Creepy - Keratoconus

Episode Date: January 6, 2025

Keratoconus***Written by: No One of Consequence***Serotiny ***Written by: Ron Toland and Narrated by: Owen McCuen***House Mice***Written by: Victoria and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. Lisa, Richard Colgrove, Benjamin Solnior, Mel Light, Justin Montgomery, and Mark Stephens. All patrons enjoy early commercial-free access to all episodes. Rewards also include up to four new bonus stories every week and immediate access to over 1,600 stories only heard on the Patreon feed. So if you'd like to support the show and get rewarded for it, please check out the donation tiers of patreon.com slash creepypod. And as we start the new year, there are some updates to the show. After a couple months of doing the Sundays only, we're going to go back to Sundays and Wednesdays. Sorry about going all over the place.

We're just doing our best to keep up with the changes in the marketplace. For the longtime listeners of the podcast, you know, I actually do enjoy providing as much content as possible. So we aren't going to completely pull back what we've been doing on Sundays. Instead of going back to two stories, there's going to be three stories on Sundays and two on Wednesdays. Don't worry, the holders are still on their own feed and I'll stay there and we'll be coming back this week with new episodes. We're also going to be trying something a little different and providing more intros to the stories themselves

to prepare people for the subject matter they're about to hear. We have a lot in store for the new year and want to thank you all for hanging with us as 2025 kicks off. 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, not simply fabrications, is for you to decide.

These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. For your first story this evening, one man's pursuit of, Seeing clearly reveals more than he ever imagined. As his vision begins to return, something else comes with it, something he wishes he never had to see again. Creepy presents Kera Takonis written by known of consequence. There are a lot of things that can affect a person's vision.

Some more common than others. One of the uncommon ones is something called keratoconus, which I've never heard of before a few years ago. It's a condition where the cornea becomes weak and can bulge out in a cone shape. This can cause blur, distorted, and double vision, astigmatism, inability to see and dim light, near sightedness, sensitivity to light, or vision loss. Like most people afflicted with this, it hit me when I was a teenager. During my senior year, I had one of those yearly eye exams, and the doctor said I needed glasses.

It's not that my vision was really bad or anything like that. There was just a little blurriness, enough that a minor correction would take me back to perfect 2020. I got the glasses and wore them like I was supposed to, except when I needed sunglasses. Honestly, I could have driven without the corrective lenses and been perfectly fine since the issue wasn't that bad. Things went on like this for years, and it wasn't until I reached my early 20s that my vision really started to suck. I'm right eye dominant, and that just so happened to be the eye that had the most trouble. It was weird and hard to explain, but I started experiencing what I thought of as double

vision. Not so much blurred as it was I saw multiple versions of the same thing, but so damn closely together that they were practically on top of each other, only slightly off. The doctor I was seeing at the time believed the issue was a stigmatism and can be easily corrected. The problem was, nothing really worked. New glasses didn't help. Contacts were useless and unpleasant. And as far as LASIC surgery? I wasn't going to do that. First off, it was way too damn expensive. There was no way in hell I could afford it. even with insurance covering the majority of it.

He kept pushing me to go with LASIC. And I finally had enough of his shit. I decided to get a new doctor. And this is the one that diagnosed me with Caritoconus. It only took one test to determine that my condition wasn't that advanced. And my corrective lenses were doing well enough to correct my issue that we were just stuck with that. After a couple more years, I decided that I wanted to see what other options were because it seemed to me that my double vision was getting worse. If I concentrated enough, I could see that it wasn't actually double vision, but triple.

At first, we tried regular contacts, but again, they did absolutely nothing for me. That and they kept moving on me, and I found the whole experience to be annoying. Then we tried sclero lenses, which were all so expensive, but the copay was manageable. Let me tell you, sclerol lenses fucking suck, big hairy donkey dick. They are the single most uncomfortable thing I have ever done to myself. Not to mention a giant waste of time and money. They aren't like regular contacts that are flexible, but are solid with the defined shape. Putting them in was a serious pain, but then you have to use eye drops every hour. Insurance doesn't

even cover eyedrops. Even though they were cheap, the cost piled up with how quickly I was going through the bottles. It would have been worth it if the lenses were eliminating the triple vision, but if anything, it made it worse. With those horribly uncomfortable things on my eyes, it made the overlapping images I saw sharper. But it didn't bring them together into a single single image like I was told they would. It's been about three years since I tried the sclerol lenses. I've resigned myself to this crappy vision, but lately, I've been having more issues. You see, I work in a very dusty and dirty environment, and even while wearing my glasses,

crap gets in my eyes all the time. One of the things that can make Keratoconis worse is excessive eye rubbing. I've been getting a lot of headaches lately and experience. experiencing more than the usual eye pain. Sometimes I'll be sitting around, either work or home, and my eyes will suddenly start hurting. Not like I've got something in my eye or the light is too bright, they just suddenly start hurting for no damn reason and have to keep my eyes closed. It's not like that reduces the pain, it's just a natural reaction.

My yearly eye appointment came up and the results didn't look. good. My condition's gotten significantly worse, and in another year or two, the only thing we'll be able to do is a corneal transplant. I'm told that with proper care, a corneal transplant can last 10 to 20 years without complications, but after that, we'll have to do another transplant. I just turned 30, which means I'll have to get at least two transplants, and I don't know if I can bring myself to go through even one. Going blind is one of my biggest fears. I'm a very independent person.

The idea of having to rely on someone else so much as I would without my vision is a nightmare. Never mind that I love watching movies more than the average person. But learning how to live without sight and reading Braille? I don't learn new things easily. Hell, I've lived in the South all my life and I failed Spanish. in high school. I really tried, too, but it was no good. I just couldn't get the hang of it. Every time I tried to say a complete sentence, it just came out as a jumbled mess that no one could understand. It's impossible for me to roll my R's. As we were going over my options, Dr. Rissa

mentioned a highly experimental surgery. It has a long technical name that I couldn't even begin to pronounce, but the way she explained it made me cringe. The takeaway is that the surgery completely removes the odd shape of the corneous and corrects the issues I'm having. Other issues like near-sighted, far-sighted, or stigmatism will still be there, but the triple vision and blurriness would be completely gone. This sounded perfect for me, and I asked why she'd save this option for last. When she said it was a highly experimental surgery, it meant that I'd be patient number five if I agreed to it.

That sounded a little too risky for me. So I decided to pass. Then, two months later, I experienced some insanely intense eye pain while driving and nearly crashed into a telephone pole. When it finally passed enough for me to be able to open my eyes, I found that my parents. glasses weren't helping to correct my vision anymore. It wasn't a sudden thing. The blurriness had been getting progressively worse. But this was a big leap.

I was back at Dr. Rissa's office only days later and signed up for the procedure. At least by then, I wasn't patient number five. I was number seven. I wasn't able to speak with the previous six, but I did hear some interviews they did for the medical community. They sung praises for the procedure's results, but the oldest interview was only three months old. There was still a lot that could go wrong, but it was either this or corneal transplants. According to Dr. Rissa, I wasn't a good candidate for any of the other surgical options at that point. There was still a lot of unknowns about the long-lasting effectiveness of the procedure,

but because I was going to be one of the initial guinea pigs, all my follow-up appointments were going to be covered. My mother drove me home after the surgery since my eyes were completely covered, and I'd have the bandages on for five days. During that time, I got to live out my worst nightmare. But it was tolerable since it was only a temporary thing. Don't ask how many things I broke while I stumbled around my apartment. Mom stayed with me and made sure I was taken care of during my blind phase.

I did get a bit depressed and spent a lot of time smoking on my balcony. It was the only time she didn't get on me about the filthy habit. To be honest, I'd kicked it for a long time, but my vision problems were putting a lot of stress on me and I picked it back up again. I made this decision and put myself through my worst nightmare. But the carrot was going to be worth suffering the stick. I just needed to help soothe my frazzled psyche. It's not like I could do much else.

Of course, Dr. Rissa berated me for my smoking, saying that cigarette smoke could irritate my eyes. As she took the bandages off my eyes, I swore that I'd stop right away if the procedure was a success. But if it wasn't, I couldn't make any promises. Once the bandages came off, the entire world was a blurry mess, and I wanted to cry. I put myself through all that for nothing. They nearly broke down. Sensing that I was extremely distraught, Dr. Rissus started reiterating things had somehow forgotten. There was supposed to be some disorientation and a period of adjustment after the bandages came off.

The front part of my brain knew this, but at the moment light touched my eyes, the back part of my brain kicked in and it filled me with despair. In a nutshell, I lost my head. But then something miraculous happened. I noticed a poster on the wall of a child sitting under a large tree. He had a book in his hands and appeared to be deep into the story. His glasses making a possible for him to read the words. The book was Homer Zilliad, and it was an advertisement for a back-to-school special on new frames. Not only could I read the poster, but I could make out the disclaimer on the bottom that excluded major name brand frames.

I mean, the tiny writing that most people have to get up close and personal to make out. Some adjustment period. The next two hours were spent doing a series of tests. Some I knew and a lot more that were new to me. When we were finally done, my mom reached into her purse and pulled out a glasses case to give me. I was confused since my vision was actually better than 2020, but then I opened it. Sunglasses, non-prescription and worth probably $300. She'd been hopeful and wanted to give me something I'd really appreciate when I could see without corrective lenses.

I had loved my sunglasses collection before I had to wear prescriptions and, well, I got rid of them a long time ago. I got to walk out of Dr. Riss's into the sunlight with my new stylish glasses on and felt like a million dollars. There was no pain, no inflammation, or irritation at all. I was better than perfect, and no longer I had to worry about corneal transplants or going blind. My future was looking bright, and I stared at it through new shades. The first thing I did was throw away the half-pack of smokes in my pocket and cheap lighter.

Didn't need those anymore. Mom stuck around for a few more days to make sure I didn't have a relapse or anything, which I didn't. I had two standing appointments with Dr. Rissa every week for a month, and after that it was only one a week. The Nevea Vision Institute really wanted to make sure everything was going well. with me, and I even got to do one of those endorsement interviews. Oh, man, did I sing their praises. This was going to change my life in ways I never imagined possible. I know, that sounds like a good thing, and for a while it was.

After three months, I was down to one appointment every two weeks. Everything was looking good with test results. The new self they'd put on my eyes after the procedure had done wonders for protection. to my eye health, well beyond their predictions. They hadn't even needed to put more on after removing my bandages, which was a first. Every other patient had to get it reapplied at least twice, but not me. I was perfectly fine without more. Two months ago, I left Dr. Rissas to a cloudy day, storm clouds threatening to drench the city

and rain, but hadn't actually done it yet. I was back to acquiring different styles of sunglasses. and had one just for the occasion. They were light brown, wide lenses that I'd gotten specifically for stormy days. They're more for keeping rainwater from getting in my eyes. Yeah, I got very protective of my eyes.

You should see the safety glasses I got for work. They have a foam insert that goes all the way around and prevents anything but air from getting near my eyes. As I was walking to my car, I noticed something odd further down the front of the building. I've been here plenty of times and I was familiar with every business along this strip.

There was something in the middle of the building I'd never seen before. It was a dark patch along the wall. Not like a shadow was covering it, but like there was a void, a hallway in the middle of the building that light wouldn't penetrate. I didn't actually see a hallway, mind you.

It was a black blur where there should. shouldn't have been one. I blinked a few times and shook my head, not believing I was actually seeing it. When I looked back, the void was gone, replaced by an off-way wall right between two shop windows. That was really weird, but I shrugged and went about my day. Those appointments had gotten short enough that I was able to do them on my lunch break and had to get back to work.

Over the next few weeks, I noticed more odd dark shimmer. and blurs, but they never lasted more than a few seconds. It wasn't just along buildings and walls, but in the middle of dead space, even up in the air. They didn't happen very often, but then I noticed the frequency was increasing. By the time it became a daily occurrence, I couldn't deny it anymore. Which leads us to today. I'm worried something is going wrong with my eyes. So I called Dr. Rissa.

We have an emergency appointment and do every single test we've ever done to see if something's going wrong. Nothing appears out of the ordinary and she can't come up with a reason why I be seeing those weird blurs. As is a doctor's way, she asks me about my first experience noticing these anomalies, thinking it had to do with environmental factors. I don't think it's environmental because I've been seeing these things in every condition. Day, night, sunny, cloudy, stormy, indoors, outdoors, with or without sunglasses, you name it. I tell her about that large black void I saw on the outside of the building that first time, and

she takes me out there. When we get to that specific section of the wall, all I see is that off-white color between two store windows. It looks like it always does, and I place my hand on it to prove it solid and normal. backfires as my hand gets closer and the blurry darkness appears. I can't stop my hand in time and I make contact, but I feel nothing against my hand and I fall through the wall. There are stairs on the other side and I tumble down them. I feel each and every impact on my body as I fall down the stairs, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it should. More than any,

anything, I'm getting a bitch of a headache, but that's about it. I tumble down a lot farther than what a typical staircase should allow. Not that there's anything typical about this. From what little I can see of the space I'm in as I continue to fall down, there's little to no light. After what seems like several minutes, what I hope was only several seconds, I come to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Aside from the pounding headache, I don't feel much. in the way of pain and I'm able to get to my feet without an issue. Looking up the stairs, I see so damn many that I can't see the top, which means I really did fall down for at least a few minutes.

Before I can decide what to do next, the strange noise echoes off unseen walls behind me, causing me to whirl around. There's a corridor some kind in front of me, and the distance away shows dim light. Not the white light of fluorescent lights, more like candles or fire. As for the sound, I have no idea what it was. A whisper, growl, or just the wind?

Who knows? My curiosity gets the better in me, and I slowly start walking toward the light. It does get brighter, and as it does, I can see. to find walls to my sides. I reach out to touch them and find them solid. Not an illusion like the one I fell through. The light gets progressively brighter and I can see why the texture is rough. These aren't modern sheetrock walls, but stone.

And not manufactured stone either. This is more like a cave tunnel. But no tunnel has ever been this uniform. Eventually, I come to a stone. sconce on the wall with a lit torch, see several further down the hall. This is like some weird medieval shit. There are no suits of armor and alcoves along the corridor. So far, all I see is a clean stretch of the same thing.

A hallway that looks straight and uniform like an office, but made a solid stone. As I progress further down, a particularly dark patch of wall catches my attention to the left. It's directly between two of the same. the torches on that side and reminds me of the dark shimmer I fell through only minutes ago. Not putting a lot of weight into it, I reach out with my hand to see if the spot's solid or not. It's not. I definitely don't want to repeat my tumble if there's any more stairs behind this patch. So I lean into the shimmer, only putting my face into it. I half expect my nose to bump into something, but all it encounters is a cold breeze.

Getting my face far enough through, I get to see what's on the other side. And for the life of me, I don't understand what's there at all. It's like I've been walking through a dead forest. Trees and trees, completely bare and black like they've been charred. I'm just at the edge of a clearing looking up at a slight mound covered in snow. A woman dances in the still falling flakes, only the ground is several feet beneath her. The light blue light filtering down from above is bright enough to illuminate the snow and her floating form.

But everything else is black shapes that don't seem to move. As more of my head crosses the threshold, my ears pop on this side, and I can suddenly hear what appears to be humming. the tune is completely alien. But as I watch the woman, it dawns on me. That her steps in the air and movements are in time with the melody. Yet oddly mechanical. This is by far the strangest thing I've ever seen.

And I have no clue what it means. Pulling my head back into the hall, I feel flush as heat returns to my skin. I hadn't realized how cold I've been getting on the other. side. Not sure what else to do, I continue down the hall. Perhaps if I go down far enough, I'll find something that could provide some kind of answer to what the hell's going on. I highly doubt anything is going to make sense of this insanity, even if someone uses really small words to explain it. Not that the floating woman seems to notice my presence, but then again, I only popped my head inside the bizarre scene.

I hadn't wanted to go completely inside because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find my way out. As it is, I'm already afraid the entrance at the top of the stairs won't be there anymore. But I try not to dwell on that. I have no way of knowing until I finally decided to turn around to get the hell out of here. I've never let my curiosity get the better of me like this before.

But how could I possibly turn back? now. This is some twilight zone shit, and it'll haunt me if I don't attempt to learn more. I pass up another 20 torches before I find another dark shimmer on the wall, but it's on the opposite side this time. Proceeding the same way as before, I tested with my hand and then slowly put my face through. This time, I'm greeted with a much brighter environment, but I understand it even less than the last area. There are two people in this. I don't know what to really call it,

but I decided to refer to it as a scene. It appears to be a father chasing after his daughter, but not like he's angry, more in a playful manner, I guess. They're in a living room or some other kind of big room in a house. There's natural light filtering in through a large window, but when I focus on the window, it looks more like a staged vision made out of construction paper cutouts.

Like with the women in the snow, the people's movements are oddly mechanical, and I realize their path around the room is in a perpetual loop. More than that, I can see a track running along the floor that they're fixed to, and it's a perfect circle. The tune here is different than the previous scene, and also nothing ever. heard before. But it sounds almost metallic, not hummed. Had the floating woman not been humming after all? Why does this sound so strangely familiar? Not the music so much as the entire setup, which is bad shit crazy to begin with. Why would any of this seem familiar to me? I leave that scene

and rush down the hallway for the next shimmer, which isn't as far as the last one had been. Not bothering to test it this time, I shove my face right through and see a scene dominated by a dark red light. The large room is covered with a mirrored floor and red walls. In the center is a typical ballerina dancing in an endless circle in place. Her movement's just as mechanical as the others. This time I enter the room completely to ensure I can find my way in. out, I leave my phone on the floor half in, half out of the shimmer. I even turn the flashlight on and have it pointing straight up so I can find it easily. The light isn't very bright, but the

rest of the room is dark enough that I can spot it without straining. At first, the room looks massive, like a high school gymnasium without the bleachers. Moving farther in the room, it becomes clear that the red walls are closer than I initially thought. It's a square room. at most 15 feet by 15 feet. There's no detail to it other than that. So I moved to the ballerina. She's only about five feet tall, wearing a black formal dress with no sleeves,

but long black gloves. Like the others, her mechanical movements are in sync with a tune that I actually recognize but can't place. I've heard it before, and I try to pinpoint where I heard it from, But I'm close enough to her now that I can see some details. My mind stopped searching for the memory of the tune. The ballerina isn't a life-sized plastic doll, but one made of flesh.

What I mistook for long gloves is actually huge streaks of blood coming down from the bend in her arms. There's a space in the bend, and I can see mechanical parts inside, causing her arms to move as she dances in that circle. There are more metal parts in her stomach, which provides the movement of her bending waist. This was a real person turned into a ballerina for a goddamn music box. Realizing this makes me remember where I heard that freaking tune from. The only reason I recognized it was because they played a snippet of it on the news.

It had been a report I heard during my blind phase of recovery, so I didn't get to see any of it. That tune obviously stuck with me. It was a report from the other side of the country. A series of murder is so bizarre that it made the national news. The media dubbed him the music box killer because he leaves a custom-made music box with figurines at every murder scene. He doesn't seem to have a predictive victim profile. The authorities are no closer to catching him than they were several months ago. I'm sufficiently freaked the hell out, so I locate the light from my phone and get back to the shimmer.

Turns out I hadn't needed to take this precaution because the black shimmer stands out very well to me against the vermilion background. Getting back into the hall, my phone in my pocket, I decide I've had enough. If there are answers to be had here, I can live the rest of my life not knowing them. Sadly, it appears that option isn't up to me anymore. Before I can turn to go back down the hallway, I notice something further down the way I've yet to go. There's a menacing figure standing in the hallway. Whoever it is is wearing a black cloak, like the iconic image of the grim reaper. I can't see any features or discernible characteristics of the person because our entire body is covered in the cloak.

It takes me a few moments of stunned silence and fear of moving to realize the figure isn't facing me. I start slinking back the way I came, but a booming voice calls out to me. I immediately freeze as the voice shouts. You're not supposed to be here. Who are you? And how did you get in my head? I remain silent and still, afraid even the slightest movement will draw his eyes to me.

So far it appears that he hasn't seen me because he's still facing the other way. If I'm in his head, maybe he can only sense me, not actually see me. My silence is not appreciated. Answer me! He shouts in a shrill,

tormented voice, the voice of a madman plagued by horrible thoughts he can never escape. Hopefully I can escape them. Even if I hadn't answered to the how, I wouldn't tell him, and I'm certainly not going to tell him who I am. The last thing I need in my life is for this psycho killer to know my name. He'd track me down and turn me into a character in one of his goddamn music boxes. I'm understandably freaked out by all. this so I turned around and run back the way I came. Fuck all this bullshit. I have no idea if the killer's chasing me or not, nor do I care.

I've had about as much of this place as I can take. When I get to the stairs, I take them two at a time and push myself to go beyond what I can normally do on stairs. It's easier to fly up them than I thought, and eventually I see a dim light up there. Before long, I explode through that. light and I'm gasping for breath when I finally come out the other side. Dr. Rissa is there holding me up as my body wants to collide with the ground. She bombards me with questions, but my brain is scrambled and I can't think straight.

Some of her employees come out and help me into the office so I can sit down and collect myself. From Dr. Rissa's side of the experience, when I touched the wall, it's like an off switch was flipped. My head drooped down and the only thing keeping me upright was my hand on the wall. She tried to pull me off of it, but it was like I'd placed my hand in super glue or something. The only sign of life for me was slow, shallow breathing, like I was asleep or in a trance. I have no fucking idea what happened. And I don't know how to explain it to her. Even if I could, I don't think I would.

telling anyone what happened would likely lay me in the nut house. And I didn't want to go through this damn surgery just to look at the inside of a padded cell. One thing I'd like to do is get in contact with the other six patients and find out if this is happening to them. It'd be nice to know I'm not alone in all this weird ass shit. For your second story this evening. Desperation can make a person do terrible things. lie, cheat, steal, and in the case of one desperate real estate agent, commit arson.

What feels like a thrill soon turns into horror as he hears a scream from the inferno. Creepy presents serotony, written by Ron Toland and narrated by Owen McCune. When the Kelly's pulled up to my real estate office in there, Subaru without a state plates, on a day hot enough to make your hand blister when you touch the metal of your seatbelt, I said a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord. Because it had been six months since my last real burn. Six months of flicking big lighters to life at my desk when no one was around, staring at the flames. It had been so long, it started to shake even, hands trembling when I wasn't paying attention.

But out of state meant out of touch, and that meant a chance to sell them the old Miller house. I greeted them outside, despite the heat. Folks from out of town expect that, a little down-home touch they can tell their city friends about later over a glass of wine. There were four of them, man and wife, a little girl, and a littler boy. Man introduced himself as Josh. He looked to be in his third. but still dressed like a college kid, all t-shirt and jeans. We shook hands, and I nodded when he introduced his wife and kids.

Then I hustled them inside, into the air conditioning. So, Josh, what brings you to Abilene? I knew why, but you've got to ask the question to get these kinds of things started. They gave me the story I'd started hearing more and more lately, how expensive L.A. had become, how the kids were both in school now, and Josh and Amber worried about what they might be learning in those crowded schools. Amber had family in town, her mom, and an older sister. I looked at her. Remove the tattoos on her arms, take out the nose piercing, lengthen her hair past her shoulders, and she would look quite a bit like Denise Fullerton.

Is that your sister? She laughed, said that was right, and her sister had remarked on my good memory. I grinned, very kind. I assume you want to be close to her then? It was Josh's turn to laugh, said that everything felt close out here after living in L.A. He said they just needed to be sure to have enough room for those rascals. He nodded at his kids. And then the awkward question came, did I have any kids?

I shook my head. No, I got plenty of nieces and nephews, though, through my sisters. I gave him my best awes, grinned, and I doad on them something fierce. I could tell that hit the right tone with them from their own smiles. It had the double benefit of being true. I was taking Liz and her kids out for dinner that very night. So, my purse, my lips, acted like I was searching a mental rollerdeck. of properties. You're looking for something not too far out from family, but with plenty of room

for the youngings to run about. Amber cut in and said they wanted a deal, too. Of course, told me we're moving to save money, not spend it. I looked them over, considering. Two bright smiles, soft hands, likely never done anything harder than changing a diaper, either of them. Both kids sitting passively, staring at the images flashing on their tiny phones, drool pulling on the boy's chin. They'd be the perfect cover. I smiled. I know just the place. I drove them out to the old Miller house.

We passed McGuire's emu farm, a couple of cattle ranches, and miles of scrubs sprinkled with pecan trees and cactus. Josh sat staring out the window, grinning and nodding along as I draw off. on about the history of everything he could see. Everything, and except our old church. Before we headed out, I'd notice one of those Darwin bumper stickers on their car, the ones with the words written inside of a fish with legs, meant to make fun of the Lord and those who follow him,

no sense in talking about the Lord's house to folks like that. Amber kept trying to get their kids to look out at something, anything, But they'd started playing some game and were too busy watching a cartoon rabbit bounce around to look up. Not even the asphalt given way to gravel, and then hard-packed dirt got their attention. When we pulled into the long driveway and rattled over the cattle guard, though, that shook him up. Even Josh looked scared, but I just chuckled. Nothing to worry about, folks. Just an easy way to keep cattle from crossing the fence.

Josh tried to smile along with me but failed Asked if that happened a lot I shook my head Not not anymore Once in a while someone will forget to check the wire on their fence And one of them will wander over But you keep your own barbed wire tight and sharp And the only way they'll get through is if they cross that guard

I chuckled again And ain't a one of them can keep from getting their hooves stuck in that thing Josh swallowed. He didn't look reassured, so I shrugged and said, Don't worry about it. But their little girl, Prentice, surprised me by catching on to what I hadn't said, but meant. She said, he means it breaks their legs? And her tone was a question.

But when I glanced towards the back in the rearview mirror, I saw her looking up from her phone, her brown eyes staring at me, alert, then interested. Yes, ma'am, I replied. That can happen if they panic. Then she surprised me again by leaning forward and asking what we did when that happened. I waited to answer till I pulled to a stop a few feet from the house,

put the car in park but left it running for the air. Well, we have to put them down. I saw Josh shudder and his wife grimace, but Prentice just kept staring at me, like she wanted to know more. And I'd have told her a girl deserves to know where her burgers come from if I hadn't needed to sell her parents on the house. But that's not going to happen here, I said, and tried smiling again. I know both these ranches next door and they keep a tight ship.

I turned off the car, popped open my door. Come on, let me show you the house. For anyone else, it wouldn't have been much to show. It was just a rambling three-bedroom, two-bath with a garage big enough to squeeze two cars in if you want it. But that wasn't what they were here to buy. They didn't care about the house. They cared about the experience. They wanted a place with history, with memories they could feast on.

and feel better about themselves with. So, that's what I gave them. Told them how the original owner had built the place with his own hands just after World War II. Showed them the fireplace he'd sat at, cracking open pecans for his family at Christmas. Walked him over to the chicken house so they could imagine it filled with their own breakfast-laying pets.

Let them amble around the woodshed so they would picture filling that fireplace with a roaring fire Using wood, they'd cut down themselves. Josh peppered me with questions about its past. Amber played skeptic, asked me how long it'd be empty, if I knew of any flooding or a tornado damage. And while the little boy kept a tight grip on his phone with both hands, right in front of his face,

Prentice put hers away, looking everything over with an appraising eye. Now, the time we were done, they'd forgotten all about the cattle garden and its promise of broken limbs for any steer full enough to try to cross. I could tell they wanted the place and wanted to be part of it, to join its story with their own. As we were wrapping up, Josh and Amber said all the things they thought they were supposed to say, of course. We'll think about it and let us know if anything closer to town comes on the market.

But three days later, they called me and said they wanted to make an offer. I convinced them to put together one that I knew the Millers, what was left of them anyway, would accept immediately. Thirty days later, we were ready to close. Despite all I told them about the house, I kept my own history with the place to myself. Didn't tell them how Miller Sr. had been the first to introduce me to the wonders of fire.

One summer when I helped him clean out a shed and burn the resulting trash down and a set of steel barrels. Or how he'd take him me to a dried-up cattle pond on the place to teach me how to corral the flames with breaks of cleared brush and fences of soaked earth. How he'd been with me for my first real burning, a ranger's cabin in a park no one went to after dusk.

He'd taught me the rules. Never an uncontrolled burn. Never burn if you can get caught. And while cremation was an ancient, ancient thing, a holy thing, never burn a living soul. I'd always followed those rules. Even after he passed on and his own kids drifted away from town, leaving cousins to oversee the gradual neglect of the family home, a home that was perfect for burning, except it had been on the market so long the first people they'd talked to if it went up were real estate agents like

me unless, let's say, a young couple from out of town bought the place and moved in, who would think twice about some city slickers accidentally burning their new place down, which is why I gave the Kelly's a fully stocked woodshed as a closing gift, and got their yard cleared a dry brush, even had their fireplace inspected, cleaned, and ready to go. Putting Miller's place to the torch wouldn't just scratch my perception. particular itch. It felt right, righteous even, to offer it up to the fire we both loved. I made sure to call the Kellys the week before closed to offer to help them unload the U-Haul once they drove it in from California. Nothing like getting to set your own kindling in place

to make the fire easier to start later. But they politely refused, both that and my offer to treat them to dinner. Instead, once they finally got into town, they'd just unload a few boxes before going to crash at her sister's place. I laughed at that. Well, I understand. Well, be sure to let me know if there's anything else I can do. I was still smiling when I hung up.

So long as I gave them ample time to unload and get out on move-in day, they'd leave the house empty of people, but full of things that could accidentally start a blaze. and weary folks would blame themselves for it before anyone else. It was, in a word. Perfect. Move-in day arrived. I went to the office, like the rules said, keep to the routine. But I'd just paced around all day, with the blinds clothes tight against the sun's glare.

Ate lunch at my desk, chewing pimento cheese sandwich, as if making it last longer, would make the clock hands turn faster. Watched the door, praying no one would stop by. The Lord must have heard me because no one did. I bolted out of the office promptly at five. Didn't stop to check the mail, just drove on home to do my final prep. Loaded the trunk of the car with everything I might need. Jumper cables for a spare spark.

Probar, for smashing windows early, letting more oxygen get sucked in. Bulk cutters. I didn't think they'd have changed the locks or added new ones, but better to be prepared. Camping stove. Its little tank could be a great accelerant. Nothing that would look out a place in a car out here, though. No cans of lighter fluid. No rope. I drove over a little before midnight. To calm my nerves, I prayed as I drove, asking the Lord, who came to Moses as a burning bush, who rained. fire on Sodom and Gomorrah, who gave his angels flaming sores to defend the gates of Eden, to help me and guide me as I sought to bring more holy fire into the world. I parked in the long driveway, stopping a little in front of the cattle guard,

tugged on a windbreaker against the chill of the late spring night before hopping out of the car, stepped across the cattle guard carefully, along the pipe running straight down the outer edge. With just the light of the half moon to see by, couldn't risk a flashlight. There weren't any lights on in the house, and there was just the U-Haul parked in the driveway, no sign of their Subaru. I said a prayer of thanks, that I'd got the timing right, and they'd gone away for the night. Went around to the back door, which I'd oiled up good the day before. Can't have a squeaky hinge throw things off.

Put the key I'd use for showings in the lock, which turned, door opened smooth as silk. Back door led right into the living room. I stepped inside, moving slow and silent. A small, sad pile of coals and ash in the fireplace told me they'd made use of my present. And they'd left newspapers scattered all over the floor, spilling out of the still-open boxes, holding books and glasses. for all of which I was grateful. They'd made it easy for me. With all that kindling laying around, it didn't take me long to get a real fire going in the hearth.

I waited till it was good and roaring, hot enough to ignite the logs I hauled in from the pile outside. I pulled the flu partly closed, so it would it look even more like a case of city folk not knowing how to tend their fire. Then I kicked it onto the floor. The newspaper caught wherever the coals hit it. Then the corner of one of the boxes began to smoke and burn.

From there, it was a short time until a column of boxes was ablaze. I pushed that over too, scattering more ashes and embers to catch more kindling, more boxes. Soon enough, it was a proper burn. Which meant it was time for me to leave. I went back out the rear door, closed and locked it. Normally that'd be enough, but I wanted this blaze to be something special. So I stacked wood in front of the door, which blocked it, true, it would make a great spout of flame when it went up,

bending the rules, maybe, but who could tell what city folk might do in the name of convenience? With that done, I walked back down the drive to put some distance between me and the burn, waited at the edge of the fence, looking back at the fire now clearly visible through the windows. Breathed in that heady scent of smoke and char, thought of Miller Sr. and how much he'd passed on to me before the Lord took him. Tears welled in my eyes, but I wiped them away. Didn't want to obscure the view. I smiled and turned to go, feeling at peace for the first time in a good while when I heard a scream coming from the house. A scream.

That sounded like a child. I stopped, but that wasn't right. I heard it again, louder this time. I turned around. My palms started sweating, and the trembling in my hands started up again. Going back to help would raise questions about why I was there and how the fire started. If the kids were there, the parents were too. I could wait it out.

Let them handle it. But no one was supposed to be here. And no one was supposed to be hurt, especially children. Only the Lord had the power of judgment to take human life. Another scream. My soul felt heavy, unclean. I couldn't leave them there. I ran back to the house.

The fire was blazing too hot in the back and on the right side, so I had it left toward the window in what I thought would be the kid's room. I stopped in front of the window. My whole body's sweating now from the heat coming through the glass. Yanked off my windbreaker and wrapped it around my right fist. Teeth clenched, I punched the glass. And nearly cursed with pain. That glass was old, but I was older. It cracked.

It didn't break. I thought my knuckles might give before it did. Thought about going back to my car for the crowbar. But there was no time. I'd built the flame too well. So I hit the window again and again and again, saying a prayer with every strike. On the fifth time, God answered me. I heard a crack and then another. And then the window exploded outward, pushed by the hot air inside.

I jumped back. Smoke belched out from the hole where the window used to be making me cough. I thought I should call to the children, try to get them out by having them follow my voice. But I couldn't remember their names right then. I couldn't remember their faces, actually. It didn't matter, I decided. I'd go in and get them. The fire hadn't harmed Daniel.

It wouldn't harm me. I ran over to the woodshed to fetch an arthur. armful of logs. These I stacked under the window to give me enough height to climb inside. Strip down to my undershirt, then tore my button down in two so I could wrap both my hands to protect them from the glass left in the window. Then I pulled myself up and in. My eyes watered up immediately and I started coughing again. I could see fire looking underneath the door to the hall, getting ready to devour the whole room. It was already as hot as any hell I'd ever imagined. but the room was empty, not even sleeping bags on the floor. Where were the kids? I heard the screams

again, closer, followed by tiny coughs. They were across the hall in the third bedroom. This time, I didn't hesitate. I walked right up to the door, twisted the fire-heated knob using my cloth-wrapped hand, and pulled it open. If the Lord wanted the fire to have me, they would have me, and nothing I could do would stop it. I felt a rush of air leaving the room as the fire sucked it out, flames blazed and crackled, crawling up the walls of the hallway and along the edges of the floor. But not into this room, nor the other across the hall, or not yet. And I crossed the hall in two quick steps.

I could hear tiny fists pounding on the door, screaming for Mommy and Daddy. But Mommy and Daddy weren't there. It was just me. Stand back from the door, I yelled. I'm coming to get you. I don't know if they heard me, but I didn't wait for an answer. I shouldered the door open and strode inside, closing my eyes for a brief moment as another gust of air washed over me. When I opened them, I could see the kids.

The boy was curled up on the floor. He looked like he was asleep, but I knew that just meant he might already be supple. The girl must have heard me because she'd moved back from the door to stand next to her brother. Her face smeared and sweaty. She glared at me, saying I wasn't her daddy. I reckon not, I replied, crouching down. Can your brother walk? She shook her head, pointed to where her brother lay, eyes closed.

I tried to smile. We'll let him sleep then. I'll carry him, and you follow, you here? She hesitated, then nodded. I bent down and picked up her brother, cradling him in my arms. He didn't so much as twitch, though I thought I saw his little chest rise and fall. I straightened. This way, I said, turning towards the door.

A little girl took two steps and stopped, looked panicked, like she was too scared to move. I know, I know, I told her. the same voice I'd used to calm a calf caught in the cattle guard. It ain't going to hurt you, though. I'm here. We just got to get to the other room and then we can get out, okay? She shook her head, didn't move. No time for that.

Before she could yell again, I shifted her brother, so I was holding him in just one arm, and then picked her up with the other. Carrying them both like sacks of potatoes, one screaming and crying, the other silent, I hustled across the hall, through the room on the other side, and right up to the window. Here I had to be more careful. I set the girl down on the floor feet first. Then I turned and ducked out the window still holding her brother. I heard my pants snag on the broken glass along the frame, felt the sting as the sharp edges drew blood. But the two of us made it out. As soon as my feet hit the wood below, I lowered the boy to the ground, then straightened and held my arms out for the girl.

You got to climb out, I called to her. I'll help you. This time she obeyed me. It was a mite tricky lifting her over the glass edges, but we managed it. Then it was just a matter of hefting her brother again and hurrying them both to the edge of the yard, away from the house. Halfway there, we nearly ran over their parents. Josh had sliced his arm.

arms somewhere, blood traced a line down his arm. His wife looked like she was in better shape. She was coughing, but unhurt. Seeing them safely outside, having abandoned their children to the flames, I felt a holy wrath come over me. Only the Lord could judge, but the Lord had put them in my path, knowing where my path led. And I knew I had to break another run. rule. They called to the kids, so I set sleepy baron down. Prentice ran to her mother who hugged her tight. Josh grinned at me, started to ask me something likely why I was out there that night. Never finished his sentence, though, because that's when I smashed his teeth in. That stunned him, so I hit him again and again, until he fell backwards onto the dirt and lay still.

Still. His wife wasn't watching. Didn't know anything was wrong until I pulled Prentice from her arms. Amber looked up at me, and then down at Josh, opened her mouth and pulled air into her lungs, likely to scream. I was raised not to hit women. So I kicked her instead. I kicked her in the ribs, knocking the breath out of her.

I kicked her again, till I heard something crack, and she screamed. But she didn't move away, and she didn't fight back. Somewhere behind me, Prentice was crying. Well, that didn't bother me. Her crying was right. It was proper. And so was what I now knew I needed to do. One at a time, I dragged Josh and Amber back to the house.

Around to the rear, where the fire was the strongest. Knocked down the barrier I erected against the door and pulled it open. Then I tossed them in. By the time I got back to the children, Baron was sleeping. The apprentice's tears had dried. She was staring at the house. The flames reflected in her dark eyes.

Panting, a plop down in the dirt next to her, facing the blaze, wondered what I was going to do next. What prison might be like for a guy like me. But Prentice startled me, asking simply if they were gone. I looked over at her. She seemed calm, didn't take her eyes off the burn. They left you, I said. I'm sorry.

Then she told me that she tried to make a fire in the fireplace till Josh caught her and made her put it out. The way she spoke about the fire, how she always found them pretty and warm, sounded all too familiar to me. Then she tilted her head and asked if I'd made this one. Surprised, I nodded. She turned back to the flames,

sat down next to me, leaned her head on my arm, and asked the question that gave me goosebumps. Will you teach me for your words? final story this evening. A woman's love for animals leads to a chilling infestation, leading to illness and what's worse, the consequences of a twisted devotion. Creepy presents, house mice, written by Victoria and narrated by Danielle Hewitt. In a seemingly cozy home, an animal lover's affection for mice spirals into a chilling obsession. as her family falls mysteriously ill.

With sinister whispers guiding her, she must choose between her beloved pets and the remnants of her humanity. What dark secrets lie behind the whiskers? Creepy presents. House mice. Written by Victoria, narrated by Daniel Hewitt.

I am an animal lover, and mice are no exception. So when I first noticed the mouse droppings in our cabinet, I quickly swept them away. If my husband had caught sight of them, he would have immediately called an exterminator. I mean, I didn't want the mice in the house. I know they get into food and carry diseases,

but I surely didn't want them killed. I tried setting humane traps, in the basement, the attic, the garage. Smart little buggers never bit. So I put traps in the kitchen cabinets and under the beds, In the closets. I tried bread, cheese, cookies. A quick internet search told me that chocolate was a sure bet.

Well, the internet got that one wrong. Not one mouse wandered into my traps. The food offerings went untouched. I knew the mice were still living. No. Thriving, within our cozy four walls. That was abundantly clear by the increasing amount of droppings I found throughout the house. I'm an early riser, so I was able to rid the place of all evidence before my husband and kids woke up,

and I cleaned up once again before they returned from work and school. I always had my eyes open for the straggler poop. I couldn't let my family wisen up to our infestation. Thankfully, I was between jobs as a vet tech, so I was able to take on poop clean up full-time. After a week of empty traps and cleaning droppings, I first noticed. noticed my whiskers. Of course, I didn't recognize them as such when they first appeared. I thought my Italian heritage and advancing age were finally taking their effect on my baby-smooth

skin. With a hearty sigh, I plucked them and thought that was that. But the next morning they were back, twice as long. Soon, I was plucking three times a day. To keep the family from questioning why I suddenly had long twitchy hair growing from my cheeks. One morning I decided to take down all the traps. The mice were more likely to enjoy the morsels if I left them out in the open. I was overjoyed to see that they were finally eating my offerings. I will never forget the day that the first adorable little guy revealed himself to me.

I was gently placing a Hershey's kiss behind the couch when he poked out his sniffing nose, watching him slowly creep to the chocolate filled my heart with warmth. He happily munched on the sweet while occasionally glancing my way. I'll call you Coco. I murmured with a smile. After that, the sight of scurrying fuzz became a common delight throughout the house. I'm sure it was because of the illness that my family didn't notice the mice. The illness started around the time I was discarding the mouse traps. My son was sick first.

It started with sniffles, but quickly progressed to a raging fever. My daughter was the next to fall ill, then my husband soon after. By the time my little Coco first poked his sniffing nose from under the couch, all three of my family members were bedridden and near comatose. There was little I could do for them. I couldn't call an ambulance. The EMTs would surely notice the dozens of mice scurrying around the place. I couldn't bring them to a doctor for several reasons.

First, I wasn't strong enough to carry them to the car. Second, I couldn't leave my mice alone too long. They needed constant refills on food and water, and they did not like a dirty house. Cleaning droppings had become a constant chore. Finally, a doctor would surely notice the beautiful, sleek, long whiskers growing from my cheeks. Yes, I stopped trying to hide them long ago.

I had no good reason to hide them. Plus, they somehow kept me connected to the mice. The whiskers helped me feel whatever it was the mice needed. I think the feeling was a bit more than a feeling. More like a request, or an order. Anyway, I had to care for my human family at home. Luckily, I was able to break into the back door of my previous employer, the Sunrise Animal Hospital. Under cover of darkness, I crept through the hallways and escaped with some medical supplies,

namely, liquid nourishment and three feeding tubes, which had been designed for larger dogs. This kept my family hydrated and fed. To me, at this point, my family members were a little more than pests. But that didn't mean I wanted them to die. I rarely left the house. I couldn't risk being seen. I had groceries delivered and I cancelled the mail. The only reason I truly had to go out was to bring our garbage to the large dumpster that serviced my small neighborhood.

I decided to go late in the middle of a moonless night. I quietly slinked my way to the dumpster, hugging the shadows. After depositing my trash, which consisted heavily of mouse excrement, I turned to begin my stealthy retreat. At that moment, a woman appeared from the other side of the dumpster, carrying a trash. trash bag of her own. I've seen her in the neighborhood, said hi a few times, but I didn't know her name. She gave a small whimper of surprise when she noticed me, and I saw my own fear reflected in her eyes. Her face was mostly hidden in the shadows, but mine was clearly revealed by a streetlight above.

I'm sure she could make out every feature, including the whiskers. This was it. I was exposed. I scanned the area for a weapon. I couldn't let her reveal my secret. I decided that my hands around her neck would do the job just fine. I stepped closer and then paused. Something was off. As she was staring closely at me, she started to smile. A smirk turned into an ear-to-ear grin.

Then a giggle? She stepped into the light. On her face, growing from each cheek, was a set of long, luxurious whiskers. She was like me, a sister in the cause. I returned her heartfelt smile and we exchanged a deep hug. I'm Nora, she offered, and I introduced myself. So, how many do you have?

She asked, with a look of anticipation. I knew what she was asking. How many mice lived in my home? But I didn't realize that I knew the answer. 521, I said without thinking. My whiskers knew the answer. I have 706, she told me triumphantly. Strangely, I wasn't jealous.

I felt nothing but happiness for my new sister. We talked for a while. The utteration I had for the mice was echoed in her stories. Nora lived alone without a family, which actually did make me a bit jealous. She could dedicate all of her time to the mice. I was still looking after my family, feeding them through the tubes and changing their diapers. Their conditions seemed to be deteriorating, which was good news to me. If they were to pass away, I could spend more time with the mice.

Nora and I parted ways with a promise to stay in touch. This continued for several more weeks. The family got sicker, especially the boy who was young and weak. But my heart was empty of any feeling for them. The mice, my only true concern, were prospering. They were my only love. I wanted only to please them, to give them what they wanted. It was a beautiful miracle that my whiskers always told me exactly what it was they needed and wanted.

One morning I woke up feeling uneasy. The mice were also uneasy, scared even. My own fear started to grow. Suddenly, from a distance, a wailing scream pierced the silence. I knew instinctively it was Nora. Panic set in among the mice and myself. They all scurried to the attic. I grabbed a large kitchen knife and ran to the living room.

I had to guard the front door to keep the threat out. But I was unsuccessful. My front door suddenly crashed in. The boots of men in full hazmat suits pounded into my living room, yelling at me to stay down. There was no way I was staying down. As the men tossed several

milk gallon-sized metal canisters onto the floor, I lunged at the closest man brandishing my knife. The canisters immediately began releasing a noxious fog of white gas. The pungent, acrid smell burned my throat and eyes. I dropped the knife and fell down

gagging and gasping for air. I felt myself being lifted and bound. I was unable to move. My tight, raspy throat strained to scream out to my mice, imploring them to run. A large hazmat mask was suddenly forced over my head, and I felt myself being carried out of the house. At this moment, I first felt the searing, crushing pain. My mice were dying. One by one I felt unimaginable bursts of pain, as each of my dead.

dear friends were killed. Some were choking on gas. Some were stomped on by giant boots. Every death felt like an arrow in my heart and burning agony on my whiskers. The pain was unbearable. I felt my consciousness slipping away. I awoke in what appeared to be a hospital bed. My arms and legs still restrained. The first thing I noticed was that my whiskers were gone. From deep in my gut, I released a bellowing whale. At the noise, a crowd of people rushed into the room. Doctors and nurses, uniformed police officers, two men in business suits, and my husband.

I demanded to know what happened. Where am I? Where am I? As the words left my mouth, I remembered. My mice are dead. Every one of them. I should be devastated. I should be in deep mourning for my once beloved mice. But I wasn't.

In fact, I felt relief. Incredible, comfortable, relief. I was free. I later learned the cause of my surreal situation. The medical building in town had a secret basement lab. There, they had experimented on mice. mainly on ways they could use the mice in warfare, such as biological warfare and mind control. The mice that escaped shared a dangerous combination of the two.

Mind-controlling mice with the capacity to cause fatal illness. The dust from the droppings caused the growth of my whiskers, which in turn led to the ability of the mice to control my thoughts and actions. My family, who did not breed the dropping dust, instead were infected by the disease spread through the mice's dander. Being under their control, my body was immune to the infection. The mice needed me, alive and well. The aftermath of our infestation was devastating to our family.

My son did not survive. His tiny body could not hold up against the ravaging illness. I will forever feel the guilt of my part in his death. My boy. My baby. Killed practically by my own hands. Months went by before my husband and I could bear to go through our son's room. One Sunday morning, we decided it was time. My husband was looking through his dresser drawers.

I was cleaning out the bottom of the closet. Then I saw it. Behind his rollerblades, I discovered a pile of new, fresh mouse droppings. They couldn't have been there longer than a day or two. I glanced back at my husband. He didn't see them. Then, very quietly, very discreetly, I quickly swept them away. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creepypod. Creative Commons share-a-like licensing, or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.