Creepy - Renovations

Episode Date: June 16, 2025

Renovations***Written by: No One of Consequences***Grey Ghosted***Written by: Arthur Jay and Narrated by: Nichole Goodnight***Tapped***Written by: James Touchinski and Narrated by: Michelle Kane***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Purchase your merch at creepypod.com/store or creepypod.printify.me***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 creepy pastures 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. For our first story this evening, a skilled handyman takes on a massive renovation for an old client, only to uncover the terrifying truth about a decade's old evil lurking within.

Creepy Presents Renovations Written by known of consequence. I'm not one of those guys with the TV crew following me around while I renovate homes for people who can't really afford anything fancy. I don't buy run-down houses and flip them after dumping tens of thousands of dollars on repairs and new furnishings. Shit. I don't even remodel or redesign entire rooms for people with deep pockets. Well, normally, I mean.

For the most part, I'm a repairman trained in a number of disciplines like plumbing, electrical work, and AC repair. I'm handy with tools. Can build custom cabinets with surprising ease. and typically get called for small jobs. When I do get large jobs, it's because someone I know knows someone that needs a specific task done. I just want someone competent that isn't going to screw them with a bunch of hidden charges. When I get a job, I am extremely straightforward.

I listen to what the client wants, pour over the details, research material costs, draw out plans, and calculate a bill. When I show them is exactly what I hand them when the job's complete. with one exception. In some cases, it's hard to predict how many hours it'll take to do something. So in the estimate, I almost always add in additional hours. When the final bill comes, most of the time, the hours worked is lower than the estimated number.

They pay for my actual time, not what I quoted them on. A lot of guys in my line of work won't do that. I'm not in business to screw people. I'm there to make my clients happy. and give them as pleasant experience as I'm able. I first met Mandy several years ago when I readed the cabinets for a client's kitchen. The shelves were warped, all the doors crooked, and in some places, falling off. The wood was scarred in dingy polyboards.

Instead of using similar crapboards, I ended up using some three-quarter-inch wood. I cut, screwed, glued, engraved, edged, sand, and stained every inch of it, whether it faced outward or not. The end result was a dark cherrywood stain with doors edge to look like picture frames with glass inlays. When I handed over the itemized bill to include a stack of receipts to prove my purchases, Mandy was surprised. Then she spotted the time card and noted more than half the times were initial by the client. The times it weren't was when I worked on the cabinets at my shop, which is really my garage. There was even a printout of timestamp pictures I'd taken with my phone at the beginning and the end of each time punch. to prove these were the times I worked.

I always try to make sure my client is satisfied that I'm not patting the time card with unworked hours. Mandy was very impressed with the work, but more so with my transparency with the bill. She asked for my card, which I happily gave her. She came from old money and had a large house to herself on the outskirts of town. The older woman wasn't a big spender and had a major distrust to people as a whole, The only way she'd hire someone to do any sort of work at her house was if they were recommended by a trusted friend. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I heard from Andy. She was considering reaching out to me about a few different projects but held off.

The things she wanted done weren't urgent and could be tolerated. This time went on, the number of things got larger, going from two or three to nine or ten. Then something unfortunate happened. Mandy's lived alone for a number of years. Her children are all grown with her own families, and her husband passed away some time ago. She was in the kitchen and had to use the stepstool to get at the small cabinet above her microwave for something. I immediately thought she'd fallen off the stool, which she technically did, but it was worse than that. The cabinet door was stuck, and she'd yanked on it a few times, but it wouldn't budge.

She gave one final tug about ready to give up on getting whatever she was after. But then she heard a loud crack. That's when she went to step down and miscalculated, heading up on the floor. More noises came from the cabinets above, and she scrambled out of the kitchen on hands and knees. Thankfully, nothing was broken in her fall, and she managed to clear the area before half the cabinets and microwave dislodged from the wall and crushed the space she'd been in moments before. After a few days in the hospital to recover from the fall, it had bruised half her body. She reached out to me with her request to pay her visit.

When I arrived, the kitchen was still in disarray, and she told me what happened. Then she pulled out a small notepad with a list of a dozen items. Ascording me around the eight-bedroom house, Mandy explained everything she wanted done to the old home. As we talked about recess shelves, new light fixtures, and ceiling fans, I asked a few questions. The answers to game me clued me in on some other repairs that needed to be done that weren't on our list. It hadn't occurred to her that the lack of cooling in the summer wasn't only due to the AC unit that needed a serious overhaul. I used a probe to inspect several of the walls, especially in the rooms that tended to give really hot or cold in the winter and summer. Insulation can dissipate over time for a number of reasons, and all these areas were very bad.

In some cases, the insulation was practically gone. The options for this sort of thing ranged from removing the drywall and replacing the insulation to injecting spray foam. After several hours of walking around and inspecting the house, I gave Mandy my honest opinion. This sort of job could take me months since I work alone and be very expensive. It's more the sort of thing for a crew to work on. But either way, the cost would be high. Unfortunately, I don't know a crew I can trust to do this sort of thing in my own.

own house, and I told her as much. But that's why I want you to do this. I've spoken to a few of your clients, and they all sing your praises. Nandy wasn't concerned with how long it would take me, nor the cost, to my surprise. She just wanted it done by someone honest and trustworthy. So, I got to work right away. After the kitchen cabinets, the insulation was the first on my list, quickly followed by the AC. The outside of unit wasn't as bad. as I thought, but the internal components for another matter. I had to completely replace the A-frame and some ducting, but not as much as I initially thought.

Once all that was done, I got to work on the insulation, and that was not easy work. Thankfully, I'm moving on to other things today. Miss Mandy has an extensive book collection, enough that one of the larger bedrooms was converted into a library. The shelves weren't the greatest and had saged in the middle. Some were rather unstable because the backing had come off. These seem like the crap you can get a Walmart for less than 50 bucks.

I was certain that if I hit one end of the line of shelves, the entire line of them would fall over. I was very happy when she said you wanted me to replace them. Okay, when I say replace them, I don't mean she wanted me to build new ones. Well, not all of them. I'm actually removing all the books and breaking apart the cases to go into the large dumpster that's taken temporary residence in her driveway.

Once that's done, I'm removing the drywall from the interior walls and creating recess shelves. There are two exterior walls to this room, so I can only get away with doing this with two walls, thankfully. I much prefer doing freestanding shelves. I lay out heavy tarps over the carpet in the library. The shelves are broken down and the piece is stacked against one wall, waiting to be hauled out. I'm going to use a modified furniture dolly with a long base to stack him standing and ratchet him down for easy handling. This way I can take a dozen boards at one time. Before I do that, I'm preparing to remove the drywall.

Annie doesn't care for loud noises and decides to run some errands while I use my saws all. Taking a sledgehammer to the wall would be fun, but the mess it makes isn't worth it. Plus, I'd run the risk of damaging the studs, and I'm really hoping not to have to replace any of those as it is. Every time I remove drywall, I'm always apprehensive about what I'm going to find inside. A lot of the time we'll find mold, dead rodents, disgusting bugs that refuse to die no matter how much bug killer you use and a few other things. Once I found the dried-out carcass of a dead raccoon. After watching that movie about cartels where they found a bunch of dead bodies hidden

the walls of a drug house, I always imagine I'll find something like that. When I'm in better moods, I'll hope to find a stash of cash or something else valuable. But I'm not that lucky. Knowing me, even if I did find something good, I wouldn't keep it for myself. Inserting the battery into the saws all, I stabbed the heavy-duty blade into the dry wall and hold down the trigger. As far as saws go, it's not the loudest, but the vibrations it sends through the wall reverberates. I can feel vibrating up my arms, and for some reason it keeps going. It was very unusual, and I swear I feel it reaching down into the floor.

It's so odd that I let off the trigger for a moment, and sure enough, the floor is vibrating. No, not just the floor, but the whole damn house. What the hell? The old ceiling fan is swinging down dangerously back and forth. From further in the house, I hear the jingling of the chandelier in the dining room shutter. It's like an earthquake's rumbling the house, threatening to bring it down on top of me. I'm expecting to hear violent snaps as studs and supports hidden in the wall's break. Thankfully, none of that happens.

Almost as soon as it started, it all stops. The rumbling vibrations, the rattle of everything getting shaken up, the queasiness that have been threatening to upend my stomach, everything goes quiet. The last sound is the slight jingling of the shaked. chandeliers as it settles. I quickly search the house, looking for any signs of structural damage,

but everything seems to be fine. Even all the paintings and photos hanging on the walls look straight. Not a single one askew. With a rumbling like that, you'd think there'd be signs that the earth shook. But there's absolutely nothing. As far as I can tell,

the only thing different is a single door slightly ajar. It's at the room on the other side of the wall, was cutting into. It dawns on me that I haven't been in there. I think it's the only room Mandy doesn't have on her list, and I find that curious. Not enough to go snooping inside, but I plan on bringing it up to her when she returns. I wonder if she felt that tremor. Not wanting to waste any more time, I picked the saws all back up and continue cutting into the wall. Another tremor doesn't rock the ground, much to my relief. For a brief moment,

And I considered my work had been the cause of the shaking. And that was ridiculous. Unless I had somehow rupture to water me, there's no way my handheld saw could cause the entire house to shake like that. Since water means don't run in walls like where I'm cutting, the only other explanation would be if I somehow started cutting into a load-bearing beam. Again, not possible since I'm cutting vertically. It was an irrational thought, but the first that came to mind what with the timing.

Bring the saw horizontally across the wall, I stopped just short of the marked area where the stud is and begin removing the section. It's nearly two feet wide, and as I start moving it to the ground behind me, the top half leans away for me and breaks just above where my hands are. I knew this was probably going to happen, hence the tarps on the carpet. As the top section breaks off, the drywall flips and lands with the back end facing up, fracturing all over. There's something on the piece, and I see. stare at it, trying to understand what it is. The first thing to come to mind is a child's finger painting. What kind of sense does that make?

This is the top section of a wall, after all, starting it nearly eight feet off the ground. It covers the whole thing, and I turn the piece still in my hands. Sure enough, the markings continue all the way down. Looking at the unbroken piece in my hand, it reminds me at Chinese scroll writings, but the characters don't look Asian at all. I have no freaking idea what they could be. They cover every inch of the board's interior. Looking at the now wide open section of wall,

I put my gloves on and removed the old insulation to see the opposite side. As I thought, there are more of these finger-painted characters. It doesn't look like they're mirrored, but that's the only thing I can tell. I'm trying really hard to understand this. I'm curious about why someone would do this when something pops into my mind. What did Mandy said when she asked if I could make her recess shelves in there? I'd always wanted them, but my husband wouldn't allow it.

I never understood why. I'm thinking this had something to do with it. When it comes to matters of the supernatural, I don't know much. I've never believed in such things, and I don't like horror movies. So my knowledge base is very limited. The longer I look at these characters, the more reminds me of something. There was a trilogy of games I played a while back called Dead Space, and featured something called The Marker.

There was this large spire thing that had small symbols carved into it from top to bottom. I'm not saying I recognize these characters from that monolith, but the manner in which they're decorating the interior of this wall resembles the marker. Well, in the sense that it's creepy as fuck and can't mean anything good. Saying people don't do something like this without a reason. Okay, that's not entirely true. When I first went into business, I had a friend that helped out sometimes when I got too busy. The name was Perry, and he liked to screw around a lot.

He talked way too much when he was supposed to be working and liked to do stupid shit that seemed harmless at the time, but was a waste of time. There was one instance when we were repairing a destroyed wall in a fast food joint's bathroom. As I was about to put the new section of drywall in, he pasted a note inside the wall. It had arrows on it with a label under each. Under the left arrow, it said, to the bodies. Under the right arrow, to the cash and other valuables. I laughed at the idiocy of it, but didn't take it down. Instead, we finished the job and left.

I've been in and out of that particular franchise for years. And every once in a while, their bathroom would need to be repaired. Apparently, I rate customers will go in there and take out their frustration with the staff's inability to get orders right on the fixtures and walls. I've been in the dining area when the manager was sitting at a table with two supervisors discussing repair costs. I ever heard what they were talking about and handed them my business card. So I got the job in the first place. Several months after Perry and I did the job, I heard more repairs needed to be made. but the person they got to fix at that time did more damage than what had previously been done.

The police got involved, and word has it, the guy completely trashed the bathroom looking for buried treasure. I haven't asked Perry to help me since then. I highly doubt this weird script on the interior of the walls of prank like what my former friend had done, but it does give me an alternate possibility. This doesn't necessarily mean something weird or creepy as shit. Could just be some weird prank. The longer I look at the symbols, the more I realize I'm diluting myself. First off, they aren't painted in black like I originally thought.

Using the pen light always in my leg pocket, I shine in inside the wall to get a better look. The paint, or what I'm telling myself is paint, is a very dark red. Like dried blood. This has dark magic written all over it. Expecting even closer, I see some of the characters don't actually stop at the stud, but go underneath. Picking up the saw again, I cut the next section and remove it as well. This one doesn't cause the entire house to shake again, nor does it fall apart in my hands.

The strange finger-painted characters continue in this section as well. There's a strange uniformity to it that makes me start to wonder if it's kind of reverse wallpaper. You know, a design of the inside instead of the out so you can't see it. It's on the interior of both sides, making absolutely... no sense whatsoever. I hadn't needed to remove the drywall to deal with the insulation because Mandy had me using the spray foam. So I'm wondering if this isn't inside all the walls.

I still have absolutely no idea why someone would want to do that, unless they were pranksters and wanted to freak the hell out of the future repairmen. I've seen videos like that on the internet before. That coupled with Perry, and I know that kind of stuff happens. Taking up my saw again, I move over to the other interior wall and cut out the first section there. When I get the dry wall done, the underside doesn't have any of the strange characters. Just to be sure, I pull away some of the insulation. But it again doesn't have the markers.

I really don't know what to make of it. Part of me wants to go ahead and proceed with the job. Really, the symbols are none of my business, and I very much want to get this job done so I can get the hell out of here. As soon as I think that, I have to remind myself that this isn't like most of my jobs. I'm going to be back here again and again, several times a week for the next few months. I can't turn my back on this just because something innocuous freaks me out a bit. There's a lot at stake here, and Mandy's been nothing but good to me. I decided to go outside for some fresh air and maybe get at that half pack of smokes in my glove box.

It's been a while since I last had one. About two months, I think. The only reason I have them is when I get overly upset or irritated with something. It's bad as those stupid things are for me. I have a way of calming my nerves. Even if it's only a little bit. Usually helps enough that I can deal with whatever's getting to me. Stepping out into the hall, I hear a noise coming from the left.

The way out's to the right. And as far as I know, Mandy's still gone. She'd have had to come down the hall to get past me, and I would have noticed if she was back. When she's around, unless I'm doing something overly noisy or messy, she likes to pop around to see how things are going. Originally, I thought it was because she's a lonely person, but really, she's curious about how I do things. I'd seen it earlier when I checked the house after the quake, but hadn't really registered

until now. The door to the room on the other side of the strange symbols is now open. And all the time I've been in this house, that door has never been open. Now that I think of it, Mandy said the door has been stuck for a long time, but she has no need to go in there. It didn't surprise me because the door looks much older than anything else in the house. I'm not saying something. I know I said I wasn't going to snoop, but things have gotten really strange. My curiosity's overtaken my unease.

reaching for the doorknob, I noticed something anomalous right away. This section of the house is nothing but bedrooms, and in every house I've ever been in, bedroom doors open inward. The only things I've ever seen that open outward are closets and utility rooms. Even walk-in closets open inward. At this door, it's opening into the hall. I poke my head around and look inside. The first thing I notice is the smell.

There's a mustiness to the air that isn't present anywhere else in the house. And if it had been when I first came over, I would have passed the renovation off to someone else. I've had a few friends to keep snakes or lizards as pets. I've never understood the appeal. More than anything, the smell that comes from their habitats always seems to hit my nose the wrong way. That's kind of smell that's creeping into my nostrils right now.

Something moves inside, but I can't tell what it is. There's something very off about it, like my eyes refuse to focus. Is that a haze in the air? My eyes playing tricks on me. A new noise comes to me, or at least it seems new. It's so low that it might have been there for a while, slowly growing in volume to the point where I'm only now aware of it. A shape takes form in the dim light coming from the thick curtains.

It appears to be a man in black or possibly a girl wearing a night shirt. I don't know if it's a lack of light that's making it so hard to see or that strange cloudiness enveloping the room. I can barely make out the ceiling fan. But unlike all the others in the house, this one doesn't spin. Maybe if it was, the strange cloudiness wouldn't be so thick. Opening the door a little wider, something about the edge of it catches my attention. I've replaced a lot of doors in my time, both interior and exterior. The interior ones are always lighter and are often hollow.

You don't need the same density of an exterior door inside because presumably you're not trying to keep something out. The store seems heavier than the average exterior door. Seeing the edge of it, there's a perfect line bisecting the door, is if someone split it completely in half, like a book. I can't tell if it's been screwed back together or glue. but it seems solid. I get the impression there are more of those symbols inside and that uneasy feeling I was getting before intensifies.

From what little of the interior I can make out, the room looks very out of date. Like it hasn't been touched in decades. More than anything, I want to close this door, barricaded with everything I can get and get the hell out of here. Just when I'm about to push the door closed, an impulse that doesn't feel like me overcomes me. I suddenly want to step inside.

Breach the barrier I can't see that I now know is there. Once that happens, whatever's been trapped inside will finally be free to leave. I don't understand why I would want that to happen. But the feeling's undeniable. No! The shout comes from behind me. It's enough to snap me out of whatever hole. the thing inside has on me.

I slammed the door closed and pressed my back against it, expecting it to come pounding against it to get out. Bracing myself for the onslaught, nothing seems to happen. It's as quiet as grave in there, and I let out a sigh relief. Mandy comes down the hall looking both relieved and exasperated. I think someone owes me a goddamn explanation. Neither I'm going to get one, or she's going to need to get herself another handyman.

Honestly, depending on the explanation, that might still be the case. We sit down in the kitchen and she serves tea. I prefer something with a little more kick, like whiskey, but then I take a tentative sip of the hot beverage. To my surprise, there is a little whiskey in it. I should have noticed her added in, but I'm but freaked out at the moment not paying attention of little details like that. After my second sip, she gets into the story.

Not bothering to beat around the bush. The house has been our husband's family for generations. It started out as a simple three-bedroom but was expanded upon several times. There's very little of the original house left after all the renovations and upgrades. In fact, the only thing that's remained the same is that single bedroom. It once belonged to her husband's youngest sister, who died a very long time ago. Poor Amelia hadn't lived to see her teenage years. You know how kids do stupid things that they're not supposed to do all the time?

The more you tell them not to do something, the more they want to do it. Well, that was as true 50 years ago as it is today. When their parents told Amelia not to play with Ouija boards to contact the other side, that's all she wanted to do. Your family dog had just died and no one loved that dog more than Amelia. She wanted to contact the other side to find out how her pet was doing. Amelia had a sleepover one night, and supposedly she told her friends about how she'd been trying to contact the other side. As is typical sleepovers, the girls decided to pull out the Ouija board.

The problem is the four of them managed to contact something, but had nothing to say about the dead dog. Instead, it tricked him into doing something monumentally stupid. They tried to get a priest to reverse what had been done and possibly save Amelia. But it didn't work. In the end, the priest never made it out of the room either. No one's been inside since. Mandy came into the picture long after all this had happened. Many members of the immediate family told her variations of the story

after she moved into the house with her new husband. When she asked her husband about it, all he'd say was that protections have been put in place to keep the evil contained. She never knew what those protections were and was too afraid to ask. I think I found the answer to that. After we finish the tea, we go into the library and I show her what I found. Surprisingly, she recognizes the symbols. Going through the piles of books under a tarp, she extracts a very old leather-bound white book.

Priest had brought it with him when he came to perform an exorcism, or whatever he tried to do to undo the evil. Since he never left the room, it stayed in the house and became part of Mandy's library. Most of the script is in English, but mostly it explains the things that aren't. Several pages are filled with marks that look like the symbols are uncovered. It's a protective barrier designed to lock a Hellgate, which is exactly what it sounds like. Only one layer is needed, but Mandy's husband had been a fan to have him backups, hence the double layer. I'm grateful. If there had only been one layer, I might have unleashed whatever's. in there. We make plans for me to repair the barrier and add a third layer of protection.

I'm going to add another wall directly on top of the old one to make her shelves in that wall. A little short in the room a little, but she'll still have the shelves she always wanted. I'm also going to create another wall in the hallway to completely cover the door, but making it so the addition will be remotely obvious. It's a freaking miracle I didn't go in. The next person to find the door ajar might not be so lucky. Now, no one who comes into this house will know the room exists. I hope. For our second story this evening, after surviving a brutal home invasion, a librarian

questions how she survived. Was it something helping her? Or, creepy presents. Gray ghosted, written by Arthur J. And narrated by Nicole Goodnight. I never liked ghost stories. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of horror. I grew up watching all the 80s slasher fix, reading Edgar Allen Poe, and listening to folklore podcasts, but ghost stories were never my favorite. I guess it's because, well, they scare me. There are a few things more terrifying than doubt, and the existence of ghosts fill me with doubt. I always joke that I could watch Michael Myers stab through an entire kindergarten class without a problem, but I can't get through a viewing of poltergeist without a doubt.

hiding behind my hands. Funny enough, I work in a haunted library. When I tell people that, they always pictured the scene at the start of Ghostbusters where the floating female librarian shushes patrons between the stacks. Our ghost has never been that pronounced, and he has never been a malicious presence. She has mostly been seen around our children's center and has been known to occasionally knock over a book. The library decided to embrace the rumors, and people came from all around to check us out. That being said, there was a type of of ghoul that I was more than happy to deal with when they showed up at our door. Our state is a bastion of the conservative right, and that cesspool becomes a breeding ground

for the alt-right groups that like to police through and burn books. Now, our city was a bit more liberal than most of the rural state, but we still had moms for liberty types show up to cause a stink after the state passed a law that allowed for the community to challenge the library inventory and have books removed from circulation. Every once in a while, one of these mouth-breatzers would show up to bother our staff, find books from their list in our children's section, and bring it up to our counter in order to make a scene. It didn't happen very often, once every three or four months,

but when it did, I would handle it. For the most part, these people were just looking to record an overreaction in order to get sympathy donations to their scam fundraisers. Anytime I saw them starting to badger our staff, I would take over the interaction and stamp it out. After a few minutes of conversation, they would realize that they weren't going to get the knee-direct reactions that they were hoping to get to make their video,

go viral. I would take down their grievances, but I would also ask them questions. Could you give me the chapter number of the section that contains the offensive scene? Can you give you the names of the characters who are demonstrating inappropriate behavior in the story? It was hilarious to watch them fumble through answers, clearly never having read the book they were protesting. I had made it a point to cross-reference their book lists with our inventory and read each one of the books. I would question them about the plot and major themes of the book simply to waste their time, all with a shit-eating smile of helpfulness plastered on my face. After several minutes of squirming in a chair like a middle schooler who hadn't done their book report, they would leave, quiet and deflated.

Then I would crumble up and throw away the report before getting back to work. But a while ago, we had a true believer come in. Unlike the others, he was more put together. He was dressed in business casual attire, and if it wasn't for the shock of a bleach blonde crew cut, he would have blended in with our everyday researchers that go through our historical archives. He meandered around our general collection before picking up one of the books from our state author section. I was working the checkout desk and he asked if he could speak to a member of staff about the book. At first, I thought he was interested in reading it. I told him that it was a decent read, but he simply smiled and told me he had already read it.

He indicated that he wanted to report the book for its sexually explicit scenes between minors. It was then that I realized what I was dealing with. I got a co-worker to take over the checkout and I walked him towards our main office to give him the runaround. He had a seat and placed the book at the end of the desk as I got out my pen in the paper form for recording public complaints. Unlike most, he was very knowledgeable about the book, able to cite the exact page numbers of the objectionable scenes and describe the plot as well as identify the main characters. With the form filled out, I stood to open the door, assuring him that his complaint would be filed and presented at the next librarian's meet on the 15th. But as I made my way to pull on the door handle, I saw his hand enter my peripheral vision as he leaned against the door.

I turned around and looked up at him, making direct eye contact as I told him to step away from the door. He didn't move. Instead, he pointed out that I'd asked him a lot of questions concerning the book. I repeated my demand that he remove his hand from the door, and for a moment he held my eyes. A loud thud from behind him caught us both by surprise, causing him to quickly turn to see the book lying open on the floor by the edge of the desk. I took advantage of the moment and quickly opened the door. I walked out of the office and announced that his objection had been noted and he was free to leave, being sure to speak loudly enough to call attention to him.

For a moment, he looked pissed. I got the feeling he didn't appreciate me giving him an order. But with the smile, his face warped back into a mask of pleasantry that would have fooled Patrick Bateman. He picked up the book and placed it on the checkout counter before leaving. I did my best to push it out of my mind. I gave his complaint to our lead librarian and explained that I felt uncomfortable. comfortable with him. He agreed to pull up the security tape footage and have him flagged for monitoring if he should return. Once we closed, I made my rounds with the book return cart.

I always enjoyed this part of my day. Straightening things up on the tables and putting the books back on their shelves helped to re-center me at the end of the day, although I hated using the Dewey Decimal System. If you know, you know. Most of my time was spent near the children's section as it had the largest number of misplaced books. As I exited the room, I saw a person walking away from me down the hallway. I called out to the person to let them know that the library was closed, but they didn't stop. This was not unusual in the age of Bluetooth headphones. I left the card and followed them down the hall. As I rounded the corner, I was surprised to find no one on the staircase. I took the stairs up to the main floor, but still saw no one. I went to the checkout

counter and asked if anyone had left recently, but no one saw anyone leave. So I went back downstairs to finish with my cart. Listen, I know it sounds dumb, especially when you consider that I work in a library that is said to be haunted, but in the moment, I didn't seriously consider what I saw could have been a ghost. If you hear galloping, you think horse, not zebra, you know.

I just assumed whoever they were just walked out without anyone seeing them. So the idea of going back downstairs alone didn't seem like a bad idea until I got there and saw that my cart was gone. Looking down the empty hallway, my stomach felt sick with worry. I had that sense you get

when you feel like you're being stared at by everyone in the cafeteria. I walked down towards the children's section and saw the cart. I jogged over and grabbed the handle. It was ice cold. But I was too spooked to stop and consider why. I booked it down the hall to the elevator and pushed the cart in the second the doors opened wide enough to get in. I turned around and hit the button, daring to glance out as the doors began to shut. Clouded eyes stared back at me as the doors closed and I jumped back, stifling a scream. Hath expecting a spectral hand to jet through the door, I was relieved when the elevator. elevator jerked up towards the first floor. I grabbed the cart and put it in front of me as the doors

opened, but thankfully nothing stood there waiting for me. I didn't tell anyone what I saw, and things were normal for the rest of the evening. Soon I had rationalized the vision as an overactive imagination. I'll admit I was nervous when I got to work the next day, but I arrived without any gray person looking down at me from the window on the second floor. I walked in, doing my best to push it out of my mind, though I did make it a point to always take one of her interns with me to return the books downstairs. On the 15th of that month, the library board met to discuss and vote on the book objection. Normally, these meetings were sparsely attended, but news had gotten out about the book objection and lots of people showed up to voice their opinions. The meeting hall was filled

to capacity with several more people choosing to stand in the back, which made the fire marshal a bit nervous. As I hoped, nearly everyone who spoke came to the defense of the book, and even those who voiced their objections about the book's content, conceded that it was not worth removing the book from the general circulation. The board voted four to one to keep the book and closed out the meeting by thanking the community for coming together for a civil discourse. I walked out to my car and saw the blonde-haired man leaning against his vehicle. We locked eyes and he watched me walk to my car. I made a point to put my purse in my trunk and grab my tire iron. I placed it in my passenger seat and waved him as I left the parking lot. I made a point to go get some food from a restaurant

outside my neighborhood, and I made sure to check the parking lot of the restaurant for Airy and Boy's car before heading home. I awoke to a sense of panic mealing over my body. My legs felt cold, and I was acutely aware of how exposed my skin felt in the open air. I felt someone watching me in the dark. I tried to ignore the feeling, telling myself it was just an irrational fear of the dark as I pulled my blanket over myself for a semblance of security. I checked my phone and saw it was after 2 a.m. I quickly did the mental math of how many hours until my alarm would go off as I placed it back down on my nightstand, but froze as I heard a solid thud come from the other side of my room. I shook my phone to turn on the flashlight, sitting up to see

the corner of my room. Two books lay on my floor next to my bookcase, each splayed open. I took a moment to calm myself before getting out of bed and turning on the overhead light, squinting in the bright light of the LED bulbs. I looked at the bookcase and noticed it was completely full. There were no cavities left from books fallen out of place. I picked up the books and recognized them as hardback editions of a fantasy series that I kept in the living room as decor. I looked over at my bedroom door and saw that it was still closed, giving me assurance that no one had been in my room. I assumed I had absent-mindedly taken the books into my room and must have set them precariously on top of my bedroom bookshelf. I considered going back to bed, but decided to put the books back

where they belonged to prevent any similar events from occurring. I walked down the short hallway to my living room, flipping on lights as I walked past the bathroom. The bookshelf sat directly behind my couch, centered against the far wall. Sure enough, I could see the gaps on the shelf where the books had been taken. I brought over my footstool and stood on it in order to reach the top shelf and place the books in their proper place. In an instant, my heart jumped as I glanced into the mirror hanging next to the shelf and saw a face with blonde hair watching me. I turned around with a start, but lost my balance on the footstool, hitting the ground hard on my right hip. I felt all the air in my body explode out of me as I crumpled around his foot when he kicked me in the stomach.

Gasping for air, I tried to shout, but all that escaped were breathless pleas for help. I started to kick my legs and did my best to crawl away from him, but he effortlessly pinned me to the ground with his boot on my lower back. Sharp pain sizzled in my neck and scalp as he wrenched my head up by my hair, pulling hard enough to lift my chest off the ground while still keeping my hips pinned with his boot. I propped myself up with my arms in an attempt to take the strain off of my neck and he placed a gag in my mouth, one of those red ball ones, like in the movie Pulp Fiction. When I reached back to stop him, he pushed my head down to the floor. With both arms reaching

behind my head, my forehead dribbled off the hardwood floor, causing me to swim in a haze of stars and nausea. Thankfully, he twisted my head before it hit the floor, keeping me from breaking my nose. He wanted me to be able to breathe with the gag in place, and a broken nose would have led me to choking on blood. Then he jerked me back up in order to secure the gag. Being nearly twice my size he had no problem moving me around. I attempted to use one hand to stop him, leaving the other to prevent another headbut to the ground. But I felt very uncoordinated, and nothing I could have done would have prevented him from his task. With the gag in place, he let go of my hair and took his foot off my back. I felt weightless as the pressure released

from my hips. I did my best to pick myself off the floor, but I was still spinning with dizziness. He let me get to my feet and I tried to push past him, but he shoved me into the wall with the force that I was incapable of resisting. He placed his hand around my neck to pin me in place against the wall. I let out a scream of anger and fear that sounded more like a mumbled cry from behind the gag. He squeezed his fingers into my neck, and I could feel my heart beat pounding as he pushed against my arteries. My vision tunnelled and tears fell as my eyes began to shut. My senses returned as he loosened his grip and smacked me hard across the cheek.

I bit down in pain against the gag and stared up at him in rage. He smiled back at me. lips pulled back exposing his white veneers. Suddenly his eyes flicked up and his expression changed to confusion. He let go of me as he spun around to confront the person he saw in the mirror. Standing behind him was a woman in a gray dress. She simply stood in place, arms at her waist, staring at him with unblinking eyes in a tight mouth. He moved to hit her and lost his balance when the punch he expected to land against her head encountered no resistance.

He tumbled onto the floor and rammed his shoulder into the corner of the wall. I winced at the sound of his collarbone breaking. The gray lady walked a few steps in my direction, and I stood rooted in place from shock. She nodded her head towards the object in the corner and faded away. Nazi boy stood up again. Agony painted across his face as he attempted to lift his right arm to attack me again. He doubled over as pain shot down his arm from the broken bone.

The last thing he heard was the grunt I made as I embedded the tire iron into his skull. It's been a few months, and things are settling back down. I was able to go back home after the crime scene investigators had cataloged all the evidence, and the cleaners removed all the blood and brain matter. Unfortunately, a few of my books did get splattered and were taken as evidence. But once they came to the conclusion that I had acted in self-defense, they were returned to me. I chose to put them away and buy new copies for the bookshelf. I still have nightmares, and I'm seeing a therapist to manage the trauma.

But there's something I just can't tell her about. A few weeks ago, I noticed some odd things around my place, stuff and places they shouldn't be, books out of place, knives out on the counter instead of in the drawer. Last night I found my cast iron skillets sitting on the bedroom bookcase. I know memory can be affected by trauma, and I tell myself that I'm just putting things down and not realizing it. But I can't help but to think about the gray lady. My therapist says she's a false memory, my brain's way of rationalizing the stress of the home invasion, a way to explain how I was able to find the strength to push him away and bash his skull. I wanted so badly to have some

someone show up and save me that my brain hallucinated the gray ghost. But still, the thing that keeps me awake at night, if she was real and ghosts really do exist, what's to keep the ghost of the man I killed from coming back and trying to finish the job? For our final story this evening, when a reclusive woman's beloved maple trees are harmed, she takes it upon herself to make sure that her babies survive the long winters to come.

Creepy presents Tapped Written by James Tachinsky and narrated by Michelle Cain A mother's love is unconditional I have nurtured my babies since the day I first planted them watering them before they emerged

and welcoming them as they came into the light They are my children And they have grown so tall I couldn't be prouder. That's why I had to do what I did. It's a mother's duty to protect her children, you know. Forgive me, I'm getting ahead of myself. I don't have any human children. Heavens no. I couldn't raise those sniveling, snot-nosed brats. Always needy, always crying, always wanting more. No, things. Thank you. It was a blessing that I was unable to have any. You see, I was physically incapable of having a child, born with the wrong genetics, I guess. My mother had a hard time conceiving me, so it was only natural that she passed the same trait down to me. After years of trying, Earl had had enough and left. I couldn't stand the thought of moving back in with my mother,

God no. So I sold off everything and moved here. Honestly, I'm glad I did. I absolutely love it out here. Just me and my babies. My darling little maple trees. Remembering them as saplings brings a tear to my eye with their small pale green leaves unfurling in the light. Ah, they were so sweet. During their Adolescence, they bent and swayed in the harsh winds, but as their mother, I tended to their every need. I fashioned a harness for them, padded with soft rubber hoses where they wrapped around their delicate trunks to let them grow straight and true. They grew at an astounding pace, and in the blink of an eye, they were over 20 feet tall. Their trunks grew thick and strong, their numerous branches, covered in serrated leaves, grew plentifully, reaching for the stars.

My favorite time of year is during autumn, when my children all impress me by changing their greens do vibrant red. Even their rough skins take on a red hue. Hmm, crimson, maybe. Ah, how wonderful they are. The last fall season was the best and brightest, too. Oh, just thinking about them warms my heart. So you can imagine the pain I felt that day when it was discovered that one of my babies had gone missing. It was a normal Saturday morning, and I soon went out to check on my children. Snow had yet to fall, and the crunch of dry leaves echoed loudly. I'm not sure why I remember that part.

It was everything after that. that I don't recall. Now a mother knows each and every one of her children, knows them by their name, knows them by sight and touch. They were all there to greet me as I approached during those brisk morning hours. All except my littlest. What remained of her was a stump, clearly butchered by some maniac with an axe. Cry, I did. Sinking to my knees in the soft soil, someone had murdered one of my babies.

I was distraught. My other children mourned by my sigh, and a somber mood filled all our hearts. I had procured a set of security cameras a while back to keep a better watch. A mother is supposed to protect. her children from monsters that lurk in these woods. The screen on your left monitors my little ones 24 hours a day, recording everything. The kettle is ready. A nice hot cup of tea really does calm the nerves.

Now, now, quiet your screams. I really am just pouring a cup of tea for myself. Smell the sweet camomile? You see, that's how I found. the brute who murdered my little one through the camera system. I watched an absolute horror as he raised that axe and swung time after time. Small pieces of my child bursting from her precious skin. Oh, my heart, how could he? My father, God rest his soul, had been a true. trapper all his life. He would wake me early every weekend and bring me with him. It was those days I loved the most, and he taught me everything he knew. How to read animal tracks and tell them apart, what game trail was most heavily used, where the animals built their dens and so on. He also showed

me how to rig the traps and exactly where to place them. After a season of his teachings, I became quite good at it. The most important lesson was how to deal with a live animal that had been snared. Now, a con a bear trap doesn't kill the animal, not all the time. And the animal can be quite ferocious having one of their legs clamped in one, let me tell you. You either shoot the animal or club it. It's the only way. I knew that evil man would be back to take another one of my babies. I just knew he would. Winter was fast approaching and there were plenty of ogres murdering innocent trees such as mine. So I set up traps all over to protect them. Well, wouldn't you know it? The cameras alerted me that I caught something near my babies. On my way out the

door, I ensured I took this bright red X, you see here. I was not going to let that monster harm one of my babies again. Sprinting down the trail where I heard his curses, anger rose within me. Now, I'm not normally a violent person, quite timid, actually. But this man was after my babies, and I will stop at nothing. When I found him, he was screaming at me to release him while he grasped at the trap. There was a lot of blood soaking into his pant leg where the welded on nails pierced him. Courtesy of yours truly, of course. I told him I didn't have the strength to release him.

Those traps can be quite tough, you know. I said I would go get my husband and he'd be able to set him first. And when I got close enough, well, let's just say he was released. This last winter was one of the best winters we've had. We all finally had some food to eat. Me and my children were getting quite low on our food stores. It was a very long winter. That is why I was so glad to find you upon my cameras.

My heart swelled knowing that we would survive yet another. year. Thank you, but you should know better than to harm one of my babies. Oh, stop your sniveling. I hope you feel the burn from that slap upon your face, you pernicious swine. I was alerted and seen you sticking your vile treetops deep into my babies. In order to what, make maple syrup? Oh, you disgust me. How you avoided my traps, I don't know, but the chloroform worked wondrously. Although I am getting a bit older, and it took more of an effort getting you into my home after knocking you out. You are quite round around the belly, but that's okay with me.

I like a little fat on my meat. Nonetheless, here you are. Welcome to my little home out here in our little slice of heaven. It's not much, but it suits us just fine. Food's a little hard to come by, though. This is going to hurt, by the way. These tree taps are a bit tough getting in. There, three done.

Only seven more to go. If you make it that far. I built this home myself when I came out here, made it all by hand. Of course, I was a lot younger back then. She's still standing tall, though, made out of pine. We don't like pine out here. My babies don't like much around them, you see. They need all the sunlight they can get.

It took me two years of hard labor, but I did it. It's nice and quaint. Oh dear, it seems your gag is loose. Here, let me tighten that for you. Yes, yes, I know it hurts, though it's nothing can. compared to the pain you caused me. You almost broke this poor mother's heart when you thought you could pierce my babies and drain their life.

You are a monster. So go ahead and scream. Tree tap number four. Ah, here we are. I've heard that it's better to tap them in with a hammer. To get that good seal and all. Shall we try it? Oh, that must really be painful.

Good. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, yes. I finished building and began making it into a home. I decorated it to my liking using the pelts from the animals I had trapped and tanned. Do you like them? They are quite lovely, aren't they? That large beaver pelt upon the wall over there, that's my favorite.

With my house now complete, a warm, welcoming abode, I had to find something else to occupy my time. It gets a bit lonely out here some days. You know, I had always fancied becoming a writer, so I decided to give it a try. I got to work straight away. It was very tough at first, but I had little else to do. After a while, it did get easier. Not much, but some. I managed to fill a shelf full of fictional tales. They may not be bestsellers, but that's of no consequence to me. I don't do it for the accolades. However, even with all my books and all the friends within them,

I still yearned for more, something alive, someone to talk to. I needed a family. I wanted to be a mother. This was a feeling I had never experienced before, not with Earl. It happened one sunny day. I was out checking the traps and stopped to breathe in the fresh air. When not one, but five maple tree seeds a lit upon my shoulder. I took it as a sign from, you know who, and counted my blessings.

Five maple tree seeds, five little darlings to raise and take care of. I finally had my family. I made them a bed so soft and so full of nutrients, making sure they had plenty to eat and drink until they broke into this world to greet me, their mother. It was a glorious day when they emerged. The sun was shining ever so bright, and I knew then that it was my calling to be a mother. Ready for tap number five? My, you're a tough one.

I cleared all the other trees from around my babies, giving them plenty of light. They were beginning to grow tall. Really? You must scream like that? It's rude to interrupt an innocent old mother. As I was saying, my babies were growing tall and at a rapid pace. I was making sure they had everything they needed. As they continued to grow feeding from the soil,

My food stores had started to dwindle. Trap was becoming scarce, and I had to venture further and further in search of food. That all changed when that strapping young lad came wandering by in search of game. He was quite handsome, I recall. I made sure to invite him in for some tea when, Dear me, he suffered an accidental gunshot to the head. However, my baby is. and I were well fed for that winter. They even began to take on a peculiar red tent, probably from all

the nutrients they were getting. Oh my, it seems that you are losing a lot of blood. Not much longer now. Tap number six. As the years progressed, others have come venturing by on occasion, just enough to keep us well fed. The winters can be long and severe out here. I recall some moons ago, the lady hiker who managed to find my cabin that dreadfully cold winter's night. She told me she had lost her family after taking a tumble down a hill. Oh, the deer did look in terrible shape. The poor thing told me she had been lost for two days and was extremely thankful to stumble upon my little home in the woods. She was so weak and frail.

That's why I'm afraid she took that nasty spill down my basement stairs. I can see her now. Her head bent over at that austere angle. Oh, it was awful. My babies and I needed to eat, however. That's why she did not go to waste. Just like you. Oh, I can see you're starting to nod off.

You're getting close. to giving back all that which you stole from my children. But I need everything you've taken. The final tree tap? Yes, you feel it, don't you? Feel the excruciating pain and torture. Just like what you did to my babies. As you take your final breaths,

I want you to know that you should never Fuck with a mother For more information on this podcast Including how to submit your own story for consideration Please visit creepypod.com You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube All stories told on this podcast Are done so through Creative Commons Shera-Lite 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.