Creepy - Silver Linings

Episode Date: January 2, 2023

Even in a world full of horror, every cloud...***Written by: Matthew Ross***Bonus Episode: "Groomed" written by Liam Hogan and narrated by Alicia Atkins***Content warning: parental grooming***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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.

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Turns out that when you spend all your days podcasting, you tend to lose your ear for anything that is in narration. If there was ever a time where I could write prose, and that's debatable, I'm just in another place right now. I'm not sure what the future holds for this story. Maybe it'll appear in some form, like on this podcast. But the book is no more. So if you pre-ordered a copy, you can expect a refund within the next 30 days from the publisher. I am very sorry. I wrote a lot of drafts trying to get this to work, and we just couldn't get it done.

In the meantime, we have a whole year ahead of us with new stories, new scares, maybe even another trip to camp. Who knows what the future will bring? All I know is that my main focus is just living in the... Now... This is creepy. 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 Silver Lininges Written by Matthew Ross First entry Maybe I'm taking a dumb risk keeping a journal like this But it still seems safer to try venting this way

Rather than slipping out some night To sneak a sip of that fermented berry schnapps That Dan keeps hitting under that loose floorboard Or nibbling some of the forbidden mushrooms That grow down by the critter snares I mean and everyone's got to find some way of blowing off a little steam, otherwise you're bound to slip up sooner or later.

The next thing you know, you'll find yourself taking a cleaver through the face, like Dad, or wind up in some weirdo's torture porn puzzle trap, like Mom. And since sex is off the table for me, why not try writing? In case this ends up being my only entry, I guess I'll say it now. I'm glad I gave journal writing a try, even if it does get me stabbed or decapitate it or something. At least I'm pretty sure it's not cursed, since I've seen Megan rip pages out of this thing for TP like four times in the last week.

Nothing bad has happened to her. You know. Yeah. Second entry. I'm still alive. Woo! Looks like journaling's not against the rules. Of course.

Last night, being the pod sex night, was almost enough to make me wish that my first journal entry had called one of them to stab me to death with a fountain pen or something. In case they really can be called through writing. That was just me being sarcastic. Please do not stab me to death with a pen, feather quill, or any other writing implement. Also, please do not crush me in the human-sized printing press, smash my skull with a typewriter, draw me in a vat of ink, or murder me in some other writing-related way. or in any other way for that matter. Thank you. There's no two ways about it.

Being the only single guy in the pot sucks. I don't know if it's any easier for Amy being the only single girl and all. Probably not, since at least I can still masturbate without calling one of them. But it's still no picnic, believe you, me. I mean, the coupled up girls are nice enough. Sure, Marissa will sometimes give me a bit of stink eye. on sex night, as if I could see anyone's naughty bits under their mumoos, even if I wanted to. Hello, that's the whole point of never taken off our mumoes, Marissa.

But Gretchen always goes out of a way to thank me for standing watch while they're doing their thing. The guys, though, they always have to make a big deal about how sensitive they're being around the poor single, saying stuff in that condescending tone like, cheer up. bud, Amy might change your mind someday. Or a new single could wander in here at any moment. I'm sure if you'll patient, you'll get your chance to couple up too. Are you, Frank?

Are you sure? Because it seems to me a hell of a lot more likely that we'll get a new single because one of you screws up and calls them because some rando happens to stroll through the front barricade. I get that they're trying to be nice or whatever. But they don't have to be such a jerk, about it. I know I'm the only single male. Frank, you don't have to keep reminding me. Third entry. Well, Frank's dad. I know I should be sadder about it, but seriously. Who goes out to

check the generator in the middle of the night, all by themselves? That's like egging to be eviscerated and strung up by your own entrails. Everybody knows either wait until morning or wake up the rest of the pod so we can all check it out together. It's only like rule 101. Never wander off anywhere on your own. Part of me thinks that maybe you did it on purpose because you couldn't take being coupled up with Megan anymore. I mean, she's cute and all,

but she can be pretty annoying. It's like, we get at Megan. We know you don't like the bathroom precautions. We don't need to hear about it five times a day. You're not the only one who'd love to enjoy a nice private poop once in a while instead of having to go in the bucket while everyone turns around and sings campfire songs to cover up whatever sounds you're making. Find something else to talk about already. Anyway, I spent most of the day mopping up entrails. Megan was too upset to pitch in, but Amy helped us out with the cleanup, which I thought was pretty cool of her.

too bad she's super committed to the whole final girl thing total purity and all that silver lining though looks like megan's available now fourth entry so much for that idea megan didn't even survive a full day after they got frank poor thing must have been deranged with grief because she snuck off at some point in the middle of the night to take a shower by yourself naked We found her, well, we think most of her, this morning. She was chopped up pretty good, but whoever did it made sure to scrub all the blood up. I guess the shower aspect must have called some kind of psycho neat freak. So the cleanup wasn't so bad. The crazy thing was, when we were gathering what was left of Megan up for burial, we ended up short by one boob. Isn't that wild?

I mean, what kind of slasher neatly arranges a bunch of body parts in the perfect pentagram? Maticulously wipes up every drop-up blood around, said pentagram, then steals a single boob to take home? Why was it only the one boob? Was there something wrong with the other one? Did it matter whether it was the left one or the right one? What are they planning on doing with it anyway? Fifth entry.

I had a lot of time to think on watch last night, and I've been feeling really guilty about Megan. I mean, I know I used to roll my eyes when she'd complain about the whole privacy thing, but she really did have some good points to make, and not just about the bathroom bucket. I know we all struggle with the lack of privacy, always having to do everything with your pod, never being able to go off by yourself. Maybe it's different when you're a couple because then you have someone who's right there in it with you.

It's got to be nice having one person you can whisper back and forth with when you're not on watch. And share mumo's with on sex night. Someone who cares enough to throw their own life away if one of them gets you. Even if they only got you because you did something monumentally stupid. Like check the generator in the middle of the night all by yourself. Not that I'm pointing any fingers here, Frank. Who's going to miss me after I'm gone?

Well, even if I don't have anyone else to whisper secrets to, I've still got my journal. That's more than I had before, right? Sixth entry. They got Karen this morning. She must have fallen behind when we went out to check the traps because one minute she was there, then, poof, no more Karen.

I don't know if she said something after she realized she was alone or if it was just the luck of the draw, but whoever she called must have had some kind of creepy clown fetish. We found her back at the cabin, propped up in front of the barricade in this weird raggedy-and-get-up, with giant buttons sewn on her where her eyes used to be. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Also, she was pantsless, completely nude from the waist down, like Winnie the Pooh. It's kind of hard to tell if the whole pants deal was a sex thing or a clown thing or both, but the lewd hand gesture they'd posed her in making was definitely a sex thing.

I thought it was pretty disrespectful, to be honest. From what I've seen of her and Mike on sex night wasn't the kind of thing she would have been into while she was alive. Although, between you and me, journal, I could see giving it a try under the right circumstances. If it was Amy that was offering, for instance. Anyways, we spent a lot of time arguing about it.

But even though we all agreed she clearly called one with some kind of weird fetish, we couldn't come to a consensus on exactly what it was. But, arguing about it, gave us all something to do while we'd her, so that was nice. Mike seemed pretty broken up about the whole thing. But hey, server lining.

Looks like I'm not the only single guy in the pod anymore. Seventh entry. Well, they got Mike last night. So, looks like my respite from being the solo single guy and the group turned out to be pretty short-lived. Mike, if you can read this wherever you are now, I'm sorry, man. I know you were supposed to treat everyone in the pot equally, but I always liked you best. Not that Karen's death wasn't tragic or whatever, but I was really looking forward to being single buds together.

I wish you'd chosen to work out your grief differently, like asking us to form a sadness circle so you could have a nice muffled scream cry or scheduling a little time in the masturbation corner, or even reaching out to form a sadness circle, or even reaching out. to confide in your new single bud. Honestly, pretty much anything other than chugging your secret bottle of Barry Schnapps and stumbling out to pick up that clearly haunted baby rattle next to the backyard swing set would have meant an improvement. I also wish I hadn't caught the last couple seconds of what that demonic lizard baby thing did to you after. But I guess, like Mom always said, there's no use crying over spilled blood.

Rest easy, pal. Eighth entry. Sex night was a bit awkward this week after everything that went down with Mike and Karen. I was curious to see if anyone tried to move from Karen's hand gesture. But it ended up being pretty routine. Some heavy breathing, some quiet moaning, the occasional stifled sob. Same old, same old, as they say. One thing that I did find a little surprising was that Dan ended up being the biggest crier of the bunch.

Maria got a little weepy, as usual, but she always takes the dust the hardest. I swear sometimes I think she'd start blubbering over anyone in the pod being murdered. I'm not saying that her grief is, like, performative, and she's exaggerating it for attention or whatever. But come on, Marissa, let's be real here. Are you really that sad every time one of us gets murdered? What are you going to do? just go about being sad all the time? People get murdered every day, Marissa.

Get over it already. Dan and Mike were pretty close, though. So that I get, even if it did seem to get on Gretchen's nerves a bit. I heard a lot of exasperated whispering coming from their side of the sex circle. I think they both faked their climaxes. Okay, maybe I should rephrase. I'm pretty sure he faked his climax, but I guess there is good. could have been real.

I did finally get a chance to masturbate after everyone else was done, so that was nice. I didn't want to mention it before because I was still getting used to the whole journaling then. But last week, my turn got skipped. I brought it up once the others had finished up, but surprise, surprise. Guess who was all? Sorry, bud, but we're all really pooped, and you know how awkward it is for the rest of us to turn around and wait while you finish up.

Can you take one for the team to not? and we'll make sure you get a chance tomorrow. Screw you, Frank. We both knew that tomorrow was always a lie. I'm glad they finally got you. Stupid jerk. Anyways. So, I finally got my chance to catch up,

even if it did come a week late. Of course, even then, it was still touch and go for a couple of minutes there. Marissa tried to pull the hole. Are you sure you really need to? We're also broken up about Mike and Karen. Would you even be able to? too given how sad it all is blah blah blah blah blah thing what are you marissa the new frank i noticed

you weren't too sad to have your own weekly role in the sex circle with when i was ready to be all like hey you got to have your sex night where was all this talk about mike and karen then but amy cut in before i could say anything and she was like come on guys he really missed this chance last week because frank got hung up with his own entrails remember and then everyone was like Oh, right, the whole Frank thing. We forgot about that. And then Gretchen said, Amy's right.

Just because he's single doesn't mean he shouldn't get his sex night too. And for a second, I think we're all worried that might hurt Amy's feelings because of the whole total purity thing. But she was like, exactly. We can wait for him, can't we guys? After all, we're all in this pod together. And it's not like Marissa could say boo to that. So everyone turned around and let me do my thing. How you like me now, Marissa?

or new Frank, as you apparently prefer to be called. It really was super nice of Amy to stand up for me like that, especially given her whole situation and all. That's one nice thing about being a guy. As far as we know, none of them have ever killed a dude for masturbating. As long as it's not premarital sex, they don't seem to care what we do with our naughty bits. It's not like any of us have it easy, exactly,

but it must suck extra hard being a girl. Ninth entry. "'Guess what? "'Look like our little pod's about to get a bit bigger. "'Sure not every day to say that.' "'Gretchen spotted him stumbling through the woods "'while we were checking the traps this morning. "'There's Damon and Julio,

"'who were coupled up together, and also Rosa. "'We think she lost her partner when things went south with her pod, "'but it's hard to tell since she doesn't seem to be much of a talker. "'She did sort of nod when I asked her if she was single, "'but mostly she just cried. for like a really long time. So I'm guessing that was a yes. If she did lose someone,

she hasn't tried to call anyone yet, so she can't be doing that bad, right? I know it would be a huge rules violation to say so out loud, but I've got some pretty big hopes for these three. Sounds like their pot had actually been doing really well up until a few days ago. Damon mentioned that they'd only lost five people

in the last few months. But then they took in a new guy last week and we can all see how that turned out. Sounds like a miracle the dude survived as long as he did. It's like if you're hearing strange voices calling out to you from another room, why on earth would you run towards them, bro? Plus, what would your dead parents be doing in some random basement they'd never been to before anyways? What kind of sense does that make? jerk must have snuck down there while he was supposed to be on watch

Damon said he woke pot up when he came walking up the basement stairs holding some kind of puzzle box that was pulsating with a weird green light and chanting in another language Damon thought it might have been Latin but Julio insisted it was Esperanto anyways yada yada yada yada yada yada those three were the closest to the window and the spectral razor bats started pouring out of the box so they made it out along with the other couple who got picked off by some sort of hillbilly cannibal thing the next day. And the three of them had been wandering through the woods right up until Gretchen spotted him practically on our doorstep.

I know their story is almost impossible to believe. I mean, surviving multiple nights out in the open? I haven't heard anything that wild since that time Dan kept insisting his father almost made it to 25 before they got him. But if even half of it's true, they could wind up being a real asset to this pod. Tenth entry. If there's one thing, I can't stand. It's a liar.

And there's no way that anyone who really survived more than one night on the open would just decide to go investigate a suspicious noise all by themselves. Or go out alone to check after their suspicious noise-loving partner failed to come back. We've been making our way through the woods for days my pale white butt. I really wanted to like those guys, too. No, well, live and learn. At least Rosa's still here. She's not much of a talker so far.

I would say she's more of a rock back and forth in the corner plucking out eyebrow hairs and eating them, or is there a shorter term for that? But she'd only shrugged and mumbled something when I asked if she wanted a second-helping opossum at dinner. So, you know, there might be a little chemistry starting to brew between us. Fingers crossed. Eleventh entry. Alas, it looks like Rose has ghosted me. We're not quite sure what got her,

but we found her clothes folded neatly in front of the bathtub this morning, and her spirit definitely appears to be bound there. That's what we're assuming, at least, since it keeps pounding at the air in front of the shower curtain and screaming silently like it's trapped in some kind of invisible box or something. I'm trying not to let it bother me, but I really thought we shared a moment when we were a moment when we were flirting over a possum last night.

I'll just try and focus on the positives, though. To hope that having a phantasm trapped in the bathroom will make it harder for the next single girl to call one of them by showering, like mom used to say, there's no storm cloud so dark that you can't find a silver lining in it somewhere. 12th entry.

Boy. Was today ever a corker? Rosa's ghost kept the pot up all night. She may not be able to emit sounds or leave the bathtub. But she sure can slam the bathroom door pretty good. So everyone is a bit grouchy this morning. Dan kept insisting we'd have to move now that we had a ghost haunting the bathroom. But Gretchen was like, and go where?

So what if there's a ghost? We're never going to find a better setup than this. And then he was all. Better to risk leaving them sticking around a surefire death trap. And she was all. No, leaving a fortified position to wander off who knows where that's the guaranteed death sentence. And from there it didn't take too long to devolve into a lot of Who always thinks they know better and who never supports me in front of the pod and who's just upset because they have a tiny penis?

And it was a whole thing. Personally, I thought it was a silly thing to be arguing about to begin with. I mean, it's pretty clear the ghost can't leave the bathtub or else she would have done so already. So how much harm could she possibly do? But then Marissa. Of course, it was Marissa. Started sticking up for Dan and going on about how she never liked the cabin and how much room we'd have if we set up. up in the old sanitarium across the lake.

And she kept kind of elbowing the end in the ribs until he agreed that it might be nice to have a little more space. And then that led to a whole new round of arguing about who's always been jealous of whom and who just lays there like a pile of old mumoos on sex night and so on. After a while, I couldn't take it anymore. So I was like, guys, can everyone stop shouting at each other for like two seconds? Why don't we board up the bathroom? It's not like we go in there that much anyway.

I'll bet that once she can't slam the doors anymore. I forgot to mention that the ghost kept banging the doors open and shut like the entire time. Everyone was arguing. We'll forget we even have a ghost in there. This is probably what I wanted in the first place to make us fight amongst ourselves. Pretty impressive, right? I could barely believe I said that myself. And Gretchen was like, thank you.

It's nice to know there's one person in the pod that has their head screwed on straight. Other than Dan and Marissa, and I suppose win. I don't think anyone really wanted to leave the cabin to begin with since they were all like, That's a great idea. We'll just board up the bathroom. And Marissa were kind of sulky about it. But it's not like they had much of a leg to stand on at that point. So we spent the rest of the day nailing boards up.

I think that did the trick. At first it seemed like Rosas Ghost got extra excited to have our attention because she kept vomiting blood. To ghosts have blood? It's pretty dark, so I guess it could have been ectoplasm. and making the bathroom lights turn on and off, which was actually pretty cool, since we never run the generator during daytime. But when she figured out what we were doing, she looked pretty bummed.

I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. I must suck to be trapped all by your lonesome. But hey, no sense to be one on the negative. I totally had my first big leadership moment in like ever. How cool is that? 13th entry. Not much excitement today. which was pretty nice for a change.

We haven't heard one peep out of Rosa's go since boarding up the bathroom. If you walk by there, you can see the bathroom lights start flickering on and off underneath the door, but other than that, I think she kind of gave up. Everybody made a big deal about what a great idea had been to nail the bathroom door shut. Oh, almost everyone. And Gretchen gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was worried Dan might be angry about it, but I don't think he even noticed. He spent most of the day with Marissa and Wynne.

I got the sense that Gretchen and Dan were trying to avoid each other, which is kind of tricky, seeing as the whole point of a pod, is that everyone stays in the pod all the time. Gretchen did invite him to forge with her when we went out to check the traps, but Dan was all, That's okay, you go ahead. I'm sure I'd only do it wrong. Awkward, right?

They'll get over it, though. Pod life might not be perfect, but one of the nicer things about it is that does kind of, to force people to resolve their disputes pretty quickly. After all, who wants to keep fighting with someone that they're literally stuck with 24 hours a day, forever. I mean, not forever, forever, but, you know, until they pick one of you off. They'll get it worked out.

I'm sure everything will be right as rain by next sex night. 14th entry. I can hardly believe it. I'm finally getting coupled. You spend so long thinking that has never been. going to happen for you and try to come to terms with being a single for the rest of your life. And then, out of the blue, it's like a whole universe just, I don't know, aligns, and all of a sudden everything's going your way. Of course, the world being what it is, even the sunniest day

still has a cloud or two. Dan, and Marissa are all gone. But their deaths, or Dan's, at least, also led me to finally finding my partner. So if that isn't the shiniest of all silver linings, I don't know what is. Apparently, the three of them tried to run away last night while Dan was on watch. I know, right? It's like, if you want to leave, just say so. Don't sneak off when you're supposed to be guarding our backs. I just never thought Dan would do something like that.

Even if he was pissed about the whole ghost thing. Still, mom always said it's best not to speak ill of the dead, so I'll simply say I'm really disappointed in them and leave it at that. They must have been loaded when it happened Because Gretchen woke up While we were getting ready to leave And she said she could smell the fumes From Dan Secretberry shnapps on them from across the room

She even found some leftover mushrooms Hidden in Marissa's spare moomu While we were cleaning up their stuff this morning Can you believe that? Drinking and getting high Those are only like The biggest rules violations there are What on earth were they thinking?

Gretchen said that she tried to talk him out of it but Dan flipped her off and said the three of them were going to form their own pod down in the old sanitarium. I don't know how they thought they were going to make it across the lake with booze and shrooms ringing their dinner bell every step of the way. But I guess when you combine desperation with drugs, it's bound to end in tragedy. Anyways, none of us saw it happen. But the rest of us woke up when they slammed the door on their way out, so we sure heard our fair share. Poor bastards didn't even make it off the front porch. Anything is right before all the screaming started, they kept pounding on the front barricade and yelling for Gretchen to let him back in.

Like it was somehow Gretchen's fault they got cold feet after they decided to get drunk and storm out. Like, I guess funny isn't really the right word for that. Ironic, maybe? Some people just won't take responsibility for anything, I suppose. Anyways, by the time daylight broke, there wasn't much left to clean up. So that was a stroke of good luck. I went to check in on Gretchen after, and that's when it happened. She started talking about how she and Dan had been drifting apart for a long time.

And how even though a part of her would always care from, she couldn't just sit around mourning him forever. And we'll have to live for today because life is precious. But it's also short and all that. And how she felt like weed always had an unspoken connection, even when she was with Dan. Which, to be totally honest was news to me. Because up until the last few days, I'd always thought Gretchen barely knew I was alive.

How clueless I was, right? Then out of the blue, there I was. She popped a big question. It was just like I'd always dreamed. I mean, maybe not I was just like that. I'd always dreamed, since usually I imagine that Amy would be the one asking me to couple up, or Melanie. And I suppose I should also add Dave to that list. But that was only that one week when I was feeling a little confused, so I don't know if that really counts.

In any case, that's all in the past now. I asked Gretchen if she wanted to wait a bit before we went pod official with big news, you know, to give her time to properly grieve Dan or whatever. But she was like, no, Dan would want me to move on with my life. Plus, we wouldn't want to miss sex night tomorrow. So that pretty much sealed it. Can you believe it? I'm finally going to lose my virginity. No more teasing about the old man of the pod still being a 16-year-old virgin for me.

Sure, it would be different being coupled up. But I'm excited to finally leave my life as a single behind. It's funny, sometimes people act like some big unbearable burden, living life the way we do. But if you just follow the rules and stick by your pod, it's really not so bad. Sure, most of us won't live to see 20, but it's like mom always said. It's not about how many years you live before one of them finally gets you, but how much living you do along the way. For your bonus episode, creepy presents, groomed, written by Liam Hogan, and narrated by Alicia Hackens.

Happiest day of your life. Mom muttered through a mouthful of pens. Happiest day. She was adjusting the dress, the dress she had worn the day she was married. The same dress my grandmother had worn, and, if the tale were to be believed, my grandmother's mother and grandmother's grandmother before her. The dress I would wear tomorrow, though I did not know yet who I would be marrying. Shivering in the chill evening air, trying not to move. I was glad the slender ivory silk and lace dress was such a good fit.

I'd been stuck once already, sparking a sharp yelp from me and a hush child. From Ma she dabbed the tiny red bloom from my pale leg. Despite her declining years, Ma was still taller than I. At the end of every harvest, she had me stand barefoot on the cold kitchen floor, slowly circling and doing her best to straighten the stoop in her back. Not quiet, she'd said two years earlier. Almost, she'd said, this time a year ago. You'll do.

She said one wet and windy evening a week gone. Her eyes a fraction higher than mine. And I can't wait much longer. Girl, it's time you were married. Now I stood on the chair while Ma adjusted the delicate hem of my wedding dress. For perhaps the first time, I could look down on her from above. Her hair was thinning. gray and wispy, failing to hide the ugly thick bubbling of skin at her crown.

Some ancient injury, badly healed. So that was the reason she always wore her hat, a peaked one that left the word witch muttered in her wake. Ma always said she was 80 going on 800. The rest of the kids my age had mothers in their mid-30s and early 40s, with one darling miracle in her 50s. Ma claimed to be older than the five. fossilized Spinster, who had taught us to read and write, who never dare raised her cane to me,

and who reacted with obvious fright every time Ma made an unexpected appearance in her classroom. She needed worry any more. Maude pulled me from the village's two-room school when I turned seven. Old enough to help out, young enough not to have learned too many daff things, she had said. I'd hope that would be the start of my true education. people were always coming to ask Maugh questions, not just from the village, from up to three days walk away. No matter where they came from, they were always respectful, as Ma sat solemnly in the solid wooden chair some previous petitioner had gifted her. The chair I stood on now.

Even when she told them things they didn't want to hear, even if they grumbled as they left, they followed her advice or regretted it later. But Ma didn't answer any of my questions. You'll find out soon enough, she would say, as I labored, scrubbing and sweeping, sewing, and cooking. Sometimes I daydreamed that Ma was really my grandma, or great-grandma. Perhaps my real mother had died in childbirth, and this already elderly relative had begrudgingly taken over my upbringing. It always seemed in polite to ask, and being in polite was one of Ma's best. bug bears. Politeness was taught with the liberal use of a hazelwood switch.

Still, I stumbled out the question, once. Ma squinted narrowly at me. Who's been talking? She asked, her voice cold iron. I shook my head in fear. No one, Ma. I just... I just wondered, is all.

Well, don't, Ma Tist. It might have needed something akin to magic, but you're my flesh and blood, girl, and don't ever forget it. I didn't dare ask her my father was. Even so, I'd have risk asking the name of my intended if Ma hadn't kept me so busy. When I wasn't out collecting herbs and roots, I was slicing, mashing, and boiling them into noxious bruise, I'd have thought inedible. Ma retreated to her small bedroom, insisting on solitude as she meditated. Half the bowls I passed through the narrow gap of the door, she returned untouched, with precise instructions for the replacements. The others were scraped clean. For both, she warned me repeatedly not to lick the discolored spoons.

Ma removed the pen-wetting dress, gently folding it over her withered arms, and made to vanish back into her room. I stuck my foot into the closing gap of the door, even as she pulled against it. "'Ma!' I pleaded, peering into her glinting eyes. "'Please! Who am I to marry to-morrow?' She laughed, until it cracked into a crow's cough, and smushed her foot against mine, pushing it clear. "'Patience, child. They are well known to you,' is all she said as the door shut firmly in my face. It wasn't yet dawn when her crabbed hand prodded me from my fitful slumber beneath the kitchen.

and table. I brushed the straw from my night-tress and scurried to light the stove, but Ma shook her head. No breakfast. For either of us, she ordered. A village tradition, I thought. The first meal of the day to be taken as a married couple, the wedding breakfast. I wasn't hungry anyway. My stomach fluttering as though full of small beast. A tumult of excitement and fright. Strip. she commanded. I stood on the bare stone floor, the water icy cold as she wiped me down with a wet cloth, itself the color of the just lightning sky.

She lowered the ivory dress over my head, gently, gently, the silk smooth and cooling against my freshly scrubbed skin. Her fingers worked the narrow laces, face twisted in concentration, birds beginning their morning lament. With the last lace tied, Ma took a step back, tilted her head to one side, scrutinizing. I began to turn slowly for her, and for myself, towards the aged and blemished mirror propped up against the equally distressed dresser.

Her expression became a scowl. Stay put! She barked. From a locked cherry-wood box, Ma pulled out a web of twisted metal, a headdress of sorts, one that fits snugly, like a cap. the dull silvery wires covering all but the crown of my head. Ma fiddled behind me, and I felt a tug at my upper back as she tilted my neck. Knew then that the crown was secured to the stays of my dress.

It was an odd thing, that crown. Crooked limbs spayed out like roots, like the thorn branches of a dead or dying tree. It was awkward, tortured, in strangely disturbing peace, despite being the only jewelry I'd ever worn. When I turned away from the mirror, Ma stood wearing the diadem's exact copy, a weird and terrible look on her face. I trembled.

For a moment, I had the feeling I was still staring into the mirror, that despite the gray smock she wore, despite the deep lines on her aged face, I was seeing myself. Come, she said, turning down. briskly to the door. The chapel awaits. She took my arm on the short walk through the still sleepy village. The dawn mist wrapped its cold wet shroud around us, as I stepped carefully, lifting the hem of my dress away from the mud and worse. It was only when I saw a gravestone underfoot,

Leichen smothering the etched letters that I realized we had arrived. I raised my head, expectant. The heavy wooden doors of the chapel were flung open. A glimmer of candlelight crept from within. But it was silent, deserted. There's no one here! I exclaimed in surprise. The hold ma had on my arm, the arm that had supported her across the uneven footing of the graveyard, tightened painfully, and she lurched forward with me and toe. Eyes glancing from side to side in the flickering light, wincing at the grip. I wondered who had lit the candles, and where they had gone. Wondered where my husband DeBee was.

Ma dragged me towards the altar. I expected at least to see the priest, a thin, sallow man, who was no less afraid of Ma than the school mistress than anyone else in the village. But the chapel echoed in a way that told me it was truly empty. Just Ma and me. There was a large chalk circle sketched out,

out on the ancient flagstones. Five candles in the pewter holders rimmed the circumference. Something acrid stung my eyes. Some burnt incense or herb, making me feel faint and dizzy. Neil. Ma said, after pulling me deep into the circle,

I looked around for something to rest on to keep the wedding dress clean. Impatient, Ma yanked my arm until I was at her level. Facing her, our knees a half-yard apart, bowing her head as though in solemn prayer, her eyes flicked up, skewering me through gray eyebrows. Lean forward.

She said, I tentatively obeyed, careful not to clash. But Ma reached out and pulled with a strength that did not know she had. The metal crowns touched, interlaced, locked. When I tried to tug my head away, her hand. snapped out and slapped my wrist. Be still, she commanded, Spittle flecking my face. Imprised by her fierce stare.

A scant hand's breath away, my gaze escaped up into the twin nest of wires. I saw the softened skin of her old wound flex and heave. I thought it was a trick of the wavering candlelight. But there it came again, pulsing, moving. acid burnt at my throat, and painfully I swallowed it down. Her hands, old, withered, liver-spotted, settled on my shoulders, seizing me tight. She began to mutter in some foreign tongue, the sound a mixture of hisses and clicks.

The tangled crowns held my head firm, and the motion at the upper edge of my vision kept drawing my eyes back to the emerging horror. When the bulbous, puss-yellow body burst forth, I sobbed, helpless. My limbs weak and trembling. Ma! I cried, my shaking body rattling our conjoined heads. Her voice had fallen silent, and, though her bony arms still gripped me, just as tightly as before, her eyes were fixed blindly in front of her. The fat grub, its segmented body, the size of the size of it.

of a full-grown toad, slimed its way up towards the metal nest. The sickly swollen, pale-colored mass was broken only by a pair of black, curved and serrated pincers that clicked and waved through the air, feeling its way. Ma! I shouted again, and again, over and over, trying to wake her from her stupor. I twisted an arm up between hers to wrench the crown from my head, but the fastenings were too tight. I felt the pull of the laces and stay at my back, and knew I would not be able to remove it without help. As I struggled, the bloated maggot squirming ever forward, questing, questing,

disappearing from view as it crossed into the fronds of the crown I was wearing. Not being able to see it made it worse. I became aware of a sound, a suckling wet gurgle. I wrapped my hand around Ma's fingers tried to pry her off. They were stuck like iron, like gnarled tree roots growing through masonry. I gripped her index finger, levered it desperately away from me. It gave with a sickening crack, and I dry-wetched as I stared in horror at the bent backwards digit. I could remove her hands if I was prepared to break every finger. I blinked away tears and peered into Ma's blank eyes. Did she not know what I'd just done? There had been no scream, no cry, not even a whimper. Was she dead? The wet, soft lump dropped into the top of my head, and I cringed

and twisted and disgust, but the funnel web of metal held the grub snugly in its grip. There was a stab of pain, washed away by a numb, warm feeling that spread like honey through my limbs. Somewhere, far off, I heard rasping, a rusty wood saw in a distant forest. Something warm trickled down the side of my face. Agony, searing pain like nothing I'd ever felt before. Pain that burst from behind my eyes. Flaired the dim candlelight into white-hot lances. Oh, God, the pain and... I looked down. I looked down. at my hands and wonder. So smooth, so young.

The crippling ache of two decades of arthritis gone. Even the memory of time's cruel torment was beginning to ebb away. I reached up, expertly unsnagging the transfer harness, and lowered Ma's inert body to the stone floor. The joy was so overwhelming I could almost dance and sing. The happiest day of my life. With the renewed strength of my youthful body came knowledge. So much knowledge.

I knew the names of all the planets in the solar system, even those invisible to the naked eye. I knew what to say to the terrified priest to stop him from doing something stupid. I knew all the petty little intrigues from the village and beyond. I knew that the coming winter would be a hard one, and how much grain should be set aside. There was much to be done. Things I had let slide as my body aged.

That, fortunately, was no longer an obstacle. True, it was replaced by others. A testing period during which people would doubt, unable to reconcile my youth and my wisdom. I was struggled to be believed, trusted, respected. That too would pass. I would prove myself once again. Had I not been through this many times before?

My head was full of alternate names for the herbs I had picked since I was a child. Names and uses. Instead of knit bone, symphytum aspirum, instead of nightshade, atropa belladonna. I knew which remedies I would need to treat the entry flap high on the crown of my skull. I knew which balms would ease the passage of the mindless husk I had once been. and I knew how to bring about the birth of my replacement, my exact genetic copy, without any need of a father.

Parthenogenesis, the procedure was called. But, as the one lying insensate on the Cole Chapel floor had done, I knew that I would seek other ways, other means. Like her, I lead the process as late as possible, worried that it was cruel, even inhuman. But necessary, not just for me, but for this remote settlement, for the good that my multiple lifetimes experience and knowledge could and would do. And so I knew that one far-off day,

I too would dress my replacement in this gown that I was wearing and marry my ancient mind to her young one. Happy stay of your life, I muttered. the sun filtering through the chapel stained glass as I blew out the candles. Happiest day. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube.

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