Creepy - The Burmese Incident

Episode Date: November 1, 2021

Let me tell you a story...***Written by TW Grim and narrated by Owen McCuen***Bonus Episode: "I Believed My Neighbor Was Sick" written by ThousandThorns***Find our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko 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. This podcast has made possible thanks to our patrons. Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. Grim, like The Reaper, Tom G., Colleen, Ubuntu Fama, and we need more Nate DuFort, I agree, Randallynthicum, and Heather the Human. Our supporters over our Patreon get immediate access to all Sunday productions early and commercial free. And the rewards go up from there to include instant access to over 500, Patreon exclusive stories and counting.

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much time due to the last gas station story that's available out there. It is a monster of a story. However, rest assured that we are working on it. There will be another gas station story, the longest one to date in the future. How near in the future is yet to be determined. So patience, it will happen, I promise. Also, don't forget that our friends at the No Sleep podcast are kicking off their 17th season today. And as it's also Halloween, they're also presenting over two hours of free content to date.

for all listeners, including a story I was fortunate enough to write for them called Discount Haunted House. Make sure to check them out to complete your Halloween scares, as well as carry on the spooky season for as long as we possibly can. That said, happy Halloween, everyone. Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures and early. and 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

The Burmese incident written by T.W. Grimm and narrated by Owen McKeigh. Cune. Ah, here you are, old friend. One more glass of claret each, and we've drained the bottle dry. Imagine, will you? What might have happened if the Vyloxera Laos had succeeded in destroying the Bordeaux vineyards entirely? I may have spent far fewer mornings in the grip of a sour gut hangover, that's what. Ha! The hour hand on the grandfather clock has slipped past one, I see. Time for one more tale,

and then I'm afraid I must retire. I'm not a young man anymore, and neither are you, sir. I can hear our beds calling to us. As a betting, man, I'd wager your driver is probably sleeping quite soundly behind the wheel of the Bentley as we speak, the trunket old bugger. Truth be told, I'm really quite envious of those who sleep soundly. Without the drink, I rather doubt I'd ever sleep at all. When I close my eyes, memories have...

a tendency to invade my dreams and corrupt them into the most horrid nightmares. Speaking of which, tell me something, if you will. Have you ever traveled to the Southeast Asian nation of Myanmar? I have, although it was many years ago. At that time, it was still known as Burma. It was a journey I shall never, ever forget. You see, after the end of the Second Great War, my father took an interest in the possibility of acquiring land in Burma, with the intent of developing it for industry. Father was also a betting man, and he was wagering that certain entities in Burma would gladly welcome the strength and status, which could only be acquired by obtaining a steady flow of foreign currency. My father was an industrialist, a man with a very long reach,

who was quite short on empathy. The canny old buzzard knew that Southeast Asia had been beaten into submission by the ravages of war. He believed it would soon be ripe for exploitation and plunder. In the wake of the devastation which was wrought upon the land by Nazi and allied forces alike, the entirety of Asia was being groomed for the industry of manufacturing. Burma, in particular, had received a terrible battering during the fighting between the Allies and the Japanese. When the people who had been displaced by the conflict were finally able to return to, to their homes, they often discovered their land stake and the surrounding countryside had become a dystopian horror in their absence. The once fertile landscape was marred by crusted patches of

tortured earth, devastated by heavy machinery, and scarred by the craters of artillery bombardment. With their livelihood pummeled into non-existence by years of constant warfare, the people found themselves in dire need of a new way to earn a living. As soon as the dust had safely settled in the wake of the war, industrialists and investment groups began to embark upon diplomatic visits into the region. They were eager for the chance to set up shop and offer the peasants the dubious opportunity to earn a pittance in return for hard labor in their factories. The old man was slavering at the opportunities, which may lie within such an economically depressed situation, but he cautiously waited to observe how this venture might unfold for his peers and rivals. He was uncharitable. He was uncharitable,

and heart of heart, my father. But he was certainly no fool. The transition from self-sustaining agriculture to assembly-line servitude was a difficult one. Despite the many years of uncertainty and strife they'd been made to suffer throughout the war, the Bermans remained a proud and quietly defiant people. They were vocal with their complaints

and were prone to civil disobedience. In the meantime, money was being made hand over fist, in Japan, India, and Bangladesh, and without all the resistance and general bother. My father decided to purchase mining options in India instead, and he bided his time. It came to pass that the event which my father had deemed inevitable finally occurred. A military coup was staged in Burma, and Prime Minister New was deposed by his usurpers. Before long, it became clear that Burma's new dictatorship was not as keen about serving the people's needs. as they've been led to believe.

Political sanctions left the country in a state of financial vulnerability. They were in dire need of friends with deep pockets, and my father possessed very, very deep pockets. However, something the old goat was short on was time. My father was an exceedingly busy man. As I was his oldest son, I was often elected to represent him in business matters that would have seen him traveling abroad. He was loath to embark upon any journey that would result in being.

surrounded by more brown faces than white. Indeed, my family's patriarch was a ruthless, clever, iron-willed, horse's ass of a human being. Criminally prejudiced in both thought and deed. He saw no wrong in his actions because the concept of right and wrong simply did not exist for the man. If he could see a way in which his fortunes might be expanded, the only question was whether or not he could succeed in this enterprise. He didn't give the slightest damn at all for the well-being of others, and I can assure you, this is a depressingly common trait in men of his financial stature. Of course, as wealthy as we both are, it would be impossible to lay claim to a clear conscience.

I have made many callous decisions to generate vast profits for myself, whilst knowing full well the result of these decisions might ultimately lay waste to the lives of many others. I have done this, and so have you. don't deny it. However, there is a fundamental difference between men such as ourselves and men like my father. If you were handed a loaded shotgun and were offered a large sum of money to pull the trigger on me, your oldest and dearest friend, I'm sure you would outright refuse to do so. I am of the same bend. However, outrageously high the amount might be,

I would be morally unable to carry through the act. Now, the old man? It would merely be a question of mathematics. Could he buy his way out of any potential consequences? And if so, how much of the preferred money would be left after the expenses of his legal defense? If he deemed the sum large enough to be worth the risk, I'd surely end my existence as a fine spray of red on the wall behind my chair, and be damned if I was his son and heir.

Do you know what is truly frightening? Those who have been cut from the same moral cloth as my father own the entire world, my good man. They own it and everything that dares to reside upon its surface. But I'm wandering off topic, aren't I? I was telling you about the Burmese incident. So it came to pass that in June of 1964, my father called me into his office to inform me that I was to pack my bags and travel to Burma post-haste. He assigned me the task of wooing the appropriate officials

into allowing our estate to acquire and zone quantities of land for industrial use. After several days of grueling travel, I arrived at my destination, only to find that post-war Myanmar was in an abysmal state of oppression and destitution. Many former landowners had been reduced to a state of ragged nomadic begging, It was the most squalid situation that I have ever personally witnessed, and I have been to many dark places, old friend. Many.

I entered the country through Manipur, leaving Imple early in the morning. I was driven in a rattling heap of a truck by an ancient-looking and taciturned Indian man. Throughout the entire voyage, he spoke not a single word to me, and he smoked an astonishing amount of hashish in a hand-carved wooden pipe. With a look of amused disdain, he would periodically push his sticky object into my hands, and I gratefully inhaled to stave off my discomfort and boredom. The hashish was layered with the veins of the most potent opium I have ever encountered.

I don't think I could really tell you much of what took place on that long drive from Manipur to Mandalay, save that, despite the poor quality of the roads, I felt as if I were floating upon the back of God's own soul. sacred stallion. I was probably grinning like a fool for the duration of the journey. However, I wasn't so stoned that I don't remember how we frequently were stopped at various checkpoints, to be held at gunpoint and barked at by Berman men in tattered military uniform. My driver would hand them a few bills from the stack of rupees, which had been demanded of me

by the old Indian's nephew, back in Impal City, and then we would be waved along. I was probably very close to death at any number of these checkpoint stops, but I could not sense this danger through the dreamy haze the narcotics had draped over my senses. This, I imagine, was probably for the best. And then, as if rudely awoken from a golden dream, I suddenly found myself in the pulsing heart of Mandalay. The truck was no longer moving, and I was being pulled unceremoniously from my seat by my driver, who appeared to have become quite irate at my unresponsive state of drug-induced stupor. He eloquently cursed my very existence and tossed me to the ground. My luggage quickly followed. I heard a cacophony of angry shouting, and a small group of

Berman men set upon the driver before he could flee to the safety of his truck. They dragged him to the other side of the road and proceeded to administer a sound beating. As the weeping man was kicked, slapped, and ultimately thrown into the muck that flowed along the bottom of the gutter, another Berman man knelt beside me and helped me to my feet. He said, I am so sorry for this outrage, sir. My deepest apologies. He is being dealt with accordingly, as you can see. The man is an attic and a scoundrel, hardly better than a dog, but he has his uses. While almost everyone else was clothed in traditional Berman sarongs, my man is aft. My distinguished new acquaintance was wearing a Western-style suit and sported a Western hairstyle.

He steadied me with one hand as he brushed me off and then clasped my hand in a firm handshake. He said, My name is Bo Kang-Chi. You can simply call me Kang-Chi, if you wish. Welcome to Burma, sir. I fear you look rather tired, but we must be leaving for our destination at once. There is an urgent matter there which demands my attention immediately. Bo Kang-chi escorted me down the street to a waiting limousine.

I was still quite groggy from the opium-laced hashish, and the commotion of life in Mandalay was almost overwhelming. Everywhere I looked, there were restless throngs of humanity bustling to and fro, thousands of people engaged in thousands of errands. Despite the economic hardships that were soon to come, There were still a multitude of vendors selling spices, linens, livestock, any product or service you could possibly imagine. There were performers and prostitutes, laborers and housewives, holy men, beggars, every ethnicity and nationality that exists beneath the sun. Motor vehicles rolled down the street behind donkey carts, all of them piled to precarious heights with goods of every description.

If one were either brave or foolish enough to wander through the alleys, They would find layabouts, thieves, and cutthroats from all corners of creation. Any face that passed by on the street could belong to a member of the secret police. It was an unstable time, and just about anyone could be an informant, a double agent, or just another murderer for hire. Even in the company of my new business acquaintance and savior, I could easily say the wrong thing and find myself in mortal peril. The prefix Beau is an honorific in Burmese culture which translates to something like

Commander or General. I would be far from safe within the confines of the luxury limousine. In fact, to get inside any vehicle with a commanding officer of the present military regime was akin to crawling into the belly of the beast. Once inside, I might never be seen again. Once we were safely askanced within the sumptuous comforts of the limousine, Kong Chi commanded the driver to take us to facility A. As the driver navigated the enormous vehicle through the crowded streets,

I was informed the new regime's official stance was to favor agrarian peasant culture over Western-style industrialization. However, they were secretly quite interested in the mass production of arms, ammunition, and armored vehicles with a military purpose. According to my host, my father had already purchased land, and built a facility for the development and construction of a lightweight metal alloy, a miracle metal that was stronger than steel. I had no idea that any such arrangement was already in place. Kong Chi saw the confusion on my face and handed me an envelope.

He said, This will answer all of your questions, and pushed the envelope into my hands. I wasn't surprised to see it had already been opened, presumably Bai Bo Kang Chi himself. There was a letter from my question. father inside. It had been dated and mailed almost a week before my hasty departure. I believe I still have it somewhere. Ah, yes, in this old chest. Just a minute. Yes, here it is.

Look here. The selfish old goat had written the following. I'm afraid I did not tell you the full story behind the reason for your visit to the region of Mandalay. I confess I have already financed a manufacturing facility in the area with another soon-to-be-recent-be-recent-a-e under construction. I have been receiving conflicting and, I dare say, sensationalistic reports of extremely violent civil unrest in the nearby village. It has been suggested by a few of my scientific advisors that some byproduct of the manufacturing process may be responsible for this antisocial behavior. With this dire possibility in mind, I need someone who is a trusted member of the family to sort out a situation in a timely and discreet manner. You are a

capable man in your own right and also my very own flesh and blood. This is a very sensitive matter. You must dig to the bottom of this mess and report back to me at once. My apologies for committing the sin of omission, but frankly, I believe you may very well have refused to go if I had been forthcoming with all the details. By all reports, you are walking into a very dangerous state of affairs. Trust Bo Koun-Chi and no one else. He claims to know longer have faith in the current regime and is now in my employ. He will act as both your guide and your bodyguard throughout the duration of your investigation. He too is a capable man. If things become too dangerous, he will ensure your prompt and secure exit from the country, rest assured.

Serve us well, my son, and take care to stop this embarrassment from reaching neither the ears of our enemies nor those of the media. Our very livelihoods may depend on it. Yours truly, father. As you can see, the absolute scoundrel couldn't even be bothered to sign off with his given name. Just yours truly father, and nothing more. I glared over at the stranger to whom I was expected to entrust my very life, and I roared, What in the bloody fucking blazes is happening here? I demand to know at once.

He chuckled dryly at my outburst and said, it would be better if I were to show you, sir. You won't believe it until you've seen it for yourself. We drove in silence for the better part of an hour, long enough for me to sober up and regain my wits. The facility was located near the bank of a river southeast of Mandalay. It was surrounded by an enormous stone wall, a forbidding bohemoth, which was topped by hundreds of spools of razor wire. We were ushered through the massive wrought iron gate by armed security. and we drove for nearly a quarter of a mile along a dirt laneway until the main building rose into view. We passed two more checkpoints on the way, each accompanied by a perimeter of electrified fencing. I was both impressed with and deeply troubled by the stringency of their security.

I gestured at the fencing and demanded, Pray tell, sir, what in God's name goes on in this place that would require such measures? Kang Qi offered an enigmatic smile. He said, These precautions are a relatively new development. Be patient for just a few more minutes, and then it will all become very clear to you. The limousines stopped at the rear of the main building,

and I was hustled through a fire exit and down a long, sterile-looking corridor. Count Chee stopped in front of a sturdy-looking metal door, which was flanked on either side by two armed soldiers, and he said, Take this, sir, and brace yourself for what you are about to witness. He pulled a 38 pistol from a hidden pocket in his jacket and pushed in it to my hand. His expression was drawn and tense. It was clear that he was very afraid of whatever waited for us on the other side of the door.

A tough old career officer steadied himself and uttered a quick prayer before pulling back several large dead bolts. After taking in a very deep breath, he nodded to me and threw open the door. A horrid stench of putrefaction rushed out to assail my nostrils, causing me to gag in revulsion. Kang Chi pressed his handkerchief over his face, as did I, and we crossed the threshold into the very bowels of hell. The interior of the room was made of highly polished concrete. There were several drains on the floor, and a number of new water hose reels were affixed to the walls. There were eight man-sized cages bolted to the floor, and three of them were occupied by the most ghastly-looking wretches I'd ever laid eyes on.

They all wore filthy clothing and possessed the gray, mottled appearance of a corpse. They began to hurl themselves against the bars of their respected cages as we entered the room. They made no sound at all these creatures. They simply stared at us with a fierce expression of open-mouthed idiocy, and they battered themselves with great force against the steel bars of their prisons. All three of them were caked in dried gore, adding to the already abominable odor in the room. God in heaven! I choked. What in the name of Jehovah is wrong with these people?

Kang Chi gave me an appraising look and said, They're dead, sir. They have no pulse, brain activity, or autonomic reflexes. They are actively decaying, before our very eyes. I growled Balderdash. They could not possibly be deceased. They're moving under their own power.

Bo Kang-Chi uttered a cynical laugh and snapped. I have seen many dead men in my days on this planet, sir. Seen them and made them, and I tell you these people are dead as dead can be. I was both horrified and completely transfixed by the mindless. us of violence with which they threw themselves against the bars. What do they want from us? I asked. It seems they would very much like to attack us.

They want to eat us alive, Kangxi said. And he nodded at the shocked expression on my face. Oh, yes, I'm telling you the truth. If they could, they would leap upon us like starving leopards and bite chunks of living flesh from our bodies. This one here, do you see? see the blood around his mouth? He explained that the awful thing had been discovered in the act of devouring a small child in a field just outside wide river, a village located not far from the

grounds of the facility. They'd been forced to evacuate the village after this last attack, the latest in a series of more than twenty such incidents in the three weeks preceding my arrival. They could no longer keep the situation a secret without removing and isolating the villagers. I choked out. I've seen enough. Let me out. When the door was safely locked up tight behind us, Kangxi continued my debriefing. He said, I apologize for that, but I felt you would need to see the effects of this disaster for yourself before I could tell you the full story.

May I have the firearm back, please? The company had been storing some of the waste products of the process in an end. underground storage bunker. Some bungling fool decided to dig this bunker up slope from the village and several barrels of some toxic compound leaked into the bare earthen floor, during a rainstorm, of course. Several weeks later, the body of a recently deceased farmer staggered into the village, covered from head to toe in the muck of the grave. It immediately attacked several people, tearing at them with its teeth as they screamed in horror. The brave The villager dealt it a number of grievous blows with an axe, but it continued to come for him

until the villager planted the head of his axe deep in the horrible thing's skull. All those who were bitten during the farmer's cannibalistic frenzy died within the hour, only to rise again with the blank eyes and savage teeth. Ten more were injured that night, and one woman was killed outright during the attack. A witness stated that, as the woman's last breath gurgled from her chest, The fiend immediately lost interest and pursued the witness instead. The dead woman arose from the ground within 60 seconds, lurching outside to add to the bloodshed and terror in the streets of the village.

Infections spread like wildfire, resulting in a state of utter chaos. A military unit stationed nearby came to the village in armored vehicles and made short work for the marauding creatures. All the wounded were taken for observation and were ultimately destroyed. before the hand struck the midnight hour. A soldier was bitten on the hand by one of the afflicted, and he was also transformed, injuring several others before the whole lot of them

were unceremoniously turned into mincemeat under the blazing gun of the commanding officer. After this initial wave of infection, there were no further incidents for almost a week when an old woman succumbed to a natural death in her slumber. Her corpse came lurching out of her home an attack a passing villager, sparking off another round of shootings by the soldiers

who'd been left behind to monitor the situation. Became clear that anyone living within the village and the surrounding countryside had already been thoroughly contaminated by the offending toxin and death from any cause was sure to spark another outbreak. Needless to say, I was appalled beyond words. I shook my finger and sputtered, Why don't you put the horrible wretches out of their misery for God's sake?

What purpose is there in keeping them in that room for even one second longer? Kang Ji explained the dreadful things were of great scientific interest to the regime. He laughed and added, Do you really believe your own government would dispose of such a curious anomaly, sir? I think not. They would do exactly as we are doing, as would any nation. I rounded on him and sputtered, My God, man, have you lost your mind?

By the power invested in me by my father, I declare this facility will be shut down immediately. The construction of the other plant shall also be halted. How has this not already happened, for Christ's sake? Bo Kang-chi offered me a razor-sharp smile and said, You do not understand, sir. It was your own father who refused to shut down. He insisted that he first be allowed to send an eminement.

of his choosing to assess the situation and then give him a first-hand report on the matter. I was dismayed, but not at all surprised. My father loved money before all else in this world. He would sacrifice his own flesh and blood before he would spurn even one singular days' worth of revenue from one of his numerous ventures. I demanded access to a telephone and called him at once. Father expressed grave consternation at the events which had transpired in the village. He reluctantly agreed to shut the facility down until his scientists for hire were able to gain some insight into this grisly phenomenon.

I announced I would be leaving first thing in the morning and flatly declined Father's insistent request that I stay until the matter was resolved. I was almost as sickened by his greed as I was by the caged monstrosities that lay behind the steel door. I dare say they were, for all intents and purposes, one and the same. I was taken to an area filled with canvas tents, an outdoor ghetto, to house the laborers who worked on the factory floor. I was given a tent furnished with a cot and nothing more, and I purchased food and drink from a woman who patrolled the impromptu campgrounds with a hand-woven basket filled with refreshments. I spent the evening speaking at length with Bōkong-chi concerning the finer details of the plant's imminent closure. He was afraid the workers would riot if they were told to summarily pack their belongings and go home. home. I assured him I would finance their wages out of my own pocket in the weeks to come

if it came to that. I was determined to keep everyone exactly where they were until more was known about the toxic byproducts and their effects on both the living and the deceased. If the workers had become contaminated by drinking groundwater from their communal well, they couldn't possibly be allowed to leave the premises. Such a foolish decision would surely start a horrific chain reaction, one that could lay waste to the entire country, and beyond, I'd imagine. Far beyond. Throughout our negotiations, I noticed Kang Chi was subtly attempting to sway me into allowing the plant to continue production, extolling the virtues of their miracle

medal in its many benign applications. He expressed concern regarding the possibility of scandalizing the regime on the world stage. I stoically ignored his requests, an implied threat. but on the inside, I was sweating bullets. I could see the writing on the wall, and it boded poorly for my own well-being. I wished Kang-Chi a good night and spent long hours lying awake in my cot,

waiting for the residents of the squalid encampment to settle down and retired to their beds. I feared Bo Kang-Chi was not actually my bodyguard and advisor, so much as he was my jailer and, eventually, my executioner. He may have been in my father's pocket, but his allegiance lay with his superiors in the regime. He would not allow production to cease, nor would he allow me to leave the country

to possibly tell the world that his benign regime was in the business of oppression. Sooner or later, Count she would kill me, and my own father would undoubtedly shrug off my murder as collateral damage. At three in the morning I slipped from my tent and walked back to the first checkpoint, leaving everything behind, save for a duffel bag packed with essential eye.

I gruffly demanded the scared young men in the soldiers' uniforms allow me to pass, and I was convincing enough in my feigned authority that I was ushered through the gate. It was the same at the next gate. But the soldiers waiting for me at the main entrance had their rifles cocked and at the ready. I was detained and made to wait until Bo Kong Chi arrived, his hair tussled from sleep, and a tight expression of carefully controlled rage on his face. He said, You're not stupid, and neither am I, sir. I suspected you would try to sneak away in the dead of night. I can't let you do that.

He put a pistol in my back and started marching me up the road on foot. We had just reached the first inner gate, and the high-pitched siren began wailing in the main building, making everyone in earshot jump in unison. I felt my blood freeze in my veins. I had a pretty good idea, that siren might be warning us against. Infection was no longer contained.

Bo Kang-Chi barked some orders at the soldiers in their native tongue. They scrambled into tactical positions as another officer ran to fetch the radio. Kang-chi shoved me back in the direction of the main entrance and snarled, Wait for me at the front gate! Go! I ran back and put my hands up, screaming at the guards to hold their fire. From a distance I could hear a growing cacophony of screams and gunshots. The infection had ripped through the workers on the evening shift and spread to the tent city. I could see staccato bursts of orange and white as gunfire lit up the night beyond the second security fence.

The guards standing beside me at the main gate were listening to the panicked voices on their radio with an identical look of glassy-eyed horror. One of them turned to me and gasped, The camp is gone! They have been forced to retreat! The gunfire continued, as did the screams of despair and agony. The growing wave of the dead overwhelmed the first line of defense and came running to the second gate. I quailed at the sight of the quiet horde beneath the emergency floodlights, now several hundred strong and surging along like a tidal wave.

It made no sound as they fell beneath a hail of bullets, unfeeling and uncaring. They clashed into the fence, and it immediately began to buckle before the sheer mass of the bodies pressing into the other side. Someone shouted in order, and the soldiers promptly stopped firing, turning to flee mere seconds before the fence gave out and toppled flat onto the ground. I seized one of the guards by the shirt and bellowed, They're coming! Open this goddamn gate, you bloody fool! Run for your life! I shoved the terrified young man into the control booth.

He released the locking mechanism, and we all ran through the gate like the wind, all of us sprinting for our lives in opposite directions. Somewhere behind us, the survivors were scrambling to get away from their pursuers, a ravenous horde of silent shadows in the darkness. I ran to the top of a steep incline overlooking the factory and stopped to catch my breath. From my vantage point I observed that one lone figure reached the gate slightly ahead of the rest of them,

only to dash into the control booth and initiate the closing sequence. He scrambled through the rapidly narrowing gap with only a bare instant to spare. Seconds later, there were a multitude of shrill cries from the other side followed by another burst of gunfire. This was followed by a great volley of hysterical screaming, and when it was over, the only sound was dead hands battering against the steel bars at the gate.

I shall never forget those despairing cries, my friend, not if I live to be two hundred years old. They still haunt my nightmares. I had little doubt this horrible treachery had been carried out by Bo Kongchi. He coldly sacrificed the survivors in order to keep the infection contained within the fortified walls.

I watched as he examined the ground in the moonlight, looking for footprints in the dirt, and I knew I would have to kill him with great haste, or I would never leave Burma in one piece. Although the administration undoubtedly knew of my presence, only Kang Chi could verify that I was still alive. The regime would have to dispatch all the ghouls and sift through their bodies in order to determine

if my lifeless corpse was amongst their ranks. I intended to be long gone across the Indian border before this happened. But Bo Kang-Chi needed to die first, and quickly, before reinforcements arrived. I snuck down the hill and crouched behind an outcropping of jagged rocks, watching my nemesis as he followed my blundering tracks across the scrubland with a flashlight in one hand and his pistol in the other. I scooped up a handful of large pebbles and trickled them down the precipice below, alerting him to my location.

Count Chee went still as a statue. He stared in my direction for a moment, then turned off his flashlight, and resumed his stealthy stalking in the moonlight. He called out. You will never get across the border, you fool. You won't make it ten miles before you're captured by a patrol. It would be better for you to come out now and peacefully surrender.

I promise no harm will come to you. I knew his assurances were lies. Men like Kang Chi tell lies for a living, after all. I waited until he was near the foot of the rocky slope, and then I popped up from my hiding place to hurled down a large rock upon his head. It missed and struck him in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground with a strangled cry of pain.

He rolled onto his back and blindly fired his weapon above him, forcing me to dive for cover as bullets ricocheted off the rocks in all directions. You dog, he cried out. You treacherous fucking dog! Treachery! I called back. You would know all about treachery, wouldn't you, sir? I made my way to the bottom of the slope

and stood over him with another large stone clasped in my hands. Bo Kang-chi had been grievously injured by the falling rock. His shoulder was hunched at an odd angle, and the arm attached to it lay uselessly beside him. He bare his teeth at me. in a grimace of rage and pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt. I'll gut you, he snarred, and he attempted to slash my legs. I skipped back from harm's way and hurled the heavy stone with all my might.

It bounced off his chest with tremendous force. He dropped his knife and spasmed on the ground in agony. Fucking dog! he weased. Kill you! I rested one final chunk of stone from the ground. And I told him, You'll never harm another living being, you soulless bastard. I lifted the rock high and dropped it on his head,

cutting off his scream with a sickening crunch. I'd never killed a man before, and I was surprised with how little I felt at his passing. I watched Kangchi's body carefully for a minute or two. His pistol clutched in my hand. But he did not come back from the dead. Either he'd managed to avoid contamination from the noxious chemical byproduct, or I'd destroyed his brain to the point where resurrection was no longer possible.

I'll never know for sure, but I can say with confidence that I was a trifle disappointed I did not get a chance to dispatch that horrible man a second time. I'm not ashamed to admit it would have brought me great satisfaction to kill him once again. I robbed his lifeless body of all weapons, ammunition, money, and anything else I deemed to be useful, and I headed west under the pale light of the moon. I won't bore you with the details of my escape from Burma, as this tale has certainly dragged on long enough. All I will say is that several more men died by my hand before I crossed into Bangladesh.

Regrettable, perhaps, but I am alive and present to tell the tale. "'A toast, sir, to my continuing survival in this world of perfidious schemes and damning betrayals. "'A toast to us all.' "'What was my father's reaction, you ask?' "'He was furious, of course. "'He threatened to disown me, for, in his own words, bungling the deal. "'I informed him I would gladly sacrifice my inheritance "'for the privilege of telling him to go to hell,

"'and I reminded him that I owned a large stake in many of our family ventures. He never spoke to me again, the horrible old bastard. It was a state of affairs I found to me most agreeable. When he passed on, I sold my shares to my siblings, and I took an early retirement from the world of big business, with at least a portion of my soul still intact. And with that, sir, my tale has reached its conclusion. I don't expect you to believe a single word of it,

but I don't expect you to disbelieve either. There are many wondrous and horrible things in this world, both in it and beyond. I have spent many years in pursuit of the arcane, and I can tell you with great confidence that much strangeness lurks in the shadows of the five senses. Smile and shake your head, if you will, but the unwary often find themselves in fantastic situations. Mark my words, good, sir. It happens all the time.

Good night, old friend, and take care. We'll share a bottle and an evening of macabre tales again very soon. I look forward to it. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents. I believed my neighbor was sick, but I may have been wrong. Written by Thousand Thorns. I lived next door to Harvey for around eight years. Never once did he strike me as someone who had something wrong with him.

But in the last few days of my time living there, I had experiences that'll haunt my mind for the rest of my life. You could even have called his friends, Harvey and I. On weekends I found us both at home, off from work, we'd hang out more often than not, sit on the porch at either my house or his, crack a few beers open, talk some trash. I wasn't a married man, nor did I have any kids.

It was just me living my life, paying my bond on my house and the payments on my car with my own hard-earned money. Harvey had Patricia, a dainty little blonde lady with pretty eyes and a pretty smile. From my observation, they had a pretty good thing going, married for 12 years. They had no kids either, but they seemed to be happy together. I'd never heard or seen them fight, no raised voices or anything of that sort. That's exactly why I was more than shocked and amazed when I heard shouting from next door.

It seemed such an unnatural sound. It was so out of place, never having been heard before. I couldn't make out anything that either of them was saying, Neither did I attempt to do so. It wasn't any of my business, and I wasn't about to make it so. The yelling continued for about ten minutes before I heard a shatter of glass. This caused me to immediately spring to my feet. If things had gotten physical, God forbid, I had to go over and see what was wrong.

I got up and went downstairs. As I left my front door, Patricia came bursting out of theirs. ran to the car and unlocked it, got in and drove off. Harvey stood in the doorway, watching her go. I went over to Harvey. Hey, man, I don't mean to pry or anything, but what just happened? I heard all the noise and got a little worried. Harvey seemed not to notice me at first.

It took a few seconds from him to respond, as if he was yanking himself out of deep thought. Oh, hey Charlie. He eventually said, and that was it. He turned around, went into the house, and closed the door. I stood there for a minute or so perplexed. He'd never done something like that before and it was extremely odd. I thought of knocking and trying again, but I decided to let the man be. He obviously had a lot on his mind and wasn't my business.

Later on that night I was lying in bed, having just set my alarm and getting ready to drift off when I realized I could hear something that sounded like a faint voice. Like someone talking somewhere. Curious, I got up and followed the sound in my bedroom window. I opened the window and looked out over the street. There was no movement, but I still heard a voice. I discovered it was coming from next door. Harvey stood out in his backyard, facing away from me and talking. He was talking, but there was no one there.

I went to my other window where I could see his back porch because I thought Patricia might be standing there, but she wasn't. It was just Harvey standing there talking to no one at all. Or to himself. After a while he stopped and went back inside, and I heard him lock the back door. I honestly wondered if the man. man was okay. I made a mental note to make a better effort to talk to him the next day.

When the time came around, I was outside raking leaves when Harvey came out of the house. I put the rake down and went over to talk to him. He had a sort of spaced out look about him, kind of like he was the day before. Harvey, man, straight up, is everything okay? I said to him, he looked at me and not. Yeah, Charlie, sorry about yesterday. My head wasn't in the right place. He said, it was my turn to nod and I put my hand on his shoulder.

That's all right. Is Patricia back? Did you talk things out? Yeah, we did. I keep trying to tell her what they told me, but she doesn't get it. Same thing yesterday. She just took off at me and hurled a bottle at me and left. You kept trying to tell her what they told her.

they told you. What do you mean by that, Harvey? I asked. His whole demeanor changed suddenly at this question. His eyes widened and he became flustered and panicked. Don't ask me that. Oh, hell. I wonder if they know.

If they heard. They hear everything. Harvey, you're freaking out. You're freaking me out a little too. What's going on, man? Who hears everything? Harvey was visibly shaking now. Charlie, you're my friend, man.

You know me? I'm not a bad man, am I? No, Harvey, you're not a bad man, but I can't help if I don't know what's wrong. You need to talk to me. Charlie, they're coming, man. They're coming and I can't stop them. You can't stop them.

I don't think anyone can. You need to tell someone, Charlie. Tell someone they're coming. Harvey was shouting now. I was about to speak to him again and tried to calm him down when suddenly his head snapped backwards so fast I actually heard a snapping sound coming from his neck. He was facing up at the sky at a freakishly unnatural angle. His mouth stretched open further and further until I heard a sickening crack.

I was horrified and took a few steps back. and my fear. That's when the sounds began. Escaping from Harvey's mouth where these ears splitting, unearthly, garbled screeching sounds. It sounded like 50 high-pitched voices all shrieking at each other in unison. It's nothing that any human voice could ever produce. I covered my ears just from the intense volume of the sound just before one of the front windows of my house shattered. presumably due the piercing frequency of the sound. Then he stopped.

Just like that. When I looked at him again, he was back to normal. A few other residents were poking their heads out of their windows, alarmed at the sudden strange noise. But when they saw nothing out of the ordinary and the sound was gone, they went back to their business. I, however, stood there staring at Harvey with what I imagined, to be a whole host of expressions on my face.

Fear in shock undoubtedly being the dominant ones. With a huge effort, I tried to compose myself as best I could. Harvey, what the hell? It was all I could manage. He responded as if he only had just seen how was there. Oh, hey Charlie. I didn't see you there. Damn this heat, though, right?

He sat and walked. way back to his house. As you can imagine, after fixing out my broken window, getting to sleep that night was no easy task, but I eventually did, somehow, after spending ages wondering what the hell I had seen earlier and what the hell was wrong with Harvey. I woke up sometime during the night and needed to take a leak, so I turned down my bedside lamp. I'm in no way ashamed to say that I screamed an unspeakable terror when I found Harvey.

standing at the foot of my bed. I screamed again and leapt out of bed on the opposite side from where he was and sprinted downstairs, snatched up my keys, unlocked the door on a flash, and ran out. I ran to Harvey's house, yelling for Patricia. I was met with an unpleasant odor when I went inside. Not of decay, but somehow through my primal human instinct, I recognized the scent of death immediately. The kitchen wasn't far from the front door.

And there lay Patricia. She must have been dead from the day before already. Her abdomen had been savagely ripped open by heaven knows what means the entire kitchen was splattered and coated with splashes of dried blood and puddles of coagulated blood that was too much to dry quickly. I was gasping for breath now, choking on the air I was trying to breathe. I can't even describe how I felt anymore. Shock and horror dominated me.

I ran and snatched up the telephone and a living room and immediately called to police, figuring out what I would say. I settled for just saying that there had been a murder. They came wailing down the street in less than ten minutes. I'd waited at Harvey's doorway and ran out to meet him. Two officers jumped out of their vehicle with their hands on their guns and asked if I was the one who called. I hurriedly told them I was and I explained as fast. fast as I could about Harvey acting strange and then me finding Patricia dead in the house.

They told me to wait where I was and charged into my house after I told them Harvey was in there. I fully expected and dreaded them coming out and saying they couldn't find him anywhere. But they came out and one of the officers let him now handcuffed Harvey by his arm. The officer told me Harvey didn't say a word and didn't even resist. They took Harvey to the car and before I got in. He looked straight at me and spurted. spoke. I told you, Charlie. I warned you that they were coming. But now it's too late. They're here. For even more from Creepy, 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 you. used under license and may not be rebroadcast or distributed without the express prior written consent of the story's author. Please contact us at creepypod at gmail.com for further information on obtaining the rights necessary to rebroadcast or distribute a particular story.