Creepy - The Autumn Wolf

Episode Date: September 25, 2023

Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Michelle Kane***Content warning: sexual assault***Bonus Episode: "The Wee Small Hours" written by: Travis Burnham***See how you can support 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.

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which the narrators and I are still in the process of working on, so I do apologize for the acoustics at the moment. And as a note, there will be all kinds of subject matter presented. So please make sure to keep an eye out on content warnings as needed. Which is also a good time for me to say that, well, sometimes this podcast deals with sensitive subjects, such as abuse, assault, and suicide. Please understand that this is not our condoning such actions.

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graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents Autumn Wolf Written by Noon of Consequence and narrated by Michelle Kane.

I'm not much of a people person. Growing up in a big city taught me enough about humanity and that it shouldn't be trusted. It went beyond the typical bully bullshit in school and stereotypical teenage behavior. My brother, Victor, was a star athlete douchebag and physically abused me when I'd refused to do his homework. I'm two years older, but I've always been a slender willow of a girl. I couldn't fight back against him. When Victor became a senior, year in high school, I was still living at home and going to the local university. My father runs a

major telecom company and offered to get me a place near campus, but I didn't want that. Despite having my brother around, staying home was still the safer choice. At least it was until Victor was in danger of failing English. I made the mistake of refusing to do anything for him ever again. get kicked off the team and fail his senior year for all I cared. Victor was the varsity quarterback and had scouts sniffing around him. He found my response to be unacceptable. And his team agreed. I was in my room working on an essay when he burst in with a couple of his teammates.

They pinned me to the ground, tied me up and threw me in the back of a van. I don't know exactly where they took me, but it was a dark place with a bench and restraints. Victor stood by and watched as the entire varsity team gang raped me. When I squeezed my eye shut, they slapped me until I opened them. The first time I refused to take one of them into my mouth, they started hitting me with clothes fists. I tried to bite that dick off, and the result was more than just repeated punches. They added in anal abuse. When they finally had their fill, I was doused in ammonia to contaminate all the DNA evidence covering me. Then they dumped me on the street outside a hospital,

not the emergency room driveway. Victor reminded me. that he was our parents' favorite child, and they wouldn't help me if I told them what happened. A few days later, he visited me in my hospital room and brought me my laptop. Victor expected an A-plus essay for me for his English midterm. He promised an encore performance if I didn't comply, and next time wouldn't be so gentle.

The fact that I didn't have any brinkered, broken bones proves they did hold back. I wrote Victor his essay, but I also knew that he never read what I did for him. By the time the paper was read by his teacher, I was back home. My father thought the attack on me was done by a rival company, a terror tactic for a big deal he was working against. Since I didn't admit the truth, he hired a private security detail to watch over the house. Victor didn't know this when he burst into my room with all the subtlety of an elephant's stampede. Hell bent on murdering me.

A police investigation was now open because in the middle of his midterm essay, I explained exactly what they did to me. Security detained Victor, and I explained absolutely everything to my parents. For years, I thought Victor was right when he said our parents' favored him. That's why I didn't tell them about the abuse before. My mother held me, as the two security guards held Victor, and she explained. My parents didn't favor Victor over me, but they did overcompensate due to the circumstances of his birth. When I was only a year old, there was an attempted hostile takeover at my father's company. The rival at the time kidnapped me and my mother

in order to get him to cave. As extra incentive, the bastard raped my mother and promised it would happen every day my father didn't give in. He impregnated my mother, and the entire incident was kept quiet. Mostly, because the security team my father hired, found where they were keeping us and killed everyone involved.

As for the man that raped my mother, father strangled him to death. with his bare hands, and eventually absorbed his company. After this unexpected explanation, my father beat Victor within an inch of his life, and then threw him downstairs. He didn't die, and after six years, he's still rotting in prison, along with the entire varsity football team and their coach. The room they took me to, with the bench and the restrained, the coach set all that up for them.

Since then, I've become a recluse, and in the last five years, I've only come into contact with three people. Father bought me a house on 500 acres in the middle of nowhere. He also hired a lovely woman named Evelyn to be my personal assistant. But she's really more like a personal shopper that runs errands, too. Anything I need, she brings to the house, sometimes not even seeing me since I go on long walks. Evelyn is also a trauma counselor.

For those rare occasions, I feel the need to talk. Honestly, I think it's been three years since I've spoken about Victor. My parents try to come and see me at least once a month, but I always try to avoid it. The most they'll allow me to push it off is two months. It's not like they stay long or overnight. Mostly they arrive for brunch, stay through at late lunch or early dinner, and leave. We do this for two days, and they say they're staying at a hotel nearby. In order to get to my property, you have to travel across two other properties and at least four gates.

Wouldn't surprise me if my parents own at least one of those properties and have a security detail living there. They haven't been able to shed their guilt over Victor's abuse, but it was my fault for waiting so long to tell them. The oppressive summer heat has finally been replaced by something more than 20 degrees cooler. Early morning is a little chilly, but the days are absolutely breathtaking with the leaves turning colors. I love the greens, but watching the trees turn red, orange, and yellow puts a smile on my face. Weather like this requires a break in the normal routine. I put together a small backpack on most days and go walking for hours. Sometimes I take my sketchpad and find a shady tree to sit under and draw what I see.

Other days, I carry my digital camera and look for beautiful things to photograph. Some days, all I take is my everyday gear. Three water bottles, trail mix, some jerky, and my handgun. Wild animals of all kinds roam freely on my acreage. I'm a decent hunter, but deer and the like aren't why I carry a gun everywhere. Snakes are a big concern, but there are much larger animals around. I carry a 357 magnum revolver with a three-inch barrel. Half the cylinder is loaded with hollow points, and the other half holds some scattershot shells.

The hollow points are to scare off any large animal, but with stop, power if I need to put them down. The scatter shot is kind of like birdshot, but designed to fit the smaller caliber. They are primarily used for snakes, rodents, and other small varmint. Don't get me wrong, I'm not all into guns, but I do have a few. Living out here, they're a bit of a necessity. Sure, I could avoid the snakes while I'm out walking, but they find their way to the house, like all the animals do. There have been times when I've walked out my front door and found a copperhead

on the porch. The first few times it happened, I used the double barrel shotgun, but that powerful weapon does a lot of damage to the porch. After replacing several planks, I looked into a better alternative. Evelyn practically demanded a counseling session when I asked her to get me the revolver. She thought I was regressing into my paranoia again, but after explaining about the snake situation, she ended up getting one for herself. Loneliness is one of the issues I've developed, but after what happened, I can't bring myself to meet new people. As a result, I kind of strained my relationship with Evelyn by accidentally coming on to her. I didn't even realize what I had done until she informed me that engaging in sexual activity

would be highly inappropriate. That was a month ago, and I've been so embarrassed I only contact her with shopping lists. She's been to the house about six times, and I've been on a walk every time she drops off my things. I'm so glad my father convinced me to let Evelyn have a key

and her own set of security codes. This way, she can put the groceries away and they don't get spoiled. I go entire weeks without uttering a single word, and when I do, I don't always recognize my own voice. Lately, I've been talking to the animals I see on my walks. My favorite tree to sit under is home to a family of chipmunks. Sometimes I share my trail mix with them, and they've become friendly. I can't pick them up, but they'll take the treats right. right from my hand. The big one is reaching for the nuts and grain in my hand, but stop short.

It turns its head to the side and sniffs the air. Immediately it scurries around the tree and the others follow. My hand goes for the revolver, but I freeze when I hear the growl. Slowly turning my head, I see a big black wolf standing 20 yards from where I sit. For as long as I've lived here, Here, no wolf has gotten close enough for me to identify their gender, and this big male looks hungry. Easing the revolver out of the holster, the wolf launches itself at me. As quick as I can, I aim the pistol and pull back the hammer. The wolf stops dead in his tracks like it somehow knows what I'm pointing at its face. In those few seconds, it managed to close the distance between us by half.

But with a hair trigger, if it takes one more step in my direction, I'll fire before it can get me. I've always liked wolves. They are beautiful creatures, majestic in their way, and I don't want to kill it if I don't have to. A bark from the right startles me, nearly causing me to pull the trigger. Another wolf is approaching, but I keep my eyes locked to the one in front of me. If I break eye contact, this could all be over. The second wolf approaches, not me, but the other wolf. I watch as it nudges the first one, and it responds by growling.

This time, the new wolf rams the first with its head, and eye contact is broken. What I witness next is a rather heated exchange between the two. I keep my revolver pointed in their general direction, but ease my finger off the trigger. After what seems like several minutes, the black wolf growls at me one more time and trots off. Nothing I know can explain what just happened, but it appears the second wolf saved me from the black one.

My revolver is still out, but pointed at the ground. The wolf sits a few yards away and just stares at me. while the other looked at me with hunger, this one looks at me with green eyes that disarm my worries. I don't know how I know, but she isn't going to hurt me. Her coloring isn't like any other wolf I've seen. The underside is that typical white that most wolves have and the back is a dark brown. What astounds me is the fur around her head. orange and red fur is typically found on foxes, but this wolf is sporting it like it's natural.

If she were to lay among the leaves, her body could blend in with the dirt, and her head could match the fallen leaves. This wolf with fur mimicking autumn colors just saved me from having to shoot the black wolf. More likely I'd have missed and been mauled, but I'm keeping those thoughts at bay for a moment. Those green eyes are soulful. It's like it understands how I'm feeling. She lays down, but keeps her head up, eyes never leaving me. I put the revolver down and don't know what to do next. If she were a dog, I'd take a piece of my jerky out and give it to her. Actually, that's not a bad idea. I slowly reach into my backpack, take out the Ziploc bag, and fish out a piece of dried meat. She cocks her head to the side, as I'm a little bit. I slowly reach into my backpack, take out the backpack, I hold it out, but she makes no move to come closer. This is how it was with the chipmunks in the beginning, so I toss it to her. My aim is better than I thought because it lands directly in front of her. She sniffs at it a couple times, looking back at me with puzzlement.

I take a small piece and bring it to my nose. After giving it an exaggerated sniff, I put it in my mouth and begin to chew. Beef jerky isn't something you eat quickly, and after a thing, few minutes of chewing on it, I swallow. As if the wolf was waiting for this, she picks up the meat with her teeth and begins to eat. I have an urge to approach her and feel that gorgeous fur, but I don't. It would ruin the whole experience if she turned around and bit me after saving me from the black wolf. Once the jerky is eaten, the autumn-colored wolf stands up, gives me a soft bark, and trots off. Part of me wants to

head back to the house and meet Evelyn so I can share this experience. By the time I get back, she'll have put away my groceries and left. Just as well, a bigger part of me is still incredibly embarrassed and doesn't want to see her. Instead, I continue my walk, keeping an eye out for the Black Wolf. It's not the relaxing day I imagined, but it was exciting and thought-provoking. I can't stop thinking about the those green eyes and how they seem to understand me. Humans are barely able to. How could a wolf?

A couple days later, I go for another walk, but with a very specific destination in mind. My weather app claims it's going to be in the 80s, a little warm for this time of year, but probably the last opportunity I'll have to go swimming. The pond is a two-hour hike from the house, and even though it's brisk this morning, it'll heat up before too long.

All the same, I take a travel mug with coffee and a little whiskey to enjoy on the way. I absolutely love this time of year, cool mornings, mild afternoons, and at night I can sit outside and have a nice fire going. Even if my life hadn't been so horribly brutalized, I'd still have liked to experience this. Living free of a world oppressive with other people, their beliefs and desires being their main concern, not caring about anyone, but themselves. That part of the world can go fuck itself. Okay, maybe the whiskey is hitting a little hard. I am a lightweight, after all.

The day does warm up, and I shed my red flannel shirt. About a mile from the lake, I see the black wolf through the trees. I knew bringing a steak sandwich was a bad idea, but the slab of beef had been too big to eat in one sitting. After a few minutes, I hear some barking, and the black wolf stops following me at a discrete distance. In fact, it stops following me completely. The barking I heard didn't come from him, so it must have been the autumn wolf, warning him off. Emerging from the forest, I marvel at the view. distant mountains reflect on the surface of the water,

and I bask in the joy of my little paradise. Soft foothfalls from behind alert me to the presence of another, and I begin to suspect that I won't be alone in these woods ever again. To my delight, it's my new friend. Hello, Autumn, I say giving her the only name I can think of, walking over to the large rock that protrudes into the water, I take off my backpack and sit down. Autumn walks closer to me, almost within touching distance. Would you like part of my sandwich? The mention of food has her panting and excitement. I take out two

baggies, one with my sandwich and the other with leftover steak slices. I had hoped to see her again, and I wanted to be able to offer something better than jerky. Taking a piece of steak out, I place it on my palm and extend my hand out. stepping closer, she sniffs the meat and takes it right from my hand. We do this a few more times with each piece she gets closer to me. When she's close enough that I don't have to reach out far, I touch her flank with the back of my hand. After we've gone through both bags and I got to eat half my sandwich, Autumn is not only allowing me to fully pet her, but hug her too. It's almost like how I imagine having a dog would be, but she's no mere pet.

I feel connected to her in a way I've never experienced with another living creature on any number of legs. She lays with me on the rock, listening to me talk about this and that, about the large tree near the house that fell over last year and how I'm turning it into firewood. I wish more than anything you could talk, I tell her. Having a talking female wolf for a companion would help with my loneliness and satisfy my desire to stay away from other people. When the sun is at his highest, I strip off my clothes and get into the water. It's still cold, but after sunning with the warm furry body pressed against me, it feels wonderful. Autumn watches me from the rock for a while, before moving further along the water's edge.

She goes behind some tall grass as I dive. down, another of my attempts to reach the bottom. As I resurface, I don't see autumn behind the grass, but a pale, naked woman. She's average height and thin with sleek, fine muscles. I don't have any mirrors in my house, but I've caught my own reflection enough times to know this woman looks an awful lot like me. The major difference I see is her hair. While my short hair is a brown so dark it borders on being black, the other woman has long red hair with orange and blonde highlights. Despite the friendly smile and gentle wave, I'm startled by the sudden appearance of another human being. It doesn't matter that I find her quite striking in her nudity. It's another person

close by while I'm naked and vulnerable. Swimming back to the rock as quickly as I can, I pull myself out of the water. Autumn is suddenly there, staring at me in confusion. Her head cocked to the side. I look over to the woman, but she's disappeared. Reaching for my towel, I unfold it to reveal my revolver. Autumn sees this and gives a little growl at it. Don't worry, Autumn. It's not for you. The wolf calms and stands guard while I dry off. For the rest of the day, Autumn walks by my side. Every so often I'll hear yips and barking from further in the forest. Autumn barks back or howls and we're left alone. My knowledge of wolves is limited, but I don't think this is normal.

It's very different from dogs in a neighborhood barking. There is a more purpose to it, a level of communication that mimics human speech patterns. I talk to her about all my curiosities and concerns about what's happening. and in her own way, she responds. A time or two, I swear, I hear a voice, but it's tiny and far away. I try to ignore it, even if it does answer some of my queries. As we come out of the forest and to the 20 clear acres around my house, Autumn stops.

She sits at the tree line, as if she is only with me as long as I'm in the forest. You don't want to come up with me? She turns to look back the way we came, and I can hear the sounds of the other wolves. There's maybe two hours of sun left, and prey animals are going to start coming out. Basically, she's telling me it's dinner time. Okay, but I'll be sitting by the fire tonight if you'd like to join me. Autumn gives me a little bark before going off. Not sure if that's a yes?

While eating dinner, I look over my last batch of photos from a week ago. As I swipe through, something catches my attention. It's a wide-angle shot of a cluster of trees. The multiple colors of the turning leaves was awe-inspiring. Zooming in on the base of the trees, the image becomes distorted, but it almost looks like a woman is standing just to the side of the trunk. Maybe half a head is visible, but the hair color looks remarkably like the woman by the pond. I think my eyes are playing tricks on.

me. The second glass of wine I'm sipping may have something to do with that. Scrolling through more photos, I again catch sight of something odd in a large scenery shot. Laying at the base of a tree is autumn. Her coloring making her nearly invisible in the turning leaves. Both the wolf and the woman continue to appear in my photos, going back as far as a year before I stopped scrolling. I've got a large fire roaring in the pit behind my house. Sitting on a double bench, a sniffter of whiskey in my hand, I contemplate a cigarette. I quit last year. A disgusting habit I picked up after Victor ruined my life. Sipping the liquid fire, I hear soft footfall's approach, and I let the blanket around my shoulders

fall. If I'd known you were coming this way, I would have had a rope for you. I hand the blanket to the naked woman from the pond. I wanted you to see who I used to be, who I could be, for you. She takes the blanket and wraps it around her beautiful body. You've got questions. I try not to sound bitter when I say, no shit. Autumn has been watching me for a few years. As a lugauru, French for werewolf, she can take on a traditional. wolf form and lives in a pack that has taken residence on my property. The Black Wolf, their male leader, wanted to kill me and claim my land, but Autumn convinced him not to. Killing me would only bring more humans with guns and they'd be forced to flee. This was four years ago, and she's

been keeping the dominant male away from me this whole time. She has watched me recoil from the foul stench of humanity and rebuild myself in the loving embrace of nature. Autumn saw my strength renew and fell in love with me, wishing she could be strong like me. The dominant has been growing and patient as of late. The longer a lukaru is in their animal form, the further from their human nature they get. That black wolf is so far removed from his humanity that he can't fully return to human form. What he can do is become something in between, larger and stronger than either form. His mentality has become so animalistic that all he wants to do is mate and hunt. As the dominant, he has a right to every female in the pack.

This appears to not be enough for him any longer. If Autumn won't let him eat me, then I am to be turned and become another bit. for him to mate with. Autumn doesn't want this for me or to be at the dominance mercy anymore. She wants to be rid of him and for the pack to live in peace with me. I find myself wanting this too. This is the longest I've spent with another person in years and unlike all my other interactions, I don't want this one to end. A tremendous roar comes from the edge of the forest. cutting our little love fest short. He's come to take you, Autumn says,

and the dominant doesn't care about consent. Even so far removed from the world, I am still having to deal with male chauvinistic bullshit. I don't have much time before the black wolf shows up. I run inside and grab what I can. Not to run away, but to fight. Before now, I think. thought I was still the scared, intimidated girl that let her brother take advantage of her.

Lately, I've been enjoying my life more, and having autumn has brought me something I never thought I could have, a companion. I'm not going to let some mentally defective werewolf stand in the way of exploring where this new relationship could take me. This is my fucking land, and I'm the dominant bitch here. I hate to admit it, but I cringe when I see the monster. Standing at six feet tall, the humanoid wolf sports a surprising amount of muscle. Pointy ears poke out above his mane of coarse black hair, those dull blue eyes sparkling with unwarranted rage. He doesn't see a woman standing defiant before him, but another creature to own. It surprises me that Autumn was able to keep him away from me for so long. With a double-sided axe in one hand and a machete and a sheath on my

right, I stared down the dominant. Catching movement out of the corner of both eyes, I see the rest of the pack taking position around us. Autumn stands at my back and lets me know the others won't interfere. This is a fight between the two of us and any interference will result in a unified attack. The pack may not like their leader, but still abide by the rules of their culture. An interesting fact about werewolves, moonlight and silver, mean nothing to them. In an attempt to intimidate me, the dominant takes a slow step toward me and lets lose a howl that has my ears ringing. As a response, I pull out my revolver and fire all six bullets in quick succession. At least two whiz passed him, but the other four take him in the

stomach, chest, and one hits him square in the leg. The hollow points don't seem to phase him much, and he bears those yellow teeth as he charges. Replacing my gun with the machete, I charge with my blades. Using the tactics I've learned from watching Viking shows, I fight with the ferocity of a shield maiden. The dominant swipes at me with outstretched claws, and I try to block with the machete. Swinging the axe, I clip his shoulder, but a claw makes it inside my defenses and rakes me across the ribs. The pain is sharp, but the adrenaline helps me work past it. With brute strength, the dominant shoulder checks me, sending me flying. I land hard, and the wind is knocked out of me. Before I can recover, he's on top of me, his breath hot and in my face. Our fight is exciting him, and it's

evident by his exposed erection. If I don't stop him, he'll take me right here in front of the whole pack. In this moment, I don't see the wolf's face, but Victors. He smirks me like he always did, telling me that I am his to do with as he pleases. The wolf's teeth clamped down on my shoulder and I scream. His jaw is like a vice threatening to break my bones. Frantically, my hands scratch at his canine face until I find his eyes. Without hesitation, I push my thumbs into those soft, squishy orbs. He howls in blinding pain, letting me go. and stumbling backward. My axe is just within reach,

and I swing it wide with my good arm. The axe sinks into the back of the dominant's neck, stuck in bone. Keeping hold of the handle, I pick up my machete and raise the blade above my head. He fucked with the wrong bitch, I say, and deliver the final blow.

I don't decapitate him. It takes more strength to do than what I have left. But I do sever the artery. The dominant dies while choking on his own blood. Autumn holds me as we sit by the fire. The pack drags their former later his body off, probably to eat it. I don't know what my future will be like, but I can already feel myself changing. My wounds have stopped bleeding on their own.

I will be one of the Lou Grue. And it'll be a hell of an adjustment. adjustment, if I survive at all. Without him by my side, all things are possible. For your bonus episode, creepy presents, the wee small hours, written by Travis Burnham. I'm sitting at the top of the cellar stairs in my son Connor's abandoned house. Shotgun across my lap, trying to atone for a host of sins. Besides a 12-gauge, my son's dog, Hell 9,000, and two thermuses of coffee are my only companions.

Along the cellar doors frame are long-gouged furrows and dark stains. I've kept Conner's place up, but I've never liked to stay long or think about what those stains mean. I look after Hal, too. He's a pit bull-terror rescue in all heart. My name's Jessup. After 38 years a drink, I'm one year sober. Before I was straight, I made just about every mistake parenting in otherwise that one could make. Too much time trucking, bundled out on the big road crossing from bikini to Bean Town to the left coast,

and the time at home lost in an alcohol haze. It was a year ago today that my son and his wife disappeared. He'd said, There's something in our house coming to kill Jenny and me. He rambled on about some book he'd been reading that he'd found nailed to a cellar support beam with a rusty railroad spike. The book had been written in Old Irish, a language he had no business being able to read.

He said they, came once a year at the winter solstice, and there was no escaping them. I put Sinatra as the wee small hours on the record player, and Frank began crooning about loneliness and lost love. It was whistling in the graveyard, but Frank was doing it for me. The dark hours were always the toughest for me. When my regrets came knocking on my door and I started getting a thirst to forget those regrets, I'm not one for believing crazy

But it was more believable than the alternative Police said that Connor had murdered Jenny Which was unimaginable He loved Jenny like radials love the interstate They never found her body Just enough blood to suggest she hadn't survived the loss Connor was never found On the Lamb they said

Hell was here at the house that night, out in the backyard, broke four claws and chipped a tooth trying to get in. Barked himself hoarse and his vocal cords never recovered. I have a thousand times more respect for him than I do the cops. At least he tried. He's been my rock ever since. So if Conner's day came once a year, then Hal and I will be waiting right here for him. I hadn't been a good dad. Least I could do was Clear Connor's name.

I took a sip of coffee as midnight came and went without leaving a forgan address. Some minutes later, a loathed rum ran through the house. Probably a big truck going by on 95th Street. A come-apar, B-Series Anja and judging from the rattle. Cats fought somewhere off in the distance, howling like demons. Then something upstairs fell and broke. Slow and calm I eased up to stairs. Shotgun in the lead.

Hal at my side. Searching. I finally found a pile of broken glass on the bathroom floor. A broken frame and picture resting in the wreckage. The picture was Connor and Jenny on their honeymoon. Grinning like fools with tropical drinks. beach and ocean in the background. Jenny was good for him.

Kept him on his meds. She was an angel that one. That same year, Connor had gotten his company up and running, making websites or something. I'd never told him all proud I was of him. Not even sure I ever told him I loved him. I glanced in the mirror and Connor was looking out at me. I punched the breath out of my chest. He looked deformed, hunched, and feral.

I blinked and he was gone. Coffee jitters. One coffee thermos was a dead soldier, but the other was safe for me. No more go-go juice. Ever since sophomore year of college, Conner had had some trouble with hearing voices that weren't there. Doctors had some fancy words for what ailed him, but I didn't put much stock in that. Thought he maybe just lost touch a little bit. I'd had days like that.

His mom, too. Still, I'd been drunk, and had only in hindsight seen how earnest my son had been. The next day he and Jenny were gone. I failed Connor when he was a kid. because Budweiser and Johnny Walker sure as hell hadn't raised him. And I failed him again when he asked for help and wrote it off. When 12.15 a.m. came. I heard some scraping and scratching in the walls. Rats?

Hell didn't bark. Just watch the wall with his eyes. But the noise put my nerves on edge. I turned the Sinatra. up. As the night ground on, the decision to quit the sauce a year ago seemed like a terrible idea. The noises wouldn't quit. It got louder even when I pounded on the walls, so I grabbed a boning knife from the kitchen and rammed it through the sheet rock, aiming for the noises. Hal barked this time, but it almost seemed like he was barking at me. I rammed the knife home again and again, high and love.

until finally I got something. The thing pinned and thrashed against the blade. Blood spilled out from the wounded wall. A lot more blood than a rat holds. A weak muffled moan from inside the wall asked, Why? I yanked the knife out. I knew the voice.

My knees went liquid. Hal whimpered. I splayed my hand against the wall. Jenny? There was a slithering from the bottom of the wall as something slipped away. The frame of the entire house groaned. A low and deep grumbling that started in the cellar and worked its way up through the bones of the house. Settin my shattered nerves even more on edge.

Feeling weak, I dropped back in my chair near the cellar door. my fingers flexing, keenly feeling the smooth, cool absence of a whiskey tumbler. The stairs creaked, and then again, as something ascended from this thick black dark. I level both shotgun barrels at the landing of the stairs. Someone stepped up. Curly black hair run through the gray. The stench of decay washed out of the doorway. And then with another step, a face came into view.

My green eyes, the voice was gravely, full of broken glass. There was a low echo in his voice, as if there were other people whispering the same word in the background. The faint trace of Jenny's voice spoke among the quiet cacophony. Connor, I replied. Something got in my eye and ran the cuff on my sleeve. across my face to clear it. Hell give a low wine in the back of his throat. Jenny and I are with them now, Connor said. Even greater than my terror broke my heart

thinking of them alone with these things. He took another step up and closer. His skin was putrid and swollen. His left arm was a mass of tentacles. His right knob. His right knob. and clawed. Things rise beneath the fabric of his clothes. The last set I'd seen him wearing. Using the shotgun as a cane, I levered myself to my feet. I raised a shotgun, cursing my treasure, shaking hands. My breathing was fast, labored.

I swallowed, hard, or held out his hand. Hey, Mr. 9,000. His nickname for Hal. Hal moved forward before I could grab his collar. He sniffed Connor's gnarled hand, waked his tail. Didn't dogs have advanced senses? Was Hal seeing something that I wasn't? The tentacles slithered around Hal and then into him,

pushing to his eye sockets. burrowing into his ears, into the shadows, absorbed with not even a whimper. I wasn't ready for that. I screamed and fired two shells into the ceiling. Plaster sprayed everywhere. I wanted to shoot Connor, shoot myself. Join us, Dad. I wouldn't fail Connor again.

I only believed in booze and myself before, but that had just left me. lonely and broken. I grip my teeth. I love you, Connor. I threw down the shotgun, yelling as I charge four to embrace my son and rejoined my family. The razor tentacles slip beneath my skin and wound their way through my veins. One slid into the back of my skull,

and my vision burned white as sweet, hot pain exploded through my body. Sense of belonging. Throbbed through my body. me. Echoing with every pulse, I'd never leave my family again. 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. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons Share-A-Life licensing, or with written consent from the authors.

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