Creepy - Shadow Puppies & Rewind

Episode Date: May 18, 2023

Shadow Puppies***Written by: Olivia White and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***Rewind***Written by: Kay Price and Narrated by: Michelle Kane***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea 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. 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 biocations of biocations. Silence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Shadow puppies. Written by Olivia White. And narrated by Heather Thomas. I need to take my mind off of things. I need to focus on something right now. And so as I sit here lit by the glow of the screen, I'm going to tell you a story.

I frequently babysit my half-brother and sister. Mom's a waitress at a 24-hour diner, and often on the weekends she's called to work the night shift. So instead of her having to pay a sitter, I drop round and keep an eye on my kid's siblings. Their dad died two years ago, killed by an unknown hit-and-run driver while he was walking the dogs down one of the back roads.

The car drove straight into Mick and his two German shepherds. They all died instantly, which I guess is something. I remember a cop joking a few weeks later that it was a shame one of the dogs hadn't survived, because he might have been able to sniff out the culprit, who apparently stopped and gotten out of the car before driving off. I thought that was a tasteless thing to say, personally. Mick and I had never gotten on, not at all. We kind of hated each other, in fact.

I never begrudged mom for marrying him. He loved his wife and kids. He just didn't love me, and I didn't love him. He and I just had the worst clash of personalities. We could barely stand to be around each other. It came to blows a few times, and Mick, a big tough guy, came off better than I did almost any time that happened. It sucked, and when I went off to college, even though I still lived nearby, I didn't really come home. Until one day I got the call from Mom.

With Mick gone, things were different, and I promised that I'd be there for my mom and my siblings in their time of need. My brother, Sean, three, and sister Jasmine, six, coped admirably after Mick's death. Sean was too young to really understand what had gone on, of course. And as for Jasmine, after an initial period of asking where her daddy was, despite having it explained. She finally came to terms with the fact he was gone.

They seemed to be doing okay. At least I thought so, until yesterday. Due to the loss of their father at a very young age, Jasmine and Sean can be conspiratorial, sticking together and shutting the rest of the world out. Dr. Hess told Mom and I that we should just let them be, encourage their play sessions together and just keep an eye out for any alarming behavior. Yesterday, Mom was out at work.

I'd come over to babysit, and after an initial burst of excitement at spending the night with their big sis, Jasmine and Sean had disappeared off upstairs to play. I was in the living room studying. My graduate studies are kicking my actual ass, and any spare moment I can spend pouring over my books. I'll take it. I got a bit caught up in my studying and realized it was gone seven. Whenever I babysit, the kids have warm milk at 7 p.m., and then we watch cartoons together before bedtime. It's something of a ritual. They'll cuddle up with me on the sofa, Jasmine on my right, and Sean on my left.

Not once in the last two years have they failed to come downstairs at 7 sharp. Guiltily I headed into the kitchen and put the milk on boil, calling up the stairs to my siblings as I did so. I waited for them to show up. Nothing. I finished heating the milk, poured it into mugs, carried them to the bottom of the stairs. Jaws! Shawnee! I called up, straining to listen for the sound of their footfalls.

No response. I felt a pang of worry. They're both very sensible kids. kids, but you never know with young children. Without stopping to put the milk down, I made my way upstairs and headed to their bedroom. Empty. Down the corridor, I saw the door to the guest bedroom was ajar. The guest bedroom had previously been mixed Man Cave, but since his death, mom had converted

it into a bedroom so I could sleep over when I babysat. And then when Sean wanted his own room, he'd have one ready and waiting. light spilled out of the empty room, and as I approached, I heard whispered voices. The kids sounded excited. This felt like a positive step for them. Mom and I had been trying to encourage them to have their own rooms instead of sharing. Was Sean starting to come around to the idea of a bedroom of his own? I peeked my head through the crack in the door.

The kid sat on the floor, a bedside lamp placed on the carpet between them. The lamp cast an eerie glow against the bare wall, and sent Sean and Jasmine's shadows skittering and dancing across the ground whenever they shifted. They were leaning over the lamp, whispering to each other, both seemingly fascinated by the halo of light on the plain white wallpaper. I nudged the door open with my knee, balancing the cups of milk in my hands. Jasmine and Sean both turned to look at me, and I could have sworn a guilty glance,

passed between them. I've got your milk here, I said, raising an eyebrow. What happened to our cartoons? You gonna stand me up? Jasmine raised one finger to her lips. She was smiling. Shhh, I mock whispered, setting the milk down on the chest of drawers. So, what's you looking at?

Shadow puppies. Sean burbled, his voice cracking high in excitement. Jasmine reached over and tugged his sleeve. Shh, I smiled, looking at Jasmine. Oh, shadow puppets, I said. I used to love playing that as a kid, making all sorts of creatures. To demonstrate, I pressed my hands together and flap them, emulating a bird. Jasmine frowned at me as if I'd confused her, then turned back to the wall.

So, hey, you guys. ready to watch some tunes? I asked. Stupidly, I felt a little left out. Me, a 22-year-old woman. Sean turned to me with an expression of enthusiasm. His face fell as Jasmine spoke. No, that's okay, Lana. I rolled my eyes, smiling. Jasmine hadn't even taken her gaze off the wall. They could get like this sometimes. It was no big deal. Well, I'll leave your milk here then. I'll be back in an hour to tuck you into bed. You'd better be done playing with your shadow puppies by then.

I'd let the kids stay up half an hour longer than their bedtime. I'd like to say it was because I was being a rebellious, cool sister. But really, I just lost track of time again. By the time I hurried upstairs to tuck them into their bed, mindful of Dr. Hess's advice that the kid should stick to a familiar routine. It was gone nine. Sean was already yawning as the pair made their way out the bedroom after brushing their teeth. By the time I'd gotten Jasmine into bed, her brother was already snoring lightly.

I tucked Jasmine in, kissed her forehead, and reached over to turn out the nightlight. Jasmine's small hand darted out and caught my wrist. My heart sank. Mom and I had always been pleased that the kids had never developed a fear of the dark. something Dr. Hess said was a good sign. No? I asked. You want the light on? Uh-huh.

Jasmine responded, almost shyly. It's okay to be scared, I said, trying to hide the sadness in my voice. If you're scared, we can talk about it. Jasmine gave me a look that suggested impatience. I'm not scared, Blana. she said curtly. I felt like I'd been scolded. Well, okay, that's fine too, I said, well aware of the pride of six-year-old girls.

Why do you want the light on then? Because the shadow puppies won't come otherwise, she said. I sat on the edge of her bed. The shadow puppies, huh? You're supposed to be sleeping, not playing, I said, teasingly. Booping Jasmine's nose lightly. Jasmine didn't smile. I'm not playing, she said.

The shadow puppies need the light and the darkness to come, stupid. They're shadows, duh. Jazz, what have we said about being rude? I asked her calmly. Jasmine sighed. Sorry, Lana. I stood up and stroked her hair. That's fine. You're just tired.

Sleep well, baby. I jolted awake my textbook falling from my lap. I drifted off on the couch. A clock read midnight. A pale sickly light emanated from the TV. It displayed silent white static. I frowned. Had the cable died?

As I moved to stand up, a strange smell hit my nostrils. I sniffed once. Twice. Was something burning? No, it wasn't exactly burning. Something was burnt, like the smell of a campfire the next day. All charcoal and ash. And beneath that, something musky. Beastial. I jumped as a flash of movement caught my eye. Over by the entrance to the kitchen, dancing in the shadows cast by the light of the TV. Another movement, this time by the bay window. I whirled around.

Outside, the street sat silent and empty. I thought I could see more movement in the glow of the street lamp by the Richardson's hedge. Behind me, I heard a clicking sound. A familiar sound I'd heard so many times in that house as a teen. Back when Mick's awful, loud dogs were still alive and had run of the place. It was the tapping of claws on hardwood.

I froze, staring at my reflection in the front window. The animal footsteps grew closer. I heard a scrape as something knocked against the coffee table. The television's white static wavered on the glass. I let out a tiny shriek as the reflection disappeared and reappeared, as if something large and black had peltzes. in front of the TV. I whirled around the taste of copper in my mouth, my breath catching in my throat. The footsteps stopped. The room was empty. Then, over by the kitchen, a scrabbling sound and a low

growl, a deep menacing sound. The kind of sound a dog makes when you're in its territory and it's giving you a single warning to get out. I began to edge forward, my own safety secondary to identifying the animal, then reaching my brother and sister, locking us in the room and calling the cops. The area leading into the kitchen was empty too. I tiptoed closer,

using the light from the TV to look for something, anything I could use as a weapon to defend myself. Whatever this animal was, I could see no sign of it. I could, however, hear the clacking of claws from the kitchen proper. Silently I crept past, holding my breath, my heart hammering in my chest, out of the living room, into the hallway. Up the stairs, growling sounds seemed to be coming from all of the rooms downstairs,

like the animal was moving around at a lightning speed. I got the irrational feeling that I was being taunted by this unseen beast. Was it even just one? I hear a scratch, a snarl, a scrabble, movement out of the corner of my eye, and when I turned nothing. I crept up the stairs.

One, two, three, skip the fourth. It creaks. Up, up, up. A few stairs shy of the top I froze. The door to the children's bedroom was ajar. and a faint light spilled out from it, and a shape passed across that light, blotting it out for a second, a shape in the hallway coming towards me.

I caught the vague outline of fur, wild, matted, black. I could smell the creature now. I could feel its breath on my face, could hear the low rumble in its throat, but I couldn't see it. It was right in front of me, and I couldn't see it. Just darkness, and beyond that, light.

It was as if the creature existed in the space between, just out of my sight, so close I could reach out and touch it. I let out a little whimper, and the unseen animal growled. I was frozen. I had nothing to defend myself with. The creature's earthy breath flooded my nose, Behind me from the bottom of the stairs, I heard another snarl. I was surrounded. I was about to die. Up ahead, the door to the kid's bedroom creaked open.

My eyes widened as I saw Jasmine standing there, framed by the lamplight, rubbing her eyes sleepily. I opened my mouth to scream, to tell her to get back inside, to shut the door, to barricade it with whatever she could. But before I could say a word, Jasmine pursed her lips and gave a sharp, shrill whistle. I heard a snarl, an angry guttural snarl that vibrated through my whole body. My stomach churned. A gust of air. Of something pushed past me. I swayed, reaching out to grab the banister to stop myself from falling. And as I did, I saw movement ahead of me. An impossible warping of the darkness, a glimpse of wild fur and a flash of silver eyes.

Footsteps thundered and the light around Jasmine displaced. And then everything was calm. Jasmine stood there, staring at me, looking mildly annoyed. When Jasmine had finished using the bathroom, I took her back to bed. My whole body was shaking. My mouth was dry and I felt like I was in a daze. There were no animals. There couldn't have been.

Where were they now? I'd been studying too hard. I'd been half asleep. I didn't know. Jasmine climbed beneath the covers and my trembling legs finally gave out. I collapsed into a sitting position on the edge of Jasmine's bed. Sean was kneeling up, staring at. at us. He looked wide awake. I felt a small, warm hand on my arm. I turned to look at Jasmine,

who was regarding me with a serious expression. I don't think you'd better come around anymore, Lana, she said, her voice cold. The shadow puppies, think you're a bad person. They don't like you. My eyes widened. I turned to Sean. He shook his head, his expression one of sadness. They don't like you at all. I went back downstairs. I couldn't settle. I couldn't focus.

I couldn't stop shaking. In the end, I called mom and told her I'd gotten sick. She came home from work early, felt my forehead, said I seemed a little peeky, asked if I wanted to stay over. Of course I didn't. I drove home. I wanted to get as far away from the shadow puppies, real or imaginary, as possible.

There was no way they could follow me, I thought. Hell, even Jasmine and Sean don't know exactly where I live. They've never been here. Tonight I sit here with every light in my apartment blazing as darkness falls outside. I don't know how to stop the shadows from creeping in. With the lights off, I smell that horrible burnt scent and hear the tap, tap, tap, tapping of claws.

With the lights on, the movement starts. I figured if I stare into the screen, if I don't look around, if I don't react, I'll be safe. I don't know. I don't know. I can hear them pacing around the screen. the apartment behind me, stalking and snarling and scratching. I thought that being back in my own

home would protect me. I thought I could hide here. Clearly, I was wrong. They can move like shadows, and they knew exactly where to come. They knew where to find me. After all this time, that's the problem with dogs. They can track. your scent. Creepy presents. Rewind. Written by Kay Price and narrated by

Michelle Kane. It's funny how you can look back and know the moment your life took a turn. I didn't know it then, of course, but I do now. It was right before Christmas and Daddy had been called back to the mine

so there were a few presents under the tree. He and Greg my oldest brother, had cut down a tree and dragged it home just as the snow began to fall. At 15, Greg was nearly as tall as daddy, proud to be taken out to help with men's work instead of being cooped up with me and mommy. It started snowing that Saturday afternoon. Big flakes that floated down like feathers swaying on the slightest breeze. Soon they turned wet and heavy, covering the yard and keeping Mommy busy trying to keep the porch swept. There's nothing quieter than snowfall in the mountains.

I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and stood outside that night, after the four little ones were in bed. At 17, I was the oldest, and ever since I was big enough to drag a chair up to the sink, I had helped Mommy cook and clean and care for my siblings, Jacob, Leah, Rebecca, and Emmy. Right now, I could hear giggling from upstairs as they fought sleep. Daddy trudged out to the truck, the snow already just below his knees and still pouring. He started shoveling a path to get the truck out for work, and the only sound was the scrape and crunch of his shovel,

and his labored breathing I could hear all the way on the porch. Not a quarter of the way around the truck, he stopped and leaned against it. I opened the door to call for Greg, but he was already pulling on his coat. I know. He whispered. Greg dragged his boots, winding the path to the truck and wordlessly took the shovel from Daddy's hands. A loud crack came from up on the mountain, signaling a tree had given way to the weight of the snow. Greg was making quick work of the shoveling, so I went back inside to finish the kitchen. I left Mommy and Daddy downstairs and checked on the boys on my way to bed.

They were pretending to be asleep, but as long as they were quiet, I'd let them think. think I didn't know. Emmy and Rebecca were asleep, curled up in the bed closest to the window. Quietly and without turning on a light, I undressed and hurried to put on my night camp. The room was already cold and it would get colder by morning. Shivering, I slipped into the bed and slept as soon as my head hit the pillow. I don't know what woke me. The moon was shining in, casting shadows across the bedroom floor.

I gasped as my feet hit the icy floor. The front door squeaked. Someone had opened it. I pulled on my house shoes and opened the bedroom door. Mommy and Daddy's bedroom door was open, and I could hear Daddy trying to hold back a cough downstairs. Quietly, so as not to wake anyone else, I crept down to check on him.

He had shut the door and he was leaning against the wall, holding back the curtain so he could peer out. The moonlight lit up the living room, glinting off the decorations on the tree. Daddy shook his head and whispered for me to go back upstairs. His face was drawn like he hadn't been to bed at all. Being 17 and nearly grown, I was bold enough to shake my head and join him at the window instead. He glared at me, but he held the curtain back with one finger so I could see. The yard was crisscrossed with footprints.

Big and deep they had come down from the mountain, past the back of the truck, and across the yard. Someone had come right up to the window where Daddy stood and paced there, mashing the snow. The snow on the window ledge had been swept away by two large hands as they looked in. I imagined a face pressed against the glass, watching us. Who's out there? I whispered that he lifted a finger to hush me. He pointed out the window and mouthed the single word, watch. I don't know what I expected. No one would be out on a night like this, not even hunting.

Why come peep in our windows? That was a good way to get shocked. Movement behind the truck caught my eye. It was like, it was like looking at a heat shimmer in the summer or through water drops on the windows. Something was there, but my eyes slid over it like they didn't quite know what to do with it. Daddy's hand grabbed my upper arm, hard. His head bent toward the truck.

I nodded to let him know I saw it too. Daddy reached for the shotgun he'd leaned against the window. We watched as it crossed the yard again and moved toward the window where we stood. He let go of the curtain and pulled me back with him. The hair on the back of my neck raced up. You know how you feel when you're being watched? I remember thinking, this is how a rabbit feels. Right before Daddy pulls the trigger.

We stayed up watching until morning. Daddy finally fell asleep on the couch just at dawn. I sat up then with the shotgun across my lap. It had come back three more times, circling the yard and then staring. in the window before heading back on the mountain. I never did actually see it, but I could feel it, like the electricity in the air before a storm. I must have dozed off because I woke up when Daddy pulled the gun out of my hands.

The boys stirred upstairs, and Mommy was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I'll go get dressed. When I opened the door to the bedroom, the three of us shared, I stopped. My bed was there, but moved to the center of the far wall from the corner where it usually stood. The second bed where Rebecca and Emmy slept was gone. My stomach clenched, and for a moment I thought I'd be sick right there on the floor. No sign of the girls. Their bed gone, their wardrobe gone. Behind the door hung my dresses, but none of theirs.

No dolls on the dresser. I tore through my things looking for anything of theirs. But there was nothing. I heard the boys running downstairs to breakfast. Without bothering to get dressed, I hurried after them. Five. The big kitchen table was set for five places, not seven. Their chairs were empty.

I held onto the doorway, feeling the color drained from my face. Mommy brought a plate of biscuits to the table. What in the world is wrong with you? Emmy? Rebecca? I had no sooner said their names than. Mommy dropped the plate and Daddy was on his feet. The boys were silent, but Greg's glare at me spoke volumes.

Daddy grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the kitchen. He told me to get upstairs and not come down until I pulled myself together. I must have looked awful because his face softened as he pushed me forward. Go on. You had a hard night. I don't understand. The look on his face ought to have stopped me, but I couldn't stop myself. They were in bed when I came down last night, but now... My voice trailed off.

They were gone. Their bed's gone. They're things. I shouldn't have let you stay up with me. Scowling, he moved close. I must have scared you more than I thought. Go get dressed and don't say anything else to upset your mama. I didn't go to my room. Instead, I went to the boys's room, and it was as it always was. One bed for Greg and one for the younger ones. Clothes folded neatly and stacked along one wall. Then, stepping softly, I went to my parents' room. I don't know what I expected, but it too looked as it always did. The only sign of the girls were their two dolls, perched on a chair beside the bed.

I opened the Bible that Mommy kept on her dresser, and inside the cover was a folded piece of newspaper. My eyes skimmed over it three or four times before I could finally comprehend what it said. It was my sister's obituary back in the fall. They'd both had measles, and Mommy and I had taking turns staying up with them. My hands shook as I read it over and over before folding it up and putting it back. How do you handle something like that? I didn't. Not really. I didn't talk about it, but they could tell something was wrong with me. When the snow finally melted, I kept them talk about driving me to the mental hospital and Marion. After that, I tried to act more cheerful. even though I didn't feel it.

I graduated from high school. Mommy must have talked to her brother because next thing I knew, they were put me on a bus to live with Uncle Jack and Aunt Martha and go to the teacher's college. I'm ashamed to say that I nearly forgot. I was excited to be at school

and thinking about what my life might look like after. Aunt Martha was kind to me, and she appreciated I knew my way around a kitchen and was eager to help. I was walking home from class one evening at dusk, hurrying because I knew Aunt Martha would worry if I was late. I felt it before I saw it, felt the hair stand up on my neck, that awful feeling of being watched, of being prey. I half ran home bursting in the door and slammed it behind me. Uncle Jack stepped out of his library, his glasses in one hand.

Everything all right? I nodded and lied. It's just cold. Aunt Martha called to me from the kitchen, and I followed her back, even though my niece were so shaky I thought they might fold right up under me. She talked about her day and the potluck at church coming up, and I nodded and listened.

All the time, though, my stomach twisted, and I couldn't stop watching out the window. By the next morning, I'd convinced myself I hadn't seen anything, or if I had, it didn't matter. I have believed that I'd had a bit of a nervous breakdown after the girls died and that it had nothing to do with what Daddy and I had seen that night. But I knew something was wrong when Greg showed up at the door later that Saturday morning. He was taller than Daddy now and built just as strong.

Like Daddy, he'd decided to go to the mines as soon as they'd have him, While Uncle Jack and Aunt Martha greeted him, he never took his eyes off me. I've come to bring you home. I sank into the chair as he talked, as he told me that taking care of the boys was getting to be too much for daddy. What with him being by himself now? By himself. The words rang in my head, and I didn't hear anything else he said for a while. Are you listening?

He leaned in toward me, forcing his face into my field of vision. I nodded even though I hadn't heard anything he'd said. Daddy needs help. I nodded again. Of course he did. Of course I'd go. Uncle Jack intervened, saying we'd go down to the dean's office Monday morning. Talked to him about how I could finish school.

Everything happened so fast. I'd finish my teaching degree over the summers when the boys didn't have school but could be kept busy in the garden and with extra chores. I could begin teaching at home right away, and they'd be glad to have me. Aunt Martha and I cried when I left, had grown to think of her as a second mother, and I knew my own wasn't waiting for me at home. Not wanting to scare Daddy, I was more careful this time. I was able to glean that Mommy had died in her sleep right before Christmas. Since I had been on my way home already, I'd been there for the

the funeral. Daddy had insisted I go back to college over my protests. What I remembered was that mommy had pneumonia, and I'd insisted on taking her to the doctor. But I remembered that she'd gotten better. That was the difference. She'd gotten better. Hearing people talk about something you are a part of, but you have no memory of. Well, I don't even know how to describe it. I think sometimes they ought to have sent me over to Marion way back when I was a girl. It happened again when I was 33. My daughter had just been born, who I'd named Emmy. She had the colic, and I don't think I slept more than two hours at a stretch for weeks. I was up with her one night, and I saw it. Of course I knew it was coming.

Not specifically, but my heart filled with such fear. It was all I could do not to take off Renan. I sat in that rocker all night. Emmy on my chest, my hands wrapped around her. I reasoned that if I didn't take my eyes off her, then nothing would happen. Maybe, maybe I was right. When I went to wake Robert the next morning, his side of the bed was empty. and all his clothes were gone. I lived in fear after Robert. I woke up at night, rushed down the

hall to check on Emmy. A glint of sun on the water, a shimmer of heat on the road, could send me into a panic for days. But Emmy grew up, and she's happy and working in Ireland now, out on her own. I don't know what it is or why it seems to have latched on. to me. A month ago, I was in a car accident. Nothing terrible, but if I hadn't reacted as soon as I did, I wouldn't be here telling you this today. I'm not too worried about that. What happens, happens. What worries me is Emmy. She called me last night to tell me about strange footsteps in the snow. Outside her house. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration.

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