something was there that could provide some kind of answers. Well, I found my answer. I clicked on the menu option that you'd see for most applications and found a description option. It read as follows. Serber is a dedicated ride sharing company that ensures an in a and safe transportation of the paranormal. It goes on to talk about rates, amenities, and safety measures. I never had a chance to read the terms and agreements. No one does.

I went back to check everything I signed, and sure enough, it's a transport service for ghosts and shit. The rates applicable to me are too good to pass up. Two-thirds of what it cost to pay my mortgage was made in a matter of an hour. Maybe this is dangerous. Maybe it's absolutely insane, but I'm going to stick this out and see where it takes me. I'll update as soon as circumstances permit. This is going to be wild.

Two. I was not ready. I'm going to start by answering some of your questions. The most pressing and popular one being, where do I sign my life away? Well, I regret to inform you that I have no clue how to find it. I wouldn't recommend searching for an application because, as some of you super nerds already know, Cerber is also a name for a type of ransomware. My only advice is to pay attention to advertisements on websites you visit.

As for the Slender Man claims, I cannot confirm nor deny that I was in the same vehicle as this individual, partially because I'm not allowed to, but mostly because I have no clue if that's who was in my vehicle, and I'm scared to find out. Tonight has been insane. A lot of you had some solid advice that I ended up utilizing. I got waterproof seat covers, let's face it,

Water is not the concern here and salt-free snacks. I had a hard time finding a way to get finger foods, so I just got unsalted nuts and dried fruit. I had no clue what paranormal entities ate, so I took a stab. I learned quickly that paranormal entities couldn't care less about almonds and dehydrated nectarines. Can't blame them. I tried my best to get a good night's rest after the strange evening I had. Part of me was so shaken to sleep. The other part was partial excitement on what my next rides would be.

I eventually gave up on sleep and went to a general store to pick up snacks, water bottles, and seat covers. After coating my car in as much vinyl, preventive measure as humanly possible, I treated myself to enchiladas and a cold Pepsi. After my meal, I felt accomplished enough to attempt sleep again. I was awakened by another unknown call at 1147 p.m. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who was calling me. I eagerly picked up the call, nearly dropping the phone. I have questions.

Adeline burst into a giggle hysteria and replied, Oh, I'm sure you do, Jim. What would you like to know? First off, I held a finger in the air, ignoring that this was a phone call and not a physical confrontation. Why the hell are you calling me so late? Last time we spoke, it was this exact time. You answered then,

and I figured if I call you at the same time, you would answer at that exact time. She said, called me and slowly. Good point. I carry on with false confidence, trying to pretend that I don't feel as stupid as I sound. Second, I want to know if the payment I received was a mistake, I asked, chewing on my thumbnail. No, not at all.

Was that not proper compensation? It appears that Ray gave you a pretty generous tip. Would you like to file a dispute? I could hear her clicking her mouse again. No, I yelled into the phone, mostly because I wouldn't want to see what's in store for anyone that pisses Ray off. I clear my throat and continue. No. Sorry, I just feel like it was maybe too generous?

Why was the fee so high for Ray? I'm so afraid of the answer. Jim, I can assure you that the compensation was not an accident. Do you remember the part of the application that asked you if you had a spouse, relatives, children, or friends? My heart found its way to my colon. I knew where this was going. Yeah, I remember. I practically croaked my answer.

My throat felt so dry. Well, to put it as gently as I can, she stops clicking her mouse. The riders that you're transporting are not typical beings like yourself. Most of them are harmless, but some, insert long unnecessary pregnant paws, can be dangerous. If something were to happen to you, we would prefer not to worry about liability lawsuits. It's not that your life bears little meaning. It's just business, Jim. I sit back and recall my answer.

I have no one. I answered no to that part of the application. I let the answer sink in a little too long, and Adeline chimed in. Are you still with us, Jim? Do you have more questions? Uh, I close my eyes and try and gather my thoughts. Yeah, um, what? What sort of amenities and safety measures should I be worried about, I ask, rubbing my very stressed

out temple? We'll start with the uncomfortable topic of safety measures. Get the ugly out of the way, she begins with a soft yet sinister tone. You should get yourself an airtight container to hold sage and a lighter inside. Sometimes certain entities can leave behind an unseen residue, and the moment you feel a heaviness after your passenger has exited? You'll want to burn some of it in your vehicle until you feel the tension has dispersed.

I scurry to find a pad and pen to write this down. She continues. You'll also want to invest in a raincoat or poncho. A raincoat? Adelaide, I ask an expiration. Yes, Jim, a raincoat. I roll my eyes and continue to make my list. Make sure you invest in a face mat.

protective eyewear and booties. You can never be too careful, she finishes. All right. I complete the rest of the recommended items. Now, what about the amenities? That depends on how willing you are to get your hands dirty for your riders. I can hear the smirk. Just how important is it to you to ensure your riders receive the highest quality experience?

Not very, I say defensively. I'm sure the government has already tapped into my line by now. I just want to drive and maybe not die. Extra steps sound like it could tamper with that. She lets out a chortle. Is there anything else I can do for you, Jim? Um, no. I feel no more confident now than I did before picking up the call.

Thanks, Adeline. No problem, Jimmy Boy! Her sickening disposition returns, as if this is all so normal for her work nights. Can we count it? on you to continue driving for us? I stare off into the bedroom wall, chewing on that question. Why shouldn't I? The money's right. The work is interesting. I make my own hours. I'd be an absolute fool to turn this down. The worst that happens is I die and after discussing the pitiful state of my private life and lack of people therein doesn't seem so bad. Yes, I say, switching the phone

from one ear to the next. I'll keep driving for Cerber. Wonderful, she exclaims. Good luck. I'll be in touch. Thanks. Have a good night. The line went dead before I could finish. It was already after midnight. It's time to get my ass into gear. I don't have time to pick up the safety items. I survived without them last time and I feel I'll get more ride requests on a Friday night. Safety gear is going to have to wait. I park at a local donut shop that remains open 24 hours. It's not tacos, but now I can get a churro there.

Close enough. My phone dings with a request from someone named Borg in a residential area, just four minutes away. The final destination was a 12-minute ride to an old industrial building that I thought was shut down. I accept the request, dust the cinnamon sugar off my shirt and start driving. I'm instantly relieved. I see that the request didn't come from Ray. He was nice enough, but his potential is absolutely terrifying. I pull up to a very plain and vap at home.

It was well kept with a brand new fence. It was just ordinary. So far, so good. Then walked out Borg. Again with the tall. He was a mammoth of a man, standing at least seven feet tall. jaw slack with a large set of tusks, weighing down such massive jowls dripping with saliva. Borg was dragging a very large hammer, wearing mild construction gear, including a hard hat, tool belt, and cement-crusted boots.

My eyes were wide, drawing in as much of this creature as my retinas could handle. Jim! he bellowed as if trying to call my attention. him from across four football fields. My body's still vibrating, I reply with, Borg? I don't know what compelled me to be so risky as to yell at him, but my body was going rogue at this point.

Yes, Borg! Borg opens my door with shocking delicacy, climbs into the back seat, accidentally slamming his hammer on his own foot. He didn't flinch, but I totally caught that. Borg stares at the back of my head. rest, breathing like a hog with bronchitis. He had breath bad enough to gag a maggot. Just getting off work? I asked, try and stave off the wet snorting sounds from behind me. Yes, Borg build fence.

Borg need beer. Oh, buddy, I can relate. Jesus, Borg, you have a volume dial? Cone it down and break the knob off for the love of God, I finally snapped. This is how I die. To my surprise, Borg lets out a thunderous cackle so loud that I'm sure it gave me prostate cancer. Jim Fuddy. Borg like Jim. I give him a weak smile and decide to just focus my attention on the road. We were rounding the last turn of the trip. I pull up to the abandoned warehouse and it's just as dilapidated as I remember.

The metal walls and roof were coated in rust. The wooden beams poking out a place with the wall. dry rotten, patches of unkept weeds swallowed up any semblance of a driveway. I come to a complete stop and Borg plunks his massive boots down into the gravel. He gracefully closes my door and walks over to my window. Thanks, Jim. Go sleep. Jim looked bad. Are you fucking kidding me? Good night, Borg. Go sleep. Borg too loud.

I bark at him with a grin. He grins back and begins his short, seemingly painful walk to the front doors of the building. I caught myself half smiling as the door shut to his murky mansion when it was violently interrupted by the realization that the smell Borg emitted had not followed him out of my car. Oh, no, this is so bad. I quickly drive to a nearby gas station to assess the damage. This giant sticky man fetus was making all. that noise for a reason. He literally shit his own pants in my back seat and his internal matter leaked

everywhere, leaving big, borg, butt-cheek imprints. My night was clearly shot. I bought some paper towels, bleach, air fresheners, and a few tequitos from the gas station I was stopped at. It took me a full two hours to clean this hazardous waste out of my car, but I was still able to alleviate the blasphemous evidence from my back seat. It was around 352 a.m. when I finished. I remember Adeline's saying that the highest hours of operation ended around 4.30 a.m. So I went ahead and put out a ready signal to try and salvage my night. How I wish I would have gotten Ray instead.

Anything else would have been better than this traumatizing experience. I got another ping almost instantly after putting out signal. At least I had another fat payout to look forward to. that I noticed something strange. The request was coming from the very gas station I was already parked at, from someone named Angela. Strangers still? There was no destination that followed. Albeit bizarre, I figured it was an app malfunction and I accepted the request anyway.

Immediately after accepting, my back door opened and shut so quickly that almost sounded like one fluid motion. Hi, James. That voice. There's no way. My blood instantly turns to ice and my body starts shaking violently. This isn't happening. This can't be real.

I turned my head slowly, shuddering at the woman who sat in the back seat. My horrified gaze met with her milky eyes. shattering my senses like glass. Of all the terror, sadness, and despair I've ever encountered my life, it's incomparable to what I was feeling at this very moment. Tears involuntarily streamed down my face, my mouth hanging open, hands tensed into fists of my steering wheel. White knuckling my grip is if I may be ripped right through the roof of my car. This isn't real. It just can't be real.

The request came from my dead sister, Angela. 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 YouTube. Gmail.com. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypastairwikia.com and are protected by a creative commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.