Creepy - Scratch

Episode Date: January 27, 2025

Scratch***Written by: Cyndi Gradel***The Perfect Present***Written by: Conner Lee and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***Content warnings: Emotional Abuse, Self Sacrifice***Puzzle Master***Written by J.A. Collett and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***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.

Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. O'rangutan Clause? Connor Krenick, John Rossi, Lindsay, Sassy Miller, O'Ryan Lopez, Chris Lamp, Sabrina, Lovers Bongwater, and Amy Barhart. All patrons enjoy early commercial-free access to all episodes. And depending on your reward tier, your reward also includes up to four new bonus episodes every week,

as well as immediate access to all stories at your tier, which could be over 1,600 stories. So if you'd like to support the show and get rewarded for it, please check out the donation cheers at patreon.com slash creepypod. And sorry about the late announcement on this, but things just got finalized this week, and I wanted to let people know that if you're attending the creep I.E. convention this weekend in Ontario, California,

I'll be there with the bloody disgusting network on a few panels. Saturday, February 1st, they'll be on an Urban Legends panel with Pacific Obadiahe of SCP archives and Shelby Scott of Scarey to sleep. Then right after that, I'll be co-hosting the Terrifier 3 cast Q&A. And then after that, I'll be co-hosting the scream Q&A, featuring the voice of Ghostface himself, Roger Jackson, and Sheriff Riley herself, Marley Shelton.

Stop by and say hi. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepy pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or our 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, when a man opens his home to a pair of feline friends, what started as companionship turned into something else. Creepy presents Scratch Written by Cindy Grazel I never wanted a cat I don't hate him I just never wanted the responsibility

of taking care of them When I found two strays on the sidewalk in front of my apartment My first instinct was to just chase him away My neighbor said they've been hanging around The past few days and she wanted to take them in but her kid has allergies.

Then she gave me a sad story about how black cats are always dumped after Halloween by people who adopted them just to use his background for Instagram photos. I felt sorry for him and decided to bring them home. I went to my local pet store and spent half a paycheck on all the crap the sales clerk convinced me they needed. I told her the cats were literally living on the street one day ago, so it seemed strange that they supposedly needed so much stuff. She gave me a judgmental look and I immediately felt guilty.

I ended up leaving with three bags full of toys, food, and other necessary items. The cats were pretty skittish at first. They hit under my bed the first few nights and only came out after I left for work or when I went to sleep. They both had beautiful black fur and sometimes all I could see was their eyes reflecting in the shadows. Luckily, they seemed to know instinctively how to use the cat box, although they hadn't quite mastered how to keep the litter inside the box. I had to sweep up piles of it every morning when I cleaned the box. The litter box was the thing I was most reluctant about, but it turned out to not be as bad

as I thought, and I got used to dealing with it after a while. I decided I should choose names for them since it looked like I was officially keeping them. I chose Thunder and Storm. I know, not very original, but the cats didn't care. Thunder had the more vibrant personality. He came out of hiding first and immediately started exploring my whole apartment. Storm followed his lead and soon they were everywhere and into everything. I can't lie, I wasn't expecting to like him so much.

I had no idea that cats could have such distinct personalities. I grew attached to him pretty quickly and kept putting out boxes and toys from the play with. A few weeks went by and I was becoming one of those annoying pet owners who tell stories at work about all the cute stuff their pets did. Most people were nice about it. And some even joked about what a turnaround had made from someone with no pets to somewhat obsessed. I was a little embarrassed at the label, but the cats really did make me happy. Like I used to seeing them and playing with them as soon as I was.

I got home. Everything was going great until last weekend. When it all changed. It was already dark when I left work. The full moon was lighting up the sky in the distance and it looked beautiful. I had to swerve out of the way at two different intersections to avoid an accident. I recalled my friend who was an ER nurse telling me that people have shorter tempers when the moon is full. And I always see more patience on those nights. I look forward to getting home and spending time with them. and storm and not dealing with all the jerks on the road. Something felt different the moment I opened the door. The cats weren't there waiting for me like they normally were.

They'd gotten in a routine of sitting at the door and brushing it against me as soon as I walked in. This is kind of flattering to have them be so glad to see me. Even though I knew it was really just that they knew they'd be getting fed soon. I called out for them, but they didn't respond. I listened for meows, but it was quiet. I even looked out into the hallway to see if maybe they escaped somehow. Seemed like they just vanished. I felt an immediate panic, wondering how I could be so stupid to let them get out.

I thought about knocking on my neighbor's doors but decided to search the apartment first. I went at each room, looking under tables and in all the closets. I searched all their favorite sleeping spots. I called out their names, although I've never been really clear on whether or not cats actually know their names the way dogs do. I couldn't find them anywhere. There was one last place that I hadn't looked yet. I have a second bedroom that I use as a home office, but I've never allowed the cats to go in there. I kept the door closed at all times because I didn't want to risk them getting into the cords on my computer, walking on my keyboard.

The rest of the apartment was theirs, but I wanted the door to the apartment. this space to be off limits. The door was still closed, but I opened it and checked just in case. I paused before turning on the light. Thunder was sitting on my desk, staring out the window at the full moon. His silhouette looked like a perfect Halloween drawing with the moon as a backdrop. He turned towards me and the light from the hallway bounced off his eyes, giving them a green reflective glow.

I flipped the light switch and he leapt off the desk and into the shadow underneath. The storm was there waiting for him, and the two of them stared back at me as if I was disturbing some private moment. How did you guys get in here? I said. I was annoyed at the invasion, but then a little prickle of fear began to creep into my gut. How did they get in here? And how did they close the door behind him? No one else had the key to my place besides the landlord, and she always lets me know before coming in. There's to be something wrong with the doorknob. They probably jiggled it open and then brushed against the door until it closed. I told myself this, but part of me knew that it was a stretch, and it left me feeling uneasy.

I looked at the door knob and the latch closely, and it all seemed pretty normal. I remember the camera that I kept pointed at my front door and checked the app. I had no notifications that day, which I had all seemed pretty normal. made me feel better. I would have been in the apartment, so I'd just let it go. I looked down at the cats and explained to them that they couldn't be in my office, and they had to go. They just stared at me.

It seemed odd that they weren't having their normal reaction to see me come home. Maybe they weren't hungry. Maybe being locked in the room upset them, and they were just reacting to their fear. I figured I'd just play with them a little extra and try and calm them down, and they'd eventually snap out of it. When I reached down to pick up storm, she hissed at me and backed away towards thunder. They sat next to each other and growled at me. If you've ever been around cats, then you know the sound I'm talking about.

It's a low vibrating growl that lets everything around know to stay away. I pulled my hands back and stared at the cats. I felt bad for them because they really must have been scared. I went to the kitchen and brought back a few treats and some catnip, but they didn't want any of it. I didn't want to upset them, but there was no way I was leaving them in my office. I was just about to go get a can of tuna for him when thunder crept out from under the desk. I smiled, thinking he was finally being brave, but realized too late what was happening.

He was attached to my left arm within seconds. The incisors sank in at my wrist and clamped on like a vice. The pain was excruciating, and it got worse when the cat took its jaw from side to side like it was playing with the toy mouse. I waved my arm up and down, but the cat wouldn't let go. He bit down several more times on my arm and left puncture wounds that quickly filled up with dark red blood. I grabbed the fur in the back of his neck and pulled, but he just clamped so tight that it made no difference.

He pushed his back claws against my form and clawed viciously at my skin. The sound of my flesh tearing open was repulsive, and my whole arm grew warm and wet with my own blood. I grabbed his head and squeezed, which made him detach from me. I dropped him to the floor and pressed my ruined arm against my chest. I backed away towards the door, but Storm leapt out of the shadows and latched onto my other arm. She attacked my inner forearm and left eight gouges that opened up all the way down to the white fatty flesh. It burned like a spray of acid when the air hit the open wounds. She scratched again in the opposite direction, leaving a criss-cross pattern of gashes across my arm.

She growled and hissed while she tore at me, like she was fighting a wild animal to death. I couldn't believe these were the same cats that snuggled. with me so gently the last few weeks. They were acting like they had no idea who I was. I knew they were feral. They'd never shown any signs of this kind of behavior. I didn't know what to do and worried I might not be able to stop this attack. What if they'd just kept going and I can't get away?

Can house cats actually kill someone? Storm wasn't as big as thunder and I was able to get a grip around her belly and pull her away from me. I stumbled out of the room and slammed the door behind me. The cats howled and clawed at the wood, reaching through the crack between the door and the threshold. Their paws left bright red streaks of my blood smeared along the wood. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed two dish towels. I wrapped them around each of my arms and cried out from the pain of touching the open wounds. I kept looking back at the door, half expecting the cats to somehow open it and come charging at me.

They were still clawing at it, but the door remained closed. The attack left me stunned and my breathing was erratic and loud. My hands shook so violently that I could barely hold onto my phone. I rested my elbows on the kitchen counter. Blood had already soaked both towels through. I felt sick and my stomach rolled and bubbled. I pushed back the urge to be sick and googled nearby urgent care. I called two different 24-hour clinics but they were both backed up.

with patients. I knew I'd be waiting for hours no matter where I ended up. In the end, I decided, reluctantly, to go to St. Vincent's on Roosevelt Road. Everyone calls it the last stop because it's on the border of Chicago and the suburbs. It's the only remaining hospital servicing this part of the far west side. It's always crowded. Most people only go there as a last resort. It's the home of the unlucky and the uninsured. When I pulled up to their parking lot, there were several police cars in front with lights glaring. A few groups of people were shouting and being held back from each other. I minded my business and went inside.

The full moon must have brought out the worst than everyone in the neighborhood. The waiting room was chaotic and noisy, full of patience and their frustrated family members. People were being assigned numbers just to be put on the list for triage. I found a seat in the corner after pulling a paper numbered 4-7. I put on a face mask and pulled my hoodie over my head. I leaned back in a very uncomfortable chair and prepared for the long wait. A TV in the corner of the room was playing one of those law enforcement shows that's filmed in Chicago. It was Chicago PD or Chicago Fire or something like that.

I tried watching it to avoid falling asleep, but the sound wasn't loud enough to break through the chorus of moans and crying that filled up the room. I didn't want to bring out my phone because honestly, it felt like I'd just be asking for someone to steal it. I'd already seen a few people almost throw punches over nonsense. There didn't seem to be any security around. The man next to me elbowed me out of my drowsiness. The nurse had already called my number twice and was about to move on. I leapt up out of the chair and waved my bloody arms at her.

My head felt like it was wrapped in a hot towel. I was foggy and feverish. It took a few minutes from my eyes to fully focus on the nurse. Fluorescent bulbs glowed brightly inside their dropped ceiling casings. The light made everything in the room gray and dull. Like an old black and white newscast. The kitchen towels were plastered onto my arms as dried blood. It looked like old rusted colored paint and a big oval stain on the fabric.

The wounds tingled. and they were hurting more now that the adrenaline had worn off. My skin looked awful. I could practically feel the infection already festering inside the scratches. I wondered what sorts of strange bacteria was making its way into my bloodstream. I knew I was going to be on antibiotics, and I hoped that they'd give them to me quickly before anything worse happened. A nurse pointed at me and told me to go to the room past the double doors to wait for triage.

She looked tired and overwhelmed. worked and I was too intimidated to ask her how long it was going to be before I would see a doctor. I pushed through the doors and was hit with a pungent odor that was powerful enough to penetrate my face mask. It was something like old meat and rancid butter. I didn't even want to know what it was that I was smelling. I kept walking towards what I thought was the triage area. I passed by a partially opened door to a room that was dark. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, but the hall was empty. The bustle of the waiting room behind me was muffled and I couldn't make out any of the

conversations. Something about the dark room was drawing me, so I slipped inside. An automatic light came on when I entered the room, and a sudden light made me jump. I squinted while my eyes adjusted to the brightness. Two stainless steel tables with drains on them were in the center of the room. A few desks and file cabinets lined the walls along with several locked metal cabinets. I knew what the tables were. I've seen autopsies on television.

This was definitely where the smell was coming from. The odor was so strong that I could taste it on my tongue. I looked around and noticed a curtain. It kind of hangs on a ring from the ceiling that they pull around the bed for privacy. I moved towards it. Whatever was giving off the smell was on the other side of the curtain. I should have been repulsed by it, but I wasn't. I was drawn to it.

My stomach was cramping, but it wasn't from nausea. It was from... Hunger? I couldn't believe a smell that disgusting was actually making me want to eat. I felt an overwhelming urge to get to whatever was behind the curtain. How did you get in here? A noise startled me and I actually let out a yelp. The nurse standing in the doorway was the same one who sent me to triage and she was furious.

I mumbled something about being lost and that I was confused but she wasn't buying it. She pointed at the door and ordered me out of the room. I walked away without looking back at her, but I heard the sound of the door being closed. She had a few words for me as she went back to the waiting room. and I guess I can't blame her for that. The triage nurse barely looked up at me while she questioned me. She asked if I had any other injuries besides the scratches. I didn't, but I felt like something else was wrong.

She asked how it was feeling, and I hesitated to answer. Something was different, but I couldn't figure out how to say it. I looked around the room at the medical equipment and the other people waiting. all the colors were dull and everything around me looked gray. I thought it was just the lights before, but it was more than that. I couldn't see any colors. The nurse put a blood pressure cuff around my arm and I tensed up. I was afraid that the pressure would cause the wounds to bleed more, but she assured me it would be okay.

She took my temperature and entered the number into a tablet. A woman was seated a few feet away from me. She had some blood on her face and looked like she'd fallen. A little boy was with her and he was fidgeting and kept pulling away from her. I smiled at him and he hit behind the woman's knee. The nurse told me she was going to need to draw some blood, and I looked down at all the blood on my arms and back up at her. She seemed annoyed by the gesture and told me she would clean the scratches up after she did the blood draw.

My eyes darted back to the boy. He was running back and forth under the chair and around his mother. The movements made me jumpy, and I had urged to lunge at him. My leg muscles tensed, and I felt like my whole body was preparing to pounce on the boy. Ouch! I shouted and lashed out at the nurse in front of me. What the hell is wrong with you? The nurse yelled.

I told you I was drawing your blood! She removed the needle that was in my arm. It was still empty. She looked down at her own arm where I had left four bloody scratch lines in her skin. I must have reacted to her sticking me with the needle, but I didn't even realize what I'd done. I tried to apologize and even stood up to help her as she stumbled away from me. Just stay back, she growled. I'll get somebody else in here to take care of you.

She wiped it to scratches with an alcohol pad and walked away from me to an area I couldn't see. The mother and the boy were staring in disbelief. She pulled the boy in closer and whispered something to him. I was so embarrassed. I've had blood work done dozens of times and it's never bothered me. Needles never scared me. I didn't know why I reacted that way. Heavy footsteps moved towards me and I looked up in an extremely serious nurse who looked

ready to take me apart. Is there a problem? He asked. I thought to myself, Well, I can't see colors and I'm craving putrid meat. Also, I haven't urged a bite into the kid crawling around over there. Of course, I didn't say any of that. I just mumbled another apology and explained that I felt dizzy and that I was scared.

The nurse softened a little, but he still seemed hesitant to offer help. I lifted my arms and showed him the scratches, hoping that would help my case. The wounds were red and swollen, and the blood around them had dried and crusted. It looked bad, and the nurse must have agreed because he immediately began to clean and bandage them. I tried to apologize again when he was done, but he just picked up the bandage wrappers and walked away. I stood up and started walking back towards the waiting area. I knew I'd have to wait in another room to fill out the payment paperwork. I looked over my shoulder back at the woman and the little boy.

They both stared at me like I was a monster or something. I felt so ashamed that I put my head down and walked faster. I went down the same hallway and stopped when I got to the room with the odor. Again, I felt my stomach tighten and the odor was so intense that I could smell it through the door. A nurse walked past me and I pretended to tie my shoe. She didn't acknowledge me and kept going as if I wasn't even there. I tried the doorknob and heard the click of the latch releasing. The door opened just to crack and I slink quietly through.

The motion lights clicked on again and the room let up. This time I bolted towards the smell, unable to control myself. I ripped the curtain to the side and stared at the table behind it. A man's body was lying on the table, covered with a white sheet up to his collarbone. He'd clearly been dead for a while. His skin was gray and patchy, and there were several lesions on his face. I couldn't tell if it was some kind of infection or just decay that happens after death. The odor was so alluring that my mouth began to salivate.

I circled the table, feeling the urge to attack. My eyes sharpened their focus and zoomed in on the fatty flesh hanging off of his lifeless jowls. I lunged at him. mouth open and teeth ready to tear at my prey. The skin was rubbery and thick. It took several bites and made it through that first layer. I made it to the soft pink flesh beneath and tore away a mouthful. The taste was unusual.

The weird aftertaste that I'd never experienced before. It was similar to venison I once had when I was a kid. But it wasn't gamey like that. I ripped away piece after piece, ignoring the bones and cartilage that I was swallowing along with the flesh. Within minutes, I'd eaten most of his face and even a bunch of his hair. I heard a noise in the hallway, and it made me stop. I stepped away from the table and looked at the bloody mess in front of me. I couldn't believe what I'd done.

I dropped to my knees and my stomach heaved violently. I spewed out the vile contents of my guts and left to my head. an awful mess on the floor. Two nurses were having a conversation in the hallway just outside the door. Their voices carried through into the room and I tried my best to stay quiet. I couldn't stop my body from continuing a reaction to the disgusting bits I'd just eaten. Put my hands up to my mouth to cover it, but the retching started again. Something was working its way up from my stomach and was making it hard to breathe.

When it finally made its way to the back of my throat, I reached my hand in to get it. I pulled out a few strands of hair that were coated in bile and fatty beds. I reached in again, but I couldn't get my fingers around the clump. My stomach convulsed loudly and rapid beats until the mass was dislodged. A ball of black hair burst out of my mouth and splattered against the floor. The sound was loud, and the nurses on the other side of the door called out to ask who was in there. I crouched low to the floor and held my breath in. The nasty sour taste in my mouth made me want to spit.

But I couldn't risk making the noise. The doorknob turned and the door opened into the room. Two nurses stood there with their eyes open wide in shock. They took in the horrible scene and then their gaze landed on me in the pile of regurgitated mess on the floor. My mouth opened and a hiss snaked out as a warning. them both. My shoulders squeezed together, forcing my back up into an arched position. One of the nurses screamed and they grabbed onto each other. I growled at them from deep in my gut. The three of us were frozen in position. No one wanted to make the first strike. I hissed again

and lunged forward, which made both of them jump. Another voice from the hallway made all of us look away, and that gave me the chance to flee. I squeezed through the space between them and the door and bolted down the hallway. I heard their screams behind me and a plea for someone to help. The waiting area was still crowded, and the noise was so loud that no one heard the nurse's shouting. I slipped past a group of patients arguing at the reception desk, and I ran toward the exit. I bumped into a woman who was holding an ice pack on her arm, and she called me an asshole. There was so much chaos and confusion that I was able to move through the room without standing out.

I slipped through the last automatic door out onto the sidewalk. The fresh air was a relief. I leaned against a brick wall and inhaled a few times, clearing my lungs of the vile stench that I left behind. My whole body was shivering and my arms were throbbing with pain. I looked down at the bandages that were already soaking through. I should have swiped some extra ones before I left the high. hospital. I'd have to make do with whatever I had in the medicine cabinet at home.

There wasn't much traffic around the hospital and I didn't see anyone on my way to the parking lot. I passed by a dumpster with a lid open and something was rustling to the trash inside of it. I paused, suddenly feeling the urge to look inside the bin. It reeked of rotting waste but I detected another scent layered in with a foul odor. Something tempting was in there. and I needed to get it. I grabbed the edge of the bin and pulled myself up to look inside. A long gray tail stood out with the clear bags of nasty garbage. My eyes focused on the movement like a camera lens zooming in on a tiny flower.

My body tensed in anticipation of an attack. The creature heard me and disappeared underneath the trash. I dove into the pile so quickly that it barely made a sound. The rat was fast, but I had a little. I was faster, and I had it between my teeth within seconds. The apartment was quiet when I returned home. Blood on the floor and kitchen counter had dried into rusty smears. The door in my office was open.

I called out for the cats, but they didn't come out. I pulled the rat out of my pocket and placed it on the floor. It was frozen in shock, but still twitching with life. Its body was warm, and there were bloody puncture wounds where my teeth. teeth had bitten into it. The cat smelled it right away. Storm came slinking down the hallway, sniffing at the air to confirm the scent. Thunder followed behind her in a cautious and protective position.

We made eye contact, and I tried to stay calm. I stepped back and motioned towards the rat like an offering. I'd seen them do the same when they caught a fly or a spider, leaving it near me as a gift. The cat sniffed their present. and then batted it back and forth a few times. They both licked at the fur and seemed to lose interest. Thunder walked towards me, meowing as if nothing awful had ever happened between us.

I brushed against me, curling his tail and circling me. Storm rubbed her head against my leg and purred loudly. She looked up at me with anticipation to see if I was going to feed them. The cats were just as sweet and calm as they had been before. it all happened. I felt guilty for ever thinking that I'd get rid of them. I opened a can of tuna for him and placed two plates on the floor. Storm sniffed at the food and then looked as if to ask for something different.

Thunder stretched and yawned and took off down the hallway. Storm followed him and they leisurely walked away. I looked back at the plate and the rat was there, quietly nibbling on the tuna. I guess now I have to think of a name for this one too. For our second story this evening. What would you be willing to sacrifice to save a faltering marriage? Your time, your possessions, more? And what happens when those sacrifices are met with indifference?

Creepy presents. The Perfect Present. Written by Connor Lee and narrated by Heather Thomas. At the store, I tell the cashier that I absolutely must have this beautiful golden picture frame. It will be a present, I say. For my husband, Bradley. He tells me it costs more money than I have. Luckily, this is the type of store that accepts trades.

I'll give you my nicest dress, I say. And $300. He agrees, and later I come back holding the nicest thing I've ever owned. I hand him the dress and nearly all the money I have left in the world. I keep just enough to get a nice picture of Bradley and me printed. I select a picture of us during our honeymoon in Hawaii. I'm sitting on his shoulders with my arms in the air. We're both red, but smiling.

In love. I get home just in time to put the picture in the frame and make Bradley a nice dinner before he gets home from work. I light a candle, set the table, make the final touches to the house and pace in front of the door. When he gets home, he's carrying a bag of fast food. I tell him about dinner, and he walks right past me, sits down on the couch and starts watching football.

You know I don't like your cooking, he says. When I show him the picture frame, he tells me it's a waste. Why would you spend money on something so stupid? Why not get me something I actually like? We're not stupid kids and love anymore. I don't need a picture of us from ten years ago. I want to tell him I wish we could be stupid kids in love again. And I know that he's right.

I need to do better. Tomorrow I will buy him a new present. Radley spends the rest of the night watching football. I sit at the dining room table and pretend to sew as I watch him. and watch the game. What is it that he loves so much about these players, about these games? Is it the drama? The mixing of emotions? The constant switching from despair and anxiety to joy and relief? I watch him lean forward as his fist tightens around his beer when the red team almost scores. And I watch as he relaxes again against the couch and takes a sip when they fail.

Am I not exciting enough? Would he love me more if I was screaming at him one second, then begging him to fuck me the next? Or could it be as simple as putting on a helmet in a blue jersey and standing in front of him while he drinks a beer? I shake my head to clear my thoughts. There is always more a wife can do, I whisper. His beer is half empty.

I grab him a fresh one from the fridge. Yes, I say when I'm back at the table, tomorrow I will buy him something new, and everything will be okay. I am cold as I walk to the store, because I'm holding my warmest coat and my nicest boots. I fear that if I put them on, I might get too used to their comfort. The cashier gives me $300 of store credit for the return picture frame, and I walk around the store until something catches my eye. It's a jersey from the team Bradley likes. It's framed and hung up on the wall. And as I come upon it,

it's like I'm being guided by a spotlight. The cashier tells me that the jersey is signed by the team's star player. It will cost a lot more than $300, a winter coat, and fur boots. Anything, I say, stars in my eyes. I'll give you anything. He eyes me up and down. and for a second I'm scared of what he'll say. He tells me that his wife makes wigs,

and he thinks my hair could be perfect. I'm hesitant at first, but I know that Bradley doesn't care much for my appearance anymore. He'll value a signed jersey from his very favorite team, a lot more than my hair. I walk home, cold, but excited. I can hardly wait for Bradley to get here. I clean the house and sweep until I'm being.

moving nothing but air. It isn't until 15 minutes before he's supposed to get home. That I remember I'm bald. I stare at myself in the mirror for a long time. I've never realized how weird the shape of my head is before. I try on hats and beanies, but I know how mad Bradley will get if he sees me wearing his clothes. In the end, I'm standing at the door.

My baldness on full display when Bradley gets home. My stomach is in knots as I watch him walk up the driveway. Nice hair, he says when he walks through the door and past me. Bradley, I say following him. You haven't seen your present yet. Show it to me over here, he says from the couch. I run to the kitchen and grab the jersey off the table, then hold it behind my back as I stand in front of him.

He's staring past me at the TV, and he moves his hand in a come on with it gesture. I pull the jersey out from behind my back and smile proudly. I just know he's going to love it. A shirt, he says, unimpressed. Thanks. He nods at me. My cue to leave.

I tell him it's signed by that player he loves. I don't love any player, he responds. But you watch him, play every week? Yeah, I like football. What? Do you think I'm gay? Wearing another man's name on my back? He's exasperated. You want me to put on a foam finger and scream that I'm his number one fan? You want me to put on a little skirt and shout, Go Team Go? He shakes his head and snorts a laugh. Why don't you get out of my way? I'm trying to watch the news. I get in bed and cry for hours. How could I be so stupid? Of course Bradley wasn't going to

love that present. He's better than any of those guys on TV anyway. Our marriage is falling apart. There has to be something I can do. A good wife always knows how to please her husband. Bradley deserves a good wife. I go to sleep dreaming of how I can be better. Today I'm walking to the store again. It's been snowing since last night and at each step I sink into the ground. My bare arms sting and eventually go numb. Each step is an effort, like I'm climbing up a steep hill. But Bradley is someone who is worth fighting for. He stays with me despite my flaws. I owe it to him to never give up on making this work. By the time I reach the store, my arms are wrapped around my body. I can hardly stop myself from falling to the floor and curling into a ball.

A young couple looks at me as I shiver and rub my hands over my arms. When I make eye contact with the man, they turn around quickly. But I can hear them giggling. I can't blame them. Young love has a way of making everything funny. Anything is an excuse to share another laugh. I can't imagine that I do look funny. bald, red-faced, shivering, and underdressed.

I exchanged the jersey for $500 store credit, and I start walking around the store, desperate to find that perfect item. I will not leave until I find it. I walk past signed baseballs and footballs, more jerseys, and then the electronic section. There's a record player in old vinyl's. For a second, I think that this might be perfect,

something vintage and fun. I can picture us starting a collection together, dancing to our wedding song, and making love while soft music plays in the background. But no, I shake my head. This is not a practical gift. What use is there for decorative nostalgia when we now have iPhones and speakers and TVs?

I need something that will actually make his life better. What does Bradley not have? I ask myself as I walk around the store. What does he complain about? What problem can I solve? And then it hits me. I remember him telling me about the guys at work, how they all act so rich with their fancy cars and nice watches.

They think they're better than him. I need something that will help Bradley show them up, something that will prove that they are not better than him. I tell the cashier to show me their most expensive watch. He disappears into the back for a few minutes and comes back holding something that looks so expensive that I can hear Bradley whistling with admiration.

The cashier tells me that it is a chronomat 38. It has a stainless steel bracelet strap and a mother-of-pearl white baton. The eye of the clock sparkles in the light, and I can't help but feel as if God is winking at me, My breath catches in my throat as I ask. What do you want for it? His eyes linger on my bald head and my short sleeves.

What are you willing to give? Anything, I say. Literally anything. I mean it. He leads me to an office at the back of the store. It's small, just enough space for a desk and a chair on either side. He tells me to wait here for a while. He says he'll be back in 30 minutes, and we can make a trade.

When he sees that I'm nervous, he promises that I will go home with the watch by the end of the day. He leaves and closes the door behind him. Somehow him being gone makes me more claustrophobic, as if the walls are slowly caving in on me. I shift around in the chair, trying to get comfortable. My knees ache, but I can't extend my legs all the way without being blocked by the desk. When I stand, I can feel the weight of the whole day on my feet. I could so easily just walk out the door. But how could I ever come back home to Bradley without that beautiful watch?

Eventually the cashier comes back, and he has another man with him. This man is tall and bearded, and he wears a backpack. They crowd in on the other side of the desk, and the bearded man looks at me, then smiles, and looks back at the cashier. I say hi, but he either doesn't hear me or doesn't care. You weren't kidding, he says, and looks back at me. I can feel his gaze burning against my bare head. Are you sure you want to do this?

Do what? I ask. You didn't tell her? He says to the cashier. The cashier shrugs. You can't just tell someone that. and then leave them to sit alone in a room. That's like, torture. What do I have to do?

I ask to cut off your arm, he says. They both stay quiet as I laugh for just a little too long. It's completely your choice, the cashier says. We're not going to make you do it. You're serious, I say. My ears fill with air and my heart plummet. I turn toward the door, then pause. Why aren't they moving to block it?

I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. I can leave. I say quietly. You can? The bearded man says, and I jump. But if I do, I glance up as if they can read my thoughts. I won't ever get that watch. Bradley won't love me.

and our marriage will fail. What's worse? Losing an arm or losing my other half? In our vows, I said that I would give anything for him. I said that I would die for him. Now I have my chance to prove that he is worth the world to me. There is no way he won't love me after seeing this sacrifice. How could you not love someone who loses so much for you?

I'll do it. I say, my voice is weak, but I am determined. They lead me outside, behind the store, and lay some towels on top of the snow. I lay down, and they give me a drink, then another, and another. Each time it burns my throat a little less. Slowly the cold winter air is replaced by warmth. There's a sharp feeling like a shot in my arm, and everything goes blurry. The world is dull and gray.

I'm watching the bearded man as if from far away. He's smiling and pulling out a large knife. He looks like Santa Claus. He stands in front of me, plants his feet firmly on the floor, and swings the knife like a lumberjack chopping wood. He does it again and again. Blood flies in the air above my head. I watch it like a kid admiring fireworks.

until it gets in my eyes, and then they close involuntarily. I wake up in the back of a car. The cashier is in the driver's seat, and sure enough, my arm is gone. The stub is bandaged and hurts badly, like it's being burned in a fire. At the same time, it's incredibly cold. I think they must have packed the bandaging with ice. I'm light-headed. and feel like I'm going to puke.

Where is the watch? I ask. The cashier laughs. He pulls the watch out of his pocket and throws it into the seat next to me. I grab it and hold it against my chest. Then slip it into my pocket. He asks me for my address. For a moment I struggle to remember.

My vision goes in and out, but then the words are coming out of my mouth, and he's driving me home. He stops on the side of the road in front of my house. He doesn't offer to help me out. I stumble my way outside and fall to the snowy ground. I look up, expecting him to be getting out of the car, only to see that he's already halfway down the street.

Slowly I get to my feet and start walking. It's dark outside and Bradley has beaten me home. I am dizzy, and it's hard to keep my eyes. eyes open. I keep falling toward my heavier side. It would be so easy to give up, but I am so, so close. I walk through the door. Bradley? I call. My voice is weak and trembling. I'm home. He's watching the game. I fight my way to the couch. My eyes start to close and I fall against the wall. I slap myself as hard as I I can and continue walking. I pull out the watch as I reach his side.

Br... Br... Bradley... I got something. I dropped the watch into his lap just as I collapsed to the fore. With the last of my strength, I roll onto my back so that I can watch his face as he finally sees it. The perfect present.

The one that will see. save me. And oh, his eyes, they are beautiful and large. Now he's screaming my name. My Bradley, he's scared for me. I did it. He loves me. For our final story this evening, what better way to spend time away at a secluded cottage than to spend some time on a puzzle? For one guest, the consequences of his puzzle are more than he's willing to lose. Creepy presents Puzzle Master, written by J.A. Collette and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. The box had arrived at my holiday accommodation the morning I had arrived. I found it on the welcome mat after I swear I had heard a knock at the door.

However, when I opened it, no one was there. Bucks itself felt suspiciously light, almost empty. It was addressed to Mr. Vidal, the owner and the host of the property at which I was staying, and it was seemingly sent from a company called Soul Custom Puzzles. I sent a quick message to Mr. Bidell to say that his package had arrived. My phone buzzed almost instantly after I hit send, with his response thanking me and asking me to place it in the large cupboard in the sitting room with the other boxes and board games. Once I put it away, I made my way back to the kitchen and made some food.

It was nice to be out in the countryside, alone, to get away from all the drama, from all the pain I had caused. I looked down at the wedding ring on my finger. I remembered when I first put it on. The excitement I felt. Now, I wasn't sure how I felt about anything. I had stumbled upon this house whilst browsing for last-minute getaways. It appealed, as the advertisement had said that it was perfect for solo visitors looking to get away from it all.

It was a tiny one-bedroom cottage that used to be a gatehouse for much larger property that had fallen into disrepair. As cozy as it felt, there was a certain eerieness that hung in the air. I couldn't explain it. I made my way back to the living room, poured myself a whiskey, and tried desperately to turn my thoughts off. After an hour or so, I welcomed the respite of sleep. when I woke, the clock on my wall said 2 p.m. I'd been asleep for over five hours. God knows I needed it, but still, my head was pounding.

It felt like a vicious hangover was in full swing, which was strange, considering I only had one drink as part of my nutritious liquid breakfast. I made my way to the bedroom to splash some water on my face and treat myself to some mouthwash. surely that would make me feel slightly more alive i turned on the tap put my hands underneath the cool stream of water and then glanced up into the mirror my heart stopped part of my forehead was no longer there and its place was a simple black void a square of absolutely nothing still my hair above and my face was a simple black void a square of absolutely nothing still my hair above and my face beneath, but an abyss in between. I panicked and blinked hard, but it remained. Tentatively, I raised my indexed finger towards it.

I braced myself for some form of pain, a physical feeling, to register. My finger entered the dark chasm right up to the knuckle. Absolutely not. I ran back to my phone and immediately dialed for emergency services. the call did not go through. I tried again. No signal. This wasn't right.

I had a signal this morning when I messaged the host. What had happened? I quickly grabbed my coat and made my way outside. Maybe if I walked up the hill to the end of the driveway, I'd be able to make the call. As soon as I was over the threshold of the property, I broke into a road. run, fueled by panic and desperation. I didn't see the pothole ahead of me and immediately lost my footing. I remember hitting my head hard. Then everything went black. When I awoke, I was staring at an orange sky, transitioning slowly from dusk to evening. My head still throbbed. Well, what remained of it?

I tried to get up, but when I reached out my hand to steady myself, it wasn't there. My left hand was gone. Like my forehead earlier that morning, the end of my wrist was another black hole. My stomach churned, and I vomited onto the ground. I looked at my phone again, and I still did not have a signal. I staggered back into the house. What was happening? happening to me. I poured myself a second whiskey, and then another, and another.

Then collapsed into one of the living room chairs. What was I supposed to do now? Maybe the phone would start working soon. Maybe it was a glitch. I tried restarting it, but nothing changed. I contemplated leaving, but my car was a manual, so there's no way I could drive in this condition. I tried to move my left hand. I swear I could feel it. Was this phantom limb syndrome? And then I heard it. Every time I tried to move my left hand, a faint scratching could be heard from somewhere in the room.

Where was it coming from? I got up from the chair and kept moving my non-existent limb. The sound was coming from the cupboard in which I had placed the box that had arrived that morning. I opened doors and retrieved the box that was on top of several more just like it. The scratching was coming from inside of it. I opened it and my heart almost jumped out of my chest. inside another box a jigsaw puzzle and blazing on top was the logo's sole custom puzzles and the puzzle's name my name i felt nauseous i threw the lid off the box and inside there it was my left hand made up of several puzzle pieces

each time i tried to move with the pieces jiggled and danced around the box's interior Even my wedding ring was on in peace. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. When I arrived here, I didn't know how I felt about it, and now I desperately wanted to wear it again, to feel it. Maybe that was just my selfishness making an appearance once again. After all, that's what had landed me here in this house in the first place. Nothing was making sense anymore. I felt at a loss.

I sat back in the chair, a fresh whiskey in my one remaining hand. My mind was racing. I needed a distraction. I noticed the guest's book on the coffee table. Reaching down, I grabbed it and sat it on my lap. I opened it and started reading. There were four entries before my arrival. Each one confused and just as panic as I was right now.

Jane, Stephen, Liz, and William. Every one of them complained about missing parts of themselves, the black voids and the accompanying scratching sounds from the cupboard. The mental spiraling that it all began with the delivery of a strange, seemingly empty box. Each entry ended with the same. same phrase. Do not fall asleep. I lunged back to the cupboard and pulled out the four other similar-looking boxes with careless abandon. I ripped the cardboard into pieces until I had several puzzle boxes laid on the rug in front of me, all with the sole custom puzzle logo,

all with their individual puzzle names. Jane, Stephen, Liz, and William. My hand, shook as I fumbled trying to put the pieces together. Each of the faces I completed were twisted and contorted in various forms of anguish, their mouths trying to form words. I could hear their screams echoing around my head, begging for death, pleading for their pain. I blacked out. When I came two hours later, I was not surprised to find both of my legs had disappeared below the knee. I did not need to check my puzzle box to know that it would be fractionally heavier than it had been before. It was all grimly predictable. Despite my phone being nothing more than a useless slab at this point,

I still message the host to try and explain what happened and see if he could help me. Despite my phone still having no signal, the message went through immediately. It bust straight afterwards with his response. I'm sorry to hear you're not enjoying your stay. Don't worry. There's no one else booked in. You can check out whenever you want. I didn't understand.

Why did he not care? Then another message came through. See you soon. Regards. The Puzzle Master. And so, with my few remaining, remaining waking hours is my final bastion of defense from all-consuming unknown. I reached for the guest book and began writing this entry.

If there's a chance you're reading this before the delivery has arrived, leave and if not, do not, fall asleep. 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 share-a-like 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 story's author.