Creepy - Miles

Episode Date: June 8, 2026

Miles (starts at 2:14)***Written by: JT Johnson and Narrated by: Michelle Kane***Content warning: child abuse/neglect***The Bottle in Ice (starts at 30:40)***Written by: Joshua Bryant and Narrated by: Nate DuFort***Content warnings: child sexual abuse, animal death***I Used To Be a Trauma Surgeon (starts at 54:12)***Written by: Ryan Peacock***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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 simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence. and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. It is so cold in here.

Honestly, I do not know what the deal is with this place. No one ever gets back to me about the notes that I leave out. No responses to my emails. I just spend all night listening to these old recordings. Sometimes I forget why I'm here in the first place, trying to catalog and digitize all these old airings, even the ones that don't make sense. the ones that sound like the feed interruptions we keep having to deal with on the show.

The only thing I can think of is that something about running the digitization through my laptop is bleeding through to other systems. But honestly, I don't know enough about computers to understand why. And short of completely deleting the podcast feed, I'm not sure that I can do anything to change that. The hosting site can't do anything because they say the audio is getting uploaded through my account, so I don't know. Hopefully they don't get too weird.

For now, let's just roll into our weekly stories. I didn't bring a hoodie since it's about 80 degrees outside, and the sooner I can get out of here, the better. First up, a troubled young girl's sessions with a child psychologist reveal a frightening relationship with her mysterious imaginary friend, whose influence seems to follow her wherever she goes. From writer J.T. Johnson and narrated by Michelle Cain, Crippy Presents

Miles The following transcript was partially recovered from Dr. Harold M. Lenny. His ongoing research with patient, redacted, was incomplete due to a technological error and failure to upload to the software. The following transcript will be included in his thesis on imaginary friends and children. Location of patient, redacted. remains inconclusive. Please see Dr. Redacted for Unrestored File Access. Patient Redacted. H-7. Symptoms include visual and auditory hallucinations. Patient displays outward aggression and acute agitation.

Patient displays physical violence to others and to self. Twenty-four-hour surveillance is advised. Psychosis Prognosis. Inconclusive. Further testing and sessions recommended. You aren't supposed to talk about it. That's what they keep saying. They pinch their faces up like they ate sour candy and say, Don't say that again or you're going to bed. They yell a lot. That's fine. Miles says they're stupid. Miles doesn't like it when people yell at me. I get to see a doctor. doctor now? His name is Mr. Lenny, but he says most kids call him Mr. Lemon because he likes yellow. That's okay. But Miles doesn't like him. That's all for now. Bye. Today I got to go see Mr. Lemon again. His office smells like candy, and he said we could color. He even had a new packet of crayons with

pointy tips. I really liked that. We drew my mommy and daddy and my big brother. Eddie. I also drew Mr. Lemon, a bunch of lemons, smiling. He said he would put it up on his wall. I think that's pretty cool. He asked if I could draw Miles. I almost did, but Miles got really mad. When Miles gets mad, he gets really big, and I like that. But when Miles is mad, he can get mean to people, and I don't like that as much. Well, sometimes, I do. I'm not supposed to talk about it. I didn't draw Miles because I like Mr. Lemon. He said it was okay that I didn't want to. Then we played with toys. I don't feel like talking anymore. Bye. I am not happy today. My new mommy and daddy said I can't talk about Miles anymore. They said Miles

isn't real and is a pigment of my imagination. I don't know what that means, but it made Miles very mad. Sometimes I like when Miles gets mad. Sometimes Miles makes everything better. He likes to stomp and shout, and he can be as loud as he wants because mommies and daddies can't hear him. Don't tell anyone that. That's one of Miles' secrets. My new mommy fell down the stairs. today. New Daddy got very mad at me and asked if I pushed her. What did you do, you little? Well, he said a naughty word. I won't say it. Anyway, new mommy had to go to the hospital, and new daddy said I had to leave. Good. I hope my new home doesn't make me stop talking to Miles. I have to go, bye. I don't like Mr. Lemon very much today.

even if he has fun toys and silly music. He wanted to talk about my new mommy, and that made me mad. Miles said if I don't want to talk, I should play the Dead Doll game. Miles says grown-ups hate that game, and he was right. I laid on the floor and pretended to be a dead doll. You can't make Dead Dolls talk? Not ever. Mr. Lemon said it was okay if I didn't want to talk.

He said he understood things might be very scary right now. Mr. Lemon is stupid. I'm going to go play with Miles. Bye. My new mommy went to be with Jesus. New Daddy said it was all my fault. A nice policeman came and asked me questions. The old lady who drives me to my new home stayed with me the whole time.

She smells kind of funny, but she made sure the policeman was nice to me. Miles says the old lady is yucky. He says yucky things should be thrown away. I told Miles not to throw away the old lady. She brings me places and I'm not big enough to drive. Maybe Miles can drive. I have the new mommy and daddy again. Their names are...

I can't remember their names. But they said I can call them Mommy and Daddy if I want. They even said it was okay if I had. talk to Miles. New Mommy said she had an imaginary friend, too. I wish people knew Miles wasn't imaginary. But if they did, he'd probably go to jail for hurting old mommy and real mommy. And Eddie, too. I'm not supposed to talk about it. I get to see Mr. Lemon today. I hope he has candy. New mommy and new daddy, don't have much candy here and I miss it. Okay, bye. Miles got big mad today. He was roaring and stomping and one of the other kids here saw him and started to cry. I hate

crying. I hate crying babies and I told Miles to shut the crying baby up. Miles likes it when I ask him to help me. The old lady asked me, what did I do to my new brother? I said nothing. She asked me if Miles hurt my new brother, and I didn't lie because lying means you go to hell. So I said yes. She asked me what Miles did and made me talk into a silly box that recorded my voice, kind of like this, I guess. I said my new brother was being a big crybaby pants, and Miles shut him up. I said sorry for saying shut up because those aren't nice words. The old lady looked very sad and mad when I said that. She asked, well, how did she make George be quiet then?

I guess my new brother's name was George. I said I couldn't tell. It was a big secret, and Miles hates it when I say secrets. The old lady said I would be seeing Mr. Lippon soon, and I can't stay with my new mommy and daddy. That's fine, I guess. It's time to go see Mr. Lemon. Bye.

Mr. Lemon was really cool today. He even said Miles sounded like a really good friend. He said every kid should have a nice guy like Miles, and that made me laugh. He wants to find his own Miles, and I said I'd try to help him. Miles said no. He said Mr. Lemon is a sneakie.

sneaky snake and should be shut up like George was. I'm glad Miles listens to me because I like Mr. Lemon. Maybe Miles is just cranky. Anyways, Mr. Lemon asked if I was sad about my new mommy and my old new brother, and I had to lie and say yes. But, shh, because I'm not sad, not even a little. Mr. Lemon asked if I could draw Miles today and Miles said yes. I did my bestest job making sure Miles looked good.

Mr. Lemon didn't have a red crayon today, so I had to use pink. That made Miles look extra silly. Miles didn't like that he looked silly. He didn't get mad, though. When Mr. Lemon saw it, his face went all funny. He asked if Miles said if Miles said, scares me. I said no, but then I whispered in the beginning he did. Miles didn't like that either. I hope Miles leaves Mr. Lemon alone. The old lady's getting me McDonald's for dinner, so bye.

The old lady is no fun. She's a no fun butthead, and I hate staying with her. She said I have to stay with her until she finds me a lobster home, or a roster home. I don't remember the word. She told me it's not my fault, and she'll find me a nice family soon. Miles wants to eat her up. He said she'll be yucky, but he won't mind. Miles likes to eat lots of yucky things. He even ate that cry baby George.

Oops, don't tell anyone that. Okay, bye. Miles ate the old lady. I told him not to, but he might. did. She even saw him. I couldn't believe it, but she saw my Miles and she tried to scream. But Miles is fast and big. He jumped her up and it was so yucky. I even threw up. I guess I don't like it when Miles eats messy. It was like a messy spaghetti dinner. It made me kind of sad. I hope old new brother George didn't cry the way

the old lady did. I'm glad I get to see Mr. Lemon tomorrow. He's a nice friend. Mr. Lemon asked me if Miles hurt the old lady. He called her Patty. This made me laugh because it sounds like crabby Patty. I said yes. I told him not to tell because I didn't want Miles to get in trouble. Mr. Lemon asked if Miles is the one who pushed my first brother down the stairs. I made Miles mad because I told Mr. Lemon I'm not supposed to talk about it. But Mr. Lemon is very nice and said he would make sure Miles didn't go to jail. I guess that's okay. I wish he didn't eat the old lady.

Who will take me to my new mommies and daddies now? Mr. Lemon asked me what happened to my real mommy and daddy, but Miles got very mad and roared. It was so loud, my ears hurt. And I think Mr. Lemon got a little. little scared. He can't see Miles, but he saw something, I think, because he said it was time to be done for the day. I hope Miles stops being so hungry. A nice police lady came today and brought me a sandwich and french fries. She said she was doing her job and asked me some questions. I said,

okay, because I'm a big kid and I like to help. She told me to tell her what Miles did, and I felt. really naughty, but I said okay. Because Miles should know, I am not happy he ate up the old lady. Old lady crabby-patti. The police lady was really nice and smiled the whole time. Even when I told her how Miles slurped up the old lady arms like big fat noodles. Yucky. She said I did a very good job and gave me a sticker. It looks like a star and it's shiny. really liked it, but Miles got mad and ripped it up. Maybe Miles isn't a very good friend anymore. I asked Mr. Lemon if he could get Miles to go away. Miles is starting to scare me now, and I don't like it. He growls and shakes my bed and pulls my hair. He even makes me do bad things. I didn't mean to

write the bad words on the wall, but Miles made me do it. I'm staying. in a home with a lot of other kids. Some of them are really mean and called me a word I don't remember, but they say it a lot and it makes Miles laugh. I don't like it when Miles laughs. I got in big trouble for writing the bad words on the wall. The mean man locked me in my room for a whole day and then called Mr. Lemon. I told Mr. Lemon, Miles isn't being a good friend anymore. He said he would help me. Now I'm scared for Mr. Lemma. I hope Miles leaves him alone. Bye. Miles made me hurt a girl today. He said the little girl was a big, meany pants, and told me to make her go away. I didn't want to make her go away. I thought she was nice, and she always shared her toys with me. Miles said she was only

pretending to be nice. Miles said she was actually mean and called me names when I wasn't a around. And that made me angry, but I didn't want to hurt her. I don't think I did. Miles said I did want to hurt her. And that's why I did it. But that's not true. Miles made me do it. I hope Mr. Lemon lets me see him soon. I don't want to go to jail for hurting that little girl. Bye. Mr. Lemon asked me to draw Miles again. But this time he wanted me to draw all the ways Miles hurt my old mommy and daddy, even Eddie. I don't like to talk about that, but I did because I know Mr. Lemon is trying to help me. When I was drawing Miles hurting Mommy and Daddy, Miles started breaking the pictures on the wall. He even ripped up the picture I made for Mr. Lemon. Mr. Lemon started shouting when Miles did that and got very

scared. Miles made a big, big mess, and I didn't get to finish my drawing. I hope Mr. Lemon isn't mad at me. Bye. I don't get to see Mr. Lemon anymore. The new doctor lady said Mr. Lemon had a very bad accident. No one will tell me if Mr. Lemon is okay, but Miles said he ate him up. He said he ate him up very slow. and made sure Mr. Lemon cried a whole lot. That made me cry. I don't like Miles anymore. I wish he would go away. The new doctor lady is named Lisa.

She isn't as smiley as Mr. Lemon was, and she doesn't have candy. She likes to talk about Miles, and that makes Miles angry. He even broke the pictures on her was, but she didn't yell at Miles. She yelled at me. I said, I'm not.

not doing it. I said Miles is doing it. She even asked a man in a white shirt and white pants to give me a shot and it hurted a whole lot. I cried until I fell asleep. And when I woke up, I was in a big room with a bed and a bunch of things that go beep, beep, beep. I even have wires on my head. The nice nurseman said I can pretend to be a robot. I like him. I get to still talk into this little box, they said, because it helps the doctors understand me. That's okay, I guess. Okay, bye.

That mean Lisa lady is gone. The nice nurseman said she found a new job far away. Miles said that was a lie. That the nice nurseman is a fibber, and the Miles made her car go crash, crash, boom. That's okay. She was a mean old booger lady anyways. I wish Miles would be nice again.

He says maybe he should eat me too. I'm very scared. I wish Mr. Lemon could help me. Bye. My name is Susie Steppel. They said I should say my name, so hi, I'm Susie. I used to have a mommy and a daddy and a brother named Eddie. But my imaginary friend Miles hurted them very bad.

The new doctor says I shouldn't see that. They says I should say the truth, even if it makes me very sad. The new doctor says, I need to stop talking about Miles. He says, I did the bad things. I didn't do the bad things. I'm Susie, not Miles. He wished Miles had never crawled out from under my bed. Bye.

The new doctor says I'm untabled. or something. A new doctor is a very mean and keeps saying I'm lying. I take yucky pills now and they make me feel icky. I sleep a lot now and I don't like playing much anymore.

Miles likes to pull my hair and scratch me and it makes me mad. When I get mad, the mean doctor comes and gives me more shots. They hurt a lot. My arm is always sore now. Miles says he will eat me up soon. I'm very scared.

I miss Mr. Lemon. I miss old mommy and daddy. I don't miss Eddie. Okay, bye. Today, a lady and a man came from the government. They had a big folder with lots of pictures and papers inside. I don't know how to read that good yet. And the man said that it was A-OK.

I thought that was funny. I'm still very sleepy. They said the medicine I take can make me sleepy, but I can stop taking them if I try and get better. I don't like this place with the mean doctor and the mean nurses. No one is very happy here, and I think that makes Miles happy. Miles is hungry again. He says he's going to eat up a little boy who cries a lot.

I hate cry babies, but I hope he leaves that little boy alone. I told him not to eat that sad boy. And he roared at me and shook me real bad. My head hurts now. The mean doctor said I had an episode. I don't understand because I wasn't watching TV. The mean doctor is stupid. If Miles eats anyone, I hope he eats him.

Bye. The crybaby boy is gone. The mean nurses keep asking me what I did. I cry a lot now. I hate crying. But they won't believe me when I say I didn't do it. I try not to talk about Miles. I'm not supposed to talk about him.

When I say Miles, the mean doctor gets very mad and says, I'm going to go to kid jail if I don't stop it. I think he's not supposed to talk to me like that because one of the mean nurses told him to knock it off. Maybe that nurse isn't so mean. Miles is still hungry I think he ate up that little boy His belly is a very big now

And I can hear lots of screaming Inside his big stinky belly Miles says I will be in his big belly soon too That is very scary I can't tell anyone though Because I'm not supposed to talk about Miles Bye Today the lady and the man from the government

took me away from the mean doctor. I am very happy. They said they don't mind if I still talk to the little box, and that makes me happy. The lady said they weren't really from the government, and were only pretending. She asked if I liked to pretend, and I said yes. She said if I wanted to stay away from the mean doctor,

I needed to pretend she was my mommy, and that's fine. She's nice. The man is very silly, and likes to wear lots of necklaces. I know one of them. It's the cross for Jesus. I don't know the others, though, but they're pretty. The man says he's going to help Miles go away.

He says Mr. Lemon called him before Mr. Lemon had his bad, bad accident. I hope he's right. He said his name is Charlie. He said it's like Charlie Brown. I don't know who that is. The lady said her name is. Julie. I like that. Miles is still with me. He can make himself very small when he wants,

and he likes to hide in dark places. I told Charlie and Julie, Miles is following us, and they said that was a-okay. That made me laugh again. Bye. Julie likes to splash water on me sometimes. It makes me laugh because it's like the sprinkler parks at the 4th of July. She asked if it makes me feel funny, and I say no. She asks if it makes Miles mad, and I say no. They want to know what makes Miles run away, and I was very sad when I said nothing makes Miles run away. They like to talk quietly a lot.

They say they are having grown-up talks, but they give me candy and McDonald's, and that's all right with me. Miles says he's hungry and wants to eat Charlie. But I don't think he can eat Charlie. I think it's because Charlie wears too many necklaces. I better go. Julie wants to read me a story from a big smelly book. Bye!

Miles ate Julie. I don't want to talk about it. Bye. Charlie is very mad. He says it's not my fault, but I think he's mad at me. Miles says he can't eat Charlie, but he will eat me soon. I'm very scared and very sad, too. Maybe Miles should eat me.

Okay, bye. Miles is getting bigger and bigger. He's like a big giant now and he's very scary. He was not this scary before and I think he's trying to be scary. I think he likes it when I'm scared and cry. Charlie said he has a friend coming to help get rid of Miles, but Charlie doesn't look happy anymore. I don't want Charlie to get hurt too.

I wish my life was normal, like when I have mommy and daddy and Eddie. I wish Miles had come out from under someone else's bed. Bye. Charlie's new friend is named Tanya. She's very nice and has lots of pretty rocks. She likes to burn stuff that smells funny, and she asks if it makes me feel funny, and then I say no.

She asks if the smelly stuff makes Miles. I said no, it makes him happy. She doesn't like that answer. Miles has been hurting me again. I have big scratches on my arms, and he's pulled my hair so bad. I have a spot where there's no hair now. It makes me cry. Charlie asked if I pulled my own hair, and I said no. I hope Charlie doesn't think I'm doing the bad things. Tanya asked if I could draw Miles for her, and I did. She didn't have crayons, so I had to use her pen. She took away the paper when I was gone. I hope she doesn't run away.

Miles is angry again. He keeps shaking my bed and throwing the chairs. Charlie says he knows I didn't throw the chair because I was sitting on the bed. I think Charlie can almost see Miles now. I'm very scared. Bye. Charlie is taking me to see the ocean. I'm so excited.

I have never seen the ocean before. Will there be mermaids? Charlie says he can't make Miles go away. Charlie says Miles is stuck to me and I'm stuck to Miles. That makes me sad. He says I might keep hurting people. And I got very mad and said, I am Susie, not Miles. He said sorry, but I don't think he's sorry.

I think he thinks I am bad like Miles. He has taken me to see the ocean. He says we will be very high up. I asked if we can play in the water and he says maybe. He says we will see it from a cliff. But maybe if I'm a good jumper, I can play in the water. Okay, bye. Miles wants me to run away.

Miles says Charlie is a bad man and is going to hurt me. Tanya went bye-bye, but Miles didn't hurt her. Miles says Tanya could see him and that she told Charlie something very bad. Miles says now Charlie is a bad guy, and Tanya is making Charlie do a bad, bad thing. I miss Julie. I miss Mr. Lemon. I miss my mommy and my daddy. Miles says if I go see the ocean, Charlie's going to push me into the water.

Miles says if I get hurted, Miles will just have to find a new kid. I think Charlie's ready to go now. Bye. Charlie says I can make one more of these. He says I should tell whoever is listening that I am safe and happy. He says to tell you how excited I am to see the ocean from up so high. I wonder if I can touch a cloud.

Charlie also said we get to jump from our tippy top high spot and fly into the water. That sounds fun. Miles is very mad, but can't hurt Charlie. Miles says Charlie is a bad booger man and he's going to hurt me. Miles is gone now. I told Charlie Miles went by-bye to find a new kid to play with, but Charlie says I'm lying.

This made me mad and I started to cry. I said I'm not lying. Miles is all gone now. Charlie says I'm pretending. I guess it's time to go see the ocean now. He says when I jump into the water, Miles will go by, bye, forever. But Miles is already gone. I wish he believed me.

Time for me to go. Bye. And next, after noticing a strange woman in an impossibly vivid blue sports car during a sweltering commute, a man becomes drawn into an unsettling encounter that forces him to confront memories he had spent years trying to keep buried. From writer Joshua Bryant and narrated by Nate to Fort, creepy presents,

The bottle in ice. I never led my mind drift. It is not flotsam and I'm not an ocean. My mind is something specific, individual and salient only to me. Metaphors cannot capture it. It and all it contains may be the only true property I own. And in owning it, I dictate the direction it takes every moment I'm alive.

My mind is my instrument, and nothing will take it from me. The day was too hot for February. The sky seemed submerged in the white light radiating from the sun. The road stank. Windshields gleamed like beetle eyes. The sounds of the city seemed distant beneath. the heat like it was the dead of summer. The palm trees in the trailer parks looked like bleached finger bones, their fronds like splitting green nails. It was an ugly day. The traffic was thick, and the AC in my car wasn't working. After eight hours at the warehouse, I was ready for a drink of anything a few degrees below room temperature, and my head was throbbing from temple to temple. So, of course, every light at every intersection was red. I had the radio off,

hoping the silence would somehow keep me cooler. Every window in my car was rolled down and I fanned myself with a ball cap. I tried to ignore the taste of sweat at the corners of my chapped lips. Every tiny detail of each passing moment seemed to taunt me, like wagging tongues in the faces of red-faced children. Frustrated, I tapped the pole of my hand against the hot black steering wheel and breathed heavily. Again and again, traffic would rumble forward, only to come to an abrupt stop. The stink of exhaust was clouding the cab. I began looking around, trying to find something to divert my attention from the miserable atmosphere. I was in the turning lane, approaching the light, but still several cars away.

To my right, there was a huge lifted truck, the paint a shrieking red. Grinding my teeth, I looked away from that abomination. To my left, across the median and the lanes of opposing traffic, there was an old convenience store that was gray with cracking concrete. It would have been as miserable as everything else, except for two things that stood out with such vivid contrast. I couldn't understand how I hadn't noticed them before.

The first was an ice machine that stood in front of the store, within the shade of the tattered awning. It was blue in so deep a shade that it could have been brand new. The other was a sports car parked in the space directly in front of the ice machine. The car was the same shade of blue as the machine, but it shone at every edge like a razor. The windows were tinted so dark that it was impossible to see inside, and the tires were black and looked more like stone than rubber to my tired eyes. The pair of blue objects did not seem real in the sweltering glare all around them. They had the quality of a mirage that people lost in some cartoonish desert

would see in a poorly written movie. I blinked several times expecting the aggravating sluggishness to overtake my senses once again. But the ice machine and sports car remained in their strange, inexplicable disparity from the rest of the city. Then the driver's side window of the sports car began rolling down. I held my breath. The window rolled down so slowly, far slower than any I'd seen before. The engine sounds washed into silence. The heat withdrew from my skin. I saw in the impossibly thick darkness within that car a face gradually began to take shape. A chill, licked me and goosebumps prickled my skin. Suddenly, without any thought or desire, a memory began

forming in my mind. My heart pattered faster and faster, and the images from my boyhood began bubbling up and taking focus, and a feeling in my gut was the same feeling I had on a specific day and a specific place and very specific moments. It was when I was six, and my neighbor had, No! I slammed my head back so hard the seat squealed as if I'd heard it. I closed my eyes, bit down hard, and refused to let my mind wander unbidden. I did not want to remember that, and so I wouldn't. After a few moments, I opened my eyes and saw that the arrow was green, yet the cars in front of me were not moving. I coughed and wiped the sheet of sweat from my forehead. I glanced back at the blue sports car, but the window was closed again, and,

even though the machine in the car still seemed out of place. Their magnetism was lost, but I was very shaken and knew what had just happened to me was unnatural. I smiled, tried to push that inclination away as something silly in the product of my tired, overheated brain. Yet, why was I still sitting here, waiting despite the fact that the arrow was green? Fuck, I said to myself before hitting my car horn. The abrupt blare from my car caused a great deal of surprise, like it was waking every other driver in the turning lane from a deep sleep. The person at the front of the line hit their gas so hard their tires squealed,

and the person behind me nearly rear-ended my car. I couldn't shake this sick feeling that we'd all just been a part of something unfortunate and that it would stick to us for an unsettling amount of time afterwards. I gently pressed on the gas pedal, barely catching the light, the arrow shifted from yellow into non-existence. The rest of the drive was quick, and even though the heat did not abate, it was a relief to feel once more grounded in the present. Even the physical discomfort that had been so intolerable before

was now a welcome target for my agitated thoughts. I'd rather that than recall that memory that had resurfaced just a few moments ago. Running my fingers through the sweat-thickened hair on my head, I found I was trembling. I tried to laugh, but it sounded brittle. I turned the radio on. Returning to my little apartment, I found the familiar darkness to be soothing. I took a tepid shower without turning any lights on,

closing my eyes and focusing on all the sensations permeating my body. And after a few minutes, I let myself think about the ice machine and the sports car. The distance and the time that it elapsed, coupled with the safety of my home, Drain the strangeness from the situation, and I quickly allowed myself to think of it as nothing more than a result of my fatigue. As for the other drivers, maybe the heat had made some of them less attentive than usual, or more likely they were looking at their phones instead of the road around them. Soon it was all even more ordinary to me than the unreasonable heat had been. I was able to make dinner and go to sleep without an ounce of perturbation. The next day was even hotter, and my work was distracting enough so that I didn't think of what had happened the day before until I was already clocked out and heading home again.

As it crossed my mind, there was no sense of dread. Rather, I was excited and curious. An instinct told me the car would be there again, parked exactly as before, and the ice machine, obviously, wouldn't look any different. It was like a game now, drained of its own. danger and a sweet diversion from the oven-dry air that stood motionless all around. I drove easily through traffic, my eyes probing forward into the left and till the convenience store came into view. I became very silent. The sports car was there in the ice machine, but they weren't what stilled me. They were so suddenly and easily forgotten. It was the sight of the woman that was stepping out of the

driver's side door that caught me. She was slender. Her movement so smooth, her legs were long and her hair was black and very straight. She wore tight black jeans, blue high top sneakers, a black tank top and a pair of large, expensive blue-tinted sunglasses. I watched her, slowing my car so the arrow went from green to yellow to nothing. Her skin was a light brown that seemed impervious, to the wilting gaze of the sun. She left her car door open, looked at the ice machine for a moment, then turned and leaned back into the cab of the sports car.

She moved her head so that all her shining black hair fell over her right shoulder rather than bunch up on her back. I couldn't help but stare. She was beautiful, and yet there was something almost otherworldly in the sheer captivation she held over me. Startled, I realized this was the same feeling I'd experienced the day before, just before that memory almost materialized without my consent. I tore my eyes away from her, saw the arrow was green again, and I made my turn.

But I couldn't help stealing one last glance at her. She had moved to the ice machine, her hips cocked, and head tilting somewhat, a thin hand beneath a tiny chin. I sighed heavily. knowing already what I was going to do. I made another left turn and pulled slowly into the convenience store parking lot. I saw her glance over her shoulder in my direction, and perhaps it was the glare that fooled me,

but I thought she smiled. I checked myself in the mirror, smoothed my hair, cussed the dirt on my cheeks, and tried to shake the contradicting emotions swirling in my chest. I was drawn to her, just as my gaze had been drawn to the, car and machine the day previous. But I knew as well that something about this almost bizarre situation had forced a recollection from my mind that I had not wanted. Both, though undoubtedly opposing in what

emotions they elicited from me, aroused my curiosity so that it wasn't just a desire to learn more. It was a need. I stepped out of my car and walked towards the storefront. I approached her, trying very hard to appear casual, but my foot caught on the curb and I nearly went to my knees. My face and ears burned red, and I heard her laugh a little. Looking up, I saw she'd halfway turned and was staring down at me. Her eyes were not visible behind those tinted glasses, but her easy smile was enough to make me stupid. Hey, she said. Her voice was soft yet confident. You got any cash?

I thought this machine would take a card, but it doesn't. I really need some ice. I stood up straight and swallowed the lump in my throat. I told her I thought I had a few dollars. I fumbled with my wallet, and I felt her move closer. She was chewing gum and the mint scent, wafted from her mouth and caressed my face like a cool breeze. I found the money and offered it to her,

with a pair of fingers held out like scissors. scissors, she took the bills, popped her gum, and whispered, thanks. She moved quietly back to the ice machine and put the cash into the slot. I looked at her again, all of her, and that same strange magnetism forced me into action. I took a step closer to her and cleared my throat. So what do you need the ice for? I asked, unable to think of any other way of starting a conversation. She half turned to me again, and I expected she would tilt her head slightly so her eyes could appear above the black frames of her sunglasses, but they remained hidden behind the lenses, deepening my nervousness. She was silent for a few moments, long enough to make me feel like I'd done something wrong by not leaving her alone.

Yet, when she spoke, all my misgivings faded. She told me she needed the ice to keep some drinks cool while she was at a part. She was meeting some friends there. They went there once a week, apparently, to talk and drink together, and it was her responsibility this week to take care of the drinks. She told me more, but I couldn't focus. The longer she spoke, the more entranced I became. Her mannerisms, her tone, even the way the sun bounced off her soft, smooth skin.

All of it was hypnotic. She seemed to be moving closer to me with every breath, yet, She never actually took a step or even so much as leaned in my direction. It was so strange. It was as if I could feel the ends of her black hair tracing over my arms, the closing and opening of her lips on mine, the gentle stroke of her fingertips in the palm of my hand. Yet she stood there as she had before,

right in front of the ice machine, only half turned in my direction, one hand on her hip, the other resting on her thigh, with the unspent dollar bills hanging loosely between her fingers. Abruptly, she laughed. I blinked and swayed feeling like I had just woken up from a heavy nap. I laughed, too, trying not to let my unease show. You're so quiet, she said. Are you feeling all right?

I nodded and wiped my sweaty bra with the back of my hand. Even more bewildering, I'd forgotten how hot it was. No, you're not, she continued, and this time she did actually move closer to me. Let me get my ice, and that I'll make sure you get home. You don't live far, right? I wanted to argue to tell her that I was fine, but something was compelling me to let her come to my apartment. She was so beautiful, and there seemed to be genuine concern for me in her voice. Then she put her hand on my elbow, and the coolness of her skin was like a fresh,

degrees passing through me. I nodded and mumbled a thank you. She put the money in the machine and filled a tubular plastic bag with the glistening cubes. They made such a rough sound coming out of the machine, a sound that seemed so paradoxical to the sight of them, like a beautiful bird that makes a shrill cry instead of a song. I didn't linger on these thoughts long, though. She finished and made her way to her sports car quickly as she said she would follow me. I didn't reply. I just sort of stumbled back to my car and fired the engine. I drove back to my apartment in such a daze that I could hardly recall doing it. The blue sports car pulled into the empty spot next to me, and I marveled at how unreal it still appeared.

She got out of her car, cradling the bag of ice against her hip. She gave me a coy little smile, tilted her head, and raised her eyebrows. After that, all I saw was her. I don't even remember opening my door, entering my home, or sitting on my couch. She sat next to me, all coolness and mint scent, her movements fluid in the heavy darkness my blackout curtains created. My air conditioning unit was already on and was so loud I could hardly understand the sweet words that were flowing so seamlessly from between her lips. The heat outside seemed a part of a distant history as primeval and touchless as a dinosaur.

I was swimming in a soft whirlpool of descending temperature, white noise, and tactile shadows at the center of which she moved. She reminded me of the way snow whirls on a windshield, late at night up north on the highway. It was all so strange, yet any alarm I had experienced before departed. My own movements, my own words all bubbled sluggishly from somewhere almost divorced from. my own will. I could have been dreaming. I could have been dying. I could have been in love. We started to kiss. Her lips were soft and smooth and the sensation of them reached down my throat and deep into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, felt her hands caress me, and breathed in her scent. I let myself fall deeper and deeper into her. Let everything else move far away.

began to let my thoughts drift. From out of this gentle ecstasy, from a source other than her lips, her voice abruptly asked, So, what did your neighbor do to you that day? No, I snapped back, opened my eyes wide, and pushed her away. I was suddenly assaulted by the same terrible unease I'd felt the day before when that memory had tried to resurface, but now the feeling was magnified. My mind scrambled from question to question, none with an answer, and all I was certain of was that I was terrified. No, that wasn't all I was certain of. I was also certain that this woman, this thing, was unnatural. Unnatural in her voice and her movements, unnatural in her knowledge, and unnatural in her beauty.

I had to get away from her. I stood up and realized that it was so cold that I could see my breath. I was shivering, looking everywhere except at her. I began gibbering, trying to tell her to get out without sounding hostile or scared. I felt that if I engaged with the abnormality of the situation, that it would only grow worse. She sighed. I stopped talking. Finally, I let my eyes fall on her, and despite the darkness, I could see her face like a pale moon.

She was frowning with strands of midnight black hair, slowly waving back and forth. She still wore the sunglasses, but the lenses looked mad and impenetrable now. The sweltering day just beyond my front door seemed like a sweet savior, and I wished I could escape back into it. But I couldn't move. Some unseen force was holding me in place. I could only tremble. I tried the soft touch yesterday, she said. Her voice resonant like she was speaking from the bottom of a well. I tried simply asking today, yet you still refuse to indulge me. I guess I'll just have to crack open that little trap of yours and yank out what I want.

She reached up with a hand that was not elegant and slender anymore. She took her sunglasses between multifoliate fingers and removed them from her stone-like face. A pair of cavernous sockets stared back at me, so wide and so deep. deep they made me forget all the enormous things I'd seen in my life. From the depths of these abysses, a lurid twinkling began, like terrible stars forming. They sparkled every shade of blue, and as they grew in brightness, I could feel their frigid touch. I became encircled in the monstrous glow. I felt the cold light moving through me, shriveling my muscles and withering my veins and hardening my blood. There was so much pain I thought I would die from it. My feet curled away from the floor.

My body hovered, suspended in the unwavering gaze. My eyelids were forced open wider and wider until my eyeballs felt like they were on the verge of jumping out of my face. Then I stopped thinking about it. I stopped thinking about the agony and the fear and the monstrous woman that was tormenting me. Without my consent, all my memories began flooding out. There was no sequence. Everything was just lumped and mashed together, screaming and smashing its way from my mind and out of my eyes. It all pooled like a disgusting ocean onto the carpet. I saw my mother and my father blurred together and spanking me and congratulating me and kissing me and yelling at me.

I saw the dog I ran over last week with my ex-wife's petunia sprouting from its torn stomach. I saw the warehouse with my toys inside and my co-workers rearranged together as a mess of arms and faces and laughter and curses. I saw my neighbor. I saw him standing over me in his bathroom. I saw him naked. I felt all the pain all over again, the pain I had refused to recollect. I wanted to die. Then it was over. The light and force that had held me disappeared and I crumpled to the floor. I held my knees to my chest and sobbed. Gradually the temperature rose and life returned to my arms and legs. The room was now stark and painfully quiet. It felt like no dream had ever been born there and that the only thing that presided

was the unyielding hand of reality. She sighed again and I flinched, having thought that She had left when the nightmare had ended. I held my breath and pretended to be dead. She laughed a little and I listened as she kneeled in front of me. She scooped something off the floor, opened her bag of ice and put whatever it was inside. Then she stood up and walked to the door. As she opened it, I asked without meaning to what she was. Without a pause, she answered.

Well, I was curious. Now, I'm bored. She left without shutting the door behind her. And finally, after a routine emergency surgery on a crash victim, a trauma surgeon discovers something impossible inside the patient's body, setting off a chain of events to leave some questioning what might be hiding beneath the surface of seemingly ordinary people. From writer Ryan Peacock, creepy presents.

used to be a trauma surgeon. I wanted to save lives. It's why I became a trauma surgeon. To save people and give them a second chance or a hope of recovery. I wanted to save lives. Now I just want to forget. About a month ago, I got a call about a patient and needed a virgin care. Some asshole on a motorcycle would run a red light and hit.

a pedestrian outside a bar. The idiot on the donor cycle was dead, but the pedestrian survived. He was circling the drain, but he was still alive. I got there as fast as I could and immediately prepped for surgery. The patient had suffered numerous fractures from the impact, severe internal bleeding and one hell of a concussion. I needed to stop that bleeding and set his broken bones. I'd hate to call something like that.

routine, since it technically wasn't routine, but I'd dealt with that kind of thing before. The patient was sedated and waiting for me when I walked into the operating room. Just looking at him, I knew I had my work cut out for me. I could barely see his face underneath all the blood. He looked to be a young man in his mid to late 20s with a fairly fit physique. If we could stop the bleeding, he might have a decent chance of pulling through. So, that was my first priority. Some shrapnel from the crash had penetrated the patient's abdomen, so I started there.

I cut gently, only wide enough to remove the shrapnel and try to stop the bleeding. We hooked up an IV to transfuse fresh blood into him, along with something to help his blood clot. So far, it seemed to be working, and I was able to get most of the shrapnel out before I finally noticed something else was wrong with them. I first noticed them clinging to some of the pieces of shrapnel. At first I thought they were just bits of tissue, but bits of tissue don't move like that. They don't writhe like that. These were something else. Something alive.

Just looking at them, they almost resembled some kind of thin, stringy worm. Once I noticed them, I knew I had to investigate further. Something was living in some. side him. And I had to find out what. The patient was more stable than he banned when we'd started. After making sure his bleeding was under control, I took a closer look at his shrapnel wounds. I've heard some surgeons use the term cut and paste before.

It's not the most common term out there, but I have heard it. A cut and paste, also known as a peek and shriek to some, is when a surgeon gets a patient on the table, opens a person. up and finds that there's nothing they can do. There's no saving them from the inevitable. The only thing you can do is stitch them back up and prepare to deliver the bad news to the next of kin. It's a heavy feeling, realizing you can't help the person you're standing over, the person you're supposed to save. But sometimes there truly is nothing you can do. Either their injuries are too severe or their illness has progressed too far. As a surgeon,

You learn to live with it. You don't like it, but you do the best you can, and you make your peace with that. I can deal with the deaths. I can accept when I've done the best I can to save someone and failed. But the things I saw as I explored those wounds, the things I found writhing inside the patient's guts, the things that were living inside him. Once I disturbed them, they started to emerge.

I could see them slithering out through his wounds, large, thin worms, most of them far longer than the ones I'd found on the pieces of shrapnel I'd pulled from the patient. I'd never seen anything like them before, and judging by the screams of the other doctors in the room with me, they clearly hadn't either. The worms were pouring out of him. They pushed through his wounds, and I could hear some of them plopping wetly to the floor as they writhed and squirmed. All the while, the patient's broken body lay motionless on the operating table, twitching only as the worms tore through him, widening the tears in his flesh as they escaped. I didn't need to tell the other doctors in the room to leave.

They ran the moment they saw his stomach tear open. and more of those worms come spelling out. As they did, all I could do was stand and watch in horror. I backed toward the door, my hands trembling as the worms twisted on the ground. I looked back up at the patient on the table. His vitals indicated that he was still alive. All of this, and somehow, he was still alive. I didn't know how it was medically possible.

He'd lost so much blood, and now what those worms had done to him, there was no way he could have survived it. He should have been dead. But his vitals didn't lie. I watched the patient's body twitch and froze. Part of me still felt obligated to help him, obligated to save him somehow. Although I didn't even know where to begin, assuming he could even be saved. He twitched and I saw his eyes opening. For a moment I thought the anesthesia was wearing off and he was waking up.

But no. As I soon realized, this was something else entirely. The patient lifted his head slightly and his eyes fixated on me. I stared back at him, froze into the spot in terror. And then I heard the crack of his skull breaking. His vitals flatlined, but his head remained slightly lifted, and his eyes were still locked onto mine. Part of his head seemed to come undone, as if the skull underneath had shattered, and only his

skin was holding it together. His eyes rolled back into his skull before he finally collapsed, and a moment later, I saw something crawling onto his face. Some other bug, this one ivory white. It wasn't a worm like the others. This thing was more like a cross between an isopod and a house centipede with long spindly legs and a thick shell. I could feel its beady eyes on me, watching me. And I swear I could see it thinking, sizing me up, deciding if I was really.

if I was right for it. Then, quick as lightning, it raced toward me. My heart skipped a beat, and finally I ran, bolting through the door behind me and slamming it shut. I heard the isopod thing thud against the door, and as I backed away. I saw it climbing toward the window. It seemed to stare at me for a moment before crawling toward the ceiling and disappearing.

Needless to say, we put the hospital in quarantine. The other doctors had been in the room with me and I spent three days in isolation, getting tested repeatedly to make sure we didn't have any trace of those parasites, whatever the hell they were, in our body. After that, came the interviews. First, the police spoke to us, then some kind of specialist, asking us to go for the details repeatedly. We told them everything we knew, and they said they'd be in touch if they needed us for anything.

And that was it. That was one month ago. I haven't been in an operating room since. Hell, I haven't even set foot in the hospital since I got out of quarantine. I can't. I'm too afraid of finding those worms in the next patient I try to work on. I'm too afraid of being thrust into that nightmare all over again, not understanding what was happening or why.

I'm afraid of the creature I saw crawling out of the patient's skull. the creature that only I saw and then nobody else ever seemed to find. There was evidence of it, of course. The patient's skull had been split right open. There was almost nothing left inside. Something had clearly been living in there, feeding on his brain matter and puppeteering his body. Whatever it was, and it's still out there.

I think it's unlikely. I'll ever get any solid answers about what I saw in that operating room. I've tried to do some research online, but I've come up with nothing. As far as I can tell, there are no documented encounters like mine. Based on my limited experience with the creatures living in that patient's body, I've come up with a few theories. I suspect the thing living in the patient's head was connected to those worms somehow, farming them, maybe growing them in the body of its host.

Although for what purpose I couldn't even begin to speculate. Whatever it was, there was an intelligence to it. Something about the way it looked at me after it emerged from his skull. The way it seemed to size me up. It almost seemed to be thinking. I can't help but wonder if it found another host, another doctor, or maybe a patient. I can't help but wonder if it's walking around in their skin right now. letting more of those bloody worms gestate in their guts.

I can't help but wonder what it intends to do with them. And I can't help but dread what the answer might be. 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 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.