Creepy - I Drive For Cerber, Part 3 & 4

Episode Date: April 8, 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 pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make me. graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

He presents. I drive for Cerber. It's like Uber for the paranormal. Written by Mofutius. And narrated by Nate DuFort. Part 3. I know. I've left you guys hanging after finding my sister in the car.

I'm very sorry to cause an emotional uproar for some of you, but I got emotional as soon as I typed Angela's name. I've been a busy man for the last couple of days, and much to the chagrin of many of you readers, I've not seen Borg since he obliterated my backseat. I'll definitely let him know there's a team Borg, if I ever see him again. I'll be sure to ask him to use the bathroom before he climbs in the car. As for the charges on rides, entities are charged hourly on a sliding scale based on how dangerous they are. Fine print bullshit again. Borg ended up having to pay $2,598 for that short ride because, well, he's an ogre.

Oghers eat people, so my life was more threatened with him than with Ray. That lump didn't even tip me. Now, back to my sister Angela. Angela died at the age of 24, and I was 28. My sister was a tiny, intelligent, nerdy, and independent woman who prided herself on the ability to quote every scripture in the Bible in a non-denominational way, while also being able to recite every Greek god, their spouse, children, and histories therein. She had a natural curiosity for stories, sincere.

her compassion for the voiceless and loved her family deeply. Angela never missed a single Christmas dinner. She was working on her doctorate in international mythology before she died. Y'all thought that a philosophy degree was useless? Angela I were very close. The four of us as a unit had very healthy relationships and could always rely on each other. We kept our circle small and tight. Her body was found dumped on the side of highway fire.

and it was in terrible condition. For those of you with weak bellies, I urge you to skip over this part. Her body was severely sexually assaulted with instruments that involved slicing holiday ham. Her head was almost entirely severed from her shoulders. Appendages were found in a black garbage bag, placed right next to her corpse.

Strangers still, her cause of death was not due to any of these fatal blows. She was hot-shotted with heroin and was dead before this massacre could have taken place. The reason they know this is because when a body dies, blood coagulates and takes on a viscous texture, causing the blood to pass through veins and arteries at a much slower rate. Paracagulation with a stopped heart, no longer able to circulate and pump blood, get a very minimal mess and a little blood spatter.

Perhaps the most ominous and puzzling part She was found wearing a necklace That no one in my family recognized A small silver bullet Dangled from a delicate silver chain It was like an anti-trophy A clean breakaway from the typical psychopath This person was a sadistic showman

That meant to confuse and bring an unreasonably high shock value To anyone who stumbled upon the night knowledge of this crime. It worked. The case grew cold and hasn't been reopened since. None of us ever got closure from her death. Just two years after we buried her, our parents committed suicide. They locked themselves in the garage, doused themselves in gasoline, and lit themselves on fire. They were found still holding hands with no sign of struggle. The death of my parents didn't affect me as bad as Angela's death did. You expect your parents to expire. You don't expect your baby sister to be slaughtered. No one is ever ready for a call like that. My baby sister, the one who intentionally got a

job at the bookstore to sneak books out, simply to learn, was gone. Any hope and good that was left in me was buried along with her. I traded in the notions of starting my own family. for the more tangible future in alcoholism. My baggage was exhausting enough for me. There's no reason to subject that sort of madness any further. The gnawing pain eventually went numb and formed invisible mental scar tissue to cover up any residual damage from that impact.

Yet, here she was, staring at me with a vacant expression from the backseat of my car. I jumped into the backseat and hugged her tight, sobbing for several minutes while she tried to hush me as though we were being watched. James, please, she said, trying to quell the inconsolable teenager I was in in that moment. I need your help. I immediately shot back, grabbing her arms. I thought I'd never see you again, Angela.

It's been ten years, I said, gathering my composure. I know. She looked down in her lap, trying to hide her own. pain. I'm sorry. I would have come sooner. I cut her off, resting my hands in my own lap, and say, wait, why now? She looked back up at me and said, I would have come sooner, but you were self-destructing. Seeing ghosts would only amplify that sort of behavior. So, I watched from afar. Okay, I nodded, looking past the milky, deep desaturation of her eyes and into her now very present soul. I can understand that, but you are here now.

What exactly do you need my help with? Her face became very stern, replying with. I messed up. You know how I was studying black masses, occultism, and ritualistic spiritualism? I nodded and she continued. I was turning up empty-handed in every path I traveled, so I dug deeper. She became uncomfortable and shifted in her seat. I decided to go through the dark web to find what I could on summoning entities. I eventually came into contact with a man who only referred to himself as Wade. She turned her face to the back of my seat and shut her eyes as if she had to scrape to the bottom of her cerebellum to recall the next few steps. He claimed that he could summon Baphomet.

and that he would perform such summons for me. However, I already knew that Baphimac could not be summoned. So he was either going to make a huge fool of himself, or I was going to witness one of the most intelligent entities ever written about. Both results would have been fruitful for my research. I was so concerned with just wanting more experience. I never stopped to evaluate the risks. She let herself chew on that for a minute.

She looked like she was truly checking out of the conversation. So I softly spoke, Angela. She shook her head, bringing herself back to the discussion. I'm fine. She pushed her hair back. And that's when I saw the giant dark bruise with a tiny hole in the center of it, like an eerie halo. I chose to ignore it for now because I was growing impatient and wanted to wrap it up.

We met at a coffee shop close to where I lived. And he drove us two hours out of the way to what looked like a barely standing building, lights still flickering inside. We walked in and he instructed me to take my shoes and coat off. When I was done taking my second shoe off, I blacked out. Not sure how long I was out for what delivered me to being unconscious, but I woke up clearly drugged. It was heroin, I interrupted. The cops told us you were hot-shotted. That's how you died.

They had told us you were not an addict since you didn't have any other physical distress from active use. Yeah, she rubbed her neck staring forward. Well, he didn't kill me right away. He put an IV directly into my neck and delivered it slowly enough to keep me tranquilized first. A clear expression of rage swept over her head, her voice still calm. I woke up in what looked like a mortuary. It was on an old metal gurney. sustained by leather straps.

It wasn't even necessary. I couldn't even lift my head, let alone escape. I knew I was going to die. I was just afraid it wasn't going to be quick. He told me that I was stupid for seeking dark answers to dark questions, and that my demise was entirely my fault. Me wasn't wrong. I put myself in that exact position.

I felt foolish. I should have known that summoning Baphimet wasn't possible. That should have been enough to raise some red flags. I rolled my eyes at that last part. Nerd alert. He told me that my death was important regardless of how I arrived to the situation, she continued. Her voice, taking out a monotonous infliction. He said that he wasn't even part of any known religious sector.

He was a one-man worship, and that it was because he was a true God among men. Her mouth curled into a slight smirk and she said, I verbally retaliated, though. My last words before you mainline china white into my jugular were, I thought gods were perfect. You have mustard on your shirt, you wreak of dollar store after shave. You're not a god. You just suffer from narcissistic personality disorder.

She cackled at her own remark. I wanted to cry, just watching or reflect any sort of positive feelings. I've missed her so much. Well, that pissed him off enough to end it, she said half-smiling. I hope it brings you some sort of peace knowing that I didn't suffer. I nodded and replied, it does, but what exactly do you need my help with? Well, I want you to find him, I guess, she shrugged. I'm not as first and only victim.

I'm not exactly sure what I want you to do once. you find him, but I want him to stop the psychotic church of self-agenda. Do you have any sort of lead you can give me? I ask eagerly. Maybe she wasn't sure what to do after he was found, but I had a few ideas. I may even call Ray for help. It's been 10 years, she said, looking directly into my eyes, but I do remember where the location is. The funeral home that I died in. My hands start shaking, my breath trembling. Where was this, Exactly. It was then I heard my server notification chime.

She finally added the destination to the ride she'd requested. I looked from my phone resting on the dash to her. She was smiling such a warm, lovely smile for being so dead. What do you say, James? She lifted her finger pointing at my phone. Shall we begin? My body fled with pinpricks of pure adrenaline. Hell yeah.

I jumped to my front seat. I've been waiting 10 years for this. We started driving down I-5 South. We had a three-hour journey ahead of us. The tip better be fat. Four. All right. You folks want more, and I have more.

Buckle up. It's a mess. Before I get into the little adventure I had with Angela, I'll go over monetization. As I've said before, the entities that enter my vehicle have a sliding scale rate, according to who's most dangerous to me. Borg was the biggest threat because ogres are notorious for indiscriminately eating people. Ray had a lower rate because, while they have some pretty terrifying abilities, he's more of a danger to children. By no means is anyone safe, but less dangerous than Borg.

My sister only ended up paying $126.59 for a ride, so you folks can relax, since that's less than what a human would pay for Uber. She didn't tip me, but I'm going to let that slide since she's hand-delivering me to her killer to the best of her abilities. Well, we'll call it a wash. As for the entities having money in accounts, I can't speak for Borg and Ray, but my sister says she just fakes account information and essentially robs Ben. banks digitally. I guess those bank bailouts really did come out of nowhere. Angela and I spent the ride in relative silence for the first hour. Something wasn't sitting right with me.

When telling me she wanted me to find him, my mind was too focused on the possibilities of torturing this crackhead that killed my sister. I almost missed that last part. Angela, my Inquisition slice through the hum of my tires and penetrated her gaze on the road. Yeah? She was holding herself as if she was cold. There's something that's bugging me, I say, tapping my thumb on the steering wheel. What's up?

No sign of a guilty conscience, and I'm not sure I felt so comforted by that notion. When you say fine to my guess, what exactly does it mean? What do you mean you guess? I was trying to hide the serrated accusatory tone, but I've always been terrible with composing myself. I don't really know. I feel like finding him and the resolve therein may allow me to leave the purgatory of just walking around the living, you know, unfinished ghost business. She genuinely sounded theoretical. You mean you don't know?

Still sounding like I'm interrogating her. I can't help it. I've seen some weird shit, and since she's my sister, I feel like I can ask away, no-holds barred. Strange, isn't it? She says? Cocking her head to the side. allowing her eyes to do what I assumed was a blank stare. Her peepers didn't creep me out until then.

You think that dying delivers a sense of clarity or answers some questions. That's just not the case. Dying is like exiting scene one and walking into a different set and a different costume and unrehearsed lines. It's confusing. I've read a lot about souls being trapped because of unfinished business and can't help but think I'll be closer to resting if I try every avenue, no matter how cliche it sounds.

My heart crawled into my throat, choking me with sadness. I just got her back and she's already trying to leave. I try to soften the mood and say, Well, why do you even want to go to heaven? There's no affirmation in the Bible that says there will be tacos on the other side. Why chance it? I don't even know if heaven is real. I know this isn't necessarily my issue.

eternity, but heaven could just be a fairy tale for all I know. Damn it, that backfired. Now I feel worse. So, you're saying that, what, your soul just dissipates? Still swallowing as much sorrow as I could. That's not what I'm saying, she almost sounds annoyed. Not sure if my stupid questions are irritating her, or if she's irritated with her own lack of answers.

I'm saying that I do know that I'm stuck and don't know what the next. next step is or what arrives thereafter. She stares out the window, concluding this discussion. I may suck at reading women, but I could tell I wore out the topic. I left well enough alone, grabbed another cold gas station tequito and munched in silence. Sort of. So crunchy, even cold. My phone dinged with another server notification. I squinted at the request to share a ride with the current passenger. I guess even the supernatural care about the environment, too. Makes sense. They're typically immortal or live longer than humans anyway. Being mindful of cutting back where you can's never a bad idea. They may also be just as cheap as my sister, too. Who knows?

Hey, Angela, someone wants to share your ride for about 15 minutes. Is that cool? She nodded, still brooding in her own nerdy and dramatic state of despair. I had except to some Someone named Chavon. I pulled up to a lake that was pinned in the request. Standing there was a gorgeous woman. Long red hair, wax and skin, and a black dress that only revealed her head, hands, and shoes. She was a petite little thing, which I thought it would be a relief.

She looked way too normal. Chavon climbed in the back seat and said, Thank you. I didn't think drivers were ever in this area. She flashed a sweet smile and buckled her seatbelt. She looks like a human, but humans are definitely not allowed to use server. So what is she? This wouldn't typically bother me if she had a third eye or protruding underbite of razor sharp teeth, but she just looked like the average commuter, and that was unsettling in this very specific circumstance. I can't say that they are. I just happen to be in the area, I said,

staring at her through my rearview mirror. Angela seemed to be fairly unfettered by the new passenger. She had nothing to contribute. I pulled back under the freeway, glancing every few seconds to see a smiling Chavon, looking back at me. She's likely under the impression that I'm thinking of a decent pickup line. In actuality, I was trying to read the room a bit

to see if it was appropriate to ask possibly the dumbest question I've ever verbally vomited. So, uh, what are you? I ask. What's that supposed to mean? She asked so defensively. I mean, what kind of thing are you? You look way too normal to be using server, so what are you? We'd take an expert team of surgeons from France to remove the foot I just shoved in my own throat.

If you can't believe it, I was entirely shameless in my questioning. My sister was clearly appalled since she turned her head towards me, mouth agape, an utter whore. If she didn't look so dead, it would have been funny. However, she looked very dead, and that caused my body to visibly shut her.

What are you talking about? I'm clearly a beautiful woman. Chavon Albut screamed at me. Yeah, James, shut all the way the fuck up. My sister hissed through her freaky post-mortem teeth. What? I ask. thinking my question was perfectly valid.

I should have guessed that Angela knew something that I didn't buy her reaction. I should have stopped there, apologized, waited until Chavon exited my car, and asked Angela what the big deal was. That I didn't. Oops. Big oops. From the back seat, I could hear gurgling and panting.

I look in the mirror to see that Chavon was shaking violently, and her skin was bubbling. It looked like black, Billiard balls were crawling violently under her epidermis. Her eyes took on a bright yellow, a rectangular iris forming like that of a goat or frog. God damn it, James. Now you've done it. Angela yells in a panic wincing and huddling by the car door.

It looked like she was trying to brace herself for a detonation. Well, I guess she technically was. Javon's face started to stretch. Her face forming a long, horse-like muzzle. Her arms wiggled into a transition of black tentacles, writhing and rapidly becoming larger. Her long red hair morphed into wet obsidian strands. She looked like a hoarse octopus. Between glances of the road and my rearview mirror, her physical being became far more atrocious.

I couldn't help but autopilot my way down I-5 in the meantime. I could see her chest heaving and falling with every snort of hot breath. She went from being this tiny doll To being a massive mess of tendrils Behind a set of glowing eyes She quite literally filled most of my car What What the hell are you, lady?

My voice cracked as if I was 16 again That sort of sight will suck the masculinity Right out of you and make you a mouse in no time flat A sharp bray escaped her horsey lips And caused me to lose hearing I could see that Angela was trying to bark the answer at me. What? I ask, hearing my own heavily muffled reply. She's a kelpie! Angela screams, throwing her hands up.

The fuck is a... I couldn't finish my question before one of Chavon's slimy tentacles plunged its way into my mouth. As if I hadn't humiliated myself enough with a tone-deaf night of interrogations, I subjected myself to real-life anti-hand-top of that. Super. I take one hand off the wheel and try to yank the tentacle out of my throat, swerving at 75 miles per hour in a frenzy panic. Another appendage wrapped around my chest, my throat, my left leg.

As if my stupidity wasn't done controlling the events of this evening enough, I decided to let go of the steering wheel entirely to get a better grip. Bigger oops. I was losing consciousness and strength quickly. I haven't been able to breathe for a good two minutes now, With a surging adrenaline rush to try and stay alive, my legs involuntarily stiffened to find leverage. On the gas pedal, of course. Biggest oops.

I found myself speeding down an empty highway, wrestling with a pissed-off pony puss trying desperately to stay alive and crashed my tank of an SUV into a ditch. Those extremely dangerous and entirely unintentional, totaling my vehicle, is what saved my life. I blacked out temporarily and woke up to an uncomfortable stillness that followed the car accident. I could hear Chavon breathing quietly in the back seat and sounded like that's all she was doing. I slowly looked back, blood trickling into one eye and see that she's still knocked out. After feeling relief wash over me, I was hit with an overwhelming amount of pain from the impact as well as the overexertion from defending my airway. I crawled out of my car and dropped to the ground directly onto my back, knocking the wind out of my already fragile chest.

I gripped my shoulder and let out a man's groan. I lay as flat as possible, looking up and trying to mind too much movement of my neck and back. Angela pokes her face into my vision directly above my body, and I ask her to get my phone. Angela hands my phone to me and I tap on the emergency number, bringing the phone up to my ear. Hi, Jim, it appears you've had an accident. It's Adeline with her annoying, jovial voice. I'm sending two drivers to your location, both equipped with server-employed physicians. I assume your sister will be joining you.

That bitch, I'm agitated and grateful all at once. Yeah, I choke out to her. Have him pick up three tacos, a burrito with ex-executive. or nacho cheese and a bottle of acetaminophen. You're buying. I drop my arm to my side and allow myself to pass out. I wake up four hours later, suffering a very minor concussion, a shattered esophagus, and some bruising on my bones. We were put up in a mediocre hotel room, stocked with an obscene amount of Mexican food and a tall bottle of heavy painkillers. I sit up, knock the painkillers off my nightstand, and grab a burrito. Alcoholics shouldn't touch opiator.

I already knew that. I'll pat myself on the back for the one responsible decision I made by stuffing my face with my favorite addiction. I quietly ate my burrito in bed and glanced over at Angela. She was sitting in a dusty rose slipper chair, arms folded and staring at the ceiling with her legs crossed. I looked back down at my burrito and allowed myself to bathe in shame for my irresponsible lack of cooathe. The disheartening fact that I almost died in two different ways in a matter of five minutes, was startling and blanketed me like a guilt quilt. I messed up so bad tonight, and I'm due for a round of penance.

I'm sorry, I say, my mouth full of burrito innards. I wasn't thinking properly and put us into a dangerous situation. She raises her hand at me, gesturing for me to quit while I'm ahead. I listen this time, mostly because my mouth was full. I'm already dead, doofus. She calmly reminded me as she continued to stare at the ceiling. I wasn't in any danger at all. There's seriously no need to apologize.

All right, I say, emotionally wounded. Where's my car? You totaled it, James. We're going to be stuck here for a few days until Serber can iron out the details with your insurance. Adeline called me and filled me in the process and she's going to take care of it. There's nothing that can be done for at least two days. So, focus on healing. We waited 10 years. We can wait two more days. Her disposition softened trying to soothe me.

Okay. I continue eating my burrito, reflecting on the antics for the evening. Angela? What? She asked as if she was prepared for another blow of foolhardy questions. What the fuck is a kelpie? 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

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