Creepy - I've Been Trying To Contact The Spirit of My Deceased Son

Episode Date: August 7, 2020

I should really stop...***Written by bastard_vampire and narrated by Cole Burkhardt***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.

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 are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic to picture. of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. I've been trying to contact the spirit of my deceased son. Written by bastard vampire and narrated by Cole Burkart. Good evening. The young woman greeted me as she opened the door. She spoke with a very strange and vaguely ear. European accent. Her pale face stood out startly down to the dark hallway behind her. I hesitated for a moment. Am I really doing to do this?

Hi. My name is Jane Webster. I called yesterday? My voice cracked a bit as I tried to hide my hesitance. A wide smile spread across her face knowingly. She nodded and opened the door wider to let me in. We've been waiting for you, Mrs. Webster. I'm Daniela. Oh, no, Webster is actually my father's name. My ex-husband and I separated ten years ago, I explained as she closed the door behind us. I do apologize. She led me through the hallway into a dimly lit room,

where an elderly man was sitting at a small round table with an expectant look on his wrinkled face. His long, snow-white beards swept across the glass surface as he nodded his head to acknowledge my presence. There were three slender candles positioned, as to form a triangle in the middle of the table, which gave out this strong odor that was making me feel nauseous as I approached. My grandfather does not speak English much, so I will be here to accompany you for our sessions tonight, if you do not mind. She said, as she pulled out one of the tall wooden chairs for me, across from the old man who was eyeing us in silence. Thank you. Would you like me to get you anything to drink, she offered? No, thank you. I would

like to start now. She exhaled and nodded, and then proceeded to ot you by the chair right next to me, and then she said something in a language I did not understand to him. They spoke back and forth for a few minutes while throwing glances at my direction occasionally. I waited nervously until he nodded and motioned for her to light a candle. Now I need to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind. Of course, who are we trying to contact here? It's my son, Peter. What happened to him? He went missing.

When did it happen? Fourteen years ago. He was only 12. So there was no body? I didn't answer her, but I knew she could tell from the look on my face that I had been living in hell for far too long. Is this your first theance?

Yes, I lied. What? changed their mind about us. I'm desperate. I've been living with so much pain these past 14 years. She nodded. Miss Webster, it is very important that you do as I say.

You have to promise me that under no condition will you interrupt with the procession. You will only speak when I tell you to speak. If I tell you to close your eyes, you do it. If I tell you to open them, You do it. If I tell you to stay where you are, you do it. And if I tell you to run, you do it.

Understand? It is for your own safety. You have to promise me. She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed it a bit. I promise. Good. Some spirits don't like to be summoned at all, and they can be very dangerous to communicate with,

as they would try to possess the living, or worse. She paused, looking in her grandfather's direction across the table. They would try to feed on your spirit, and there's no guarantee that your son is not one of those malevolent spirits. Her words sent a chill down my spine. Not because I was worried my son could harm me, but the thought of some evil spirits lurking out there for innocent souls to prey upon.

I understand. One more thing. Sometimes the dead would ask you to stay a little bit longer with them. Do not do it. If I tell you to let go, you do it. The portal to the realm of the dead can only be opened for as long as my grandfather can hold it, so use your time wisely. I will.

She nodded again, and then stood up from her chair to turn off the only source of light in the room, leaving us in complete darkness. As she lit the candles, she said something in their life. language to her grandfather, who was already murmuring something under his breath with his eyes closed. The light from the candles was making weird, elongated shadows around him. Did you bring the things I asked you to? She went back to her seat next to me. I rummaged through my purse and pulled out a Polaroid picture of my son, one of the old

t-shirts he wore before he was gone, and a small glass jar of banana muffins, his favorite snack. Daniela took the photo from me and gave it to her grandfather. Then she put the neatly folded t-shirt in the middle of the table near the candles, and took the lid off the jar and put it right in front of me. The old man said something to me as he brought the photo closer towards the candles to take a better look at it. Your son? He asked, staring at me intently. I nodded my head. He is beautiful. May the soul rest in peace. A sympathetic smile spread across Daniela's face.

We are ready to get started. He whispered, his dark eyes twinkling wildly in spite of his calm demeanor. Then he reached out a hand to me and the other one to Daniela, and we sat around the table holding hands in silence for a few moments before she told me to close my eyes. Then he began to chant strange and weird words in a sorrowful, almost duttle low voice, and it was nothing like I had ever heard before. He repeated this three times, and his voice said, got louder and hoarser each time.

At first, nothing happened. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and it took a power of will to not open my eyes to see what was happening around us. And then I heard it. It started so vaguely that I had to strain my ears to make sure it was really there, a murmur of hissing whispers

that began to surround us from every direction and made every hair on my body stand on end, voices overlapping with one another. It was very subtle and clearer at the same time, though I could not make out any intelligible word. I could no longer hear the world around us. The wall seemed to be closing in on us closer and closer. It was like being locked in a soundproof room full of people. I kept my eyes closed and squeezed Danielle's hands tighter as the temperature began to drop gradually.

Keep your eyes closed. her voice was barely audible indulged by the whispering spirits. I was shaking all over, and I was sure it was not so much because of the cold as it was because of the fear. And then I felt something soft and icy cold brush against my nape. I gasped in horror and almost fell out of my chair, but Danielle did not let go of my hand. And then the whispering stopped abruptly, replaced by a deafening sight of my chair. silence so intense I felt like I was no longer in the realm of human existence and then from the corner I heard a tiny voice calling me Mommy I hesitated but then I felt Daniela gently put a reassuring hand on mine

Pete? Mommy is that you? Pete oh my god Pete I miss you so much I began to sob. It had been so long since the last time I heard his voice, but I knew I could not ruin this opportunity. Mommy! My thoughts went to that day. The most horrible day in my life as a parent. Peter Anderson, my son, was only ten years old when he went missing ten years ago.

His best friend Ron said that he and Peter had been waiting. at the bus stop as usual, when Peter told him he needed to go get something in his locker. That was the last time he was ever seen alive. The police combed the whole school and even the forest behind it and found nothing suspicious. There were no signs of foul play or abduction. They checked the recordings of the school security footage that day, but Peter was not in them. He never went back into the school building. Of course, there were questions about the probability that he might have run away somewhere, but I told them Peter would never do such a thing. Why would he? What would have been his reason to leave me alone and cause me such a great pain? I had raised

him well, and I loved him so much. He was such a sweet boy, not some street punk who ran away from home because of his family's disapproval of his drug abuse. He was only ten years old. Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned into months and finally years. But there were still no signs of Peter's whereabouts. I spiraled into depression and started drinking. My husband had finally given up trying to find our son after only a few years, and that made me despise him. I channeled my frustration and pain into anger directed at him. I blamed him for everything.

If only had allowed me to take that driving lesson, I would have driven Peter too and pitted him up from school every day myself. But no, he insisted that our son needed to learn to depend on himself and not to act like a spoiled little brat. We separated three years after Peter's sudden disappearance. And ever since then, I have never stopped trying to find my son. I criticized the police harshly because I thought they didn't take this taste seriously. I knew I would never find peace until the day I find out what had happened to my Peter. Two years ago, the bitter truth came to me. I found out that Peter had died.

It was the first seance I had ever been to. A friend recommended it to me because she couldn't bear to see me destroying myself slowly every day. At that point, I was so desperate that I would do just anything to get any clue as to what might have happened to Peter. It's okay. Don't be afraid. Let me see her, baby. I answered him, trying to retain control of myself. You can open your eyes now if you want to. I heard Daniela's voice. It sounded so clear yet distant at the same time.

Be quick. We don't have much time. I opened my eyes and found myself in the same room, sitting in front of the small round table. But there was something different about it. Daniela and her grandparents were nowhere to be found, and everything looked dark as if gilded with the blackness of death itself. The deafening silence still persisted, and it was pressing on me even stronger than before. The only source of light was coming from one of the candles that was fluttering, as if being disturbed by a gush of non-existent wind.

I looked around, and behind me I saw a blurry figure standing, in the dark corner opposite me. Pete? I hesitated. The figure did not move. It just stood there watching me tentatively, as if trying to decide whether or not to step into the light, which seemed to only illuminate as far as the edge of the table,

and beyond that was only darkness. Pete! I called out again a bit louder. Mommy? Why am I here? His voice sounded distorted and almost, unrecognizable, but there was no doubt. He was my son. Baby, I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry. You know how much I love you, but we don't have much time.

I called you here to be night because I want to ask you some questions. I love you so much. You know that, don't you? I love you too, Mommy. Yes, Pete, and-and mommy loves you too. You told me that the day you went blank. You cannot remember having seen anything strange. seen anything strange or unusual at all before it all went dark. Yes. Have you heard or smelt anything then? Silence.

Pete? You still there, baby? A whistle. Somebody was whistling. I started to feel the sensation of rapid fluttering in my chest. Who was it? Did you tell me who it was? No.

Was it another kid? No. Then who? It was a man. A sudden wave of nausea washed over me. Who could be so heartless to hurt a little kid like Peter? You can't remember who it was? Maybe a teacher or one of the parents.

I can't! It's okay, Pete. It's okay. So... So that was the last thing you heard before everything went dark. A whistle? Mommy? Yes, Pete. Mommy, I'm scared.

Why, sweetie? Why are you afraid? I see people. What? What do you mean people? I can't see their faces, but they're sad. They don't know where to go. They're making me stared.

Mommy, please, don't go. I'm scared. Pete? Sweetie, are you okay? Silence. Pete, answer me, please. Mrs. Webster, it's time to let go. No, please, my son needs my help.

Let go now. Mommy, no! I stood up from my chair and reached out towards my son, whose silhouette was already dissolving into the darkness behind him. And then from the spot where my son had stood only a few seconds ago, another silhouette appeared, darker than the night, tall and terrible. It opened its mouth wide to reveal the blackest and deepest trench of horror within as it hovered closer to me. It reached out a hand and I felt a cold burning sensation on the tip of my fingers as soon as we touched.

But then I felt a strong hand pulling me back into my chair, and I found myself back in the dimly lit room with Daniela and her grandfather staring at me intensely, both looking really pale. Danielle was squeezing my shoulders so hard it hurt. What do you think you're doing? She yelled, wide-eyed, looking as if she was about to slap me. Have you lost your mind? Didn't I tell you to do what I tell you to do?

You could have gotten my grandfather killed because of your stupidity. He's 87 years old, you selfish woman! I found myself holding Pete's t-shirt tight with one hand. Cold sweat was running down my back. I'm... I'm so sorry. She helped her grandfather stand up and then took the still-shaking poor guy into the next room, leaving me alone with my own thoughts. She returned a few minutes later, glaring at me.

Listen, I really am sorry, I told her, but I need to ask my son more questions. Pull yourself together. He's no longer with us now. Daniela shook her head still looking shot, angry and relieved at the same time. This wasn't the first time you've ever communicated with his spirit, was it? An accusing look on her face. I struggled to find the right words to say. I didn't want to upset her.

I might need her help again one day. You put my grandfather's life in danger. You broke your promise. My son was kidnapped and murdered, I told her, wiping tears away with both hands. His body hasn't been found, and nobody believes me. They all, including my husband, think that he just ran away because he hated his life. Apparently, kids do such things when they get bored with their own lives. Her lips twitched for a moment, as if she was struggling to find the right words to say.

I am so sorry, Miss Webster. I can't imagine the horror you've been through. I have a son, too. You have no idea. But you have to understand. And there are dark beings who dwell in the in-between. They neither belong to our world nor the afterlife. Ancient ones, nameless.

They are attracted to human spirits, to feed on. Sometimes they will find a crack among these realms and try to break in. When you summon a spirit, you basically create some sort of a shortcut, like a wormhole that temporarily connects the realm of the living and theirs, thus enabling us to communicate with them. My grandfather here acts as a medium. He will end the connection if things don't go as planned, she said as she put the candles out and turned the light back on, which is why it is so important for you to listen to everything I tell you, one slip is all it takes to unleash those dark beings into the world.

But my son! They cannot reach him now. He told me he sees people, lost souls, the restless, spirits with unfinished business, earthbound, your son is still stuck in a limbo, halfway between living and dead. When someone dies violently, sometimes their spirit hangs around, waiting. Waiting for what? a closure, justice, whatever it is. I will do everything it tastes to find that fucker.

He will regret ever being born. I bowled my left hand into a fist. Miss Webster, have you ever considered that maybe the only closure your son has ever needed was from you? What do you mean? What if all of these years he's been? been waiting for you. Yes, to find the asshole who murdered him and bring them to justice. No, to let him go, to make peace with his death. Maybe you're the one who's been keeping him attuned to this plane. Sometimes it is the only way to have them cross over to the other side where they

belong. Let him rest in peace. I looked at her in disbelief. refusing to hear what she had just suggested. You don't get it, do you? He was murdered. My son was murdered, and I will never rest until his murderer is brought to justice. Anger was rising in my chest, causing me to breathe harder. I just want to help. Thank you.

I think I should get going now. It's getting late. I put the photo, t-shirt, and jar back into my purse. and stood up. She walked me to the door, and before she closed it, she squeezed my shoulder again. Sometimes it is better to let the dead rest in peace. I didn't say anything and proceeded to walk quietly to my car, but in my head I was thinking very hard. Everyone thinks years of grieving and being in so much pain has finally taken its toll on me, that I've lost my mind. I mean, how many people in grief out there resort to paranormal to find some kind of closure.

Oh, I have to say there is some truth to that. Like I said before, I will do just about anything to make peace with the loss of my son. These days I'm barely holding on to the edge of sanity. The only thing that keeps me going is my obsession with finding the actual truth about my son's disappearance. The first seance I went to did not go too well. I started sobbing uncontrollably for minutes as soon as I heard Pete's voice that I could barely speak. They had to end it soon and asked me to go home. The others weren't so genuine.

I've lost a significant amount of money to some tricksters. So I did some research online to find the most reliable spiritualists out there, and after asking around a bit, I managed to gather some information regarding people who seemed to actually actually have this ability to communicate with the dead, and it led me to Daniela and her grandfather. People disappear every day. Some just want to run away from their past and start all over again. Some are taken without their consent. Kidnapped, or worse.

My son is one of them. I know for sure I will never rest until his murderer is caught. I know I'm getting very close to solving this mystery that is. has been torturing me for more than a decade. That night, when I was about to fall asleep in bed, I heard a low growling sound on the darkness of my bedroom. I opened my eyes and saw a dark figure standing at the foot of my bed, watching me in silence. It was very hungry. I could feel it, but it could not touch me.

Not yet. I had set it free and it was bound to do my bidding. All I needed was strong determination, or desperation, in my case. Some elaborate spells in someone who genuinely has the ability to communicate with spirits. All those months I spent looking up information on the internet and asking around have finally paid off. You can feed out as many souls as you can later. I clutched the cross around my neck tight. But now, I'd like you to find one soul. one soul only.

Find him. Don't stop until you find him. There was a sudden gush of cold winds surrounded me as it floated out of my room and disappeared in the dark hallway. It knew what it had to do. Like I said before, I'll do whatever it takes to find whoever is responsible for my son's demise. Even if it would cost me my own soul, it's been a week since I've seen. set that thing free and it hasn't returned yet. But I'm getting close.

I can feel it. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At CreepyPod on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, or email us. Creepypod at gmail. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com and are protected by a creative commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.

The Bloody Disgusting Podcast Network. Home of horror queers. Genre commentary from the LGBT perspective. SCP Archives, The Boo Crew, listen free, wherever you stream audio, and at bloody disgusting.com slash podcasts.