Creepy - She Gets Under My Skin & Season's Greivings

Episode Date: January 20, 2022

She Gets Under My Skin***Written by: DarkHeroxx***Content warnings: abuse***Season's Greivings***Written by: Christo Healy and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Content warnings: graphic detail of mutilation, stalking murder, kidnapping, dismemberment, animal death***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. No. 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 simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of books. Violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. She gets under my skin. Written by Dark Hero XX. It's been a whole year since my girlfriend and I have been together. We met while we were both bartending at a local restaurant. She was working while going to a nursing program, whereas I was just going about my life day by day. petite with long red hair and covered in tattoos. She was as kind as she was feisty.

We flirted a bit, the back and forth of awkward human courtship. Then one thing led to another and we started dating. We've been dating for a little over a year and we decided to get an apartment together. I didn't really have any goals. Just trying to make it through life as comfortably as possible. Go to work, go home, eat, drink, just doing whatever I want as simply as possible. My girlfriend was driven,

extremely determined to take down any goals and go whatever she wanted. I think that's what kind of attracted me in the first place. She knew what she wanted in her life. I considered myself lucky that she wanted a dead beat like me in the first place. I'm not sure what she saw in me, but she kept me moving forward. I was happy. We were happy.

I'm not saying that everything was perfect, of course. We had our ups and downs. As long as I did as she told me, things would cool off and we'd be back to normal. But it was last year when we just couldn't get out of a rough patch. And then the accident happened. We were driving back home from a long weekend of holiday festivities, when we'd gotten into a car accident.

The roads were icy, and I wasn't paying attention. I just wasn't careful enough, and I completely totaled my car. I still remember that night, the air freezing the blood that ran down my forehead, and looking over towards her to see if she was okay. We were both rushed to the hospital, and were there for a whole week. Ever since the accident, she'd completely changed. I could barely look her in the eyes since the accident was all my fault.

The car repairs, the hospital bills, and everything else just really took a toll on us. I lie in bed each night, hoping for her to forgive me. But my apologies were answered with words of hate. So I look up at the ceiling and just stare and just stare and berate me for everything I've caused. My heart filling up with regret at the undeniable fact that I'm not. ruined her life. The other day marked a full year since the accident. I was sitting on the couch going over the letter filled with hospital bills and needed to be paid as she sat on the floor on a corner across from me. Her eyes were bloodshot as she gazed towards my direction.

Her stare was burning a hole through me. Usually she'd spend the time cursing me, but she was dead quiet. The silence was absolutely deafening. I couldn't take it anymore. So I grabbed my keys and rushed outside to my car. I rested my head on top of the steering wheel. The hair was chilling my skin just like that night. I took a deep breath and turned to the passenger seat. She was so silent as she sat there. A stoic look upon her gaunt face while her eyes were fixed forward.

I told her again that I was sorry. Weak words that piled upon the other countless apologies. I wanted so badly to give it all back. All the time she lost in life she was supposed to have. Let's just go, she finally spoke. Her voice was so hoarse and was grating in my ears. I put my key into the ignition and cranked my hound to Civic to life. We didn't have anywhere to go, but I obeyed her request.

We drove aimlessly for about 20 minutes or so. Every now and then she would point a long, thin finger towards a direction to go. I took another deep breath and finally worked up the nerve to ask. What are we doing? My chest suddenly ached as the words escape my lips. She was silent. Her face completely emotionless as she continued to steer forward unblinking. I had no idea where we were.

We were surrounded by nothing but darkness. I cursed myself at how pathetic I was to listen to her commands, but I felt so compelled to listen to her every word. A faint light could be seen from a distance as we drove our stretch of road, which had entered the mouth of a large tunnel. I slowed my car to a stop in front of the gaping entrance to the tunnel, looking inside how I could see were dim lights that slowly flickered on and off. I didn't even know we had a road that led here.

I looked over towards her again to see that she turned her head to face me. All I could see was the dark outline of a once familiar body. Her voice emerged from the shadows. Go forward. I didn't want to go. I'm not sure why, but an overwhelming feeling of dread began to wash over me. Then the inside of my chest started to thump wildly causing my ribs to ache. The pain was immense.

but as soon as I gripped my shaking hands of the steering wheel, the aching slowly subsided. I placed my foot on the gas pedal, and we proceeded to move forward. We drove into the tunnel. The orange lights were slowly flickering around us. The strobe and glow caused my vision to distort. I was at a loss at how long we were driving. 20, 40 minutes, and there was no end in sight. The sounds of her breaths filled the space around.

me in short raspy bursts. I was going to ask her what was going on until she cut me off. All your fault. Each word slammed my chest like a sledgehammer. There isn't a moment that goes by that I don't think of that. I tried to make her happy. But everything I did was never enough. I felt cursed.

I thought things would be okay as long as I did as she told me. I was constantly walking on thin ice around her, with each step causing spiderweb cracks in our relationship. She continued to speak. Give it back. Her voice echoed throughout the car. No. The entire tunnel.

I glanced towards the passenger seat to see that she was gone. She had completely vanished. and I wasn't sure what to feel. Relief from her absence or complete terror and the lack of her presence. I switched my foot to the brake paddle on the car began to slow down. Speed began to lower

and as it did the inside of my chest began to burn. It was as if something was digging through the muscle and tissue inside of my chest and tightly squeezing my ribs. The lights around me began to flicker from a dim orange glow to a solid dark red light. light. I let out a scream. My chest felt like it was stretching. So I stepped on the gas again.

As the speed went up, the pain dolled out. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please. I'm so fucking sorry. I yelled towards the abyss in the tunnel. I gripped tighter on the steering wheel to stop my hands from shaking. I didn't dare slow the car down again. The recent memory of the pain was so intense. I didn't want to feel that again. That's when I'd pass something. Still a dark silhouette, even in this evil red light, I can recognize her. I passed her again and again and again. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't escape. her, and I don't believe I would escape that place. I felt my mind break, and I pushed my foot all the way onto the gas pedal.

Faster and faster my car began to speed up on this dark stretch of road. To the left of me I could see her, standing against the wall of the tunnel. I'd pass her again and again, no matter how fast I drove and how many miles of pass, she would stay still to the left of me. The memories began to rush inside of my head, and as I looked forward I could see them play out before me. We had been together for a whole year, ever since the accident. I'd see her in every corner of the apartment that was once ours, staring at me amongst a group of strangers and creeping behind me. It was all my fault that I couldn't save her, that I couldn't do enough for her.

Last year, that long year ago. We had nothing but bad things going on. She was struggling with the stress of work in nursing school, and I tried my best to make ends meet. I picked up extra shifts of work, gotten a new job, and I've done all I could to take care of her. But it was never enough. I thought that seeing our families would make things just a little bit better.

a relief from the stress that she had accumulated. Unfortunately, that made things worse. The entire time we had argued, and she told me that she hated me. I was never enough for her. She said that she tried to fix me, but I didn't ask for that. She said she hated taking care of me,

but I didn't necessarily want that either. I wanted us to be happy together. I wanted for us to stand side by side with each other. The roads were so icy, and we were so damn close to our home. I told her that I loved her, and she sat there with an emotionless face staring forward. Let me out, she demanded.

But I refused. It was freezing outside, and I refused to let her walk home. I'm tired of you. She shouted at me. I was taken aback. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. You've ruined my life.

Give it back. Give me back the time I wasted on you. She grabbed the wheel and began to turn it wildly. I begged for her to stop, but my words fell upon deaf ears. I cried. This was all my fault. She wouldn't feel this way if it weren't for me being such a shit person. I let go of the steering wheel and she pulled a sharp turn towards the woods.

Our bodies jumped in an even landscape beneath my car and I felt us lift upwards and turn. The next thing I heard was a loud, high-pitched scream and the crunching of metal. I wasn't sure how long we'd been out there. I remember feeling a burn on my face from the blood being chilled by the winter air. My body ached, and I looked down to see a large amount of blood dripping from me as a portion of the front of the car had crushed my chest. I couldn't breathe, and I was sure that I would die soon. I looked towards her, my girlfriend, to see her glaring at me with bloodshot eyes

and her throat completely crushed. Tears ran down her face. And she began to mouth something. Those silent words were the loudest things I've ever heard. I hate you. Miraculously, a man had seen the whole thing happen as he drove a distance behind us. He'd immediately come to rescue us and saw the state that we were in. He called 911 and not too long.

after we were freed and sent to a hospital. My girlfriend, she didn't make it. But me? Well, the damage to my chest is bad. My ribs were crushed and bone of pierced my heart. Luckily, my girlfriend not only was a donor. She was a perfect match for me.

Believe it or not, we were able to transfer her heart into me. The memories blurred with my tears and eventually faded away. I was snapped back to reality when I noticed that I was still speeding through the hellish tunnel. I looked over to see her, but she'd vanished again. My chest began to burn and expand again. Give it back. Give me back my life! Her voice was so forced and raspy, but it was loud and clear despite her crushed throat.

You've taken everything from me. I let out a cry as I felt something burst through my chest. I looked to see her frail hands coming out of me. Then her bloodied fingers began to wrap around my mouth to stifle my screaming. I couldn't take it anymore. I lost control of my car and saw that her other bloodied hand had grabbed the wheel and turned it towards the wall of the tunnel. It was like deja vu.

When I woke, I was inside the debris of my crashed car. I was feeling such intense pain I wished I was still unconscious. I heard something squish and squelch, and I looked at my chest to see inside of my open chest. Her face staring at me with those burning red eyes. I heard snapping from within me, and I could see her showing me something. Pieces of bone that must have been my ribs. She lifted the pieces up to her mouth, and she began to grind them inside of her mouth. I arched my back and writhed in agony.

I felt pain, sadness, anger with myself. This all happened because of me. If only I was better. It was the only thing that reverberated inside of my mind. I felt something else move within me. She began to wiggle her. away within me through my arms and legs. At that moment, I wanted to die.

I wanted for it to end. But I know that she was punishing me, making sure that I would feel as much pain as possible. At the very least, I prayed to lose consciousness again, and sure enough, even though I didn't deserve it, my wish had been granted. I awoke in a hospital bed with a nurse and doctor examining me. They told me a story that they'd found my vehicle crashed on the side of the road near my apartment,

that the ambulance was immediately on the scene. I came out okay, despite some broken ribs. The doctor said that I was lucky to be alive, and that I'll be okay. The words were muffled as I stared behind him to find her. staring right back at me. So here I am. Alive and well and with her right beside me. I beg for her forgiveness.

And she returns my apologies with scorn. I had taken everything from her. It was all my fault that she had died. Now I must live. A piece of shit like me living with her beating heart inside of me with a life she should have had Creepy presents

Seasons Grievings Written by Christo Healy and narrated by Rissa Montanaz I rolled out of bed with a sigh and grabbed my phone mainly to make it shut up Yeah? I listened as they told me what had happened

All right. Then I was up throwing water on my face and brewing coffee to make sure I could drive without killing myself. Ordinarily, I love the holiday season. People are good and happy and in the giving spirit. There'll be the occasional fake Santa robbing someone, or a perp stealing Christmas presents to sell for their habit, or the all-too-common mail fraud, but nothing to ruin the holidays. Ordinarily, this year is an entirely different beast.

Some psycho calling himself the grump, a green fictional monster from a children's cartoon that is determined to ruin Christmas, is trying to actually ruin the holidays for everyone in the most violent ways possible. Each murder is committed in a different, festive way. It started with the girl that became part of the big tree at Town Square, just to get everyone's attention. She had a branch going right through her midsection, two decorations, red and green glittery balls all hanging from her face, and hooks through her eyes. I didn't need anyone to tell me that it was just the beginning of something. Then there was the guy left at the bus stop.

He had been stabbed over a hundred times with candy canes, sucked on and filed to points. The murder weapons were left in his neck, along with his calling card. A green tree symbol with a bleeding red G drawn all over it. Guy leaves a note with a rhyme on it, too, just to drive the point home. Pun? Not intended. I thought with that one we would have gotten DNA off of the candy canes. But it wasn't his saliva. This creep had a prisoner living in a dog cage with fake antlers on his head,

sucking candy canes for him. We found him in the junkyard, malnourished, but alive. We asked him who did this to him, got a sketch artist to sit in and everything. Son of a bitch. Guy came back to me with the drawing of the grump, just like the cartoon. Whoever this guy was, he was committed. Last night was a whole family. They were embalmed alive and set up to look like a nativity scene.

Gessar Grump didn't want to leave the religious folk out of this one. He was bound and determined to ruin Christmas for all of Whoville, and something told me that he wouldn't have a change of heart by the end of this. Now there had been another one. I wasn't looking forward to seeing what he left me, or to dealing with the people who saw it first. I just wanted to catch this guy, lock him behind bars forever, and throw away the key. First, I had to catch him.

It was driving me crazy that I hadn't made any headway on it. I had no idea who he was. I didn't even know for sure that it was a he. All I knew is what he wanted me to know. He hated Christmas or loved it in all the wrong ways. He was a half-ass poet, and he wasn't going to be. stop until he was done. Even with the black coffee coursing through me in all its glorious bitterness, I was still rubbing my eyes when I hit red lights. Why weren't bodies ever found in the afternoon?

I got to where they told me to go and parked haphazardly because I could. It was the least of the city's problems how I parallel parked at 3 a.m., pulling up to a murder scene. When I got out, I was expecting the worst, and I got it. I walked past some uniforms getting sick outside and made my way into the house. There were a pair of legs dangling from the fireplace in Santa pants and black boots. They were just legs. The rest of whoever they belonged to was nowhere to be found. They were suspended there by a string of lights,

tied to the protruding, severed spinal column jutting out of the pelvis where everything stopped. Anyone know who this was? I asked. Not yet. Anyone seen the rest of him? Not yet. Beautiful. Merry fucking Christmas. I searched the scene and found what I was looking for.

In a stocking on that same fireplace was his calling card and poem. I read what he left for me. This man was a nobody, nobody at all. So when he tried to be Santa, all he did was just fall. Down, down, down, through the chimney and all. Because he did like most whose did when the holidays called, he left his brains and his brawn in the store, at the mall. Shit, I said.

At least we figured this one out before it was open to the public. That would have been a mess I didn't want to deal with. The rest of him's at the mall somewhere. Let's get over there. and keep the press out. When we got there, we found out searching as many stores as we could at one time. I wasn't the one who found him. I just heard the screams of the guy who did,

and I ran hard, too hard for wide hips and very little sleep. The screams were coming from the pictures with Santa area. Of course they were. The torso was in the throne, leaking innards and sending a crimson river down the wintry road where the children were meant to line up. The body was wearing the rest of the Santa costume. Beard and all.

I recognized his face. His name was Marty. He owned a gas station down the way with his wife and did the whole Santa thing at the mall for extra money. Sying, I instructed someone. Let his wife know. Be gentle. I stood there then,

looking at the mess and trying to figure this guy out. Did he want us to shut down the mall right before Christmas? Was he looking to stop people from being able to buy last-minute presents? That was a grinchy thing to do, right? It made sense to me. I had to make sure it didn't happen. Get Marty out of here and have this place cleaned up. We need to make sure this mall opens today.

We have about six hours. Should be plenty of time. "'Man?' "'Just do it.' "'Yes, ma'am.' "'I hope that would piss him off, "'throw him off of his game. "'That was defense.

"'But I knew if I wanted to stop this guy, "'I had to go on the offensive. "'Maybe he actually thought he was the grump. "'I tried to think about the cartoon. "'It was the singing that drove him crazy "'if I remembered correctly. "'The people sang even when he stole their presence. Maybe if we got people to sing when this grump was stealing lives, it would make him go nuts and get him to do something rash, to come out into the open.

It was as good as idea as any, and I needed to get this guy. We were two days from Christmas. If I didn't get to him before that, I was sure his finale would be something big, something terrible that would shake the city forever. I arranged a choir and a TV crew to film them, and have him. had them sing all the carols. I made a statement first so the public would understand my purpose and not think me heartless. The grump, as he calls himself, is trying to steal Christmas. But Christmas cannot be stolen. It's up to us to show him that. Through unity and song, please join us as we sing these carols in love and remembrance of the people lost this year. Thank you.

The reaction was impressive. People came out to join the choir. Families were singing in the streets. I had people positioned all over watching, waiting for a sign that we'd drawn him out. I was antsy, watching everyone I saw, looking for some kind of sign that they were him. The day came and went without incident. He didn't take the bait. Damn it. At the end of the day, I felt like I needed a drink. Someone else was going to turn up tonight, and I knew it. He was going to do what he did, and let us know that he was still the one with the power.

I wish I had any idea who it would be, or where, but there was no pattern outside of it ruining the holidays. As I was sitting at the bar, sipping on my neat bourbon, I realized that the end of the game had to be the Christmas parade. I had to get to him before that or called the damn thing off, which would throw the city into an uproar and he would still win. My mind cycled through all the things he could do at the parade to ruin the day. Would it be something like poison gas, killing tons of people,

or maybe just one person in front of everyone to make a statement, like the celebrity host or the mayor? I didn't want to find out. Someone asked me if I was okay. I lied and told them I was. There wasn't enough whiskey in that joint to make me okay. I really thought my plan would get to him, shake him up. This grump was smarter than the cartoon version, though.

His rage was less spontaneous and more calculated. He wasn't as easy to rattle as his cartoon counterpart, apparently. I ordered a second drink, when my glass was empty. I hate this guy. I really did. I hated him as much as he hated Christmas. Christmas had always been my favorite, the one time of year that everyone was willing to put their shit aside and get along for the most part. It was my brief respite from the madness. It was also my husband's favorite day of the entire year, and he never lost his child-likely about it. until he lost his life to cancer.

Now this asshole was shitting all over his day. Part of me wanted to kill him for it. But the rest of me knew that in the end that was probably what he wanted. And I'd be damned if I was going to give this creep anything he wanted. I'd have him locked up forever and make sure he never died if I could. I tried to think of what his next move could be to continue building panic and fear before his granddad.

exit. I was drawing a blank, unless he was going to take over the Hallmark Channel and ruin the endless Christmas rom-coms. I had no idea. I asked a random person sitting nearby. What says Christmas to you? Their answers were everything I already knew. Reiths, lights, decorations, food, presents, trees, and the like. Other people joined the conversation and none of them offered up anything useful. except the bartender who offered up a refill. In the end, I was walking home, and I was still at a loss. He'd already done the Christmas tree, the decorations, the candy, and the Grump's Dog.

He did Santa and the mall. I was sure he was going to do the parade. What else was there? What was I missing? I got to the house and stared through the front window, remembering how my husband would dance in the living room, twirling and singing, his smile as big as his heart. He was probably turning in his grave right now.

I'm sorry, I said as I walked the rest of the way and unlocked the front door. I went in and froze. Across the room in my favorite chair sat someone in a Santa costume. The room was still dark, so I couldn't see their face. But I knew it was him. I had gotten to him today.

He just didn't come out to the world. He came to me. I drew my gun and found myself wishing that I hadn't left my car at the bar. I pulled my phone out and made the call to the station for backup. He's here. At my place. When I hung up, my chair was empty. Shit.

It wouldn't be long before this place was swarming. I felt confident that the Grinch wasn't getting away. Let him hide and play his cat and mouse games. It will just stall him until the others get here. I walked through my house one room at a time, flipping the lights on as I went. I didn't see him anywhere, but he was there. I knew he hadn't left. He had come here for a reason.

He wasn't just going to run. out. That would be conceding. The grump wasn't the type to lose. When I circled around and made it back to the living room, there was mistletoe hanging in the doorway. I raised my gun and stepped under it. Then someone stepped out before me. It was my husband. No. It wasn't my husband. But whoever it was had gone through the trouble of making a mask in his likeness and putting on the clothes I couldn't bring myself to get rid of. It was enough to bring my guard down, even if just for a moment.

Tears filled my eyes. Then a hand wearing a Santa glove wrapped around my mouth from behind me and something stuck on my neck. The world went dark. I heard sirens. I had a horn. I was wrong. He had everything planned. That wasn't him shaken, coming to take it out on me

to stop the singing. It was exactly what he intended. He had taken the time to create a mask of my late husband's face and coerce someone into wearing it. I honestly didn't want to know how. He had always intended to come for me and I didn't see it. He had some kind of escape planned, some way of not getting caught, even when the whole street was swarming with cops. I wish I knew what that was. That I wasn't unconscious for it. Maybe it was a sleigh on the roof, powered by flying reindeer. When I woke up, I was in a warehouse.

It was daylight on Christmas Eve. I was strapped to a chair. I couldn't move at all. The man that had been playing my husband was in. a chair sitting across from me, still wearing the mask and my husband's clothes. He was crying. He tried to take the mask off and couldn't. Whoever he was, he wasn't an accomplice. He was just as much a victim. The mask was attached. I could hear him crying. It was the one thing that made it clear that it wasn't my husband.

His tears sounded different. A man walked up behind him then. I watched him. He wore a Santa outfit just as he did when he was at my house. Only this time I was able to see his face. I actually laughed. It was just as the guy playing Mack the dog had described. His face was green and furry.

His nose turned up, his cheekbones jutting. Maybe it was another mask. But standing behind my husband was the goddamn grump. Then I gasped as he reached around and slit the man's throat. I was forced to watch my husband die all over again. No. Not my husband, but someone, someone who deserved to live. I choked on my grief, trying to separate the feelings of loss I felt when I lost my beloved

and the truth of what was happening now. Why? I managed. What is the point of all of this? Christmas, he said to me then. And his voice was as slithery and gross as the monster he came to be. I hate Christmas. I could have asked why. I could have given him the time to explain his whole story

and discover what had happened to him as a child. that left him hating the holidays so much. But I didn't. I simply said, I don't care, no one cares. Grow up and get over it. He just laughed, a hearty, grumpy laugh, and walked away.

He left me there to stare at my dead husband and whoever was under his face for hours. The sunlight that was pouring into the windows of the warehouse faded, and then night fell. I struggled against my bonds but to no avail. I was trapped, just stuck there waiting for whatever was to come. Each minute that passed felt like an eternity. I was powerless and he knew it and probably loved it. I screamed, but I knew that there wouldn't be anyone around to hear me. He was far too smart for that. He chose this place for a reason. All I could do was sit there and think.

Think about all the ways I'd failed. I failed my husband. I failed my city, my people. I failed each victim. I failed myself. No one was going to stop him. He was going to commit some terrible event that would stain Christmas forever

in the minds of everyone who knew, and especially those that had lived through it. He was going to win. To get what he wanted, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was tied to a chair in a godforsaken warehouse. I wondered where he was. Was he killing someone else?

Was that another death to weigh on my conscience because I failed to stop him? What grisly way was he doing it now? I let my imagination run with that and wished I could stop it. But the visions and daydreams ran through my mind incessantly. I couldn't even move the chair. It was bolted to the floor. I tried not to look at the dead man across from me, the spitting image of my husband.

one of his favorite suits now soaked with blood. How could I not look, though? He was right in front of me. There was nothing else to look at. When the sun rose again, the grump came back. His Santa suit was stained with splatters of crimson, and I knew he had taken another victim, adding another piece to his legacy.

Today was Christmas morning. I cried then. I couldn't contain it. I was racked by sobs until that fucking monster walked over and stuck his needle in my neck again. When I came to this time, I was on a parade float going through the center of town. No. Oh, God, no. What was happening?

I tried to speak, to yell to everyone to get away, but my voice was little more than a muffled mumble. There was something over my face. It was tight and made it hard to breathe. I reached up with my left hand and found that I was wearing a mask now. My face. It was him. I was the grump. I heard people screaming, running.

There was something wrapped around the fingers of my right hand. I reached over with my left hand and realized it was. hair, hair that was still attached to a face. Probably the man he let me watch die. I tried to drop the head, but it wouldn't come loose. The hair entwined my fingers like a spider web. Whoever had been wearing this mask, doing these horrible things, was probably out there somewhere in the crowd, watching or walking away. No one had any idea who he really was. He would get away with it. The screams grew louder, more hysterical. I could smell smoke then.

I struggled, but I seemed to be tied to some kind of mast on the float. There were cameras out there, lots of them. The parade was broadcast on TV. They were all seeing just what he wanted them to see. Christmas was burning, and it was being led by the grump, holding a man's severed head. There were sirens in people yelling, trying to contain the chaos. Then suddenly, someone began working to untie me.

The head fell away from my fingers. I felt the hair break loose. And then I felt his lips against my foot after the thud. It's over, someone said to me, You're going to be okay. They couldn't have possibly been any more wrong. For more information on this podcast, including how, to submit your own story

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