Creepy - I Took Part In An Online Scavenger Hunt

Episode Date: November 29, 2021

I wish I hadn't...***Written by Rene Rehn***Bonus Episode: "There was something indescribably wrong with the Thanksgiving turkey" written by WeirdBryceGuy and narrated by Owen McCuen***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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And just a little heads up that I'm working on a few changes to the show. Nothing too significant. Mostly website update to creepypod.com and updating our email accounts so that they aren't just Gmail. Hopefully all of the changes up for next week, but I just wanted to give people a heads up, especially those interested in submitting stories to the show

that there will be some changes. Also working on a couple of big projects for the end of this year and in the next that I hope everyone enjoys. In the meantime, no. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simple.

Complete fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. I took part in an online scavenger hunt. I wish I hadn't. Written by Renee Wren. Some of you might be puzzled a bit about the title.

An online scavenger hunts a series of riddles or puzzles on the internet. Throughout the years have been quite a few of them. The most famous example, without a doubt, are the puzzles created by Cicada 3301. As long as I can think back, I've been interested in puzzles and riddles. I guess it's a mixture of curiosity and wanting to challenge myself. When I was little, I spent a lot of time with puzzle games and the likes. Once I grew older, during the advent of the internet, I also started to look for them online. In the past, I've taken part in a few of them.

Most of the ones I found were rather simple, and usually ended with a troll face or a silly message. I know some supposedly reward the winner with a prize, like the cicada puzzles mentioned above. Regrettably, I've always missed out on them. Two weeks ago, I finally got my chance to take part in an online. puzzle that was a bit more complex. As I'm sitting here now telling you all this, I wish I didn't. It was on a Saturday evening that I stumbled upon a strange Tumblr post.

It had been reblogged by a few of the accounts I follow. Most of their contents about curious internet stories and hidden pages. When I saw that a post made the rounds, I took a more in-depth look. Going through the chain of comments and reblogs, I learned that people actually deciphered a message. included in the post. It led to a page on blogger.com that consisted of several cryptic blog posts. Most of them were quotes by famous people and a few nonsensical sentences below.

Two of the posts even contained images. It didn't take long for me to find an invite to a Discord server that someone had created to solve whatever it was. All in all, there were about 30 people on the server. When I had joined, only a few were actually online. They were busy talking about the blog post and trying to find a connection between the quotes So far it seemed

Nothing had proven useful There was one user, however, that stuck out between the rest His name was Fire Snake 89 While everyone was talking about the quotes And trying to figure out a hidden message This guy said it was all a waste of time His posts were riddled with insults like Freaking idiots, mouth-browel

breathers or tumbler fags. I sighed when I saw his messages. Found the troll, I thought. My opinion of him would soon change. It wasn't long before he proclaimed he'd figured it all out. Of course, people called him out. After five minutes of explaining and mentioning the power of his boundless autism, everyone was quiet.

The quotes he used were all from famous works. of fiction. That's all there was to them. Sure, the theme of the quotes was related, but that was only there to leave people astray. He continued on about different editions of books, publishers, checksums, and a hidden message on the website itself. It wasn't too tough, he bragged, just a bit tricky. Sitting in front of my computer, I couldn't help but be impressed by this guy. I had no clue how he'd figured out half of it. Let's see if you dumbass can figure out the rest on your own. He wrote and posted a line in numbers and letters.

696E73746161616-1216-E6336-F6D2 F6D2F626D2F626-2F6-310A. My first impulse was to enter into Google. But that didn't give me any results. A chat message by another user proved that I wasn't the only one dumb enough to try this. At first, I started to calculate the digit sum of the numbers between the letters to see if that

gave me a hint. It was all nonsense, though. Another attempt at using Google didn't help either. I sat there, puzzled, staring at the numbers and letters when it hit me. I had seen something like this before, hadn't I?

All the letters were from early in the alphabet. There had to be a reason for this. Right away, a memory from my IT class came back to me. Hex code consisted of nothing but numbers in the first six letters of the alphabet. Looking at the first line that Fire Snake had posted, I realized that the highest letter was indeed an F, and the highest letter in the hex code as well.

I started dividing up the line into pairs, which gave me this. 69, 6E, 73, 74, 61, 67, 72, 61, 6D, 2E, 63, 6F, 6D, 2F, 62, 6C, 75, 72, 70, 615, 31,0A. Moments later, I ended into a hex converter. I'd expected it to give me nothing but a garbled mess. But what appeared on my screen was the URL of an Instagram profile. Instagram.com slash Blurp1. I blinked, press convert again, and then entered the URL into my browser. To my surprise, a somewhat typical Instagram profile appeared on my screen.

It was supposedly the profile of a 22-year-old girl. there was a URL that led to a simple WordPress site. The account itself consisted of a half dozen pictures, all of the same girl. I posted it on the Discord chat. Three other users were still trying to figure out what the line of numbers and letters meant. Once I'd posted it,

the chat was quiet for a moment before people asked me to explain. The first reply came from Fire Snake, saying that there seemed to be at least one person with half a brain in here. I'm a bit embarrassed, but I smiled at this compliment from someone who was obviously much smarter than me. For the next half hour, I started to check out the Instagram profile as well as the WordPress site. I didn't even know where to start.

I clicked through the pictures, checked out comments, and read through the WordPress site. But I was utterly overwhelmed. In the end, I said goodbye to the people in Discord, told them I'd be there again tomorrow and headed to bet. When I got up the next day, the first thing I did was to recheck Discord. The chat was a bit more active now, and quite a few people were online. Most of them talked about the WordPress site in which they'd supposedly found a hint. I was about to ask them what they'd found, but I saw I'd gotten a message by Fire Snake. It was a simple one-liner.

That WordPress site is a red herring. Check the hashtags. I asked him what he meant, but saw he wasn't. online at the moment, or at least invisible. Needless to say, I didn't get an answer. It was about an hour later that I put the next clue together, a short little riddle. It took me quite a bit to figure out the answer, but once I did, the next step was clear. Use Google Images.

I was about to post it on the general chat on the Discord, but the moment I was about to send it, I paused. Then I deleted the message and I opened a private chat with Fire Snake. This time, a reply came back almost instantly. not bad was all I got. After I returned from the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, he'd sent me a couple more messages. So far, he hadn't figured out the next step.

He said he had a few ideas, but nothing feasible. I asked him why he didn't say anything in the general chat. His answer was short. You think those idiots can figure shit out? When I took a look at the chat, I saw that people were still analyzing the WordPress site. To be honest, he had a point. It was from this time on where we started to work together.

I planned to hang out with friends at Sunday, but I ended up canceling. Instead, spent the rest of the day figuring out a few more clues with Fire Snake. Be honest, I had no clue why you needed my help. Apart from a few flashes of inspiration, I felt utterly useless and always a few steps behind. I was hooked on solving this thing, though. I really wanted to see where it would lead us. For the next couple of days, I was obsessed with this thing. I did nothing but go to work and try to figure out clues.

Even at work, I spent more time with these online riddles than doing my actual job. During these days, Fire Snake and I scan various websites, Facebook profiles, talked to automated chatbots, and even sent an email to an auto-replyer. This whole thing was nothing short of absolutely fascinating. I also learned a few more things about my new friend. He told me his real name was Mike. He'd been kicked out of university a good year ago, and ever since he'd been unemployed.

The guy seemed to be a prime example of a basement dweller, but man, he was smart. He told me he dabbled in a few things online, like cryptocurrencies, private bot networks, and automated blogs. So far, none of them had really taken off. So for now, he spent most of his days on the internet, doing things like the scavenger hunt. needless to say he was quite the weirdo still figuring this thing out together was fun it was near the end of the week that i told him i wouldn't be around for a while i'd be attending a family gathering on friday and saturday he gave me his condolences made a few weird jokes but said i should have fun he'd see what he could figure out on his own while i was with my family i still checked discord on my phone every once in a while there was the occasional message by him in which he told him

me what progress he'd made. On Saturday afternoon, he got quiet. When I was back home, I sent him a message, joking how unexpected it was for him to be stuck that long. I figured it'd be offline, but even after a couple hours had passed, I'd got no reply. After that, I decided to follow his progress. It was much harder than I'd expected. Mike had a cryptic way of talking and always forgot to mention half the things he'd figured out. A message, he'd message, I listened to him a few more times asking about some of the clues, but still got no reply. Had he solved the whole thing on his own already? If so, fuck me.

In the end, I decided to solve this thing on my own, if that was even possible. I checked the general chat, but people were still way behind. As I kept going, I noticed a few things. The links that led me on weren't hard-coded anymore. Instead, they seemed to be dynamically generated. At first, I didn't know what to make up. it, but then it clicked. From a certain point onward,

it seemed that people got their own private clues. I couldn't help but smile. This was very interesting. I wondered how much effort went into creating a thing like this. Maybe this was the reason Mike hadn't answered me. I was sure he'd figure this out days ago, but it was busy solving them on his own. Making progress was tough.

I noticed that things got a bit easier, though. Before it had been all about hidden messages and metadata. Now it was more about simple riddles or figuring out specific lines of text. Maybe it was to discourage team efforts from here on out. Either way, I continued on. It was five days ago that one of the clues made me scratch my head. It was clear that I was supposed to figure out a specific location. I went over it and couldn't help but laugh when I was.

I realized that my home area would fit the clue quite well. I continued tinkering with it. But the longer I did, the more it seemed to I'd already found the solution. It was, without a doubt, my home area's name. I sat back, a bit confused. So far, all the clues and riddles have been in English and related to American pop culture. So why did it suddenly talk about an area in the middle of nowhere in Germany? I shorted off.

Maybe the creator of this thing had included a few bits and pieces here and there related to my IP address. It wouldn't be too far-fetched. And it was an excellent addition. Still, were those riddles and clues automated as well? Would someone go to such lengths for something like this? The next clue proved that he indeed would. I felt weird when I was sent to a Wikipedia page of the next town over. I was supposed to search through the recent edits.

In there, I found a link to yet another random blog post. The next clue, however, sent me to a picture stream, showing locations in my town. I leaned back in my chair, baffled. How in the hell? Finding the rough area I lived in was one thing. But finding my exact town solely via IP was impossible. It made no sense. Was it a coincidence?

Could it be that this thing was just using different towns in the area? The riddle this time was simple. It was a URL hidden in the website's code. Once I followed the link, though, I couldn't pretend that all this was happening by chance anymore. What I stared at was a picture of my room, obviously recorded by my webcam. For a while I sat there.

Too shocked to do anything. Then my hand shot forward, turning it away before I disconnected it altogether. What the hell was going on? Then I realized that I must have been hacked. The whole thing had just turned into a stupid joke to fuck with me heading it. Well, really funny, I thought. Really fucking funny. I was sure by now that this was all nothing but a stupid troll.

I was about to just close the page when I read the, text below the picture. Enter the name. Next to it was a text field in which I could enter text. Yeah, right, I thought at first. After a while, though, my curiosity took over. I'd spend more than a week trying to solve this thing, and even if it was all bullshit, I wanted to get to the end.

What name, though? What was I supposed to enter? I looked at the image in my room again. It was my bookshelf. There was my bookshelf, my bed, and the pictures on my wall. Was he talking about one of the books? I haphazily entered the names of various authors, but none of them worked. I leaned in closer and looked at the picture intently.

After a couple minutes, I felt strangely watched and jerked around, but I was obviously alone. I rubbed my temples and told myself it was all a stupid joke. For the next half hour I tried everything I could think of. I tried my own name, but nothing worked. It was at this point that I noticed something. It was a picture of my girlfriend and I sitting on my bookshelf. When I entered her name, the page started to load, indicating that I'd solved this riddle.

I was waiting for yet another cryptic message. But I was greeted by a page that said, Winner, at the top. I frowned, waiting for a troll face or Rickroll to appear on the screen. Or hell, maybe a picture of me sitting in front of my computer looking like an idiot. Instead, a short sentence appeared in the middle of the screen. The greatest reward of all is the truth. As I read the message, a list of eight links appeared on the screen below.

Secret 1 was the first going on until Secret 8. What the hell? Don't tell me this was some shitty conspiracy theory or esoteric bullshit. I was prepared for almost anything. To find out that Trump was a lizard person, that Obama was an alien, or to see some sort of sick graphical images. I took a deep breath and clicked the first link. What opened was a recording of film.

Facebook. I stared at it in confusion, but then I realized it was my girlfriend's profile. How the hell was there a recording of her account? Whoever was recording this clicked around for a bit before the messenger was open. One was a conversation with a guy from our group of friends. The cursor moved down and started to highlight messages one after another. How are you doing today, sexy girl? Kinky, what about you? Won't Robert be mad if you send something like this to me? Ha ha, no way, he has no clue about us. As I continued reading, my heart dropped.

What the hell was this? Was this real? Didn't mean that Claudia was cheating on me? What the fuck? What the fuck was going on here? I clicked back. This had to be some sort of stupid troll that was trying to trick me. I clicked on the next one and found a different recording.

This one was of an email account. At first I thought it was mine, but when I scanned the screen, I could see that it was my mom's Gmail account. Why the hell would someone hack her email? Then I saw the cursor move around once more. One after another had opened various emails about cancer treatments and medications. I felt very cold all of a sudden. A thought appeared in my mind, but I quickly pushed it away.

Mom had been sick for a while. but she said it was nothing but a long-lasting cold, hadn't she? I went through the other links. As the title said, they all revealed the secrets of people I knew. One showed me that my best friend had raped a girl, but got away to the influence of his parents. Another proved that my uncle had been cheating on his wife for years by now. I don't know any more why I kept going, but I clicked through all of them. Afterwards, I felt empty.

Cold. and most of all crushed. Again, I read the message that truth was the greatest reward of all, green, and at this whole damn thing, why the fuck would anyone do this? Why would someone send me all this information? Was it just a fuck with me? Why? It's right at this time that Discord notified me that had gotten a direct message.

I clicked and saw that it was from Mike. Congratulations on making it to the end. Took you a bit longer. than I expected, but it was fun while it lasted, wasn't it? Thanks for playing, and I hope you enjoyed your reward. I was in a pure and utter rage, insulting him and asking him how the hell he'd found out who I was. All I got was another condescending message. Now riddle me this. Why do you think I forced you to send me an email and log into your

Facebook account? It was too damn easy to get your private data. I didn't type my next message. No. I almost beat it into the keyboard. I asked him what he got from this and why he was doing all this. His answer was as simple as can be. It was only one line that he sent before he blocked me. You know, some men just want to watch the world burn.

For your bonus episode. Creepy presents. There was something indescribably wrong with the Thanksgiving turkey, written by Weird Bryce Guy and narrated by Owen McCune. When the turkey was set on the table, my brother and I simultaneously knew that something was odd about it. My sister remained oblivious until it happened, and my mom and dad were too enamored with my grandmother's newly crafted,

Ultimate Mac and Cheese casserole, to take notice of the odd bird placed before them. My aunt acted normal, although she hadn't seemed too excited about any dish in particular. After setting the turkey down, my grandfather took his place at the head of the table, his rightful place, since it was his house, and gestured for us all to join hands in prayer.

My brother and I kept our eyes open throughout the entirety of it, our gazes shifting from that weird turkey to each other and to the faces of our relatives who mouthed the words languidly spoken by our grandfather, a man of great patience, reverence for God, and little appetite. When the communal, Amen, was uttered, eyes flicked open and hands quested for serving utensils. Plates were raised, portions were carved, excited, and scooped, and forks descended upon dead meat and heat blasted cheese, roasted potatoes,

and steamed vegetables. Only my brother and I had stayed our hands, not wanting anything to do with the savagely-hewn bird. So as not to raise suspicion, I subtly enjoined him to grab something else, and sent my own hand toward a bread roll. I loaded my plate enough to where the absence of turkey would hopefully not be noticed, and he did likewise. and yet our grandfather, ever watchful, noticed our avoidance of the main dish.

Is something wrong with the meat, children? Too dry for your tastes, perhaps? Too, as you might say, lemony? The chatter which had filled the table stopped in an instant, and all eyes turned to look at my brother and I. There were few rules of courtesy at our dinner table once the prayer was finished, and everyone was typically free to indulge how they would. The one thing you did not do among our family was insult the holiday cooking. If you didn't like it, you stomached it.

To avoid eating the food entirely was considered a direct insult to the person who had prepared it, a nearly unforgivable culinary sin. Always quicker to thought than my brother, I stuttered out an excuse about how I was saving the turkey for last and treating the present items on my plate as appetizers. My tongue-tied brother simply nodded in agreement

and put on a stupid smile that would have made the most devout none appear guilty of utter blasphemy. Our grandfather studied us with his hawk-like face for just a moment, the eyes quickly passing back and forth between me and my brother, before clapping his hands together and applauding our preference of eating. He thanked us for giving his turkey such an, Anticipatory consideration. Then turned to my mom and began an entirely unrelated conversation.

The chatter of the table resumed, and my brother and I exchanged a glance of relief as we nibbled on our food and tried not to look at the bizarre turkey inches away from us. The minutes ticked by until half an hour had elapsed, and neither of us had touched the turkey. I'd already finished a plate and a half of the so-called appetizers, and my stomach had grown bloated from the mac and cheese casserole, which was actually very good. My brother chewed absentmindedly at stuffing, and I had to flick a green bean at him

before he unwittingly drank from a small cup of gravy. Our avoidance of the turkey was pathetically obvious at this point, but our grandfather was too absorbed in the retelling of some story from his time spent as an occult investigator to notice, which, by the appearance of my glassy-eyed father, was not a new one. At 40 minutes, with the slight of hand I hadn't thought possible for her arthritic hands, my aunt slid a few slices of turkey under my plate and did the same for my brother.

The latter maneuver was extremely impressive, since he sat two seats away from her, whereas I had been seated right beside her. No one noticed this, but once the act was complete, she casually spoke aloud, well, that's the second helping I've seen you to eat. You must really like your old grandpa's turkey. Doubly bewildered, first by her surreptitiously served turkey, and secondly, by the blatant falsehood, my brother and I could only offer wide eyes and awkward smiles in response.

Our grandfather turned his attention away from my dad, who seemed relieved by the interruption. Glancing at our plates and then our faces, our grandfather first seemed to doubt the legitimacy of our aunt's observation. He even glanced at the turkey, as if an attempt to mentally evaluate how much have been taken, and by whom.

For a moment, I feared that I would have to take a bite in order to validate my aunt's boldly spoken lie. But just as my fingers twitched towards my fork, a smile spread across Grandpa's face, and he nodded in thanks. Then, without further delay, he returned his attention to my dad,

who in turn resumed. that far-minded, glassy-eyed look. The change overcame my mom and sister first. My mom, as she would often awkwardly say, is a turkey-holic, and has never failed to consume the most of it during Thanksgiving.

My sister simply likes holiday food in general, with the time of the year being her break from the rigid diet she adheres to in college prior to the season. Together, they'd ate several thick cuts of turkey, most of which had been slathe. in homemade gravy. It was a lucky thing I had stopped my brother

from drinking the gravy earlier because bits of turkey had also been used in his preparation. When my mom leaned back in her chair, moaning and rubbing her stomach, I assumed it was the natural result of the turkey-begotten languor. When my sister did the same,

an act uncharacteristic of her, she was ravenous, but not slovenly. I suspected that something was wrong. My dad was beginning to nod off and hadn't noticed the dual display of turkey-based debilitation. My aunt had excused herself, presumably to go to the bathroom or call her husband, who hadn't been able to attend due to his unchangeable work schedule.

My grandmother had already started busying herself with cleaning up the empty dishes and trays. My grandfather, sitting still with his unfinished first plate before him, watched my mom and sister with a casual and somewhat sinister look of satisfaction. My brother noticed the unusual behavior of our sister, and threw me a glance that held in it all the fraternal panic he could impress without drawing attention to himself. For some reason, we both sensed, knew with a dark certainty that it was imperative we remained calm in front of our grandfather. something strange was occurring, something that involved the turkey. And while we hadn't an idea about what exactly that thing was,

we knew that upholding the family holiday spirit was crucial to sustaining our well-being. All that adherence to calmness and furtive exchanges was thrown out the window when my sister's stomach burst open, and a monstrous creature crawled from her innards and plopped itself onto the dinner table. The utter shock at this unholy, visceral birth silenced the scream that had threatened to escape my throat. My brother reeled back, nearly falling out of his chair. The creature, no bigger than a puppy, but abhorrently formed and covered in gore, flailed about on the table, knocking over dishes and glasses of wine.

My sister appeared unfazed by the abdominal eruption and continued to recline with the same casualness as before. My mother, in a similar state, said nothing. But a moment later, her stomach bulged hideously, and something then cut its way through the straining flesh. Blood sprayed out, drenching the food on the table, and also the two youthful faces that stared in stupefied horror at the grizzly genesis. The first creature gained some semblance of physical articulation and raised itself on four shaking blood-soaked limbs.

Its body was a bastardization of human and avian morphology, a twisted amalgamation of mammalian features and the finer aspects of poultry. It was at first voiceless, but an inhuman cry soon erupted from its newborn lungs, and a wailing, grimmer than a post-war dirge was carried across the dinner table, chilling my blood colder than the ice cream cake on the counter.

The potent stench of bowels conquered the aromas of the meal, filling my nostrils with nauseating fumes. Upon hearing that appalling sound, I screamed in mindless terror, and my scream then rose in pitch and ferocity to match that awful beast's cry, as the second creature detached itself from its intestinally umbilical connection to my mother.

This creature was slightly larger than the first, but just as important as its predecessor. My brother, shocked beyond all sense, merely cried in his seat. Finally awaking from all the raucous, my dad turned his attention toward the carnage and shouted out something unintelligible. I turned to him, hoping he would bring some sense to the madness, and a deeper, darker dread instantly befell my heart, as I watched my grandfather plunge a fork into my dad's neck. The most bizarre thing of that charnel scene? My grandmother simply continued cleaning, totally ignorant of or apathetic to, the violence

and death happening around her. She brushed crumbs off the table covering, stacked dirty plates onto one another, and refilled wine glasses, even those of people who were presently dead or dying. And all the while, my grandfather looked on to those two wretched gut-borne turkey spons with morbid glee. His lips silently mouthed indecipherable words, which I can only assume with the lyrics to some profane incantation relating to the developing atrocities. After a few moments of gurgling, my father's body fell forward onto the table, his head coming to rest and a container of barely touched candied yams. My grandmother walked by, plucked the fork from his neck, and placed it under the pile of dishes she carried in her other hand. I don't remember consciously unseating myself, navigating around the table and those horrible little creatures, both screaming now, and grabbing my brother.

But I do remember pushing aside my grandmother and clocking my grandfather in the side of the head with a turkey leg. I, of course, dropped the turkey leg after it struck. guiding my still weeping brother by the hand, I fled the house, leaving those two crawling incubi and my mostly dead family behind. I practically threw my brother into the car and had regained enough sense and presence of mind to order him to buckle his seatbelt. He did as I commanded. As I pulled out of the driveway, sweaty hands barely managing to stay on the wheel, my aunt

stumbled out the front door of the house with gravy and, what I hope wasn't blood, smeared across her mouth. She looked terrified, and I was about to stomp on the brake and have my brother open the backseat door for her. But she screamed, drive away! And threw her arms out. Before I could challenge the order and beckoned her to the car, her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. A second later, an expression of unimaginable agony overrode her face, and her hands gripped her stomach. A cry, unlike anything I'd ever heard, erupted from her throat, and her stomach expanded to an alarming, inordinate sighs. I actually heard it burst. The sound was, to be gruesomely simple,

wet. Her entrails splashed onto the front porch, coating the surface in bile and blood. Her awful cry was cut short and her head fell back. From within the pile of guts stirred a monstrous yet familiar thing and its half-human, half-bestial cry sent my body to terror-induced action. I pulled out of the driveway and sped down the street,

leaving that delivery room of hell behind. By the time we had reached the highway, I suppose I had unconsciously driven us toward our own home. My brother had calmed down a bit and asked, what happened back there? I hadn't even the slightest idea of what to tell him,

so I just said, I don't know. And then, as if in answer to our ignorance, my phone rang. The caller was my mom, who I had just minutes ago watched give intestinal birth to some abysmal little turkey demon. Both reason and instinct told me to ignore the call

or even throw the phone out the window. But a black curiosity compelled me to answer it. By default, I have my phone set to answer calls on speakerphone. So my brother heard the subsequent sounds, too. I don't think he'll ever recover from the trauma they caused. I won't spend long describing what we heard. It was the noise of a demonic chorus, the sounds of actual pandemonium,

cries and shrieks that couldn't have come from human lungs filled the car, and I almost crashed the car into a guardrail as I instinctively brought my hands to my ears. I barely managed to right the steering wheel and save our lives in my repulsion at those loathsome, evil sounds. We had already traveled miles away from that diabolical sight by the time I received the call, and yet my foot depressed the pedal even harder when I heard beneath the screeching horrors, and a deep maniacal laughter of my grandfather. Just as I threw the phone out the window, I heard the words.

Finally, grandchildren who will come visit me for more than just the holidays. For even more from creepy, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.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 obtaining the rights necessary to rebroadcast or distribute a particular story.