Creepy - The Caroller

Episode Date: December 30, 2024

The Caroller [sic]***Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_CarollerContent is available under CC-BY-SA***Channel ∞***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Channel_%E2%88%9EContent is available under CC-BY-SA***Down into the Hungry Deep***Written by: Deirdre Coles and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***The Rose Room***Written by: Some Unholy Obscenity and Narrated by: Michelle Kane***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.

Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons, Lola Ha, Linda Ectal, Anthony, Angelina, Tim, and Rob Armstrong. All patrons enjoy early commercial-free access to all episodes. And depending on your reward, tier rewards also include up to four bonus episodes every week. Which means at the $7 a month and higher levels, you get immediate access to about 1,600 extra stories. So if you'd like to support the show and get rewarded for it, please check out the donation. here's at patreon.com slash creepypod. As we wrap up the last Sunday in 2024, I just wanted to thank everyone out there who tuned in this year.

Whether this was a new discovery for you or you've been with us since the bad days. Thank you. Thank you for sharing the show with others and taking the time to play in the darkness with us. We have a lot more on deck for 2025, but I'll get into that next week. Until then,

wishing everyone here a new year are filled with all the best kinds of horror. and none of any other kind. And 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. Creepy presents The Caroler with narration by Jimmy Ferrer and Nate Dufort.

I always thought it was one of life's wonderful coincidences that my fiancé was named Noel and she loved Christmas more than anybody I know. Every single year as soon as Halloween was over she'd be up in the attic fetching lights bibles and tinsel, ready to transform our home into a space so festive, it will put Santa's grotto to shame. I can picture her now, hanging bows and ribbons over the fireplace in our

cottage, blonde hair tied back, stray specks of glitter on her cheeks, and with the sleeves of her latest awful cheesy Christmas jumper rolled up so she could work even harder. I even joked that the first dance at our wedding would be to the strains of I'll be home for Christmas. Noah laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. She used to laugh a lot. That changed this year. In what was supposed to be our last Christmas as an unmarried couple, the cottage has been decorated since the second week of November.

We live on a small rural road. and there are only three other houses around us. As such, we didn't have much competition when it came to Christmas decorations and we were always the first to switch on the lights on the front of our house. I'd spend a long time hanging strand after strand, bulb after bulb. And soon the front of our house was almost entirely covered in twinkling, sparkling lights. It was a time-consuming, fiddly job. and the electricity bill was going to skyrocket but it was worth it just to see the childlike

joy on noel's face when they were first switched on I know it sounds corny but Christmas with Noel really was the most magical time of the year and if she was excited at the switching on of the lights she was practically jumping for joy when two weeks ago The heavens opened up in a sudden flurry of snow drifted down onto her little lane. Come look, she squealed. Both hands pressed against the window. Her nose a mere inch from the glass. And she beamed at the winter wonderland taking shape before her eyes.

I slipped up behind her. Wrap my arms around her waist and kissed her rosy cheek as we watched the snow fall together. Soon everything was blanketed in a crisp. pristine snow I lit the log fire mold some wine and we had a truly heavenly evening together sometimes in my darkest moments I can take comfort from the fact that noelle and I shared that amazing night sometimes the snow fell into the following day and we rose that morning it was at least five inches thick noelle warmed her hands on her mug of coffee and stood at the window transfixed. A short distance along the road we could see our neighbors. Sarah and Kevin who held

their infant daughter Olivia in a baby carrier strapped to his chest. Out in the yard building a snowman. We'd been good friends with them ever since we moved in and made me smile to see their ruddy cheeks and the small puffs of steam they exhaled that rose around them as they laughed together. Noel waved down to Sarah. The diamond and pink sapphire engagement ring I'd agonized over for weeks twinkling in the bright winter sunlight. And the happy family below saw her and waved back. I know this sounds cheesy, but it was an idyllic holiday morning. By midday it became obvious that we weren't going to be driving anywhere for the foreseeable future.

My vein attempts to drive my battered old car out of the garage and across the snowbound driveway, were very quickly dismissed as futile. Instead, I reversed the car back into its home, closing the garage door behind me. It looks like we're stuck here, Noel had smiled. I really hadn't minded. I could think of nowhere I'd rather be. There was just one blip on our otherwise wonderful day. Just after lunch, I accidentally brushed against a tree, knocking our star from the top.

It hit the floor with the clatter, narrowly missing the assortment of brightly wrapped gifts that we already strewn about, and, much to Noel's dismay, snapped in two. It had been the same star that Noel had placed atop her tree for over a decade, and while it looked a little threadbare, it bore some significant sentimental value for her. My attempts to mend the star came to knot, and I told a teary-eyed Noel that I promise I'd take her to buy a brand-new one just as soon as the roads cleared. If only that had remained the worst thing that we'd have to deal with. If only, he hadn't come to our home. Later that evening, the fire was crackling away, casting a dancing light about the now darker room, when we heard a voice. It took a few moments to recognize that it was real,

not one of those Noel's scratchy old Christmas records. It was a deep, rich voice, slowly and tunefully singing I saw three shims. Noel recognized it a moment before I did, and a look of unadulterated joy spreading across her beautiful face, as I asked her, Can you hear that? A carolar, she cried, actually clapping her hands as we wandered out into the hallway.

As we moved closer to the door, I could see a figure through the misted glass. Even from here, I could tell he was a big man, at least six-five, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. I saw three ships come sailing in on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day. His voice was truly mesmerizing. His tone was perfect, not unlike the Basie Barrettone of a crooner such as Bing Crosby or Dean Martin. I could never have imagined that a voice such as that could have come from somebody like him, somebody capable of the things he did. I opened the door and stood, my hand on the door frame just taking in the sight before me.

For a second, I thought we might have been visited by Santa himself. The caroler was indeed huge, dressed in a thick, warm red winter coat. The hood pulled up over his head, casting his face in shadow. The coat was padded, lined with insulation, so it added even more mass to the hulking figure before me. He even had a long unruly beard that spilled down his burly chest. But unlike Santa, his was a fiery ginger rather than white. However, on closer inspection, the similarities ended there.

The carolier wore what looked like old combat trousers, and a battered but sturdy-looking old Black Army surplus boots, which were partially buried in the thick snow. Illuminated by the glow of our porch light, snowflakes cascading down around him, hands behind his back while his deep, powerful voice, continued to boom out the classic carol. And what was he in those ships all three?

He truly was an awesome sight. I turned back to Noel to watch her reaction to the caroler. I knew her face would be a picture, and for a few brief seconds it was. She grinned at him, mesberized by his song. The rap smile on her face shattered. Her eyes widened in an unspeakable terror, and she started to scream. In that moment, I heard three distinct and separate sounds.

Noel's heart-rending cries, a heavy, dull metallic thud. and the carolers deep singing voice, utterly infaced and smoothly continuing with his song. Pray we this sail do ships all three on Christmas day, on Christmas day. I was only dimly aware of a hot aching sensation in my hand, as I turned back to see what had caused such a terrified reaction from my fiancé. It took me a few seconds to make sense of what I saw. The caroler was still singing, just his smiling mouth visible in the darkness of his hood. But he was attempting to tug something from the doorframe, like a dentist, trying to extract a tooth. Confused.

I looked at what he gripped in his massive paw-like hand. It was a meat cleaver, slick and gory, buried in the wood of the door. My blood ran cold as I looked down at the red snow by his feet. Scattered about his boots were some small pink slugs. Why are they out in this weather? I thought to myself as the caroler wrenched the cleaver free with his powerful arms. It dawned on me. They weren't slugs.

They were my fingers. The caroler kept right on grinning and singing as he raised the cleaver for a a second time, and I froze, dumbly staring at the useless, bloody stumps that marked where my fingers had once been on my right hand. Suddenly, Noel was there, slamming the door closed in the carolish face, still screaming. Chris, she cried over and over. She grabbed my scarf from beside the door. The same warm woolly scarf I had worn while decorating the front of our home with lights, and then took my wounded right hand in hers. Gently she pulled me away from the door, even as she wrapped the scarf around my mutilated hand as a makeshift bandage, the dull ache was now

a roaring pain, white, hot, and sending sparks of agony up my arm with every beat of my heart. The police, I mumbled. My vision suddenly starting to swim. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the shot. But every step I took away from the door was shakier than the last. Noel pulled my arm over her shoulder and together we staggered into the lounge, to the phone. Outside, the caroler continued to sing.

On Christmas Day in the Lump. As we reached the sofa. I tripped, stumbled, then eventually pitched forward onto the seat. Without thinking, I tried to break my fall, putting my hands out before me. Even wrapped in the scarf, the sudden jarring impact as the ruin stumps on my right hand struck the hard back of the chair was agony, causing me to cry out in pain. For a moment or two I could only hear the rushing roar of my own blood in my ears. My vision little more than white haze, as if I'd fallen face first into the deep snow outside. I don't know how close I came to passing out.

But when I was next aware of my surroundings, Noel, I was cradling my head in her hands, telling me that I needed to stay with her. Please, Chris, she whispered frantically. just stay awake. You need to stay awake. I nodded Dolly. Knowing that somehow, fortuitously, I had ridden out the pain, I whispered again. Police, seemingly reassured that I wasn't going to pass out any time soon. Noel nodded grimly, planted a kiss on my forehead, then scrambled across the room to the phone.

She'd picked up the receiver. Quickly punched the buttons and then she started to weep. It's dead, she sobbed, dropping the phone to the floor. Lines dead. The snow, I asked. But even as I said it, I heard the voice from outside, echoing under the moonless sky. Silent night. He was taunting us, telling Noel and I that he knew we were.

weren't able to place that call. Then I saw that cleaver again in my mind's eye. It's brutish, weight and wicked sharp edge. And I knew he'd cut the cable. He'd silenced us. Gersel! I hissed. And Noel nodded, before dashing out of the room and up the stairs to our bedroom. There was a silence for a few seconds, and then I heard her despairing cry. Call failed. She ran back to me, dialing the emergency services over and over, each call ending in the same infuriating beep. I saw red, blood pounding in my ears. Before I knew what I was doing, I was already lunging towards the door.

I don't know if I really thought I could hurt him. But I know in that moment, I was doing. I was ready to risk it all to try. I shouted a tirade of expletives, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and lurched across the room. Then, once again, Noel was there. She deftly stepped between me and the door.

Her big green eyes locked on mine. No, she said, quietly but firmly. Don't go out there. Please, I need you. And with that, she placed her left hand on my chest. The jewels in her engagement ring, twinkling like lights on the tree, just a few feet away.

I felt all the rage and fury of a way, seeming to pour out of me as I realized she was right. If I ran out there and tried to fight him, what would happen if I lost? What would he do to her? It wasn't a risk I could bear to take. Okay, I said, calmer, quieter. She didn't drop her hands straight away, frowning at me for a second longer,

unsure if I had truly ready to drop the foolhardy charge I'd been prepared to make moments earlier. Seriously, I said, taking her hand in mind. It's okay. With that she nodded, then embraced me, holding me close as we both tried to comprehend the horror of what had just happened. It took me a moment to realize that, once again, the night had fallen quiet. Do you think he's gone? I asked, gently releasing Noel and moving towards the curtains. I don't know, she answered back, already trying her phone again. That look on her face was enough to tell me that she still wasn't getting through.

Coverage had always been an issue in our house, especially when we had atmospheric conditions such as rain or snow to contend with. We used to joke that the fact that nobody from her office could ever reach her on a day off was the clincher in our decision to buy this place. We used to joke about a lot of things. I inch closer to the curtain preparing to peek outside. I don't think I'd ever been more frightened. than I was at the moment my hand closed around the material and prepared to pull it aside.

I think we've all had that fear of appearing out a window in the dark and finding an unfamiliar face staring back. The difference was that this time I knew for a fact that that face would have belonged to a man that wanted us dead. We both held our breath as I stood there for what felt. I don't like ten whole minutes, yet I realized it was probably less than 20 seconds, paralyzed with fear. Then I whipped the curtain back.

There was nothing there. Just our yard and the dark street beyond. I stood staring out into the night, trying to spot even the slightest hint of the Carolish presence. The snow changes the familiar into something else. It coats and covers everything, obscuring some things. Its bright color, lightning, and transforming others. The weight of the drifts on the trees, hedges, and bushes outside caused them to lean

and sag under its weight. And the wind caused the branches to bomb. Each of them look like a pale, watchful face, peeking out at me. from behind a strange, shapeless white blob. It could have been anything from a bike to a climbing frame, to a rosebush. Time and again, I thought, just for a split second, that I caught sight of the monster in the red coat. But I neither saw nor heard a thing.

Finally I exhaled. He's not there, I said. So what do we do? No, Noelle asked me. The sudden wave, a relief I'd been feeling, dissipated as I realized that the absence of our tormentor didn't mean anything. He was still out there, somewhere. And we had no idea if or when he might return. We need to get somewhere safe.

Quickly, I replied. The car? Noel suggested. It was the only course. open to us, that our walk out into the dark night where he was waiting for us. I nodded, and then as fast as we cut, we dashed through the house to the kitchen. There was an adjoining door to the garage, so we'd be able to get into the car without needing to venture outside. I told Noel to wait at the door while I got in the car, started the engine,

and opened the sliding garage door to check that the path was clear. If all that went without a hitch, she was to run straight to the passenger side door, and then we would get the hell out of there and not stop until we hit the nearest town a few miles away. If anything happened, she was to slam the door and lock it. At first she protested, but I made her promise that she'd do as I asked. I couldn't let him have us both. It seemed like a good idea. One that could work.

I really thought it could. With her reassurances that she wouldn't take any risks ringing in my ears. I kissed no-while goodbye and stepped into the garage. As I crept into the shadowy interior, I felt the temperature dropped drastically. It must have been below freezing outside. Yet still, I could feel beads of sun. sweat running down the small of my back. Perspiration causing my shirt to cling to my armpits and my sides.

I was terrified. My head snapping back and forth into every corner. Expecting the red-clad invader to suddenly bear down on me, cleaver raised, and that terrible grin on his face. It never came, but that open space between me and the car left me feeling horror. exposed and vulnerable. I glanced back over my shoulder once, twice, three times. But each time, the only face I saw was Noel staring back at me, tight-lipped and

teary-eyed. Finally I reached the vehicle, cursing when I saw that the windows are frosted over. That meant spending even more precious seconds in it with the engine runny. even longer that I'd be broadcasting our intentions to the carolar. As quickly as I could, I awkwardly threw the door open with my left hand, then dived inside, slamming the door closed behind me, a steel barrier between myself and the horrors outside. I breathed a long sigh of relief, then inserted the key into the ignition. I took a deep breath, turned it.

and it purred to life. I don't think I'd ever been so grateful to hear that noise in my life. Quickly, I flicked the wipers on, hoping to clear my field of vision. I heard the rhythmic squeak as the rubber swept back and forth against the glass. But to my confusion, the window didn't clear. Frouting, I reached out to the windshield and drew my fingers across it. They came away wet. leaving clear streaks that revealed the garage door before me.

Condensation, not frost. I saw the gap beneath the garage door straight away. The deep mound of snow that had wedged it open I tried to close the shutter behind me earlier at least two feet deep. Condensation, on the inside of the screen. Then came the voice. deep, melodic, not from outside the car, but from the back seat behind me. Do you see what I see?

I ripped the door open and threw myself out onto the dusty floor. As I did, I felt a searing hot pain in my shoulder, down my arm to the elbow. As I scrambled towards the door to the kitchen, Noel started to scream. Behind me, the door of my car creaked open, and the caroler unfolded himself from his dingy confines. Way up in the sky, little lamb. Chris, quickly, Noel screamed, beckoning me with her hands, hopping on the spot, and she willed me toward the safety of our home. I don't remember regaining my feet that short dashed to the doorway. Instead, my next memory is of bracing the door with my shoulder, leaving an angry crimson smear on the paint from the fresh wound of my arm, while Noelle

stood beside me, locking it. No sooner had she turned the key than came an enormous thump of impact, one that rattled the door in its frame, so powerful. that both Noel and I cried out an alarm. I honestly believe that the only reason I'm alive now to tell you this story is because when we'd place our refrigerator beside that door, when we'd move in, its proximity to the garage door gave us the perfect barricade. As one and without words,

Noel and I both tugged and pushed it into the corner, causing it to topple and wedge against the wall in front of the door. There came another crack. as the caroler threw his bulky frame against the door, and then again. Finally, he stopped, seeming to realize the futility of his efforts. With a tail as big as a kite. He crooned gently. There was no sound of exertion in his voice.

Not the slightest hint that seconds earlier he'd been kicking and peasant. pounding on the door to kill us. He was like a machine, inhuman, relentless and without weakness. Noel and I stood frozen, staring towards the entrance to the garage. From beyond the door, we heard shuffling footsteps heading away from us. His voice fading as he walked back towards the garage door

with a tail as big as a kite. We spent the next five minutes pushing bookshelves, tables, sofas, anything and everything bulky that we could lay our hands on against all of the windows and doors on the ground floor. We'd recently had new windows fitted, sturdy, double locked and double glazed, heavy-duty, but we weren't prepared to take any risks. Upstairs, I said, when we'd finished and Noel nodded and followed me. up the stairs as I walked towards the bedroom door I heard a sudden crash behind me nearly jumped out of my skin whirling around I saw the cabinet from our landing now on its side blocking the top of the stairway Noel pushing it into place another barrier she whispered it could buy us time I hadn't even thought about what we'd do should the carol or gain access to our home

but Noel had adding an extra level level of security that could buy us valuable seconds should the worst come to the worst. I stepped in beside her and shoved the cabinet too, until the entire top of the staircase was obstructed. Then I took her hand in mind, and we walked into our bathroom. You're bleeding. She said flatly. Her voice dull, numb by shock. I glanced down at the Florence saw a steady crimson pitter-patter of my blood raining down on the old pine floor. Not only had the wound from my hand started to leak through the scarf, but it was coming from my arm, too. Now I had the time to inspect my injury, and now I realized how bad it was.

The gash was deep, undoubtedly caused by a wild swing of that damned cleaver, and it would leave an ugly, scar, this whole night would. It'll be fine. I lied, knowing full well that I'd need medical attention sooner rather than later. What do we do now? Noel blinked, then raised her right hand. Even during the confusion and chaos of the events in the garage, our subsequent reinforcement of the house, she kept hold of her phone.

We had a lifeline. She lifted it to her ear and again called for help. Again, the call failed. As she tried again and again, I moved over to our bedroom window and peered out into the darkness beyond the glow of our Christmas lights. In that moment, I was grateful for them. There are no streetlights on our little lane

and without the bulbs adorning the front of our home. There would have just been. in no source of illumination, just the blackness of the night. Instead, they cast a glow that lit to just beyond the edge of our driveway. It wasn't much, but enough to see if our tormentor was again at our door. There was no sign of him, but as if to remind me that we were still under his scrutiny, I heard a deep, clear voice ring out from the door. darkness beyond the halo of light surrounding our home.

Good King Wencesloss looked out on the Feast of Stephen. Another message. Another warning that he was watching us and knew exactly what we were doing. I retreated from the window. Terrified that any moment his cleaver would come arcing out of the darkness, circling end over end until it crashed through the glass and into my exposed face. I can't reach them. Noel said, tears of fury in her eyes.

The phone is useless. I can't reach anybody. It's okay, keep trying, I said, slipping my arm around her. Even as I said this, I knew things were far from okay. And that I needed to think of something, anything, to ensure that we made it through the night. Racking my brain, I sat heavily on the bed and watched as she was. walked over to the window, pulling back the edge of the curtain to peek out into the night. She stood there in silence. Her back to me for a long time. And as she did, I realized once again

that the carolers voice had fallen silent. Do you see anything? I asked as I climbed to my feet and walked up behind her to join her vigil at the pain. Nothing. I looked over her shoulder and at the street below. I saw something that made my heart freeze. Over the road, just a little down the way, I could see the lights from the windows of Kevin and Sarah's home. Our neighbors, with their baby daughter, were at this monster's mercy. I gassed in realization, and as I did, Noel followed my gaze, then clamped a hand or her mouth. Oh no, no. She cried, fresh tears springing from her eyes. I stared out into the darkness and realized that our friends and their child needed to be warned.

I needed to go out into the night. I need to get to them before he does. I whisper, my voice betraying my terror. Chris, you can't, Noel cried. Her hands gripping on to my shirt. Her head shaking back and forth in denial. I can't leave them to him, I said, gently loosening her fingers from my clothes.

They have a baby, Noel. Livy is just a baby. But what if you don't make it there? Noel asked. Anger in her voice now. He'll kill you, and you'll have died for nothing. Then he'll come here and kill me. Then he'll kill all of them. All of us for nothing.

And what if I do make it there? I replied gently. Their phone might still be working. Maybe they have coverage in their home. And Kevin drives a four by four. If anybody's car is getting out of here, it's his. Noel stared at me, furious and frightened. And it took every ounce of resolve I had to stick to my guns.

More than anything, I wanted to just hide with her and hope that somehow, something else, somebody else, make everything better. I wanted to stay, but I didn't. You keep calling for help, I said. Keep watch out of the window. If you see anything, you'll be able to warn me. With you watching my back, he won't be able to sneak up on me. I'll be safe. Noel glared at me.

Her lip trembly. Then finally, she shook her head and dropped her gaze to the floor. Okay, she muttered. Her voice barely audible. I will make it, I said, lifting her chin up. I promise I will. Okay, she said again, then wrapped her arms around me holding me tight. We stood like that for a long time, neither saying anything.

What else was there to be said? Eventually we clambered over the cabinet at the top of the stairs and crept down them. We went into the kitchen where we each grabbed the biggest carving knives we had, then made our way to the front door. Through the misted glass, I could see the snow falling again, heavily, huge flakes the size of quarters. That's good, I thought. It'll hide me from him. I carefully slid the table away from the door, loosening the chain and unlocking it. Lock this behind me, I said.

Then I kissed my fiancé goodbye. As I flung the door open and darted out into the cold night air, I heard her voice behind me. I love you. Then the door was closed and I heard the locks clicking into place even as I dashed, crouching towards the hedge, feeling frighteningly exposed in the glist. air of the Christmas lights in front of our home. I dropped into the snow, my back to the hedge, using its bulk to obscure my presence from any watching eyes and the darkness.

I peered back up at the bedroom window. I was breathing hard, the clammy sweat on my brow turning chilly in the night air. Then, after just a brief pause, she was there. Noel's face came into view. light shining through her golden hair like a halo. I'll never forget how she looked in that moment. She was beautiful. She was so beautiful.

She scanned the street, eyes darting back and forth. Then looking straight at me gave me a short, sharp nod. The way was clear. I shuffled around the hedge on my hands and knees. The sound of my own breathing deafeningly loud. in my own ears, frantically looking around for me any sign of the red-coated maniac who had mutilated my hand. Upon reaching the roadside, I suddenly became aware of how heavily the snow was falling. No longer sheltered by the shrubbery, the flakes fell fast and relentlessly, blowing into my face

and causing me to squint. Then I was on my feet, and I ran. My feet sank into the sun. My feet sank into the snow causing me to stumble, but I kept my head down and plunged onward. I ran as if my life depended on it. Because it did. I was just a hundred feet or so to Kevin or Sarah's house, but the distance seemed like a yawn before me. The snow fell heavier and heavier, a blizzard obscuring everything before me. As I sprinted into the dizzying, shifting, black and white emptiness before me, I misjudged the curb and fell. Sprawling into the road, the knife I had brought for protection skidding away in the night. If it hadn't been for this snow, I might have split my skull open right there. Yet even though the snow cushioned my fall,

it was still hard enough. Packed down by the passage of vehicles during the day. My head slammed into it, my left cheek taking the brunt of the impact. I rolled over and over, dizzy. My left eye already closing as my face swelled. I didn't realize it at the time, but the blow had actually fractured my cheekbone. Instead, I lay there. My sense is scrambled, my vision swimming. I tried to regain my equilibrium, rolling onto my front and slowly lifting myself up onto all force.

Then I heard him. Oh, Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, how lovely are your branches. It was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. My head cleared instantly. The voice was loud, clear, close. I sprang to my feet and forged forward, desperately glanced. around me, terrified that the cleaver-willing monster would suddenly loom out of the darkness. That sick smile on his face as he sang.

I was so frantic that I again misjudged the curb on the other side of the road, tripping, stumbling, and yet somehow staying upright. Even as my foot struck a patch of ice and sent me spinning like a top. I turned once, twice, arms windmilly, then finally righted in myself. panting, gasping, I looked around me. Then saw the figure stood mere feet away. I screamed and frantically backpedaled. My foot again landing on a patch of ice.

This time I was not to be so lucky. My heel sliding forward as I fell down onto my behind, sitting heavily in the snow. My teeth clacked together hard. snapping shut on my tongue and filling my mouth with a coppery taste of my own blood. Hopeless, I waved my hands in a weak gesture of defense, hoping to somehow fend off my assailant. Knowing even as I did that, it was hopeless. I was going to die here.

But instead, the figure remained emotionless. Impassive. A snowman. The same snowman I had seen Kevin and Sarah building that afternoon. It stared down at me. That silly wide smile on his face, I almost wept with relief. Beyond it, I saw the warm glow from the windows that had set me on my journey through the snow. And finally, I actually thought that things might be okay. I stood again and dashed towards their door, a piece of coal crunching beneath my boot,

causing my ankle to roll slightly. But this time I maintained my balance. I pitched forward and then the door was there. I braced myself, lowered my shoulder, and with a deafening crash of splintering wood, the door burst inward, and I slid into the sanctuary of their bright hallway. gasping, sweating, bleeding. I turned and slammed the door closed behind me and stood for a moment trying to catch my breath.

I span around toward the voice desperately terrified. A surge of adrenaline flooding through me. My eyes swept around the neighbor's homely house, toward the stairs, the kitchen, the living room, expecting to see the carol or any moment. But he wasn't there. Nor was anybody else. The house was still.

And children listen to hear. Sleigh bells in the snow. Then I realized that wasn't his voice. It was the original recording. Bing Crosby's voice coming from a speaker somewhere in the house. I actually laughed. A sudden unexpected noise that seemed to bubble up from my chest and out of my mouth without warning. I didn't like the way it sounded.

A high-pitched, shrill, hysterical. Yet somehow that made it all funnier and set me off laughing again. I laughed until tears ran down my now purple swollen cheek. I tapped them away with the blood-soaked scarf wrapped around my throbbing hand. Finally, the laughter, or was it sobbing, subsided and I coughed to clear my throat. Then I realized that,

other than the voice of good old Bing. May your days be merry and bright. I didn't hear a single other noise, not even a mouse. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so callous. This is hard. I can't forget that night.

I could still see what I saw in there. What he did to those people. It makes me scared and sick. Sometimes I find myself imagining what they went through. I don't know if I'll ever sleep again. I drink a lot. I take a lot of pills to make those thoughts go away. Sometimes it works.

Sometimes I found Kevin on the rug in front of their fire. His face looked terrified, empty, bloody eyeless sockets gazing toward the family's lopsided tree. Broken bibles on the floor around his mutilated torso. Later I learned that those weren't logs crackling away in the fire. They were his legs. Horrified I ran through the kitchen Praying that I wasn't too late for Sarah and Olivia Even though I already knew the truth

I found Sarah there Her limbs had been bound with tinsel and as I looked at the smears of blood and bruises on her naked body I knew that he hadn't killed her straight away When he'd finished with her in a spidery Childish scrawl The caroler had daubed a message on the wall in her blood. I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus. In tears, I stumbled back to the lounge, heading for the phone, weeping as I went.

I picked up the receiver and held it to my ear. Nothing. God damn you! I screamed. Hurdling the phone across the room, and at the six-foot furtive. tree in the corner. It was only then that I remembered the song I heard out the window. Oh, Christmas tree.

Oh, Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree. Another message, sweating, holding my breath. I took a hesitant step towards the tree, then another. And then I saw why it lent. in such an ungainly way. It wasn't an angel at the top. It almost looked like a doll. She almost looked like a doll.

I threw up. A spray of vomit erupting between my fingers and splattering down onto the blood-stained rug where my friend and neighbor had spent his last agonized moments of life. That monster had killed them all. Butchered them. They died in their home, terrified.

And I had been too late, too stupid, too scared to do anything about it. I sank to the floor, had in my hands and cried. What else could I do? I'd failed them, and I'd failed. Noel. In my mind's eye, I saw what the caroler had done to Sarah. Noel was alone and he was out there. I set off at a sprint, throwing the door wide open and plunging out into the billowing snow.

I was reckless, not even thinking about the risks to my own safety. I just needed to get back to her. Now, now, now. I was so consumed with that thought that I didn't see the figure until it was right in front of me. I skidded to a halt, bellowing an alarm, as the shape loomed out of the snow and shadow. It was that damn snowman again. I swore loudly, suddenly consumed with a fury and lifted my foot to kick it over in frustration. It was then that I saw the raspberry pink streaks on the snowman's face.

Clown-like tears of paint. No, not paint. Tracing down the corners of its stupid grin. Stepping closer, I finally looked at its eyes. Kevin's eyes. I took off, sliding on the same patch of ice that I'd fall in a foul of twice before, tumbling forward but breaking my fall with good hands and quickly regaining my feet. As I dashed back towards my house, legs pumped and heart pounding.

I saw something glinting in the road, flesh of silver in the moonlight. My knife! I remember thinking that this was finally. a stroke of good fortune on a night that had brought us all nothing but ill. I scooped to snatch it from the snow, then straightened my back up and continued towards my house. My fiancé. My life. I'd barely taken two more steps when he slammed into me. Knife again flying from my grip. My unprepared body hitting the hard pack snow with the thud. I felt his weight on top of me as I lay face down on the floor and quickly,

instinctively I swung an elbow back hard trying to catch my attacker unawares before the cleaver could fall it didn't work instead of strong grip fastened around my arm and yanked my arm back hard causing me to cry out in pain i struggled shouting furiously but then something felt cold and hard snap around my wrist i said freeze shouted the man on my back as he wrenched my wounded hand behind my back and fastened the other cuff around my wrist. He lifted me off to my feet. I became aware of the flashing blue lights. A police car. A policeman. He was young, powerfully built, with short, closely cropped hair. The sort of face that suggested there was no room for argument when it came to his demands. Oh, thank God. I sighed, sagging with relief. I need your name, sir, the officer said, glancing about just in case the blood-soaked maniac he'd just apprehended in the street had an accomplice lurking nearby. I blurted out my name. I told him that I lived just over the road, that we had been trying to reach the police all night.

There was a lunatic on the loose, and who's we? He interjected, loosening his grip on my collar. Something I said had managed to convince him that I was no threat. He seemed to visibly relax around me, even if he wasn't going to take any risks. My fiancé, Noel, I replied as my head whipped back and forth, looking for our home through the heavy snow. Okay, sir, we received an emergency call from her. Can you tell me which house is yours? Upon hearing those words my heart soared. At long last, somebody up there in the heavens had smiled down on us,

given us the good fortune for which we'd been so desperate all night. Noel had finally managed to get through to the authorities. We were saved at last. Yes, I replied, turning towards our home. Come on, I'm going there now. It's the one with all the lights. At first I couldn't see the lights on our house and I couldn't understand why. Finally I spotted them, but something was wrong.

There weren't as many. They seemed to be more sparsely distributed than I remembered. And several of them had been piled up in a mound at the bottom of the wall, unceremoniously dumped there. It was as if they had been ripped from the wall or had fallen away under the weight of something bulky. collapsing as something heavy and powerful climb them. I don't remember much about what happened next. It seems I broke free from the officer and ran toward the house.

I can see flashes. Snatches of memory. The door already open. Bloody footprints on the stairs. The cabinet pushed aside on the landing. The dark puddle. seeping out from under the bedroom door. Noel.

Or should I say, the pieces of Noel? Then the policeman was on me, bundling me out of the door, screaming into his radio for assistance. Even as he dragged me back down the stairs and out of the door to his car, I've gotten no idea how long it took for the others to arrive. Could have been ours.

Could have been seconds. I remember crying. Unable to answer the paramedics questions as he examined my battered, swollen face. My mutilated hand. The terrible gashes in my arm. Eventually, one of the officers swarming in and out of my home told the ambulance crew that I could be taken to the hospital. As they closed the ambulance doors, I saw one of the policemen dash out of my home. my house and puke all over the front path, liquid streaming into the snow. Later that night,

they told me that Noel was gone. Of course I knew that. I'd seen what he'd done to her, seen the blood spattered up my walls, dripping from the ceiling. When I close my eyes now, I still see it. Every single time. So much blood. A week later, I was released. Still sore and taking a cocktail of pain medication to get to sleep each night. Despite the bitterly cold afternoon air, so freezing it caused my bones to ache. I spent at least five minutes standing on the doorstep.

Unable to move into the house that had once been my home, but would now only be the place I lost Noel. I don't know exactly how long I'd been stood there when I was interrupted by a tall black man with a weary face, wearing a long coat, who walked up the path behind me and introduced himself as Detective Ryder, the senior investigating officer of the case. Ashamed of the fear that had kept me outside, I let us both into the house and we went through the lounge. There, Reiner told me that over the remaining few hours before dawn, and after the ambulance had taken me away on the night the carolet came calling,

the police had conducted a thorough sweep of the street, as well as Kevin, Sarah, and Olivia. They found the bodies of Bridges family in the next house along. Mr. Bridges had been a gruff, surly guy, yet his wife and teenage son seemed to always be so happy. as if they somehow siphoned off his share of festive goodwill. I don't know what the caroler did to them. I suppose I should be thankful for that. Further down the road, Mrs. Parsons had been out visiting the family that evening

had been unable to get back home in the snow. That trip saved her life. The cleaver was from her kitchen. They never found the caroler. Ryder told me that the crimes were not unlike some that occurred over the holiday period last year right across the county. The police were treating both cases as related. The murders last year, like those of the night I lost Noel, remain unsolved. That should be the part where my story ends.

But it hasn't yet. I know it hasn't. Just three days ago after the club, cleaners had finished with the house, finally mustered up the energy to clear away our Christmas decorations. I didn't want any more reminders of that night. I was done with Christmas for good. As I took down the tree, I saw a tag on one of the gifts on the floor below. Noel's curly handwriting, to my husband to be with all my love. N

The tears came suddenly without warning My body was wracked with sobs so powerful They brought me to my knees I crouched there Beneath the tree and wailed and howled As if the only release from my grief would be To scream it out of me If only it were that simple

Finally the pain subsided and I wiped the tears And snot from my face with the gauze on my stomach up bandaged hand. I was alone. I will always be alone. Nealing there, I started rummaging through the presents, sorting them into piles. Mine and Noel's. Stopping occasionally to weep once more as I thought about how Noel would have reacted to each of the gifts I'd bought her. Her sob as I read more of her thought and handwritten tags. I thought I'd finished when I spotted one last parcel way down at the back of the tree. It was small, shoddly wrapped, and seemed to have a place there.

The pattern of the paper was unfamiliar and seemed a little strange. Odd spots dotted about in a haphazard manner. Confused. I reached back and pulled it out. There was no tag on it, so I held it up to take a better look. That was when I realized. that the spots on the paper weren't some en vanguard pattern. It was blood, seeping through from within.

I don't know why. I didn't just throw it across the room and get straight on the phone with Detective Ryder. I don't know why I had to open it, had to see what he left for me. But I did. I had to look. With a shaking hand, I peeled back the paper

to reveal a dirty cardboard box, one that had been taken from our own trash. On top of it was a note, written in the same childlike scrawl that I'd seen on the wall in Kevin and Sarah's kitchen. I read it, then slowly unfolded the lid of the box. I saw gray skin,

dark red flesh and a white knobs of bone. He'd made a star for the top of the tree. One he'd fashioned from fingers, bound together with his own thick red hair. At first I thought he'd just scoop mine up from the snow, but I soon realized there were too many. It was only when I recognized the diamond and pink sapphire engagement ring

on one that I realized he'd used some of Noelle's too. Detective Ryder arrived quickly. His team took the star and the note, searching it for further clues, running it for DNA and fingerprints, seeking some clue as to the identity of the caroler. They didn't see what I saw. Didn't understand his message to me. Today I bought a gun, and tonight I will sit on my door and wait for him to return. If he doesn't show, I'll do it again tomorrow night. and the next night.

I'll wait every night until Boxing Day, because I know that between now and then, he's coming back to finish what he started. To finish me, I'll sit, the gun in my hand, waiting to hear that voice one more time, and then either I'll kill him, or he'll kill me. I'll return here and update the story if I survive. But if you don't hear from me, beware.

Should you hear a deep voice singing out loud and clear one cold Christmas evening, lock your door, switch off your lights, phone for help and pray, it might be enough to save you. It might be. I suppose you want to know how I came to realize that he'll be coming back. What the note said that writer and his team have yet to decipher. It was more lyrics. Another message through the song.

The line was from a track I had heard hundreds of times during my relationship with Noel. One time I'd even joked would be the first to dance at our wedding. It was a line from I'll Be Home for Christmas. The note simply read. You can count on me. You presents. Channel Infinity. There's a legend circulating around the television industry.

It's about Channel Infinity. Channel Infinity is hard to get to, and reports vary as to what it actually is. I'll tell you how to get there, and then what to do. Acquire a television. preferably with analog for the best experience, and the older the better, acquire a remote control. It does not have to go with the television you're using.

Turn on the TV and set it to a channel that's static, or just a plain black screen if you're using a digital TV. Basically, any channel you do not receive. Leave the room for about three hours. If you have a significant other in the house, have them with you. It's also best to call over a few friends. During those three hours, you should acquire a few items. I'll list them in order from the most important to the least.

Note, none of these are mandatory, but they help. You will want, an item that you hold dear, two handheld mirrors, a firearm or other weapon, a favorite book, a mobile communications device, a key and a sledgehammer or pickaxe. After roughly three hours of past, re-enter the room. Have everyone else wait outside the door. Close the door.

Stare at the static or blank screen or whatever you set the TV to until you feel disoriented or freaked out. Call the others into the room. Give the item you hold dear to the person that you care about the most in the room. Then send them back out. If you did not grab an item that you hold the ear, hug that person and whisper a secret in their ear. Send them back out and command them not to come back in no matter what until you open the door again. Note, this will be harder for them if there are more of them, but it will be safer for you if there are more people.

Trust me, hold the mirrors so that one is reflecting the television's. screen into the other and the second is reflecting you so it looks as if the television's behind you stay like this until a question appears on the screen if you did not grab the mirrors then sit in a chair facing away from the TV until you hear a noise grab the remote there'll be a question on the screen press channel up to answer yes channel down to answer no there will be anywhere from three to 26 questions, if reports are to be trusted. The questions will be anywhere from trivial to deep philosophic personal questions.

Answer truthfully, or you will not succeed in reaching Channel Infinity. After the questions, one of three things will happen. One, your favorite show of all time will come on, but in the episode, all of the characters will be heart-wrenchingly killed. 2. You'll see a picture of your least favorite person or thing ever. This is where you use the firearm or other weapon. Break the TV screen with the weapon.

It will then fix itself. Note, this is obviously the easiest of the three things. 3. A strange shimmery vortex will surround you, and you'll be pulled into an alternate dimension. If you find yourself here, here's what to do. You'll find yourself in a twisted replica of your house. You'll need to go to your room,

where you'll find the four items listed that you'll need for this part. Take them. Enter the house. Outside will be a more evil-looking version of our world, with red sky, a gray sun, dark orange plants, in an ever-present thin vermilion mist. You must go to the nearest public building, i.e. a school, mall, gas station, etc. Use the key on the door and enter.

The key will fit the lock. If you did not get a key, climb in through a window. Upon entering, find a room with only one entrance. Sit down and begin reading the book. If you did not get a book, just sit down and be bored slash scared. You'll hear footsteps outside of the door sometime within the next hour. Don't look up from the book. After you can no longer hear the footsteps, count to 250 out loud.

Every ten numbers, you'll hear another footstep closer and closer to the door. Upon reaching 250, you'll hear a knock on the door. If there are three knocks, open the door. If there are four, say, I forbid you twice, and then open the door. You'll see a stone statue of someone you love deeply outside of the door. It could be a family member, best friend, romantic partner, or even a fictional character.

Smash its head to bits with a sledgehammer or pickax. If it's a female, also destroy the left hand. If you did not get the hammer of pickaxe, push the statue over. Exit the building from the entrance you came in through. It'll be night. Look at the moon. It will be either pink or green, and either full or half. If it is pink in half, pull out the phone and call your third most recent contact.

Pink in full? Pull out the phone and dial a random number. before they pick up, bite through your tongue. If you did not get the device, pretend to do the things above. Green in half, strip off all your clothing and sprint back to your house. Don't look behind you no matter what. Green and full? To put it bluntly, you're screwed.

You'll be dead within half an hour. If it's one of the first three, you'll be dead. wake up in front of the television and you can continue the ritual. After this, you'll have reached channel infinity. What you do now is up to you. If you go to the guide function, you'll see shows listed such as the meaning of life or how to acquire true love. Note, the more people you have outside the door with you determines the revelations that are the shows. The more people, the better chance you have of seeing shows with more life-changing results. Or, if you keep watching the static,

without going to the guide or breaking eye contact with the television, you'll see a series of images that will, if deciphered, reveal the answer to your greatest question. There are, at this point, many options. Too many to write. Just do what you feel like you must, and something will happen. The overwhelming majority of things will be good, but some will be bad.

You may leave the room at any point. However, there are two catches. You may never speak of what you learned after accessing Channel Infinity, and you may only reach Channel Infinity four times in your life. I hope you find the experience... Enlightening, creepy presents, Down into the Hungry Deep, written by Deirdre Coles,

and narrated by Megan McDuffie. Home still had its fish hooks in me. I couldn't wait to see my mom, and I really couldn't wait to see Eileen, but what surprised me is how desperate I felt to get to the ocean. I grew up with slivers of sea, visible from half the windows in my house, and the beach only a short walk away.

I had completely taken it for granted. Until I went away to college, I had never been more than an hour's drive from saltwater in my life. When the bus stopped, I saw my Uncle Casey waiting for me in the car, not even trying to hide the beer he was drinking. I shivered. It felt so much colder in Port Feeleyn. My college is cupped in a little valley like an inverted snow globe,

and us students are quite literally sheltered. Beer usually improved Uncle Casey's mood, so I was expecting a genial welcome, but he squinted at me in an unfriendly way and half grunted a greeting, complaining that the bus had been late. I had to make it through a gauntlet of other relatives before I could get to the kitchen.

My mom was wearing her cooking sweatshirt, and when I hugged her, I breathed in that smell of years' worth of pumpkin pie and sweet potatoes and fresh baked. rolls. But I could feel her ribs through the sweatshirt, and she looked so different, older and already exhausted. Her seasonal job at the new mall had started just after Halloween. She'd had a long shift yesterday and had to go in tonight right after our Thanksgiving meal for early Black Friday shoppers, not to mention a 12-hour shift tomorrow. She had promised we'd have

breakfast at the coffee shop on Saturday morning, but looking at her, I realized how much she needed to sleep in. And then my cousin Eileen spun around to face me. I reached for her, but she was brandishing a chef's knife and had tears in her eyes. I did a double take before I saw the bits of onion glistening on the blade, fine as dewdrops. You're finally here, she said. Her voice was strangely flat. She didn't smile. Eileen is prettier and bolder than me, and for so long that had been the most important distinction between us. We look alike, but she's aversion with darker eyes, glossy hair, a wicked smile painted ripe red with shoplifted lipsticks. I hadn't really thought about what it would mean when I went away to college.

I hadn't imagined anything could change what was between us, more than friends, more than cousins, closer than sisters. because she was born only five weeks before me. I'd missed her so much, but we were both so busy. Her working and me trying to keep up with work-study and classes, our old frictionless closeness was gone, at least for the time being. I backed away. I could give her space. All the noise and chatter was so overwhelming anyway. I was put to work, making pie crusts.

I bent my head, cutting butter into flour, listening to everyone else talk. Things were not good in Port Feelein. That was the gist of it. The town's long, slow decline had picked up speed once the new mall opened. The boardwalk businesses made less on summer tourists this year, and more and more of them were closing for good. Thanksgiving dinner itself kicked off with the usual Heaney family rituals. The ants bullying the table. into saying some form of grace, the already halfway drunk uncles protesting, the underage cousins, getting wine, despite the half-hearted objections of the moms. For once, I was more focused on the food. I sank my teeth into a pillowy soft roll, slathered with salty butter, so much better than

school cafeteria fair. My favorite class at college was intro to folklore, in part because Professor Kelly talked so much about Irish myths and legends. Some of the ants would carry on about our heritage, by which they usually met bagpipes and Catholic Mass and Irish step-dancing. But the stories I heard in class felt much more like my real inheritance, bloody and rich and strange, where the borders between animal and human and fay were porous, where Selkies slipped out of their seal-skins to walk the land, and Puka tossed you into rocky crags, and kelpies carried you off into the sea. In the past couple of weeks, Professor Kelly had been talking a lot about Thanksgiving, about the harvest festivals celebrated in every culture.

I studied the old cornucopia centerpiece my mom put out every year. There are so many origin stories about the horn of plenty, but Professor Kelly said one version rang most true to her. The god Zeus was spirited away as a big. baby to be raised on the milk of the goat Amalthia. When he grew up, he sacrificed her and made her skin into a shield and her horn into the cornucopia overflowing with fruit and grain. That's how the gods thank their parents, she said. Tell that to your moms if they complain about you not calling home. In the oldest, truest stories, our professor said, it usually came down to sacrifice.

It usually came down to blood. The thanks that we offer up now is a very weak brew, she said. It doesn't cost us anything. But around the Thanksgiving table, I didn't share any of these thoughts because I wasn't really comfortable. More specifically, I wasn't allowed to get comfortable. When I first got my letter of admission and my scholarship offer, everyone had made a huge deal out of it. There was a lot of teasing and the usual rough jokes, but I didn't think too much of it. But now the teasing had a meaner edge.

Everybody seemed very concerned that I might be getting above myself, that I might think I was better than them. So I was glad to get away from the table and jumped to help clean up. The worst part was dealing with the leftovers. There weren't enough containers, and the food that had looked so appealing laid out on the table looked quite different, crammed into plastic boxes. The rolls were squashed lumps and the pieces of turkey leftovers gnawed and grisly. Once we were done, Eileen said I should come out and catch up with everybody. I was deeply relieved that we were finally getting back on track.

Everybody turned out to be a skeleton crew. Many of those who left Port Phelan hadn't come home for Thanksgiving, including Sean, Eileen's boyfriend for all of senior years. year. So we went to Malcolm's instead. Malcolm was my ex-boyfriend, almost a high school-arranged marriage, Eileen's best friend, dating Sean's best friend. Malcolm and I had split up without drama or much emotion, a week or so before I left, and I hadn't really missed him. When we knocked on the door of Malcolm's apartment, I was unpleasantly surprised to see Frances Connolly. She was two years younger than us, a junior in high school now, and I had never liked her. I liked it even less when

Eileen stepped forward to hug her, and when Francis stared at me over Eileen's shoulder, all sharp nose and watchful eyes. I didn't know you were coming back here, she said, not bothering to try to sound friendly, long trip just for a weekend. And then Malcolm was there, pulling me into a hug, his smell of cigarettes and cinnamon gum instantly familiar. Wow, they're not kidding about that freshman 15, are they? He said. His small cruelties were instantly familiar, too. I almost lapsed back into old habits, too,

almost protested and got defensive. But just in time, I realized I didn't have to do any of this anymore. Our absent friends felt like missing teeth. Sean and Aaron at college. Kathy moving down to her dad's in Baltimore to wait tables. The only people sitting on the living room couch were Lily, Derek, and John. They were nice enough, not bitchy like Francis Connolly, but our group still seemed off-kilter without Aaron's sarcasm and Kathy's smiles and giggles.

I went into the kitchen, hoping to find something to drink. Eileen and Malcolm were deep in conversation, his hand on her arm. I felt a wave of pure sadness, untouched by jealousy. Oh, no, Eileen, don't settle for him, I thought. He's such a jerk. He's beneath you. They both turned to look at me, and it was clear I was the odd one out. Malcolm pushed a whiskey bottle into my hand and nodded toward the living room.

Go see who's thirsty, he said, and didn't follow. Soon enough, Malcolm said we had to leave, because it was. his parents were on their way home. Normally, we would have spent a cold and blustery night like this in Sean's basement, a cozy burrow stocked with shabby, comfortable couches. But since that wasn't an option, somehow the group decided to head for the boardwalk. I very much didn't want to go. If I didn't mean I leaned to drive me, if it wouldn't launch a flood of snarky comments from Francis, I would have gone back home. As soon as we stepped outside, the cold bit down, and the wind was like a whip, and I knew it would be worse on the boardwalk. And I couldn't stop worrying about Eileen.

I felt like she was drowning, trapped here, like a ruby tangled in the rack. I wanted to scoop her up and carry her away with me. At the same time, I realized how absurd and arrogant that sounded, with my vast experience of all of three months living somewhere else. I wanted to talk to her about it, but of course, I couldn't possibly. The last thing I could do was feel sorry for her. Despite Port Feelein's decline, the boardwalk was always so full of life in the summer. That smell of French fries and ice cream and coconut sunblock, all that shouting and laughter, all that fresh paint and frantic activity,

in the winter you couldn't help but notice the rot wooden slats that should have been replaced 20 years ago would creak and moan underfoot like troubled ghosts and more shops closed every year once we got there it was even worse than I'd expected colder and windier and something was wrong with the sea anyone who grows up near the coast knows about cross swells the square waves that mean dangerous riptides.

But the waves and currents tonight made stranger shapes, ones that didn't make any sense. The thing that really bothered me was the way the waves seemed to be following us. As we walked along the boardwalk, the waves surged much higher than they should have, but only near us, like the claws of a hungry beast.

Everything was locked up tight, business owners who hadn't updated their stores and years had gone all out on the shiny new locks and chains. I had hoped we might be able to get into one of the arcades, at least to get out of the wind, maybe play ski ball, but all the doors were closed. We kept on until we reached the carousel. Whenever Port Feelein tried to promote itself, this carousel was the picture on the brochure. It was an old school, all wooden design, gilded to the teeth. There were horses in every color with long. frothing manes and flowing tails, each one be decked with jewelry and flowers.

That spring, Eileen and I had seen a woman repainting the horses, using a tiny, delicate brush to add brighter gold. This isn't the right way to do it, she told us. We should be scraping off the old paint and sanding down the wood. The layers of paint are as thick as cake frosting at this point, and God knows how much humidity and sea spray is trapped in there, rotting away underneath. Someday, I bet we'll see these horses mold like crabs and go trotting off down the beach. Although I knew she had meant it as a bad thing, the image of cake frosting stuck with me, because the carousel really did look good enough to eat, bright, delicious colors, like a gorgeously decorated sugar cookie. It looked even better once Malcolm turned

the lights on, big old-fashioned Edison bulbs that glowed amber, can't. Windling all the brass and gold and luster into a brighter shine. The carousel looked wonderfully warm, inviting as a cup of hot cocoa. When the music started up, everybody was suddenly scrambling for a horse. Francis and Eileen raced for the same one, but Eileen got there first. Eileen glanced at me as she climbed on. This was the horse we'd fought over as kids until we worked out a complex custody arrangement. He was pale green with seashells and sea shells.

seahorses traced in a slightly darker shade across his hide. His mane and tail were cream and gold, with dark green roses clustered on his bridle and wreathed around his neck. Eventually, everybody found a horse, everybody but me. Too grown up for the carousel now? Malcolm called. Think your college friends would look down on you? I didn't respond. I saw myself so clearly from the outside. on the outside. Outside of this bubble of warmth and glowing light, this new world the people I'd left behind had rebuilt, I didn't belong here anymore. The carousel started to turn, a blurring ribbon of golds and greens. The old steam calliope had at some point been replaced by an electronic version, but it still played the same whistly, plinking music box tunes, which seemed now to harmonize

with the fluting, howling wind off the sea. It was strange, I thought, that while everything else was locked up so tight, the carousel was open. I cupped my hands around my eyes because I was seeing things. The colors blurred, not because my eyes were watering from the wind, but because the carousel was moving too fast.

Something was wrong. I scurried to look for an off switch. But then I froze. because I heard a terrible, low, grinding sound, straining and crackling and ripping through layers of paint. The horses pulled themselves free and leapt off the wheel. It all happened fast, but I saw strobe light snapshots. Malcolm trying to climb free of his horse, screaming, blood pouring from his tearing skin, even as he seemed to be sinking into the animal's back.

Francis, white-eyed and shrieking, thrashing like she was caught in a tar pit, but only sinking faster the more she struggled. The roses on Eileen's horse, sprouting a wild profusion of thorns that hooked into her hands and arms and legs. So many ruby streams of blood springing free all at once. I crouched down in the darkness under the awning, pressing my hands off of my mouth to suppress my own. scream. All the riders struggled desperately, but the horses, no, I realized, the kelpies held them fast, and I kept watching as the first one, carrying Lily galloped down the beach. The sea leapt up to meet them. Far, far above the high tide line, a wave as tall as a building crashed over horse and rider, and when it broke, they were gone.

All the others followed, more waves coming, taking them in and down. I wished that I didn't understand what was happening. Port Feeleyn was sick, but hungry. The town that had sustained us with fish and trade long ago, and tourists and visitors now, had been dying a long, slow death because we hadn't known, hadn't bothered to feed it. So now, finally, it had decided to feed itself. The oldest bargain, the one made by every village that sacrificed a maiden to a dragon,

every kingdom that chained a princess to a rock to sate a sea monster's hunger. Give to me willingly, or I'll take more. I'll take you all. I sank down against the wall, curling up as small as I could, as small as the point of a tooth. I'd have to make up a story about how we were all down on the beach, and the boys were daring each other, and a freak wave came and dragged them all away. I was aware on some level that I was thinking about how to protect myself from the human world, because I had no idea how to protect myself from the real one.

I'm not sure if I've actually been spared or left behind as a witness or if I'm just being kept in reserve for a little while if I'm just another Thanksgiving leftover set aside for the next meal Creepy presents The Rose Room Written by some unholy obscenity and narrated by Michelle Kane

You can't grasp the serenity of a disappearance until you've experienced one. On the one hand, it offers you clarity to your own life. Gratitude becomes easier in regards to yourself, while it becomes more difficult in regards to the universe itself. Its cruelty makes you question its design, and the patterns that it follows no longer look sensible to you. Everything you once understood feels meaningless. Jane was a dear friend.

She and I had only really known each other for a year, but had grown exceptionally close due to our mutual interests. We had originally met at a concert, and she'd ended up spending a lot of time at my house after we started talking. That was whenever she did have time, considering the fact that she was a workaholic. But she seemed to always make the time, which I am extremely grateful for. We'd sit and talk music and old internet conspiracies for hours while throwing back beer.

Jane herself was much more entrenched in the dark side of the internet than I was. I'm more the true crime friend, whereas she was the true but still egregiously fucked up crime friend. She was obsessed with the darkest parts of human nature and figuring out why people acted that way. Her disappearance was a shock to all who knew her. She was an incredibly cautious person and it was hard to believe that something like this could happen. But we all know the story. Girl goes missing for any number of varying horrible reasons. Discrundled X, sex trafficking, etc.

The world can be a. fucking nightmare. Jane disappeared only a few minutes after she left her apartment. Coincidentally, there were no cameras where she was supposedly taken from. I find that to be extremely hard to believe in a residential area, but it doesn't really matter anymore. In most cases of kidnapping, it tends to be someone that was close to the individual. I and a couple other mutual friends were questioned about it. I don't know if we were ever considered suspects or not. All I knew was my devastation at the loss of my friend. I held out hope that we'd get good news. Then a week passed and then a month. Then everything started to feel a lot heavier. Eventually, I couldn't make

sense of life much anymore. That's when I started to grasp back. that anything I could. I searched for any and all things that reminded me of Jane. Trinkets, social media posts, whatever was available to me. I just wanted to be able to feel like part of her was still around. She'd spent a good amount of time at my place over the past years, so she'd left a few things behind. I drink beers she'd kept in my fridge, read chapters of a book she'd let me borrow. I just sat in my sorrow and pretended she was there with me. After a long day of this, I was preparing to pass out in my drunken stupor. I stumbled into my bedroom after one too many. Approaching my bed, my toe stubbed into something underneath from my clumsiness. It had a fabric exterior,

but felt like I'd kicked the leg of my bed. I reeled in pain for her. few more minutes before going to check what it was I'd hit. Reaching below, I felt my hand wrap around some sort of strap. I yanked and revealed a backpack that certainly didn't belong to me. In small black lettering on the front, I read the name Jane. Jane had left a few things at my place before, even spent the night, but I didn't remember her ever bringing a backpack over. I was confused at its presence and even more confused by the fact that there was weight to it.

I sat on my bed and opened the backpack to unveil a silver laptop. I'd never seen this laptop before. Jane had never brought it over to my knowledge. Had she hid this in my room when I was asleep? I was unsure why she would have done that, but it's all I could put together. When I opened it, there were log-in, landinated to the right of the touchpad. This struck me as odd, considering Jane was exceptionally careful with her internet security.

To have private details like this just available was incredibly unlike her. I had a weird suspicion about this laptop. It made me nervous to hold, but it also gave me the sense that it may have an answer to her disappearance. The police had nothing to go off of, so if I could find something worthwhile, then I could bring it to them. I plugged in the credentials and turned on the laptop. There was no personalization done to the laptop whatsoever. It had default settings and a default background. Most surprising, however, was that it was already connected to my Wi-Fi.

If she had used it here, that made sense, but, Why did she try to hide it? Or did she want me to find it? The presence of this laptop was so confusing. On the front screen existed only two icons in the top left. There was the recycling bin, and there was a pixelated rose with text beneath it that read The Rose Room. I figured it was a video game or something,

but I was looking for clues, so I clicked on the icon twice. A gray text box appeared that read, Another show is starting soon. Do you wish to join? Despite my ignorance to whatever this was, I clicked on yes. The gray blocks soon closed, and a black window opened in the center of the screen. White words that read, show is starting soon, sat alone in the blackness of this strange pop-up.

I was beginning to feel strange, like I had stumbled upon something that I shouldn't have. After a few moments, the screen flickered, and I was now looking at some sort of footage. It was difficult to make out what I was seeing at first, but when it finally dawned on me, my blood ran cold. I was looking right at the back of someone tied to a chair. I could hear muffled sobs escaping them, which gave the impression that they were were also gagged. I couldn't assess any details about the person from what I could see or hear.

I just knew that they were in a horrible situation. The camera was focused on them, and not long after the screen had switched to the feed, a red light began to cover the room. When it did, the person who was bound and gagged began to thrash against the restraints. It seemed they knew what came next, which only made me more sick to my stomach. I tried to gather where this person was based on the details illuminated by the crimson light. Despite my best efforts, I just couldn't put anything together. I imagine that was on purpose. A shadow moved across the light too fast for me to see clearly. The person tied to the chair was now wailing. Their terror was palpable, even through the dampening of the gag. They were trying so desperately to get out of their situation. They had even

begun to grind their wrists against the tightened rope. I instinctively grabbed my own wrist. The pain must have been unbearable. In the midst of this, a low sound had become audible from somewhere in the room with them. It was like a low buzz, almost as of hearing a bumblebee from far away. At the peak of the sounds rising, the captive fell to the floor from their unending thrashing. The crash from the chair came through like a bullet through the speakers, giving me the idea there was a mic near wherever they fell. The captives rampant begging never stopped. That was until the shadow stepped forward into view.

There are a few features to speak of, but what I can piece together, I do not believe what I saw was human. It was unnaturally tall. Its head towered greatly out of frame as it moseyed over to the sobbing prisoner. It was rail thin, a jagged spine protruding from its back. In an exaggerated state, it was like the skin was wrapped around the skeleton with no flesh in between. The buzzing grew much louder once it was on screen and the person loved. Laying on the floor went dead silent. The harrowing figure drew nearer to the collapsed person in slow, methodical steps. Sound was now swallowing the room.

A crescendo of static overcame my speakers as the creature made its way toward its victim. I could barely see the individual begin thrashing again, but the static overwhelmed whatever sounds may have been escaping them. Soon the creature was right next to them, and it hunched over their toppled frame. Even in its crouching state, the thing was enormous. I could tell it was supposed to be somewhat human, like its body parts represented ours, but more like a caricature than a replica. I didn't have much time to consider this, because in what must have been a quarter of a second,

I watched as the thing's head reared down to the person tied to the chair. Their screaming could be heard over the static nap. A spray of blood hit the ceiling from what I could only assume was a severed artery. I nearly vomited as the sounds of flesh rendering and bones snapping came after. The creature was patiently dismantling the person. leaving them alive to the last second. The last sound I heard was that of tendons being pulled from their places. As the monster held the prisoner's hair in the hand,

a decapitation by force. I wanted to look away, but I knew I couldn't. There was something I wanted to know from the moment this freak show began. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't true. but I'd not know until I had 100% confirmation. I should have just closed the laptop and given it to the police. I can't figure out why I didn't. Maybe when you deal in things you don't understand,

there are aspects of your personality that appear that you didn't know you had. When the creature finished removing the head of this person from their shoulders, It stood back up and walked off screen. I thought it was over then, that this macabre show was finally at an end and that any moment the camera would switch back off. Unluckily for me, the camera began to shake as if it were being lifted. The person holding the camera just stood there. I could hear an even breathing coming from behind the camera

as it slowly turned to look behind it. The camera then snapped to a shot of the creature's torso. Its skin was gray and looked equally as stretched from the front. It has raised hands over its head that it slowly lowered. When its hands entered the frame, I involuntarily shrieked at the top of my lungs. It was the fastest that tears had ever formed in my eyelids. I threw the laptop and dry heaved as I cried into my blankets. It had been

Jane. I just couldn't tell until the moment that Thing brought her severed head into frame. An expression of terror and misery in tandem was permanently etched onto her face. Blood had been pouring over the thing's exaggerated fingers from the flesh of her neck. My heart and mind were devastated all at once. I couldn't believe what I had just seen, and life as I knew it now made less sense than it had. I had assumed that after Jane's disappearance, I could not sink any lower.

But having learned of and seen her fate play out was far fucking worse. I wish, I wish. I wish I had never learned. I wish that to this day I had lived in ignorance to that side of our world, and whatever it was that had done it to her broke all the loss of humanity. Do you see that often? A creature that not even your most primal of instincts can make sense of?

I hate to say it like this, but its presence made more of an image. impact on me than the absolute slaughter of my friend. I don't weigh them to anywhere close to the same, but for some reason I couldn't, can't get that thing out of my head. My brain is working over time to even compare it to something. I know you wanted to meet me in person. For reasons, I'll soon explain. I cannot make that happen, and I'm sorry. I didn't know an archivist existed for these sorts of things. I appreciate you for being someone willing to listen to me. I hope this will be enough for you to make heads or tails out of the rose room.

From there, I picked the laptop up to see that the feed had been cut at some point. I don't know how long I was laying in the fetal position for, but it had to have been in a long while. I'm unsure as to what it was I missed, but I can't imagine it have helped me any. I exited the window and it took me to a page I hadn't seen before. It was as barren as the first window with the rose symbol in the corner of a small gray square. On the screen were two options. The first option was grayed out and said, watch a participant. I had to assume that's what I had just done.

The other option said, nominate a participant. Leave it up to Morby curiosity or the desire to get closer to the truth about what had just happened to Jane. I clicked on the second option. Instead of opening a new window like I'd anticipated, it instead brought up a list of names. It was an unnerving sight considering everything I had seen so far. I scrolled through the list and didn't recognize most of the names. A lot of them were in different languages and characters that I couldn't pronounce. Underneath each name existed two options, nominate or view.

I clicked on view just to see what it meant. What I was now looking at made little sense to me. It was extremely dark, but I could make out a definition of some sort along the sides. I could hear a muffled voice and slow footsteps getting closer. Out of nowhere, a flood of light streamed onto the screen, and a woman's face encompassed nearly the entire view. She was reaching towards where I was looking from, pulled out a mug before darkening the view once more. It took me a second to understand. It had been her cupboard. There was a camera in her cupboard, and she hadn't even given it a second glance.

I quickly exited her name and began to scroll through the others. I saw a man through his desk chair, a person in their garage. It was like no matter where they were, the view would be centered on them, despite the impossibility of any sort of camera being there without being noticed. And then I saw it, plastered there like an alarm on my phone. I saw my name among those possible. I was mortified, but I had to know what this meant. I grabbed the laptop and walked to the middle of my living room.

With a bout of hesitation at first, I pressed view on my own name. I stood there in disbelief as I watched myself appear on screen. Gathering where the view was coming from, I looked away from the laptop. to see what I could find. To my surprise, there was nothing. It was just empty space. This didn't bring me any relief, considering this now became completely unexplainable.

From the drinking, watching my own friend be brutally murdered on screen, and now all this wacko supernatural stuff, I was getting the mother of all headaches. I exited my name and sat on my couch to try and pull my thoughts together. I stared emptily at my own name, wondering how in God's name it was even on here. Then again, there were no patterns to the names whatsoever. They seemed to be from all over the world.

The presence of the laptop was still unanswered. I was growing wildly unsure that this was Jane's at all. It was in her backpack, sure, but that doesn't mean much, after all I'd seen. I wasn't given much time to contemplate. A chime from the laptop snapped me from my thoughtful state. It displayed the same list as before, except for some reason my name was now glowing and flashing like a jackpot on a slot machine. The options that were previously available to me were now gone.

but the name itself had become clickable. My skin was crawling at the prospect of what it meant. Reluctantly and with a lump in my throat, I slowly clicked my glowing name. Chimes and bells shot forth through the speakers at full volume like I'd beaten a video game. The words that appeared next are forever imprinted in my head. Congratulations!

You've been nominated. I still didn't know anything. I don't know much now. But I can say with almost complete certainty that this nomination process is how Jane originally disappeared. More people will disappear, and I don't imagine I have much time left.

I write to you, archivist, in hopes that it can bring light to whatever the hell this rose room is. is. I could not meet you due to the fact that I am now on the run for my life. I have thrown the laptop at the steps of the nearest police station, but I am unsure if it will be helpful or not. More than anything, I'm terrified that all I've done is spread its influence. 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-Lite 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.