Creepy - I’m a bookstore owner. Most of my customers are creepy, but some just take the cake.

Episode Date: September 9, 2021

The customer is always right? ***Written by NemesisLuce and narrated by Michelle Kane***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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors 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 books. violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

For your bonus episode, creepy presents. I'm a bookstore owner. Most of my customers are creepy, but some just take the cake. Written by Nemesis Luce and narrated by Michelle Kane. I own a bookstore in a quiet little town. you've probably never heard of. If you'd ever like to visit, I recommend stopping by during the day.

Even though I'm open at night, you probably don't want to cross paths with the particular clientele I have to deal with at that time. After my encounter with the ghoulish old lady, I couldn't get any sleep. It wasn't that I was scared. I mean, I was,

but fear is something I've learned to live with in the years I've spent managing the store. No, I was furious. Society is maintained by rules. Some of them are written and become laws. Others are just universally accepted as common sense. There may not be a law against being a dick to your waitress, but the rest of the dining room will judge you and condemn you to a life sentence of being an asshole.

Even though my store caters to both human, and non-human customers, it's still a place where rules apply. I will call the police if I catch you shoplifting. I will ban you from the store if you're rude and disrespectful. The only issue was I could not prevent the old lady from coming back, since I didn't exactly know what she was. I didn't know which rules applied to her. I didn't know which authority she respected. When I retire, you can be damn sure I will leave my successor an exhaustive guidebook. Figuring this out on your own is way too exhausting. Since I couldn't sleep, I spent the remainder of my free time before night shift,

drinking coffee, watching silly YouTube videos, and channeling my frustration into the previous post. My nerves had settled by then, but I felt my anxiety spike as my alarm rang. signifying me that it was time to get the store ready for night opening. You know how it's hard to go back to work on Monday after spending an entire weekend sleeping? That's the feeling I had after my two hours break. I was nowhere near mentally ready to deal with that shift, but I had to. Please support your local bookstore.

We really need your patronage. I went behind the register and unlocked the door. I tell my staff that it's where I keep all the records and that I'm the only one with the key because I'm the only one needing to access them. So far, it has never raised any suspicions because why would it? Nothing bores people like administrative paperwork. Now, my employees know that I work with some peculiar customers. They also know that I open the store at night. I told them this to help them make sense of the rules and the guidebook.

and hopefully coerce them into actually following them. They don't know that right behind the counter, mere centimeters from where they stand most of the day, is where I keep what I call night inventory. The night inventory is the selection of books and varied stationary items I offer my nighttime customers. This is what the old lady referred to when she asked about something from the back.

It started with just a few odd words, references I'd picked up at yard sales or that people just gave me. Just a heads up, accepting random old books from mysterious people is the fastest way to become a bookseller for the non-human. It's also the fastest way to get cursed. I got off easy, only gathering a couple curses I can live with, but I don't recommend it. Talking about how I got cursed would be a whole other tangent. For now, I'll just tell you that I can never work anywhere else, and that I have to make offerings to a certain entity every week in order not to lose my store. I'm aware that I kind of got fucked, but hey, some people have gotten way worse deals than I did. I'd still like my story to

serve as a cautionary tale. High risk, high reward is bullshit. Sure, I love my job. I love my store, but nothing is worth having to confront your worst fears every damn week. But hey, that's the hand I was dealt, so I'm living with it. When my store became known as a place to find special literature, I emptied the storage closet and put my inventory there. When selling books to the non-human became a blooming business, I closed for a couple months and underwent massive renovation. Once renovated, I had turned the closet into a smaller replica of the front bookstore. Bookshelves lined the walls, and I had set up a couple tables for the stationery. I even managed to put two chairs at the back, so customers could take their time, picking what they would end up buying.

Pro tip, don't make the chairs too comfortable, or you'll end up with a library, not a store. It was a bit narrow, but it worked. I could sit at the register and see the whole room while being able to keep an eye on the front section. So there I was. The night inventory opened for business, sitting at the register, glancing nervously at the front door.

It was 2 to 11, and I knew my first regular was about to come in. Henry always appears in the doorframe at 11 on the dot. Never 1059, never 1101. Always 11 He's an older gentleman, always clean-shaven, his gray hair always neatly combed, reading glasses safely tucked in his shirt pocket.

His appearance wouldn't betray his non-human nature if it wasn't for his eyes. You know the uncanny valley effect, that unease we get when looking at a realistic robot, or a portrait that looks like a real person but at the same time doesn't? Looking at Henry in the eyes Makes your skin crawl

And your instincts scream I've tried to describe What makes his eyes so unsettling in the past And the closest thing I've managed to come up with Is that he has a toddler's eyes It may not seem like anything creepy or disturbing But try and picture a wrinkled man in his 70s With impossibly young eyes

It's like he's wearing some sort of weird superhero mask. The skin around his eyelids is smooth and almost transparent. His eyelashes are barely visible, and his eyes are slightly bulging out of his head, like a baby. And babies creep me out enough as it is. So the sight of Henry with his old face and young eyes never fails to send shivers down my spine. Like clockwork, he appeared at 11. Good evening, dear. He greeted jovially. Good evening, Henry, I replied trying to avoid meeting his gaze. I assume you don't need any help, but if you do, you know where to find me.

He simply nodded and made his way to the children's literature section. As with his entrance, his shopping habits were always a timely ritual. He'd first browse through a few new releases in the kids' section, pick one, then make his way to the night inventory, and spend 15 minutes carefully examining titles. He'd then come back to the front store and pay for the kids' book, never anything from the back section. Light clockwork. That would be $5.50.

Do you need a bag tonight? I asked while scanning the enchanted tree house and the mystery clock. Oh no, thank you. I can fit it in my pocket. Enjoy your evening, Athena. Where it is tonight. is going to be interesting. He added with a smile. I raised an eyebrow. What do you mean by that? He kept smiling, and I reluctantly raised my gaze to meet his unnatural eyes. I could swear I saw

them glimmer with mischief. I will see you tomorrow. He spoke softly before exiting the store, leaving me dumbfounded. I try not to let whatever the nighttime customers say to me affect me. Fact is, a lot of non-humans use words as a tool and draw power from them. Some enjoy simply planting seeds of fear inside any human they come across, just for shits and giggles, I guess. I've grown fond of Henry, but interactions like the one we just had serve as a reminder that our species are not meant to coexist, and that the balance between our worlds was only maintained by unspoken rules. And by the way, before you panic, Athenia is not my real name. I wouldn't just give my name to nighttime customers.

If you are familiar with the Faye people, and I know a lot of you are, you understand why. Names hold power. Athenaea is just the first thing that popped into my mind when I realized I wouldn't be able to dodge the name question forever. Coming up with new ways to avoid answering without offending whatever's. in front of you is exhausting. So I just strung a few syllables together and bam, Athenia. It's kind of like my stripper name. I only go by that at night, and I have no attachment whatsoever to it.

You could start calling me Queen of Candyland instead, and I wouldn't care. I mean, obviously I would, but for different reasons. I am not, Athenia. I just go by that name sometimes. I hope it's enough to circumvent the danger of giving your name to a non-human. And by the way, please don't call me that. Don't think about me as Athenia. Think about me as O.P.

If you give weight to the name, I may be royally fucked. Support your local bookstore. Keep me alive and human. I spent about half an hour rearranging displays that were already neat. My fellow booksellers, you know my pain. Before greeting my next customer of the evening. A frail woman in her 30s came through the door. Her blonde hair was haphazardly tied up in a messy ponytail,

and she had dark circles under her eyes. She looked like one of the people in an ad for sleeping or anxiety pills, utterly exhausted. Hey, Kathy, aren't the kids accompanying you tonight? I offered her a genuine smile. Having to deal with non-humans as customers can be rough, but I couldn't even begin to imagine what Kathy had to go through every day with her kids. No, her voice was barely a whisper.

I empathized with her deeply, but I was secretly relieved that I wouldn't have to deal with her children tonight. They didn't make messes or run around the store like the kids I have to deal with during the day. They simply stared at me. Every time Kathy would come in to buy them books, they would show me. no interest towards the literature. They just stood in front of me, staring at me with their pitch-black, pupil-less eyes, making me feel like they were trying to peer into my soul itself. Can I help you? Is everything okay? Even though I was glad she came alone, I was starting to get worried. Not that I could do much for her anyway, but I could maybe offer a book containing a

solution. I don't know. I don't fix people's problems. I just direct them towards books that may help them. The kids, she started before clearing her throat. The kids are asleep. They've been acting weird since yesterday. Did my order arrive? I nodded, feeling a wave of relief washing over me. I was too sleep-deprived to offer proper life advice to the human mother to non-human kids.

That was just too much for me. Probably selfish, but look, I'm not. not perfect, and I have a lot of my plate already. I had to dig deep to find those, but I'm sure they will help. I said from behind the counter, retrieving a neat bundle of six books wrapped in a clean cloth and held together by a tidy little knot. Some of these books were very old. Others were, let's just say, I really hope they weren't cursed, but they look like they could be, and I didn't want to take any more chances with curses. This is all the existing, or a should I save surviving, literature on black-eyed children I could find. You've got two books

referencing historical accounts of sightings and exploring theories. One of them is an essay about legends of ghost children with a solid chapter about black-eyed kids specifically. Then the other three are folktale compilations that I'm sure you will find interesting, since all of them include varied stories of mothers, taking in cursed or otherwise unnatural children. She examined the carefully packaged bundle before looking at me with tear-filled eyes. Thank you, F. Thank you so much. I don't know why I didn't ask you before. I thought I knew what I was doing, but there comes a point where the internet just isn't enough anymore, you know? That's what I'm here for. It was honestly a pleasure trying to drag down those references. I hope they help you with the kids,

really. She paid me for the books. didn't have time to chat with her any longer as a familiar face entered the store. I remembered. I remembered what the book was. He almost yelled as he came through the door. Now, when you've been on edge because an entity you've never seen before causes trouble in your store, and you've been nervously waiting for them to come back, only to see the customer that fucking wasted your time earlier that day in their place, you're bound to feel a little pissed. I know I was. Yes, I'm aware I may have anger issues, but people give me legitimate reasons to be angry.

One of the reasons I was feeling ready to unleash all sorts of hell on this man was that people in town know that my store isn't open to just anyone on the night shift. We don't get that many tourists either. And they're supposed to be briefed on some of the rules that apply in this place. Two years since I started the night inventory, and I've never seen a daytime customer just barge in at night. Never! I've had out-of-towners hesitantly coming up to the door during the night, and I simply told them I was hosting a special event for a private book club. Easy, simple, polite. The sheer audacity of a human customer just strolling into the place, as if it wasn't midnight, and isn't it peculiar that a bookstore is open at midnight?

No, not in the slightest it isn't. I must absolutely find the fucking thriller I want because there's nothing more important than my desires, apparently. I apologize for the tangent, but I was utterly baffled by this, baffled and angry, because while I was busy showing Mr., I expect retail employees to be able to read thoughts,

that we had, in fact, the hunt for Red October. Congrats to the commenter who figured it out. Because it was a famous thriller, and I've shown it to him, and he said it wasn't. That fucking crazy bitch came in, and I didn't even notice until I heard her tapping on the counter. Kathy was lazily browsing children's books, her bundle carefully tucked under one arm. I saw her shoot a look at the old lady, shrug and go back to minding her business. Mr. Red October was still yapping about his life or something. I completely tuned him out.

Creepy old lady, should I call her, Karen? I find it funny, but embracing the meme, maybe a bit much, was staring at me, a polite smile on her face, tapping rhythmically on the counter. Three taps, pause. Three taps, pause, just like she did on the window. I would be lying if I said I didn't want to grab the heaviest hardcover I had and just slam it on her hand. But I didn't want to offend her and being therefore treated to a

closer look into her nightmarish mouth. I'll leave that to her dentist, thank you very much. I had no choice but to leave Mr. Red October to browse the thriller section, praying to all sorts of gods I didn't believe in that he wouldn't try and have a look at the night inventory. I didn't bother putting my customer's service face on. I would be polite to creepy Karen, but I wouldn't spare her my coldest glare. Good evening, I said in a flat voice. How may I assist you? It's good to see you again, dear.

She replied, I cringed internally. She fully embraced the grandma persona, didn't she? How may I assist you? I reiterated, trying to keep my cool. She was toying with me. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of caving in. I didn't know what her intentions were, but I wasn't taking any chances.

Why, I'm just waiting for my husband, dear. She pointed a boony finger at the man carefully examining the thriller shelves. What the f? I caught myself before swearing in front of my customers. Whatever I was expecting, that was. it. The fact that I was sleep deprived didn't help in the slightest. My brain just could not make any sense of the information I'd gotten. So I just stood there, dumbfounded, my eyes darting between the non-human bitch from hell and the customer whom I deemed to be unnatural only by his capacity to

annoy me. Mr. Red October, Mr. Crazy Old Bitch, I don't know anymore. have sensed that I was looking at him, because he slowly turned his head, a grin plastered on his face. It took me a few seconds to realize that only his head had moved. The rest of his body was still facing away from me. God fucking damn it. He not only had to be non-human, but he had to pull tricks straight from a list of horror movie clichés. I told you earlier, he said, with glee in his voice that sent shivers through my entire body. My wife and I just moved into town. We simply had to check out your marvelous little shop.

Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck! It's what I wanted to say. But I couldn't. I cleared my throat and reluctantly replied in a monotone voice. Welcome to our town then. I trust you will find it a splendid place to live in. I would, however, ask you to please respect the cohabitation rules and limit your visits to my store to the nighttime. I would also like to remind you that while business and hospitality rules apply here, the community will frown upon any bargains that aren't of commercial value.

You will be able to get anything from my inventory in exchange for the appropriate sum of money, in the form of the currency used here only. This was the spiel I usually gave whenever encountering a new not. on human customer that seemed to have hostile intentions. It was the fifth version I'd crafted, and I really hoped it was the one that would be effective. I know you attempted to bargain with my former employee earlier today. I added, a bit more slowly, carefully picking my words. As a gesture of goodwill, I gift you the mystery novel you're currently holding, sir. If you agree to those terms, I will be looking forward to your patronage. They both stared right at me, their grins, widening.

I shot a glance at Kathy. She was still looking at children's books. She couldn't be unaware of the situation, but in retrospect, I think she was just glad to be out of her house, without her nightmarish kids. She didn't seem to be scared or anything. She was just reading titles and back covers. ignoring what was happening a few meters away from her. I watched in horror as a drop of thick saliva landed on my carpet. Then another. Then a strand.

The bitch was drooling as her grin stretched beyond a natural size. Oh, come on, not again. I let out in an irritated whisper. I turned my gaze back to her husband. Same fucking unnatural grin, revealing the same rotten mouth. Now this man had tucked my ear off multiple times by that point. His teeth were definitely normal then. I shuddered at the realization that whatever they were,

they had the ability to disguise their non-human nature and blend into human society. They took one step toward me. I stood frozen in place, now able to see both without having to turn my gaze. I don't know if it was purely because of fear or if they had some sort of supernatural power over me. The only thing I knew is that I could do nothing but watch as the opening of their faces grew until reaching their ears. I could do nothing but watch that yellowish saliva dripping on my carpet. I could do nothing but watch their tongues roll out, revealing dozens of cockroaches crawling around on their putrid gums, picking at the rotten remnants of their teeth.

As much as I wanted to look away and throw books at them until they stopped, whatever was happening, I simply couldn't. I wish I could tell you a tale of human bravery of how this human stood up and fought against non-human entities. But that's not what happened. I stood transfixed on the scurrying of the cockroaches on tongues that kept extending and extending towards me. I don't even remember what was going through my head at the time. I just remember the fear and the helplessness. Doing here! Kathy yelled and it snapped me out of my trance. I looked at her, confusion replacing fear.

She didn't yell at the couple. She was looking straight at the space between them and me. The space where mere seconds ago, unhuman tongues were menacingly approaching me. I followed her gaze, and this time I led out a surprised shriek. Her children were here. Five pairs of pitch-black, soul-sucking eyes for once not directed at me, but at the old couple. And they were smiling. The unnaturally wide grins were instantly replaced by looks of sheer horror. I must admit that looking back, this was an extremely satisfying sight. The children advanced as one, stretching their own.

arms towards the couple, reaching for them with chubby little hands. Then the screaming started. In unison, the children led out a piercing shriek. Kathy started yelling at them, confused motherly rant of, get away from them. How did you leave the house? What are you doing? And similar bits I didn't even register. The non-human couple absolutely lost it, jumping in each other's arms and howling in a high pitch. I pictured grieving chihuahuas, and that thought finally triggered something in me. I went into a hysterical fit of laughter and screaming. My brain had snapped. I cannot explain it any other way. I have no idea what happened to me,

nor in my store. I just screamed and weezed and laughed until I was sure I would pass out. Kathy brought me back to reality by putting a gentle hand on my shoulder and comforting me as I tried to calm my breathing. Tears had filled my eyes and everything around me was blurry. Once I'd blinked them away, I realized the children were nowhere to be seen. The couple was standing near the entrance to the store, a vacant expression on their faces. My throat was sore. Kathy spared me the pain of trying to speak and said in a calming voice,

It's okay. The kids taught them a lesson. Turns out they came all the way over here to protect you. They really like this place, you know? Despite her disheveled appearance, seeing her smiling reassuringly, filled me with warmth and comfort. I pointed at the couple,

trying to mime, could you please tell them that I'm closing early? Thank you. You're the best. My throat hurt like a bitch, and I wasn't even sure I could speak if I tried to. She seemed to understand as she walked towards them, ushered them out, and turned over the sign on the door. She didn't utter a word, but they still didn't resist. She then turned to me and asked if I would be okay. I nodded and tried to smile. My muscles were sore from the lower. laughing fit. You should take tomorrow off. I'll check in on you later, okay? She closed the door and walked away, holding her bundle of books tightly against her chest. Still in shock, I went and locked the door, turned off the lights, and collapsed onto the breakroom couch. My mind filled with

images of children with pitch black eyes reaching out to me. I fell asleep. Lull, by a warm feeling of being loved and protected. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com. If you'd like to submit a story for consideration or recommend a story, please see our submission page at creepypod.com slash submissions. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative comments, share-a-like licensing or with written consent from the authors.

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