Creepy - If You're Trying To Get Pregnant, Don't Make The Same Mistake We Did

Episode Date: June 10, 2021

The miracle of birth...***Written by DeathbyProxy and narrated by Danielle Hewitt***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***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. Contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. If you're trying to get pregnant, don't make the same mistake we did. Written by death by proxy and narrated by Danielle Hewitt. I'm not what you would call the nurturing type. Pregnancy and birth, even before all of this. They freaked me out. And now?

After the fact? If I do ever find another partner. I'm putting my foot down about kids. I can't do them. Not after what happened to Kaya. We were just there for an ultrasound, but an eerie silence had fallen over the examination room. Beyond the cream-colored walls,

I could hear the quiet bustle of life drifting down the hall. Nurse is chatting, someone laughing. and the muffled sounds of joyous tears as couples were given their first beautiful glimpses of their growing children. However, an uneasiness had settled over us in the exam room, too. I'd already been on edge. Long before Kaya's amber skin was glowing, or her belly was showing, or she was craving or itchy or moody.

I'd long been a full-blown ball of stress. Because the act of making a whole new human person? I'd wanted nothing to do with it. My therapist uses fun terms like phobia and neurosis, but it didn't really matter what labels were slapped on it. When it came to reproduction, I just wasn't down for it. Sex? No, thank you. I'd tried it a few times in high school

and found the whole ordeal to be more effort than it was worth. Boys, girls, the binary was still strong back then. I'd given them all ago. Society told me to do it and everyone else seemed to enjoy it. Ultimately, though, it hadn't mattered what parts someone had been packing or what kind of motion their ocean had provided. Sex just wasn't my thing. It was neither fun nor functional for me.

Insemination, then. Revolting. When we'd discussed the possibility of me being the bio-mom with some stranger's nut mustard clinically delivered through a glorified turkey baster, I'd spent the better part of an hour in the bathroom dry heaving. I don't care how many times donor number 12 had won at Harvarding. His frozen spunk wasn't going anywhere near my bits. And that was that.

That's when we knew. If we wanted kids, Kaya would have to carry them. Sitting alone in the exam room, though, I wasn't sure it had been such a good idea. And not just because being surrounded by stock photos, of happy families and expectant mothers grinning over their distended bellies was giving me the beginning of a panic attack. Did we really need the doctor? I thought. Couldn't we just go home and guess the baby sex? I looked to Kaya, ready to pitch the idea of ditching. The loving, yet sorely exhausted look on Kaya's face said everything I needed to hear to stay put, though. She knew me too

well, though. And whether she knew what I'd been about to say or not, I kept my mouth shut and tried to ignore the weirdness that was pregnancy, despite it being right in front of me. It wasn't even that I was opposed to children, actually. I'd always kind of like the idea of a miniature human bouncing around the apartment. I was just uneasy with the concept of another life growing inside me. An entire other awareness, just... There. inside me, moving and expanding. Developing its sentience while wearing my body as a gestational evangelian. The whole process gave me existential anxiety. Kaya, on the other hand, was made for motherhood. The pure joy of carrying new life inside her had ignited a fire that wouldn't die.

Even when the morning sickness had left her sweating and unconscious on the bathroom floor, and growing pains kept her up all night begging for relief. leaf. It carried her through the days when she barely had the strength to eat, and through cravings that would have killed lesser mortals, like half-cooked hamburgers covered in Nutella and fried crickets. Greek yogurt with figs, saracha, and salted tarantulas, or scorpions. Just scorpions. Sometimes chocolate covered, but still just 100% dead scorpions. And now here, in the exam room, as we awaited the results of our second ultrasound. That joy kept her spirits high.

I could tell because even though I was the one smiling and patting Kaya's brittle hand, it was Kaya's smile that gave me hope. Hope that the most turbulent pregnancy in the history of mankind would finally hit its stride and mellowed the fuck out. I still worried, though. Of course I did. Kaya's health had been failing for a while, and while her doctors were concerned,

they had also reassured us multiple times that not every pregnancy manifested the same way. Some were just more strenuous than others. They also said there were no obvious complications. And though there were some unexpected hormone spikes, they were nothing to be afraid of. Except now, maybe, while we waited an eternity for a startled nurse to return with the doctor,

and what was taking so long anyway? Was it just my anxiety? I wondered. Or was something really wrong? The visit had started just fine. Kaya and the nurse had been all smiles and chit-chat. And if Kaya's usual glow had been more sallow than tan, and her smile a little more tired than bright, that fire inside her let power through it.

With greetings aside, the nurse had pushed cold gel around Kaya's belly with the stick wand thing attached to the machine. He'd grinned and fiddle with the tiles. But in just a couple minutes, his grin had turned hollow, and the cheer left his eyes. I had never seen anything like it. I've read plenty of books that describe something like it, but to actually have seen an emotion drain from someone's eyes.

It did not inspire confidence. He had done his best to cover his nerves, but he had also quickly excused himself. He said he was going to fetch the doctor. We'd been waiting 20 minutes. We're fine, Kaya said, her voice thinner than usual. That meant the baby was moving again. My eyes shifted from Kaya's sweet smile to her belly. I had no idea when babies were supposed to start moving.

But I didn't think it was supposed to look like a scene from Alien yet, or maybe ever. But there it was. stretching my wife's belly, gliding beneath her skin, all sharp and angular like an elbow or a knee. Did babies have those at five months? I had no idea. I still don't. A sharp knock on the door startled us. The baby stilled as the doctor entered, flanked by the nurse and two others in lab coats. The doctor smiled, seating herself on the little wheelie stool by the bed as her entourage closed ranks.

Hi, Kaya, Naomi, how are you two doing today? We've been better, I said, gently squeezing Kaya's hand as much as I dared. Kaya simply smiled back at the doctor with her free hand slowly massaging her sore belly in the unruly baby within. The doctor nodded, a look of sympathy creasing her features. Let's get a good look at what's going on in there, shall we? See if we can't get some good news for you. As she got started, take it. over the wand thingy, my mind started to wander, maybe as a self-defense or coping mechanism.

I started thinking about ultrasounds. I had no idea what information could be gleaned from an ultrasound. Every one I had seen had been a blurry mess of wibbly gray and black, with a giant sort of head in the middle. When eager parents would point out all the bits that are supposedly baby, I just can't see them. I still nod along in Kuang Q on Q though. because not being able to appreciate a baby smudge doesn't mean I have to be a dick about it. That said, blurry Xerox babies and sex reveals

were the limit of my understanding of ultrasounds and their uses. I hoped that wasn't the limit of ultrasound capabilities, though. Or, God, the doctor's understanding of ultrasounds. By the time I realized the doctor was talking, I'd already missed most of it, hiding a bit. The doctor was saying as I tuned back in,

She was moving the wand against Kaya's belly, apparently trying to chase the baby down. At least that's what it looked like to me as the doctor wiggled the wand against Kaya at what looked like an unusual angle. That's when the baby shifted. Just a little bump, a little kick, or a punch. It was quick, but everyone saw it.

I, however, saw how pale the doctor had become because of it. "'Is?' I looked at Kaya nervously. "'Is love okay?' The doctor didn't respond. She looked at the monitor with an intense frown of concentration. The two extras leaned in, muttering and pointing at the screen, and one of them sent the nurse out again, with an order that sounded suspiciously like prep for surgery.

The doctor finally turned to us, a strange smile pulling at her features. I knew the effect was meant to be comforting, but it was just shy of horrifying. The way the doctor's eyes flitted between our faces and Kaya's belly, fear, obviously dilating her pupils. And was that sweat? Was she fear sweating? I'm going to be honest with you, she said, passing the wand to one of her lab-coated friends.

It looks like there are some complications here. and for the safety of Mama. Her lips pulled up further into a smile that looked mechanical and weird. We're going to need to perform an early cesarean. Perfectly routine. She added, waving her hands between us and failing not to glance at Kaya's gently rolling baby bump. Catching the complication this early means there's a good chance of survival.

Is it routine to birth a baby at five? months? I asked genuinely uncertain. It didn't seem routine, and I don't think it would have, even if the doctor hadn't looked like she was on the verge of fleeing the room in a panic. It is a little early, she admitted. But with today's tools, there's no reason why it shouldn't be a complete success. Something niggled at the back of my mind, telling me the doctor wasn't being entirely straight with us. But whatever she was dancing around, I couldn't see it. I just knew the doctor didn't usually speak this way.

Did she? I didn't think she did anyway. And I couldn't shake the feeling that something awful was hidden on that ultrasound screen. It's okay. Kaya said, giving my hand a frail squeeze. I nodded, but nothing about our situation made me feel better about either pregnancy or childbirth. If anything, it provided my fears with terrifying cement. Was it even neurosis anymore if reality made something worse than anxiety could?

Another 20 minutes passed with the doctor assuring us of the safety of cesareans, in the routine of it all, when an EMT entered the room, followed by a gliding platform of slick steel, blue padding, and bright plastic accents. He offered us an obvious smile sprinkled with genuine warmth. It felt wrong, though. Out of place. His smile, the vestige of a world that didn't know the bitter bite of fearbile, clawing at the back of its throat, was an intrusion, and the EMT seemed to know it. Whether the atmosphere was palpable, or he was an expert at reading faces, the way he moved between us, helping Kaya onto the—weeley bed? The stretcher? It suggested he realized he was an outsider in a very strange situation and he did his best not to make it worse. We've already called ahead, the doctor said, waving the EMT ahead of us as we left the exam room.

But we need to get Kaya to a real hospital, because we're not really equipped for this procedure. There, she'd done it again, hiding something behind carefully chosen words, but I nodded like I understood. And I suppose some vague part of me did. Really, what I understood was that. we had no alternative. And all the panic and paranoia shrieking through my body needed to take a back seat while the people I had to trust took care of my wife and our baby. In the hall, the staff made room for us to pass, watching and whispering as we went. They had no clue what was happening, not that I had much idea either, but offered nods and sympathetic smiles to help us

on our way. Once we'd collected ourselves inside the elevator, I fretted, still clinging to my wife's fragile hand. The doctor smiled, tapping an anxious toe and the EMT pressed the button for the roof. Wait, what? My stomach tumbled as the elevator rose, a new and previously unknown level of anxiety, sending jagged agents of fear coursing through me at the unexpected deviation. Wasn't the ambulance at ground level? Didn't we need the ground to drive on? Why would we be heading up? I didn't have long to wonder, as the elevator slowed to a stop on floor R. There was an agonizing pause before the doors parted, and a concussive gale shoved its way inside the car, bringing daylight in the smell of the city with it.

I blinked, briefly blinded and overwhelmed by it all, as hair and clothing whipped around us. As my vision cleared, I saw it. There, in the center of the roof, an active helicopter. its blades stirring up a storm. Medivac. This one I knew, because TV. I glanced at Chaya, tears whipped from my eyes by the wind, and I swallowed around a painful lump.

What in the god-awful hell had been on that ultrasound that would require a medical evacuation? I had plenty of time to dwell on the possibilities, as the ride was loud, uneventful, and long. much longer than I thought it should have been, given I could have driven to two different hospitals and half the time it took us to land. But eventually, we did land,

and a whole medical team was there to greet us. There were no more smiles there, though. There, it was all business. There, a gang of doctors conferred with ours, and the nurses conferred with the EMT, taking Kaya's vitals as they hooked up to a mobile monitor. Then they whisked her away into the warm glow of a massive elevator.

No one acknowledged me, except for a pair of armed guards who silently ushered me along behind the chaos. Through a labyrinth of sterile halls, past rooms with numbers I didn't notice, to another elevator that took us down even further. Past rooms was symbols instead of numbers, none of which I knew. Our convoy stopped before a pair of steel doors at the end of a long hall. Kaya and her team disappeared between them, and I caught a glimpse of more steel

surrounded by thick plastic sheeting before the doors closed with a soft beep, and a red light burned above them. I was escorted into a room to my right, a loud mechanical clank issued as the door closed behind us. It was dark in there, but I didn't need a light. The wall separating me from Kaya

was filled in an enormous window. In the operating room beyond, filled our space with more than enough ambient light to see. Through a network of thin metal wires reinforcing the glass, I watched the medical team tend to various machines as they transferred Kaya to the surgical bed. Checking in with each other for a final prep and looking as frantic and well-organized as a colony of ants.

Two men in hazmat suits stood on either side of the room. Their somber hands resting on imposing black guns slung low against their hips from straps hooked over their shoulders. I didn't know my mind. about Caesareans, but I knew armed guards and hazmat suits were not routine additions. The doctor entered. I guessed he was the team lead as he came in late, wearing a face shield, and a... Kevlar vest? I moved closer to the glass. One of my guards shifted, just enough to be noticed. Why is he wearing a vest? I asked, pointing at the doctor. My guards were silent, impassive.

Why are you here? Silence again. Why do you need guns and hazmat suits for a C-section? Nothing. I wanted to hit them for being so stoic. Before I could give in to my anger, though, movement caught my eye. Wait, wait, wait, wait, she's not out. I said as my attention returned to the operating room.

Kaya writhed an obvious pain on the surgery bed and the doctor motioned to the nurses to hold her down. I pounded on the glass screaming. She's not out. You didn't put her out. The doctor glanced up at me and made a curt gesture. One of the guards moved in and slid an arm between me and the glass, shepherding me back. Please, remain calm. Remain, are you fucking serious?

They're going to cut my wife open while she's awake. Kaya! I turned back to the glass in time to see blood. Too much blood. Time slowed to one eternal breath as one of the nurses stumbled back from Kaya. a fountain of glistening red spray from his open neck. I watched him bleed. I watched his face twist with shock and confusion as he tried to understand what had happened.

I watched him stumble back as his legs and balance weakened. One hand, finally rising toward the wound. Then he was falling and the air was filled with glinting steel tools as he crashed into a surgical tray. And then he was gone. I didn't understand. Time snapped back as a scream rang out and a shriek of red shot across the room. One hazmat guard went down in a shuddering yellow mass. A bloody fissure wept where his chest should have been.

The medical team scattered. The remaining hazmat-suited guard backed away as the red streak sprang from one destroyed body to another. Closing in on the bright yellow target. Shots ripped through the doctors and nurses like, tissue paper as he fired into them, desperately trying to hit the thing racing toward him. The guards with me sprang into action. It had only been a few seconds, but by the time they'd bypass the locks on both doors, no one was left standing. I heard the shots as they entered, but I never saw the men into the room from my position behind the glass. Silence fell slowly,

with my ears ringing in the wake of all the chaos. It all happened so fast. My eyes shifted from one bloody lump to the next, my brain, sliding away from the reality of what I just witnessed. Kaya, though. Kaya remained on the surgical bed, the operating light showcasing her, putting her on display in the middle of the abattoir, a golden goddess from the waist up. I needed to be with her. I backed away from the glass and looked toward the door. Light peaked around the edge. The guards, in their haste, my mind.

must have left it open. I shuffled to the hall, numb. I found the steel doors wide open. The still-warm bodies of my former guards were slumped to either side, as if waiting for my entrance. In between them, the limp body of my child. It looked like a scorpion, six long skeletal legs and a spiny tail, complete with sharpened tip, trailed. from the meaty center of it. An oblong mouth, filled with rows of needle-like teeth, split the center of it, and it was covered in human skin.

Golden tan like Caius, where I could see it through the blood. I didn't understand the urge that guided me, and some dim part of me knew too much scrutiny would break whatever fragile threads were still holding me together, so I didn't question it either. I merely dropped to my knees, soaking myself in the blood around me and gently gathered it up, folding its many bony legs into its body,

so I could cradle it more easily. I sat alone with it among the dead, rocking back and forth. I wanted to sing a lullaby my grandmother used to sing when I was sick, but I couldn't remember the words. I tried humming it for a while, but the notes wouldn't come. Several minutes passed this way. with me sitting in mostly silence, occasionally squeezing out a random note

as I tried to remember my grandma's song. Before I realized, I could hear something else in the room, breathing. Labored, shallow. I searched briefly and found only Kaya, her chest rising and falling, but barely. I don't have a medical degree, but I knew,

just by looking, there was no way to come back from what Kaya had suffered. No amount of medical help, no matter how quickly administered, could fix would have been so thoroughly destroyed. That she was alive at all was some kind of miracle. So I rose and carefully moved to Kaya's side. My shoes slipped where the blood was the thickest, but I never fell. Let me see her. Kaya gasped, reaching a trembling red hand toward me when I approached. I could see the thrill of possibility and the joy of starting a family written on her face again.

I saw a ghost of the elation we had felt when we had been told the in vitro treatment had been a success. But the blood loss and physical trauma had been severe. She must not have remembered the ultrasound or the nightmare that had followed. She probably couldn't see that she was just one of many shattered body. he's decorating the room. All she seemed to know was that the baby was out, and that she didn't have any more time. Please.

Kaya weised. A wet rattle of sound providing the depth of damage done to her. I hesitated. Uncertain, I should be handing over the limp body of the thing we once believe would be our child. But my wife's distress only grew the longer it took for me to respond. So I relented.

I was gentle, almost loving and passing the mangled remains of our offspring to my wife's failing embrace. Taylor! She breathed, shifting its crumpled limbs in what looked like an attempt to make it more comfortable. I watched my wife fuss over the body as the light slowly dimmed from her eyes. Tears welled, and it didn't seem to matter how many legs she shifted. Whatever she saw, it was still her baby. and her love for it was pure. Then Kaya reached for me,

her feeble hand grasping blindly until I held it. She guided our hands to the lifeless husk between us. She smiled. That warm, infectious smile that always told me everything would be all right. You have each other now, she managed around a handful of staccato breaths.

This was it. Our last moment together. Yeah. I said, gently squeezing her rapidly cooling fingers. The tears fell freely, but I kept them from my voice. Taylor and me will be just fine. I love you, Angel. Kaya whispered.

I love you too, baby. I swallowed the sob so Kaya could pass with peace in her heart. And then I watched Kaya's smile slowly fade. as the strength and life and breath finally left her. And I had lied. Of course I had. I wouldn't be just fine without her, but my wife didn't need to know that.

With no time left for anything but love, I refused to deny her that tiny slice of peace. Understandably, after that day, my life was a sea of chaos. Lots of details I can't talk about because of the people involved and at what security level they're involved. What I can say is that OV-plus place is gone, and not because I sued them into the ground. I mean, when I got home and had any mind to spare for it, I searched through Kaya's office for any paperwork that could confirm the business name and give me a phone number or an address to work with. And even though the paperwork exists, nothing else does. The physical business is empty and dark.

The phone is disconnected. My lawyer can't even find paperwork to suggest it ever did exist. So, not only can I not legally destroy them, but I can't get any answers about what they did to my wife, or why. I can just post this and hope that it serves as a warning to others trying to get pregnant. to make sure that you properly vet the labs you're considering for artificial insemination. Don't make the same mistakes we did.

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