Creepy - The Blue Channel & I Got A Message From My Mother For The First Time In Over A Decade

Episode Date: August 11, 2022

The Blue Channel***Written by: Matt Richardsen and Narrated by: Jimmy and Olivia Ferrer***Content warning: Child violence***I Got A Message From My Mother For The First Time In Over A Decade. I'm Not Sure How She Got My Number, But I Know That It's Her- And I Know That She Is Coming***Story Link: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/vt9sbf/i_got_a_message_from_my_mother_for_the_first_time/***Written By: olivi_ _ and Narrated By: Alicia Atkins***Content Warning: Abuse, Trauma***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 pastors 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 The Blue Channel Written by Matt Richardson and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. Will you watch with me? 3 a.m. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. My toddler, Olivia, stared back at me. It's the middle of the night, baby.

What are you watching? She frowned. The Blue Channel. Will you watch with me? Please? My wife rolled over and grunted a mush combination of ha, and what's that? Sounded more like a huaha? She fumbled for her phone and fought with the sheets.

She sighed, as if to let me know of the effort, and I kissed her on the cheek. Go back to bed, babe. I got this one. I couldn't see anything. But Olivia reached out and grabbed my hand, and off we went. She led me into the hallway with a gleeful little hop step that shook the floor. I flipped the light switch on by the bathroom. Nothing happened.

Powers out, I grumbled. No television tonight. Livy wailed. A TV stone works. It does. Come see, Dada. Come see. Rain pelted the windows.

Wind whistled through the cracks. A major storm hit our small town in the valley. They closed the schools. My office shut down, too. The meteorologists predicted three inches of accumulation. I can remember the gut- aching stress that the news caused us about the house, about the cars, about everything. When you're a kid, bad weather is exciting, but when you're a parent, you worry. You always worry.

Time for bed. But the blue channel is still on, Olivia pouted. Really? Even without the powder, power. It still works. I want to watch it together. Will you watch it with me, please? I groan.

Okay, sure. Let's go look. Hurry, though. She took off with an overloaded diaper so low, it almost skidded across the ground. That overworked peopened. A piece of cloth reminded me that she was still just a little kid, regardless of how big she sounded. I loved everything about her at her age.

We got to change her dive, kiddo. I was watching, she interrupted. And they said they wanted to talk to you. I stopped her. Who wants to talk to me? She smiled. The Blue Channel. It's a kid's show?

Yeah. And it's on at night? Only at night. And they want to... They want to talk to me? I don't know if it was a shock of everything, or just my general clumsiness. But a nail between our old floorboards cut my pinky toe at just the right angle. And I shouted out.

Fuck! Just before my three-year-old pushed me. That's right. She actually pushed me. Da-da. No. The man on the Blue Channel said no cussing. Never ever cuss.

It's inappropriate and rude, and you should know better as an adult. I was astonished. I couldn't believe her tone. She was so articulate, so angry, so adult. Reaction totally caught me off guard. I'm sorry, honey. You're right. She turned and marched towards her room without another word.

I followed. We quickly found the source of the issue. The only light in the house, a blue one, trickled out from underneath her door. Told you. I flicked the other switches a couple of times, just to be sure, but nothing else responded. I thought about the cause. I tried to wake myself up at the same time. Olivia took the lag as an opportunity to move.

She darted ahead and pushed open the door. Wait, hon. The entire corridor became engulfed in blue. Our pictures, the blinds, the wallpaper. Everything had a blue tent to it. Even my daughter. At the time, I blamed the strength of that light on the fact that all the others were out. I couldn't think of any other cause.

Do you believe me now? I found the television right up where we left it, up against the far wall next to the dresser. The blue channel was nothing more than a blank screen. You might recognize it, depending on your age, because it's one of those you had to be there things. If an old television can't get signal from a cable box, it'll show a blue screen with input one or something written on top. Totally normal. Another mystery blamed on bad technology. Sure. I still couldn't figure out how that damn thing drew power.

I traced the cord to the wall and kicked out the plug. The screen stayed blue. I messed with the knobs on the front, nothing changed. I gave the side one good smack before my daughter grabbed my hand and shouted, clearly. No, Dada, no, do not touch that TV. She punched me. I couldn't believe it. This wasn't play-fighting.

This was real anger. Her eyes were determined. Her voice so shrill. She shrieked like a banshee. She aimed tiny little fists of fury in places. She shouldn't know would yield results. It disturbed me. Even then.

My kid knew not to punch people, let alone dad. She never did this type of stuff. Not my olive. Honey, stop it. She hit me again. Why aren't you listening? I snapped. Do you need to go to timeout? She whimpered and pointed at the television.

The man wanted to introduce himself to you. She sniffed. Before the ceremony. What man? Suddenly, the screen flickered. A picture of a stage appeared. Honey? What man?

Olivia pointed at the TV. Watch. An applause track echoed without an audience. Five figures emerged from behind a velvet curtain. They all wore masks with black clothes and black hats so you couldn't see much. But the first one was the biggest, and they all seemed to get shorter in height from there. The guests paraded in single-file line towards the front of the stage. The imaginary audience cheered.

The group found their way to the same. five planted wooden chairs towards the back and sat down. The audience grew quiet. Suddenly, movement backstage. A man in a rabbit mask walked out. He looked lost at first and then confused. Then altogether shocked by the presence of a camera. The audience laughed at his dismay.

He smiled and twirled his mustache a bit. He held his hands back and flexed. Then he danced back and forth with knees up and elbows high. The audience roared with appreciation. Took a bow and nearly fell down. Even Olivia chuckled at that bit. Is that the man? She ignored me.

I turned up the volume. Rabbit Masked parked himself on the highest chair, above the other participants. and posed with one leg on top of the other, as if interviewing them. He pulled out a set of index cards. He dropped one of the floor and fell down, picking it up. Audience laughed again. This is weird. Olivia slugged my shoulder, and the clapping stopped.

Group of characters stared blankly ahead. The man stayed still. After what felt like an eternity, but could have been. moments. When rabbit masks leaped from his chair and pounced forward, the audience gasped. He approached each of the guests one by one and peeled back their masks, slowly, as if revealing a prize. First up was a teenage boy with blonde hair, then a younger one with dark skin, then two little redheads. Finally, a boy not much older than Olivia. I, I studied their faces. They all look scared. Petrified would be a better word for it. The oldest looked

like you wanted to say something. But he didn't. Olive, who are they? Silence again, from my daughter and from the Blue Channel. This time, we waited for at least a full minute. Okay, bedtime. Out of nowhere, rabbit masks rushed forward and grabbed the camera. He stared into it, at us. I mean he really looked at us. His eyes were a crystal kind of blue. His lips were a dark red. His teeth were chipped and crooked in the back, but admirably straight in the front. And when he laughed, his tongue flicked out, almost like a snake's. Why is he doing that? Don't. Don't talk, Daddy. Why not? What is he going to do? Watch. Rabbit Mask let go of the cameraman. He marched back and forth with his hands on his hips, as if insulted by my insolence.

The children beside him giggled in unison, but they weren't smiling. Olivia, I stammered. Honey? Rabbit Mask hopped to one foot and held his other. Then he fell. and sobbed like a baby. The audience howled with laughter. I felt my face grow red. Were they laughing at me? What happened earlier? This isn't funny. My daughter giggled, but her face didn't seem to smile. She just stared ahead at the television. Man stopped his whining. He regained composure. He mined the steps of checking his breast. He'd mind the steps of checking his breath against an imaginary watch as he sat neatly again in his wooden high chair. We need to turn this off, sweetheart. Do you know how? I fiddled with the plug again. Nothing happened.

I turned the dials, nada. I kicked the side of the television, and when Olivia tried to grab my foot, I held her, gently, to the side and kicked it some more. You're missing it, she shrieked. You're missing the best part. I turned to look, if only for a little. There was a countdown of sorts displayed on the screen. The first word was one. The camera panned a rabbit masks doing a jig with one of the boys. Then two. Two boys dancing. Then three. Four. Five. The screen cut. All of the guests were seated but one. The oldest was standing at the first. front with his mask removed and long hair untethered. His knees bounced together nervously. His skin appeared pale and sickly. A thin line traced down his light-colored boxers. He opened up

his mouth to say something to scream it. But his voice stayed muted. A figure approached from behind the curtain. Oh no. He never saw him. Turn around. Rabbit Mask held a long machete in his hands. What the fuck? I tried again unsuccessfully to crack the screen. I kicked it and punched it and smacked it until my hand felt broken and the knuckles went raw with blood. I just couldn't do it. I glanced back over for a second.

Only for a second. Rabbit Mask reared back and slashed at the poor kid's neck. One swift motion. His body fell forward like a sack of potatoes. I screamed. He hit him a dozen more times over and over. In the back, in the legs, in the arms. Blood poured out from each wound like a hose.

His body jerked and spasmed this way and that. I think the first blow must have killed him. That didn't stop the violence. One bit. Olivia clapped through the whole thing. Honey, please, go get your mother. She ignored me. I looked for something metal to crack the glass.

I found a wooden bat. I swung and managed to splinter it a little bit. The picture stayed connected and I swung harder. Camera panned out for a wider shot. The remaining participants. stared blankly ahead that they pointed at us. My daughter nodded and began to climb inside the television. My turn. Livia. It's my turn.

I know what you're thinking. Fuck you, right? There's no way that could have happened. Fine. Whatever. I've heard it all thousand times before. Believe what you want at this point because I know the truth. She used the bottom as a ledge, and as soon as one little leg was inside, it disappeared with a horrific sucking sound. I held her left hand tight, like I held my own life. But it wasn't enough. Something pulled back. Something stronger.

Her arm disappeared with a pop. I heard her shout, and then she was gone. Blue channels stayed lit. The participants waited. I waited. Olivia ran out from behind the curtain. She smiled at Rabbit Mask and sat back down in the fifth chair beside him. He smiled back.

All of them ignored the growing pool of blood at their feet. Instead, they waved to me. me one by one, like the end of some sick fucking sitcom. They stared at the camera and they waved. The screen shrunk. Then it went blank altogether, and I never saw my daughter again. Creepy Presents. I got a message from my mother for the first time in over a decade. I'm not sure how she got my number, but I know that it's her. And I know that she's coming. Written by Olive I underscore and narrated by Alicia Atkins.

Growing up, my mother, Evelyn, absolutely detested me. I was an only child, and I was made very clear that I was, as she put it, the worst mistake she had ever made. I know the circumstances of my birth by heart, as she practically brandy. the words into my brain. My mother was nineteen, beautiful and free. Brilliant, she told me, and a beauty pageant starlet. She had just won Miss Bricktown, and was on her way to becoming Miss Oklahoma. That was, of course, until she fell ill.

By falling ill, she meant that she was pregnant with me. She told me I ruined her. I stole her from the spine. light. I sucked the life out of her with everything it took to birth and raise me. What she won't tell you is that she didn't just fall ill. She fell right into a male judge who promised her a shining crown. If you ask her, though, she'll never admit it. Hell, in her eyes, I might as well be some twisted, immaculate conception. From this, you can guess how horrible my childhood was. She spit venom every time she spoke to me, and though she never hit me,

she knew how to instill a deeper, more personal pain. I did whatever I could to try and impress her, clubs, sports, I was even student body president, but nothing worked. She detested me and viewed me only as the thing that ruined her life. The final straw was when I turned 16. At this age, I had finally, well, matured, and began to take after my mother's looks. She must have noticed, because one day after school I came home to a large, frilly pink dress sitting on my bed. She had signed me up for some beauty pageant two towns over. This is when I finally had enough. I was not going to let her ignore and berate me my whole life, and then suddenly try and live

vicariously through me. Absolutely not I emancipated Caught off all contact And began living with a friend of mine I graduated Went to college, got married I have a lovely life that never existed

Under her roof Now I'm 26 and just had my first child A baby girl I named Lydia Last night The message came in from a number I didn't recognize Adriana It's Evelyn you should be receiving my package any day now.

I stared at my phone, dumbfounded. I had changed my number several times in the last ten years, and had no living relatives anymore to give her my new one. I collected myself and replied, Who is this, actually? Is this some kind of sick joke? The next text came in quickly. I see you never lost your attitude, did you?

I'll be visiting soon to meet my... My sweet granddaughter, X-O-X-O-M-I. I knew it wasn't true. She didn't even know what state I lived in, let alone my address. I didn't know who was pulling such a sick prank on me, but I blocked the number promptly. In the next couple of days, I quickly forgot about the exchange. The number was blocked and that was it.

That was until I opened my door one evening and found a small lavender box on my front porch. On top of the box was a glittery bow, with a note tied to it reading, To Lydia Love Meamy. No shipping label, no return address. Just those four horrifying words. With shaking hands, I brought the box inside, and I tied the ribbons keeping it together. Inside was a bright, pink, frilly dress. The same one my mother bought for me when I was 16.

Only this one was small enough to fit a very young, child. My hand shot over my mouth in horror. Whoever was pulling this twisted little stunt had taken it too far. This was sick. I grabbed my phone and dialed my husband as quickly as I could. Call failed immediately. He had gone on some stupid bachelor party ski trip, and, just my luck, had no service. No, my husband wasn't enough. I went to dial 911.1.1. I went to dial 9-1-1. before the next text came in from another unrecognized number. A lovely dress for the future starlet.

It's important to start training them early. I'll be there shortly to help out. X-O-X-O. Mimi. Listen here, you sick, freak. I typed vigorously. I don't know who you are or what game you're playing, but you better leave my family alone before I get the cops involved. I blocked the number again.

I felt exhausted and sick. I hoped that the threat of police would be enough for this to stop. I grabbed Lydia from her playpen and held her in my arms tight, before hauling the two of us into my bed and going to sleep. I decided that my little girl was not leaving my sight until this whole thing blew over. I'll admit, even if I did think it was a joke, I was getting uneasy. That unease grew into genuine fear the following morning. I awoke to my daughter crying, burrowed into my chest.

I pried open my sleep-crusted eyes and immediately did a double-take. Perched on top of my baby's bed was a small silver tiara. I could feel acid rising in my throat at the sight. I knew it wasn't ours, as I refused to get my daughter anything even slightly related to pageantry due to the trauma of my youth. I jumped out of bed and practically sprinted to my front door. It was wide open. Someone had been in my home.

The only people who knew the keypad lock were my husband and I. How had someone been in my home? I called the police. They showed up and inspected my home. All that they could tell me was that if nothing was stolen, then I should get security cameras and install new locks. Pissed was an understatement, but I did as they instructed. The new lock would be here the day after tomorrow, and the cameras would be here next week.

This was too long for comfort. Things were clearly escalating, and I didn't know if I even had until the day after tomorrow. What that even meant? I hardly knew. I was in a panicked frenzy. I had barely hit Submit Order when the next message came in. again from a new unknown number. You are being very rude, Addie. I will see my grandbaby whether you like it or not.

And I'll be damned if I let some silly lock keep me out. This is my right. You may have ruined me, but I will not let you ruin that little girl, too. This time I fully threw up. Addie, it was a name only my mother called me as a child. I had never used it with anyone else. No one else could have known this sick little pet name. This no longer felt like a trick.

The truth boiled up like last night's dinner. This was her. My mother had found me after all these years. Through willing tears, I replied. I don't know how you found me and I don't care. This is my family, not yours. If you come anywhere near my daughter again, I swear to God, I will kill you.

The next text came and only moments later. You can try. I'll see you this evening for dinner. XOXO. Me, me. I spent the rest of the day in a panic. I barricaded every door and window into my house. I was taking absolutely no chances.

What the hell was I so scared of? At this point, she must have been 45. surely I would be able to overpower her if it came to that, right? I put my daughter down to bed at 7.30. After triple checking that there was no way in or out of this house, I sat in my kitchen, a knife clutched in my hand, watching the front lawn. As expected, another text came in.

This text was a single image, an image of my home, An image of me in the window, eyes filled with fear. Another message came in that simply read, I'm here. My animal instincts kicked in. If she was here, I was going to face her. By God, I was absolutely not going to be afraid of this woman. I would not allow her any more control over my life.

I was going to end this. I pulled the armchair out from in front of the door, tearing apart my barricade I had been so worried about before, and stormed into my front lawn, knife still in hand. That's when I saw her. She was standing, unmoving, unblinking, in my neighbor's front lawn directly across street, wearing my pink frilly dress and an impossibly tall silver crown.

As I walked closer, I began to realize something was horribly, horribly wrong with her. The dress she was wearing looked torn to shreds. It was covered in deep brown stains, and I swear I could smell it from where I stood. Not only that, but she was completely deformed. Her once long blonde curly hair was now matted and gray. It looked as though it had begun falling out of her head in clumps, leaving large, bald patches. She was impossibly thin.

Her now pale yellow-tinged skin stretched. paper thin over sharp bone. There was green, pus-filled pockets along her arms and legs. Then, her face. Oh, dear God, her face. It was like something from a horror movie. Her lips seemed to have receded showing thick black gums and yellow-caped teeth. The lack of lip did not stop her from painting a cherry-red ring around her perpetual smile.

Her eyes seemed to have shrunk back into the thicket. their sockets. Smoky eye makeup made them look like deeply bruised pits. She raised a single rotting hand and gave me a beauty queen wave, turning her wrist back and forth. I let out a blood-curdling scream before quickly turning around and bolting back inside. I slammed the door behind me, returned the armchair into his defensive position, and ran to my kitchen window. But she was gone. I thought of calling the police, but they had been useless already. No, this was my fight, and something inside of me knew it.

But God, what was wrong with her? For the first time in my life, I decided to look up my mother on the internet. I don't know what compelled me to do it, but I had to know what was happening. I couldn't just wait here like a sitting duck for that monster to come back. I typed her name into the search bar. The first few articles were all old, simple retellings over pageant winnings and interviews from 10 years ago. Then I saw an article from this year, two months ago to be exact. It was a scanned image of a newspaper article, far smaller and less extravagant than the others from her youth,

crammed into the bottom of the page. The article detailed a couple who was taking a morning walk when they stumbled upon an unmoving body. I'll give you two guesses as to who it was. but I'll bet you only need one. She had overdosed. She was a crackhead. My mother. My perfect, ever-bragging mother.

A crackhead. More importantly than that, she was dead. Only she wasn't dead. She was outside. I just saw her living and breathing. I tried to rationalize, only to realize that that, thing I saw outside could not have been living and breathing.

My breath shortened. My stomach emptied onto the kitchen floor once again. My heart began to beat out of his chest when the last message came in. I'm coming in now. I am going to see my grandbaby. X-O-X-O. Me, me. I'm sitting here now in my daughter's room, trying not to wake her.

I can feel the tears streaking down my face. This last message came in five minutes ago, and the knocking started two minutes ago. I can't move. I'm frozen with fear. My poor baby is sleeping soundly behind me, with no clue as to what horrors are happening around her. I don't know what to do. My mother's knocks have finally ceased. I can hear her punching the keypad.

It's too late. She. That thing. is here. She found me. I still have my knife. I hope to God that I have the strength to use it. Lydia, if by some miracle you find this someday, please know that I love you and that I plan to go out fighting to protect you. I am so sorry. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration. Please visit creepypod.com.

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