Creepy - Le Corde Bleu

Episode Date: May 16, 2022

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Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors. and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide.

These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents La Corde de Blue Written by Ryan Peacock. The history of LaCorde de Blue.

is both complex and bloody, and yet for all the stories told about it. Very few people have ever actually heard of the infamous opera. In the history of French theater, you're unlikely to ever hear any reference to it, and even those who are deeply familiar with the world of opera regarded as either an urban legend or a hoax. However, despite these misconceptions, the opera is quite real, as is its history. Though it's never been successfully performed, La Corde de Blu is perhaps one of the most mysterious and fascinating pieces that exist in the storied history of French theater, and that so people have ever heard of it is an almost irreconcilable tragedy.

From what I've gathered over the years, La Cordeaux-de-Blu, translated as The Blue Rope, was allegedly written in 1882, although the author remains unknown to this day. From what I've learned from the attempted original performance, the livery, the script for those not for. first in opera, had been obtained by a composer named Georges Laurent from a friend of a friend. Laurent said in a personal journal entry that a friend of his had bought it from him after business associate had discovered the completed lever in the possession of his daughter, following her untimely death. Loron believed that the girl had hung herself from a tree in the family's garden, although he was not aware as to why she'd chosen to take her own life. His family had been

given the lever and the hopes that he might see fit to pass it on to Laurent, perhaps in memory of the poor girl. Evidently, Laurent had been impressed with the quality of her work, if indeed the livery was originally her work, and in his journals, describes having only made some slight modifications to ensure that the girl's work would translate well to the stage. Whether he chose to work on the opera to some sense of altruism or due to its quality, LaRalle's personal journals made it clear that he certainly thought highly of the work. I've read these journals myself, and I've noticed that he speaks at length about the opera.

At times, even going so far as to describe it as a masterpiece. Incidentally, it's only through Laurent's notes that I've managed to form a rough synopsis of the opera as well, and I will describe it here. The opera has five acts and follows a young woman named Zae, meant to be a soprano. The first act is set in the streets of an unnamed city where Zayi lives alone in an old shack. The overture establishes that young lovers had a little red rope tied to their hearts that connects them and ultimately draws them together. The first song, during which Zayi remained silent, details various friends and family who she had known throughout her life and how they had gone on to experience love while she has remained alone, losing her parents and tending to her ramshackle home by herself. Following the overture, the lonely Zayis sings to lament the fact that the rope tied to her own heart is blue,

and she does not understand it. The act ends with her seeing a man passing by while out in the streets with a blue rope similar to hers and concluding that he must be her soulmate. In the second act, Zayis seeks out and finds the man, discovering him to be the son of a wealthy family named Gabriel. After some effort to get his attention, she succeeds and feels certain that they've fallen in love. However, as the third act begins, Gabriel rebuffs her, dismissing the blue rope is meaningless, and insisting that he has found someone else to love without a rope.

Heartbroken, Zayla ments her loneliness and confronts the possibility that she is not meant to be loved. This is where the opera becomes most interesting. In the fourth act, she confronts the woman who has stolen the affections of the man she loves. There's an extended duet here between Zai and the other woman, named Theoline. During the duet, both women plead their case to the other for who should have Gabriel's heart, with Zai' adamant that fate has dictated that they be together, and Theeline trying to reason with her that she's basing all of her hopes for love on her notions of fate, even going so far as to show Zaii that she has cut her own red string long ago,

as she was dissatisfied with where fate would have taken her. During their duet, Theoline encourages Zayi to do the same and free herself of Gabriel, so that she may pursue someone better suited for her and ultimately offers her a dagger to which to free herself. At the crux of the duet, however, Zayi takes the dagger and drives it into Theoline's heart, murdering her. In the final act, Zayi is confronted in her home by Gabriel, who realizes that she's murdered Theoline.

After sharing a dance in a duet, Gabriel seizes her by the throat with the intent of killing her. But Zayi instead kills him in self-defense with the same deal. beggar she's used to murder theeline. Reacting with horror at the fact that she has slaughtered her beloved, Zay flees her home and walks down to the ocean, her final song lamenting her understanding that the blue rope did not link her to love, but to misery. The opera ends as she walks into the sea to drown

and prays that there is nothing waiting for her afterwards so that she made for once no peace. Laurent seems impressed by the cynical, tragic nature of the livery, and even more impressed by the music provided. His journal indicated that he expected the performance to be a success. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to find out. On December 18, 1884, the opera germane where the Accord de Blu was meant to be performed a few days later was destroyed during a fire that was believed to have started backstage. The performance was in rehearsal at the time, and when the fire struck,

much of the cast was crooked trapped, unable to escape. Georges Laurent was among the bodies later identified amongst the ashes, along with much of the primary cast. Needless to say, the debut performance of Lacour de Blu had just been cancelled. Opera Germain had not been quite as grand as some of the other opera houses in Paris at the time, and the whispers of arson ultimately led the owners of the property to sell it and leave Paris. Opera Germain was never rebuilt, and in its place today stands an unremarkable office building. Many would claim that the unexplained fire and opera Germain and the tragic death of George Laurent

had spelled the end of the Corps de Blune. Some who were aware of the tragedy even claimed the original Livre was likely destroyed in the fire. However, this is not believed to be true. In 1964, a cousin of the late George Laurent, Mark Sinclair, put on auction several items he had found relating to his late relatives' career. The auction, held in March of that year, included a livery for an unproduced play that Laurent had been working on at the time of his death, Le Cor de Blue. The livery was subsequently purchased by a composer by the name of Hugo Castion.

Castion was an admirer of Laurent, regarding him as one of the underappreciated lost names in French theatre. he believed that by finishing what La Rois started and finally bringing Lacorte de Blu to the audience of Paris, he could cement the status of his idol as one of the greats. Castion said to work almost immediately on the performance, with the intent of having it open at the Police Garnier on May 30th of the following year. From what I've learned about his efforts to produce Lacour de Blu,

Castillon was not fully familiar with the history of the opera. Even if he was, I doubt that this would have been. have dissuaded him. Even if the true author was unknown, both he and others have regarded the opera as Laurent's final work, and by all accounts, progress on the production went smoothly. He had cast 22-year-old Justine Rubez in the leading role as Zaii. Rubair previously started in several of Castillon's productions and by all accounts was an incredible soprano. So she was not a surprising choice for Zaii. He also cast Charles DuPont in the role of Gabriel. Another frequent collaborator.

In fact, much of Castione's intended cast for the production of Lacorte d'Bille contained people who he had worked with before in some regard or another, and by all accounts, the production likely would have been as big a hit as Castione was hoping. If it had ever premiered, I cannot confirm the rumors of difficulties near the end of the production. Despite my best efforts to get in touch with the surviving members of the cast and crew, I've been unable to learn much about what went on behind the scenes of Castion's 19. I only have access to the police report from the most high-profile aspect of the production. The Murder of Charles DuPont.

On May 30, 1965, DuPont's neighbors reported hearing a loud argument between him and someone else in his apartment. One of those neighbors called the police when they heard sounds of a struggle, hearing that the conflict had escalated. Police responded to the call at around 1.30 in the morning, and after not, knocking on DuPont's door with no response, found it open. They found his apartment in a state of disarray, suggesting that there had been a physical altercation, and later found DuPont in his kitchen, lying in a pool of his own blood. He had been stabbed 57 times with a kitchen knife. The broken blade was still jutting out of his chest.

The police found Justine Rubeer in his living room, covered in DuPont's blood, and smoking a cigarette and laughing so hard that he was. years streamed down her cheeks. She was taken into custody, and it was later determined that she had been guilty of murdering DuPont during an altercation. Given the circumstances, the opening night of Lacour de Blu was delayed until the following month, before eventually being quietly cancelled. Revere was reportedly silent when questioned by the authorities. The only thing she is confirmed to have said following her arrest was, do I ask too much to be loved? a lyric from one of the songs she would have sang,

A Zaii. On June 2nd, a few days after DuPont's murder, Justine Rubez was found dead in her cell. She had hung herself using her bedsheets. The look on her face was described as one of pure bliss. With his production of Lacorte de Bleu cancelled, Castion focused on other pursuits. In 1960s, he produced a romance,

titled Leti Parmilla Rose, Summer Among the Roses in English, to middling reviews and focused on distancing himself from the tragedy that had killed his last production. However, by all accounts, Castion was never quite able to forget the unfinished final production of his obscure idol.

Even in the months following the cancellation of the production, he was known to speak of it often and talk about taking another shot of producing it some day. it's also worth noting that the earlier performances of summer among the roses included a solo in the first act sung by the lead a woman by the name of chloe titled chloe's lament which reportedly bore similarities to a solo from the first act of le corps de the song was essentially removed from the performance after the actress who had initially been given the role left the play due to health concerns and her understudy refused to perform it describing it as too depressing. The solo has not been included in any subsequent adaptations of Summer Among the Roses, not that there have been many.

And save for one old recording, no copies of the Levera exists that include it. That said, if you're tenacious enough, the recording isn't that difficult to find, and Chloe's lament notably stands out from the rest of the play. Most would agree that Castione was by no means a great composer. Decent, yes, but not great. But even his greatest attractors admit that this is quite possibly his best work. I suppose it shouldn't be surprising to consider the fact that this most likely isn't Castione's work.

Not entirely at least. With slow, heavy piano accompanying it, it is a painfully mournful piece. The actress, Sophie Colbert, is immensely talented, but it's admittedly difficult to tell that she's the one that's singing. Her voice sounds different, cracking with emotion at some points. There are several moments of silence where she seems to pause to gather her emotions before forcing herself to continue.

Having heard it, I don't really blame Colbert for taking her own life shortly after leaving the production. As good as she was? I don't think she ever could have surpassed herself there. Castione's obsession with Lacortebleau almost certainly made it inevitable that he would eventually try to make good on his promise to perform it at last. And in July of 1969, he formally announced that he would be starting production again. Castion curiously did not work with many of his longtime collaborators on this project,

although that did not seem to dissuade him. He had reportedly cast a newcomer by the name of El Levine in the role of Zayi and Raymond Holland, an established actor who he had not worked with before as Gabriel. However, unlike his last attempt at producing La Corte Blu, this effort would not even make it until opening night. A few months later, in November, Castione abruptly announced his retirement and shut down the production. Details as to why are scarce, but the few contacts I could get in touch with pointed to one incident as a likely cause. In early November of 1969, police have been called to address a physical altercation between L. Levine and another actress, the one hired for the role of Theeline.

According to one source I spoke to, they believed that an argument had broken out during a rehearsal over Levine's conduct. Levine had apparently been too aggressive during her rehearsal of their duet in the fourth act, and when called out on it, she had responded by shouting and making accusations about the other actress and her co-star Holland. Eventually she had escalated the situation by physically attacking the other actress, nearly blinding her in one eye. Castion had gotten involved, and Levine had been forcibly removed from the set after striking him.

The individual I spoke with, who will remain anonymous. of course, noted that Castion seemed fairly shaken after what had happened and had officially shut down the production a few days later after firing Levine from the show. Levine went on to briefly star in another production the following year before retiring, while Raymond Holland would, unfortunately, pass away in 1971 during a hit and run that killed him, his wife, and their young daughter. The person responsible was never apprehended. Levine herself would later pass away in 1976 when a family member found her body in her parents' garage.

She had hung herself after what her family described as an extended period of depression. Following his retirement, Castion retreated from the spotlight and retired to a house in the French countryside. From what I've learned, he did not have many visitors during the final years of his life, and he would not discuss Laurent's play, Le Cor de Blu. The only information I have regarding the play during its final years in Castillon's possession is that in 1974, a young composer by the name of Gaston Melvi had visited him to ask about purchasing the livery in order to complete the production. According to Melvary's own account, Castion, who had been perfectly courteous up until

that point, grew angry, shouting at him not to discuss the opera and throwing. things at him before demanding that he leave. Malvary's subsequent attempts to get in touch with Castion were ignored. Hugo Castione eventually passed away in February of 1981, after he reportedly fell into a river while out on a walk. I've heard some suggest that his death was a suicide, and others simply claim that the old man suffered an unfortunate accident. I really can't say for sure.

What I do know is that during his final years, he had been known to frequently visit the graves of Raymond Holland and his family, as well as the graves of Charles DuPont and Justine Robert. After her suicide in 1976, he had been one of few who attended the funeral of El Levin, and he had visited her grave several times before his death. Given how close her graveside was to the river where he drowned, it's likely that Castione had visited it the day of his death.

Whatever the cause of his death, suicide or tragedy, whatever his reasons for visiting the graves of those who had been connected to his infamous play, Castione's death served as good news for one man. Gaston Melvary Melvary had achieved some limited success in the world of opera with a few notable performances of more famous productions and was eager to present something new. With Castion dead, he approached his eldest daughter,

the executor of his estate, while purchasing the livery for Le Corde de Blu. She clearly didn't share her father's reservations about selling the livery and was happy to part with it. Malvery wasted no time in getting to work, eager to finish what both Castillon and Laurent had been unable to do. His goal was to have an audience

of the production of Le Cor de Blu, and according to the man himself, he was dedicated to achieving that at any cost. By 1982, Malvary had a report and they'd gotten and Jean Peloc signed on to do the role as Gabriel and Esmey LeCroy as Steel Line. He later signed an unknown,

Fayette Dorville, in the leading role as Aie after an extensive search. It shouldn't be surprising at this point that Malvary's production was plagued by trouble. While the cast had initially gotten along fine, after the first few months, the relationship between Dorville and LaCroix it was noted to have soured to the point

where they were kept apart during rehearsals. Six months into production, Pelix reportedly left the show and filed a restraining order against Dorville, alleging that she had entered his home and climbed into his bed. He was recast with another unknown, Eric Selyer, who was reportedly kept away from both Dorville and LaCroix when not at rehearsals. Surprisingly, despite these setbacks, Malvry was at last successful in his endeavor. On June 10, 1982, after a century of setbacks and a trail of blood left in its wake, LeCourt de Bleu finally saw its debut in Paris at the Theatres de LeVille, and I can assure you, it was truly breathtaking.

You know, I never liked opera as a child. My father, oh, he adored it. But that's just how he was. a patron of the arts. I don't think he was familiar with the cordi blue when we saw it during its first and final performance. He didn't know the history. Neither did I back then. It was just another show that he watched.

Not really something I was interested in, but he insisted I'd go with him. I suppose he thought that opera could be something we could share, a little bit of father-son bonding time. Honestly, I can't fault him for that love. logic. As I grow older, I find myself thinking of ways to connect with my own children. I want to share my interests with them and learn more about their interests in turn. Looking back, I am grateful that he insisted I go along with him. Until that night, I never truly appreciated the beauty of the opera. But La Corte Blue opened my eyes. The blue velvet curtain rose upon a set depicting a busy street. The overture describing the miserable life of Zayi was nice, I suppose, but it wasn't

the standout performance. It wasn't until Zayi herself sang her first solo that I found myself completely and utterly transfixed. I used to think that it was the sheer power of Fayette Dorville's voice. But having heard the bastardization of the song from Summer Among the Roses, I realized it was not. I'm left with only the faint memories of the way the song is meant to be. But the weathered recording of Sophie Colbert performing Castion's imperfect transplant serves some of those old feelings. That one song ignited in me a love for opera that has lasted throughout my life. And I've been obsessed with it ever since. The harsh, melancholy melody was almost violent in a way. It was as much a song of loneliness and desire as it was a song of.

hatred. Never before have I heard the darkest parts of the human heart exposed in such a way. This was not a simple solo. It was pain incarnate. The desperate screams from the pained soul of a forgotten girl 100 years before. Suffering in agony, I cannot begin to fathom. Laurent could not have come close to creating something as brilliant as this. Castillon could only hope to present it to the world and Malvary had succeeded where he failed, but this work belonged to none of them. It was something all its own. I watched the remainder of the first act in Rapture,

and as the second act began, I waited with bated breath. Dorville was a mediocre actress, do-eyed and unremarkable compared to the others I've seen. Her voice was spectacular, of course. But the music truly made it sore, compared to her salier as Gabriel left little impression. I'm sure that in more capable hands the role could be memorable, but while I recall him being serviceable, he was by no means extraordinary. At the time, I was enthralled, but in the decades since I've seen better.

LeCoy's Theeline was out of focus for most of the first two acts, so I can't comment on. the performance she gave. I don't remember much about her other than her costume. But having seen some pictures of her in the years since, I do remember her as being in the background at some points. Well, the cast was decent. They were not the true stars of the show. The music was.

Melvry's mediocrity could water down the actors, but the music was something beyond him. It carried that melancholy undercurrent through it. And even during the first few upbeat songs during the first and second act, there was always a bitter note in the background, a looming misery waiting to take hold again. Had the cast been downright dreadful, the musical Lone would have saved the production. Of that, I am certain. The intermission came at the end of the second act, and when it did, I could not wait for it to be

over. I've never been quite so enthralled by an opera before. I needed to hear more. I needed to hear all of it. The theater was silent, save for the muffled sounds of the audience. The intermission carried on and on and on. And when it ended, the play did not begin again. The curtain sat there.

It did not rise. The audience had returned to their seats and were waiting patiently, but the play did not continue. There was only silence. silence. Silence until someone pushed the curtain aside and stepped out onto the stage. I could recognize Fayette Dorville despite her costume change, although she didn't say a word. She simply stared out at the audience, a vacant smile on her lips, and the blue rope prop

she had as part of her costume clutched to her bloody hands. She turned it over, holding it close to her chest, and looked out at the assembled audience. Then she started to laugh Just before someone got up onto the stage To grab her and pull her back behind the curtain Even when she was gone her laughter remained It echoed through the theater And much like her singing that night

It is a sound I will never forget Soon afterward a man came up to hastily explain to the audience That there had been an emergency And after that came the police and the paramedic I've learned what really happened that night during the years that have followed, but at the time all I felt was disappointment, confusion, and rage. For the first time, I'd been enjoying an opera, and now it was being cut short. The ushers quickly let us out, and the police spoke to my father before they allowed us to go home.

As we left the theater that night, I saw the police cars and the ambulances in the parking lot and knew something horrible had happened. It was a few years before I learned exactly what, however. It seemed that during the intermission, Dorville had entered Celier's dressing room with a box cutter. She had slashed his throat while they were changing. Then she had gone looking for La Croy. According to one witness, she had found her talking with Malvery backstage. She hadn't said anything before she'd attacked.

Brandishing the bloody box cutter she had just used to murder Selyer. She'd attacked LeCroy first and managed to leave some deep cuts on her heart. arms and pace before Malvry had pulled her off. Unfortunately, there was no one there to pull Doraville off of him. She had cut his throat during a struggle before going looking for La Croy again. After failing to find her, she had then proceeded to attack two members of the chorus and a member of the crew before wandering on stage. La Coy had called the police by that point and some of the theater security had managed to subdue

her until they arrived. I think it goes without saying. what happened next. The pattern should be obvious by now. She was arrested, and two days later, a guard found her in her cell, attempting to hang herself using the sheets. Despite her best efforts, they managed to stop her and restrain her in the hopes of preventing another suicide attempt. Dorville simply chewed out her own tongue that very night, and drowned in her own blood. I've heard a lot of things about the aftermath of Lecord de Blu's opening night.

I've heard that there was an investigation into the events of the production, but what, if anything, came of it I really can't say. I can tell you with certainty that Esmila Croix has left the opera for good and lives a quiet life as a housewife in England. It's a shame. Having reviewed some of her prior work, she really had such talent. According to my sources, the original livery of La Cordeaux-de-Blu is among the items given to Oliver's elder brother, Pierre.

And, as far as I can tell, it has remained in his possession. Of course, when I first asked him about this a few years back, around 2004, if I recall correctly, he insisted that he had no idea what I was talking about. Even when I pressed the issue and offered to buy it off of him, he responded by simply growing angry at my poor idea of a joke. He fell out of contact not long after. I suspect due to his displeasure I mentioning that particular opera

Even when Pierre passed away in 2016 I called in a lot of favors and greased a few palms to try and get my hands on that lever It would seem that it was not among the items That Pierre left behind after his death I've been in touch with the surviving family members And admittedly taken some fairly extreme measures

To confirm that the lever for La Corda Blue Wasn't passed down to any of them without my knowledge In fact, for a while, I'll confess that I've begun to fear that Pierre destroyed it. But no. Through no small amount of digging, I've discovered that my late friend happened to maintain a safety deposit box in Paris. It was under the name of another relative, of course, his mother's. But after lengthy correspondence and no small amount of work, I was able to get that box open. shall I tell you what I found inside?

I've spent so long learning about this opera. It has occupied my every waking thought for 40 years. The disturbing melodies of the music, the haunting voice of Zayi during her first solo, is what ignited my love for opera. It's what made me want, no need to become a composer. and now I have it.

I have read through the libra. I've studied the music and it is truly beautiful. Perfect. Something like this should not be locked away. Something like this needs to be shared with the world. I understand that just like Laurent Castione and all over he did. But unlike them, I understand this opera itself. I understand its history.

I understand the agony of the nameless soul that produced it, and that makes me and only me equipped to do it right. I will begin production soon. This masterpiece must... For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, Welcome to Nifflame, written by no one of consequence and narrated. by Rissa Montanez. I dropped my purse on an end table and plot myself down on the couch. Unzipping my boots. Three-inch stilettos made for looking great, not comfort.

I kicked them off. I can't help but think of all the wasted effort. Time spent meticulously applying makeup so my eyes sparkle and my lips look irresistible. I dolled myself up to be a walker. sex pot with my first date dress. This slim number of black with an intricate red pattern, and a neckline meant to draw the eyes to my ample cleavage. The restaurant was nice. The food, excellent, an atmosphere built for romance, and the bill certainly reflected that. Eric had been good company, a gentleman. I wasn't bored because the conversation was nice.

and he was genuinely interesting. His looks weren't something to ignore either. Strong jaw without a hint of stubble, sharp nose, and inviting brown eyes like chocolate. That body has known countless hours at the gym, well-defined and strong. He carried himself with confidence, and not in that arrogant way I hate so much.

When I talked, Eric really listened to me and seemed to want to hear what I had to say. I caught him looking at my body, especially in those moments when I'd do something to draw his eye, but he wasn't obnoxious about it. There was lust in those big browns when he got an eye full of my de colitatage, but he was respectful and didn't push. I'll even admit, my green eyes shared that look of desire from time to time. A moment or two, when I had the urge to sink my teeth into him. So what went wrong? It hadn't been the walk to my car,

or the tender way he slid my amber red hair behind my ear before leaning in for a good-night kiss. The kiss was good, hungry, but restrained. even made my toast curl. So why had it been a waste? Eric isn't the love of my life, the one I'm seeking out. He's worth a few sweaty nights until I find the right one, but that's all it would amount to.

I couldn't feel him in my soul, not in the way that I crave. Been about six months since I felt that way with a guy. Unlike all the women I know, I've experienced love like that more than once, four times, in fact. I loved each and every one of them with my mind, body, and soul. I drew them into me, consumed in that fire inside us both. So much that it would become hard to be away from them, no matter how short the time. Eventually things would happen, bad things.

And it always ended horribly, never to be seen again. I still remember my first so vividly. Leo was my first everything. Crush, kiss, date, lover, true love. I was never more alive than when his skin type. when he was inside me. I exhale in a huff. He was also my first rejection, first broken heart. The things he said to me in the end, that I smothered him with control and jealousy. His eyes, the last time I looked into them, were dead, completely devoid of the men I had known

and loved. To be honest, I saw the same look in all their eyes. Four pairs of eyes that went from love to dead, yet I still crave it. That all-consuming love, I'll go through it all again and again until I find the one that I'll never have those dead eyes. Countless charms, trinkets, wishing wells, with hundreds of coins. All for the same. wish. To find that love so strong it can't be ignored, won't be denied. There was even one time I was sure the wish was going to come true. Who was he, Tiffany? A pained voice from behind shocks me into standing. I live alone and nobody has a key to my place. Whoever this guy is, I can't say I've ever seen him before. Six feet tall, black stubble on an ordinary face and must hair. His clothes, something of a

standard uniform for office employees, are disheveled and wrinkled. Who were you out hoaring with this time? My words are caught in my throat. I don't know who this is, but he obviously knows me. Another guy from the office that makes you weak at the knees? Someone you'll have sucked off in the copy room? Did he bend you over his desk and make you moan like a whore? His words are angry and full of venom, not to mention crazy. I've never done anything like that. A girlfriend at the office set me up with Eric, her brother, but I haven't had sex in six months. I've seen you with them, dozens of men. He lurks closer, moving around the couch, and I back away just as slowly.

They take you to fancy restaurants, fill you with food and wine. Do you touch them under the table, fondle their groins so they spend more money? I admit to going on dates with different men, but there's no fondling. The kiss with Eric is the most action I've allowed myself to have,

still kind of healing from my last broken heart. He hinged his way closer to me, and I retreated just as slow. Any sudden movement and I fear he'll lunge for me. If I can just get to my room, there's a gun under the bed. I haven't primed it since the last time I used it, so I'll need to get it ready. But it's a chance.

A much better one than I have now. You chose all those others, but you never chose me. What? That doesn't make any sense. I don't know this guy. I've been right in front of you all this time, but you never see me. Now I know this guy is completely deranged. He's concocted an elaborate false scenario of someone he thinks has wronged him

and centered his focus on me. For months I've loved you. Weeded for you to see me. I don't know what to say to him, so I say nothing. I just, slowly. move to my bedroom and hope I can get the door locked. Maybe it'll buy me enough time to get the gun ready. I know you, Tiffany.

Better than anyone else could. So far, all this guy has gotten right about me is my name and the fact that I date. He reaches to the small of his back, and I see my chances of surviving this. Drop. In his hand is the bolt gun I keep under my bed. Seven months of loving you. I know your secrets.

He tosses the gun far behind him, and I am done for. I know I have never been one for lifting weights or going to the gym. This guy, he's easily got 60 pounds on me, and a lot of that is muscle. I'll go for the eyes and groin, but I'm not going to win this. Might as well ask the one question I know we'll drive. him into a rage. Who the hell are you? It was so fast.

I never saw it coming. The back of his hand slammed into my face with a loud slap, and I landed on the floor. He's on top of me in an instant, his hands on my throat, squeezing so slowly. I work three cubicles away from you, whore. I have loved you all this time, and you never even know that.

me. His hand squeeze harder, and it's getting difficult to breathe. The pressure builds in my head as blood flows in but can't flow out. Whoever this is, he knows how to choke someone in order to draw it out, making it very painful. I am the love you wished for. I never wished for this, but it is justice in a way. My last living thought is, that I'm glad. Maybe now I can be free of my pain from heartache. It'll all be gone and fade into nothing as I drift off into the black. To nothing. Black is all that I see, the absence of everything. I am dead, but I still have consciousness, the very thing I hope to be rid of. My throat doesn't hurt anymore. But I can't feel anything at all. Like I don't have a body. Out of the black,

a dark, slender figure appears. He wears undiscernible black clothing with an odd little mohawk, black glasses, and a douchebag mustache. He's not physically imposing, but there's a weight to his presence that screams ancient and powerful. Like a God or deity. When he communicates, there's no movement to his mouth or words for that matter. I understand because he wills me to. The nothingness surrounding us is gone as this thing shows me events of the past. First is my relationship with Leo, starting with the moment I saw him.

When my obsession began, I watch as. as 14-year-old me sneaks up on a girl in the locker room at school, and I break her leg with a baseball bat. Rita was dating Leo at the time, and I persuaded her to break up with him. After that, I integrate myself into Leo's social circle, maneuvered people around until I was his girlfriend. Re-watching our love, I see where things started to turn. Sometimes after school he wanted to hang out with his friends, but I wanted him all to myself. The boy's only camping trip he went on against my wishes, and how I watched him all weekend from the trees after I tried to crash. The holiday break he spent in another state with his family and refused to let me come.

I did everything for him. Let him use my body in every way he desired, but it wasn't enough. I needed more. Finally, the fight that ended it all, two and a half years of love, gone. He woke up confused and tied to a chair in the barn. I stood naked in front of him. His semen still sticky on my thighs and inside me. We never used condoms.

I always wanted to feel him bare inside of me. After making love for the last time, I slipped the needle into his neck when he fell asleep. There was a whole speech about how much I loved him, that I couldn't stand the thought of him leaving me. He was going to leave me. I heard him say it to his friends. That's why I talked him into having sex one more time. Kissing him goodbye, I put the bolt gun to his head and pulled the. the trigger. The sadness I felt back then is still here with me, the same intensity as the first time. My eyes were full of tears as I removed his hair and teeth, dismembered the body into small pieces. I looked into his dead eyes and wept as I tossed them into the pig pen with all the other

parts. The man in black shows the other three relationships that mimic this one. They all played out the same way. All the way down to them tied to a chair, a kiss goodbye, and being slaughtered, then fed to the pigs. All this I knew before. What I don't understand is why he's showing me this. The scene changes from me throwing Rocco's bits into the pens to me in an antique shop. This was seven months ago during a lunch break, and I was looking for something to go in my cubicle at work. I didn't end up buying anything, but I did put my hands on a lot of trinkets. I rubbed an old oil lamp and made a wish. But of course nothing happened.

After that, I found monkeys' paw and remembered the old story. All the fingers were curled up into a fist, save for one. Hopeful, I clutched the tree. drink it and made my wish. Something moved in my hand, and I threw the paw to the table. The last finger curled up to complete the whole fist. Immediately, I looked around the shop for the man I loved. Rocco.

At the time of this incident, I hadn't murdered Rocco yet. I did read his text messages with his sister saying how crazy I was. So I knew the end was coming. The wish I made was for the one that would come after Rocco. Instead of showing me what happened next, the scene moves back to the office. A man sits at his desk, paperwork in hand and his eyes glued to it.

Then something catches his eye, amber red hair moving past his cubicle, and his eyes. grow wide. This is the man that murdered me. His obsession started off slow, taking coffee breaks just outside the break room so he could look at me in my cubicle.

He began leaving the office the same time I did, whether his work was done or not. He'd ride in the elevator with me, smell my hair, and follow me to my car. His assigned parking spot wasn't far from mine, so it didn't seem suspicious to anyone. The man in black then shows me the build-up of this man I never noticed, his obsession growing to such dangerous peaks. At least four times, he peeked in through my bedroom window and masturbated as he watched my sleeping body lie.

All the dates I'd been on in the last few months. This creep watched me from his car. He started seeing things that didn't happen. He started seeing things that didn't happen. Delusions of me being sexual with each man. Delusions that I told him I was taunting him by doing these things with all these guys. And never him. He was plain enough that he easily faded into the background.

Kept going unnoticed by more than just me. What I find was. worse about this whole situation. This guy never spoke a word to me until the night he murdered me. It never occurred to him to simply walk up to me and strike up a conversation. Not a hello in passing or even a head tilt in my general direction to acknowledge my existence. He did this more to himself than I did to him. If you ignore the whole wish part. Watching your own murder is probably the single most disturbing thing anyone can witness. This coming from a woman who used to dismember her lovers

while their love juices were still wet and sticky on her thighs. The scene doesn't stop at my death. It shows me what happened after, too. My murderer, who I now know is named Doug, holds my still form and whispers, This wasn't about sex or power. He strokes my hair while looking into my eyes with longing. This was about love so strong that it consumes you.

Nearly identical to the words I used in my wish. Doug surgically cuts my body down to pieces, small enough to store in food containers. There are a lot of them. and it's an interesting way to transport a body. I always killed and dismembered the bodies in the barn, made it so much easier to feed them to the pigs, and cut down on the exposure risk, figuring I'm going to see my own body disposal next.

I'm shocked at the method. Over the course of several weeks, Doug eats one container at a time until there's nothing left but my disarticulated skeleton. At this point, all that's left is to show me my place in hell, because I'm definitely not lucky enough to fade into nothingness. Obviously, heaven isn't an option for the likes of me. If that were the case,

I wouldn't have just lived through my worst sins and an explanation behind my own murder. Big surprise, I'm wrong again. I can feel when the man in black's attention is back on me. The weight of his stare is so intense it has a physical effect on me, regardless of the feeling like I don't have a body anymore. He uses his eerie non-communication way to explain what's going on. Heaven and hell have nothing to do with what's happening to me.

The entity before me is a visual representation of the magical presence from inside the monkey's paw at the antique shop. I am in this nothingness because I died as a result of the wish I made. Everyone who has ever made a wish off the monkey's paw, or whatever physical manifestation it takes on throughout time, and died, ends up in a dimension separate from heaven, hell, and purgatory. The souls in this hellish dimension are subject to alterations that go way beyond the physical. There are all sorts of creatures and monsters.

Some that I've never heard about. With my actions in life, the entity believes I'll make an excellent succubis. I slowly feel my physical presence returning. It's my body, exactly as it was before my death. But there are differences. Understanding and identifying these changes is going to take some time. But my outer self appears unaltered. I'm even wearing the same outfit I wore on my date.

Light begins to glow in the distance, small and specific. The nothingness has been replaced with a large cavern. It's massive and difficult to make out with such poor lighting. The light comes from a tunnel and the entity gestures for me to follow. Together, we walk through the tunnel toward that red light. A few minutes and we're outside. Some distance from a city made of wood. People and monsters roam the streets and outskirts like an open-world online multiplayer game.

I just happen to be a monster. and I can do whatever I wish. There's only one thing to say. Welcome to Nifflame. 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 Creative Commons Sherrillite licensing or with written consent from the authors.

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