Creepy - I Drive For Cerber, Part 5 & 6

Episode Date: April 9, 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 creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make me. retain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

PeeP presents. I drive for Cerber. It's like Uber for the paranormal. Written by Mofucius and narrated by Nate Dufort. Part 5. Y'all are ruthless. Jokes on you.

I like you folks when you're spicy. I was a complete ass to Chavon and apologized to her. I added $1,000 of my own cash to her server account. Sadly, that only gets her as far as four blocks. She was gracious about it. Chavon apologized for powerfisting my throat. I told her she had no reason to be sorry, and we ended our call on a good note.

She gave me four batwings and a review that read, He's cute for a Neanderthal. I'd ride him again. Which was beyond kind of her. But now I'm not sure if she was pissed or flirting. Both, maybe? I'll continue to do my best at keeping my mouth closed. My social ineptitude is staggering,

but I'm learning a very valuable lesson in humility. Not much transpired in the first day. I didn't have insurance through server and that agents that handle my claims specifically are human. Adeline is having a wicked hard time finding an inn with the company that I'm insured with. She says that if it takes more than a week, they'll just replace my car altogether and terminate the claims. Why they don't just do that anyway? Who knows? Maybe it's her way of ensuring that I stay in one place and heal as best as I can.

She could just be putting it off to practice a little damage control. Something tells me, it's the latter. So Roo put us up with some pretty awesome accommodations. Angela's been balls deep in books for days now, trying to figure out what that silver bullet could possibly mean. She thinks that if we find its meaning, then we can find the origin of Wade's beliefs. We find the origin, we can combat them properly. Not sure how useful I can be in this situation, but even if I just get a front row seat to watch her haul off on Wade, I'll be satisfied. Accommodations also include an unhealthy enablement of my Mexican food obsession, as well as a personal nurse and doctor.

They're both black-eyed people, which I'm not entirely sure what that is, but they're nice enough. Probably the most tame entities I've ever been around. Fun fact. Paranormal medicine is a thing, and it's incredible. My esophagus, concussion, and superficial injuries have completely healed. Get this. They were able to inject a rapid healing medication that was taken from a strain of werewolf flu. I look and feel like I may stand a chance talking shit to a kelpie again. Kidding. Sort of.

I spent a lot of my time talking to Borg on the phone. I guess he caught wind of the accident and was disheartened by it. Ironically, he sent over an iron nail, the one you guys keep talking about. It was delivered to me in a tiny green box with a note that read, org sorry Jim got mouth violate, org send iron nail, good for fence, keep for Kelpie. What started as a gratitude phone call turned into construction shop talk on a few occasions. Org like Jim. Jim like org. On the second day in, I woke up at 2 a.m. to Angelus face about an inch away from mine. I flew up into my bed like a weird sheet surfer, screaming nothing intelligible with hands above my head spider monkey style. I plunked down on the bed, gripping my chest,

and said, what? Angela. You talk a lot of shit for someone who's startles so easy, she says, slightly amused. I have found plenty on the silver bullet, but not anything that makes sense. She walks over to one of many books she has littering the floor of our room. All right, I swim my legs over the side of the bed, laying my hands on my lap. So what have you found then? Can we use it against Wade in any way? Not that I can tell, no, she says, looking down in her book. I'm only finding ways to defeat evil entities with silver bullets.

Nothing that says they're used to aid him. This is assuming, of course, that Wade is evil. Excuse me, if? I ask, completely bewildered. Yes, if. Just because he killed me does not mean he's evil, she said so confidently. Okay, I'm lost. What part of murder is not evil? I ask. My head's spinning. Murder to you, sacrifice to the other, martyrdom to another. Death isn't always meant to be sinister. Just because I didn't want to die doesn't make his objective evil. We may have been going about this the wrong way the whole time, Angel's.

was sat on the floor with her legs crossed, putting her head into her cupped hands. So you're thinking this is some sort of protection, due dad, I ask? I guess. She folded her arms tight against her chest. I'm still not entirely sure. We may have to just fly into this blind. I'd suggest contacting a priest, but given your line at work, it could tarnish anything you have left of your credibility among the paranormal.

I throw both fists up, give her the double bird special. Okay, on that note, I'm going back to sleep. As soon as my head hits the pillow, the hotel line rings. I throw a bit of a flailing tantrum before picking up the phone. On the other end, I can only hear a faint rustling of what sounded like wind. Uh, hello? I ask, looking at my sister with one eyebrow raised. Hi, James. It's a man who sounds like a cat that ate the canary.

That's what I notice that Angela is violently. shaking, cowering against the corner of the room, eyes welling up. Who is this? I asked the man with a hint of concern to my disposition. I hear that you are looking for me, he says in his smooth as cream voice. I'm Wade. You son of a bitch. You bet your sorry ass I'm looking for you.

I scream to the receiver, pure rage surged his way through every nerve in my body like I was electrocuted with blind madness. Calm yourself, child. Now he definitely sounds condescending. You'll get your chance. I'm in need of a ride. Do you happen to have time for a request? Oh, our little bitches considered

paranormal now? That's news to me. I thought cowards like you had a super cool fan club that congregates in the basement for pre-murder circle jerks. Does that come before or after fucking your mom? Sorry, folks, I tried. Well, let's face it, he had that coming, and I'm sure a lot of you would be disappointed to me for not properly tearing this dick work to shreds. He laughed in an unsettling manner.

Oh, child, you know not the dire situation you've stumbled into. I clench my teeth, blood boiling so hot I can feel my sweat as he continues. That's fine. In due time, I suppose. In the meantime, please respond to my request. I'll be waiting. The line goes dead. I waste no time and call Adeline immediately.

She picks up the phone and starts with James, panic, shrouding her voice. I don't want to hear it, Adeline. I get dressed, putting the iron nail in my pocket. Get me a car. Now. I don't give a damn what it is. Get a car out front. James, I'm not above begging.

Please don't. Car. Now. I scream at her and hang up. Angela, we're going for... I stop, then come to the starting realization that Angela isn't in the room anymore. I frantically raced to my phone, ignoring the server notifications, and try calling her. My calls went straight to voicemail.

I could feel my torso caving in, anxiety rushing over my body. He must have her. I don't know how, but my intuition is telling me that he somehow has her. I run down to the front desk of the hotel, finding a silver plate holding a set of keys and a note. from Adeline that reads, Please, in the name of all things holy, don't do this. I swipe the keys and rush out to find a standard black luxury sedan waiting for me. I all but fly into the front seat, turn the ignition, and mount my phone on the dash.

I tap the server app and buckle up as it loads. My sister is gone. I am armed with absolutely no useful information nor any weapons. I can't just let this opportunity slip, especially with my sister being held hostage. I'm rushing into a situation with my presence and good intentions only. This is how he wanted it, though. I had no time to waste.

Serber booted up the request homepage with one notification already three minutes old. I tap on accept. Gotcha, asshole, I say, as I accept a request from Archangel Michael. Part six. A lot of you are wondering if I still drive for Serber, and if I'll share stories from the more comical and slightly spooky endeavors. The answer is yes. I wanted to address that first and put your minds at ease.

After this last weird stint, I'll need to take a break. But I'll continue the drives and I'll share with you the most intriguing ones. As for a book, eh, I'm not sure. Maybe? When I reach 25 rides, maybe I'll hire someone to ghost write that novel. See what I did there. The location to picking up Michael. Don't trip, he said it was fine,

was a shanty little bar that looked like it allowed indoor smoking and turned a blind eye to Kualudes. Michael was dressed in cowboy boots with an adorable matching hat, a pastel orange western style shirt and very neat blue jeans. He resembled either a cop or someone who was trying to be a cowboy for the first time, kind of like those Scandinavian. folks are obsessed with Westerns and intentionally go to the Alamo without a field trip slip. Westerns are boring, and I'm not sorry for saying it.

He almost anxiously got to the front passenger seat of my car. His apprehensive nature completely negates what I heard on the phone. Goody, more weird shit that doesn't make sense. Maybe I'm just too simple. Who knows? If he gets into my car and I look at him like I'm expecting the first swing, Up close, he looks exhausted and in the middle of existential crises. I did not want to relate to this weirdo.

Are you asshole? I ask. Completely ready to die. It's inevitable in this line of work. Are you the intellectual? Oh, right. You're the dumbass that is about as well-mannered as a toddler riled up on Red Bull. Oh my God. He is me.

I think I'm in love. Who are you? completely befuddled. I wanted to kill this guy just two minutes ago. Very slowly. Now, I'm going to take this inside for a beer. Now you can't read either. How did they even let you have a license?

In fact, how are you even still alive? He gave me this crazy, one-eyed expression, leaning his face entirely too close to mine. Oh, and yes, he did sound like a genuine cowboy. Are you just going to keep asking me unhelpful questions, or are you going to play ball and tell me what intarnation's going on? Yeah, I mocked him. We're in love now. It's okay. All right. I'm not Wade. I'm Michael, the Archangel.

I'm not going to waste any more of your time. We have shit to do, son. He said, pointing to my mounted phone. On the screen, with a destination in a residential area. Nice neighborhood. It doesn't settle me in any way. Rich people are creeps worse than my passengers. Self-made monsters? Terrific.

While we make our way there, you mind telling me why you decided to intercept my very well-earned date with death and dismay, I ask, less pushy? Despite enjoying this back-and-forth banter, I figured it was a bad idea to piss off an angel responsible for assembling victorious ethereal armies. I may be sassy, but I promise I'm not as stupid as I look. I didn't care about Don. but no one's actually trying to earn a fast track to hell.

Divination, son, what's it look like? He asks putting a poorly handmade cigarette in his mouth. You're about to go march into your death, and you have the balls to think you've got the balls for it? Uh, what? I ignored the fact that he lit up a cigarette in my car, which is typically a no-no, since this is technically a company car,

and I'm still pissed at Adeline. I was just traveling down and even deep. or rabbit hole of confusion. All right, I need to re-examine the facts. You're an angel, right? As in one of the angels? Yeah. He took a long, heroic drag off his cigarette and continued. And I'm here to save your sorry ass. You're about to tangle with a lone skinwalker. He raises his eyebrow at me. The Native American myth? Guess I shouldn't call it a myth at this job. That's right. What's dangerous about a lone skinwalker is they've been casted out of their tribe.

He's only 150 years old, very young. Yeah, he's basically a fetus, I say, rolling my eyes. No, you would be the fetus in this situation. There are skinwalkers that are as old as me. I immediately wanted to know how old he was, but I thought better of it. The reason he's so dangerous is he's lawless. Not bound to any tribal rules, though, skinwalkers have very little of those to begin with. I impatiently tap my thumbs on the steering wheel, now slightly excited to land at our next stop.

I think I know what's coming. Since you're too bull-headed to back down and too stupid to handle this alone, I decided to help you out. He grins, showing a couple gold-cats. tap teeth and radiating confidence. In turn, I also felt confident. Thanks. Now, where are we? I ask.

Putting my car in park and killing the ignition. I have a guy who keeps everything you need right here in his home. Can't exactly run a storefront with this type of material on account of licensing being a necessity in this state. Some folks just need to handle an advance problem just one time. He unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car. Michael doesn't bother knocking and enters the home. Every room was unburdened by furniture as well as lack of lighting.

We head down to the basement which was lit with light violet bathing the room in an emotional shade of calm. Littered about the room which I can only describe as an organized mess of different types of weapons. Instead a drag queen. Yep. Very clearly a drag queen. The only reason I could even guess was the cartoon-inspired makeup and wig that looked like it could be a living creature pulled high on his head. From the neck down, he was dressed in a skin-tight track suit, exposing his well-kept physique. I know. Keep your mouth shut, Jim.

Zazel, I brought the kid with the mouth on him, Michael says, pointing behind himself and at me. in the most flamboyant voice imaginable. Azazel replies, Hey, honey, you're dancing with a skin walker. Azazel does a mild salsa dance behind his workbench. So I'm told, I'm trying to remain professional because not only am I standing in the presence of an archangel, the drag queen standing before me is a demon.

I know what Azazel is. Okay, I'm going to give you a nine-millimeter handgun, two eleven-round magazines of pure silver, a Molotov cocktail and a lighter. Now, you can't kill a Skinwalker with silver. It'll only slow it down. Do your best to aim for his legs and arms. When a Skinwalker dumps its human form,

it'll have freakishly quick abilities in both arms and legs, so don't skip any limbs. By the time Azazel was finished giving me these directions, he had piled everything into a backpack. I'm sorry, I have to ask. Both Michael and Azazel were looking at me as though I was burdening them. Angels and demons work together? Fallen, asshole, I'm a fallen.

Azazel crosses his arms glaring at me. Right. You guys actually work together? I ask. Yes, Michael replies. Fallen were angels once too. Not all demons have bad intentions. Some like humans quite a lot and want to maintain a sort of balance.

All right. I grabbed the ball. backpack completely done with religious topics. You mind fixing the interception, Michael? I'd really like to finish this. Sure, kid. He waves at Azazel. We begin our ascent from the basement.

One more thing, Jim, says Azazel waving. Don't miss. You can't afford to miss. I nod with a smile and say, Thanks, Azel. He smiles and turns around to finish his original project. As we're walking back to the car, I rehearsed my plan in my mind.

I've never actually shot a firearm before, so this was going to be interesting. I've also never had to huck a Molotov before. I may actually die trying to kill this thing. Michael and I get back to the car and I ask him. All right, I have to know. Why is Azazel a drag queen? Michael let out a single chuckle and said, Well, a Zazel was cast out of heaven for teaching humans how to build.

wield weapons and put war makeup on. He's always enjoyed cosmetics. So, he decided to make it a hobby. Sounds reasonable, I said with a genuine nod. So what does Wade want? Obviously, Michael has answers. I'm not going to be shy about asking. Not that I ever had problems to begin with.

Michael pulls out another shanty stogue, lights up, and gets comfortable. Do you remember what it was like, losing anything? Angela. How you felt lost, empty, and your life just had less flavor? Yes, I replied. Well, when some folks lose their sense of home and their people, they begin grieving in one of two common ways. Some become hollow, much like yourself. Some become angry and develop an insidious agenda. They hurt others to gain control of their own parents.

Shane, Michael says, never breaking eye contact. So, why Angela, I ask? Victim of circumstance, son. She's special, but not that special, he replied. Any ideas to why there's a silver bullet hanging from her body? What about the insanity parade he conducted on her corpse? I'm angry now. Not at Michael.

I haven't had a taco in several hours. I put the bullet there. I was open that someone would have caught on to that clue. Of course, that was a bust. He takes another drag of his cigarette. The mutilation was pure rage. He's lost and upset. That's why he killed Angela before he had his fun with her.

Watch it, Michael, I said swiftly. My sister is in a sideshow attraction. Easy, son, he said calmly. I was actually hoping to piss him off. point being is he didn't have a reason the whole point of all this is he's just doing vile things out of rage i was entirely unsatisfied with that answer it's one thing to murder someone with intent but to entirely disregard all life over a temper tantrum is a whole other level of evil do you know where angela is i asked she's home kid he said pointing upward her time here was served. She brought you to where you needed to be. So, it was time for her to return. The oxygen and every fiber of my being was sucked right out of my body. Oh. Sorry, kid. Put one hand on my shoulder and squeezed, but we all go home at some point. That's just how it is.

Yeah, I croaked. What was the point of even going after this thing? now. The only reason I got involved was to help Angela cross over. She's done that now. Listen, I know you're probably thinking of quitting. Would you honestly want this to happen to another young lady? A child? He asked me gently. You put way too much faith in my integrity, I shook my head, scoffing. But no, I don't want this to happen to anyone else. I'm going to finish this. "'Good,' Michael said, patting me on the shoulder. We spent the rest of the ride in silence, while Michael chain smoked. I continued to rehearse my plan and I was losing confidence with every repetition.

Mame and set it on fire. Mame and set it on fire. Mame and set it on fire. I pull up in front of the bar and originally picked Michael up from. Since Michael was not a danger to me in the slightest, his ride ended up being free. That's fine. I was in no position to pout about finances after the free gear to roast my sister's killer. Michael gets out of the car and rounds his way to my window.

You gotta lay off the Mexican food son. It'll kill you. He half smiled and walked away. Thanks, Michael, I replied, watching him walk into the bar. I decided this job was far too much for me. I couldn't possibly do this. Well, not alone. I exit the server app and decide to make a phone call.

Jim! Borg barks into the phone. Bork! I replied, attempting to match his gusto. Hi, Jim. Feeling better? I can hear his tusks scraping the phone as he talk. Yeah, thanks, Borg. I put the backpack of Arsenal in my backseat. You feel like taking down a skinwalker with me tonight?

Borg hates Skinwalker. Borg help. Jim have right protection? Jim's stupid. Borg have to ask. That gelatinous jovial dick. Yes, Borg, I say, trying to remember his honesty isn't personal. I have silver bullets and a Molotov. Okay, Jim, only fire kill Skinwalker. Borg wrestle for Jim.

I could hear whatever poor recliner he was ascending from cry out as he stood. Thanks, Borg. Oh, and one more thing, I add. Yes, Jim, Borg replies. Take a shit before you get into my car. Please. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes.

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