Creepy - Merry Christmas from the Gas Station, Parts 1 & 2

Episode Date: December 23, 2019

Merry Christmas...***Written by Gas Station Jack with guest narration by Owen McCuen, Alicia Atkins, Nate Dufort and Bex Carlos***For more from Jack check out https://www.amazon.com/dp/173282780X and https://www.amazon.com/dp/1083097288***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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slash creepy pod. A quick happy holidays to all our listeners out there. The story we're about to present was written in five parts. We're posting two parts today, two tomorrow, and the final episode on Christmas Eve, December 24th. We decided to do this because we know some listeners prefer shorter episodes versus the almost two-hour runtime of the total story, but also, many of you, myself included, still have to work this week,

and I figured you might like to break things up a little bit. If you want to hear the full story, it's already been posted on our Patreon feed as a single episode. This has easily been our most requested story series, and I've been getting a lot of requests lately. So I hope you all enjoy. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling, and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or our simply fabrications is for you to.

decide. These stories may contain graphic decisions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. Merry Christmas from the gas station. Written by Gas Station Jack. In case you've been following along with the events of the gas station on my blog, I apologize that my website was taken down so abruptly. For some reason, the City Council found my public record of local events to be troubling. To the point that they hired a fancy Orwellian legal team to bear me in cease and desist, I tried fighting back, but as of last week, it looks like my entire site has been retroactively erased from existence.

Presumably, these are the same guys who've been scribbing all mention of our town from the internet. I know that these are not the sort of people you're supposed to pick a fight with, but after what happened to Gregory Fitz, I feel I have a responsibility to continue journaling in one form or another. Some of you who followed my blog may remember Greg is the lawyer who volunteered to help out pro bono after I started getting pushed back from the concerned members of the city council. He even drove all the way out here last week just to have a talk with them. I'm very sorry to say that they found his remains yesterday in a hotel room, locked from the inside, of course. Officially his death has been declared suicide. But before it was sealed, Deputy O'Brien managed to get a look at the police report, which claims he died of blood loss while attempting to eat his own head.

hands. Admittedly, I didn't know Greg all that well, but that just doesn't seem like something he would do. Anyway, until I can figure things out with the website, I've decided to continue chronicling the events of my day-to-day here. If you haven't been following my blog and I've absolutely no idea who I am, that's okay too. Let me just say that there are only two things you need to know that will bring you completely up to speed. I work at the shitty 24-hour gas station at the edge of town. And weird things happen there. The owners decided to hire a third full-time clerk.

And I don't know if it's because you're getting tired of all the part-timers mysteriously disappearing, or if it's because they finally decided to fire Jerry. Or maybe they just know that my time here is running out, and they're hoping I can train in my own replacement before it's too late. Her name is Rosa. And despite her eager optimism, I guess she's pretty cool. She's a couple years younger than me. smart, very capable, and has exhibited a level of confidence that I would categorize as

not at all like Jerry, which is something I think owners were really looking for in a new employee. The flip side, though, is that she's always asking questions that I don't have answers to. Why are there so many missing persons flyers on the bulletin board? What's with all the mold on the ceiling? Who's the guy in the trench coat that hangs out near the dumpster at all hours of the night? What's in these boxes labeled Nana Prere? The owners asked Rosa to start immediately, as my shadow for this week's overnight shifts. You might think the owners would shut the place down for a couple hours for the holidays,

but you would be wrong. It took a literal court order to make them close their doors for a weekend last month after we found a mummified corpse in the walls. But that's the story for another time. She came into the gas station just as the sun was beginning to set, and we started with the basics. How to clock in, how to open a till, how to turn on the pump, And I gave her the same speech I give all the new employees.

Look, there are a bunch of rules to working at any job. We're no different. Show up on time, wear clothing, don't feed the raccoons, the store telephone is for paying customers only. 25 cents a minute, prepaid only no exceptions. And just like every job, there are unwritten rules. Here, that second list is a little longer. If something seems weird he tried to use. ignore it. In fact, the more you ignore it, the better off you'll be. Don't keep track of time.

Don't go off investigating weird noises on your own. Don't touch the garden gnomes to green hats. Why? What's wrong with gnomes with green hats? Sometimes they bite. They send a few employees to urgent care for stitches. Wow. What about the customers? Most of them bite too. Okay. What can you tell me about, you know? She whispered this next part with a sly grin. The animals. This was the moment I first realized that Roses steadfast and defiant curiosity might become a problem. What about the animals?

I heard a rumor from Jerry that in the woods, far out here past the edge of town, are full of strange fawn. And sometimes when night falls, the inhabitants of the forest get brave and wander. closer to the gas station. She said the whole thing in that stupid, spooky Vincent Price voice used when reading ghost stories to a group of first graders. Jerry, you idiot. Look, Jerry says and smokes a lot of things.

I wouldn't pay him much attention. He also told me something else. Is it true you can't fall asleep? Yeah, it's true. That's pretty cool. No, not really. Right on Q. Jerry walked into the gas station wearing nothing but a wife beater, jeans, and a camo trucker hat covered in fresh snow.

Some people like to go home once their shift ends. Some people even managed to stay away from their place of employment all the way until their next shift begins. But as he reminds me time and time again, Jerry is not some people. You guys, it's colder than a stepmother's kiss out there. As usually, he didn't wait for any response. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelf, then walked up Dorosa and pointed a pack of Marlborough. What are you doing? Aren't you freezing? Well, yeah. Didn't you hear what I just said? I'm cold as a witch's dick.

Ross handed over a pack of cigarettes and rang him up, saying... I don't think that's how that expression goes. You ever felt a witch's dick? It's pretty freaking cold. She chuckled. Does that pickup line ever work? You'd be surprised. She gave juries total, but he just winked at her. said.

Put it on my employee tab. Before turning around and walking back out into the falling snow. Russell looked at me with a confused expression. Uh, how do I ring something up under an employee tab? We don't have employee tabs. So... Yeah, Jerry just robbed us. The night passed like most, boring and slow.

The snowstorming kicked into high gear, dropping the customer count to a trickle. maybe one or two per hour. It didn't take long to show the new girl everything there was to the job. Before too long, my brain was back on autopilot and I was relaxing in a chair with an open book about a hard-boiled big city detective. Or else I took the utterly pointless initiative to clean the place up a little. I think the dullness of the job was really starting to test their limits. The grind of long hours and the space between those events that form memories is where I like to hide,

where I can relax, and wait, and forget. about all the things knocking at the door in my mind. How many days have passed since the last thing you slept? I wonder what she who should not be named is doing right now. She promised to do this each other again. Will your mind still be intact when the disease takes you? Do you think she'll come to your funeral? Yep.

Take those thoughts and push them back into the vault and focus on the shitty book you bought from the library clearance sale. Around midnight, rosted right up to the cone with a cardboard box and said, I looked up to see an enormous smile on her face. Yo, check out what I found in the storage closet. Before I could say, no thanks, she flipped the box upside down and dumped the contents onto the counter. There's a giant tangle ball of Christmas lights, plastic garland, holiday decorations, and freshly dead mice. Oh.

She sad, her smile instantly evaporating. I didn't know about the mice. I put my book down and started refilling the books. box while she went and found some napkins to wrap up the rodents. About an hour later, the decorations were back in the storage room. The mice were all stuffed together in an old shoe box, and I was leaning against my crutches and the pouring snow while rosa dug a tiny grave. There was something particularly cathartic about watching everybody else dig a hole next to the gas

station, thinking to myself that if she only knew all the things that had happened with that shovel, I highly doubt she would be so gung-ho about putting her fingerprints all over it. I selected one of the few spots where we hadn't already buried something horrific. Now once the mice were in the ground, Rosa gave a short eulogy. Christmas mice, oh Christmas mice, how we never knew ye. I'm sorry you all died in a box, in the supply closet, but I'm grateful that at least you didn't have to die alone. We pray that you don't hunt this gas station.

Instead, may you find peace in your heaven or whatever your mouse religion equivalent is. Probably Valhalla. When they say not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, we will know that it wasn't for lack of trying. She looked at me and asked. Anything to add? My mind jumped to a short list of mouse-based puns. But instead I decided to go with this. Yeah.

Somebody once came into the gas station trying to be a dick. He told me that I was nothing but a little mouse. I think he mentioned it as an insult. I didn't take offense. She nodded. That was really nice. As we started making our way back to the gas station, I heard a voice from just beyond the tree line whisper.

Rosa stopped and looked back. Did you hear that? The freezing wind carried with it a noise that almost sounded like children giggling as it blew against the back of my neck. Nope. Let's go back inside. It was sometime later when the store phone rang.

I'd gone to supply closet to grab a bucket of salt for the front step, so Rosa was the one to pick up. I could hear her side of the conversation and didn't think too much about it until I heard the very last word. It's not bad, I think. This is my first day here. Oh, I like it. I think it's going to be a lot of fun. Rosa. Yeah, actually.

He is right here. Did you want to talk to him? Sure thing. I'll let him know. You too, Spencer. Then she hung up the phone. Ah, shit. She smiled at me and said.

That was a friend of yours? Spencer Middleton. Yeah. Once again, I watched a happy smile disappear. I guess you could tell from the look on my face that this was not good news. I need to make a phone call. Then I think it's probably about a... time I told you something.

Back in high school, we all pretty much knew that Spencer was a certifiable psychopath, but growing up in a small, boring, podunk town, we didn't have the social framework to process this sort of thing. Finding him the help he needed was simply not a feasible option, and most people just set a prayer form and called it done. At one point, the principal delegated the responsibility of the school counselor-slash-jim coach, who tried talking to Spencer about his feelings. But all that was just the equivalent of putting a band-eastern.

date on a grease fire. There was a rumor around that time that Spencer was the one who had killed all those dogs. But when I told my mother about this, she just looked at me and said, Well, then don't go near him with any dogs. After dropping out, he joined the army and worked his way up to the ranks until somebody recognized his, let's say, talents, and gave him a special assignment in black budget program specializing and enhanced interrogation techniques, which is just a flashy way of saying torture. There's no official record of any of this, and the only reason I know is because he told me all this one night to pass a time while I dug my own grave of gunpoint.

I managed to pick his pocket while he was distracted with the bloodlust blinders, sent an SOS text from his phone to Deputy O'Brien, showed up just in time to arrest him before he could follow through. But Spencer escaped captivity after only a few days, and for the last couple months has been a wanted but elusive fugitive. Sometimes he calls me at work to remind me of the good times we had together. and to assure me that he'll be seeing me again soon. I don't know if it's luck that has kept him from killing me, or if the sadist in him is prolonging this intentionally. Tonight he told Rosa to tell me the do's in the area.

As for why Spencer wants to kill me, let me simply say that maybe I deserve it and maybe I don't, and we should leave it at that. The first thing I did was call O'Brien, but it went straight to voicemail. The second thing I did was to all this to Roseanne. Also, we'll listen patiently until I finish to ask obvious question. So, do you have a gunner or anything in case he comes back?

No, I'm not really a gun guy. Ninja Stars, Bazooka, Flamethrower, Chainsaw, any sort of weapon at all? No. Well, shit. Maybe you deserve to be killed. Should we lock the doors or something? Yeah, that's another thing. Spencer knows how to get inside the gas station even when the doors are locked

He's done it a couple times before and we haven't made him able to figure out how Crane else terrifying about him that you want to tell me I once saw Spencer get his head cut halfway off and bleed out on the gas station floor and still somehow came back without any lasting damage No, not really The gas station doors swung open causing him gross to squeak and jump Hey guys Said the inebriated man in the oversized fur coat as he staggered into the store. Hi, Jerry.

Where are you been? Y'all know the roads are all shut down. He said avoiding the question. It didn't matter. I already knew the answer. What about the roads? Jerry braced himself against a frozen drink machine and answered. Yeah, it's been all over the radio.

If you were a little closer, I probably would have smacked him. God knows he deserved it. Really, Jerry? the radio? We're not supposed to talk about it, but some time ago, Jerry started a pet project building a POW's-Stel shortwave radio just to see if you could. He uncoiled an old brillo pad and wrapped her on a toilet paper roll for an inductor, went vulture on a bunch of electronics and storage,

and eventually ended up with something that actually picked up a few low-quality AM country stations. It also picked up something else. Signal is always weak, but if we put the radio in just the radio, right spot, we can hear a man with a Slavic accent reading or discussing news relevant to our town in short, simple, choppy sentences. The weird thing is, he's always talking, no matter what, 24 hours a day without taking any breaks and never repeating himself. He talks about the people in town, with they're eating for dinner, how many pairs of shoes they own, their favorite colors and numbers, random facts, sometimes connected, sometimes not. We did a couple of experiences. We did a couple of

and learn that the radio signal gets a little stronger the further we go into the woods. Once we get past a gas station heading into town, the signal drops to nothing. We listened to him off and on for a few days as a way to stave off boredom during slow shifts. But eventually we started to get a little concerned. The things he reported on were always so specific and bizarre. And somewhat what the voice reported, nobody should have been able to know. Who didn't love who anymore? What high school student was about to find out she was pregnant?

Which local business was about to see a random health inspector visit? How many days the milk at the grocery store had left before it turned bad? And who was going to buy it and when? We had theorized that it was just an elaborate work of fiction until one day the voice announced Sean Buckley's death in a car accident eight hours before it happened.

Then the voice started talking about us, talking to us even. After that night, we made a pact and never listened to that radio again. And to add the transmission to the long list of try and forget stories. I think when most people swear on their lives not to do something again, they don't do it. Did I mention that Jerry isn't most people? Oh, there's a freak snowstorm, the worst one in a decade. All the roads leading into town are

completely impassable. You know the drill, mandatory curfew, state of emergency, cats and dogs living together. Jerry waved his arms in there dramatically. Two dead, one missing. He grabbed a cup, filled with cherry cola-flavored frozen drink, and started to to down it. If all the roads are impassable, then where the hell did you just come from? Remember that thing I told you about ignoring the weird stuff? Jerry screamed. What is it?

Brain freeze. Well, at least we still have... Right then the power well, leaving the gas station in complete pitch blackness. I used my phone's flashlight until I could find their box of emergency supplies, then somehow managed to drag it from the storage room with one hand while holding both crutches in the other. I'm sure Jerry was just being kind by allowing me to do it on my own so I could retain my independence and sense of worth. But seriously, dude, you see me dragging this heavy-ass thing? You really not going to offer to help?

Once I made it to the front of the store, Jerry sat down cross-legged and started going through the box, handing supplies out to the four of us. I packed plenty of extra batteries, half a dozen flashlights, some bottled water and emergency rations, Matches, flares, and more than enough... Wait a second. Four of us. Holy shit! I yelled fumbling with a flashlight, Jerry, just handed me.

After a painfully awkward few seconds, I managed to get the damn thing to turn on, and I pointed it at the other shadows standing in the room. Jerry, Rosa, Deputy O'Brien. You mind not pointing that thing right in my eyes? Deputy Amelia O'Brien was the latest in an ever-growing list of deputy babysitters assigned to the gas station, dating all the way back to as long as I can remember. Some of them died. One of them went crazy.

And then there's her. A tough as Bricks' Brooklyn transplant with an itchy trigger finger and a long history of giving as many fucks as there are a planet's name Pluto. She was a very welcome sight. Sorry, I said pointing it back down. When did you get here? Just now while you were off Bumble fucking around in the closet. I called a check on you 30 minutes ago, but nobody answered. and I nearly killed myself ten times driving through this blizzard to get here.

What the hell happened? Rosa perked up. Oh, we were probably outside during the funeral when you called. She unsnapped the gun from her holster and said. What? I explained quickly. It was for a bunch of mice. Jerry bristled.

And you didn't invite me? Where Brian shook her head and said. That actually does not clear anything up. I took a deep breath and broke. the bad news. It's a good thing you hear, though. Spencer called again, said he's in the area. Jerry opened one of the merchants he packed the jerky and took a bite,

then said, That kid is so in love with you. The deputy raised an eyebrow to the new girl and asked. Who are you? Hi, I'm Rosa. It's my first day. Amelia O'Brien. Really? You don't look like an O'Brien. What does an O'Brien look like?

An awkward silence followed. Then Jerry broke him by exclaiming, Hey, we finally passed the Bechdale test. This is a nice change of pace. Usually when we end up trapped at the gas station is a total sausage fest. Usually? This has happened before?

Once or twice. O'Brien spoke into her walking mic. Dispatch, this is O'Brien. Do you read me? Over. Silence. Dispatch. Are you hearing me? Over. More silence.

She sighed and dug a dollar out of her pocket, handing it over to me and said, I need to use the store phone. Before I could even take the money, the phone started ringing. She shot me a look and said, Hey, crutches, pick it up and put it on speaker. Without thinking, I tucked the flashlight into my mouth and crossed the counter. When I got there, I reached to answer, then immediately spat the flashlight out and yelled, Oh my God!

What? O'Brien shot back. I put that in my mouth. And mice could have done weird stuff to it. it and I put it in my mouth. The phone rang a couple more times before O'Brien said. Just answer the damn phone. I did.

Hello. I press the button to switch on speakerphone. Hi, Spencer. Who's your new friend? I looked at O'Brien who made a weird hand gesture that could have meant keep him talking or, Yehaw, let's rob this bank. Given the current context, I assumed it was a former. Oh, her.

That girl you talked to earlier is my new jujid. Tzu instructor. Had to fire the last one because he said he'd already taught me everything he knew. We're getting pretty rad since the last time I saw you. Also, I'm taller now. O'Brien pulled out her service pistol, criss-crossed it with her flashlight in the opposite hand and started pointing at each of the windows and doors. Jerry always looks drunk.

Hey! Jerry yelled with a hiccup. O'Brien took the phone from me and slammed into the cradle before yelling. Everybody get away from the window right now! Jack, take the others and lock yourselves in the storage closet. Go! I sighed and said, fine. The next few hours are pretty damn boring.

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