Creepy - Somebody Has Been Leaving Notes Around My House & The Fires That Consume Us

Episode Date: September 15, 2022

Somebody Has Been Leaving Notes Around My House. They're Starting To Freak Me Out***Written By: Silvester_Spooly and Narrated By: Alicia Atkins***The Fires That Consume Us***Narrated by: No One Of Consequence and Narrated By: JV Hampton-VanSant***Content Warning: Mention of prison rape***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures 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 books. violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Somebody has been leaving notes around my house. They're starting to freak me out. Written by Sylvester Spooley and narrated by Alicia Atkins. They started innocently enough. Don't forget your keys. Read the first message. scrawled on a sticky note and loopy letters.

It had been left on my fridge door. It immediately grabbed my attention because, at the time, I lived alone. I had no memory of writing it, and the handwriting didn't match mine or anyone I knew. I was slightly perturbed, but wasn't sure how to react. In the end, I just tossed the note and went to work. The second note came a few days later, left on my kitchen counter.

The sticky note was pink this time, but still had the same distinctive loopy handwriting. Make sure to pack a lunch today. Again, I was unsettled. Now, any normal person might have reported this to the police, but during that time I was going through a major depressive spell. I had moved to a new city away from my friends and family, and it started a new job that I quickly realized I hated.

and didn't nearly pay enough. Home was lonely and work was soul-crushing. I had trouble enough getting out of bed each morning, let alone filing a report I'm sure the police would not take seriously. Even more stressed, I crumpled up the note. However, I ended up packing a small lunch for myself. Usually I didn't bother to put in the effort and just ate cafeteria food, but against my better judgment, I fulfilled the wishes of the note.

That day the cafeteria was closed. The main cafeteria fridge had broken overnight, and many of the frozen lunches inside had gone bad. Management thought it would be better to shut it down for the day. A feeling of unease settled in my stomach after hearing the news. It was as if the note had predicted it. The notes continued throughout the following weeks. They would typically show up on random days,

no more than three notes to a day. They were all left in obvious places in my apartment, all on sticky notes and in that unfamiliar loopy handwriting. They began to grow more prophetic. Take I-80 today. There will be a bad accident on your way home. Janet is going to offer you some cookies at the office. Politely decline. They will give you food poisoning.

Marie has been on a diet. Compliment her on her weight loss. She'll end up thinking well. you. Of course, I tested the notes to see if they were accurate. Every time I ignored their advice, whatever it warned against came true. One day a note said to pack an umbrella, and I purposely didn't. It was forecasted to be sunny that day, so any normal person wouldn't think to pack one. But sure enough, I got soaked that evening walking to my car. I was incredibly curious about the notes. There were so many questions I had about them, and those unanswered questions kept festering in my head.

I tried writing notes back in return and leaving them out, but never got a response. I'd speak out loud and ask questions as if, or in case, the note-writer could somehow hear me. But this only made me feel foolish. I'd occasionally make a surprise visit home at odd hours, just to see if I could catch the note-writer leaving their notes. Of course, I never caught them. I tried installing cameras in my apartment, even making sure all the cameras were completely hidden, but the next day I found every single one of the cameras' insides completely torn out and placed on the kitchen table with a single note next to them reading. Never do that again. The note stopped coming after that, which made me deeply

regretful. I had grown accustomed to the notes. I had begun to rely on them even. They had significantly improved my way of life over the last few months, both mentally, financially, and socially. I had actually started making friends at the office thanks to their advice, and for the first time in my life I was even a bit popular. My managers, who before the notes didn't pay much interest in me, now valued my present. and would ask my opinion on projects. It was no secret that was on my way to a promotion. Could I still do that without the notes?

I also valued the notes as a friend, as weird as that sounds, or more like a guardian angel. Wherever they were from, they were always protecting me. Without them, the future was suddenly unknown, dangerous. Every time some mild aneworthy, popped up from that point. From bad traffic to stressful work situations and even a minor

paper cut, I thought about how this all probably could have been avoided if I still had the notes. The next week, a bright green sticky note appeared on my bathroom mirror. Don't forget to call Mom today. It's her birthday. I nearly cried. I decided to sack my investigation and just accept things as they were. Slowly, the fog of my depressive spell began to lift, and I could feel myself returning to how I used to be. My confidence rose, and for the first time in a while I felt in equilibrium with my life. I went out, cracked jokes, and even managed to clean up my apartment. I also managed to get a girlfriend somehow.

Her name was Amanda. I met her at a pub when I was out with my buddies. The best part of all of this is the same. that for some reason she seemed to actually be into me. She was gorgeous, way out of my league, really, with long Auburn hair that reached down her back, with soft brown eyes. Her laugh was lovely,

and the lemon-scented perfume she liked to wear was intoxicating. She was the type of girl you could chat with for hours and never run out of things to talk about. The relationship was still new, so I was trying not to plan our whole future together in my head. But she was so lovable it was hard not to. At some point, I briefly thought about telling her about the notes. I've always wanted to tell someone about it,

but never really had anyone to tell up until now. I decided not to, however, afraid she might think I was crazy. There was no point so early in the relationship making her think I was alone. Plus, I was afraid the notes might stop again. If whoever was leaving them clearly didn't want me looking into them, how would they react if I shared what was happening with somebody? So at the moment, I kept it to myself.

Amanda had a hobby of cooking, and had invited me to her house on Saturday for, in her words, the best fucking spaghetti you'll ever eat. I was pumped since this is the first time I would actually visit her house. I was in a good mood that evening as I was getting ready for the day. date. I hummed to myself happily thinking about how lovely this is going to be and went downstairs to grab my keys. On the kitchen counter was a new hot pink sticky note. I picked it up instinctively. Kill your girlfriend. My brain stopped for a moment. I read it once, twice, a third time.

The words flashing in my brain, but hitting an error every time. I set the note down and gulped, feeling nauseous. Anxiously, I went to my car and started driving. I tried not to think about the note, but the words kept circling in my mind. Kill your girlfriend. The notes have never failed me before, and they were always in my best interest as far as I knew, which was admittedly not much. Maybe they were wrong this time?

Maybe it wasn't meant to be taken, Literally? Kill could be a synonym for break up, right? My mind kept trying to make up poor excuses the whole way there. By the time I arrived, I was a sweaty mess and not a lick calmer. I pulled down my sun visor to check my face, and a bright green sticky note fluttered out. I went cold. The notes had never appeared outside my house before. Hand shaking. I picked up the note and read it. Kill Amanda. Take the gun from your glove box and shoot her.

I looked at my glove box wide-eyed. I did indeed keep a handgun in my glove box for safety purposes. I wanted to puke, to believe this wasn't happening. Again, I ignored the note and walked up to Amanda's house, trying to shake the message from my mind. She answered the door almost. immediately after I rang the doorbell. Hey!

What's up? She said, with a bright smile. But when she saw my face, the smile dropped. You okay, Grace? What's wrong? She said in concern. Nothing, I lied, trying to force a smile. Well, actually, I think I have a bit of a stomach ache.

Come in, come in, she said, ushering. me in. The inside of her house was cute and homely, and she fretted over me wordly as she led me over to her kitchen table. She then took my hand and rubbed it to comfort me. If you're not feeling up to spaghetti, we can always have it another time. Don't worry about it. Do you want any ant acids or something? I smiled. The way she was so concerned for me over a simple stomach egg made me fall in love with her all over again. My heart panged with both love and guilt. The aroma of cook spaghetti was also extremely strong, and even though she said it was fine, I knew it would probably be a bummer for her to pack away all that spaghetti after just making it.

I'm fine, sweetie. I probably have a stomachache because I haven't eaten much today. I was looking forward so much for your spaghetti. Her smile returned again. I always like, loved how fast she smiled at things. Well then, Miss Hungry, let me grab you a bowl. She left for the kitchen. I reclined back inside, sicking my hands in my pockets.

I felt a crinkle of paper. Shit. Shit! I pulled the paper out of my right pocket. Take your chair and bash her head in. I had a hard time controlling my breathing as I stuffed the note back into my right pocket. I also felt paper in my left pocket,

and against my mind screaming for me not to, I pulled it out, realizing that it was actually two notes crinkled together. Shakily, I unwrinkled the first note. Do not eat the spaghetti, drugged. What's that, Grace? Asked Amanda behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I stuffed this. notes back into my left pocket. Oh, I just, um, some notes from work I forgot was in my pocket as all, I said in a weird voice. She frowned, looked like she wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. Here, baby, she said gently, handing me a bowl of spaghetti. It looked heavenly. I wanted to puke. She sat next to me with her own bowl. She rested her head in her hands and looked at me excitedly, expectingly. I stared at her blankly. Well, take a bite, silly, she said, gesturing towards my bowl.

I, um, I'm so, so sorry. I really need to use her bathroom. I jumped up and started looking for her bathroom. She jumped up after me, looking confused. Grace? What's wrong? You've been acting weird. When I found the right door, I went in and locked the door behind me. She kept knocking and knocking. Grace? Seriously, what's wrong with you?

Is the stomachache that bad? Talk to me, Grace, please! I backed up and against the bathroom wall, then sank down to the floor. I pulled out the two notes from my left pocket again. this time reading the second note my heart sank she is not Amanda creepy presents

the fires that consume us written by no one of consequence and narrated by J.V. Hampton, Van Sant The 1980s brought the darkest days I have ever seen but before the darkness I experienced true happiness I was an ex-con working for a logging company in a rural community

that only existed because of logging and mining operations in the area. Her name was Andrea, and she was everything to me. We lived in a small cabin in the woods miles out of town. It was peaceful, our own slice of heaven. Andrea loved to read, fantasy novels mostly. stories of wizards, fairies, and monsters, often with a bright, shining hero. She used to say I was her hero because I gave her the love she so craved. Truth is, she was my savior.

She kept me from being the bad person I was. Her love made me want to be better. We would spend most nights behind the cabin with a campfire. She would read to me as I sat staring at her. I wasn't much for reading, but I love to hear her speak. Often, I wouldn't understand most of what she said. My education level wasn't very high, so I didn't know a lot of words. Some of those nights she wouldn't read from a typical book,

but a green tone she always kept with her. It was old, handwritten, and most of it I couldn't understand, but it sounded beautiful. She said it was filled with the tales of the old ones, of magical beings that haven't been in our world for hundreds of years. It didn't matter to me what it was. As long as I heard her speak, I was happy. The last thing she read to me was from that green tone. and it's a story I can't ever forget. She spoke of a wizard that tried to use magic to find the perfect love for him, but the spells only caused him misery.

So desperately he wanted an heir, but each time he tried, the baby would die before birth. Her last words weren't English, but something much older. We lay by the fire after she finished, and I fell asleep as she cradled my head to her bosom. I woke up to flashing lights, figures appearing in the darkness all around us. Before I could react, they were on me, holding me prisoner. Their clothing wasn't anything I'd ever seen before. Skin tight, black, rough, like bad leather. No two were alike.

Most were completely covered, one with spikes all over. Some had exposed flesh, cold, damp, skin-colored, like pale ash. I couldn't see any of their faces, only eyes and mouths. They wore head coverings that wouldn't even show hair. Two painfully skinny women held Andrea. They wore thin, pale. cloth that matched their skin, giving the impression of nakedness. Their hair was long and stringy, the only part of them that wasn't pale.

They held Andrea as a man approached from the darkness. He was a pale man dressed in dark robes with white hair and a medallion dangling from his neck. I struggled against the three holding me as the man touched her. her face. Hello, Andrea, he said. I've come to answer your call. Without letting her respond, he continued to talk.

He went on about how he searched the planes of existence for the one that would bear him an air. And I realized he's the wizard from the story. You are special, my name. dear. No one from this place has called me back for hundreds of years. He touched a hand to her stomach and sighed. But you cannot bear me a child as you are. I never did find out why he said this, but it wouldn't matter. You may become one of my handmaids to love and serve me until the end of your days. She spat at him and said she has love. I am benevolence. I am light. You do not wish to join with me? He couldn't understand this and grew angry when she laughed. You will perish for your insolence,

whore. I struggled in my captor's grasp as I was forced to watch her. burned to death. The thin women held her by her hands and feet as she struggled over the fire. Through her screams, I was given permission to become who I once was, so I wouldn't suffer the same fate as her. Once her struggles stopped, the three holding me tied me to the nearest tree with barbed wire. The wizard looked down at me. I have taken from you, and the rage inside will only grow stronger. It will take seven days for us to leave this place. If you can track us after you bury your whore,

we shall see if you are fit to become one of my warriors. The wizard and his troop disappear into the trees. They hadn't tied me very tight, but by the time I freed myself, there wasn't much left of Andrea. I dug a hole and buried her smoldering body with tears in my eyes, my inner fire consuming my broken heart. The barbed wire cut my skin, and I tended to the worst of the wounds before gathering my weapons. steel-toe work boots with spikes at the heel for climbing trees, well-worn heavy-duty blue jeans, and the red flannel shirt Andrea loved to wear as a sleep shirt.

My work belt had lots of leather loops on it to hold various hand tools for when I had to cut limbs off of trees before cutting them down. I loaded it with hatchets and other sharp cutting tools. Things that can be easily thrown. As an ex-con, I wasn't allowed to have firearms, but I still managed to become an above-average hunter. I used to use a crossbow for hunting deer and boar. That's how we got our meat back then.

I attached the sharpest arrowheads to my arrows and secured the crossbow to the rack on my ATV. With two full axes and a chainsaw loaded on my back, I set off into the woods. The headlights of my four-wheelers showed the way. My blinding rage fueled my drive. Warriors. That's what the wizard had called them. They were hulking muscled brutes with heavy feet.

Even an amateur hunter could follow their tracks. By this point in my life, I had seen plenty of the horrors humanity had to offer. Growing up alone on the streets abandoned by parents that never wanted me, I had a hard life. With so few options available to me, I got mixed up with the wrong kind of people. Before I could drive, I had robbed and beaten, transported, and distributed drugs, even killed. When I finally got arrested, it was for assault with a deadly weapon, mostly because they couldn't pin anything else on me. While in prison, I was forced to fight a number of inmates simply because they didn't like me. or, in some cases, because they liked me a little too much.

I ended up serving my full sentence and an extra year because good behavior wasn't an option. There was no way I was going to become someone's bitch, and I couldn't put up with anyone's shit. When I finally got released from prison, I decided that I never wanted to see the inside of another jail cell. while inside I cut off all ties with the people I ran with, and since they knew what I was capable of, they left me alone. The only legitimate job I could get was with a logging company, and since I wasn't on parole, I relocated. For the first time in my life, I wasn't in a big city,

but the beauty of nature didn't stop my inner rage at the world. I had to put up with crap from my coworkers because I was the new guy, but it wasn't anything like I had dealt with before. It was tolerable. Just a bunch of guys razzing the newbie, so I put up with it. My goal was to keep my nose clean and not get myself into much trouble. I didn't hang out with the guys much, but spent most nights at the local bar.

The first time I saw Andrea was on my way to work. I stopped at the convenience store for a cup of coffee and a pack of smokes. She was working behind the counter, and as I handed her the cash for my purchases, I looked her in the eyes. I was struck by her, couldn't move a muscle. For as long as I could remember, There was this heat inside me, a seething fire that wanted to lash out at a world that never wanted me and watch it burn.

One look in Andrea's eyes, and I immediately felt that heat begin to cool. To anyone else, she wasn't anything special. Her looks were ordinary, her body's slim and petite, and she hardly spoke. To me, She was a light in the darkness, fresh air after a lifetime spent in pollution. We started running into each other all over town. At the bar after work, the diner I ate at for most dinners, the laundromat, and of course the convenience store. After a week, we started dating, another month and she asked me to move in. She became everything to me.

the very reason to live. For 11 months, I was a new person. Then the wizard came. All of this flashed through my mind as I rode my four-wheeler into the forest. The heat inside had been gone for a long time, but at that point, it was burning hotter than ever. They poured gasoline on the fire, and I was determined to make.

make them burn for it. It only took a few hours for me to catch up to them. I don't think the wizard knew about motorized vehicles, so he didn't figure on me catching up so soon. That's the only reason why I can imagine he would tell me they would be gone in seven days. They weren't being discreet or quiet. I could see the fires of their camp through the trees long before they could hear my engine. I turned it off, put it in neutral, and pushed the rest of the way. I found myself at the tree line of a logging camp. Not the one I worked at, but there were a few in the area. The camp was empty for a long weekend, some federal holiday that even my company gave us off. I counted six warriors, the two handmaids, and the wizard himself.

The warriors were messing about with things in the camp, mostly the handheld equipment like axes, chainsaws, saws. One of them even managed to figure out how to make a chainsaw work. The biggest of them, the one that has his chest and stomach exposed, uses an axe to chop a thick log clean through in one swipe. As for the wizard, he was next to a bonfire getting serviced by his handmaidens. My fire burns hotter, thinking he had wanted my Andrea for the exact same thing. While coming up with a plan of attack, I recalled something in the story Andrea read.

The wizard's magic was very serious. powerful. He could cause the ground to shake and swallow a city whole. His magic could change the weather, turn day into night, call down fire from the skies. He was capable of doing tremendous things, but the magic wasn't quick. Nothing he could throw at an opponent was instant. It took time to say his spells and gather the magic, that's why he has warriors to protect him while he performs spells. If there's one mistake, even a slight word mispronounced or an ingredient mix-up, he has to start from the beginning. One spell can take as much as 20 minutes to perform. This turned out to be a huge advantage, and I think my love for giving me this edge.

Taking aim with my crossbow, I let an arrow fly at the big warrior that takes him right in the throat. As he audibly chokes on his own blood, I start up the ATV and ride it into the camp. Before they can scramble, I managed to smash into one of them, breaking his legs and running over his torso. Wielding one of the axes in my left hand, I bury it in the spiky warrior's back, right into his spine. Glancing at the wizard, I saw his handmaiden standing between us as he began to chant at the table. With everything else to focus on while I was surveying the camp, I somehow overlooked the altar he was working at. Dismounting the A.V., I took up two houses. I took up two hatchets from my belt and ran at one of the remaining warriors. He came at me with outstretched arms,

like he was going to grapple with me. I swung one hatchet up, catching him at the edge just behind the chin. The impact was sudden and disorienting, but the hatchet wasn't sharp enough to go through whatever material the head covering was made of. Not giving him the chance to recover from the initial blow, I swung the other hatchet in an arc, bringing it down on the top of his head. The edges may not have been sharp enough to cut the head covering, but the brute strength of the blow was enough to crush his skull and rupture his throat from the first hatchet. When he fell over, he took the hatchets with him,

and blood poured from the eye and mouth holes of the head cover. I was tackled from behind by one of the remaining warriors. He took us to the ground, but I've grappled with thugs my whole life and managed to roll away out of his grasp. I got to my feet before he could and used the spikes on my work boots to poke holes in his chest. I kicked and kicked, practically dancing on his chest and stomach as he died bloody. I can still remember the gurgling sound coming from his chest, punctured lungs leaking air. and causing blood bubbles to form. As I recall, he actually took the longest to die.

I just left him where he lay. There was one more warrior to deal with. This one wasn't particularly as imposing as the big guy. He was a little taller than me, but skinny. His skin tight outfit covered his entire. body with coils of barbed wire for a belt. But I could see those eyes, black and beady, like a big-ass rat. This is the one that figured out how to operate a chainsaw, and he was revving it in my direction. Quickly I made it over to my ATV and hefted my own chainsaw.

These tools were my livelihood back then. I depended on them to make money, so Andrea and I could live together. I kept them well maintained. Thanks to this, my chainsaw started up on the first pull of the string, and I was ready to do battle. He may have been sporting a 24-inch chainsaw to my 18-inch, but I had experience wielding one. He didn't.

Using them like swords, we slashed at each other. The impact of a revving-growing-lawed. chainsaw slamming into one of your own hands is a frightening experience. But with the adrenaline flowing through my veins like battery acid to fuel my rage, I knew no fear. He swung one last time at me, but I dodged it with ease. The warrior had put so much force into that swing that, when he missed, It caused him to become unbalanced. I took the opportunity to stick my saw into his groin and cut him straight up to the throat.

By the time he hit the ground, I was covered head to toe in blood. There was a crackle of electricity in the air. The wizard was close to completing his spell. I hurled my last hatchet at him, the back end smacking him in the forehead and he fell over. The handmaids ran at me, but with their small frames and thin limbs, I subdued them easily. Using a coil of barbed wire from the last warrior's waist, I bound them together, back to back by the neck.

They struggled and screamed as I pushed them onto the bonfire, unable to gain enough leverage to escape the same fate they subjected Andrea to. The wizard regained himself enough to talk to me as I pushed him toward the chopping block. Why, have you done this? You were to be one of my warriors. You... He lost his voice as I grabbed his cock and cut it off with a knife. He screamed at the unimaginable pain. But at that point, I had grown tired of screams. Shoving his own cock down his throat, I put his head on the block and used my last axe to decapitate him.

I retrieved all of my gear, douse the camp and gasoline, and burned it to ash. I kept the medallion and the wizard's head, which I put on a pike next to the fire pit at home. It took me years to learn how to read the green tome, but I managed it. I spent the remainder of the 80s summoning everything those pages could bring into my world. Each time, I would hunt whatever came, kill it, and put its head on a pike around my fire pit. At least I did if it had a head. Otherwise, I used an appendage of some kind, but those are tales for another time. Still, I will never forget the woman that quelled my fire, but for a little while.

I yearn for the coolness she brought me, the peace and love we shared. I pray, in death, will be reunited. For more information on this podcast, including including how to submit your own story for consideration. Please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons Share-A-like licensing or with written consent from the authors.

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