Creepy - I found an iceberg video based on me... What do I do?

Episode Date: November 8, 2021

What would you do?***Written by: TJ Lea and nted by: Cole Burkhardt***Content warnings: stalking***Bonus episode: I'm a Bookstore Owner, One Book Almost Ruined Me written by Nemesis_Luce and narrated by: Michelle Kane***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.

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Just saying, now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, and disturbing creepypastas 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 violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. I've found an iceberg video based on me.

What do I do? Written by T.J. Leah. And narrated by Cole Burkart. The Ari Manovic Iceberg explained. 342 views uploaded by Alexandria underscore Eternal seven hours ago. I read the title over and over, standing for some kind of mistake in my vision, but nope. There it was, staring me in the face. How was this even a thing? Did my friends pay for some elaborate prank at my expense? No, they'd have encouraged me to find this,

and my birthday was a solid two months away. Surfing YouTube late at night was, as it had been for many of my generation, a nightly coping mechanism with insomnia. I find a good inoffensive, retrospective video theory, let's play, or narration, and drift off into the sultry sounds of bullshit I don't care about or gritty details of a murder. We're strange creatures, but it works. I've been taken by the Icebird theory videos since the memes floated around some six or seven years ago. No pun intended. Now that competent YouTube personalities were dissecting the theories behind games

like Super Mario 64, The Legend of Zelda, and even lost media tapes, made it all the more tantalizing to seek them out. But finding one about me, with my face accompanying the now foreboding icebird photo on a stranger's channel? Yeah, not so fun anymore. And yet, I still clicked it.

because of course I did. A cold opening, no music, and a black screen for the first few seconds. A deep, powerful voice fills my speakers. I can't tell if it's been edited or if he's simply that naturally gifted, but it makes my eardrums ring and my hairs stand up on end. All good people have a degree of mystery around them. Today will be no exception. Ari Minovovic has been a fascinating individual and one that I've been eager to cover on this channel since I first came across them.

I have no doubt you'll all be eager to put your thoughts in the comments below. The screen fades and the Icebird photo comes up in full view. I have to pause it to take in the full brevity of what I'm seeing. For those unfamiliar, an Icebird theory video is an offshoot of an earnest. Hemingway writing theory that the best kind of storytelling should always be under this surface, with only the tip of the iceberg poking out. A good tale gets better, the further you delve into it. It only makes sense that the same rule applies to mysteries and theories. Every popular game, TV show, and everything else has conspiracy theories, dark rumors and the light. An iceberg theory

allows experts to gather the info, start from the plausible and pleasant at the top, all the way down to the downright insane and sometimes absolutely vile. So why had someone made one about me? An ordinary 20-something from the Midwest. I'm not special. I've never been special. Ordinary happy upbringing. Ordinary happy family.

And yet, when seeing a photo of my face on the side of this iceberg, the brightness in my eyes withering away as the iceberg goes deeper, the smile growing cracked and fragile, the skin blackening. I couldn't help but press on. The iceberg faded, and the first title card came up, some soft water sounds, and a gentle guitar playing as we went into the first section of the video. Tip of the Icebird. I wasn't sure what to expect, if I'm honest. The video opens with some innocuous info that anyone would gleam from a quick look over my

Facebook or Twitter posts. Nothing particularly insightful beyond my political alignment, my love of surrealist art, and quotes from Homestar. Then things began to get weird. Ari's favorite video game, Mass Effect, is not the one they are most emotionally attached to. No, that honor goes to the new hit Omari, which they've played for a staggering 200 hours and are currently on their fifth playthrough, seemingly doing the same thing every time and not looking for alternate endings.

This was confirmed through reliable sources and their steam activity. I looked at my gaming PC in the corner. I never streamed. I felt too uncomfortable. So many eyes watching me and judging me, asking me questions I wouldn't know how to answer, or didn't want to answer. My hands traced to the sight.

of my face before recoiling and slamming into my lap in frustration. No, now wasn't the time to think about that. I racked my mind for these reliable sources, and my mind could not help but go back to an odd prank my friends had pulled, coupled with the already available information, through some good searching, already cursing my public information in an age where anything and everything can be found, I resolved to watch on. A lot of the information in the tip of the Icebird section was simply things that could be gleaned from my Facebook profile, my Twitter, my TikTok, and my Instagram. Ari's routinely blogged both their mental health and gender dysmorphia, shown great solidarity in a world that is constantly changing. We also know that

they would occasionally post time lapses of their struggles on TikTok, and then delete them. if they got too much attention. Thankfully, we saved them for research purposes. I swallowed at that last revelation. Research purposes. This was getting increasingly uncomfortable as he brought this section of the iceberg to a close. Ultimately, what we have here is info

that is already available for consumption, and we of course did consume it down to the last drop. With that being said, we're upping our investigation and moving on to the next level of the iceberg. The sound of immersing in water. Bubbles floating in the blackness and text flashed up, followed by the dire, dire dachs theme from Mario 64. I hated this already. Beneath the surface.

Ari Minovovic was born on the 4th of May 1998. and enjoyed a constant stream of lame Star Wars jokes. But one of the prevailing and accepted theories is that they were actually born in 1997. The screen flashes a baby photo of me and a birth certificate I've never seen before. Documents show that Ari was not only born a year earlier, but in a completely different state.

Immediately, we were off to a disturbing start. I felt sick. That was my full name, including my middle name that I absolutely hated. My parents, Andre and Danica, were listed, but the date of birth, state, and hospital were most certainly wrong. I felt the urge to grab my phone and call my parents, but the video carried on, and I felt compelled to watch more, taking notes on my phone of anything that struck me. No, we don't have full confirmation, but this is quite relevant. reliable and something we'll come back to later on in the video.

But Ari suffered a debilitating injury when they were four, and it required 17 stitches. They were left with the scar, both physically and mentally. Our sources say it was caused by a... I paused the video and felt my eyes blur. My face burning. No. There's no way they could have known about that. My mom told me the papers didn't give out a lot of info at the request of the police,

said it would be damaging enough for a child my age to go through the recovery without a spotlight on me at all times. Did she lie? Why would she lie? I clicked ahead. I didn't want to hear the speculations on how such an ugly thing happened to me. Therapy had done its job, and if I was going to relive, that. I needed to see the rest of this fucking video first. Then maybe punch my friends swear in the dick if they made this.

Or find the ass hat responsible. I grabbed a cider from the fridge and sat down with my Sherpa blanket wrapped around me and my comfort animal nestled in my arms. I knew I was going to need them. A few more bits of info passed on. Things about past boyfriends and girlfriends that were relatively. relatively easy to ascertain, trips I'd enjoyed, and contests I'd entered into. So far, enough to let my blood simmer down and figure out what the point of this was.

That would become far harder as we went into the next area of the iceberg. Bottom of the iceberg. As we reach the bottom of the known iceberg, it's important to look at what we truly know about Ari. They love a lot of things. Security. People ringing the doorbell instead of knocking. Strawberry and lime cider. I nearly choked on the switch of my bottle.

What the fuck was this? I only just got into this flavor a couple weeks ago. There's no way they could have known unless... Oh. Oh, God. My eyes darted to the windows, to the small convenience store just a quarter mile from my house. It was the only one within a five-mile radius, and I didn't ever drive to another one due to fears of being away from home for too long. They followed me.

This was not a prank by someone else I knew. Of course, that should have been obvious by now, but rationality can and will cling to the last vestiges of your fear, like a stubborn child in an attempt to stop it from hurtling itself over the edge and into panic territory, a place I was firmly in now. Gripping my stuffed animal tightly and my parents' number on speed dial, I knew I had to finish this. I had to see what more they knew. Looking at my face in the corner, the eyes have been edited and blackened,

a reddish hue hanging in the surrounding space of the photo, as if they'd tried to burn the interior of the image itself. I looked gaut, demonic, and my happy smile was twisted into something I barely recognized. Again, the slow, deep voice spoke. There's a theory that Ari is extremely private about their home and life and living situation, to the point that they have a job that requires no one. face-to-face interaction and a home with nearly a dozen unique locks. I can confirm that this is, in fact, true, and is due in part to Ari's desire to escape from the person they once were. Well, I don't think it'd be right for me to say who they once were. They're trying in vain,

as we can never avoid who we once were or our responsibilities to that old life. There was a pause as the photos of me from my social media were put up on screen. Old school photos of me hanging out with friends, sleepovers, and gaming nights. I looked so happy. Ari's comfort animal smells like peppermint. I froze. Staring at the screen was a photo of Artemis, my comfort-stuffed animal, flashed up and was accompanied by a photo of me sleeping.

But contrary to popular theories, Ari instead smells like orchids. I began hyperventilating, my hands shaking and the feeling of vomit rushing up. This person has been in my fucking house while I slept. It took a solid 30 minutes to calm down and a reassuring promise from the sheriff that he'd come by within the hour to placate me. I checked every lock in the house and found none to be able to be able to. out of place. It's possible that this was an etch who took the photo and passed it on to someone else, right? Maybe some weird kind of revenge for breaking up with them unceremoniously. I had not always been the best partner, sometimes emotionally distant. Okay, always emotionally

distant, but that's no excuse for this behavior. All I had now was time. My parents weren't picking up and bringing this to my friends with my trust levels through the floor made no sense. So, I hit play and carried on. I wish I hadn't. I really, really wish I hadn't. Dark waters. The sound of water rushing and someone gadding for air filled as speakers as a strange, dark and moody underwater theme plays, one that I don't recognize, but whose dissonance and

odd sounds put me on edge. In the blackness, just for a moment, I swear I see a smile, barely visible in the murky depths. My photo is almost unrecognizable now, a mess of black hair covering my pale white scalp, chunts of flesh torn from the face and teeth that should never be seen from behind the cheats now flashing through. I look like a monster. A white title comes up onto the screen, and the pit in my stomach it spans. The 2000 incident. Not many people know about this, but Ari was once a subject of a lot of attention.

They started in a commercial as a child and garnered national adoration for their role. They were jubilant, cute, and a total net. natural in front of the camera. For all the positives, however, came negatives. Some fans would fixate on Ari to the point of obsession. This would eventually lead to boundaries being crossed. A photo of my old family home appears. It's blurry and the house is dark. It must be the middle of the night. A window on the second floor is open. My window. Another photo fades in, this time closer. They're on the property and are using a ladder to climb up, a photo of the uphill journey ahead of them.

The third photo of my bedroom. The flash throwing off and inevitably spouting me in my sleep. Stop! The last photo is of what's behind them as they run, the faint outline of my father chasing them at a distance. Ultimately, experts believe that if the family had listened to the letters, heeded the warnings. This would not have occurred, and the rest of the events would not have played out how they did. Sadly, this would send Ari's life on a journey towards one inevitable path. One that I have no doubt is slowly beginning to dawn on them.

Tears stream down my face, and I drip my stuffed animal tightly, rotting back in front. forth in my chair and begging the sheriff to come quicker, but unable to stop myself from watching. I need to know what the point of this is. Why someone would do this? Ari's original name was Alexandria, but was changed to Ari to reflect her gender identity, and yet another desire to escape that old life. The sad truth is they were never able to do so. The voice sighed, weariness heavy in their tone. It makes you wonder how much easier this could have gone, had they just not put up a fight in the first place.

A fade to black and that faint smile visible once more. Nowhere near enough to make out features, save for a smile that made me feel like I was sitting in a shark tank, motionless, hungry, and determined. It was a smile that knew it had its prey where it wanted it. The Abyss. On this final segment, the screen remained black, as a low drone punctured the air and the narrator spoke.

You've realized by now that this is a comprehensive video on Ari Minovic, an admittance of sorts that I, myself, take a special interest in them. But I think it's only fair. that I provide this is some evidence for those who find it to follow after the inevitable happens, because there's always a beauty in hoping for a happy ending, even if it doesn't come. I keep telling myself the sheriff will be here in a few minutes, that everything is locked and all the spaces have been chacked, but I don't feel safe. I run my hands across my star, and I don't feel...

Safe. There's a decree of truth that obsessive types can't leave well enough alone. I'm proving that here. But I'm a patient type of obsessor. Because I'm one with a goal to have Arias mind for all eternity. I came so close before. But, well, it wasn't right. I left a mark to remember me by

and sent them on home, never able to truly forget about me, even if they changed every facet of their being. A video clip of a fish fades on the screen. It's a deep sea angler fish, the huge white eyes standing the depths of the ocean for a sign of prey. The jaws permanently fixed open and large jutting teeth wait to snatch something. It blindly swims around in the inky blackness as the narrator continues, sweat pouring down my head. One thing about me for this video.

I love the angler fish. A truly remarkable creature that utilizes the lure to ensnare its prey. It doesn't need to do anything, because it knows that it just needs to send out the right signals and the prey will come to it. Just as you finally come back to me. The camera zooms in on the anglerfish as the bioluminescent lure begins to move and glow, a beautiful hue that permeates the darkness surrounding it. A small fish spots it and begins swimming closer. The angler fish sits patiently.

I feel my knees begin to buckle. You did as I knew you would. You saw a channel with your name, Alexandria Eternal. A theory with your name, and you came right away. They will try to find you. And there will be stories, books, and documentaries about where you went. But none of it will ever amount to anything. You will fade into the abyss.

The anglerfish clamps its jaws down on the fish, and within moments it is devoured in its entirety. With that, the video ends. There's a knock at the door, as the sheriff asked to be let in. I'm glad to have someone taking this seriously, but still, does anyone know what I should do? For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents. I'm a bookstore owner.

One book almost ruined me. Written by Nemesis Luce and narrated by Michelle Cain. Creepy Presents. I'm a bookstore owner. One book almost ruined me. Written by Nemesis Luce, narrated by Michelle Cain. Sometimes being a business owner sucks tremendously. Sure, it's gratifying, and being your own boss makes working way more enjoyable, but the responsiveness. weighs on your shoulders and keeps you awake at night. Not that I sleep at night anyway, since I don't trust anyone else to cover the night shift. Yes, I open at night, and yes, it's kind of weird, especially when it leads to you getting

stopped by a demon in-cell. When I first decided to dedicate a section of my store to non-human readers, it was partly due to the fact that I only had positive experiences with them. I didn't see them as monsters. I didn't fear them. I was aware that I had to respect some rules, but saw them more like customs that I wanted to honor anyway, because it is my job to make my customers feel as comfortable as possible. I don't know much about non-humans. My knowledge comes from experience, of folk tales and common sense. Non-humans have always been around in my town,

and so I mistakenly thought that being aware of them was enough to open a business directly catered to their needs. I have been incredibly lucky. I've told you about Caleb, how my life is now inextricably tied to my store. That could have ended in a million more disastrous ways, but it didn't. I've told you about the elderly couple from, I assume, literal hell

and how my ass was saved by kids. Sure, non-human kids, but kids nonetheless. The point I'm trying to make is that I'm in way over my head, and it's getting worse. I first encountered the librarian a couple years ago as I was starting to get the night inventory together. Word had spread around town that I had an interest in old or strange books, and so I would have people either donating or asking me to evaluate some of their possessions.

I would then either keep or buy what was of interest to me. Slowly, going down a rabbit hole, I would never escape from. Yeah, it was dumb. It made me an easy target. At that time, I simply couldn't imagine that anyone would want to harm me. me, and even less do so using cursed books, I'm not the brightest when it comes to personal safety. Maybe I was oblivious, but maybe I didn't really care. Who knows at this point? All I know is that after this, I would be much more careful when handling previously owned books.

I remember it was a small leather-bound volume, and with what I is, assumed to be a title written in gold letters on the cover. He see. I remember being filled with curiosity and excitement. I remember opening it, caressing the rough paper, glancing at the first few pages. I could not tell you what the contents were. As soon as I started reading, I felt extremely dizzy and and close my eyes for a few seconds. When I opened them again, all I saw was letters strung together randomly, never forming a word I could recognize. Intrigued, I opened my computer to try and look up what language it could be. To my horror, I could not read anything on my laptop either. It was as if I suddenly forgot how to read my own language. I tried to focus as hard as I could. I could. I was as if I suddenly forgot. I was,

but nothing could be done. I couldn't understand anything I tried to read. I looked at the date, knowing it said Monday, trying to focus on that knowledge, to no avail. I looked back at the book's cover, but the title was now unintelligible. I opened my emails only to be faced with what seemed to be an entirely different language. I didn't know any of the words I was seeing. I began to frantically go through all the books I could see around me, trying to read, trying to understand something, anything. I soon realized that it wasn't just a case of me forgetting my own language somehow. Monday on my computer was a different word than the one on my phone, leading me to believe something was actively preventing me from understanding anything. I grew more and more desperate, tried to text a friend only to realize I couldn't find them in my phone.

I must have sat there a while, trying as hard as I could to write, staring at the keyboard. I recognized the letters, but I couldn't think of a single word to form from them. Couldn't think of how anyone's name was spelled. I almost ring up a random contact, but my reputation as a young person. business owner would definitely suffer if word got around that I was placing strange calls, saying I couldn't read anymore. I don't know why my brain focused on that, as I would lose my business anyway if I couldn't regain my ability to read my own language. But it prevented me from trying to call for help, on the phone or physically. I didn't know if I could still speak,

and that thought terrified me so much. I didn't want to risk finding out. The feeling of alienation was getting overwhelming. I felt like a stranger in my store, the place I was most comfortable in. I contemplated trying to sleep for a while, naively hoping it would reset my brain and fix everything. But I could not relax enough for that to happen. I went back to trying my best to read, or at least to identify patterns or roots or anything. that would make the words resemble a language I was familiar with, to no avail. I was alone in a world where only my thoughts made sense to me.

When I realized that there was nothing I could do to fix the situation, my panic became anger. I tried to remember where this hazy book had come from, tried to think of anyone who would want to harm me or my store. only to end up channeling my frustration into a solid punch against the wall. I didn't know why this was happening to me and was desperately trying to grasp any semblance of meaning. Where did the book come from? Punch. Who, or what, would want me to close my bookstore. Punch.

What did I do to deserve this? Punch. How was I supposed to move forward? when all meaning had literally been taken away from me. The door to the break room swung open as my clenched fist was about to connect with the wall once more. Startled, I turned to face the trespasser, blood dripping from my knuckles and tears streaming down my cheeks. It was a deerhead mounted on a woman's body, holding a human head. It was almost too much for my brain to process. A woman holding what seemed to be her own severed head in her hands with a deer head on her shoulders.

I stared blankly, unsure whether I was severely hallucinating. It spoke. The human head spoke, as if it were still attached to its body, as if it still had a neck and shoulders instead of dangling bits of muscle tissue. its mouth opened and it spoke while the deerhead looked at me silently. I can help you. I blinked, unable to speak a coherent sentence. I know who did this to you and they will try again. I can protect you and your bookstore.

The voice was gentle but firm. A thousand questions rushed through my mind. I asked none. It will come in a price, but I'm sure you expected that. I simply nodded. At this point, I was ready to trade my soul. Anything would be preferable to the nightmare I was seemingly stuck in. Bring me a book I've never read each week,

and I shall protect your bookstore from the ones that want it gone. I've heard you're an excellent bookseller, and I've been getting quite bored. Keep me entertained, and I'll keep you safe. She must have seen the disbelief on my face, as she chuckled. The deerhead mimicked the human one, parting its lips slightly. I'm the librarian. Reading is as vital to me as breathing is to you.

This town's library began as my personal collection, and I have read every single volume we have. Sadly, funding is low these past months, and I am out of reading material. That's where you come in. I believe you are skilled enough to fulfill the task. If you aren't, then you don't deserve this bookstore in the first place. Does that seem fair to you? Strangely, it did.

It would be tricky, but being under the librarian's protection seemed like a good deal. And frankly, I had no other option. It does. I replied, surprised at the sound of my own voice. I tried to ignore the stupid part of my brain, pressing me to ask the librarian which eyes she used for reading, dear or human, and asked instead how I should arrange for the books to be delivered to her. Just leave them at the front desk.

My staff will make sure I get them. Once I break the curse you're under, you won't be able to find me anyway. I nodded. This all felt like a dream, and I wanted to. it to be over as soon as possible. The librarian seemed to understand and walked across the room to stand mere inches from me. Hold me, she said. Huh? Before I knew what was happening, I found myself holding a severed human head. It was heavier than I would have thought, and warmer, and slimier. My hands seemed to somehow sink into her skin, finding themselves wrapped in a thick,

greasy substance. I fought the urge to gag as the librarian's body used her now free hands to cradle my face. You have one week. I felt her jaw move as she spoke. Each muscle, each bone moving, under my fingers. I felt her voice reverberate through her skull, making it vibrate slightly. It startled me, and I would have dropped her if her skin wasn't holding my hands in place. The warmth emanating from her head spread from my hands to my arms, then to my chest, then to the rest of my body. Then everything went black. I came to on the break room's couch, my night. My nose. My knuckles were neatly bandaged, and there were no traces of blood on the wall anymore. The books I frantically sifted through were arranged in a pile.

Heesi was nowhere to be found. It took me a few seconds to notice that words around me made sense again. The relief I felt, however, was quickly replaced by the horrifying realization that I just made a deal with a very powerful being. How was I supposed to come up with a book the librarian had never read? I mentally went through our conversation again. She implied that she had read everything in the library, so paying it a visit to see if I could find anything that wasn't there was a start.

I had always wondered how a small-town library came to have such a wide and interesting selection. Now that I met its founder, it was no mystery anymore. There seemed to be a bit of everything for everyone, and at first glance I couldn't just choose a genre and pick from it. Plus, I had to find a new book every week. I couldn't just focus on finding, say, niche history books about random events from around the world, because the history section was filled with niche history books about random events from around the world. I wasn't even sure I could safely order from the new releases, as she had said funding was low, not zero. I had no idea if she could still place orders and didn't want to risk it. I sat down at one of the tables and gave the tasks some thought.

I had to come up with something the librarian had never read every week, so it had to be easy to find, but not so easy she would have read it or already ordered it. and it had to keep her entertained. Now, as a bookseller, I'm not particularly proud that the only solution I came up with was such a lazy one, but it's worked for the past couple years, so professional pride doesn't matter. I had to find what the library was lacking and fill that void.

I even checked for erotica, and guess what? There was a bunch of it. I kept racking my brain until it finally hit me. I'd noticed some comic books in the library, but no manga. I chuckled at the simplicity of it. I had some of the staples already in stock, and when she'd gone through them, I'd feed her some new releases. It wouldn't cost me that much, and it would fit the criteria.

Sure, she wanted my professional expertise and probably expected something a bit more serious, but once a week was too much. And it included young ninjas, warriors from outer space, and weaponized notebooks. I'd give her the first volume of a series and check on the library during the week to see if she'd purchased, i.e., read the rest. If she did, I'd move on to a different series. If she didn't, I'd give her the second volume and so forth. This is what kept my bookstore alive for the last two years. Every Monday, I would go down to the library and drop off a small paper bag, labeled for the

head librarian, because I'm hilarious at the front desk. I didn't have any more curses thrown my way. Sure, me or my staff would have the occasional run-in with a rogue customer. But apart from the Caleb incident, I have never felt directly threatened, and that didn't even feel like a targeted attack against the bookstore, so I kept honoring my agreement with the librarian and made my weekly offering. I began wondering if she was still granting me her protection

after the incident with the couple from hell. The attack felt personal, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something simply didn't make sense. Henry, my regular customer, warned me about the couple. He wouldn't have if their attack had been completely random. Even Kathy's kids seemed to know that something was off, else they wouldn't have come rescue me and rescue my shop. They didn't care about me.

It was about the shop. A shop that was supposed to be under a powerful being's protection. These thoughts were weighing on my mind as I was closing after a quiet Sunday night shift. Only a couple days had passed since the incident with the couple, yet it felt to me like it'd been months. I felt strangely invigorated, probably the last fumes of adrenaline keeping me going,

and decided to watch the sunrise while having a cigarette before heading to sleep. On my way to the back door, I glanced at the paper bag I had left on the counter. This week, the librarian would be very, reading as showed you for a change. I smiled at the idea. I took in the light red morning sky as I stepped outside, cigarette in hand and sweater over my shoulders. It was a nice feeling. The pressure that had built up during the week suddenly vanished, and I allowed myself to breathe. I had survived another one. Life was good. I was about to sit down on the ground when I noticed it. Mere centimeters from my foot plopped against the wall was a severed deerhead.

A small pool of blood had formed around it, making it seem like it was resting on a red platter. Tears instantly filled my eyes as I forced myself to take a closer look. Even though I already knew it had to be the librarian. A note was sticking out of the deer's mouth. silly books won't protect you anymore. I found myself sobbing as if I'd lost a friend because it's what it felt like. Not only had she become part of my weekly routine,

but there was this unspoken and unseen bond between us through the books I provided and she read. Yet this unexpected grief was soon replaced by panic. I had lost my protector. Sure, Kathy's kids seemed happy to help, but they wouldn't match the librarian's power. I had no idea which kinds of entities would want to harm the bookstore, nor how resentful they'd gotten during the two years they couldn't move against me.

I stayed there, kneeling next to the librarian's head, unable to look at it yet unable to walk away, until the sun's first raised. touched both my face and the mangled animal by my side. The soft warmth offered me some comfort and almost gave me enough strength to stand up when something touched my shoulder. Oh, you can't be serious!

I practically yelled as I looked up. That fucker, Caleb, was standing next to me. A sly grin plastered across his face. Why didn't I hear him approach? Did he appear out of thin air? I still haven't ruled out that possibility. It appears you're going to be in trouble now. He spoke softly.

One could almost mistake his words for an expression of concern if it weren't for his smug smile and ominous tone. It would be easier for you to give up on that little shop of yours now and join me, you know. I took a deep breath and got up, careful not to break eye-guards. contact. A million things rushed into my mind, but I felt too exhausted to give him a long speech about me being stubborn and not giving up and whatever. I was sad, and I was scared, but above all else, I was tired. Fuck off, I replied before getting back into the store and locking the door behind me.

It may not have been the smartest thing to say to a non-human, but that was an issue for future me. So was the disposal of the deerhead. At that specific point, I just needed sleep, hoping everything would be better once I'd rested. It had to be. For even more from Creepy, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit Creepod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are used under license and may not be rebroadcast or distributed without the express prior written consent of the story's author. Please contact us at creepypod at gmail.com for further information on

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