Creepy - The Bus Stop

Episode Date: September 15, 2025

The Bus Stop***Written by: JT Johnson***Content warning: messed up looking cats... seriously, I don't know why writers are including cats so much in their stories lately.***When Sally Sleeps***Written by: Richard Saxon and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***The Martian and the Eel***Written by: Austen Lee and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***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.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. For your first story this evening, when a father takes his daughter to the bus stop, a disturbing parade of stray cat seems to signal something wrong.

But will anyone be able to figure out what before it's too late? Creepy Presents The Bus Stop, written by J.T. Johnson. The morning was a wash of dark and light gray, giving the world beyond my foggy window an almost monochromatic look as I felt my coffee cup. The muted sounds of Macy

getting ready for school drifting down from the hallway. My hands moved mechanically as I spooned sugar into the second cup. A strange wave of unease pulsing through me when I caught myself fixing the second cup of coffee. There were moments like that. Bits of my day that had been so routinely ingrained in Samantha

that I found myself doing them even when she was gone. The absence of her leaving a strange, aching hole in the world around me. Not right now. Not right now. My eyes stung with tears I knew I couldn't let out yet. My chest tightened. The sound of Macy's hurried steps was enough to snap me out at the impending spiral. My throat bobbing as I choked back the tears that nearly escaped.

Turning with a smile, I hoped, reached my eyes as I watched Macy run around the corner. Samantha's bright green eyes looked out from Macy's face, her dimpled smile faltering as she looked at me, then down at the floor. The early morning moved from dark gray to lighter gray as we went through the motions of our new mornings. Breakfast, homework check, brush teeth, help Macy find her shoes,

quickly make sure I myself had everything I needed to go to work, and finally bundle up to trek down to the bus stop. I was helping Macy zip up her bright, pink coat when I caught her looking over my shoulder, already knowing where her gaze had settled. For as long as Macy had been going to school, Sam would always stand in wait, then hug her, give her what felt like a hundred kisses on the cheek, then send her off with me to the bus stop. I held my breath, waiting to see if Macy would cry or ask questions or whatever it was Macy needed to do. Her eyes dropped to the floor, her lip giving a small wobble.

then whatever she might have wanted to say simply didn't talk to her say a small voice urged pushed away by my own pain clearing my throat i stood ruffling her hair as i smiled at her let's go kid it's unseasonably cold for october the air already sharp with a bite that's reddened a harsh winter my cheek stinking as we walk silently down the gravel road. Not quite a subdivision, Blueberry Lane, or what was built of it, had been a cluster of cookie-cutter houses. The location had been intended to offer a quiet country living, while also still being only a few minutes from town. For whatever reason, the construction of it had stopped,

and what remained were ten houses on a single stretch of gravel road just off the main drag, wedged up beside an overgrown mess of woodlands. An old sign still stood broken and sinking in the ground, more like a relic of the past than anything else. The words, coming soon, blueberry estates, displayed in blocky, fading letters. Weeds and saplings had nearly swallowed the sign up for the most part. But if you looked hard enough, you could see they would have been off our little road. The chatter and laughter were the kids and parents already at the bus stop drifted up as we walked.

our shoes crunching into the gravel as we both seemed to watch the ground. I felt Macy's insistent tug on my hand, her feet slamming firmly into the ground as she let out a loud squeal-like sound. Dad, a kitty! Kitty was being gracious. The animal walking at a slow, stunted pace, looked more like the long-lost remains of what might have been a feline at one point in its life. Daufer seemed to fall off in thick clumps as the cat.

A cat lumbered slowly down the gravel road behind us, two milky green eyes staring out from a sunken and gaunt face. I felt my face twist into one of disgust as it walked. Every bone perfectly visible beneath the leathery skin as it moved. Macy let out a long, bleh sound. Then her eyes became perfect circles, her bottom lip jutting out. Is it sick, Daddy? Can we help it?

I turned away from the cat, pulling. macy with me. I don't know, Mace. It looks pretty gnarly. Probably best we don't touch it. She let out a half-hearted, oh man, I already distracted as she turned off

to stand with a group of kids. I moved to stand beside one of the other parents. Hands tucked deeply into my pockets to try to find some form of warmth in the chilled air. I nodded, intending on seeing good morning when one of the moms looked past me, her eyes landing on what I knew, would be the cryptkeeper in cat form.

We all turned at the quiet steps of the skeletal cat, the milky green eyes moving to look over each and every one of us as it continued down the road. It moved just past the bus sign, its body whispering out small pops and creeks as if bones were rubbing against bone, slowly turning once to faces before plopping heavily onto the browning grass. Someone ought to put it out of its misery.

my neighbor Garrett muttered, sparing me a quick glance before turning his eyes to the road. Macy's eyes met mine as she beamed, her small feet jumping up and down as she pointed, rousing the interest of the other kids at the bus stop. Another kitty. Look, Dad! My head jerked up, following the direction of Macy's flailing gloved hand, to a ball of bloody fur and actual bone walking with tricky steps down the road. What the hell? My stomach twisted at the flat entire print mark across its abdomen. The cat had clearly been roadkill at one point. The eyes looked up at us with the same pale green as the first,

one leg popping loudly as it walked. A larger cat with a missing bottom jaw came lumbering down the strip of grass along the shoulder, thick strings of drool pooling under the ground as it walked. The same milky green eyes looking out from the same. decayed face. What the fuck? I whispered, my hand moving instinctively, pulling Macy against me, her face turning up to complain, then stopping when the other adults said the same with their own kids.

Three cats, corpses, things, had all moved to sit in a line. Their milky eyes watching us with as much intensity as we were to them. Daddy? Lisa's eyes moved to look up at me. Her voice muffled as she pushed her face into my hip. I'm scared. I want Mommy. A knife-sharp pain cracked in my chest.

My arms holding her to me as I forced back to stinging in my eyes, aware of the others watching me from poorly hidden glances. They'd all been distraught for us when they'd heard the news, offering to help us in any way they could. The loss of Sam had definitely hit our little road heart. the mention of her making us all darkened with grief. I know, kid. I forced my voice to sound calm,

my heart lurching heavily into my throat. I... Where's a fucking boss, anyway? Garrett's operus does enough to make us all look up. One of the moms clucking and huffing loudly, her face reddening. Language, Garrett! I don't... No, he's right.

I glanced wearily at my... watch, surprised to see the bus was at least 15 minutes late. But is usually here by now. I'll call him, Garrett drowned. Probably ran into construction or... Another cat, Dad? Without looking, I already knew. The smell alone was enough to alert me that the numbers of the corpse cats had grown.

Where there had been three only moments ago, all in varying stages of decay, now sat at least ten. those hard to call some of them cats as if someone had gone and dug them up their wide lifeless eyes all watched us from decomposed faces dead my thoughts whispered with caution those cats are as dad as dead as dead can get daddy's voice shook daddy i want mommy I cleared my throat. Macy? Mommy? There's a strange tingle in the air. The sort of feeling you sometimes get before a real good summer storm,

one of those record-breaking kinds. I shivered, eyeing the sky, half expecting to see looming thunderheads. One of the cats, the one with a missing eye, let out a long, drone-like growl. its single-eye glare directed at our little group. The low rumble of an engine purring up from around the curve, a collective sigh seemed to pass through us. About damn time! Garrett shuffled his kid in tow as he stood ready at the stop sign.

The cats were all growling, yowling, doing whatever sounds they could make. My stomach nodded as I watched one of them jerk-jarringly forward before settling back onto its haunches. Macy's voice was pitched and taut, the guitar string ready to snap. Her face turned up to look at me, her eyes wide and pleading as she demanded to go home. Macy... The bus rolled to a stop, breaks letting out twin screeches. I was almost convinced to let her go home, to call in sick and just call it a day.

My throat was tightening as I felt her little arms squeeze around me. My phone buzzed, forgotten in my hand. hand as I looked away from Macy's pleading face. The words, where are you? Presentation in 15 lit up my notifications. Fuck. I held my breath, pocketing my phone and carefully peeling Macy's arms from me. You gotta go to school, kid. Tell you what, tonight we'll get pizza. I'll even get some ice cream and we can make Sundays, okay? Her arms flopped loudly to her sides, her lower lip puckering out as she glanced at the bus. and her friends all bustling on. I could hear Garrett talking to Bud,

not quite able to get the exchange between the two older men, as I gave her one last hug. Macy, you gotta go to school. We'll have a movie night tonight. Your pick, okay? She nodded. The movement's slow and defeated as she turned away, her shoulders slumping lower as she trudged at the back of the line.

When it was Macy's turn to board the bus, I ruffled her hair, pulling from her. one small half-smile before she turned and made her way down the aisle where I can no longer see her. I felt my breath catch when my eyes met Bud's, dark circles under his eyes hanging like bags. His skin a sickly yellow color as his hand seemed to grip the wheel with unnecessary firmness. You... You... you okay there, Bud? Bud gave a slow nod.

His movements reminding me of how Marianettes would jerk and sway at the end of their strings. His mouth never quite shutting as he stared at me. His eyes were blank. The emptiness of them setting my nerves on edge as I tried to understand the little alarm bells ringing in my head. Before I could ask more, before I could say anything, he turned away. His empty eyes were turning to the gravel road.

The bus door is squealing shut, leaving me staring at the thick mud that layered splattered over the windows. Hungover. I'm sure of it. Garrett gave an annoying smirk. Been on that side of the bottle once or twice. I nodded, an uneasiness jittering through me. My mouth went dry.

My hands uncomfortably cold as I took a step. I'm sure what my plan was, only knowing deep, deep inside my stomach. I knew I needed to get Macy off the bus. I asked myself why. She's fine. I'm being paranoid. A few sick cats and I go and turn into one of those people.

Those people, the kind who pegged their mood by what phase the moon was in, the ones who look at their horoscope in the morning and say, Of course I'm in a bad mood. It's the stars, see? Sam had been one of those. Maybe not to the extreme, but certainly one of those. I'd poke fun at her for believing if she blew kitchen spices into the front door every month. that it would bring in, what was it? Prosperity and good health. I rolled my eyes when she'd make decisions based off her gut. Your gut only knows that it's hungry, nothing more, nothing less Sammy,

I'd always say. Standing here now, I felt the oddest pinch in my chest, in my gut. All at once, it was as if I could see Sam beside me, standing in her hospital gown, her tired face looking at me with the smallest, saddest smile curving her colorless lips. I could see her eyes, no longer a bright, lively green but a pale, lifeless shadow of the color they had once been. Get her off the bus, Pete. I feel it in my gut. Something bad is going to happen. Her words, I could hear them perfectly. Crystal clear, as my great grandma would say. I took another step. The logical voice now drowned out by Sam's weak dying whispered to get Macy off the bus. The bus was rolling forward.

Each turn of the tires picking up speed until I was jogging behind it. My throat squeezed too tight for any noise to escape my open mouth. Pete, what are you? Garrett's voice stopped. I stopped. It was like the world stopped. I was standing in the dust kicked up from the tires. My eyes on the bus.

which had veered off the road, crunching loudly into the ditch and trees. I could hear the cats yowling. This sounds long and low and high and pitched. Their crackling bones making my skin crawl. What's going on? Garrett pushed past me, stomping through the tangled weeds as he stormed towards a bus. His fisted hands pounding into the door. We waited, the silence pulling along.

Even the cats had gone quiet. Hey, bud, open? I'd moved without realizing it, my own hand smacking the door alongside Garretz. This intensity in the air made it hard to breathe. I could picture Sam standing on the other side of the dusty glass. Her eyes now glazed, her skin and the color only a corpses could be. The image of her lips moving rapidly as she mowed the words, Too late, too late, you're too late.

Fear spiked inside me, irrational but real all the same. My breath's seizing in my chest as I stumble backwards. I'll go to the back. I hadn't meant to yell it, the fear making my voice hitching croak, giving a palpable panic to the air. If they hadn't been worried before, the others seemed to be worried now, as if the panic my voice had taken had been contagious. Time felt as if someone had poured glue over it. I felt too slow as I kicked and pushed my way through the overgrown ditch, shaking the locked emergency door with trembling hands. Hey, can someone open this for me?

Hey! I cupped my hands over my eyes, trying to peer inside the dark window at the back of the bus, the thick smears of dust making it nearly impossible. Everything around me became muffled, as if I was hearing it all underwater. The sound of Garrett still trying to get bud to open the door. The frantic voice of one of the moms trying to talk to the kids from the side of the bus. Another parent on the phone. Her voice quipped and shaking as they called in for what I assumed be emergency services. I glared through the dark glass.

My jaw clenched tight as I tried to make out the shapes beyond the dust and tinted windows. I could see the rectangular shapes of the seats. See the muted light shining in from the other side of the bus. The inside of the bus looked eerily still. The sort of still you only see when there's no one occupying the space. There were no kids laughing, no kids panicking or crying, no bud yelling at them to stay still and seated. No kids.

Gone. Confusion, reason, and Sam's haunting phantom words. Too late. You're too late. Thrummed in my head as I stumbled away from the emergency door. My leg shaking as I staggered back. or on the side of the bus. My eyes met Garrett's, his own holding the same puzzled and terrified expression I knew my own

hat. I felt my lips moving, unable to hear whatever words were rolling out of my mouth, only able to register, just barely, the color draining from Garrett's reddened face. It, he's not there. Garrett's voice was a whisper, his lips barely moving as he looked back to the door. I can't get the doors. they won't open As if on cue

The door is released the low hiss The hinge is winding as the door folded open Revealing an empty space where Bud had been only minutes ago A cold sugar struck at the muscles in my legs The same haunting image of Sam filling my mind The dead crumpled version of her folded in the empty seat Her pale hands holding the lever that opened the door I blinked away the apparition of her that opened the door

I blinked away the apparition of her that existed only in my mind, ignoring the non-existent whispers as I stepped down to the bus. My hands shaking as I moved to the narrow aisle. I stumbled, my legs nearly giving out as my eyes scanned over every seat, every space, empty. No backpacks, no coats, no sign that any child had been here at all. I stumbled another step, my hand pushing through a thin layer of dust. my mouth going dry as I took in the blanket of dust over everything. I spun around at the movement behind me,

Garrett's wide and watery eyes looking past me towards a scene that had shaken me to my core. My thoughts turned on me, invisible fingers pointing at me, Sam's sad, dead eyes looking at me from the empty driver's seat. Outside I could hear the loud yowls of the cats. The cockpony of it like nails on a chalkboard as panting. neck choke down on me. What? Where are they?

Garrett shoved past me. His steps loud and stomping, rattling the bus as he moved up and down the aisle, his hands gripping the backs of the seats as he tore through the bus. I? I couldn't speak. Couldn't begin to form words at all as I swayed in the confined space. The air stale and old in my mouth. It felt like wading through sand.

My whole body tingling as I forced my legs to make. move, the need for fresh air burning in my chest as I stumbled off the bus, not stopping until I was back on the gravel, my hands gripping my knees as my body convulsed with dry heaves. I was vaguely aware of one of the women screaming that they were gone, that they were all gone. My eyes burning with unshed tears as I tried to breathe. Her screaming ceased abruptly, the sudden void of noise filling my ears with a low ringing. It was then I realized everything had stopped. The cats, the bird calls out in the trees,

mix of panicked yelling from the adults who were now scrambling to understand what had happened to their kids. My eyes rolled up, lifting to take in the trees and weeds, no longer swaying, because the wind that had been rocking them had gone still. The world had seemed had somehow been paused, suspended in a way that made everything feel tilted and without balance. A warm fizzle popped in the center of my brain. I felt it as surely as I would feel any weird sensation on my body. My eyes blurred before going white, then black, then blurred again.

The need to panic somehow too far away from me, as if I were slipping away into a place it didn't have things like fear or missing children. The ground moved, and for a moment I thought I was fainting, the sensation of falling making me sway a bit, but never outright take it. taking me down. I turned, my eyes slowly moving to the cats, the now dead, cats. They lay along the shoulder, lined up in a row as if someone had come out and intentionally placed them in all the same way, their milky green eyes vacant of life.

I felt my brain turn, rotated by something not me, my mind moving sluggishly into place, quite clicking together, just sort of settling, like those bits of snow in a snow globe. My eyes dimmed, the way old TVs faded to black before shutting off entirely, and for one small moment that somehow stretched into an eternity, I thought I might be dead, and then I was blinking, my phone buzzing loudly in my pocket, snapping me out of whatever strange days I'd been in. My eyes felt dry as I looked down in my phone, gripped tightly in my pale fingers. The text, We are in serious shit.

Where are you? You missed the presentation. Someone ought to do something about all this roadkill. Gira muttered, moving to stand beside me. I nodded, my thumb slowly typing out. Weird morning, I'll be in soon. I looked at the cats. then at the bus someone had abandoned in the ditch.

What about that? Think anyone got hurt? No, it's empty. A woman who also lived on the lane walked away from the side of the bus. Her face pinched, her mouth pulling to the side. I'm sure someone will come and tow it. I nodded, dropping my phone back into my pocket. The strangest feeling tugging at me.

Garrett, who I'd known as a neighbor for a while now, stood beside me. His face darkened with an expression I couldn't quite name, but I knew I felt myself. You know, he shook his head. It's the damnedest thing, but I have no idea what I was doing before now. His eyes sort of glossed over then, my own thoughts, feeling as if someone had slammed a glass wall between them. before before before i rubbed the back of my neck a headache slowly fanning out at the base of my skull confusion followed by concern making me feel almost dizzy as i looked back at the bus a bitter wind swept past us a violent shivered jarring me as i took a few steps back towards my house i'd better get going my words came out slow and sticky as if i was a little shivered jarring me as i took a few steps back towards my house i'd better get going my words came out slow and sticky as if I'd been drinking, or I'd just been woken up from one of those naps, I'd feel like they lasted forever.

I'm late. There were several of us standing at the end of our lane, all of us looking around with a sort of stupefied expression. One by one we began to walk back towards our houses, a shared uncomfortable silence between us. I could hear Garrett behind me, our shoes crunching quietly into the gravel as I moved to stand at my car. My eyes lifting to find him as he walked up the small pathway in his yard.

Garrett's mention of being unable to remember anything about his morning prompting my own questioning thoughts as I tried to think back to how my day had started. I could vaguely remember coffee, getting dressed, brushing my teeth. There were large holes in the memories, though. The chain of events that made up my morning looking more like Swiss cheese than an actual recollection of my routine. Weird morning, right, Gere? He looked at me.

His face had taken on a sickly green color. His eyes squinted into thin slits as he looked back at the end of the lane, his mouth drawing into a thin line. I thought he was going to say something. I could almost see the words building in his mouth. Instead he turned, giving me one small wave before disappearing into his house. I got into my car. turning around to run my eyes over the back seat, scanning over the floorboard littered with

random fast food wrappers, then pausing on a small pink plastic dog toy wedge between the seats. Something in my stomach, my gut twisted, a tiny, almost non-existent voice yelling, wrong, it's all wrong. I frowned, reaching back and plucking it from its place, turning the small toy over in my fingers as I tried to recall how it could have gotten into my car. The letters M.P. had been carefully scribbled onto its stomach, being faded and old. The knowledge of where the little dog toy had come from lost to me.

My head hurt the longer I stared at the toy, like a strange muscle cramp where all my memories restored. My mouth watering with nausea the more I tried to remember. My phone buzzed again, a new urgency slowly overtaking the strange questions, swelling in my head. I pulled my phone out, typing out my text quickly before turning off the lane. Sorry, I feel like I'm forgetting something.

Anyway, on my way. For your second story this evening, an orphan's nightmares begin to twist and manifest until sleep becomes a deadly curse. Creepy Presents When Sally Sleeps Written by Richard Sassette. And narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. There's an orphanage situated in northern Pennsylvania,

in a small town so isolated from the rest of the world that it might as well not exist. Why in God's name, anyone decided to put Dawson's home for special children here? I'll never know. But without any other opportunities in life, I'm stuck here until the day I draw my last breath. Don't get me wrong. Now that I've been here for well over a decade, I'd never leave. If I can give even a single one of the children a better future in life,

this pain will have been well worth it. But the kids they send up here aren't exactly ordinary. They're the ones abandoned on our doorstep, left behind by their families without anyone to care for them. They usually move from orphanage to orphanage, acting in ways their caretakers just can't understand. It's not like they're bad kids, but rather odd. It's a fickle thing to describe beings that don't abide by the laws of science and physics. To most, these kids might sound like mythical beings, or just deluded stories told by someone suffering from mental illness.

Honestly, that was my first impression as well. But then they showed me Laura, the girl that never aged. She'd been ten for generations, but even her mind never matured, because her memory kept getting wiped on her birthday, leaving her in a perpetual cycle that never ended. Even she wasn't enough to convince me. Next, they showed me Alexander. He was a boy without a face, born with flawless skin replicating each feature of his head.

How he could breathe, or how he navigated the house without bumping into each and every wall, was an amazing feat. It was as if he had eyes, and a nose and a mouth, but he couldn't talk. By the time I arrived, he'd already been there for three years, unable to effectively communicate with anyone. Then there were the less severe cases like Daniel. He looked and acted like a normal child. But whenever he fell ill, every single person in the orphanage got infected with the exact same ailment.

Even if it wasn't infections, or James, who just spoke a language no one had ever heard before, incapable of learning anything in English. a single one of them were evil, and they sure as hell weren't monsters, not like I'd been led to believe. They were just victims of various curses thrust upon them by an uncaring universe. I wanted so desperately to help them, to give them a chance at life, but for each year that passed, they kept dying, either from their own curse or that of others. Those that fell to an early death were quickly replaced by a new, abandoned child. After my first year at Dawson's home, I wanted to leave with every fiber of my being.

I tried too hard to help the children, but I just couldn't. Even though I didn't have enough money for a bus ticket, it had all gone to helping the kids. Still, I needed to get out to find a new life before I turned suicidal. But then, I met little Sally. She was the most wonderful girl, a perfect little child that just happened to wander onto our doorstep. I was the one to find her, standing outside the orphanage and dirty clothes, after seemingly having wandered the streets for days. Without hesitation, I brought her inside, feeding her and giving her a fresh set of clothes.

She was only six, but she was so extraordinarily thankful, polite, and intelligent, well beyond her years. As I put a bowl of hot stew in front of her, she just stared down at it, waiting for permission to start eating. My heart immediately broke once I noticed the hunger in her eyes, but she just sat idly by, waiting for me to tell her it was all right. Once I gave her the go-ahead, she basically inhaled the bowl, at which point I gave her a second serving.

I tried to figure out her name, but she couldn't remember. All she knew was that her parents had called her little Sally, but where they'd gone, she didn't understand. After she finished eating, she just started talking. She never mentioned what happened to her before we found her. but rather about her favorite animals, the climbing tree in her backyard, and the playground next to her school. I did my best to decipher the clues, but had her young age, she didn't give me much to go on. It was starting to dawn on me, however, that whoever she did belong to, when I tried to ask about the parents again, she fell silent.

She refused to talk about them, but based on the bruises and malnourished form, we suspected abuse. Despite all that, she was a perfect child. And though we couldn't quite figure out what happened to her, we were happy to have her by our side. On top of it all, I almost let myself believe she wasn't cursed with strange abilities, at least until the first night she spent at Dawson's.

We always give the newcomers a separate room for the first night to adjust them to the new settings. Sally was no exception and we fully intended to integrate her into our large family once the morning rolled around she just needed time as day gave way to night I let her into her temporary room the walls inside were filled with drawings from the previous children each creating their own piece of art on their first day on our place I explained to Sally that she'd be allowed to draw anything that came to were mine, a useful exercise for us, to figure out how her mind work, and also one to help her

relax. She seemed to like that idea, and with that I left her alone for the night. That night, I felt a modicum of happiness for the first time in months. I felt like I'd finally have the chance to help someone, to bring them into the real world. A task beyond just keeping them alive. But despite my enthusiasm for our new family member, sleep would not grant me the rest I needed. My dreams quickly turn to nightmares, filled with worry and uncertain pictures of death. I knew the images I saw weren't real, leaving me with a hint of lucidity.

Yet I could not wake until the alarm for. finally jolted me back to reality. Exhausted, I went to check on Sally to see how she'd fared during her first night. When I opened the door, I was greeted by a full new wall covered in paper. In the span of just a single night, she'd produced just under a hundred new drawings, and they weren't bad either. Most of them were scenic drawings of the woods, always taking place. during the sunset.

Sally, did you do all this? I asked in shock. She nodded and gave me a gentle smile. She said, yeah, I can't sleep. It was an odd answer because she didn't look tired. She was fresh as she'd been the night before. I sat down next to her as she went onto her next drawing, of a princess riding a dragon over the treetops.

You like trees, huh? I asked, not sure what to say. Mm-hmm, she agreed enthusiastically. Then I turned my questions back at her odd lack of rest. Was something wrong with the room? Was that why you couldn't sleep? No, I just can't sleep very much, she told me. What do you mean?

She said, I don't know. When I sleep, I have really bad dreams. They are even badder than the dreams you had. I was taken aback by her last statement. My dreams? She put her coloring pencils down on the ground and looked up at me. Her eyes pierced me and I could sense a hint of pity in them. You were scared. I saw it, she said.

How did you know I had bad dreams? I always see other people's dreams, but only the bad ones. and then when I sleep I have them too she said Nightmares She nodded That's the day we realized just how special Sally truly was She was the girl that almost never slept Which meant it wasn't a coincidence that she ended up on our doorstep

She was an outcast Abandoned like all the other children Though her curse was minute in comparison to many others. Rather, though, than helping her deal with the curse, I wanted to teach her how to embrace it. To be proud of who she was. That was always a lesson I tried to teach the others, to accept themselves, or at least with things they didn't choose to be born with. I gave the talk about her being special, like the other children, which seemed to improve her mood.

She was happy, as if she wasn't alone for the first time in her whole life. She hugged me, and together we went to introduce her to the other kids. In the end, Sally didn't need a bed to sleep in, as she could just stay awake. Still, we wanted to give her a place that belonged to her, among the other kids. They all embraced her with open arms and went on to show her different places in the building. She quickly became one of us. Every now and then, she'd come running to me when the other kids were having nightmares. They scared her, but she was always more concerned about them.

She wanted me to help comfort them instead, to let them know that they weren't alone in their bad dreams. It became part of my daily routine, one I came to appreciate. Sally would let me know about other people's nightmares. and I'd come to the rescue. Things were going well, but as things eventually must, the good times came to an end. About one year after Sally came to us,

I found her unconscious on the ground. It was the first time I'd seen her so still, as if all her energy had left her tiny body. It had terrified me beyond words. She didn't seem wounded, it or anything. She was definitely breathing, albeit a tad erratically. In a way, it looked as if she was dreaming, running away from something terrible. I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the nursing station as we awaited a doctor. The orphanage was too far out in the countryside

for an ambulance to reach us, which meant we didn't have much in terms of health. apart from the single local doctor. Once I put her down safely in bed, she started wiggling around and mumbled something about Daniel needing help. As she spoke those words, I heard multiple horrified screams emerging from the playroom. The staff rushed towards the scream to find Daniel getting fused with the wall. His entire body had gotten entangled in the concrete surrounding it. him, and we can hear his bones cracking under the immense weight. He screamed in agony, but trying to pull him out proved to futile task.

All we could do was stare as he sunk deeper into the wall. A sledgehammer! I yelled as I held onto his arm. One of his staff ran out of the room, heading towards the basement where the tools were kept. All while Daniel's bones kept on cracking, his organs were turning to mush within the concrete. By the time I brought the sledgehammer back, his chest had been destroyed, making it impossible for him to breathe. He died inside that wall and never understanding why his life had to end. It wasn't until he dug his body out until we saw the true extent of the damage.

He had become a mangled bag of meat without the faintest hopus fravo. And none of us understood what had just happened. We were just lucky that the damage hadn't affected us in the same way his diseases had. As they cleaned up the blood and crushed chunks of flesh, I went to check on Sally. She had woken again and she was crying. She cried. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep.

I killed Daniel. I tried to comfort her, but she wouldn't have it. It wasn't your fault, Sally, I said. Though I didn't fully believe it. She said, I saw the wall smash him. I dreamed it. You dreamed about Daniel, I asked. She nodded.

What did you see? She went on to explain the dream. an excruciating detail, each matching the manner of Daniel's death. And that was it. The innocent girl I'd known for the past year was gone, and the true nature of her curse had been revealed. I gave her hug and told her that it wasn't her fault. Of course I meant it, because she couldn't control her dreams.

Still, we decided not to tell the other kids about what had happened, but even then they realized something about Sally had changed. Her previous happy persona had vanished, only to be replaced with something colder, more distant, broken. The next year was spent mostly trying to figure out how Sally's ability worked. A hard task for someone we'd only seen sleep a single time. During that time, I also tried to pry deeper into her past. It took a while, but with the little details she shared, I could sort of create a picture of what had happened prior to her arrival at our home.

She'd been sitting in the backseat of her parents' car as she'd suddenly drifted off. Then she simply dreamed that her parents never existed. And with that, she woke up alone on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I don't want to fall asleep, but it happens anyway, Sally would say. It would take another year before she started hanging out with the other children again. It was around the time of her eighth birthday. She was playing hide-and-seek with Alexander. He was oddly good at the game, at least for a kid with no face.

But on the sixth round or so, Sally never came to look for him. Once it became apparent that Alex would never be found. He decided to go look for Sally. only to find her fast asleep in the corner he'd left her. As we figured out what had happened, we started escorting the children into the bomb shelter in the basement, figuring we should get everyone as far away from Sally as possible. Then as we shut the door, it simply vanished from existence,

replaced by a concrete wall that wouldn't yield. We were trapped with no way out in the dim basement. The lights went out as well, and we were plunged into darkness. There was a flashlight in one of the closets, but it hardly helped illuminate the room. It was simply too old, and the batteries were close to death. We were all standing around in horrified silence. I was just praying that Sally would wake up before someone died. After a few minutes, the ground started feeling wet.

I shined the light down on the ground only to realize it had turned crimson rid. The air reeked of metal, and I quickly figured out that we were all standing in a pool of blood that was rising, rapidly. The screams the kid let out were heartbreaking, but they were muffled by the thick concrete walls around us, meaning no one outside could hear us. Within minutes it swallowed us. We tried to swim, but moving around in such thick liquid proved to complicated challenge. Once the blood hit the ceiling, we were all pulled under, unable to breathe.

I held my breath as long as I could, trying to find the children while under, but my eyes were blinded by the blood. I must have lasted two minutes before my body gave in, and just as I inhaled a lung full of blood, the entire basement reverted back to its native state. meaning that Sally had finally awoken from her slumber. The blood vanished in the blink of an eye, and the door reappeared. Once I regained my senses I looked around at the kids and staff. Most were fine, coughing up chunks of partially coagulated blood.

But James. James wasn't breathing. I rushed to his side, still struggling to catch my own breath. Then I started CPR. The others cried as I pushed his chest and, desperately trying to fill my lungs with enough air for the young boy. I felt his ribs crack beneath my hands, but I had to keep going.

Then on the third said he finally coughed up the blood and started breathing on his own. Sally was devastated. But despite the nightmare-inducing event, not a single person had died. time, though we couldn't keep Sally's curse a secret. The children put two and two together, and Sally once again became an outcast even amongst her own friends. I decided that the best way to help Sally would be to help her control her dreams, working on inducing lucid dreaming, reality checks that could help her snap back to reality. And for a few years, it actually worked. each time Sally would fall asleep she'd realize what was going on and wake herself up

but on the rare occasion that it wouldn't work people had a tendency to get seriously wounded on our 10th birthday Sally dreamed that the building was on fire luckily everyone got out in time mostly suffering light burns and some smoke inhalation once she woke up the building was fine as if the fire had never happened in the first place Then a few months later, Sally fell asleep twice in the same day. The first incident took place in the morning during breakfast. She'd created a new entity that she referred to as Mr. Sin. To us, he appeared as a normal middle-aged man in a suit.

He sat down with us in the dining hall and made casual conversation. It wasn't until someone asked about his briefcase that the horrors began. It was filled to the brim with human skin. He said he needed it for his home and tried convincing the children to come observe his room of flesh. Once he realized we weren't letting that happen, he just got up and laughed. Sally woke up from that dream relatively quickly. But she'd fall asleep again that very afternoon. That time we just caught a glimpse of Mr. Sin walking down the hallway,

blood dripping from his briefcase filled with skin. But he'd come from the kitchen where we found Miss Ingridson lying on the floor. The entirety of her skin was missing, stripped from the underlying flesh. She still writhed around in pain when we found her, but her body wouldn't last long. Before we could even try to get help, she died from shock. That was just the beginning of our living nightmare. Because as Sally hit puberty, her slumber. increased drastically in frequency.

It went from being a once a year occurrence to two and three. Before she even hit 14, her dreams had become a bimonthly occurrence. Ones that were wounding or even killing both the staff and children. She knew it herself. That her dreams would inevitably end up killing everyone she loved. We couldn't deny that fast. But running away wouldn't stop the dreams. Neither would locking her up.

She tried using different drugs to keep herself awake. But her efforts were all fruitless. Nothing could keep her awake. Eventually I was hit with the only possible solution available. The only thing that could end Sally's hail of nightmares was death itself. It wasn't like the thought hadn't struck me before. But I'd force it so deep into the darkest corner of my mind. mind that I'd never really truly considered it.

To save everyone else, we had to kill Sally. Since I was closest to her, I was chosen to do the deed. Our doctor aided me in choosing the most humane way of ending her life. Gave me an injection I can only assume held morphine. But he promised it would be a painless death. With that, I would lull her into an eternal slumber. I chose a Saturday to end her life. She'd asked me to take her out of town for the day, just two of us,

to her favorite hiking spot out in the countryside. It was a beautiful place, filled with endless fields, only bordered by vast forests. I'd brought a picnic basket full of her favorite treats, a final meal to end her existence among us. After we'd eaten, I told her what? needed to be done. I didn't want it to be a surprise. And I needed her to know that it wasn't her fault. She didn't even seem surprised. In fact, she almost seemed relieved that no one else would

suffer as a result of her curse. That in fact is why she had asked me to take her out to the fields, because she wanted just one final moment of happiness to pretend that everything would be fine. She'd considered ending her own life on numerous occasions, but couldn't find the strength to do it. We sat there for hours and just talked, made plans for a future she'd never have, and joked about the good memories that still linger from her past. I'm sorry, she mumbled. It wasn't your fault, Sally. Your dreams might leak into reality, but it wasn't your choice. Life is not a balanced scale between good and evil. It's a chaotic mess filled with random events.

You just got the short end of the stick. But that doesn't make you any less of a person. I don't know, she said. With these words, Sally fell asleep on my shoulder. I pulled out the syringe ready to strike before her nightmares could end me. Tears were welling up in my eyes. and my hands trembled as I pointed it at her neck. But despite her slumber, the world around me didn't change.

There were no horrors pouring out from her unconscious mind, nor any evil presence in the vicinity. That's when I realized that Sally hadn't just fallen asleep. She'd actually stopped breathing. I let her down to the ground, easily inject her pulse. She was dead. She'd taken her last breath before passing over to the other side, just like that. Whether she dreamed about her own demise or if it was a random stroke that finally ended her,

I'll never know. I gave her a funeral in the forest as she requested. I dug her body deep underground so she could rest peacefully among the trees. I failed, Sally. Like I failed so many of the children of the orphanage before. I'll keep trying. Because if I save just a single person, it will have been well worth it. For your final story this evening, a secret journal documents a tale of starvation, violence,

and something ancient in the deep black lagoon that tests the sanity of the wrecked survivors. Creepy Presents The Martian and the Eel, written by Austin Lee and narrated by Megan McDuffey. The Vittoria probe uncovered the following journal excerpts in the Martian volcano Arcea Mons. The translation department worked tirelessly to keep the original document pure, yet a few liberties were taken to assist with form and public comprehension. The Martian's journal details events aboard a ship named Radiant that once sailed a massive alien ocean. We theorized Radiant was a merchant vessel or a trader ship. The document's writer is equivalent to a 12-year-old Earth child.

If anything is to be learned from the writings, intelligent life separate from our own is possible and is more closely related to ourselves than ever imagined. Journal entry, 4,01010. Below us, the black water is still. It's unfathomably deep and encircled by a crescent moon aisle. Uncle calls it a deep water lagoon. All I know is it's as reflective as crystal glass. A fat yellow moon seems to hang in the water, and the reflection sometimes doubles in the blackness.

It reminds me of hollowed eyes. Our ship is in tatters. The squall surprised us, took two men with it, and rolled us. They shouted in chaos, but their words drowned in the whip-crack of the wind. Wood creaked. The waves crested us from all sides, and when the foremast broke, everything seemed lost. Then the main snapped in two and came crashing to the deck. Its heavy beam crushed the captain's leg.

He just kept screaming. The radiant floated for days until they found the Crescent Moon Isle and its deep underwater cavern. We're all to perish here. Cursed, cursed, cursed. The captain cried as we drifted into the lagoon. The men whispered of blood poisoning, Uncle said infection. Either way, the captain died, and over the ship's rail the men tossed his body, and the black lagoon swallowed it whole. Journal entry, 4,010, 2310. Uncle found me journaling again. Keep your head down,

Uncle says. We've been here for who knows how long. Don't let the boys give you a second thought. He bent down to me and lowered his voice to a whisper. Be wary. It's a bad time for a see. secrets. Now I have to sneak about to keep up my writing. There's a secret place to keep my supplies at the quarter deck, tucked in a lifeboat under one of the spare oars. But my skin chills back here as that large, yellow moon eye watches me reflected in the water far below. Journal entry 4,0.2010. A fight broke out in the galley. Royer, who always smells desperate for a bath, started the row over rations. He's a big one, and stronger than most. His presence frightens me. I've caught him looking at me when I clean the deck or one helping uncle. He knows I'm the cabin

boy, but his look has a strange thirst. Uncle's been keeping me close and out of the way, but at night I sneak out to practice writing, remember Mother, and watch the moon. Hunger pangs growl at endless hours, and the rations are cut low. Others completely, plane. Uncle says, do the job that needs doing. Food comes when it comes. But when he says that to Royer, the sailor shakes and his shade turns red. Royer puts his rations on the galley table and launches himself into violence at Uncle. The galley turned into an uproar, and they were all bigger than me. As the men clicked and whistled at one another, they circled around my uncle and Royer. Brawls have been expected lately. The men are shook to their wits.

end, but I've gotten rather good at avoiding them. I snaked between the ruckus and slid out. I'm spry when the occasion calls for it. Royer flew out the galley, thrown so hard he thunked against the wall, but he saw me, a bit of blood trailing down onto his yellowed teeth. Cabin boy, Royer said, you know you smell like a woman. His words were ice, and I froze. He clicked his mouth to and slowly reached out a long-fingered hand. My uncle yanked Royer up and taught him the meaning of the row. But those words, rattle my ribs. You know you smell like a woman. I wish mother could help me now. Can men smell a woman? Journal 4,010, 11

Today, Uncle and Royer were sent on a team to explore the island. The land is a rocky crag, but there may be something there. They fished the lagoon. Nothing. The deep water below us is dead. No spine fish. The journal describes fish as more prawn-like than Earth's species. I am nearly afraid to write down the next part because it must be madness,

but I remember mother showing me how to scribble and write. Even as the disease took her, she still pressed me on writing. She'd swear a journal helps anyone weather all storms. Thus, I write my storms here. Last night, as if the moon's milky-eyed reflections moved under the lagoon's still black water, I swear it did. I slept poorly after. In the hours before the witch, I woke in my standing hammock to feel more eyes on me.

Across the cabin, only a silhouette. I saw him. Was he watching me sleep? I'm glad they sent Royer to the island. I hope it kills him. Journal 4,010, 4.11. After mother died, it was uncle's idea

to disguise me. He couldn't afford me to stay on the land and had to take me with him to see. It's the life he leads. My choice was a cabin boy or a gutter rat. Uncle says, sailors are a brutish lot, but as long as you keep your head down, they'll never know the difference. He says I'm a late bloomer.

I hope Uncle is safe on the island. They've been gone for so long. Journal, 4,010, 5, 11. The Crescent Moon Isle is barren. It's only death. They say he fell. They say he broke his neck. It's all an accident. They fed Uncle's body to the lagoon. I can't feel anything. First Mother, then Uncle. I know Royer killed him. Journal 4,010, 6.11.

I have to write it down. Writing helps. It weather's the storm. My mother said. She said it on her deathbed. Oh, that thing. We were never alone. The massive thing below.

And Royer. Tonight I came to the quarterdecks hiding spot to write about Uncle. I sat above those massive milk-eye moons in the water. I missed my family. Death is so final, so unforgiving, so brutal. I feared my writing would be light because of my heavy heart, but the journal helps, writing heals. My eyes were wet and words refused to flow when the wooden deck creaked with another's footfall.

Royer stepped from the shadows, but never fully into the light. He said, I always thought you were a girl, can't keep confessions laying about. Then he moaned a strange noise, and his body convulsed. A sickly joy passed in his round eyes. He spoke more, but I could not bear to write down what he said next. Above, the Martian wrote of Royer's eyes. Round eyes does not cover how she described the other's compound eye structure. Our team theorizes the Martians, or at least the males, had thousands of visual receptors,

or Amatidia, not unlike a common housefly of earth or a praying mantis. Royer clicked and shook once more, then came for me. I froze. He closed the gap in long, uneven strides. I waited still as the black water below, and right when his long fingers reached to clasp me, I sprang to the side and tripped him forward with all my weight. I am spry when the occasion calls for it. Royer's knees bashed the banister and he cried out. I saw his feet.

She refers to them as pads or pad-like. Leave the deck as his momentum overtook his balance. He plummeted until there was a great splash. And there. Oh, there, that reflection of the moon, the yellow eyes below us. I saw it move the other night. And it moved once more. The milky orbs rolled in the black wave.

Not a reflection, never such. Oh, mercy, those hallowed moon eyes. Royer surfaced his face scowling. He saw my white fear, his color drained. Underneath him, where he trod water, pink jowls expanded in the blackness. From the depth, a reptilian face grew, and a water snake larger than the radiant herself came out of the lagoon's depths. Its maw encircled Royer from underneath.

Terror worked across his face, then the jaws snapped shut. Waves from the force rocked the ship, but somehow I knew Royer was alive in there, swallowed whole. The creature's yellow eyes rolled up, her mouth forever frowning like an eel from a deep cave. She stared at me, contemplating, then sank below and disappeared. Journal entry, damaged date. Radiant repaired. We set out on the morrow. I can write.

Maybe scribe work awaits me on the next shore. Never shall I sail again. The eel described in the journal was an astronomically large creature, but it reminds us of a moray eel on earth, a cave-dwelling creature waiting for prey to drift by. It had become used to eating the bodies of the dead sailors and probably assumed Royer some sort of offering, like the bodies before. We theorized the Martian Sea creature measured somewhere between 17 and 22 meters, and had quite an

expansive jaw. If the writer were correct about Royer's fate, swallowed whole, the male sailor would have suffocated inside before the stomach acids did him in, though he may have felt it. Sadly, the oceans of Mars dried long before our time, and whoever the journal's writer was and the strange beast she encountered are now but dust on a red planet. 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-like licensing, or with written consent from the authors.

No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the story's author.