Creepy - Shed & The Madness

Episode Date: February 20, 2025

Shed***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Nate DuFort***The Madness***Narrated by: Alicia Atkins***Suppose 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.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. Shed.

Written by known of consequence and narrated by Nate DuFort. When we first moved into the house, there seemed to be so much space. It was a two-story with five bedrooms, three-full baths, a spacious den and large dining room. Of course, this was back when we only had one kid. Now we're up to four with one more on the way. In the early days, which was only five years ago, the garage was my workspace for minor improvement projects. As our family grows, we find that the store-bought furniture

doesn't last nearly as long as we need it to. So I started learning how to build things. Nothing fancy, just some nightstands, end tables, dressers and freestanding cabinets. My first attempts weren't much better than the crap we'd get from the stores, but that's what the Internet's for. After watching a ton of videos and lots of trial and errors, I finally started making stuff that could withstand the kids.

Eventually, when my skills became good enough, I even made bunk beds for the twins. Penny likes to say that if an earthquake ever, hit bad enough that the house fell apart, the bunk beds would still be standing. Working in the garage started to become a bit of a safe haven for me. If I was out there working on some kind of wood project, the kids knew not to come out and disturb me. I will admit that sometimes I'd go out to the garage just to get a little time to myself. Penny often wouldn't come out to see what I was doing, and less I'd been out there for hours at a time. The house

gets awfully noisy on a regular basis, and sometimes I need a break. It's not like I come home from work and immediately go out there to get away from the family and shirk my fatherly duties. It's more on the weekend, and all the kids are playing around in the backyard. Penny will occasionally look out the kitchen window to make sure they're still alive while puttering around if I'm not out there with them. Occasionally, I'll make these times to hide out in the garage with the fans running and indulge in something I rarely get to. I got a bunch of wooden cabinets I've made for my tools and storage in the garage. Most of them have simple locks on them in case the kids sneak in to snoop around.

One specific cabinet has a hidden treasure inside that Penny knows nothing about. A buddy at work was getting rid of a perfectly good mini-fredge he didn't need and offered it to me. It's currently hiding in one of these cabinets and regularly has a few beers inside. When the first of our children was conceived, Penny and I both gave up drinking. For the most part, I don't miss liquor, but after a long week or two, I do feel the desire for a beer. I don't ever have more than one, and at the most I'll have three in a month. In the recent months, the garage has been getting cramped. Boxes of kid's stuff have been making their way out there.

With the changing of seasons, different clothes are needed, and the unneeded things get boxed up and put away. Before long, my workplace has been cut in half, and I decide to take action. I've been considering it for a while, but this invasion of my workspace seals the deal. It's time to get a show. Technically, we have a shed in the backyard, but the thing was falling apart and rotting when

we bought the place. The kids know not to go near it, but it's not like they can get inside. I haven't been able to get the damn door open, and there's no holes or windows. For such a piece of crap, it seems to be solid. In a perfect world, I'd get one of those massive sheds that's basically a small house and turn it into my new workspace. Sadly, we don't live in a perfect world, and our goddamn HOA won't approve that kind of shed. If someone could live in it, it's not allowed.

Doesn't matter if no one actually lives in it or not. They don't want to invite the possibility. What horseshit. But it's not like I could afford to get a shed like that. To ensure I don't get distracted and start up a different project, I run out to my favorite warehouse store and purchase one of those high-density polyethylene sheds. I got HOA approval before spending the two grand on it. Once I get it back to the house, I put the boxes in the shed and take up my other tools.

Demolition time. My first thought is to simply take my sledgehammer to it. But there are other things to consider. First off, with the little ones we have running around on a regular, basis, whatever I do, I need to make sure I don't leave sharp pieces lying around. Breaking the shed down by crazily swinging a sledgehammer around is a good way to spread all that stuff around like bloody cast off, but for wood. Every time I mention this eyesore to my buddy Nolan, who was EOD in the Army, he talks about wrapping the damn thing in DET cord

and blowing it sky high. As I try to jimmy the door open, I consider, or calling him up and letting him do it. I've tried getting into this thing a few times over the years, but this is the time I've dedicated time on a weekend to really do it. I've got my thickest flat-head screwdriver and use a hammer to wedge it between the door and the frame, but the damn door is wedged shut really well. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear whoever put this thing together designed it to never open. That's completely absurd.

But on the off chance, that's the case, what the hell could possibly be inside that someone would want to lock away forever? Yanking the screwdriver out, I consider taking my tools back to the garage and just build the new shed next to this one. I'd have to go to the hardware store and get some bags of cement to make a new foundation.

That means I'd also have to rip out the grass, level out the dirt, and get some kind of mixer for the cement. I'd also have to go get some two-by-four, and make a frame for the foundation. Sounds like a plan, but that's going to take a lot longer than the weekend to do. The HOA required a work plan and time frame when I notified them of my intentions to build, and they'll find the shit out of me for completely going off plan.

Wait, what the hell am I thinking? There's no way in hell I'm going to leave this freaking eyesore in my backyard. I've looked at the foundation from the outside, and haven't been able to find any cracks. So, in theory, it's still good. That's the whole reason I bought the shed that I did. It fits the dimensions of the existing foundation, so I wouldn't have to make a new one.

It was supposed to make it easier on me. What caused me to start thinking about leaving this stupid thing standing? Irritated with myself for even contemplating the notion of leaving the crappy shed standing, I pick up the sledgehammer. If I keep trying to do this delicately, I'm inevitably going to either run out of time or somehow talk myself out of demolishing this monstrosity. With all the strength I can muster, I swing the hammer into the door.

I think it's designed to swing out, but I've had it with this shed. The impact makes a bang so loud, like a gunshot echoing off the surrounding homes. There's a dent in the gray wood, but the door? didn't move an inch. I swing again and again, but the results are the same. I feel eyes on me after a minute and glance around to see neighbors on their back porches glancing over the fences in my direction. Clearly, the sledgehammer isn't getting me anywhere, so I traded out for the axe. Originally, I thought bringing this out was a bit overkill. Doing the exact same thing with the axe as I did with a sledgehammer, I whack the door again and again.

I make some deep gouges, but I'm not doing enough damage to even make a small hole. My back is already starting to protest after a couple minutes. I didn't want it to come to this, but it's war now. Time to break out the big guns. After going into the garage again, I come back out with my cordless circular saw. I don't have much use for this particular tool since I can't cut a straight line with it to save my life, but that doesn't matter in this instance.

I just need to cut the door up enough that I can break the damn thing down. As I put on my safety glasses and pull the trigger, for a moment I think this isn't going to work either. But my fear is quickly dashed away. Sawdust almost immediately starts flying as the blade sinks into the wood. It's a bit of a struggle to move the saw up to cut more of the door, but I manage.

In minutes, there are several long cuts in the door, each one going from the center outward. Once I got that done, I pick up the sledgehammer once again and swing for the fences. The blunt steel slams directly into the center of the door, and it breaks into several pieces. I used way more force to do this than I needed and accidentally let the hand. hammer slip out of my hands. I expect to hear even a louder crashing inside, but all I hear is the tumble of the door pieces and heavy steel bouncing off a wall, only to thunk on the floor. For the first time ever, I look into the shed. Aside from the hammer and door fragments, there doesn't appear to be anything inside. No cobwebs or spider webs. It's just a dark space with

no dirt, dust, or anything at all inside. Almost like a sealed clean room. For something that looks so crappy, it was well-built and apparently hermetically sealed. If there was any source of power going to it, I'd think it had been a private humidor before we bought the place. Stepping inside, I survey the 10 by 10 space. There's nothing remarkable about it. And I start trying to figure out how to best break this thing down. The walls are your standard 2x4s with plywood sheeting for the outer walls.

Roof is standard for a woodshed too, so I move to get the rest of my tools, but my eyes land on the floor. Where I expect to see a concrete slab is more plywood sheeting, which is just really strange. You'd only have a wood floor like that if you didn't have the concrete foundation, so why is it there? There's a lot about this shed that doesn't make a lick of sense, but it doesn't matter. In a few hours, the only thing that'll be standing is the foundation. Using various power tools, I get to work breaking down the old shed. I managed to get the roof taken down without injury and break it into four manageable pieces. And after nearly three hours, I've got it all down and loaded the scrap into the back of my truck.

The only thing left is the plywood floor, but the truck is already fully loaded. So I leave it in place. As quickly as I can, I take the scrap to the dump, but there's a long line trying to get in there. It takes a hell of a lot longer to get in and out than I'd plan for. By the time I get back to the house, Penny is getting the kids ready for dinner. There's a big birthday party for one of the kids at their daycare, so when everyone's going to one of those pizza, places designed for kids. I still have a little work I can do in the backyard before it gets too late, but Penny gives me that look. The one that says, you're not getting out of this, mister. I promise

to do a simple cleanup out back, then I'll take a quick shower. As I pick up the little bits that I missed when dealing with the larger pieces, I take a closer look at the shed's floor. It's just two sheets a quarter-inch plywood and a smaller sheet cut to fit the size. They don't appear to be nailed down or secured in any way, and I pick up one corner to see if it'll come up. It does and feels like it's an excellent condition. I lift it up all the way and look at the concrete to see if there are any cracks, but it looks as if it was poured and settled within the last few days.

So strange, but not nearly as much as what I found on the underside of the plywood. There's a pattern on the plywood in a very dark red. Looks to be a large double-lined circle of some kind with intricate characters drawn in the circle and around it. I've never seen anything like it and take a quick picture with my phone. Nolan's going to be at this party and he's always been into weird things. Penny yells at me from the back door to get my butt in gear and I lay the plywood back down, not bothering to make it straight.

It's not going to stay there for it. long anyway. Well, the kids are playing in the arcade, and most of the parents are over there watching after them. I tell Nolan about my day and show them the picture of the plywood. I'm no expert, but this looks like some serious magic. If it was on the top side of the wood, I'd think it was a summoning circle or something like that, but my money's more on some kind of binding magic. You found this under the shed? I just nod. Man, I'm glad I didn't. Man, I'm glad I didn't blow it up now. Please tell me you put the plywood back

before you left the house. I tell him I did and he strongly suggests I leave it there and set a tossing it away like I did the rest of the shed. Of course I give him the, you must be joking look and he shrugs. Look, best case scenario,

it doesn't mean shit and your shed has an unnecessary wood floor. Worst case scenario, it is some kind of binding magic and whatever it's meant to keep contained, won't get out. The pizzas arrive at that point and the kids swarm like locusts, so we don't continue the conversation.

Normally, I don't have that good a time at these gatherings, but I actually do this time. Once the kids are done stuff in their faces, we all go to the arcade and have some fun. Our oldest is into the shooter games and loves for me to play along. I've always loved shooter games and sometimes. Can't get enough of them. When it's time for us to leave, I've completely forgotten about the weird symbol underneath the former shed.

That is, until we get home. We get the kids cleaned up and down for bed, which is always a hassle to say the least. On the upside, they expended a lot of energy at the pizzeria and didn't put up much of a fight to go to bed. Penny and I sit on stools at the kitchen island and quickly discuss tomorrow's activities. If I wake up early enough and get to work right away, I should have the shed completely built by lunchtime. Putting the metal shelving units I heard from the hardware inside or a project for next week,

but I can move things like lawn furniture and freestanding power tools out there right away. Penny is about to start coming up with dinner ideas for the week when she looks up and goes deathly pale. For a split second, I think she's looking at me, but I realize her eyes are drawn to something. something behind me. Spinning around, I prepare myself for a fight, but there isn't anyone behind me. All I see is the large window looking into the backyard. That's when I see what caught Penny's

attention. It's not shaped like a person, unless that person is made out of taffy and stretched out to be two stories tall. It starts at the foundation of the shed and stretches up from there. The width of it is impossibly wide, and as I look up at the body, I realize it's nearly see-through. I don't know if I'm actually moving that slowly, or if time is somehow slowed down in this moment, but I get to my feet and move toward the back door, getting a better view of this thing. It's not until I hear screaming upstairs that everything starts moving at normal speed. Throwing open the back door, I rush into the middle of the backyard.

This mysterious shadowy thing is slithering its upper portion through the air and pressing up against one of the bedroom windows. I can hear two of my kids screaming bloody murder inside, and for a brief moment, light flashes through the window. I came outside to confront this thing, but Penny went upstairs to get the kids to safety. Like anyone out of their depth, I initially tried to treat this thing like I would any ordinary intruder.

I shove at it to get it the hell away from my family, but my hands pass right through it. There's some kind of resistance to it, but I immediately pull my hands back. For a split second, it feels like my hands are on fire, but then cold sinks in, a second longer of contact

that I think I'd have first-degree frostbite. With such a strong cold element, I think to grab the hose and spray this bastard with water, but then what Nolan said comes back to me. He thought the symbol on the plywood with some kind of binding or protection magic. But why the hell isn't it working now? Did I damage the symbol when I tore down the rest of the shed?

Looking over to the plywood, I realized I'd put the wood back down, but I didn't line it up like it was before. There was at least a few inches of gap between the two larger pieces of plywood, and that's exactly where this thing is coming from. Without thinking about how utterly insane all this is, I rush over and start moving the wood. A freezing wind blows at me hard from behind, but I ignore it as best as I can.

A prickling sensation starts crawling over my entire body as I try to line up the wood and start losing feeling in my extremities. It takes what seems like a really long time to do it, but I get the three pieces of plywood lined up properly. The black shadowy mass that was seeping out of the crack between the boards quickly gets sucked back in, and I'm left there shivering on my knees when it's gone. It takes considerable effort, but I get to my feet, and I make my way into the house on shaky legs.

Okay, I guess I'm going to have to make some adjustments to my plans for tomorrow. First thing, I'm going to build a frame to go around the outside of the foundation to make sure the damn barrier doesn't get the chance to shift. Since I'm still going to use the shed for storage, I'm going to get some one inch thick plywood to go on top of the magic barrier boards. This way, the foundation can be anchored to a thicker plywood and completely protect the barrier from any possible damage, I hope.

I have no idea what the hell that thing was, and quite frankly, I don't want to know. As long as I can keep the protection barrier in place, it won't be a problem. If we end up moving and someone else buys the place, they can deal with this crap if they want. I'm not risking disturbing whatever it is with my kids around again. Even after what just happened,

is it really strange that I still think the HOA is the worst thing about this neighborhood? Creepy Presents The Madness Narrated by Alicia Atkins. So, tell me what's on your mind oh my god that stupid fucking question again it's the same every god damn time i come into the office and she asked me that dumbass fucking question without looking up from the file folder with such an expensive degree hanging from her wall you'd think she'd be able to switch it up every once in a while instead of groaning and telling her off like i want to like i always want to

I grumble until it's the same as last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. It's always the same thing, Doc. Haven't you figured that out by now? Nothing ever changes. The same dumb-ass shit is always on my mind. That's the thing with a broken mind like mine.

Shit doesn't change. Not unless it's getting worse. But I'm not the one to judge that. She is. At least that's what the court has mandated. A bunch of dumb fucks. Honestly, I'd love nothing more than I get up from this chair and go back to my room, but I can't. Getting up from this chair is harder than it sounds.

What, with the restraints and all? Doesn't make for a comfortable experience. But I did try to put the Doc's head through a window once. You would, too, if she kept asking you the same fucking questions day after day. By the fourth or fifth question, Doc will actually divert. from the regular questions. Tell me about yesterday. What's there to tell?

I got up, took a shit while someone watched me, because heaven forbid a person be allowed to wipe their ass in peace. Then I went to breakfast instead of taking a shower because it wasn't my assigned day. Had a bowl of shitty oatmeal since you people won't let me have any brown sugar. I always asked for a cup of coffee, but you lousy fucks won't let me have any caffeine, claiming it riles me up,

which is a load of shit. Then I went outside for a smoker five. After that was group, and I tried my best not to call everyone a whiny little bitch while they shared their feelings. No, I didn't share because there's nothing to share. I'm angry all the time because I'm surrounded by nutjob to claim all the shit they've done wasn't their fault, blaming it on traumatic events, mostly done by their parents. My parents were average and did what they could. everything I did was on me and no one else.

I made my decisions because I chose to, not because of some stupid crap that happened a decade or more ago. I'm a fucking grown-up and am accountable for my actions. Once I was released from that nightmare, I went to the TV room to sit on the couch. I watched some stupid fucking show about people renovating houses while my mind melted thanks to the pills you fucking people shoved out my throat. Then another doctor,

Dr. Rett Sam, came over and took me outside to talk openly while we smoked. He's an idiot, like all you educated fuck-ups, and asked me to open up about my rage. I told him if I did that, I'd likely open his fucking skull so his brain could get some much-needed oxygen. You know what he did then? He gave me a big, dumb grin, like I told him a fucking joke. It did kind of piss me off that he wasn't taking me seriously at that moment, but for some reason, I was calm. I noticed he started humming a strange tune. Not really sure why I'm remembering that now, but I am. It didn't really sound like humming, but it was music of a sort. Maybe his cell phone went off or something? I honestly don't know. What happened next? I knew there was going to be

the moment the orderly came for me. I hadn't seen anyone on my side of the door since they closed it yesterday afternoon. I happened to look down and noticed some dirt on my shoe. The orderlies hated when we tracked dirt back inside and withhold the sugar-free pudding we get with dinner if we do. I put down my lighter and pack of smokes on the table next to me on the right and bent down to breast the dirt off. When I stood back up, there was another patient with my lighter in his hands, and my pack of smokes were open on the left table. I only had one left, and the pack was empty. The fucking prick took my last goddamn cigarette.

There is an etiquette that smokers adhere to. You always ask to bum a smoke, not just take one. If someone only has one or two left, you're not allowed to get butt hurt if they tell you no. If you got more than that and someone asked to bum a smoke, you can still say no, but no karma will come back on you. This stupid fucking nut job broke every rule of etiquette, and I decided to open up to him. I got right in his face, grabbed his wrist with all my strength, and plucked the sig from his fingers.

As he opened his mouth to protest, I shoved the burning end in his mouth and down his throat. Then I clamped my hands around his head, forcing his mouth closed. I think some of the orderlies were on me at that point, and I shoved the asshole away. It's not my fault that the back of his head collided with the stone bent. when he fell over. If the orderly's would have left me alone, I would have let the prick go eventually. It was their escalation that forced me to shove him away.

No, I'm not deflecting. I did what I did, but the end result was influenced by others intervening. I was in complete control until they grabbed me. I chose to shove a lit cigarette down that guy's throat, but I had a reason. It's not like I randomly walked up to someone and did it. He took my last fucking cigarette,

and I decided that karma needed to be, instant. How long after until you realized the empty pack of smokes you saw wasn't yours? What the fuck are you talking about, lady? There was only one pack of smokes on that table, and it was mine. Though, now that you mention it, the pack had green on it, and I don't smoke menthols. Wait, there was two tables, one to my right and one to my left. I left my pack on the right table, but when I looked up, the empty pack had been on the left. It hadn't occurred to me that I was looking at the wrong pack. I just automatically assumed.

Yep. I'm an ass. The only thing the guy did was borrow my lighter. Now I feel bad, like a complete and utter asshole. But Doc's questions keep coming. The next one doesn't hit right, and I have to ask her to repeat it. Have you ever stayed up for more than 24 hours in a day and drank so much coffee that your piss comes out of really dark yellow?

If you have, then you know what that level of caffeine can feel like in the brain pan. Some people will twitch from being so tweaked out on caffeine, but not me. I swear up and down that it just makes my brain twitch. Kind of like what happens when someone asks you a question that's so stupid. It momentarily makes you question reality because no one can possibly be that stupid. The reason for this odd tangent is because the question Doc asked me for a third time makes my brain twitches. like that. But this is the first time it happens for a reason other than too much caffeine. The question is, who is Dr. Retzam? Are you daft woman? Dr. Retsam, the other doctor, I see regularly.

There's three of you fuckers. One that runs group, one that does random check-ins throughout the day, and then you, the one that does sessions in the office. You only see two doctors, not three. There is no Dr. Rett Sam. She claims he's a figment of my imagination, but that's fucking stupid. If my mind were to conjure up someone for me to talk to, why the fuck would it present me with someone so ordinary? Why not someone much hotter, someone I'd be far more inclined to listen to? But that's the thing.

You did listen to him. Did I remember the tune? Yeah, I mistook it for humming. But it didn't sound anything like humming. It sounded like something from a great distance away. Really, it could have been a sound coming from his phone, but now that I think of it, doctors don't carry their phones in the common areas.

Patients are always swiping things from anyone and everyone they get close to. Having unrestricted access to the outside world is a big no-no. And patients under treatment aren't allowed calls. This is a secured wing, after all. You see and talk to people that aren't there all the time. I've told you this several times since you were brought here. Yet you seem to forget after every session. I tell her that she's full of shit.

But thoughts begin to nag at me. I've never seen Dr. Red Sam talk to anyone else. Not other patients, not the orderlies or the other doctors. The only time I ever see him is when I'm in the common areas. either the TV room or outside. Even though we smoke the same brand and have identical lighters, he's never offered me a smoke or asked to bum one. Is it possible that he's not really there like this cunt is saying?

I know I can be unhinged at times and violent when my rage boils, but am I actually crazy? Now that I think about the incident that landed me in this place, I should be in jail for what I did, but here I am in a mental issue. institution. It was months ago, so it's difficult to recall the details. Doc asked me to talk it out, and she fills in the blanks. It had been in March, and I was irritated. I'd gotten into it with this punk-ass bitch at work that never stopped talking. He said something to me that set me off,

and I nearly slugged him in front of everyone, but I managed to keep my cool. I just told him to shut his fucking mouth and walked away, not even listening to the stupid bullshit response he came up with. My supervisor got on to him about needing to be respectful to coworkers. Then she pulled me aside and said the same thing to me. I was stewing in my irritation, working my way to getting mad about it. That happens with me a lot. My reactions are mild and usually blasé. But after I start thinking about it later, that's when I get angry. It's one of those slow-boil things with a long memory. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's hold a grudge. I'm not going to just forgive someone's stupid bullshit because a little time has gone on. If you're a fucking idiot, that does some stupid

shit and pisses me off. I'm not going to forgive and forget. I just checked my mail and was sitting on a bench in the courtyard of my crappy apartment building. I had my usual cigarette my mouth and was going through the junk mail before opening the loan package I'd received. It was for my cousin, Lily, one of the few relices I'm in good standing with and regularly talk to. Well, that's not very often, but I talk to her more than anyone else. Okay, she calls to check on me sometimes, but I'll actually spend more than five minutes on the phone with her. Hell, she even took me out to dinner for my last birthday. Oh, wait, the one before that. I forget how long I've been in this place sometimes.

My last fucking birthday was here. How sad is that? Lily always had a sweet tooth, and when we were kids, she sold those cookies everyone loves for her troupe. My family didn't have a lot of money, so when that time of year came around, I wasn't able to get a box of my favorite kind. Her parents were better off than mine,

so she was allowed a few boxes of her own, if she sold a specified amount to people who weren't friends and family. Lily was always the determined type and sold more than what was required. She was allowed three boxes, and Lily always chose the same ones. That chocolate mint one, the one with toasted coconut, and the kind with peanut butter. For the life of me, I can't remember any of the names. But the peanut butter cookies were my favorite. Lily never cared for peanut butter, but she got that box just so she could smuggle it to me.

Sitting on that bench, I pulled out my pocket knife and happily opened the package from Lily. Inside was a box of peanut butter cookies. And even though I can't remember what they originally called, I know it wasn't peanut butter togetherness. It didn't matter to me what they were called as long as they were the same cookies. To be honest, I don't know if they really were or not. It had been a while since the last time I had a box. That's the only reason I can think of that might explain why they tasted so damn good. Like, I couldn't stop eating them good.

By the time I finished the box, I was trying to figure out how to get my hands on another. By that time, cookie season was over, so I was screwed. I've been sitting there for more than an hour, simply staring at the box, willing a solution to come out of nothing. Then I happened to overhear a pair of women talking. One of them was bragging that she stocked up on multiple versions of the cookie and stored them in her deep freeze. The other admonished her for spending so much, buying a $600 freezer just so she could have a place to keep them long-term storage. I got up from my spot and followed the two of them. The one veered off, going into her apartment while the other with the cookie stash continued on.

She was two buildings over, and not once did she look back to see me following. It was too easy, I thought, like she didn't have a care in the world. probably planning on diving into a new box as soon as she got inside. I followed her up three flights of stairs, not being discreet or quiet at all. But still, she didn't take notice. It wasn't until she unlocked her door and stepped inside did she realize I was behind her. That's only because I shoved her inside and started pounding on the back of her head. I left her lying on the floor, a puddle forming under her, and went further in.

As soon as I came out at the short entrance hall, I saw the large white freezer sitting in the corner of the dining room. I didn't bother taking notice of anything else in the apartment. Walking right up to it, I opened the freezer, reached inside, and pulled out a random box to cookies. It wasn't until I opened and bit down that I realized it was one of the toasted coconut ones. I've never liked the taste of coconut. But these were divine. I took the time to scan the rest of the box, and I took the time to scan the rest of the box, and noticed the smallest section held the peanut butter cookies.

Abandoning the box in my hand, I grabbed up two of the boxes and tore into them. I was like a drug addict jonesing for a fix. For the life of me, I have no idea how long I'd been standing there shoving cookies into my mouth. Nothing seemed to matter while I had those delicious treats. But then I finally felt something cold and hard pressed into the back of my head.

It was a gun, and I finally noticed the noise. There were two children crying and a man shouting. Well, someone that wasn't one of the cops that had me at gunpoint. The woman's family had been home when I bashed her head in, but I hadn't taken notice. I was a person with a hunger that needed to be satisfied. Thinking back on it, I don't think there's a way to truly satisfy that hunger. They wanted to take me away from the cookies, and I wasn't about to let that happen.

I fought with the cops, threw the first one across the room to smash into the wall. There was strength in me that I hadn't experienced before, and I used it to get what I wanted. The other cop fired at me, and I think the bullet took me in the shoulder, but I didn't really notice. I grabbed his hand holding the gun and broke the wrist. Taking the gun from him, I tossed it aside, turned back to the freezer, and continued eating the cookies. The crying children had grown quieter, but not silent. The man held his children close to him on the couch on the other side of the room, rocking back and forth.

He was saying something quietly over and over again. It took me a while to realize he was saying that they would have given me some of the cookies if I'd asked. Over and over, like a chant to ward off an attack. I wasn't going to hurt him or his kids. I already had the cookies. Don't ask me how many box I ate, I couldn't say. Reality seemed to melt away for a while, and my mind was transported to another place. I saw such wonders, amazing things that hadn't ever existed in our world before.

At least not as far as I knew. People had abandoned the dryness of land and submerged themselves in the sea, breathing in the salty water like it was always meant to be. cities and developments sprouted up amongst the coral there were no vehicles no walkways or paid streets everyone swam gracefully to get to and fro there was no fighting no hunger fish and other sea life were plentable for their feasting

even willingly coming closer to be consumed there were even larger creatures that would swim closer and some of the inhabitants would go to meet them giving themselves for sustenance It's not like there is a debate as who would go. Some just simply went. Being consumed wasn't mournful for those who knew and cared for them. It was celebrated, a great honor.

The circle of life with sentient beings that knew the who, what, why, and didn't question it, didn't fight against it. A utopia. I came back to myself sometime later, lying on a hard metal cot with a smile on my face. I was in county lockup, surrounded by mean-looking people that thought they'd be tough and beat on me. They never laid a hand on me because the smile in my face made them think I was crazy. You never hit a crazy person. You never know what they're capable of. And if they latch on to you, there's no telling how long they'll have you in their sights.

At least, that's what I've thought all my life. I guess there's some truth to that. It just depends on the person and their brand. of crazy. I've been hearing something like this a lot lately. Doc tells me as a fog begins to roll in my mind. Is it the drugs they shove down my throat kicking in again? Why is it accompanied by a strange kind of music?

Colleagues from all over the world are talking about this shared delusion of utopia. It's been spreading like wildfire, accompanied by fits of violence and insanity. The problem is, there doesn't some... seem to be a common trigger. A number of cases have mentioned the cookies, but not nearly enough to call them the true catalyst. I just stare at her, blankly, wondering who this is supposed to mean something to me.

We're calling it the madness. I blink at her, not understanding. You're calling what the madness? And why am I strapped to this chair? Did I do something wrong? Doc sighs with aggravation. And here we go again. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

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