Creepy - Runner

Episode Date: February 12, 2024

Don't look back...***Written by: Donald McCarthy***Bonus episode: "Translucent" Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Michelle Kane***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***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.

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Written by Donald McCarthy Summer heat lingers long past sunset. My watch tells me it's just shy at 10 p.m., but the humidity still suffocates, and the temperature refuses to go lower than 85. I'm still going for my run, of course. Six months from now, I'll miss this heat as I running cruel frigid air, telling myself I should have enjoyed summer while it lasted. I descend my porch, glancing up and down the block.

Quiet as usual. My neighborhood tends to fall into silence at night. There's the occasional sound of drag racing from a town over, but my town puts itself to sleep by 9 p.m. I feel as if I'm the only one awake during these night jogs, and that's just fine with me. The atmosphere gives me a sense of entering a different world. Headphones blasting music in my ears, blood-surging. It's like I'm on a different plane of reality.

Last night I pumped my arms in the air while listening to Rock Sets the Look. Night gives you permission to be a fool. I take in a breath and run down my driveway, turning left. I rush past the small suburban homes, many of which are in a state of disrepair. A lot of people seem to be pinning their hopes on the new millennium offering a better way of living. Or they're like my mother who worries far too much about Y2K than a woman of her intelligence should. She's back home right now, half asleep in front of the television. She always goes to sleep like that.

It's usually the news she has on, and I think it infects her while she sleeps, making her paranoid. Not that I'm immune to a little paranoia myself. Guess it's in my family's genes. I crank out my CD player's volume, letting Nirvana sing louder. I'm considering a six-mile run tonight. Nothing crazy. I've hit 12 miles in the past, but enough that I'll feel it tomorrow. My mother says I run too much.

So does my doctor, for that matter. You're too thin for a boy your age, they say. True, I guess. But I don't much care. My shoulder-length hair tickles the back of my neck as I reach the end of the block. The street lights illuminate just enough that I don't trip over. anything. But I keep it otherwise dark enough that there's a perfect air of spookiness. Now, the right amount of fear can cause a slight high. I guess that's why we like horror movies.

Throw curves and ascends. You pace myself slower. It used to be I had power through at the same speed, but I've since learned that doesn't work well for longer runs. You have to manage yourself just right when you want to go along. Pounding the pavement, as hard as possible is only for when you want to get out some serious anger. I'm past that now. It's been eight years since cancer ate my father's lungs. It's been a couple of years since I made peace with the fact that my life will probably be mundane. Next year I start community college.

But I'm not kidding myself that I'll be on the path to great success. At least I'll have my runs. I guess. I cross the street and cut into the park. I run across the young Kemp baseball diamond. You can barely see the bases anymore. Grass has enveloped them. The metal stand's parents used to sit on or rusted,

and I have to imagine you get tetanus after sitting on them for a minute. On the opposite side of the park, there's a break in the chain-link fence. It's easy to slip through. Although it has ripped my shorts once or twice. Once you sneak through, you're on a long dirt path, more isolated than ever. Just music, adrenaline, sweat, and the stars. The path goes for about four miles and contains a series of electric towers. You can feel the electricity on your skin sometimes.

Or so I think. Maybe I just trick myself into it. But who cares? The sensation is all the matters. but the cause. I'm halfway to the fence when I look behind me. I'm not sure what makes me turn. My music plays too loud for me to hear anything,

and I don't catch anything out of the corner of my eye. Yet I turn, nonetheless. Along the sidewalk beside the park, a tall figure dressed in all black jogs. His face is so pale, so in contrast with his clothes that for an awful moment, It appears a disembodied head floats down the street.

I yank off my headphones, wanting all my faculties on alert. The jogger doesn't look my way, though, and before long he's past the park, jogging beside the public pool that reeks of chlorine. I stand at the break in the fence. Normally I'd be angry at halting my run since I pride myself and go non-stop. But it's rare to see others out at this hour, especially a jogger. Sure, I run into people sometimes, although it's rare. Once I came across a boy and a girl a year below me, examining the insides of a hawk's corpse on the dirt path,

they looked up at me with wide eyes like I caught them fucking. I said nothing and kept going. It should be no different. I pull my right leg to my buttocks, and then my left, making sure standing still doesn't cramp up any muscles. Time to get back to my rhythm, although I leave my headphones around my neck. I want to be able to hear. Silly, of course.

But tonight makes all of us a little paranoid. A whisper of wind during the day is nothing. At night, it's every bad dream come alive, pushing itself against your window. watching you while you can't sleep. The dirt path reaches about 10 feet horizontally before there's another chain-linked fence that sets off people's backyards. I wonder how they feel looking out at this all the time.

They wish they had a prettier view? Do they ever see me at night? Wonder who I am? Why I'm always jogging? Where I'm going? What I'm running from. I had a 70-foot-high electric tower stares down at me.

Unlike everything else in town, it's pristine. During the day, when the sun hits it, it silver metal shines. The wires from it stretch out to the next tower about a quarter of a mile away. The line of them goes on and on, eventually ending at a facility run by the defense manufacturer Tyreus Incorporated,

the only major business and a 20-mile radius outside of a couple of box stores. My father worked for Tyreus for years. My mother remained confident the cancer came from working there. I have no opinion. If it's unprovable, then what's the point? The worries turned my mother's hair as stringy and gray. It made her as emaciated as I am, and not from exercise.

I've been down the dirt past so many times its darkness does not matter. I know the ups and downs, the places where the dirt becomes weak, the spots where water gathers if there's been rain. I rarely tell people this is where I jog after dusk. I know they'll tell me it's dangerous. They don't understand that how you can become so in tune with something that you see it, even when your eyes can't. The path and I are on the same... Wait. There's sound.

I slow, although not for long. I soon get the urge to run again, faster than before. There's a consistent but faint tapping behind me. The tapping's rhythmic, and I know it's cause as I've heard it every day. Running. Someone else runs this path tonight. They're well behind me, but they're there. He couldn't be the jogger from before.

He was way ahead of me. In a way, he could have circled back around that far. I shouldn't worry. I like to be alone. I always have. But it's not like I own this path. If someone else wants to jog it, then that's their business. I speed up some more making certain to put distance between me and the Knights Invader.

Even in school, I like to walk it. to set my desk further away from the others. My mother told me to try not to do that in college. That I might meet some people if I allow myself to, quote, be open. She even commented I might find a running partner. I thought that came close to making me vomit. Why is it that some people think you want to be surrounded by others all the time? God damn it.

He's getting closer, isn't? I glance behind and see nothing. The tapping's louder, though. I lose my balance for a second. I'm off tonight, spooking myself. I've been under some anxiety. College looms, adulthood looms. Just getting the better of me now.

The other runner would laugh at me if you knew what he unintentionally caused. Maybe he'd pat me on the back and offer words of encouragement. Say we're like brothers and craziness running at night. Maybe it'd scoff at me, annoyed at my paranoia. People can be like that sometimes. They treat those with fear like we're freaks. People who can't function. That might even be true.

Most days I feel like I've got the mind of an adult. But the other days? The other days, I'm a scared five-year-old not ready for the world. Yeah. He's definitely getting closer. This time when I turn, I see him. He's far away. I'm not sure what light hits him.

Maybe none needs to. He's just a speck on the horizon, but it's him. I know it. Two smaller flickers, a pale skin beneath his head, or I suspect his hands. does he dress in black to make his paleness more noticeable? Such a silly thought, yet it won't leave my head. He's probably only a quarter mile back.

But night makes it hard to be certain. He can't be as close as a tenth of a mile, though. He can't. I won't accept that. I can outrun him too. I can hop the fence if need be. But there's another break on the left-hand side about a mile ahead that leads to a crumbling parking lot of a deceased strip mall.

I have to think this is paranoia. I've always been partial to it. It's strange how this guy has been able to so quickly circle back around. Sure, but the answer doesn't have to be nefarious. I shouldn't even worry about the answer. None of my concern. Others are allowed to jog. I'm just creeping myself out.

I'm good at that. although I don't usually mind. Little creep keeps you sharp. Yet, I'm reminded as something my history teacher told me about the new millennium. Feels like the membrane of reality is thinning. I hear his words in the night sometimes while I lay in bed. Blinkets tossed on the floor.

The fan humming above me. And I hear his words now. I glance back and the pale man is gone. I slow my breath rapid and put my hand through my hair. Did he hop over another fence? Did he turn around? Is he hiding? No, he's not hiding.

It's a ridiculous thought. I'm smarter than that. There's no reason for him to hide since I already saw him. Thank God the next exit in the fence is only half mile away now. I can be there in three minutes, maybe less. Just need to push myself. I'll feel it in the morning, but that's the good kind of pain, right? I take in a quick gulp of air and I'm off.

I pump my arms, the headphones rattling around my neck. I lose my grip on my CD player, which slides out of my hand and into the soil, sending a couple of leaves flying. as it skids into the fence. I come close to leaving it, but I won't indulge my fears that much. I'd have to shell out 30 bucks for a new one. Is that a better day of working at the comic store? They can only afford to have me on three days a week now.

It's hard to spot the CD player. I have to feel around in the dirt against the fence. There's that awful anxiety that I'll touch something I shouldn't. When I find the player, I almost curse at it for fleeing me. Didn't it know I wanted to go home? He's back. Jogging in this direction. Just a tenth of a mile away.

I could call out. Andy'd be able to hear me. I could talk to him right now, ask who he is, what he wants, why he's here. There's no way I'll call to him, though. On the off chance he doesn't know him ahead, I'll keep quiet and hope he has no idea I'm here. I run once more. This time I don't even pause to gather air.

I just go. Adrenaline powers me. I'll get far enough ahead of him. The exits soon. It's too dark to see details in the backyards. But the rotted log on the right means I'm passing the house that always has chickens clucking in the back during the day. I'm almost free.

I can hear the last. leaves crunching beneath his feet. His footfalls are so loud now, like a drumbeat. Fuck it. I'm hopping a fence. I go left and hoist myself over the chain-link fence, although the top of it scraped under my knee. I feel the warm trickle of blood. The stupid dot that'll be able to track me due to its scent floats through my mind. And to think, I used to believe I was smart. I go through the backyard. almost colliding with a picnic table and rush into the front, back onto the sidewalk. I take a moment to get my bearings.

I need to go left to go back home, but if he saw me leap to fence and decided to do the same, then he may well appear in that direction. Time to go right, go block over, and circle back. I can be home within ten minutes if I book it, or relief it'll be to be back inside. to see my mom passed out on the couch. The local news babbling about God knows what.

I can shower, go up to my too hot room, laugh at myself before drifting off. Comfort's a home if never sounded so... Well, comforting. It's a return to my mediocre life, yeah. But it's better than whatever alternative I found this night. The streets are quiet. the drake racing echoes in the distance,

but there's nothing nearby other than the sounds of my footfalls. They're a little too loud for my liking. If anyone wants to know where I am, they'll hear me. He, there's no they. There's just him. What if he's matching his running rhythm to mine? What if whenever my foot hits the pavement, so too does his?

He could be close and I wouldn't know it. I could stop, catch him off guard, hear if he's nearby, but that would also give him time to catch up to me. Danger either way. At least I'm heading in the direction of home now. I'm not sure why, but I have a very real sense whoever the pale man is won't chase me into my house. Once I ascend those stairs and reach my porch,

I'll be okay. He can stare out at me from the street. All he likes. That's where he'll stay. Let him stand out there, watching, seething. When I'm home, I'll... I go down. The sidewalk in front of some shuttered houses is uneven,

and I don't see it in the dark. My legs, already tired from the speed I'm going, don't react quick enough to rebalance. I can feel the skin on my right knee rip off. And I only just stifle a street. scream. I stand, but my knee protests. I can feel a flap of skin bounce against it. I either run with it flapping or rip it off. I fear it just hanging may cause more pain as I run, so I tear it, it, the skin thin and moist. And this time I cannot help but scream. For a second, I see nothing.

I feel my kneecap, which is a bloody mess, although there's no broken bone as far as I can tell. But he's coming. The thoughts are heavy and fast. I wasn't paranoid. He must have been matching mine before. Now he's rushing. I run despite the agony.

I wonder if he can fall in my blood. It seems inevitable it'll catch me now. His footfalls are so loud they sound like, I glance back, but I don't see him. It's darker than before, as if the night has doubled down. Impossible, but what does rationality matter at this point? I'm a sweaty mess. The exertion's taken its toll, of course, but the heat of anxiety floods through me too.

I feel raw, like I could explode into full-blown panic at any moment. I cycle between two thoughts. you overreacting and don't worry you'll get home before he gets you i decided to run in the street there's less chance i'll trip on something it does mean it'll be easier to spot but i'm getting the distinct impression he'll find me no matter what i glance around to see if that's true and there he is maybe 20 paces behind me in the middle of the street he came out of nowhere i'm starting to think that's true that's a little bit of the street i'm starting to think that's literal too. My heart pones so fast that I worry it will explode.

I need some sort of release. I scream out. Stop following me! The scream is loud in the silent town, but it still manages to sound pathetic. That pale shadow does not respond. He just gains ground on me. I'm huffing, but no sounds of exertion come from him. Something about his face looks familiar.

The deep-set eyes have stared at me before, although on a less pale face. The angular chin is recognizable, too, as is his too thin frame. The impossible is alive tonight. Perhaps he really is my shadow, I think, as I reach an intersection and run through it without looking. Perhaps he's an echo of me. The membrane of reality is no longer. longer thinning. It's broken.

The night fills with the sound of brakes and a horn. I turn to see a car going 40, run into the pale man in the intersection. He goes over the car's roof and slams onto the street. The car screeches to a halt but only for a moment. It takes off again, jerking back and forth as it goes down the block. I stand still, trying to process what occurred. Man does not move. But I think I hear him moaning.

But to walk to him, but I do it anyway. I feel like I'm not me. Like something else moves me. I need to see him, though. I need to see he's that. Horrible, I know. Sleds are tangled, clearly broken. One arm is at a 90-degree angle, but backwards.

His skin is as pale as ever, except for the right side of his face, which is now red with blood. His mouth opens and closes. I can see part of his jaw through his busted chin. I realize he's trying to speak and I take a step back. He says through labor dying breaths. His words rattle as if his vocal cords must call upon all their strength. I stare at his broken but far too familiar face.

He's dying. Soon he'll be dead. I'm not sure how I make the decision. I don't know if this is how it is for others who kill, but I do it in one quick motion. I bring my foot down on him, hard. Bones crack. The pale man does not talk again.

And I realize I have committed the strangest form of suicide. I walk home. I think it takes a long time. My kneecap roars in agony Walking up the steps to my house Takes considerable effort The pale dead man is on my mind What did he want from me

Why say what he did I killed him He was going to die of course But I did kill him Whatever minutes or seconds he had left I took from him Know how I feel about that Right now, I don't feel anything about it.

My mother sleeps on the couch. The television softly speaks. Clinton's talking about Syria before the local news reporter ends the clip and gives one of his canned funny lines. I barely comprehend it. I look at the stairs, dreading the ascent, but I can manage it. One last go. When I reach the top, I glance back down. I'm not sure what I expect to see, but there's nothing there.

I strip off my clothes and collapse under my bed. My knee, both back and front, continues to bleed. My sheets become stained red. I roll over, looking at the ruined sheets, but the movement just makes it worse. I kick them off the bed, but the bed itself is splotched now too. dark in here. It's dark in here, but it's red too. Very red. Now I wonder if this night freed me or trapped me. For your bonus episode, creepy presents, translucent, written by known of consequence and narrated by Michelle Kane. It seems that no matter what you do, no matter the

precautions you take when getting ready to fly, going through security takes forever. I thought doing pre-flight was going to be enough to get me through the insanely long line. My God, not only had I been wrong, I had been ridiculously wrong. For the most part, when I have to travel, I rarely have to leave the ground. I haven't been on a plane since I was a small child, so it never made sense for me to join one of those member programs. Having arrived nearly two hours before my flight scheduled departure, I figured there would have been plenty of time. Being a Saturday, I knew the airport was going to be busy, but I hadn't thought it was going to be this bad. The check-in area is probably longer than a football field, maybe even close to two from the farthest entrance all the way to security.

The moment I step through the entrance, I know it's going to be a long day. I wouldn't be surprised if there are 400 people in line for security, and it doesn't seem to be moving much. There are a few men and women walking up and down the aisle with identical black and white checkered shirts, stopping every once in a while to talk with those online. With my carry-on bag and big suitcase on wheels, I push them up to the line and ask a very tired-looking man in a rumpled business suit if I can squeeze past him. This security line is blocking the entire check-in area, passing through is the only way to get over there. I'm very polite, as I ask, but with the look this guy gives me, you'd think I'd just told him I, I'd just told him I,

slept with his mother last night and skipped out on Painter for the lousy time. He makes a big show of sarcastically telling me to go ahead and proceed that his time is best suited to rolling over for complete strangers when he's been standing in the same spot for an hour. Rage like I have never seen erupts across this guy's face. And for a moment, I see my death in his eyes. Then he starts crying during this unwarranted outburst. I shake my head at the unexpected reaction

only to see the man staring at me, looking puzzled. He steps back to allow me passage, and I slip past him, awkwardly thanking him. Wow, that hasn't happened in a really long time. I'm going to blame it on pre-flight jitters. Instead of going to the self-check-in kiosks, I go straight for the counter and speak with one of the people with forced smiles. I'm not that old, but sometimes the idiot-proof self-use kiosks just confuse the crap out of me. By no means am I an idiot.

I can create elaborate spreadsheets on Excel on my phone, so I have some skills. I can use a self-checkout at the grocery store, but that tends to be. the limit of my abilities with such devices. Handing over my ID and pre-printed boarding pass, the attendant clicks away at his computer and prints out my luggage tag. While that's going on, I casually ask how the long line through security is going. Without looking up, he says that I'd be better off signing up for translucent. I have no idea what that is, and without explaining further,

the attendant dismisses me with a half-hearted farewell to enjoy. my flight. As quickly as I can, I wheel my carry on to the end of the security line. I'm damn near pressed up against the back entrance. As I settle in for the excruciatingly long wait, I look up toward the front. I can see an LED sign above the actual entrance to security, but being this far away, I have no idea what it says. Deciding to utilize my time as best I can, I take out my phone and go through my email. I read a bunch of messages from some of my work team members and fire off two separate emails to my boss and my favorite HR representative. Apparently, there's been some inappropriate behavior going on in my absence. Thankfully, I'll be back in the office in two days

and can handle the situation in person, which is the whole reason my vacation has been cut short. I hate to get HR involved if I don't have to, but considering the person, person in question, not reaching out was no longer an option. There's going to be hell to pay for making me get on a plane last minute and that employee's time with the company will be unpleasant and short-lived. The line moves incredibly slow, but it does move. That guy who yelled at me for no reason must have been on some bad shit to think he'd been in the same spot for an hour. Giving my watch a quick look, I have to do a double take. I've already been in line for half an hour.

At this rate, I'm not going to clear security before my flight takes off without me. This is so ridiculous that I pray for a miracle to get me through this faster. I catch an airport employee as she passes by and ask if there's a situation at security that's causing the line to move so slow. She shakes her head at me, saying this is a little. typical and that I'd be better off signing up for translucent. This time I ask what that is, but instead of telling me, she goes to get someone. I watch as she casually walks away, nearly losing side of her. I catch her moving toward the side, walking up to one of those

checkered shirt people. They exchange a few words, and she points in my general direction before going about her business. It takes a few minutes, but the checkered shirt finally makes it to me. He stopped a few times on the way to speak briefly with some people in line but didn't linger too long. He walks directly toward me, as if he knows I'm the person who asked to speak with him. Translucent is a new kind of TSA pre-boarding program that gets you through security faster than any other available option. Not only that, but it gives you access to an exclusive lounge, free amenities while on the plane. signing up guarantees the only people boarding your flight before you are those who require assistance. Looking at the nearly 300 people still in front of me and there being just over an hour before my flight starts boarding,

I ask the most important question, how much will this cost me? At this rate, this is going to be the only way I don't miss my flight. Surprisingly, the cost isn't near as high as I assumed it be. It only costs twice as much as my flight, and considering how much I'd like to get home on time, it might just be worth it. Especially when he tells me this is a one-time fee with no additional charges, and the membership doesn't expire. That sounds too good to be true, and I say as much. After being assured that everything is on the level, I decide to go for it.

I don't want to add another day onto my travel for missing my stupid flight. light. The checkered shirt escorts me past the literal hundreds of people in line, and I can't help but wonder why more people aren't signing up for this. I know it's a bit on the pricey side, but skipping all this bullshit is worth it. Getting closer to the entrance, I can finally read the LED sign that I just managed to notice from my spot in the back. It lets people know that from this spot in line, it'll take 25 minutes to make it through six. security. Screw that. To the right of the security entrance is a different area, behind floor and ceiling security fencing. It's obvious they don't want people accidentally wandering in here,

but it seems a little extreme. Checkered shirt takes me into the secured area and up to the counter with a bunch of kiosks. For a minute, I think I just screwed myself and I'll have to mess with one of those things, but that doesn't happen. A different employee, wearing a slightly nicer checkered shirt comes through the door I hadn't noticed on the back wall. Her shirt is an actual full button-up instead of the polo that I've seen everyone else wear. She introduces herself as she turns to the closest kiosk and starts asking me for my information. Her typing is impeccable as well as fast, and not once does she have to ask for clarification on anything I say. My last name isn't the easiest to spell, but she manages without hesitation or issue.

While all this is going on, I wince as a baby going through the security check behind me begins screaming bloody murder. That sort of thing is like nails on a chalkboard to me. Not that I have a problem with children or anything like that, but there's just something about a wailing infant that makes me cringe. Under my breath, I say something about praying I'm not sitting next to one of those. I don't know how the woman hears what I said, but she assures me that translucent members don't have to worry about such inconveniences. Membership guarantees satisfaction, so translucent members actually have a separate section of the plane from the rest. In fact, we load from a rear entrance on the plane and are completely separate from the main cabin.

Okay, now I know something weird is going on. I've never heard of a plane being separated like that. At most, it used to be that the first class and business class were separated from coach by a curtain, not an actual wall. I think most airlines did away with that altogether. It takes all of ten minutes to fill out all the necessary information and another five from an application to be approved. While I go over the virtual contract, the nice checkered shirt explains how my future airport experiences are going to go.

After going to the ticket counter and handing over my luggage, I bypass the line for security and come to the translucent entrance. From there, I will check in at a kiosk, place my carry-on onto the conveyor so it can be x-rayed. And that's it. No emptying my pockets, taking off my shoes and belt, or even walking through a metal carol. detector. With everything she's telling me, I kind of skimmed through the contract. To be perfectly frank, I didn't read much of anything. I've only got 30 minutes before boarding starts, and I still have to pay for this service. I think my wallet actually screams a little when she swipes my card. It's been a hot minute since I spent that much on one transaction. That's not where she leaves me. As I pick up my carry-on, she instructs me to follow her so I can

get to the translucent lounge without issue. New members are always taken to the lounge right away. She explains that the main reason for this is because new member IDs are being made right away and you need it to get on the plane. With this card, I won't even need to have a printed or virtual boarding pass. I've never been one for the finer things. Most of my life, I've been a blue collar worker, only recently trading in for a white collar. For a really long time, I've been on a pretty tight budget, and my idea of splurging was going to a

steakhouse and ordering a beer with my T-bone. Walking into this lounge, the word boogie comes to mind. Seriously, I thought places like this only existed in movies. There are leather armchairs and couches scattered about the place. On one wall is a fully stocked bar, complete with a dozen beer taps. In one corner is a series of fancy restaurant tables and chairs and waiters bringing out covered plates to those sitting there. I see one guy with a humongous lobster on his plate, and the woman with him is dining on some kind of small bird, pheasant maybe. On the walls are several insanely large TVs playing a variety of sports, movies, and shows. In the farthest corner of the lounge is a couple of tables with what appears to be

blackjack dealers waiting for players to have a seat. If that doesn't scream fancy and exclusive, the section to my immediate right does. I'm pretty sure all airports in the country did away with them, but there's an honest-to-god smoking room. I quit smoking years ago, mostly because it got too expensive, partly for health reasons. Seeing the glass enclosed with comfortable chairs and half a dozen ashtrays on their own stands, I'm tempted to have a smoke. Not because I want one, but simply for the fact that these things are rare enough to be compared to freaking unicorns. We don't get more than five steps into the lounge before a waitress comes right up to me.

She has a tall glass, frosty beer on her tray, along with a lighter and two cigarettes. Calling me by name, she introduces herself as Molly and asks me to let her know if I require anything. I take the beer, and since they're here, smokes and lighter, too. Thanking her, the checkered shirt leads me to the smoking room. Not only are the cigarettes the brand I used to smoke, but the beer is my favorite kind as well. How the hell did Molly know to have these things ready for me? I set the beer on an end table, on a coaster, of course, and fire up one of the cigarettes. Oh, dear God, that tastes so good and so bad at the same time.

I've missed this and immediately kind of regret partaking in the burning tube of vegetation, but screw it. Technically, I'm still on vacation. I asked my escort how they knew to have these things for me, but her answer is a little confusing. She simply says that it's their job to know these things in order to best serve their members. Without even looking, she stands with her back to the door just in time for Molly to come back,

my new ID on her tray, along with the copy of the contract. I take both items intent on giving the contract a closer inspection, but Molly asks me to follow her. I look to the checkered shirt, but she informs me that this is where we part ways. Thanking her for her time, I follow Molly and half my beer in one hand as I stub out the second cigarette. There's a door just to the left of the smoking room that I failed to notice earlier. Like the last door, I failed to notice. This one is meant to blend in with the wall and not be noticed by anyone passing by. What lays beyond is nothing like the lounge we left behind. The hallway I find myself in is stark white and clinical like a hospital.

Every 20 feet or so is a door on either side of the hallway. There are no distinguishing markings on these doors, but Molly seems to know exactly where she's going. I have no idea what to expect when Molly opens the door, but what I walk in on shocks me. I see the man I crossed in the security line to check my baggage. His arms are chained together, held above his head by an even thicker chain attached to the ceiling. There's a cloth gag tied around his head, and it succeeds in muffling his cries for help. He struggles in his restraints when he sees us, and he slowly begins to turn. Looking at his feet, I see they are also chained together. What I hadn't noticed is that the tips of his feet are nearly an inch off the floor. I remember the episode I had when I first saw him. The intense

rage and unexpected maliciousness he had toward me for no reason at all. I knew it hadn't actually happened that it was all in my head. That's what my doctor told me a decade ago when these episodes had gotten out of control. But I haven't experienced one in more than five years. It turns out that Molly knows about this, too. Membership with Translucent literally isn't available to everyone. Primarily because not everyone has the ability to perceive its existence. Molly explains that the insanely long line that I'd been waiting in was an illusion.

Only special people with an innate ability to perceive what's hidden in plain sight, even no translucent exists. Otherwise, they look right through it, as if it were invisible to them. She introduces me to the man chained to the ceiling. His name is Leroy, and he is a bad man. He is not a thief, drug dealer, or human trafficker. Those particular undesirables are left for other. others to deal with. This division deals with more sinister types. The reason the employees kept

telling me that I'd be better off signing up for translucent is because I was the only one who saw the line. This is designed to separate people like me from the masses without gaining attention. For those like Leroy, the illusion causes considerable confusion, making them easy to spot. I ask why and for what purpose. Thankfully, Molly is clear in her explanation. Translucent isn't limited to airports, but every kind of travel method available. Planes, trains, boats, buses,

and anything else that exists. They scan everyone that comes and goes, looking for outliers within the populace. It's about more than looking for people like me. They're searching more for people, like Leroy. Molly explains to me that the episodes I used to have all the time weren't hallucinations. It was my sixth sense reading the malicious intent and actions in those around me. I've been picking up on people who could be labeled as evil and therefore need to be removed from

the population. There are a surprising amount of us in the world. One out of every hundred have this ability, but the degree of intensity is what separates us. I'm actually in the middle of the spectrum, where most are in the weaker part. Those who fall into the stronger category are tasked with heading up monitoring teams and filtering through the psychic chatter to find the undesirables. These teams aren't even at the airport, but tap in remotely. This also ends up being their full-time job. There are far too many locations of travel for them to all have a dedicated team. So they monitor multiple locations at the same time. Since I'm not strong enough to be asked to join a team, I ask why I'm here. Molly says this is the difficult part. If I wish to reap the benefits of being a

translucent member, then I have to do my part whenever they ask, which she assures me won't be very often, at most three times a year. I'm still skeptical, so I ask what my part is. That's when she produces a large dagger. In order to eradicate the evil that resides inside this man, someone like me has to use a special weapon to kill him. There's no ritual or right that has to be performed. I simply have to take the offered knife and kill Leroy and those like him. How I use the blade doesn't matter either, just as long as it's the instrument of his death. Slit his throat, pierced his heart, stab him a few dozen times until he bleats out. All of it will do the job. Whether I agree today or not, I have already been charged for this trip and I will fly through translucent regardless

of today's outcome. If I agree and eliminate Leroy now, my charge will be. be refunded. On top of that, if I continue to uphold my duties to translucent, I will fly in complete comfort for free any and every time I travel. If I pass, then the charged my account stands and my involvement with translucent will be permanently over. I look forward to my next trip as I slit Leroy's throat, knowing I won't be driving a ridiculously long way or waiting in long lines. makes me hope there'll be another work emergency in the future. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com.

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