Creepy - It's Not Like I Wanted To, You Know

Episode Date: June 28, 2021

How far would you go? The Creepypasta Anthology***Written by J Justin Graham and guest narrated by Nichole Goodnight and Nate Dufort***Help out John Ballentine at: https://www.gofundme.com/f/insurance-company-canceled-policy-then-tornado-hit***Donate to Mental Health and Horror at: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/mhhorrordoc/mental-health-and-horror-a-documentary***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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please check out a reward to us at patreon.com slash creepy pod. Before we get to this week's episode, I want to let you know about a couple of crowdfunding campaigns you can check out. The first is a go-fund me for friend of the show and fellow horror podcaster John Bannon. You might remember John's work from the pastel episode of this podcast. Not to mention, it was through his fantastic podcast Camp Fire Radio Theater that was first introduced to our own Joe Stofco.

John's home recently fell victim to a tornado with a tree collapsing on their house. The crowdfunding is set up to help them with their repairs. If you'd like to see how you can help, please check out the link in the show notes. The other campaign is for the new documentary Mental Health and Horror. This is planned to be a feature-length documentary discussing the positive impact horror. films can have on us. As many of you may know, the show doesn't make any profit off our merch shop, with 100% of proceeds going to suicide prevention. The concept of mental health and how horror can help us process life is one that's near and dear to my heart. To see how you can support

the documentary and help get it made and get some rewards, either check out the link in the show notes or search mental health and horror on Kickstarter. Now, 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 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. It's not like I wanted to, you know.

Written by J. Justin Graham. With guest narration, by Nicole Goodnight, and Need To Fort. Dad, are we poor? That's a hot knife to the gut from an eight-year-old, whatever the time of day. Not alone 7 a.m. when you're trying to get him fatten off to school before selling 11 hours of your life for $12 an hour. We're not poor, but. buddy, we're doing okay.

Ben, short for Bennett, not Benjamin. It's always been pretty quiet, which is strange since neither his mother or I were shy or retiring at any point in his life. Sam's dad had a vendetta against doors, and she'd picked up his habit of slamming them even when she was in a good mood. We were both gigging musicians in a former life,

so the house was always full of music. Whether I was singing or one of the menagerie of busted up instruments and now sits under tarps in the garage. But Ben was always quiet. Not even in a stereotypical horror movie, quiet kid way. You know, head in a book, drawing dismembered animals and a spiral notebook type of shit. He just was.

Very observant, very smart, but didn't talk much or have very many hobbies. Sam and I used to joke that he allowed himself to say 50 words a day and counted every syllable to make sure he didn't waste his allowance. Maybe he was quiet because neither his mom or I never shut up. He did like asking questions, but he usually came out at the tail end of a lengthy internal monologue. So I knew he wanted me to follow up. Why'd he ask, buddy?

Peter Maraskovic keeps calling us poor. He says we must live in a swamp and eat frogs. When I said we don't live in a swamp, he laughed at me. Marskovich. That's something familiar. His dad's the one who runs that garage, right? Ben nodded. Well, first of all, frogs are delicious.

Ben didn't laugh. Yeah, they ain't doing too hot either, buddy. I know Pete's old man had to lay a bunch of people off, so I'll betsy's worried about money. That's probably rubbing off on Pete, so he's taking out on you. Ben stared at his decision. swirling corn flakes. Not that it's okay, you know.

You're allowed to stand up for yourself. Is that something you're worried about? What? Money? Well, fuck. Nobody. Like I said, we're good. We have a riff over ahead and a lord and president doing their best to provide. By their grace, we're doing just fine.

Ben drained his milk in silence. We got his books packed. He backed and his coat and shoes on, bundled into the car and headed to school. Ben didn't care too much about the radio, so I turned it to the dad rock station and drummed the wheel in unison with Dave Grohl. Ben sat in the front with me. Yeah, yeah, I know. Backseat and boostercy until 12, whatever. Fight me.

And looked out the window. We'd fallen into a comfortable routine. Silence. It used to bother me before, but when I had... I realized that he wasn't trying to hide anything from me. I began to enjoy it. Not today, though. Breakfast made it clear he wasn't just daydreaming about whatever it is he daydreams about.

I pulled up a block away from school and gave him a tight hug. Are you okay, buddy? He nodded, less than earnest. Are you sure? His face crunched up the same way his mom as always did when he was trying to concentrate. After a moment, he nodded. I should have followed up on it, but at that moment, all I could think was, one, holy shit, it's already 7.27 a.m. Two, if I can make it to the office by eight, I can punch out by four and get his dinner.

Maybe a carbunara. Ready, before Ellen, the neighbor who picks him up when she gets her daughters, drops him off. Three, maybe I could invite her over for dinner one day. Just stop beating around the block and do it. I could ask Katrina to babysit for us. Four. You'd make a good pair, the widow and divorcee. Five.

Widower. The term is widower. If I got in my head out of my ass 30 seconds earlier, then I wouldn't be in this mess now. I'm trying to get all this shit off my chest by talking to all of you. Instead, I patted him on the head, told him I loved him, and dropped him off. Say love him. V, right? I didn't realize anything happened at first.

She was going through some shit with her axe, and I didn't want to over-complicate her situation. Work was shitty, so I floated through the next couple of weeks in a bad mood. Despite what I told Ben, money wasn't great. Dropping down to a single income is challenging, even if you aren't dealing with emotional scars, an insurance company that ducks your calls like a deadbeat friend, and an asset manager cutting down on your shifts because he's fucking the new guy. I didn't want Ben to know when I wasn't working. So I turned my frown upside down whenever I looked at him and threw myself into job hunting,

which is a crappy, humbling experience of the best of times. These weren't the best of times. I struggled to get lunch ready most days, so I usually gave Ben a five to get something at the cafeteria. I tucked it into his backpack or his pocket when I dropped him off for school and moved. morning and he'd accept it wordlessly. I didn't need him to thank me. After all, I was just doing my job. But about two weeks after we had our talk about money, he refused it.

No, thanks, Dad. There's a free lunch today in school. What? I didn't hear anything about it. It was for the kids in Mrs. Ekman's class. I was running late that morning, so I didn't press further. But I tucked the money into a shirt pocket anyway and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. There were a few other times he acted as though we were being careful about money.

He didn't ask for ice cream when we bought groceries, or I want to stop for a chocolate muffin at Eugenia's diner anymore, even though it was a Saturday tradition. In hindsight, it felt as though he was trying to take up less space, physically, which hurts my head to think about now. You see, little events don't necessarily come together as a grand picture in your head. Kids are weird. They do weird things.

They lie for no real reason. It's normal. Their favorite things change daily, but parents? You're so focused on the day to day, today, to day, to day, it's hard to lift your head above water and see the coconut trees. All islands have coconut trees, right? I don't think I would have phoned it out if I hadn't spontaneously decided to clean his room while I was home one day after losing a shift.

I was job searching and got bored. So I figured to be a good idea to vacuum and just tell him I'd gotten home early that day, if you even noticed. The money was jammed in the back of his toy chest. A neatly folded stack of fives and ones. Nice round $87. What the hell? The fives were probably from me. There's about $50 there.

The ones, though? Ben wasn't the type of kid who would steal, especially not from me. Still, I checked my wallet, cookie jar on top of my. up the fridge and the toolbox under the loose floorboard. Everything was accounted for. So where do you get the other $37 from? The thought that he could be stealing from other kids terrified me. Not just that he could get caught,

but the likelihood of him trying to do this again in the future would go way up if I didn't address it. Alan swung by around 4.15 with her girls and Ben, who muttered a high before running to his room. We made small talk for a few minutes. Susie was turning nine and I was joked that she was my time machine into parenthood a year in the future. But the anxiety of having to talk to him sat in the back of my head and made me cut the conversation short. That was the last time I'd see them, even though I didn't know it then.

I didn't bring the money out before dinner because I didn't want him to wage a hunger strike. But sitting down in our customary silence made me feel more anxious than it usually did. So I lapsed. fell back on old to-dos, asked him about how school went, what he learned in his classes, what ate for lunch, what games he played at recess. This superficial topics parents asked their kids as a build-up to a tough conversation. He answered with his head down and in a small voice, almost as though he knew he was in trouble. After dessert, two scoops of ice cream with a crushed cookie instead of one and no cookie.

He finally went ahead. Dad, did you clean my room? Yeah. Did you move some of my toys? Yeah. Okay. He stared at his hands, waiting for me to make the next move. Where'd you get all that money, Ben?

It's my money. Okay, but where did you get it? I saved some and I earned the rest. You earned it? Yeah. Good job, buddy. How did you earn it? I earned it at school. Okay, but how did you earn it? Who gave it to you?

They didn't give it to me, Dad. They paid me. I earned it. For a house train across my plate as your hair grew a bit colder, but I pressed on. It was always safer to keep a lid on emotions with Ben. Okay, who paid you? Other kids? Yeah, and why did they pay you? I did stuff Yeah, what kind of stuff

I ate things Penn? Yeah You know you're not supposed to do that, remember? I know We talked about it before, right? Yeah What did you eat?

He stared at his hands, his face darkening First I ate some ghost stuff, ketchup and honey I ate Jimmy Mendelsohn's boogers, then I ate a quarter and some rocks, and then I ate a lizard. Darren Lally found a blue jay that flew into the window, and I ate that too. Did any of the kids film you? No. Are you sure?

I told them not, too. Wendy Tumblr tried to film eating snail shells by a broker phone. Did she know what was you? No, I broke it on the inside, so it just stopped working. I realized how sweating my brother. homes had gotten and wiped them on my pants. Dad? Yeah, buddy?

Am I in trouble? No, Ben, it's okay. But you know you're not supposed to do that, right? I know. I love you, Ben. The room began to warm, and the knot in my gut loosened. I was safe. I love you too, Dad.

I just wanted to help. That's okay, son. I know. You started a cry, and my heart sank. Ben never cried. I picked him up and sat him on my lap and pressed his head against my chest. Peter Merskovich told everyone, Dad. He said I was a freak and he told everyone I hate the blue jay.

What do you mean? Hated that term, freak. If anyone asks, just tell him he's a liar. Ben doubled over, clutching his stomach, sobbing for air between gasps. The veins on his face began to throb. He said he took a video. He said he was going to show it to the teacher unless I gave him all of my money. I ran my hand across his back in big sweeping circles, just as Sam always did.

And it did the trick. He began to calm down, the hyperventilating slowing. Did you see the phone? He shook his head, but pressing his face against my chest. I felt his tears seep into my shirt. Why am I like this, dad? Like what, Ben? Different.

A freak. You're not a freak, buddy. Remember what I said? Some people are really tall, some people are really short. Some people can run really fast, and some are really smart. That doesn't mean they're freaks, right? They're just different. Yeah, but nobody can do what I can do.

That's true, but nobody could make things catch fire like your mom, right? And nobody can do what I can do. And nobody can do what you can do. That just makes us different. It doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you. Yama, you don't want us to talk about these things. If it's okay, why can't you tell people? I kept rubbing his back.

Because people get scared, Ben. And when people get scared, they do scary stuff. That's why your mom had to go away. You curled up into a ball on my lap. and I held him, remembering how he used to fall asleep on me when he was little, and how his head fit the space between my shoulders, neck and jaw, like a hand and a glove. Marsquich had a nice house. Two stories, saw the front door.

I looked up and saw the video camera pointed at me. I looked up and waved. The dead bolt slid out and to lie open her. I think she was Mediterranean or something, olive skin, dark hair, that waterfall down her back. Soft brown eyes glittered. Hey, Alex, how are you? I forced cheer into my voice. I'm good.

How are you guys? We're good. Everything okay? Yeah, is Yarrow in? Yeah, would you like to come in? No, I don't want to intrude. I assume Peter is asleep. She nodded.

We can talk on the porch. I don't want to take up too much of your time. She nodded and soft shut the door before patting off to find Jaro. I tried to cast my mind to see Peter's phone, but couldn't reach it. Too much electrical interference. Seinfeld reruns, the neighbor watching porn in his garage, an electric dog fence. I'd fallen out of practice. Yarl poked his head out with a smile and a beer.

Hey, Alex. Wow one? I started to shake my head. reconsidered, then shook it again. He shrugged and stepped out with a smile. Everything's good, my man? How can I help you? Your car breakdown?

No, no, everything's good, Yarrow. I just wanted to talk about the boys. Oh, yeah? Yeah, sorry to bother you like this, but Ben came home really upset today. He said Peter was bullying him. Oh, shit. Sorry.

I'll talk to Peter. Yeah. It's okay. I appreciate it. Just that... Uh... Ben said Peter took some pictures of him on his phone. What?

What kind of pictures? My mind reeled. I hadn't thought this far ahead. Uh, Ben said that Peter and a group of boys pulled his pants down and took pictures of him. Said that they were going to send it to everyone in the class. Yarrow's eyes went classy for a moment. Fuck. I'm sorry, Alex.

Thanks. I would just... I'd like to delete those pictures from his phone. Yaro nodded. Uh, yeah, sure. Give me one minute. You went back inside. Anger plastered across his face.

I heard him yelling. Then, Dahlia responding. Then the sounds of footsteps going upstairs. The red eye of the camera glowed in the dark. It made me feel naked. So I pulled my hood up, cinching it against the cold air. heard more yelling, then a loud smack, then a tumble of footsteps coming down the stairs. Dahlia screamed.

Then I heard another smack to reverberated out of the house and into the street. My throat felt a bit dry as the door swung open. Yarrow hustled Peter, all arms and legs and knack onto the porch. I was mad at this kid, but it was hard to watch him crying like that. His face beat red from the back of his father's hand. Yaro yelled at him in whatever his language was, and Peter just stared. Yaro yelled again in English this time. Show him your phone.

Why, Papa? Do as I say. It's my phone! Yaro jabbed him with fiery eyes. Give it to him, and you're going to apologize. What did I do? You know what you did. Give him your phone, and you're going to apologize to Ben.

Go ahead. Ben? He's a freak. He ate a bird. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Don't waste my time, Peter. No, he did. He ate it while I was still alive.

It was screaming. Before Yara or I could respond, he swung the phone up. I should have done something then, but to be honest, I don't know why I didn't. I'd sacked myself up to do what I had to do, and maybe I'd already committed at that point. Ben held a blue jet. Its broken wings fluttering feebly. His kid screamed in a cacophony around him. Eat it.

Eat it. Eat it. Blood dotted the bird's beak as it chirped softly. The view pulled back as Ben held the bird up, miming a throw to the camera. Fuck, I knew it. He was showing off. And smiled. You guys ready?

It was so weird to see him this. excited, this popular. In a way, I felt proud. If a little freaked out as his lower jaw fell open. His chin extending out as his eyes turned black and his purple tongue wrapped around the bird. Crushing the life out of it as it screamed in a final gasp of horror. The bird wasn't the only one screaming as Ben pulled it back to his mouth as his tongue. The canines and his upper jar grew by inches and tore into the same.

soft flesh of the bird's neck, the blood spurting in dark streams and soaking his collar, before he ripped the head off and swallowed it as the bones cracked and popped. What the fuck? The kids screamed hysterically, some laughing, some crying. A girl, I think I recognized from Ben, the birthday party turned away and threw up all over a friend who fell over out of the frame. Some of the boys smacked Ben on his shoulder, shoving money into his pocket as he stared at the camera. The black of his eyes dissolving back to white as he smiled at the camera.

My son ran his fingers across his chin and sucked the blood off as if it were chocolate. You guys want to see me finish it off? Your Honor grabbed the phone from his son and turned the video off. He looked at me and revolted horror, the pallor of his face, ghoulish. Dahlia's olive skin drained white as Peter's flushed red and religious righteousness. I told you, Papa, Ben's a freak. Yaro put a protective hand on his son and pushed him behind his back. Peter, Dalia, go back in the house.

I sighed. Fuck had I tried. Why don't you guys just stay here? Let's talk. Yaro grabbed me by the collar, lifting me off the floor. He was much bigger than I was. Not that it mattered. What the fuck, man?

What the fuck are you? You come here saying this shit about my son? And you're fucking... I don't even fucking know. I was trying to protect my boy, Yarrow. You can understand that, right? Threw me off the porch. For a sickening moment, I flew blind before my ass at the ground and my head snapped back,

bouncing off the soft dirt. My vision blurred and glazed before snapping back into focus. Yaro's face was beat red and frothing now. He stuck a bony finger in my direction. Get the fuck out of here, Alex. You come back here? I'll call the police. You understand? All right.

First things first. The camera. Yaro and Olivia began to hustle Peter back inside before the camera exploded overhead. The trap-mail caught Olivia and spun her around, her metal tearing a thick, dark smudge in her eyes as she's screamed and fell to the floor. The door? The door slammed shut as Yaro went to his wife.

Peter grabbed him and tried desperately to pull it open. Stop her screaming? Olivia swallowed her tongue and began to suffocate. The phone. The phone, still in Yaro's hands, glowed like a hot pistol. Yaro didn't even realize it before his hand burst into flame. The boy? Peter grabbed his throat, his eyes turning purple and blue as he levitated one, two, three feet out with thick walnut, his feet swinging in a panic.

Yarrow desperately trying to put his hand out, didn't even notice as I broke his son's neck. Peter hit the floor like a bag of empty beer bottles. The stove, inside, the range turned on and began to pump natural gas throughout the house. By the time I stood up after Yaro had thrown me onto the lawn, about seven seconds of past. I wrapped a handkerchief around my face and strode toward him with a purpose. He had just seen Peter and was staring at his son's body and bewilderment as I grabbed his head and swung it into my knee. His head snapped back and hit the ground with a crack. He began to shudder, his blood trickled out of his ear.

I think he could still understand me as I carried him through his front door. I'm really sorry, man. None of this was personal. This is my boy we're talking about. I waited until I was a mile or two away before I lit a match. I could feel the shock wave as the house exploded and the night lit up in my review mirror. By the time I got home, Ben was asleep. So I was able to take a long, relaxing bath, before burning my clothes in the basement boiler.

I wasn't proud of what I did. It's not like I wanted to hurt them. They were good people. Regular, normal people. If a little shitty, as most people are. But I had to protect my son. He's the only family I have left. And honestly,

I've never seen him angry. Not really angry. I want to keep it that way. For your bonus episode, creepy presents, pest control. Written by Kyle Harrison, and narrated by Steve Blizzin. This job is not for everyone.

Heck, I've been here eight years, and I'm not even sure if it's for me. It's dirty, it's nasty. You see things you wish you hadn't. And the only people that really understand are the people that have seen what you have, too. I don't expect some kind of sympathy. I mean, obviously I could get another job, right? I don't know why I don't. I probably will after what happened with Chad. Let me start at the beginning. Chad was a trainee, rookie from out of state that was learning the ropes from me, like about a dozen other. knuckleheads that did before him. I really didn't pay much mind to any details about his personal life or even what he looked like. Hate to say it, but technicians like Chad are a dime a dozen.

They either make the cut and move on or they're gone, and I've moved on to training another lughead. And by training, I don't mean the boring sitting in a conference room watching orientation films all day sort. I mean the down and dirty crawling under house. spraining and surveying. I don't hold anything back. They need to know that the job is not easy. It's a lot of long drives, hot days, and sore muscles. The houses I took Chad to that week were all tough. That was the point. I wanted to break him. I remember I was taught that the only ones that

make it in this business are the kind that can take a few hits and keep going. Chad did pretty good for about four days. He didn't complain. He even seemed to enjoy the work. I have to admit, I really thought the kid would make it. But then we went to the Peterson's. Now, I want to make it clear that these are good people. They didn't mean any harm in calling us to their property that day, but they've had a termite problem since probably 2004 or 06, and that's mostly because their house is about as old as Methuselah, and they refused to refurbish a lot of the older portions of the home. To say the least, it's a technician's nightmare. I knew a house like this would be exactly what Chad would need to see if he would last any longer. So we started as usual surveying the

house and determining where the problem areas were. The foundation was going to be the trickiest, so I ordered Chad, go grab yourself a water and scurry under. I'll be there in a minute. i talked to the head of the household frank peterson and explained what we were planning to do we're going to move a long nozzle under the house and fumigate the foundation all the older tears first don't forget to type the dogs this time i knew of course where the main problem was our chemicals only treat adult insects leaving the larvae or eggs untouched and as usual i advised mr peterson about the advantages of paying for full service treatment, but he didn't seem interested. It's been the same song and dance for years, but hey, at least he still pays his bills, so I'm not complaining. Once I made sure that he was compliant with my requests, I joined Chad and the crawl space under the house. I had a flashlight in one hand and a long hose in the other. It was directly connected to our truck and designed to

pump the chemicals we use straight into the structure of the house. As I squeezed my way toward where he was laying, I used the light to shine on the first problem area, a long central beam that ran along the south side of the floorboard. As soon as I did, Chad and I could see thousands of little termites swarming around within the wood, eagerly feasting on it and expanding their colony without a care in the world. Jesus, you know, I've seen some bad infestations, but this is the worst, I said grimly. Chad swallowed a little air and muttered, I used to buy these things for bait when I went down to the lake. Never again.

I bet you wish you were on the lake now, huh? I joked as I maneuvered the hose closer to the termite infestation. Suddenly the bugs seemed to react to my presence, crawling away from the hose. Huh. Never seen that before, I said, and then encouraged Chad to give it a try. What happened to him is something I won't forget. get for the rest of my days. He reached toward the beam and grabbed the end of it with one hand, as he hoisted the hose to the

colony and pressed it straight into the horde of insects. The termites crawled immediately onto his uniform and began to bite incessantly into the fabric. Chad was so surprised by their response that at first he didn't react. Then the entire colony seemed to swarm over his body. They fell onto his face, biting and crawling across his skin. Chad jumped excitedly and bumped his head against the beam, causing more insects to fall down onto his legs and chest. I scooted closer and tried to fend off the attack as he frantically tried to crawl out of the cramp space.

I heard him begin to shout excitedly, and I saw some of the termites manage to burrow the way into his mouth. That drove Chad over the edge. He got out of there so fast I didn't have time to react. A few minutes later I followed suit, and noticed a few of the bugs were crawling on my uniform as well. I flicked him off with ease and saw Chad catching his breath over near the truck. Sorry, boss, I just, I don't know what that was, but those aren't ordinary termites, he told me. It's fine. We can finish up the treatment later. We should get you to a doubt.

doctor, I advised. I told Mr. Peterson about the incident and warned him to keep small children away from any areas affected by the insects, and then rushed Chad to the closest clinic. The whole time we traveled, he was instinctively scratching at his skin. I couldn't even imagine what it had to be like to swallow one of those things. Half an hour later, the doctor, thankfully, gave him a clean bill of health and advised on taking a first of the first of few allergy pills and antibiotics just in case there was any sort of parasite that was within the termites. I told him to take the rest of the day off and handled the remaining work solo. That night I tried to call and check on him but didn't get a response, so I distracted myself

watching a little news. Here in Springdale, we don't get very many interesting stories, so just the dull sports and weather can easily make a person fall asleep. That didn't happen that night. This is an urgent news report coming from off the shores of Lake Daybreak. Our correspondence have just heard word from local authorities that due to some sort of chemical spill in the area, residents are being advised not to swim in the lake or go picnicking in the area. One such family was unlucky enough to do so last week, and their two children are now dead. We are about to go live to St. Bella's infirmary.

But please be advised. the images may be shocking to some viewers. I immediately turned up the volume, intrigued. Julie and Bree Walker were just enjoying the Summer Lake Breeze with their parents when the unthinkable happened. Something from amid the woods attack them and ripped the flesh from their body, covering their tiny bodies from head to toe with bites and stings. It paused to show the two children in body bags.

Their bodies were redder than a tomato, and their skin bulging and covered in bite marks. Authorities are still trying to determine the cause of this, but have advised all residents to steer clear of the area until further notice. The marks reminded me of what was covering Chad's body. It made it difficult to sleep that night. I kept imagining his body covered in bites. And worst of all, when I finally did check on him the next day. morning, I was witness to a living nightmare. He didn't answer any text, so I chose to drive over to his apartment. When he didn't answer the door, I took a gut instinct and pushed the door down.

He was there, dead and festering with termites. His entire body had become a colony for the creatures. They were swarming and burrowing in and out of his corpse and biting on his. as rotting flesh the same way they would a piece of wood. I don't know why, but beyond the disgust and horror, I felt afraid, as if the insects were studying me, analyzing me as their next target. I left and called the police to tell them what happened. And that is what brings me to the present. I want to push what happened to Chad out of my mind,

but I don't think I can Mostly because Mr. Peterson has repeatedly called me to come finish treating his house And because I can't seem to stop scratching my arm For more information Including pictures and videos

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