Creepy - I Drive For Cerber, Part 7

Episode Date: April 10, 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.

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Reapy Presents. I drive for Cerber. It's like Uber for the paranormal. Written by Mofucius and narrated by Nate Dufort. Part 7. After I finished my call to Borg, I spent the drive steeping in my own thoughts. My heart found a new way to break as I sat in silence, knowing I likely won't be seeing Angela again. I never questioned if she was dead or not, but I'd become so subconsciously numb that I completely forgot what it was like to hurt.

I was actually grateful for the pain. With every tick that increased the number of the odometer, so did my wrath. I didn't even have the urge to stop and get to keto's. I spent 10 years waiting for some sort of closure, and even though I was robbed of an opportunity to say goodbye for a second time, I couldn't help but feel a sense of completion. I know who killed Angela. I was on my way to give him a Borg beat down. There's no better closure.

I may not be able to say goodbye to Angela, but I take great comfort knowing that I'll be able to say hello again instead. For now, I'll allow myself to hurt. It helps chip away at any fears that I may have left. Pull up to Borg's dilapidated ruins. Borg is outside carrying what looks like a large sword as he waddles his way up to the car. Shit, is he going to fit in the car? Borg, what the holy hell do you have in your hand?

I ask as he packs himself into the front passenger seat. Borg bring falcon sword. Good for murder sport, Borg says with an infectious amount of excitement. You don't think it's overkill? I have a gun, you know, I reply. Jim have pitiful boomstick. Borg have real weapon. Jim just jealous, Borg says, hauling the ridiculous blade over his shoulder and into the backseat.

I dropped the topic. Borg? I swallow loudly as I continue. You wouldn't. eat me would you borg like jim borg no eat jim eating jim would be like jimmy dog borg says matter of factly you sassy bastard i laughed all right well i'm glad that you find me too adorable to eat i fire back letting out his booming laughter he replies jim no cute jim just helpless he laughs he laughs he laughs Carter, clutching his gelatinous gut. All right, I chortle.

You ready to help me end this? Yeah, Jim. Borg and Jim go party now. Borg smiles. Jesus, this is how Orcs party? Oger's? I started to think of what a Borg bachelor party would be like. We spent most of the ride talking about our plan and construction hacks,

all while Borg sharpens his sword. I don't think scraping this thing. and a rock actually improved anything. However, I grinned at the idea of Wade's suffering at the will of a dull blade. In five miles, take exit for Fink Road to GPS chimes. Borg semi-silently lifts his head, looks at the phone, then looks at me. Now we get serious, Jim. He was trying best to keep his voice down, but still failed. I know Bork, I said, throttling the gas. In a half-mile, take exit for Fink Road. The GPS continues. I come off the freeway and start my way down Fink Road. The road is barely paved and unlit. I flip my high beams on and continue speeding my way

through thick darkness. Looking behind me, I can only see a faint glow of my brake lights reflecting off the clouds of dust kicked up behind me. In 25 miles, your destination will be on the right. Borg must have sensed tension and says, Jim, we need to talk about plan. Uh-huh, I say, keeping my eyes on the road. When Borg sees Skinwalker, Borg attack. Borg stabs Skinwalker and pin him to ground.

Jim shoots Skinwalker knees, elbows, and eyes. If Jim can aim, Org says. As gently as an orc can. Yep, got it. Then what? I ask. Still keeping my gaze focused. Jim light Molotov and smash on Skinwalker head.

Skinwalker will ignite. Very flammable, Org replies. Flammable? I ask. Puzzled? Yes. Skinwalker afraid of fire. Because Skinwalker catch fire. Easy. Borg like to watch. Borglets on a creepy thick giggle.

That's sick, Bork. I nervously laugh along with him. In seven and a half miles, your destination will be on the right. I feel my knuckles whiten, death-gripping the steering wheel. I accelerate to 70 miles an hour. I am so ready for this. And truly, looking forward to my next burrito. if I can manage to make it out alive. We pull up to a vacant mortuary. No one appeared to be standing outside.

No lights were on, and the atmosphere was entirely silent as if we were standing at zero gravity. Borg reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a pair of glasses, taking great care not to scratch the lenses. Great, I say. I'm with weapons I've never used, and my backup is a handicap.

Oger. Borg not Oger. Borg. Ork. Jim have handicapped mouth. He barked at me. All right, I'm sorry. I'm just nervous, I guess. I reply. Is okay, Jim. Please focus. Borg replies with sincerity and confidence. I keep my headlights on and stare at the front door of the mortuary, waiting for this thing to emerge. I almost missed Wade walking out from behind the left-hand side of the building. He was dressed in a pinstripe suit, slick jet black hair, bronze complexion, and a fairly young face. Michael said he was around 150 years old, but it looked like he was in his early 20s.

He stood grimacing at me, locking my gaze. Borg and I looked at each other, nod, and get out of the car. swing the backpack over my shoulder and borg does the same with the Falkian sword. We begin towards Wade at a cautious pace as he glides towards us, entirely unfettered by our preparedness. We all stop walking once we're about ten feet away from each other, and I say, Wade. My voice was about as smooth as gravel. Wade opens up his arms as if to embrace. Jim!

Both Borg and myself put one leg back, bending our knees to receive an attack. Wade puts his hands up and lowers his head slightly. All right, he don't trust me. That's probably wise on your part. I learned a little bit about you. I start with my infamous false confidence. That you're a skinwalker, and not even your own tribe wants anything to do.

with you. Do you get caught strangling the family pets? I finish. I'm satisfied with that low blow, which I could see ticked them off. No, not for strangling family pets. He started pacing, circling. I didn't see Borg flinch, so I tried to relax as much as possible. I trust that Borg will lead when it's time to move. I can see that you're not entirely certain what a skinwalker is, or you wouldn't be asking me such a foolish question. That's your friend. That's your first mistake. Trust me, pal, I've made many mistakes before this one. Pretty sure a kelpie popped that cherry for me, I reply with cool ease. Right, he rolls his eyes. Well, the Skinwalker is essentially a Navajo medicine man that's succumbed to dark magic. He looks up at us, as if expecting

some weird withdrawal or newfound fear. I've met quite a few beings who could decimate this freak. When Wade doesn't receive his desired reaction, he continues, keeping his hands behind his back and standing up straight. Medicine men have been known to live far beyond the normal expiration of a human. However, medicine men who insist on using dark magic to assert themselves in war? That is greatly frowned upon. My tribe couldn't handle my ideologies. So, I was cast out. and you know what?

It's been the most liberating experience I could have been gifted. I roam as I please. I live as I please. And I kill as I please. Gross, I reply. My blood boiling. Borg remains stoic and silent. Fixated on our target.

He looks so damn cool right now. Wade gets impatient. Child, you will either. worship me or fear me. The only other option is death, he sneers. His voice starting to dergle. I'm guessing that is his rendition of wolfing out. I'd come here with silver bullets and an orc to join your shit show religion, Wade. I yell at him. Years of frustration, pain and despair have led me to being absolutely fearless and angry. I came here to annihilate you for your crimes against humanity, particularly against my sister. I have literally

ghost-toated legendary entities that would serve you up like a slice of toast before a morning run. You're just a well-preserved human with magic tricks. I reply with searing vitriol. That does him in. I finally touched the nerve. You will respect me! He screams in his watery voice. Sounds like something is bubbling up from his throat.

His skin begins to turn bright red. I don't mean his cheeks. Every exposed portion of his skin is turned. turning red. I can see Borg is bracing for something. In turn, I do the same. Looks like the tea is on. Come at me, bitch. If those would have been my last words, that would have been epic. The skin and clothing begins to melt from Wade's exterior, revealing a dark shade of espresso. He could hear his bones crack and his limbs disjoint until he drops onto all fours with his head down. His roar could only be described as a poo.

Humas with the base cranked all the way up. Once Wade was finished transforming, he slowly lifted his head, and that's when I finally felt dread in his presence. Half of his face was occupied with a lipless mouth adorning large pointed teeth. He had small black eyes fitted just above his shapeless nose and long black hair that went down to his waist. I watched his chest heave and fall. with every breath as he stared straight at me.

Borg snaps into action and darts after Wade, raising his falcon, accidentally smacking me in the face with it. I hit the ground and yelp out like a wounded coyote holding my face in efforts to quell the ringing in my ears. Borg turns around, still holding his sword up high. Jume! In a flash, Wade tackles Borg right into the car with enough force to cave in the driver's side door. Broken glass rained on top of them as they struggled.

Wade sinks his massive teeth into Borg's shoulder, causing Borg to scream and release his grip to favor his new wound. As I squint in their direction, I notice Borg trying to get on his feet while Wade starts speed crawling towards me. I panic and start scurrying backwards, try not to look away from this horrifying psycho spider sprinting in my direction. In my sad attempt to back away, I realize I'm nowhere near my weapons. fucking oops. I hear Borg stumbling his way towards us, falling to his knees every so often, undoubtedly from the pain.

She had to stall this thing for a few seconds to allow Borg to catch up. Wade jumps on top of me, sitting on my stomach and squeezing my throat with both hands. He laughs in a very moist, deep and devious manner while I try clawing at his arms for release. It simply wasn't working. I get here Borg getting closed.

Breathing heavy and clearly struggling. I have to do something. That's what I remembered grabbing the iron nail that Borg had gifted me. I quickly shoved my hand into my pocket, feeling the cold, rough surface of the nail. I yank it out of my pocket and slam it right into Wade's neck, causing him to release his grip and reach for the nail. In that split second, I wiggle from underneath him. Borg grabs Wade by the hair and slams him into the ground. Borg treated Wade like a rag doll. and kept swinging around until Wade could no longer move, entirely immobilized and worn out. Borg slammed Wade into the dirt, shoving his falchian through his chest,

and burrowing the other end of the ground beneath him, pinning him in place. Jim, get Molotov, Borg says with exhaustion. I fumbled my way to the backpack, pulling out the anarchist grenade and run over to Wade's body. What's really creepy is he was still breathing, even with a blade buried deep into his chest. He didn't bleed either, like some sort of sentient cornhusk doll. I stand over Wade's body and light the Molotov, watching him look up to the sky. He had nothing to say and no fight left to offer. I very nearly felt sorry for him.

I raised the Molotov above my head and slam it right into his stomach. His whole body engulfed in a matter of seconds in soft Chartreuse flames. Borg and I both dropped and sat in silence, panting from expulsion of adrenaline and newly acquired pain. You all right? I asked Borg through breaths. Borg fine, he replies, shifting his weight. Thank you, Borg. I couldn't have done this without you. I try really hard not to tear up, but since Borg and I have already crossed that threshold of leaking bodily fluids a long time ago, and I allowed myself to sob.

He's okay, Jim. Borg says, gingerly hugging me about as gently as a rusty bear trap. Wait, gone. Now Jim can heal inside. He finishes, patting me on the back. I limp over to the car to retrieve my phone and realize I have 13 missed calls from Adeline. Here we go. I call her back and she picks up the middle of the first ring.

Jim, are you all right? Right? Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks to Borg, of course, I reply. Adeline lets out a sigh of relief and says, Thank goodness. Is Borg okay? Yeah. We need a ride, though. What happened to the company car you had for a grand total of six hours? She's furious. So much for being worried about my safety. Well, the driver's side got crushed in the middle of our dispute, I reply, wincing in my own words. She lets out a snort and says, All right, I'm sending a car after you, too. Thanks, Adeline, I reply.

After this, you won't be hearing from me anymore. I don't think I can work for server any longer. Thanks again, Jim, she says with a maniacal tone. You owe me a car. I've already ironed out the kinks with your own car, but you're going to have to stay with Serber and regain enough funds to cover the damage of the one you borrowed. Once you repay me for this car,

only then will we talk about releasing you from Serber. Do you understand me? she huffs. I guess, I reply with defeat. Good. I'll allow you one week to recover, but then I expect you to be accepting rides immediately after. Oh, and watch your mouth. I'm getting complaints about your attitude from the clients, she finishes.

Yeah, okay. Sorry, Adeline, I say, rolling my eyes. Wonderful, she replies in her signature bubbly tone. Get well soon, Jimmy Boy. Thank you for being a loyal employee at server. The line clicks and dies. Damn it, I really need a burrito. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast,

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