Creepy - My Family Experienced a Deadly Car Crash

Episode Date: December 2, 2024

Written by: IcyDice***Story Link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/My_Family_Experienced_a_Deadly_Car_CrashContent is available under CC BY-SA***Mom's Crystals***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Nichole Goodnight***The Ocean Already Knows Your Name***Written by: Joe Butler and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***Inside the Void***Written by: Arindam Kalita and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. My family experienced a deadly car crash.

Written by Icey Dice. 840 on a Saturday evening. They say that there are some moments in our life that will remember for an eternity. Events that we find are branded into our minds, whether we like it or not. We say that we recall these moments down to the minutest detail. and I can attest to that theory quite well. The clear water droplets plummeted from above, splashing onto the windshield. Cars travel alongside the vehicle, their headlights illuminating the rain, and the night sky

contained thousands of dazzling stars above. Inhale, my chest rose, my lungs taking in crisp air from the slightest open window beside me. I turned my head, my eyes meeting with hers, and then falling about her gorgeous teeth and her rose lips. Exhale, my gaze fixated on my rearview mirror, observing my young boy strapped firmly in the backseat, fast asleep. Inhale, my eyes grew wide as the high beam flooded my vision. In an instant, I launched my foot towards the break, clenching my teeth hard. Jaw locked firmly shut. The sound of metal colliding terrorized my ears,

and my car's momentum carried us forward. Glass shattered as the vehicle came to a violent halt, causing my body to jerk forward and my face to plant directly into the steering wheel. Two shrieks. One from beside me and one from behind erupted into the night. They died down as soon as they began, and suddenly there was no sound at all. My body was rendered immobile and my eyesight faded away, yet my lips still functioned.

It gently parted, but all I could squeak out was a measly before darkness overwhelmed me. From that point on I vaguely recalled a noisy sound of bustling people and being in a white corridor, beaming lights shone overhead, beckoning for me. I tried reaching out towards it, yet I couldn't move my arms. My eyes fluttered and I once more drifted away into sleep. I would stay in the hospital for several weeks, recovering from various fractures and undergoing multiple surgeries. My body ached, yet my physical pain could not compare to my worries about my family.

Although I felt a relief like no other wash over me when the staff informed me that my son had survived. A familiar sense a dread later overtook me as I learned my wife was in critical condition. Those nights took an eternity to pass. I consistently glanced towards a clock on the wall, observing the hands tick by minute by minute. Tears will claw their way down from my eyes at strange hours of the day, drenching my face and moisture until my cheeks turned red. The sweat forming in my poems dampened the bed sheets I clenched. Each time one of the staff or doctors came into my room, my vision darted towards them. I knew they could read my mind. They'd give me this pitiful look when they looked into my pleading eyes. Every time I asked, they would give me the same non-answer.

I assure you, Mr. Johnson, we're doing our best to treat your wife. Every day I met with some variation of this response. Yet, I persisted, determined to hear that my wife would be okay, until one day, one of the staff entered my room. Shakley standing up to greed of my grand and extended my arm towards his. That's when I noticed the sullen look plastered on his face, and my heart descended below my chest. He spoke calmly, methodically,

each word exiting his lips in slow motion. My knees quivered, lightly at first and then more rapidly as he continued. As they eventually buckled, I collapsed to the floor, my chest furiously heaving, each breath I took growing more exasperated than the last. Several people restrained me and placed me back onto my bed. I think that they were trying to give me words of encouragement and sympathy in the process, but whatever they said blended into an incoherent mass. The men and women beside me blurred into unrecognizable forms,

and I stared straight ahead. The abhorrently foul stench of perspiration dripping from every orifice of my body dug into my nose and pricked my eyes. My mind, blanked as paper, grew weary, and I finally gave in to the staff attempting to keep me still. The nurses helped clean me up shortly following the outburst. After receiving fresh clothing and being given time and space to come to terms with the news, my nurse escorted me to the lobby.

There he stood, waiting for me. I rushed towards him as quickly as possible. Stooping down, I embraced him, resting my chin on his scalp and gently patting his back. He buried his head into my chest. My shirt moistened and I held him even closer. He knew. Before we left the hospital, I received a few recommendations for psychiatrists and therapists in my area. After thinking the staff for all their help, my son and I took the bus back to our neighborhood later that night.

We had baked chicken with rice that night. But he just sat there, poking his food with his fork. Sying, I finished my plate, hoping it would inspire him to do the same. Instead, he pushed his dish away from him in front of where an empty chair stood before the table. I knew he wouldn't budge, but I was aware that the hospital had been keeping him healthy and nourished. I told him he should go to bed and get some rest, and he obliged, hopping up from his seat

making his way to his room. After he crawled in bed, I tucked him in and asked if he'd like me to sleep in his room for the night. He shook his head, rejecting my offer. I bent down and kissed his forehead, wishing him a good night. I opened my laptop and researched the therapy center cited in the pamphlet I received earlier. I grimaced when I read the costs for each one. My wife made money along with me for our family. That, combined.

with the cost forfeited by my hospital stay, took immediate therapy out of the question. Sighing, I closed the computer and trot over to my bedroom. Placing my palm against the wooden door, I traced my fingers along its perimeter until they met the cold brass knob. Counting down from five, I forced myself to open the door upon reaching zero. I set foot into the room, flicking the light switch upward. As the bulb cast its light down to dull gray walls surrounding me, I mustered the courage to set one foot in front of the other. Making my way over to the oak frame of my queen-sized bed,

I looked down upon the blankets before me. The bed felt so different. It felt so empty. Beside the bed sat a dresser with a picture frame placed atop it. There stood a man and his soulmate. Their faces beaming. with glee. Feeling the tears, trickling down my cheeks, I glanced back towards bed, realizing I was dampening the sheets while I wept. Breathing in deeply, I turned and exited the

room with haste, retreating to the living room. I lay down on the couch, and after a few hours of tossing and turning, my body finally shut down and let me rest. I didn't recognize where I was. All I knew is that pure light surrounded me, overloading my senses. My mouth opened, yet I didn't make a sound. I extended my arm, groping ahead of me for whatever surface I could find. My fingers were met with a wheel. The sound of an engine roared from somewhere within the light. Tires swerved and voices shrieked.

Bang. metal tearing into metal, incoherent, shrill cries produced from the back of the car. Was this truly happening again? My head jerked forward with the momentum of the vehicle. The commotion ceased as suddenly as it arrived, leaving me in a state of disarray. The cold night air seeped in through the shattered window, erecting the hairs on my arms. Everything was still. It was a dream.

I knew it was a dream. So why could I so vividly sense the beads of sweat trickling down my arms and pooling around my knuckles? How is it that a figment in my subconscious mind was able to perfectly replicate the texture of the leather-coated steering wheel which I so desperately clung on to? Internally, I knew what would greet me if I were to shift my gaze to my right. Then I felt it. The round object slumped against my shoulder. The messy strands of hair against my arm. The warm liquid droplets falling and splashing against my hand.

I couldn't even form a coherent thought before my attention shifted to the sudden weight pressed against my left shoulder. Five slender fingers held me in their grip. My head spun around in the opposite direction to observe who was touching me. Upon doing so, my gaze was met with an arm reaching through the shattered window. I tilted my head up, and before me stood a man. He stood tall, adorned with black jeans and a gray dress suit. His frame was much too small for his clothes. He appeared fragile.

The skin of his arms seemed to loosely stretch over the bone underneath. It was as if you would disintegrate if even the slightest force were applied to him. Despite the situation around me, my body eased into the seat. I felt the sensation of relief wash over me. He carried an unexplainable aura of familiarity about him. Even despite his malnourished frame, even despite his lengthy stature, even despite his face appearing to have been blurred out of existence, entirely. I did not fear him. It almost depressed me that my encounter with him was brief,

as I awoke before my eyes scanned what should have been his face. It all happened so fast. I placed my hand on my left shoulder, running my fingertips along its surface. The imprint that would have been left by the man was not there. Of course it wasn't. It was just a nightmare after all. I can't say for certain I understand what I dreamt of that night. It all felt so real. I didn't recognize the man I encountered either. So how could I possibly have felt such an intrinsic connection between him and I?

Although I'm not sure what to make of it. I can't help but get the sneaking suspicion that there's more to this than I'm currently comprehending. After all, a dream is said to be a gateway into the subconscious. Whatever the case may be, I'll be sure to keep you guys updated. Thank you for reading all I've had to say up to this point. An update. I felt this soft tugging on my beige shirt. This small hand of my boy gripped the polyester tightly.

I placed my hand on his head, gently massaging his scalp and pulling him closer to me. The funeral service had occurred just hours prior. Our family wasn't particularly social. We had a few friends and family stopped by and offered their condolences to me. It was nice, but if I'm honest, it didn't make me feel better in the slightest. Excuse me for feeling this way, but I wasn't exactly receptive to socializing at my wife's funeral. I only went out of necessity. as well as in pursuit as some form of closure.

That closure never did arrive. After it was all set and done, the other attendees left. It's just my son and I standing before her casket. All alone. I stepped forward, placing my hand on the wooden box. The casket sat on a platform. Roses and candles were placed near it on a table. It was a lovely setup.

Yet it didn't feel complete. I knew her body wasn't inside. Her mangled corpse could not be presented for an open casket funeral, so we planned on having her cremated and having her remains buried. I turned, preparing to leave. But before I could, something peculiar caught my attention. Thump. I spun round, eyeing the casket.

Had I been hearing things? No, the only ones in the room were my son and I... I turned back to exit the room only to find my boy had disappeared. Where had he gone? He couldn't have left the room. I hadn't heard any footsteps. Before I could call his name, I heard it again. Thump, I most definitely had not been imagining things.

Sean? Where are you, buddy? I called out. Not aware of the anxiety bubbling within me. I heard no answer. Rather, the only thing I heard was a faint laugh coming from behind me near the casket. I recognized that laugh. My breath got caught in my throat and I spun around facing the source of the noise. There she stood. her angelic presence seemingly illuminating the room. What the f-f? I uttered, staring ahead in disbelief. It was impossible.

I have to be hallucinating. I muttered. Had I gone mad? I'd been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn't immediately noticed myself moving towards her. I extended my arms, resting them on her shoulders. Her red freckles adorned her face. I think just enough opacity to be noticeable. She smiled, revealing her pearly white palate or upon her dimples appeared.

It was her. She was standing before me, in the flesh. I wanted so desperately to speak, but I could only choke on my own words. She delicately placed her hand on me, the cold, smooth surface of her ring grazing my cheek. Lowering my arms to her waist, I held her against me. When gazing into her eyes, the rest of the world simply ceased to be. All that existed was her and I at that place, at that time. Gently we sway back and forth, like the leaves of a tree on a gusty autumn day. Rocking forward and backward, We held each other in our arms.

Her skin was warm, and I became entrapped in her aura. My muscles relaxed, and soon enough, I was no longer conscious of our movements. My body went on autopilot as we danced to the beat of our hearts, conjoined as one. I was in heaven, for my love was alive again. I closed my eyes, smiling in contentedness, drew. I heard the wet splash. At the same time, liquid pooled under my hand.

Its warmth juxtaposed the suddenly cold surface I felt pressed against me. My eyes sprung open. The once lively eyes of Elizabeth were now sunken and dull. Her appearance is now ghoulish, and her skin appears. to stick closely to her bones. Looking down at my hands, I saw that they've been covered with blood. A large laceration covered the surface of her stomach, and the stench of charred flesh infiltrated my nostrils.

I shoved her away from me and collapsed to the floor. I only had a split second to process what had happened before thick chunks of vomit erupted from my throat. I wish I had not met her gaze again. Her sweet smile had transformed into a sickening grin. She dragged herself towards me, leaving a streak of blood and pus in her path. I attempted to get up and stumble away from her, but to no avail. I felt nauseous and struggled to do anything besides clumsily shuffling away.

I grimaced in pain as I felt her latch onto my arm, digging her yellowish, rotten nails into my skin. She used her momentum to lunge at me, shoving me to the ground and landing on top of me. I screamed and fought and I clawed at her, desperate to get her off of me. Somehow, even though her body appeared rotten and broken, she overpowered me, scraping and clawing in my flesh.

Then I felt a tug. On my beige shirt, a tiny hand gripped the polyester fabric. I picked myself up from the floor and looked down at my son. He looked back up at me. A look at concern and fear on his face. A puddle of vomit and tears occupied the floor beside where I had collapsed. Did I imagine everything? No.

I quickly realized that wasn't the most important question at that time. Had my boy witnessed what had just happened? How could I have allowed myself to appear so weak in front of him? A boy's meant to see his father as a superhero. A strong man who can persevere through anything. Not only had that persona collapsed in the hospital, but it collapsed here as well. What would he think of me?

Regret and dismay ran through my veins at that moment, but those feelings were interrupted as Sean embraced me with as much strength as his little arms could muster. I froze and then gently reciprocated his embrace. He had seen me collapse, seen me cry, seen me at my most vulnerable. Yet when I looked up at my son, comforting me when I needed it most, I didn't see a child who felt disappointed in his father. All I saw was an act of compassion. Not wanting to weep more than I already had, I let go of Sean and stood upright.

He was only a child and had already suffered the loss of his mother. At such a young age, I doubted he had much understanding of the concept of death at all. But I knew for certain he missed Elizabeth, and so I knew I had to be there for him. I promised then and there, did I promise then and there, did I have to be there? that I would be strong for Sean. I arrived home that evening. I treated Sean to the best pot roast I could make. I was ecstatic to see he'd finally regain his appetite.

I tucked him into bed soon after. I brought a chair by his bed, pulling his sheets and covers over him. The lamp by his bedside shone brightly. You doing okay little guy? I inquired. He didn't respond, of course. he hadn't uttered so much as a word since the incident. I didn't understand why, but I didn't want to press him on it either.

I would get him some help as soon as I could. I grabbed his stuffed teddy bear from nearby shelf and waved it in front of him. You remember how we got this? I went to the fair last year and he played the baseball game and won Teddy. I'd hoped bringing up this memory would elicit a response from Sean, but he simply smiled and continued to look at me. Sighing, I returned to smile and patted his head. When mommy and I got married, we knew we wanted a baby.

Every night we were prayed to the angels that a baby boy would come. And one day, you came to us. It was the happiest day of our lives, Sean. And from that point onward, you made us the happiest parents around. Mom won't be around for a long time, but I promise that she's watching you with the angels. And she's smiling, Sean. She's so, so proud of her beautiful baby boy.

And so am I. We will always love you. Again, Sean's lips never parted once. Yet I knew that he understood. He had to have understood. He just had to. I just wanted to hear his voice again. Good night, Sean.

I said, getting up to leave his room. Before I could, he reached out and grabbed my arm. Oh, right. Sorry, buddy. I said, leaning over and kissing his forehead. He nodded his head in satisfaction and laid down. I turned off his life. lamp and closed his bedroom door.

Making my way to the bathroom, I went inside and stared into the mirror. I kept my promise to myself to stay strong for Sean, at least for tonight. I gripped to sink tightly, leaning over and peering into my reflection. What the hell had happened earlier? Could it have been related to the dream I had the other night? Why was I experiencing these disturbing visions? I'd never really had to deal with mental trauma in the past so I was unfamiliar with how to process this information.

If people knew about the experiences I was having, would they think I was crazy? For the first time in my life, I felt small and out of control. I bawled my hands into a fist, pounding it into the wall. That night was a sleepless one. All I could do was look up at a little bit. the ceiling. Empty thoughts occupied my mind. I couldn't make sense of what I'd experienced, so I merely dismissed them as nightmares. I'll keep you guys updated on any future developments.

I need an outlet to get my thoughts out. I don't want to vent to my son, so I'll type my thoughts here. Thank you for your attention. I appreciate it. Another update. I've found it hard to eat recently. Besides the roast I had with Sean, I haven't had much of an appetite for anything. I've lost quite a bit of weight. I've dented to my rapidly thinning frame. I haven't been sleeping well either. Despite this, I've been giving my best effort to stay strong.

I truly believe Sean and I'll get through this. When Sean fell asleep during the evening, I decided for the first time in a while to try driving again. I had been walking or using public transportation to get from place to place, but I knew that I couldn't just avoid driving forever. We'd taken Liz's car that night, so I was able to use mine. I went out to the driveway and entered my vehicle. I put the keys into the ignition, slowly. turning it until I could hear the hum of the engine.

Taking a deep breath, I shifted the gear into reverse and backed down to the driveway. Deciding I would get off to a slow start, I drove through my neighborhood streets at a low speed. The car methodically made its way down the road, and I eased up a little. I was getting comfortable driving again. Mustering up a little more courage, I turned onto a public road. I could practice driving among other vehicles again. My hands started to tremble, so I gripped the wheel tightly. I turned down my hazard lights.

I needed to pace myself and keep my cool. I applied a little more pressure to the accelerator. My body stiffened as the car picked up speed, and I responded by slowing my breathing. Doing so allowed me to loosen my body, and I pressed down on the accelerator even harder. I lowered the windows and felt the wind blow against my face. Horns beeped all around me. The noise of chattering pedestrians and restaurant music was omnipresent. I remember the feeling of driving down the road at night in my car.

The way the breeze flowed through my hair. The way the paved roads felt underneath my tire. As I looked in my review mirror, I almost thought my eyes were betraying me. I was smiling, not just a smirk, but a full-on grin. I released my grip on the wheel and simply drove. For miles I traveled, not having a care in the world by mist cruising along towards a horizon. That liberating feeling coated me in pure bliss as darkness enveloped the environment.

I flicked down my headlights, peering into the night sky. I saw millions of stars sparkling above. Momentarily pausing to appreciate this serene view, my attention was drawn to an alternative source light ahead of me. The headlights of another vehicle rapidly approached. I defaulted back to clutching the wheel. Those lights, they flooded my vision, just as memories flooded my mind.

remembering to be calm, I once more inhaled a surplus of oxygen, letting it stir in my stomach before a prolonged exhale exited my nose. For a moment, the light covered my entire vehicle. In a split second, it was over. I observed my rearview mirror once more, watching the car travel down the road behind me. Pulling onto the shoulder, I put the car in the park and leaned back into the seat. I let out an audible sigh of relief, followed by a single sentence.

I did it. Returning home later that night, I quietly entered my house and went to check on Sean. His door opened with a slight creak, and I made my way over to his bedside. I turned on his lamp only to find the covers of an empty bed pulled to the side. Confused, I exited his room and called out his name. There was no response. The door had been locked when I arrived, so I knew he had to have been in the house.

I checked the kitchen and the dining room before making my way to the hallway. The walls were coated in a darkness as black as tar, except for the very end of the hall. There stood the door to my bedroom, the glow of light outlining its perimeter. I approached it, placing my hand on the doorknob and entering the room. There sat my son on my bed. In his arm set a picture frame that held the image of Elizabeth standing by Sean.

He stared at the image. His face is still as stone. I went over to him, sitting by his side and placing my arm over his shoulder. I noticed the dark splotches on the picture frame. Placing my hand under Sean's chin, I lifted his head to face me. Red circles surrounded his watery eyes, using my thumb to wipe the remaining tears from his cheek. I tried to offer him the best smile I could, but his frown remained.

There I sat at a loss for words. My gaze lowered and focused on the picture in the frame. Placing my hand on his, we sat in silence and viewed the photo together. Eventually I broke the silence, realizing just how late it was. Hey, buddy, let's head to bed, okay? Sean gave me a head nod and a rose, traversing the corridors of the house to his room. I tucked him in, as per usual, before retreating to my bed. I picked up the picture frame and held it in my hand.

Elizabeth was as beautiful as ever. and for the first time in ages viewing her did not cause me distress or pain. Rather, I felt a sense of acceptance. I recalled what I'd told Sean about her watching over him with the rest of the angels. Though I'd said at ease his mind, I too had begun to tell myself the same thing. That somewhere out in the universe my Liz was watching, hoping, for the best for me. I glanced at the image of Sean, standing by his mother.

He had the purest grin on his face, one that could melt my heart one thousand times over. I knew he did because I remember taking that photo. Yet that was not how he appeared now. In his place stood a different, Sean. As Sean without a grin, without the energetic and hopeful. eyes, rather one with deep gashes and bruises embedded into his flesh, one whose limbs appear contorted into unnatural positions. In the blink of an eye, his happy demeanor changed into one of shock and terror.

Taken aback, I dropped the photo and rushed back to Sean's room. I burst through the door, only to find him peacefully sleep in his bed. He was there. alive in one piece. I saw him with my own two eyes. Making my way back to my bedroom, I scooped up the picture frame and gazed upon it once more. There he stood, looking perfectly happy. Rubbing my eyes in hopes to clear my vision, I viewed the image again,

hoping to confirm that what I saw was real. The photo remained unchanged, still showing Sean as a gleeful little boy I knew. knew him to be. I put the photo away and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over my body. Sinking my head into my pillow, I closed my eyes. Although it took a few hours, I finally drifted into a deep slumber. The following day, I woke up early. Entering the kitchen for a glass of water, this sound of footsteps caught my attention. They were heading down the hallway, which leads to Sean's room. Figuering Sean had woken up, I followed him down the hallway where I saw his bedroom door ajar. Inside, I found my boy sitting beside the being from my dream all those nights ago.

There he was in his slick gray suit. He appeared as malnourished as ever, his thin frame giving him a feeble look. His face remained blurred, so much so that I could have. I could have discern any of his features. I watched as he extended his bony fingers towards my son, laying them atop his head. He brushed Sean's hair with his hand. Neither one of them faced me, and despite circumstances, I didn't fear for my safety or Sean's. I walked towards a creature, attempting to touch it. Near centimeters before the tips of my fingers grazed its figure. My body lunged forward. My forehead drenched in sweat. I observed my surroundings, realizing I had not yet left my bed. I decided to put the picture frame away in my closet

for the time being. The thing freaks me out. And after that dream and what I would assume was my hallucination yesterday, I can't bear to view it. Once again, I'll be sure to keep you all updated on future updates. I cannot express my gratitude enough to all of you. Truly. Thank you. A final update. Sean, I need you to speak to me. I must have uttered several variations of that phrase for at least half an hour. Please, buddy, you can talk to me, okay? I promise you can talk to Papa. No matter how many times I repeated these words to him, he simply wouldn't answer. I desperately needed to know that he could speak. I needed to know that he was real.

The truth is, the constant barrage of delusions had taken its toll on my psyche. Distinguishing between what was real and what was merely a figment of my imagination had become difficult. I had to know Sean was real. I wanted to believe he was, and I would know if he was real, if only he was. if only he would speak. Could he not see the anguish in my eyes? Why wouldn't he just utter a single word? I gripped his shoulders tightly,

begging him to even part his lips once. He never obliged my only wish. No amount of bribery or pleading could elicit response from him. All he did was grab my arm, turned towards his room, and march towards it. As I followed him, an overbearing sense of dread began to brew within me. I felt my heart intensely pounding in my throat as we entered the room together. There, that entity sat.

My head low as Sean released me from his grasp and trekked towards the being ahead. I too approached it, once again attempting to touch the thing, preparing to suddenly awake from what I had assumed was another nightmare. I placed my hand on the figure, only I didn't wake up in my bedroom once again. Instead, it too placed its hand on me, and we felt each other's papery frames. Slowly but surely, the details of the being's face were revealed to me. As I looked upon it, I recognized its features, for they were my features too. I stumbled backward, watching as the thing with my appearance leaned towards my son,

gently kissing his forehead. I ogled the creature, swallowing the oceans of saliva that have built up in my mouth in a single swift gulp. The creature locked eyes with me, and I locked eyes with it. As this occurred, a sense of familiarity washed over me. My mind darted back and forth, unsure what to make the situation. That is, until my thoughts inexplicably settled on the memory of an accident on that fateful night, I recalled the blinding lights, the shrill cries of fear and suffering.

No. There was more. The overhead traffic light. from which a soft red hue shone in the night sky. My vehicle had passed underneath the light, and then the impact happened. The doctors had they truly told me my son had survived? They say that there are some moments in our life that will remember for an eternity. It was a quote that I wrote back to its beginning of this text.

So then, why couldn't I recall the words of the doctor who told me that Sean was still alive? Could I truly have forgotten? I snapped back to reality, keeping eye contact with the being before me. Only now, Sean was nowhere to be found. The sense of familiarity I felt soon dissipated and was replaced with boiling hatred. I glared at the monster, my palms bawling up. I rushed towards it, tackling it to the ground. Before I could react, I began pummeling it with my fists.

You're the reason Elizabeth is gone. You're the reason Sean is gone. I'm going to kill you! I exclaimed, gritting my teeth and continuing my assault on the being. It showed no resistance. It simply allowed me to keep striking it again. And again, and again, and again, and again. I had no plans on stopping.

Blood flowed from the thing's face and onto my fists. With every strike, I could feel my body breaking. With every blow, I could sense the light within me beginning to extinguish. Yet I carried on, ignoring the growing pain within me. I was going to kill this man for taking what I held dearest to me. At that point, I couldn't even see the thing. Tears had clouded my eyes. Blurring my sight.

I simply pounded my fist downward, hoping to murder the figure in my fit of rage. I felt the soft tugging on my beige shirt. It was gentle, yet enough to pause my assault. A tiny hand gripped the polyester fabric. My arms fell to my side, and I turned my head, and there he was. My boy stood by my side. I froze. My eyes widening like saucers as I witness his lips parting for the very first time.

I forgive you, Papa. He smiled at me and embraced me once more. I embraced him too. feeling the stream of tears began to erupt from my eyes. Not wishing to get my tears on the shoulder, I close my eyes. I soon found that a second pair of arms had wrapped around me. The smooth surface of a ring pressing against my skin. I didn't let go for what felt like hours.

But I knew I couldn't hold on forever. As I opened my eyes, I found myself alone. with a figure in what was once Sean's room. I stood up and approached him once more. In one swift motion, I hugged the thing, pulling it close against me. When I let go, the thing vanished from my view. It was over.

I fetched the picture frame from the closet and placed it back on my bedside. There stood Sean and Liz, standing beside each other with grins on their faces. In a reflection of the frame, I could see my face beside theirs. I smiled with them for one final time. I know Sean and Elizabeth and the angels are looking from somewhere out there, wishing the best for me.

I know they would want me to forgive myself, though doing so isn't going to be easy. I think I'll manage to do it. They may not be with me on Earth, but I know that they're with me in my heart and mine. Thank you all for reading my account. I think I'm going to be okay from this point forward. Don't expect any more updates from me. I have the feeling that I should move on.

It was a pleasure writing to you all. Creepy Presents Mom's Crystals written by known of consequence and narrated by Nicole Goodnight. We laid my mother to rest two months ago. She had been battling brain cancer for years. She went to the doctors regularly but didn't rely solely on modern medicine. Her mother had been Wiccan or something like that and taught her a lot of holistic treatments.

One of the things my mother used to use on a regular basis was a headband. She made it herself and lined it with red, orange, and purple crystals. I never thought to ask what the significance of the colors was. I had just thought they were pretty, but then again, I never put much faith in that kind of thing. Even though the doctors estimated she only had six months, she held on for three years. I thought it was the medical treatments that gave her more time, but she believed otherwise. When she inevitably passed, we made sure to bury her with the headband on her head. It had been one of the few final requests she'd make.

Dad hadn't been comfortable with the alternative religious practices. He'd been raised Catholic, though wasn't much of a believer. He figured living in a converted church was good enough to square him away with God. I'm not really sure how that correlates in his head. But my bedroom is in the old bell tower, and I've always thought that was pretty cool. Dad is a good old boy in the sense that ranching is man's work. He tends to cattle and mom had her full acre garden growing herbs and vegetables of all kinds. She was also part owner of a small shop in town and sold her preserves, herbs, and home remedies.

plus pretty much anything else she made. Now that she's gone, I've been tending her garden in the shop. It took a few weeks, but I eventually found the old gray leather-bound book she got all of her recipes from. As I thumbed through the pages, I discovered multiple styles of handwriting. I go back to the first pages and find out why. This book had been in my mother's family for generations, passed down from mother to daughter. My mother started teaching me about herbs and holistic medicines when I was seven. I spent a lot of time helping her in the garden.

planting, pruning, weeding, and harvesting. But everything that happened after was done in her workroom alone. I was never allowed to go in there. I figured because children have a tendency to put things in their mouth, and in a workroom that could be hazardous. Mom promised me that when I was old enough, she'd let me in and teach me about what she did. The problem was when I became a teenager,

hormones took over the worst way possible, and I had a serious rebellious stage. Those were some bad years. and I said a lot of things that I regret to this day. There's hundreds of jars on the shelves. Each jar has a little label on it, and it surprises me how few of them I recognize. Then there's two baskets full of smaller jars and vials. Some contain liquids, others' creams or salves, and some are what looked to be spices.

These I recognize from the store because they're mom's finished products. What I don't find are the crystals I've been seeing in bins at the store. Did she need to order more or something? I know they sell surprisingly quickly, especially when they're on a necklace, but now that I think of it, I have no idea where she's been getting them. I take the two baskets to the store and restock mom's shelves which have been running bare. The whole reason I went into her workroom was because her products were running out, and I need to figure out how to make more.

It's either that or I come up with other things to make, and I don't know how to make anything worth selling. After loading the shelves, I sit behind the counter with the gray tone and look for the recipes. There's a lot more than I thought there'd be. Thanks to my fondness of video games, I became excited when I turned to a section simply labeled healing potions. It immediately made me think, if you took one of these, whatever was wrong with you, would simply be healed. I'm not sure what hit me first. The complete absurdity of that idiotic notion or finding the various recipes for specific healing qualities. I mentally kicked myself for thinking there was a fix-all like a health pack from a video game.

If there was, Mom would have taken it the moment she found out she had cancer. There's no such things in the world, and I know that. Shit, if there was, she'd have been making those nonstop and we'd be rich. Who wouldn't want an instant cure-all? The bell over the door rings, and I quickly stashed the book under the counter. The last thing I want is someone catching me with it. I don't know why, but I get the feeling that no one should be aware of its existence. In fact, bringing it here was a mistake I'm only now realizing.

This book is private and priceless. The customer that walked in is looking at the bin of crystals, so I put the first of book in my bag. Once the book is hidden, I feel immensely better, though I can't figure out why. I shrug it off as I moved from behind the counter and greet the customer, asking if they need any assistance. This is clearly irregular because I recognize three necklaces she has dangling from her neck. There's simple leather straps wrapped around a crystal, and each is a different color. Green, yellow, and a dark brown one. Her name is Beatrice and says how sorry she is to have heard about my mother. This has happened a lot since I started running the store in her absence,

and I've learned to take it in stride. It took a while for me not to tear up every time someone said this, and now I just smile and thank them. Beatrice is in the market for a new crystal, something to help her sleep. It amazes me how many people go in for this stuff, but I'm not going to question it. If they believe it'll help them, sometimes it actually does. It's the placebo effect. There's small booklets in a slot on one of the crystal bins. There's small booklets in a slot on one of the crystal bins, so I pick it up and thumb through the pages. Mom knew all this stuff by heart, and I guess now that I'm continuing her work, I need to start teaching myself. The alternative is relinquishing her share of the store to her partners and finding a new job. A decent option,

but one I can't bring myself to take. This was her life's work, and I feel obligated to carry on in her place. It's what she wanted before I became that horribly hormonal teenager. Thankfully, I'm in my 20s now and grew out of that phase when she got sick. It pains me that it took her getting cancer to do it. Crystals seem to have a lot of meanings and uses. When I came across the purple crystals description, I focus in on the part where it says they promote calm, meditative states, and sleep. Sounds exactly like what Beatrice is looking for.

There's a handful of them in their section of the bin, some with those leather strings wrapped around them. Beatrice picks one among them and then proceeds to grab a few more items from the shelves. I'm only at the store for another few hours before Connie comes in. She was one of mom's best friends growing up. practically not to me, though dad never liked her. Not because Connie was into alternative religious practices like Mom, but for another reason I was never told. When I get back home, I go up to my room and pull the gray book out. Before I start trying to make Mom's concoctions, I need to familiarize

myself with this. One of the first things Mom told me about creating home remedies was that you can't half-asset. If you don't know what you're doing, the things you create can be more harmful than whatever you're trying to cure. I spent several hours reading. A lot of the beginning is stuff I already know, the proper cultivation and gathering of herbs and ingredients stuff. Everything needs to come from the earth and can't be processed. When I feel like my eyes are about to go cross, I close the book and put it in my desk drawer. As I do, something catches my attention out the window. All four walls in my room have large windows. When this was the bell tower, there wasn't any glass covering the openings, so the ringing could be heard for miles. Instead of

covering any of them up, Dad just had glass installed because it was cheaper. I have dark, thick curtains to cover them, but the one in front of my desk is always open, especially these days. The view out that window shows me one of the pastures for the cattle, and beyond it, the hill mom is buried on. The thing that catches my attention is a glint of light on that hill, too far away for me to see what it is. Mom's headstone is made of stone and has nothing reflective on it to catch the light like that. I haven't been up there since we buried her, but I now have the urge to go. I see Dad in one of the far pastures on the opposite side of the property.

It looks like he's working on the barbed wire fence over there and his truck is parked nearby. I decide to take the ATV instead of walking. It'll take a few minutes to get there on the four-wheeler, but it would take at least an hour to walk there and back. I may not have anything pressing to do today, but spending an hour to check on something that may be nothing would just annoy me. When I was a moody teenager, one of the only things that ever seemed to put me in a good mood was riding the ATV.

The fast speed blowing the wind through my hair, going so far out that I couldn't see the house anymore, just exploring our land. It brought peace to my chaotic mind. The first few days after Mom passed, I was riding around on it night and day. I burned through so much gas, Dad would have yelled at me for it under other circumstances. It was the only time he didn't say a single word about me tearing up the grass or making trails in the fields. On the upside, I stuck to the well-worn paths I'd made over the years and didn't make new ones. I hadn't done anything like that since I was 19. But sometimes Dad would assume I was and nagged me for it. You can't tell him anything when he gets in a mood like that, so I never told him I didn't damage his precious fields. The side of this hill is

unmarred by a path. The only way up is to go all the way to either side and go straight up the middle. This was mom's favorite spot, so even when I was a giant pain in the ass, I steered clear of it. Going to the top, I parked the ATV and walked down the hill. With all the grass here, there's only one spot that could possibly be clear enough to allow something reflective to be visible from the house. Mom's plot is outlined with large rocks that were unearthed when the grave was dug. There isn't much grass, but there's something else poking out of the dirt. Raw crystals don't shine like the ones in the stores, but are rough and dull, covered with impurities.

What I find poking out of the ground looks processed and shines like the crystals already in mom's bins. That's where the similarities end. These crystals appear to be uniform in shape and size. They're approximately two inches long and have five sides, like a pentagonal prism. I've seen multicolored crystals before, but nothing like this. Each one consists of red, orange, and purple, but the colors flow into each other, like frozen-colored flames dancing together.

They blend and bleed into each other with no definitive lines or designs. Crystals don't just sprout from the ground like weeds in a garden. Someone must have stuck them in the ground, but for what? purpose or even how. We'd have noticed if someone wandered onto our property unless whoever placed these here came at night. Even Connie wouldn't have come out here without telling us and she's the only person I can think of that might do something like this. Nealing down, I pick up one of the prisms. They come out of the ground easily, and when I run my fingers across it, the sides are glass smooth. They feel just like the crystals at the shop. In fact, the only thing missing is the

leather strings to make them into necklaces. The colors are pretty and eye-catching. I have no idea what kind they are or what they would do for a person that believes in this sort of thing, but I know one thing. They'd make pretty necklaces, and I could easily sell them for 15 or 20 bucks a piece. The question is, should I? Reaching down for another one, this one at the corner of Mom's plot, I find it stuck in better than the first, so much that I can't get it out of the ground. It doesn't move at all, so I try to take another.

This time I choose one for more in the center, and it comes out as easily as the first. Trying this again and again, I find the ones next to the stone outline won't come out, but the ones farther in do. I decide to take a dozen of them and leave the rest. I don't know why, but I feel like this is all right, as if Mom is saying it's okay to take them. When I get them back to the house, I go into Mom's workroom and find the drawer with the leather strings. Oddly, there's a vial in the drawer with a clear liquid inside, but I leave it B.

I try to turn the first one into a necklace, but no matter how I tie the leather on, The crystal slips out of the knot. In the past, I've tried to slip the crystals out of the knot mom tied to see how easily they'd come out, but they never did. That gets me thinking, and I go upstairs to retrieve the book. Sure enough, in the crystal and stone section of the book, there's instructions on how to bind leather to stone. As I try it, it seems way too simple, but the end result says different. It turns out the vial in the drawer is some kind of binding agent, but once it's applied, it is completely undetectable. Maybe there's more to mom's concoctions and potions than I've ever given her credit for.

The next day I take the new crystals to the shop. There isn't an empty spot in the bin, so I find a small stand in the back room and hang them from it right next to the register. They're not up for more than five minutes before a customer comes in. I only know him as old Johnny, but he's been a regular here since the shop opened. Like Dad, he works on a ranch but is a bit of a clutz. He can injure himself doing pretty much anything, but it's always minor. old Johnny walks in and immediately goes to the healing remedy's shelf. He picks up a pale blue ointment

to soothe itchy skin, a couple vials of a tonic meant to ease achy muscles, and a variety of spices for cooking. When he gets to the register, his eyes immediately lock on to the new crystals. He takes two of them off the stand, puts one on, and claims the other is for his wife. He didn't hesitate or anything. In less than an hour, several more people came in and do the same thing. Though old Johnny was the only one to buy two. When the last one is on the rack, two women come up to the counter at the same time and practically fight over it. I'm surprised it escalates as quickly as it does, and I'm forced to intercede. We end up doing a coin toss to see who gets the necklace. But once the smug winner pays and leaves,

I promise the other woman I'll have more of them tomorrow. I can only hope I get a dozen more of the crystals. There'd been a lot more than the dozen I took that weren't stuck in the ground. I made $400 in less than an hour just on the new necklaces. Once Connie comes in to take over, I quickly get home and get back to Mom's plot. When I get there, a burlap sack in my hand, I'm dumbfounded at what I see. There's a lot more crystals poking up from the ground, more than twice as many as there were yesterday. The ones along the outside have increased as well, but as before they don't budge. Concentrating on the loose ones, I start pulling them up and placing them in the sack.

Part of me expects to start feeling guilty about taking these from Mom's plot, but it never comes. Once again, I feel like she's there with me, telling me it's okay. This goes on for a week, and each time I go back to Mom's plot, there's more and more crystals. These things sell just as fast as they did the first day. But I noticed something else is selling a lot. People seem to be more fatigued and weaker in the last few days, so the tonics and herbs for energy are flying off the shelf, too. As I get ready for bed each night, I look out the window to Mom's Hill. For a moment, I swear there's a glow coming from her plot, an odd combination of colors.

I don't get the chance to identify the shades because it's gone almost as quickly as it came. I close my eyes and shake my head thinking I must be working too hard or something. The sun's down and there's no light for those crystals to catch. Instead of worrying about it, I just lay down and go to sleep. It doesn't occur to me until morning that this has been happening every night since I first harvested the crystals. It's almost like in the moment of seeing the light, I forget about the previous times. Strange. The next day I go to my first time.

mom's grave again and find the entire plot is full of the crystals. I reach down and start harvesting them, but something strange happens. None of them will come out of the ground. Not only that, but I feel mom's presence again. This time I get the impression that I'm not meant to take anymore, so I leave them B. I've made a ridiculous amount of money off them as is. That night I'm in my room about to get ready for bed like always when I notice the light. This time I don't forget about the previous nights and the glow stays longer. The color is a mix of red, orange, and purple, mixing in the air just like the colors on the crystals do. But they aren't frozen. They're actively swirling around. I don't have a clue what's happening, but I rush outside and get on the ATV. Instead of going up the side of the

hill like I've been doing, I drive right through the field and don't stop until the swirling light is blinding. I stumble walk the rest of the way, using my arms to block the light from blinding me through my closed eyes. After a few minutes and constantly changing my direction, the light simply disappears. It seems to take a long time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they do, I find I'm next to my mom's plot, and I'm not alone. The crystals are all gone, and the ground inside the stone outline is disturbed. A figure in a dirty, bright yellow sundress is standing next to the tombstone. Her voice is heavenly to my ears, because I never thought to hear it again. Are you ready to learn now, daughter?

Creepy presents. The ocean already knows your name. Written by Joe Butler and narrated by Megan McDuffie. His voice is calm in the way that the ocean at dawn often is. When he talks, it's like a slow, beautiful wave, the meaning and measure of timbre and tone, a honeyed surf that washes upon the sun. the shores of your synapses.

I love you, he says, and his eyes twinkle like the specks of morning light scribbled upon the surface of water, and you sense it there, the pull, the riptide of chemistry that leaves you so utterly confounded, no, besotted. You sense the myriad meanings of those three short words, I love you. He means it. utterly, truthfully, he means that he loves every part of you, every riot of biological certainty down to the whirling vortex of your DNA. He offers his trembling hands to you then, not like a king might, but as a beggar, a lover. You take them, feel the strength in them,

and pull them to your bare chest. You let his palms feel the music swelling behind your breast. bone, the beating of your heart cannot lie. You've heard the others say that he came from the sea, that he made an offering of himself to it, that he went naked into the freezing depths, and returned three days later with the voice of the world on his lips. You've heard them say that his eyes were once the gray blue of the North Atlantic, but as you look into them now, they are green as seaweed with flex of gold, like sunken treasure glittering through the naughty depths. His hands are cold, but not painfully so, like a dip in a lake on a summer's day. He leans in until he is everything and he kisses you on the forehead. You absently place a finger on the spot where his lips met your

skin as if to mark its location as true. You smile. You believe the truth of his words, the meaning that transcends the simple act of saying them. He leads you back to where the others are gathered around the largest of the bonfire pits that mark the path back to land, and you rejoin the group. Glowing embers spray against the night, like newborn stars rising to greet their kin. You look out at the promise of the sun as it begins to bleach the dark from the water at the horizon line. Wind-blown sand scours your bare legs. He moves through them. him, his faithful, taking them one at a time to where the water converges with the land, and he says to them those same three words.

He kisses them gently upon the forehead, and they return hand in hand. He does this until all of his followers have been attended to. True life, he says. The words are punctuated by the crashing of waves against the needle rocks not far from shore, sewing dark sea to sky, dark sky to sea. True life exists beyond the facade of this mortal realm. Some clap, others nod as they gaze at him, the lines of bones that mark his ribs,

their shadow dancing in the bonfire's light over his skin. True existence, true connection to all things, lies out there in the basin of life. we came from water and through it all things are linked connected one there is an instinct that flares deep in the primitive coil of your amygdala warning you off but how could you leave now after all the things you've heard about him after the truth of the love that he promised with just a look more love than your heart could ever hold and not by dint of some flaw just a just more than you ever thought you yourself could expect in a lifetime. The way he holds himself to you, to them, the gathered group fills you with their excitement because you know something extraordinary is happening. It's been scored on your soul with the drab blade of your hopes and dreams and secret prayers whispered

to the moon way past midnight. You whittled the expectations of your life from the day. driftwood of unplaced faith. And here he is now, the world's messenger, ready to make you special, ready to make real that vague longing for a life you never felt you truly deserved. One overflowing with happiness, completeness, the void in you finally filled with something other than a malevolent stradum of fear and uncertainty. I've been to the very bottom of the world, he proclaims, and you believe it, and they believe it, it is true. And I was not crushed by the immense pressure. I walked along the basin of creation, and I met with the mother of all life. She gave to me a

gift and the purpose that I should bestow to those that believe, that truly with every corner of their being, believe. He scans their faces then, long and slow with a gimlet eye, scouring all their expressions, looking for cracks far beyond what their eyes can say. When he stares upon your face and nods with approval, you look past him towards the sea that rattles and crashes in constant conflict with itself, with the land. And I see here amongst us only the true believers. those ready to receive the same gift as I did, ready to become as I am. You realize then that the water recedes from the land as willingly as it takes it, and you know that is how the tides of faith work,

not in some woolly-woo way, but in the real world, and in the sudden grip of that epiphany, you nod and bear your teeth to the cold half-dark. You shout his name to the stars and the embers that rise to meet them, and you shout it to the sea for the first time, drawing it on, the feel of the words as they squall against your palate. A few of the others join in until there is a discordant chorus of chance. He looks to you, and in the volatile light, those bright filaments of treasure wink and glimmer in his eyes. He shakes his head and wags a finger at you. No, I do not seek to lead you or be anything other than one of you, I am just the first. I do not wish for my name to be written, nor for my image to be

rendered in stone or metal. I want to be as footprints on the sand. As he regards you, your breath becomes a clenched fist in your chest. I wish only to be washed away in the coming high tide, to be taken again by the water and made a part of it. He walks backwards now to the sea, until the surf rushes past his bare knees. Then he stops, turns to face it as the sun finally breaks above the water, and the world is bathed in a river of molten gold. From just below the surface, he drags up a plastic cooler, it's white and a shade of red that has long faded to the color of salmon flesh.

It has a rough, dimpled texture around the sides and small clusters of barnacles clinging to it here and there. It looks like it was thrown overboard a cheap skiff in the 70s and belched up by the ocean decades later. He leans down and flips the lid open to reveal a flower. It's large and round with a domed yellow center the color of an egg yolk. Surrounding it are blades of mottled seagrass, the same green as his eyes. He drops to his knees beside it and strokes the thin blades of seagrass as if it were the hair of a loved one. He weeps as he plucks a single leaf from the bulb and rolls it tightly into a tube.

You remember laying on your back, pulling the petals from ox-eye daisies, and you think, He loves me. Who will be the first? He says, and the group crowds him, hands outstretched, desperate to be chosen. You, he says, pointing to you. Not the biggest or the loudest or the most desperate. meek little you with a lifetime of always being last pick, stopping you from asserting yourself. Remember, he says gravely, as he closes his hand around yours like a clamshell.

Your name is not to be remembered, revered. This gift is one of anonymity, and once the world has been exposed to the truth of it, there can be no imbalance. There can only be total biological equality. When he takes his hand away, the innocuous curl of the leaf unfurls like a gift. You bring it to your lips. It's salted with sand and gives off a sweet scent beneath the brine. Tiny yellow hairs mark the edges, and they bristle against your skin, retracting as if they are a living thing.

You do not realize it yet, but you balance a fragment of my eager flesh upon your palm. doubt seizes you stops you from consuming my body a drunkard's moment of temporary lucidity as they stare into the eyes of their reflection in a grotty bathroom mirror you've seen enough documentaries about cults and their madness Jones Town Heaven's Gate

the way victims are brainwashed in subtle degrees the careful mathematics of indoctrination by balancing truths with lies like a poison-laced cocktail, slowly increasing the dosage until it becomes lethal. You meet his imploring gaze, and he blinks, softly, like a wounded animal. You wonder if he senses your hesitation. Is that disappointment that mars the gold in his eyes, sunken fish scales catching the light? You are so close to the truth, he whispers to you, lips trembling.

You need only to taste it to understand, to finally get what you've always deserved. When you put it in your mouth, it fully unfurls on your tongue. Bitter, salt, sweet, umami, a vivid kaleidoscope of texture and flavor as I start to melt and seep into your rubbery flesh. It's fitting and a kindness that you should taste everything all at once before the sense of is taken away from you, then numbness in your mouth, along the slow dug canals of pain from the old cavities that you never fixed, and then finally it runs down your throat and into your chest. You step away from the group as one by one they also receive the gift of my body

and greedily accept me into their open mouths. As you stagger away, you see the sea as I do, Now a bright carpet of undulating light, as if some invisible curtain has been yanked aside, and you are witness to all of the terrible life captured within, like bright bulbs of existence. The whole ocean is alive and moving, one gigantic, beautiful organism. You try to draw in a breath, but the numbness, the quick silver coldness of the bathapalagic depths begins to fill your lungs, You cough and gag and double over as you spit a palmful of blood-wet teeth into the sand and a gleaming new set of serrated fangs bloom to fill the now vacant spaces. Before the pain takes root,

before I run a burning talon across every silvered neuron, setting your nerve endings on fire, you realize what you have done, what you have offered yourself up to be, And as your ears clot with blood and you go deaf, you can hear his voice in your mind now, as clear and mournful as a whale song. You have been chosen to spread the word of the mother of creation. I know that the pain you are in is great, but it is a powerful and necessary motivator,

a reminder of the urgency of your duty. With every new convert, your burden of agony will lessen. You must pass it to them so that they may convert others and ease a fragment of their own suffering. Your skin and all of its imperfections slough off your muscles and bones. Your eyeballs dissolve and dribble over your cheekbones to patter on the sand, the color and consistency of seagull shit. Your legs finally buckle, and you drop just a collection of bones and striated pink flesh, A wave rushes over your new raw form, baptizing you, scouring your exposed nerves with sand and salt water.

It washes clean the history of you captured in the cartography of scars and birthmarks. The pain is a nuclear blast that obliterates your senses, but I keep your consciousness present throughout the change. You must bear witness to it. You must know it. And when all of the people in this world have seen the kindness of the mother of creation, all pain will cease, and we will return to her. The water boils and blisters and cleans the marrow from your bones, hardens it, perfects it.

You feel the iron slabs of stronger muscle binding to the old frame than the blessed relief of new skin bubbling up, sea foam to the surface. It is translucent at first and then color blushes over your new form. You will be the perfect instrument for her will. New eyes with irises as green as algae flecked with the gold of sunken treasure fill the empty sockets and you are gifted with sight once more. Then a muffled ringing as the water unblocks your ear canals and you can hear the ocean again, except now with a terrifying clarity that forces you up onto your knees above the surface. And as the tide gives itself to the beach and takes with it the land in return, I learn everything

of you. A shade of you lodges itself within me. All of the disappointments and tiny successes that led you to me. All the unhappiness life gave you, all the sad moments. and all the love you have squandered flickers to being inside me. You are new again. You draw in a breath that feels like flames licking at the base of your skull and scorching all of the cilia in your lungs. It's like inhaling a forest fire. The agony of the blaze quickly spreads through your body,

filling every inch of you with white-hot panic. You are desperate for the pain to the pain to. stop, but know with every new fiber of your being that it won't, that it can't until others have partaken in my flesh. You rush to where he is standing amongst your new brothers and sisters, a smile painted on his face, beatific in the light of his own lessening agonies. Creepy Presents Inside the Void

Written by Rindom Kalita. and narrated by Rissa Montanez. Jennifer didn't know how long she had been trapped inside the void, watching abandoned houses, cars, and structures floating through the air. A thick blanket of fog always enveloped the world. Whenever she reached for an object, fighting the fog, the object immediately faded like a mirage. She wondered if the object or the whole void was a fabrication of her own mind.

or whether she was dead. No emotions, no hunger, no pain, nothing. When she remembered snippets of the past, her mind drifted into strange places, terrifying her. It was like peeking through a fractured window that wouldn't allow her to make out anything on the other side clearly. She knew there used to be a place before the void. There just had to be.

Words like, sister, mother, and fiancé all sounded familiar to her, although nothing else accompanied the words. All she could recall of herself was her name. Jennifer stood on top of a snow-clad mountain. A fierce wind howled. Its force was enough to stagger even an experienced mountaineer. But it didn't bother her.

Only her hair ruffled, and the freezing wind stung her eyes. A house flew above her, inches away. She watched it approach and then float over her shoulders. Soil and dirt spilled from it with tendrils of grass still clinging to the sides as if it had just been lifted off of the ground. However, no object had been so close to her before. She hurried to collect some snow, made a snowball, and threw it at the house. If it hits, the house is real.

She comforted herself with a thought. But before it made contact, the house vanished as if it never existed. She sighed in disappointment, looking toward where it had been. Despite the void being mostly silent, Jennifer sometimes heard hushed voices. They were audible then. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sounds. Distorted whispers filled the air. words like, no, I saw, but that's quiet.

And how long, Eve? I said, oh God, what? Okay. She opened her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Suddenly, a long, drawn-out whisper drifted through the air. Jennifer! She startled to hear her own name. She backed away.

Her stomach lurched and a chill went through her body. It was the first real sensation she felt in the void. The heel of her foot hit a rock and she dropped to the ground. An ache sprang up Jennifer's leg and she sat up with a groan. And then the mountain disappeared. And she was now in the middle of a road. A desert highway. one with the fog obscuring the sun, only a faint glow remained in the sky.

She hadn't been to a desert in the void before. Curious, she walked ahead. Dunes shift with a gentle breeze wafting through the air and a few cacti greeted her along the way. Her pulse raced when a distant object glistened ahead of her. She immediately sprinted towards it. As she neared, the rear windshell. of a gray hatchback emerged. To her surprise, it didn't fade away, but remained present and tangible.

She brushed her fingers through its dust-covered surface, and her touch left a faint trail, evidence of the connection. She stooped to read the license plate, but couldn't. The engraved words and letters made no sense as if it was written in an alien language. Examining the vehicle, she walked up to the front. It was positioned at an odd angle, more to its left than it should have been. The frame was warped. Her bare feet pressed on scattered shards of glass and metal.

Yet they caused no pain. She peeked inside, but it was empty. What the hell happened here? From the RV resting ahead, she understood the car had crashed into it. Although the impact smashed the entire front section of the vehicle, the damage to the RV was insignificant. Hello? Is anyone there?

She said, pounding on the RV's door. Silence ensued. She tried to look inside the RV and even tugged on the doors. But they were stuck. The tinted windows hinted. her view. Maybe no one's hurt inside. She calmed herself with another thought. Just when she abandoned the RV and stepped back, the corner of her eye caught something in the car. A person appeared in the driver's seat. She darted towards it without wasting a moment, both excited and scared.

But her pace slowed when she spotted a bloody hand protruding from the front door. A puddle of red formed on the road, trickling down the door. Hello? She asked. As she got closer and stared at the person, her gut twisted and a shiver course through her. The person was her. Unconscious, head turned to one side and her chest-length brunette hair tumbling around in a disarrayed cascade. She was covered in blood.

her clothes drenched. What the? Jennifer's heart thumped wildly against her rip cage. Her mouth dried and her breath stuck in her throat.

The other Jennifer wore the same half-sleeved lightweight shirt as she wore now. While she processed the details to make sense of them,

another person appeared in the next seat, bathed in red in the same lifeless state. Jennifer couldn't make out the face as a smoking coverage blocked her view. She rushed to the other side of the car, but before she got there, the fog enveloped her in swirling tendrils that became so thick that she could barely keep track of the car.

Jennifer wasn't about to give up. Desperation fueled her as she pressed toward the passenger's side. The glass and metal on the roads. stung her feet, and now she felt all of that pain. Yet, she continued. Eerie cries and screams came from all around, but when she turned to look, there was no one. The road cracked in thin rivulets, tremors starting as if something underneath wanted to push its way out. An ominous hissing came from her left, then from her right. The surrounding, the surrounding, sand dune shifted and rippled whenever the sound materialized. Her eyes darted in every direction,

but spotted nothing. As soon as she finished her pursuit and reached the other side of the car, it disappeared instantly. The scene changed again. The road was gone, along with the cracks, the sun, the desert, and the sounds. An infinite expanse of fog surrounded her. She bawled her hands into fists, looked up at the sky, and yelled, Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you just kill me? Jennifer thought about the incident for what felt like in eternity.

Who was that other person? Why did I see myself like that? Did something happen to me? Am I really dead? The next time the indistinct chatter became audible, she focused on it with a determination to learn more, understand more. Confused by prolonged mumbling,

she finally caught a full sentence, another whispering voice saying, Please come back to us. It didn't scare her anymore. She was sure the voices came from outside the void, which meant there must be access to that place. If she could just find it, she might be able to get out. Her surroundings then renewed,

and she was back on the highway. The sun, the desert, the car, and the RV returned. Despite the fog still shrouding the place, it had become less dense than last time. She leapt toward the car, hunched over the passenger seat, and looked inside. The other person was a young man about her age. He remained unconscious like before, cuts and bruises covering him all over. His clothes and blonde hair were matted with blood.

A tiny hole on his right shoulder constantly spewed blood. As Jennifer kept staring at him, the back of her neck prickled. She knew him. but couldn't remember how or where from. Suddenly her head jerked back and a flood of memories rushed right into her. Flashbacks flickered, revealing previously concealed images from deep within. She dropped to her knees and moaned as her brain turned to chaos with bright echoes and loud noises, but none were coherent.

Barely able to catch her breath, she clutched her head. shedding her eyes and clenching her teeth, she strained to find meaning in any of it. The flurry of flashback subsided, and Jennifer's mind relaxed. She found herself inside a car, the same wrecked hatchback, now undamaged and heading down the desert highway.

A distant mountain loomed under the clear sky, and any trace of the fog had dissipated. The sun tingled against her skin, and the wind whipped through the rolled down windows, carrying the scent of desert weeds. She was the one driving the car. The same young man she had seen earlier sat next to her. His hazel eyes sparkled with concern as he watched her closely. He was saying her name and asking her if she was okay, all while furrowing his brows.

She groaned in disorientation, taking shallow breaths. The steering wheel slipped from her grasp, and the car swerve sharply. He rushed to take control of the wheel while yelling out, Whoa, careful out there. Jennifer forced herself to regain her composure, but the exact opposite happened. Her memories continued to occupy her mind, and the more they did, the more she lost grip on her body.

Her movements and emotions became instinctual as if a spirit possessed her. The young man wins. while he remained leaning close to her side. He was asking her to talk to him, asking if everything was all right. His frantic breaths, brushing against her skin, brought a familiar sensation. He told her to let him drive if she was not okay.

No, I'm fine, Jennifer responded, fully losing control over her body. Their backpack's sturdy hiking boots, and the camera stacked in the backseat reminded her of a trip to the mountain of Crimson Crest. They were on a mission to monitor wildlife activity in that area following reports of shady biodiversity changes. As field biologists, their job was to identify any conservation needs and notify the facility they worked for. She also remembered who that man was. It was Sam, her fiancé. Car steadied. Sam retreated to his position. He looked at her with a smile as he told her that

she had him worried for a second. Sorry, she said, scratching her head and glancing at him over her shoulder. I guess my mind is still reeling from all that craziness last week. He told her that he understood. He gave her a thoughtful look, his tone turning serious. He was also trying to the dots. She then let out a deep sigh. I mean the fact that it has been going on for so long, and we had no idea about it just blows my mind. Jennifer understood what they were talking about. The facility she and Sam worked for had been secretly involved in illegal poaching activities in the area. They allowed the poachers to carry out their deeds and took a cut of the profits in return. Jennifer's world had been torn apart when she learned about it last week.

In fact, one of her supervisors, Mr. Declan, conducted the poaching himself. She and Sam had discovered the man's work ID at the last poaching site, all while following the trail of an injured Sonaran pronghorn's blood. Jennifer had been questioning the point of her dedication and wondering who else within the facility might be corrupt. silence then stretched between them like a dark void. Jesus. Just look at all the animals that have gone extinct because of their greed.

She fumed, barely containing her age. How could they do this? What is this facility for if it doesn't care about the animals? This isn't why it became a field biologist. Sam was about to say something, but Jennifer went on. And you know what the worst part is? I was recruited by that assortive. told Declan himself.

I admired his achievements and looked up to him my whole life. But now... Now all I see are his lies. Sam yelled her name. Jennifer felt her blood rushing to her face with each passing second. And why are we even going on this stupid mission anyway? I'm sure our reports are going straight to those poacher's ears. The animals in those mountains will die no.

no matter what we do to save them. I know, hon, Sam said, turning toward her, giving her a look of agreement, and added that it would stop now because he had a plan. What? She narrowed her eyes at him. What plan? He smiled before replying, asking her if she remembered when Declan visited her office, asking for the Redwood Report on Tuesday.

Of course I do. How can I forget that? she snarled. My skin was crawling the whole time I was with that man. He continued explaining that since he was busy with her, he took it as the perfect opportunity to sneak into his office, where he put a little virus into his personal computer. What?

Her grip on the steering wheel faltered again. He gave a wave of his hand while telling her not to freak out. He'll never know a thing. that all the virus does is monitor his activities and feed it straight to him. So next time Declan makes any deals with the poachers, he'll see it all. I know how nerdy he is when it comes to tech stuff. No, no, no, no, no, she whispered. Why did you do that?

There are hundreds of things that could have gone wrong. You realize that? What if you were caught sneaking into his office? What if somebody he finds out about it? What if he already knows it is planning to kill us on this trip right now? Maybe that's why he sent us to this remote location. Oh, God, he assured her with a glint of determination in his eyes telling her to relax and that none of that would happen. Like I said, the virus is elusive, as if it doesn't even exist.

He could hire the best hackers in the world, yet it's undetectable. What if he does someday? You know how clever he is? Sam tells her to trust him. He knows what he's doing. If he were to suspect us, it would just be over his ID, and he would have taken action by now.

Jennifer nodded, realizing he was right. But damn you, Sam, you should have told me about this. He smiled and told her that he didn't tell her because he didn't want her to worry for no reason. He saw how distress she was lately, so he wanted to do something about it. He then asked her to please not be so mad at him.

She reached over and squeezed his hand. Baby, I'm not mad at you. But next time you plan something like this, don't go solo, okay? He made the promise as he tucked a loose strand of Jennifer's hair behind her ear. She turned toward him. with a smile. But then, a loud crack shattered the calm

as the windshield splintered into a spiderweb of glass. Faffled, Jennifer gasped and looked in front of her. A person on top of a still RV came into view a few feet away. He had a sniper rifle aimed directly at them. Before Jennifer could react, another bullet pierced the windshield and lodged into Sam's right shoulder. He cried in pain, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his fingers. Hang on! Jennifer shouted. She yanked the steering wheel to turn the car around. The tire screeched under her command.

Midway through the turn, another shot rang out and the bullet hit one of the tires. The car lurched violently and spun in a dizzying 360-degree rotation. Waves of shock surged through Jennifer's body as she was. realized all hope was lost. The glove compartment flew open and its contents spilled around like confetti. Shards of metal and glass struck their faces while everything inside continued flying around in the chaos. The roof of the car imploded as metal groaned and twisted. Her breath caught in her throat before they crashed into the RV. And then, darkness took over. Jennifer stood beside the car, staring down at Sam's lifeless body. Her chest constricted in pain, and her soul crumbled into

fragments, tears flowing down her cheeks. The car faded into the haze. She was back in that eternal oblivion. unsure of how long she stayed that way, her senses returned when a voice echoed. Sam's voice. He said her name again, and it was clear now, and less like an echo. She looked up with watery eyes, just in time to see Sam appear a few feet from her. Sam? She asked in a shaky voice. Sam stared at her.

His face was very. free of bruises, cuts, or emotion. He shook his head sadly and said that she shouldn't be here. I'm sorry. Oh, God, I'm so sorry. This shouldn't have happened. Jennifer choked. The tightness in her chest intensifying.

Sam's somber voice continued to tell her it wasn't her fault. She has nothing to apologize for, telling her that Declan did this to us, that she has to go back and. do the right thing. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay here with you. Sam's voice got louder, telling her she didn't

understand that this place isn't for her and she was running out of time. I don't care what this is. Jennifer cried. I can't lose you again. The fog envelope them and Sam

began to disappear. No, wait, please. Jennifer ran toward him. His voice echoed one last time before vanishing with his image whispering goodbye, and that he will always love her. Sam? Jennifer shouted. No response came.

Tears welled in her eyes as an unshakable sadness settled into her bones. A few moments later, the ground shook. A violent tremor Rippled through the void. She looked around in confusion. The air crackled with energy and she flinched when a deep, guttural groan emanated from beneath her.

Giant cracks opened and revealed dark, empty chasms, and then her blood ran cold. The shaking increased, and she staggered, teetering on the edge of a gaping gorge. And that is when huge, scaly tentacles emerged from the abyss, slithering right towards Jennifer. Her heart palpitate and her hands grew clammy. The groaning increased as more tentacles appeared. When she lifted her gaze, two black dots hovered overhead. The same hissing sound she had heard earlier echoed again.

But closer this time, she made out a fleeting and distinct shape that sent chills up her spine, suddenly it darted to one side at an incredible speed and caused the sand to erupt in cascading motion. The fog thickened and wrapped itself around her. The pounding of her heart escalated when she caught a silhouette approaching, one that gradually grew larger and more defined. She strained to understand what it was, but then she had to jump to avoid its path, just as it came faster than expected. an entire house tumbled from above and crashed a few inches away from her.

Debris scattered in every direction and a jagged splinter pierced her arm. It was her house. The one she lived in with Sam. She barely had time to react before another object. A car fell from the sky, hurdling right towards her. It was the hatchback. carefully alluding the cracks, she ducked at the last moment and watched as it land behind her with a deafening crash. Shards of glass flew past her, some scratching her cheek. She was about

to run, but the vast ravines made her reconsider. Everywhere she looked, more objects descended from above. The shaking through her to the ground. More fissures snobes. ached towards her. The tentacles almost reached her while the black dots reappeared in the sky, swooping down. She understood that there was no escape. She put her hands over her head and squeezed her eyes shut and surrender. Please make it stop. Please! And then the world fell silent. Jennifer opened her eyes. A white ceiling stretched overhead, lit up by bright fluorescent lights. She lay on a soft bed. Machines beeped and monitors surrounded her, displaying her vital signs. An intravenous line was inserted into her left hand, while an oxymeter was clipped

onto the right hand's forefinger. She breathed through a nasal canula, a young girl, rising from her chair next to a middle-aged woman. She asked her mother if she had just woken up, pointing at Jennifer. The woman gaped at Jennifer. Her voice trembling. Jennifer stared at them before she said feebly. Mom, Eve? Jennifer's mother, Agatha, smiled and ran her fingers over Jennifer's forehead, murmuring her name over and over. Jennifer's sister, Eve, tearfully clasped her hands over her mouth. Sam? Where is Sam? Jennifer asked. Agatha's face blanched as she stared at Eve. Eve mirrored her mother's blank expression. Mom? Is... Is he okay? Jennifer forced the words out, coughing. Her mother told her to relax, that she needed to rest.

No, tell me what happened, Jennifer demanded. After a pause, her mother asked if she had remembered an accident. If she remembered that Sam and her were on the way to Crimson Crest. She nodded. She informed her that Sam didn't survive it, and she broke down in sobs saying that it was horrible. And that Jen went into a coma for three months. What? Oh no. Oh, no.

Jennifer sobbed. Eve stepped in and asked her mother not to overwhelm her because she just woke up. Her mother turned towards Eve and said that she was going to go get someone. And then the room went quiet. Jennifer's heart wrenched as grief hollowed her out. I'll always love you too, Sam. She whispered as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, promising herself to complete the work they had left unfinished. She would expose the facility's wrongdoings to the world

and make sure that it never happened again. 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 Creepy pod 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. 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.