Creepy - Or Else What?

Episode Date: January 27, 2020

Knock knock...***Written by Slimebeast***Check out Nicholas Cage in his new movie ColorOutOfSpace.com***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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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 or else what? Written by Slime Beast.

When I first moved in, there was an odd panel in the bathroom. It was there along with all the other tiles, but it didn't match. The tiny tub shower mix was covered in off-white squares, each no wider than two fingers. However, toward the back. Just left to center. There was this larger panel that took up a larger model. on a wall space. The panel itself had this freaky little design on it.

I don't know how to describe it, but it reminded me of the spirograph artwork I used to make as a kid. I moved into the place only after I've been kicked out of my last apartment. My roommate, an old friend from school, had invited me to stay as long as I paid my fair share. Why, very soon as his girlfriend moved in, there was real trouble. I couldn't stand the bitch. She couldn't stand me.

And you already know the result. The place I switched to was a major step down, but at least I could for it on my own. Waiting on tables is the cliche occupation for people like me who were barely scraping by. If I wanted better, I'd actually have to get the work I'd come to the city for. Dancing, singing.

If they gave me a chance, I knew things would turn around. The first time I heard the strange clung from the bathroom, I thought a homeless person that broke in when I wasn't looking. That or there was a rat loose in here. I couldn't decide which would be worse. Slowly, carefully, I stepped into the bathroom. I was careful not to make the squeak, hockey stick in hand. There in the bathtub was a piece of paper.

The thing was rolled into a tube and a rubber band held it that way. I raced the bathroom window and went to lock it. Imagine my surprise when I found it had been locked all along. Retrieving the paper from the tub, I sent myself on the toilet cover and tried to come down off the adrenaline high of facing an imaginary intruder. Two legs or four. I enrolled the thing and studied the strange text.

Ignore the screaming. That was creepy enough, believe me. But just to make it even creepier, a red fray. appeared just below that. Or else. No sooner had I read that line than a horrific, gut-wrenching scream echoed from the apartment next door. I shot up from the improvised chair and ran out of the room.

Stopping the living room, I picked up my cell phone and started to dial 911. Before I couldn't put the numbers, both the cell and my landline rang in unison. The sound of the old phone on the table ringing alongside the pop music chorus and my hand immediately told me something was wrong. Hello? I answered the cell first. My own voice came bouncing back at me.

I have to call. I have to call. I'm sorry, I think the line is messing up. I'm sorry, I think the line. I quickly hung up and moved to the other phone. As I did, they both ring again. Lifted in the receiver to my ear, I was greeted with familiar nonsense. Hello?

Hello? Oh, for God's sake. Oh, for God's sake. I had no idea why, but both phones were useless. I raised to the front door, intent on finding out if anyone else was able to call for help. When I reached it, however, the knob refused to turn. All I could do was frantically and fruitlessly bang on my own doors if I was the unwelcome guest.

Another scream. Weaker this time. It was the unmistakable sound of death. Exhausted, I thrust myself into a beam-bag chair with a huff. All I could do, it seemed, was wait for the same. sounds of sirens. I felt really bad and embarrassed when I thought about begging the EMTs or police to let me out of my place while they were busy with whatever just happened.

Moments later at the front door I gave quiet click and creaked open as if a mild breeze had blown through. In the hallway I was met only with fleeting glances and furrowed brows before the other tenants ducked back in their own doorways, and the neighbor's door opened just like mine had been. I cautiously poked my head in to see what horrible carnage had been left behind. The apartment was much like mine. Scuzzy, outdated, but I saw no obvious signs of anything wrong. Then my eyes fixed on the panel.

It was identical to the one in my bathroom, though it was located here on the living room wall. Whoever lived here propped a wooden board against the panel, specifically a tiny circle at its center. I hadn't yet met this person, and seeing this odd behavior made me glad I didn't, though I was still concerned about his condition. returning to my place, I once again lifted the phone receiver and found the expected dial tone. I wasn't sure now if I should call 911, but someone on the emergency numbers list written on the phone would be getting a call.

The second clung jarred me from my would-be call. Racing to the bathroom this time, I once again fell in the window locked in a fresh note lying in the tub. Remove the board. My blood went cold. I couldn't feel my heart beating. Forget how this person was getting insane notes into my apartment. But how did they know I'd seen the board else? I crumpled the note up and threw it into the wicker waistbasket next to the toilet.

The next clung nearly made me jump out of my skin. I watched with utter shock as a tiny circle in the center that strange panel slid to the side. spat out yet another tube note and slammed shut within a half second. Someone I realized had been watching me shower. Someone who somehow had another peephole in the apartment next door. I retrieved the note and once again proceeded to the telephone. After I called the police, I'd leave the place and stay at the cafe downstairs until they arrived. I'm no moron.

The next note was even more to the same. disturbing in the last. Do not destroy further communications before completing requests. Or else, three things stuck me as out at this point. First, how this person seen me crumpled a note when their people was closed? Second, how would they written all of that out in the seconds between the offending action and the notes arrival? Lastly, it's not much of a request if you're going to end with a vague threat. I picked up the phone once again and finally dialed the authorities.

Ask his calling. I gave my name. What is the purpose for this call? Well, it's going to sound really weird, but like... I should inform you that prank calls are a serious offense. What? I'm not. Klingons? Wow, that's a new one.

I didn't say... I don't care what they're doing. The planet Klingon is outside our jurisdiction. Before he hung up the phone, I heard the officer talking to someone else. in the background. Jeff, you'll never believe this crank. Somehow he'd heard things I wasn't saying. It was as if an entirely different conversation had taken place,

exactly when I had called him. Suddenly there was a crash. I turned to see one of my cow figurines broken into shards on the floor. The table had been sitting on was now standing at a 90-degree angle, supported by floorboards that had risen up as if specifically to dump it over, frozen in fear. I turned my glance at the entertainment centers that slowly rose, well, the back of it rose at least,

dumping the flat screen in my entire DVD collection on the ground. The television broke with a resumed and crack and the DVD gazes were hanging down around it. Both pieces of furniture or the floorboards under them slowly settle back to their normal positions. Then the boards beneath my feet move ever slow slightly, rising at my heels. I took a few forced awkward steps forward and nearly fell to the floor.

Then the quivering started. I couldn't be sure if it was just my apartment or if the entire building was about to be shaken to the ground. Taking a deep breath of piercing cold air, I uneasily sprinted to the apartment next door and kicked the board to the floor. The panel was freed once again. When I looked back into my apartment at the broken and displaced items therein, the phone rang once again.

I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to answer it. I took one hesitant step into the place, and the front door took that opportunity to just slam behind me. The phone fell silent. It was no longer needed. I was trapped once again. Over the next couple days, I tried to leave. I don't just mean trying to open the door. I tried to leave the apartment behind and couldn't do it.

Every attempt ended in some sort of disaster. The phone would call people, people I knew, and somehow it would imitate my voice. friends, family, they couldn't tell the difference, and I could only listen on the line as the phone or whatever was, it terrible, horrible things to them. It became clear to me that as long as I abided by the request made of me, I'd be allowed to come and go as I pleased. If I ignored the messages or made any sort of attempt to permanently leave somehow, it could tell. I don't think I can refer to it as anything other than it. Now, someone who moved into the empty apartment.

I never found out what happened to the previous resident. I didn't even try to meet the new guy. I wanted nothing to do with anyone else in the building since I was sure one of them was behind the whole crazy ordeal. The note stopped for a while, and I was as happy about that as you could be under the circumstances. Except for the inability to move out of the place. You'd almost say I lived a regular life. A knock at the door took away the small shred of normalcy. Who is it?

I asked meekly. The knock persisted. Who is it? I know what you've been doing. He sounded gruff, maybe even drunk. Then again, maybe he was suffering the same problems I had. She didn't catch it so he'd know it was there. He'd be draggled, dirty, unshaven like the surly alcoholic I half expected.

He's easily a few feet taller than I was and could easily overtake me. What? I was in truth he actually knew what I knew. He smiled. The words hit me like a wrecking ball. He thought I was the one behind it all, just as I had suspected everyone else. I turned the problem over in my head. Should I tell him it's not me?

Then he'd know I knew something, and that might be enough to implicate me anyway. You're insane. The words left my lips like an unexpected cough, after which I abruptly slammed the door shut. Through the people I saw I'm standing there like a statue, a grinning, smart-ass statue who thought he'd figured it all out. With a sudden movement, the man threw his weight to the door and sent me reeling. In the surprise and horror that moment, a realization of every bad home invasion exploitation movie in history. I was barely able to keep my wets. Less than a second later, he was on top of me.

I tried to get him off of me. I tried to reach with my knees and clawed his face. But he found the perfect position to keep me helpless. What do you want? Please take anything. Just don't. I could feel the tears walling up in my eyes. Relax.

Room is he in? I'm only gonna talk to him. There's nobody here. He checked. He went into every room, knocking over my things. All the while, twisting my arm so hard I knew he was doing permanent damage. I could hear something crack.

When he searched the bathroom, he managed to whip back the shower curtain just enough to conceal that horrible parent. He got in my face with a cold, hard stare and a smarmy smirk. Okay. I don't know what you're talking about. The ringing. Stop ringing it. That's enough. I'm not calling you.

My phone's right over there. You have something. A cell phone? You can help me. His hands moved in my pockets. Into them. around personal spaces that brought me to your vomit-inducing levels of personal terror. Don't touch me!

No! He wouldn't stop talking about the panel. It was all nonsense. He talked about hurting his hand while moving in the air conditioner, or moving it and trying to cut off his hand, or none of it made sense. And all I could do was to continue insisting I was innocent. I must have said I knew nothing about it at least a hundred times, dragging me through the hall he continued.

He continued to jibber on, talking in circles. He pulled me kicking and screaming into the apartment next door, pried my fingers from the door frame after I got completely horizontally and slammed the door behind us. His phone was ringing just as he'd mentioned. A bloody kitchen knife had been left aside. Probably used to cut his own hand. He pointed at the panel I'd noticed days before. See?

Now you can't deny it. I looked at the panel. Then to that strange, violent man. Above all else, I feared that he was going to do something cruel to me until I admitted that I had one in my own place. Then he'd get even crueler until I told him that there would be nothing more to say. The silent dread was interrupted by a clong I had become accustomed to. His panel had opened, and how familiar-looking note laid at his feet.

How are you doing this? He shook me by the shoulder, spittle stinging my already teardy teard. tears soaked eyes. How? Before I could answer, he'd throw me to the floor. Feeling several more injuries taking root in my flesh,

I ceased a moment of freedom to make off for the door. No matter how I turned the knock, no matter how much I cried and raged at the door would not open. What's going on? I demanded, fearing what might be written on the page

now held in his trembling hands. What the fuck are you looking at? The room was hot. Too hot. It seemed as if both of us were standing inside a large oven. Sweat poured under my arms, from my chest everywhere.

My clothes were cleaning to me in a manner there's anything but comfortable now. The cray's look appeared on the man's face as he moved towards me at great speed. Fearing I had little time to leave, I turned my attention to something, anything I could use to defend myself. Inexplicably,

there on the table next to me was the knife. In seconds, the knife was between his ribs. I could only hold my hands over my mouth as a shriek unlike any I had ever heard before burst forth from my gut. My neighbor stumbled backward in a surprise, with a wincey dislodged the metal blade from his heart and collapsed to the floor with a wheeze. The temperature began to decrease. Despite the pooling blood before me, despite the corpse, the cooling of that room brought back my sense of calm. I tried the door again.

The note he'd been reading now lay before me, and even from standing distance, I could see the diagram upon it. It was a drawing of a man, cut up and reassembled with limbs mismatched. Was that me? Panel opened and spit another request. I wasted no time in retrieving it.

If I knew anything at all at that moment, was that this was no time to ignore whatever caused this chain of events. I thought so much as a thought, my hand caught the small circle before it closed. I immediately pictured the things slicing my digits clean off. But my surprise, the B-POL simply remained open as I held it. Place cadaver in bathtub. Or else, I looked at the body, then to the note.

There was no way I could move him. It wasn't just a matter of physical strength, but emotional strength as well. I knew that if I saw his face again, If I lifted it from the floor, I'd completely lose it. With one hand holding the panel open, I placed a note on the floor in front of me, and turned it over. The opposite side was blank. My free hand shook with fear and revulsion as I dipped my pinky into the warm metallic smelling blood I had spilled. I wrote a series of off-kilter messy letters on the paper, or else what?

Seeing this mad act of defiance before me should have given me the jolt I needed to realize this was a bad decision. However, in looking at the crimson reply, I felt only a strange sense of justification. I had every right to ask this. I rolled the note up again and jammed into the dark opening, through which I could see nothing. After, I allowed the panel to close once more. The sound was that of a classroom full of children anticipating the punishment of a disobedient student. As it grew louder, these children sounded very angry and very large. Oh, or sending a wall clock to the floor with a crash.

Oh! I could hear other sound mingling with a strange and human drone. It was a series of growls, not like an animal, but rather someone or something almost human, very aggravated and being slighted. The wall began to slowly raise itself in place. It was like some great sliding window, rising vertically in the unseen slot in the ceiling. I got to my feet and backed away from the walls that raced further and further. This steady nature of the impossible scene was driving me insane with dread. In the darkness behind the wall, where my apartment should have been,

I could see a dark metal floor. It was covered in spans of thick black grass. The crime was illuminated only by the light of the apartment I stood in, and the wall was about a foot off the ground had stopped. All was silent for a moment, and I tried for the life me to figure out what had just happened. The voices had stopped, and I considered the fact that might be a good thing. Until I saw the hand. A great hairy, two-fingered hand shot out from under the wall like that as someone searching

for change beneath the furniture. It wasn't unlike a human hand save for the reduced number of digits and its massive size. The wrist was easily the size of my waist. A thin layer of translucent yellow sun clung to the furry limbs that darted back and forth, feeling its way across the floor at a high speed. When it reached the wall, it felt the molding, then rebounded back and attempted search again. Or else what? Or else this.

The wall began to rise again. For more information, including pictures and videos. of the stories told on this podcast or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us at Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, or email.

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