Creepy - Sadness, Depression and Dreams of Cubes

Episode Date: November 22, 2021

Just a little dream...***Written by Rene Rehn and narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Bonus Episode: "I rode an elevator to the thirteenth floor" written by Jared Medrano***Find our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Welcome to the Bloody Disgusting Network. This podcast has made possible thanks to our patrons. Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. Afney Logan, Brian Mann, L.E.313, Jose Rocha, Emily Nicole Boston, Aaron Smith, Catherine Havas, and Sean DeCampos. Our supporters of our Patreon get immediate access to all Sunday productions early and commercial free, and the rewards go up from there to include instant access to over five. 500 stories and counting. Not to mention the four news stories added every week. There's also logo merch tiers whose proceeds go to suicide prevention charities. To see how you can support

the podcast and get rewarded and for your rewards have an impact on others. Please check out the donation to yours at patreon.com slash creepy pod. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing The most famous, chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents

Sadness, Depression, and Dreams of Cubs Written by Renee Wren and narrated by Danielle Hewitt. Did you ever wish to not feel a thing? To just be numb. I did. My name's Katie. I'm in my late 20s and that's all you need to know

about my miserable existence you'd call my life. Until a few months ago, I was happy. Now, I don't even know what that feeling is anymore. First, an unexpected illness struck my father. The only family I had left. He withered away and died within a month. Soon after, my boyfriend of many years broke up with me.

I think those two events broke something inside me. From then on, my life comprised nothing more than getting up, eating, going to work, and then back to sleep. It had become nothing but an endless, empty cycle that plunged me into depression. It wasn't long before I stopped going to work. I loathed myself to waste it like that, but I knew my dad's life insurance would last a while. I spent most of my days at home, alone,

and only left the apartment to get food, food that didn't taste like anything. Life wasn't life anymore. It had become nothing but depression, thoughts of suicide, and the medication I took to keep me from going through with it. At least, for the time being, that's all there was for me.

Well, almost all. There was another detail, an insignificant one, I thought at the time. It was a certain reoccurring dream. I'd had it every night, ever since I'd fallen into the state of depression. It wasn't a nightmare. No, it was a strange dream.

Or better, a dream sequence. At times I dream about my father and at others about my boyfriend. Yet whatever I dreamt about, each dream ended in the same way. I'd be standing in front of a figure shrouded in darkness. The only thing I could make out of it was a ghastly white arm in hand. It would hold out an object and always ask the same question. What am I holding? Not once had I been able to answer.

I'd shake my head and say I didn't know. The figure would say one more thing. It too was always the same. It's a cube, my face. idea. After that, I'd wake up. This dream puzzled me. What was even stranger, I could never picture the object as anything but a large wooden cube. Yet in the dream itself, I never knew what it was. It was the strangest thing, this dream. I'd asked myself countless times where the dream came from and what it could mean. But I never found an answer.

About a week ago, as I was sitting at my desk, my thoughts went back to the dream once again. Soon I'd opened countless websites about reoccurring dreams on the internet. There seemed to be an endless number of them. For hours, I read about dreams of being followed, teeth falling out, and other, weirder things. Some people mentioned dreams centered on certain objects, but it was something of importance or meaning to the person. their first little bike, a favorite toy, or an old photograph, for example. The dream I was having, though, seemed to be different.

I own no wooden cubes or boxes resembling one. Even after looking through old photo albums and the few belongings I'd left of my parents, there was nothing like it. So I sat there for long hours, wondering how this dream and the cube in it were connected to me. I cursed. This was driving me mad. Just let it go, Katie. Ignore it.

It's probably another side effect of the damn medication. I told myself rubbing my temples. Even though, what was I to do? Wake up every single morning telling myself not to think about this strange reoccurring dream? No. By now, it had already become a lasting misery that seemed to crawl back into my memory repeatedly.

For a few more minutes I sat there, pondering about it before I got an idea. It was ridiculous, and I laughed to myself. But maybe it would do something. At least I thought it was a way of spending the time. I took out a sheet of paper and pencil and went from my desk to the kitchen table. For a few minutes, I just stared at the empty sheet in front of me. Then I started. The beginning was a square.

Next I added depth. With this, the rough outlines of the cube were done. After that, I added all the symbols carved into its surfaces. As I drew them, they reminded me of ancient nations and long-lost civilizations. It was all so easy, so clear. It was as if a door in my mind had been yanked open, and like a blazing light, memories of the dream flooded my mind. there was no spot, no detail on the cube I didn't know.

My hands were flying over the paper, adding more and more intricate details to it. Strange symbols that reminded me of ancient hieroglyphs covered one side entirely. Crawling, twisting snakes covered another one. I don't know where all these memories came from. I just kept drawing. Once I was done, the table in front of me was covered in sheets. They showed the various sides of the cube, or close-ups of specific details.

Looking at all the drawings, I couldn't help but shiver. Where had all of this come from? How had I remembered all this? As I sat there, I realized that the sun had long since set. I must have been drawing for hours, almost as if I'd been in a trance. Only then did I realize how exhausted I was, and not even a half an hour later I dozed off in bed.

My dreams that night were nothing but a father. "'except for the end, of course. "'Once more, I stood in front of the same figure, "'and like so many times, it held out the object to me. "'This time, though, the answer to the question was clear to me. "'It's a cube,' I answered. "'Indeed it is, my dear. "'And now that you've realized it, it's yours.'

"'The fingers of the hand motioned for me to come closer. What's it for? I asked as I took the first step. The figure giggled before giving me an answer. You'll find out when the time comes. The hand holding the cube had been right in front of me. Only an arm's length away. Yet it didn't matter how many steps I took.

I couldn't seem to reach it. When's the time? The voice of the figure became stern and foreboding, as if revealing an old secret or some hidden, knowledge. When you find it in the real world, it answered, at a place that knows neither day nor night. And finally, at this moment, my hands reached the cube. Yet the moment my fingers brushed against its wooden surface, I awoke. When I got out of bed, I felt dizzy and for a moment the world was spinning around me. It lasted only for a moment, though. Then euphoria washed over me. The

dream. It had changed. Then I remembered the words of the figure. Find it in the real world. What the hell was up with that? All right, Katie, calm down. It's nothing but a stupid dream. A silly thing conjured up by your subconscious. As I made myself some coffee, though, the words of the figure came back to me again and again. Was there more to this? I laughed and shook my head. Don't be stupid. It's a dream, nothing more. A place that knows neither day nor night. What was that even supposed to be? Stupid brain giving me riddles like that.

I tried to go on with my day, but it was futile. The figure's words seemed to reverberate inside my head, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. Find it in the real world. At a place that knows neither day nor night. What sort of place was that even supposed to be? Eventually, I decided it might be a good idea to leave my cramped little apartment for a little while to get some fresh air. Who knows? Maybe being stuck inside all day was the reason for coming up with stupid things like that. As I stepped outside, I was surprised by how cold it had gotten.

Guess I missed summer, I thought to myself before I hurried back inside and put on some warmer clothes. As I started down the street near my apartment building, I saw how the colored leaves on the trees were shaken by a gentle autumn breeze. When I stared at them, I couldn't help but compare myself to them. Small and shriveled up, soon to be abandoned. I forced myself to look away and fought back the tears that welled up. I felt anger rising, self-loathing anger. Stop being so damn weak.

I cursed it myself and stepped on. I'd only wanted to take a brief walk, but I somehow walked on without so much as glancing at my surroundings. Minutes became hours, and soon I found myself in the western outskirts of the city. It had once been a flourishing part of town, but in the past decades it had gone downhill. I wondered how I ended up so far out. It was almost as if my subconscious had led me here.

Then the memory of the dream pushed back into my mind. It was like when I'd drawn the cube. Maybe going on a walk had once again opened up a door inside my mind. Old and abandoned buildings lined the street, only a few of which seemed in use still. As my steps led on, the sunset and darkness descended upon the city. It gave this whole, empty area, an eerie atmosphere. By now I felt almost like a spectator, watching my body move on its own.

Eventually I stopped in front of a small alleyway and without knowing why, I took the first step inside. The alley was a place of shades. Night hadn't reached it yet, and never would because of the dim glow of an old street light. The daylight wouldn't either. The two buildings to either side towered over me. They were leaning so close to one another they made it impossible for sunlight to reach the bottom of the alley. It had to be a place that was called. constantly in a state of gloomy twilight. Daylight never touched it, I thought. Yet the darkness of night never engulfed it. I smiled a bit. It fits the description to the point. As I continued, I felt the hairs on my body stand up. It felt as if I'd entered a forbidden place. For a moment I stopped. Thought about going back before curiosity drove me on.

I've been told to come to this place, I thought as the gloomy twilight. surrounded me. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I noticed a dim light to my right, and when I turned, I stood in front of a small store. I stared at it in confusion, wondering where it had come from. Had it been there the entire time? I couldn't help but shiver. This was all so weird. What kind of place did you end up at, Katie? I asked myself. A strange feeling washed over me, and for a moment, I felt the same thing. sensation of being watched. Yet when I turned around, saw nothing but the same gloomy twilight. It was almost as if the world I'd come from had been swallowed up and nothing remained.

Nothing but myself in the small store I stood in front of. I was torn from my thoughts when I heard a sound. A scream escaped my mouth when the door to the small store was pushed open. I took a step back and waited for someone to leave or see who opened it, but there was no one else around. For long seconds I stood there, staring at the cracked door ahead of me. Finally, apprehension was overtaken by curiosity, and I approached the door. The room I entered was old and musty, filled with nothing but broken furniture. A single candle holder illuminated the room, and in its light, I could make out one more thing. There was another door at the opposite end of the store. The moment I saw it, I recognized the symbol carved into it. It was the very

same cube I'd seen in my dreams. There was no mistaking it. This was the place I was sent to find. But what exactly was this place? Was it some sort of dream scape? But I was awake, wasn't I? So how could something like this exist? The sheer abnormality of the same thing of the same thing. The sheer abnormality of the situation became clear to me, and with it came confusion, even fear. How had I ever found my way to a place like this? I thought back to the strange feeling I had during my walk. Had I come here on my own volition? Or had I been... Lured here. Quick steps led me back to the entrance door. None of this here made any sense.

None of this should even be real. Go home, Katie. Get out of here and go home! I told myself. As I reached the door, I heard a voice from behind me. Didn't you come here to get it? I froze when I heard the voice and stood there, shivering at the sheer absurdity of it all. It was a voice I knew so well, because I'd heard it in every single one of my dreams in the past months. This was insane.

None of this could be real. I must have snapped, gone insane. because of the alternative. If you want it, then follow me. There's no need to be afraid, my dear. The tone of the voice was reassuring, friendly even. Finally, I took a deep breath and turned around, afraid of who or what I would see.

There was nothing, though. The figure was nowhere to be seen, and the room was as empty as before. The door with a cube on it, however, stood wide open. I gasped. But there was only darkness behind it. It was a darkness so thick it seemed to stream from the room and swallow up the candle holder's dim light. Run!

Every part of my body screamed at me. This is wrong. This place is completely and absolutely wrong. A voice reverberated inside my head as the first step led me closer to the door. Closer and closer I inched forward and with each additional step, my inside screamed at me to go back and leave. Yet I shut them all off. Pushed them away as I continued. A heavy smell wafted through the air.

It was like nothing I'd smelled before. It wasn't repulsive, neither sweet nor sour. It was different. The smell gave you a feeling of another realm or place. After a short while of staring into the darkness, my eyes had adjusted and I could make out of figures sitting in the center of the room. The only thing I could see clearly was a ghastly white arm, a hand, and the cube resting on it.

A strange feeling took a hold of me, drawing me forward to grab it. My hands were sweaty. My heart rate went up, all in anticipation as I stared at the object. How was any of this even possible? I forced myself to ask. The figure giggled. It is possible because of you. My mouth opened again.

I wanted to ask more questions, but my eyes wandered to the cube. What is that cube? It is your cube, my dear. Once more, I was pulled forward by this strange desire. I wanted to own the cube. It was mine and being so close to it. I could barely fight the urge to jump forward and rip it from the hand it rested on. All right.

Calm down, Katie. I told myself and took a deep breath. Then I walked over and reached out for it. My fingers brushed over the edges, testing and probing it to make sure it was real. then in one swift motion I swept it from the hand it rested on my hands closed around it and I clung to it like a long lost treasure

what's it for I asked as I studied the many carvings on it the euphoria in my voice surprising even me again the figure giggle and for the blink of an eye I saw something else in the darkness something strange and twisted It was gone in an instant, and I didn't know if it had been a mere trick played on me by my imagination.

You will find out when the time comes. I wanted to know more, wanted to learn about the origins of the cube, but somehow I knew it was wrong to ask any more questions. This place was only to deliver the cube to my hands. What had to be done was done. As I turned and began walking toward the door, the figure behind me giggled again. It grew into laughter. And out of curiosity, I glanced back.

I wish I hadn't. What I'd seen before in a blink of an eye was now fully visible. The real nature of the figure was now visible to me in all its horrendous, abominable glory. It was a thing that defied reality itself. Formless and twisted. An amalgamation of white, hudgy flesh, so bloated it seemed ready to burst open. I saw tentacles and claws, eyes on places where they didn't belong. The laughter grew louder and louder and seemed to originate from dozens of throats at the same time.

Primal fear washed over me and sheer and utter terror. I rushed from the room and out of the shop. I don't know for how long or how far I ran. When I could finally think again, I was a shaking, panting mess. My lung was stinging, my body was sweaty and powerless, and for a moment I almost crashed to the ground. Once I could move again, I noticed that it had to be late at night already. For a second, the image of the creature crawled back into my mind and my eyes darted here and there,

expecting to find it lurking nearby. But now there was nothing but an empty street. Had it all been a dream? I wondered. At that moment, I noticed that I was holding something. It was the cube. In shock, I almost dropped the precious object before I pressed it against it. my chest, cradling it like a baby. You're mine. I said out loud, wondering only for a second where all the happiness was coming from. The one thing I didn't know, though, was what it was for.

You'll find out when the time comes. The memory of the terrible abomination drove yet another surge of primal fear through my body. I stumbled, froze up and had to lean against a building when my body started shaking. A woman passed by and turned around, a worried look on her face. Only when the shaking had stopped did I realize how weak I was. This entire thing had been too much for me. I found the nearest bus station and took the bus home. People were staring at me as I clung to the precious cube, but I didn't mind. No, I didn't care.

When I arrived at my apartment, I carefully placed the cube on my desk before I slumped down in my bed. The next day started like every other day. I woke up in bed for a while. I contemplated just laying there and never moving. again. Then I realized something was different. For the first time in months, I couldn't recall my dreams. There was no memory of any strange figures and neither of the cube. At that moment, I remembered what had happened. I jumped out of bed and rushed to my desk. My precious cube was still there. It was astonishing, beautiful, a genuine work of art. And for a while, I couldn't

do anything but stare at it. Then I reached out for it. At first I only touched it delicately, moving my fingers around the edges before I picked it up. There were so many carvings and symbols on it. It was mesmerizing. I sat there, turning it around and around while I studied each of its sides, when I could finally rip my attention from it. Almost an hour had passed. I went to the kitchen and made myself some coffee. As I waited for it, I noticed all the draw. on the kitchen table. When I compared them to the real cube, I realized they were identical. It was crazy, but what I'd drawn back then was the exact image of the real one resting on my desk. I told myself again that something was wrong about this. Not only wrong, but somehow

dangerous. I knew I should throw the damn thing away. Yet whenever I stared at it, I could not do so. I felt drawn to it, treasured it, and all thoughts of letting it go evaporated. Whenever I touched it, though, every fiber in my body seemed to tremble, seemed to cringe back. But I had to. I had to feel the wood, the carvings, the secrets hidden inside of it. Oh, I know there was so much more to this cube. There was a connection. When the time comes, you will know.

I kept hearing the words again and again whenever I stared at the cube. My mind was a mess. All of my thoughts revolved around this mysterious object and what it was for. I wasn't able to do anything that day. Hour after hour passed, studying the cube and searching for any hint of its purpose. When I put it down again, I realized it was already early evening. As I turned my eyes from the cube for the first time in what must have been hours, I realized how drained I felt.

I looked at it one last time, bought the urge to pick it up again, and went to bed. My dreams that night were more vivid than ever before. They were a mess, an oh, so terrible mess of all the sad things that had ever happened to me. From the death of my first pet when I was no older than six, to my mom's accident and my dad's illness up to the breakup with my boyfriend. It was all there in each painful little deal. detail. I woke up devastated and curled up into a ball. When I stared at my phone, I realized that barely three hours had passed. It wasn't even midnight yet. Where did all of this come from? Why now? The tears streamed from my eyes and didn't stop. I could do nothing but lay in bed and

cry and cry and cry. Suddenly I felt something. It was an indescribable feeling. The crying stopped and after a while, I got up and left the bed behind. My steps led me through the room, and I knew right away where I was going. To the cube. With this strange feeling came knowledge. A revelation. It seemed the right time had come because I knew exactly what I had to do. With quick steps, I hurried to the kitchen and got all the tools I needed,

and put them on the desk right next to the cube. The procedure wouldn't be easy. But with the cube, I knew. I knew I'd be able to do it. There was no going back now. With that, I picked up the first of many tools and cut deep into my chest. It was almost morning when I finished. I picked up the Nell pulsating cube and carefully put it on a pillow in a drawer.

It was a place where it would be safe, at least for the time being. Then I went to clean up all the tools, put them away, and took a shower. When I was done, I sat down on the couch to take a rest. I wasn't sad anymore. All of the sadness and helplessness I'd felt for so long were gone. Not only were they gone, but all my feelings were, too. There was nothing anymore. I was empty and devoid of all emotion.

An emotionless expression appeared on my face, something that might once have been a smile. While I was sitting there, the sun was where. rising. I watched as night changed today and darkness was pushed back by light. The scenery outside was supposed to be beautiful. At least that's what my memories told me. Yet I didn't feel a thing. I watched as the golden light of sunrise engulfed the world outside. There was nothing about it. I saw it, but I didn't feel. Even as tears ran down my cheeks, I didn't feel a thing. It was as if my body was reacting to something it remembered, but that wasn't there anymore.

Something that was a part of every human being. The ability to feel. I realized what I'd done, what I'd lost, and the tears kept flowing. I knew I'd lost it forever. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents, I rode an elevator to the 13th floor. Written by Jared Medrano. I ruffle my wet hair as I cross through the revolving door, into my safe harbor from the pounding rain.

The building's lobby's elegant, if a bit dated. Two Victorian-style mirrors sit on opposite walls of the empty waiting area. In the mirror's funhouse effect, countless copies of my reflection appear to stretch into eternity. I look away. The concierge desk is unoccupied. Sam, the nighttime security officer, hasn't arrived yet. Given the weather, he might not anytime soon.

A former amateur boxer billed as Southpaw Sam. He makes the apartment tower's residents feel safe on our busy city block. I suppose it doesn't matter if he's a few minutes late. A massive nor'easter is moving in. Even the muggers are taking shelter tonight. I head towards the elevator area. A printed sheet of paper is taped to the door of elevator four. Out of order.

I hit the up button and wait for another elevator to arrive. Ding, to my surprise, elevator four slides open. Whoever I fixed it must have forgotten to remove the auto order sign. Besides, I'm late and dinner will be ready soon. Inside the wood-paneled cab, I push the button for the floor Kimberly and I live on. 14. I set my briefcase down and close my eyes, relieved to be at the end of my hellish commute. Kimberly's making veal tonight, and I can't wait to pour a glass of wine and chow down.

I don't even care if the neighbor's kids are making a racket in the hall again. The elevator jolts to a halt, sending my briefcase sliding across the cab. The red lights of the elevator's floor display panel flash erratically before fizzling out. Only a few seconds pass before the other lights snap off, plunging the cab into darkness. Great. I ignored the out-of-order sign, and now I'm trapped in an elevator during what could be the worst storm of the year. My self-admonition doesn't last long. As quickly as they turned off, the lights come back on. Unseen gears churn above as the elevator restarts its ascent. The floor display flickers back to life.

I watch it, anxious to reach my floor. 10, 11, 12, 13. That's curious. Like most high-rise buildings, this one skips the number 13 in its labeling of floors. A brief power surge overrode the elevator's programming somehow, mislabeling the 14th floor. The door slides open, revealing the elevator bank on the other side. I pick my briefcase up and exit. The bank is a plainly decorated area with three elevators on one side, two on the other.

Across from where it connects to the main hall is a frosted glass window. Tonight, the bank seems darker than normal. I peer through the window. Usually one can make out the distorted lights of buildings across the avenue. I don't see anything now but the black of night, though I can hear the rain beat against glass. I have the navigating feeling something's different about the area, though I can't figure out what.

I chalk it up to fatigue-related paranoia. It's been a long day. My commutes rough, even in good weather. In the hallway, the neighbor's kids are tossing a tennis ball against the wall repeatedly. A 12-year-old boy and his 9-year-old sister. Their favorite activity is disturbing everyone else who lives on the floor. Remembering what it was like to be their age, I stifle my urge to tell them to quiet down.

I greet them politely instead. Have a good night, the older sister says as I pass. Funny. I could have sworn she was the younger sibling. I retrieved my keys and opened my door at the end of the hallway, a pungent aroma wafs into my nostrils from the kitchen. It's not what I expected dinner to smell like, but I trust Kimberly.

She's a much more talented cook than I am. Hey, babe. I call out. Kimberly exits the kitchen to meet me in the living room. She's beautiful as ever. but looks slightly different. Getting here must have been awful in this weather, she says, giving me an up and down glance.

I must look like a wet dog. It was almost worse. I ignored the auto order sign in the elevator and nearly got trapped in it. Hey, have you changed something? Maybe your hair? You look different. Kimberly looks perplexed for a fleeting second before responding.

No? You're just not used to seeing me in this apron. Cooking was getting a bit messy. I lean in for a kiss. Careful not to touch her apron, which upon closer examination is covered in red smears. But as my face draws closer to hers, identify the real issue.

Kimberly's distinctive birthmark is on the wrong side of her face. An implausible thought. This isn't my wife. I kiss her, trying to act as if nothing's amiss. She tells me to change out of my wet clothes while she puts the finishing touches on dinner. I hang my rain jacket in the coat closet and go to our bedroom, passing the kitchen on the way. Arranged ceremonially on a platter is the decapitated head of a calf.

Rivalets of blood stream from its neck, running off the platter and down the top of the platter. down the side of the counter, pooling on the floor. Kimberly stands near the corner. Butcher knife in hand. She grins widely and points the knife at the calf's head proudly. Feel! Looks delicious, I mutter. I hurry into our bedroom and lock the door behind me. Through the wide bedroom window, I noticed that while I can hear the rain falling, I can't see anything at all. When I'd looked through the frosted glass in the elevator bank, I thought it was just dark. That perhaps the heavy rain was obscuring the light across the street. I was wrong.

Through the opaque window, I'm positive. There's nothing on the other side. Where am I? I think back to when I first stepped out of the elevator and felt something was off. I know what it was now. The elevator bank on the 14th floor has three elevators on one side and two on the other. Tonight they switched sides. Just like the neighbor's kids seem to swap ages.

Just like Kimberly's... No. The woman's birthmark is on the wrong side of her face. The elevator display was never wrong. I'm not on my floor, but the 13th floor. floor. A fun house mirror image where everything's slightly wrong. A floor that doesn't exist. The squeak of hinges swinging rings out, snapping me out of my epiphany. I can tell by the change in air pressure that someone's opened the front door. I listen intently, gripping my briefcase so

tightly my knuckles go white. The door swings shut with a thud. Honey, a voice calls out. I'm home. The voice is impossibly familiar. I fling the bedroom door open and rush into the living area. A man stands in the entryway, rainwater dripping from his wet clothes. Not just any man. It's me.

The man flashes the same wild grin had seen on the woman. It's an honor to have. finally have you as a guest, he says, voice dripping with anticipation. I appreciate that, but I have to leave, I reply. My husband's waited forever for you to arrive, says the woman. I'm pure adrenaline now. For all I know, if I don't get out of here, it might be my head on that silver platter next. Move out of my way, I whisper. The man laughs.

His crazed eyes glinting. You can't just leave. It doesn't work like that. You're going to be here a long time. The hell I will. I snarl lunging towards him. I swing my briefcase striking the man in the face. He slumps to the floor.

floor. The woman claws at my face, but I use my free hand to defend myself before shoving her aside. I feel a moment of deep remorse before reminding myself she isn't my Kimberly. I darted out of the apartment. The neighbor's kids are still in the hallway, flinging that damn ball against the wall over and over.

They smile perversely as I rush past to the elevator bank. I hit the elevator button. One of them needs to get here, quick. A door slams somewhere in the hallway. Bring him back! The woman screams his footsteps pound the floor. I start jabbing at the button in desperate attempt to get an elevator here quicker.

Ding. A door slides open. Unlucky for me. It's the one elevator I never want to step foot in again. Elevator four. The lights in the cab flicker radically. Before I've made a decision, the man streaks into the elevator bank. Go ahead.

He taunts, taking his time approaching. Get in. Worked well the first time. He's right. I'm not making that mistake again. The elevator beeps, signaling that it's door will be closing soon. If anyone has to go into that cursed elevator, it's him. I strike as soon as he enters my reach, a while-time shove sending him falling backwards into the cab.

The door begins the slide closed. The last thing I see before it seals shut is the man looking up from the floor, still wearing a hint of that unnatural grin. Having bought myself a minute to escape and afraid the woman will come after me yourself, I duck into the stairwell. The only other means to get away. Relief washes over me when I run downstairs past the floors below. I hadn't been sure the 13th floor was physically connected to the rest of the building.

I stumble out of the stairwell in the lobby, huffing and puffing. The run down stairs was the most intense cardio I've done in years. Sam is sitting at the concierge desk. I've never been so happy to see him. Sam, you've got to make sure no one else takes elevator four. There's something terribly wrong with it. Hold on, hold on, Sam says. No one's taking elevator four?

I know the thing's broke. That's why it says out of order. Yeah, but it showed up anyway, and I got inside, and it stopped and all the lights went off and ended up on the 13th. The 16th floor. Boss, do you feel it all right? Sam asks, sounding genuinely worried. It's impossible for the elevator to be running. Here, let me show you. Sam walks over to a fuse box in the elevator bank and opens it with a key he keeps on his belt. There's a different switch for each elevator. The switch labeled elevator four is flipped to the off position. You see, it's been like this since yesterday.

Repair was supposed to be tonight, but it got delayed on account of the storm. I protest, insisting that the elevator was running. Sam doesn't buy it. But he shrugs and agrees to mention as to the repair man. Back at his desk, he scribbles down a note and red pen. I thank Sam, and he calls an elevator for me. Elevator 2 opens, and I reluctantly step inside. I'm shaken and questioning my own sanity.

But above all, I'm grateful to be out of, well, wherever I was. The elevator lets me off on the 14th floor. And when I step into the elevator bank, I make sure I can see the lights across the street through the frosted glass window. I pass the neighbor kids in the corridor. Sure enough, the boy is the older sibling. When I walk into the apartment, dinner is already on the table. Veal cooked the way I expected.

Kimberly's waiting. I hug her tightly, making sure to check that her birth mark is properly placed. I'm so sorry I'm late. The train broke down for about 20 minutes. Storm's really messing things up. You must be starving, she replies. dinner's getting cold go changing to some dry clothes and join me

in the bedroom I look out the window admiring the view of the city I decided not to tell Kimberly the truth I don't want her to look at me the way Sam did when I tried to explain it to him my train of thoughts stopped as I recall a small detail for my conversation with Sam

when he wrote that note for the repair man Sam wrote it with his right hand Southpaw Sam, the left-handed boxer. I need to know if I'm driving myself crazy, or if I never left the 13th floor at all. I call Kimberly's cell phone. If I hear her answer in the dining room, I'll know it's really her and I'm at home.

She hollers from the dining room as I'm dialing, asking me to hurry up. I hit send. I wait, but there's no audible ring in the apartment. Maybe it's unsilent. I'm expecting to get her voicemail when she picks up. There's no corresponding sound from the dining room. The woman in the dining room isn't my wife.

And this isn't my home. Kimberly, it's Jacob. I need you to listen to me and just believe what I'm saying because it's going to sound... Kimberly cuts me off. Don't call here again, you scumbag. What? Kimberly, it's me. Can you believe this guy?

She says barely audible. She's not speaking into the receiver but to someone else in the room. My stomach drops. I'm on the 13th floor with the woman. But the man, he's not here anymore. It's one of those identity scammers calling. He's claiming he's you. For even more from creeping.

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 used under license and may not be rebroadcast or distributed without the express prior written consent of the stories author. Please contact us at creepypod at gmail.com for further information on obtaining the rights necessary to rebroadcast or distribute a particular story.