Creepy - The Catholic Church Knows the Truth About Hell Parts 1-4

Episode Date: May 13, 2020

They know...***Written by Connor Phillips and narrated by Owen McCuen***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Music by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Creepy presents. The Catholic Church knows the truth about hell, but the documents are buried deep within the Vatican's secret archive. Written by Connor Phillips and narrated by Owen McKeown. The document that I'm about to leak has been highly, guarded for centuries and contains sensitive information regarding the Catholic Church's knowledge about life after death.

It was written by a Byzantium priest named Quintus Aurelius, who was charged by the Roman Emperor Constantine in the year 335 AD to discover, through experimentation, what information he could about heaven and hell. Sensing his rapidly approaching death, the ailing Constantine wanted to know if his faith in God had been well placed. Given this urgency, he ordered the Lord. local order of priests to uncover the truth about the afterlife using any means necessary. What follows is Father Aurelius' account of his experiment.

The document has been meticulously translated from its original Latin for readability. The results of my experiment must never be shared with the public. Their minds are too feeble to comprehend such hard truths. Upon awakening, they would be able to share their experiences of the afterlife and hopefully prove the existence of heaven once and for all. If I would have known then how much my experiment would test my faith, I might have given pause. As it stands, I didn't think twice about the myriad of results my experiment might bring

and began to develop my potion with fervor. Much to my delight, I devised the means of creating this potion by the end of the week, and after meticulously testing its efficacy on field mice, was ready to begin human trials. So I packed my bags, prepared my cart, and traveled to Petra, a secluded village deep in the countryside, to begin my experiment. The people of Petra are meek and pious. God himself couldn't select better test subjects. Hence, word of my arrival quickly spread, and soon I was swarmed in the village square by families begging to be blessed.

Although I wanted to jump right into my experiment, I obliged these requests and blessed every dirt smeared soul. that supplicated themselves before me. Foregoing the blessings would have been rude. The Petrons are a superstitious people. They would have taken my refusal as a sign of God's anger and have fallen into panic. Once the blessings were complete, I ascended a nearby podium

and addressed the gathered families who gazed up at me as if I were St. Peter himself. People of Petra, I began. I come to you bearing a marvelous gift. At the request of the emperor, I have developed the means of God, gazing upon the opulent splendor of heaven. By drinking the concoction that I have packed inside my cart,

your soul will be elevated to the pearly gates for several precious minutes before easing back down to earth, bearing spiritual knowledge thought previously to be beyond human discernment. I paused as excited murmurs echoed throughout the crowd. Rejoice, for you are the only town that the emperor has deemed fit to partake in such a holy pilgrimage. The piety and goodness of Petra is known throughout the empire. No other city is better deserving of God's grace.

So step up while time remains and consume the drink that Jesus Christ himself would have bestowed upon his disciples. The Petrons clamored toward my cart, pushing and shoving each other like children battling for a promised piece of candy. I administered doses of my potion as fast as my fingers allowed, until ten minutes later, every man, woman, and child gathered in the square, possessed a vial. May God bless you all as you begin your journey, I said, reascending the podium. Raise your vials now and drink, carrying with you the goodwill of the emperor.

My heart quickened as the gathered crowd emptied their vials. Their eyes burned with excitement as the liquid splashed down their throats, other than the faint whispering of the wind, which had picked up with the arrival of the setting sun. Not a sound could be heard. One by one the Petrons tumbled to the ground as their hearts stopped. Although I gazed upon this dramatic spectacle with expectant eyes, my breath still seized at the sight of so many lifeless bodies languishing under the purple clouds. Even their chests were still.

I was the only being in Petra that still drew breath. As the minutes ticked by and saw, still the Petrons laid lifeless before me. I began to fear that my potion had killed them. The hearts of the mice that had served as my initial subjects had only fallen dormant for three minutes. Seven minutes had now passed since the Petrons had first downed their biles, and not a single soul had awakened. I cursed myself for performing my first human trial on such a large group of people. My excitement to uncover the truths that my potion had to potential to reveal, had clouded my reason. Had my mind been operating with its normal precision,

I would have began my experiment on a single subject. Then if the results had been favorable, would have proceeded to offer the potion to a population like the one laying before me now. As it stood, I had rushed blindly into a large-scale human trial, and now faced the possibility that I had unwillingly murdered an entire city of loyal Christian. Just as I was about to fall into despair, a woman near the back of the crowd inhaled a raspy breath and sat up with such speed that I marveled that her neck didn't snap. Her eyes were wide with shock, and stress lines dominated her forehead. Moments later, another petron bolted up from the ground, whimpering and slobbing like a crazed

lunatic. I flashed the man an admonishing look. He appeared to be in his mid-thousy. 30s and should have known better than to delve into such histrionics in public. As he dashed his hands to his neck and tore out his own throat, though, my look of consternation quickly morphed into one of pure terror. I watched in stunned silence as more petrons regained consciousness. Their expressions ranged from shaken to downright crazed.

A frenzied energy filled the air as dozens of blood-curving shrieks sounded, sending the birds clamoring from the nearby trees and into the velvet sky. Never before had I witnessed such a chaotic scene. What follows is my account of these poor souls' initial reactions to my potion, which is burned forever in my mind like the vivid visions of a fever dream. The two men closest to the podium threw themselves down a nearby well and became wedged halfway down the stone shaft, which had been too narrow for them to travel fully down.

Their spines cleaved in half as their bodies formed right angles, chins and feet facing the sky, while their bloated bellies arched down towards the tainted water. To my left, a half dozen women pulled out their hair, thread by thread, until their scalps laid in tatters on their bloody shoulders. During the entirety of the sadistic spectacle, they babbled about eternal darkness and lakes of fire, making even my blood run cold.

Before I had a chance to calm them down, they sprinted across the field, flanking the city and hurling themselves off of a cliff. They laughed hysterically as they fell. But then their skulls struck the jagged rocks dominating the crooked gulch below, silencing them forever. Three men near the middle of the crowd pounded their heads on the stone-filled ground until they fell unconscious. Blood poured from their wounds like crimson wine as the panicked mask,

thrashing around them trampled over their limbs like stampeding cattle. All around me, the lives of the poor petrons were snuffed out in increasingly abominable ways until eventually all that remained of the village were children, mentally handicapped, and a handful of adults whose temperaments were hardy enough to endure the horrors that they had witnessed during their pilgrimage. The monumental effort it took to regain order supersedes my ability to put into words. All the survivors could do was blabber, almost incoherently, about the visions of hell that had been inflicted upon them until their throats turned raw.

The children, much to my surprise, remained remarkably serene, especially given the deaths of many of their parents. Suffice it to say that I eventually calmed everyone down and influenced those who remain to return to their homes, leaving me and a few volunteers to clean the square. after allowing the Petron's two days rest, I began my interviews. The information that they shared with me shook me to my core and has left me questioning my faith in God. If the surviving Petrons didn't possess such reverence for the church,

they would have crucified me for inflicting such profound suffering upon them. I had promised the magnificent visions of heaven, and yet my potion had transported them to the deepest, pits of hell. Whether this was a result of some unknown defect within my concoction or sins on their own behalf, I did not yet know. After giving the survivors time to recover from their pilgrimage and mourn the dead, I ushered them in small groups to the picturesque church on the hill behind the village square

to begin my interviews. Despite the massive tragedy wrought by my experiment, I still needed to procure what information I could from the Petrons about the afterlife. Emperor Constantine fervently awaited my report. He is an impatient man and one that I didn't want to anger. These interviews continued for days and took such a toll on my mental and physical health that I aged ten years. Never before had my faith in God been tested so rigorously.

Despair descended over me with each word that tumbled from the Petron's mind. mouths. The picture of the afterlife they painted was not only bleak, but cruel, and defied everything that I thought I knew about the Christian faith. Although I took extensive notes over the Petchen's revelations, organizing, and then transcribing, these notes would take months. Given the importance of the information that I have to share, I've decided to only convey the high points, so to speak, of my interviews, which form a common narrative. May God have mercy on our souls. In the immediate moments after their hearts stopped,

a red light overcame the patron's senses. They described this red light as originating from inside them and shuddered when I asked them to elaborate. Rather than give me the detailed description that I desired, all they would say was that the light felt evil. Not only did it send their nerve endings exploding with white-hot pain, but it also inhaled thundering, raspy breaths while yanking them into the abyss. As their life forces flooded from their bodies,

they felt their minds, or possibly souls, detached from corporeality and descend into a dense, black plane. Given that they were now bodiless, they were completely immobilized in this plane and subjected to what might best be described as infinite nothingness. According to them, times slowed down almost to a state, stand still in this darkness. They went through great lengths to persuade me that they spent the equivalent of dozens of lifetimes

wallowing in this abyss, like rocks submerged in a murky lake. Just as they feared what remained of their consciousness might tumult into insanity, a cacophonous tearing sound erupted over the plane, bringing with it the intense red light. What happened next, I can hardly commit to paper, for it defies everything I thought I knew

about the natural sciences and Christian metaphysics. Given that Emperor Constantine himself is waiting on this report, though, I will do my best to relate the entirety of the Petron's experience. Following this immense tearing sound, the Petron's souls were transmogrified into seeds of flesh, for I know not what else to call them. These seeds were about an inch in diameter and covered with minuscule orifices. They languished in despair as their constant,

were tethered to these seeds, which possessed no faculties for movement. All they could do was exist inside their newfound bodies, like prisoners chained to the walls of Plato's cave. Before they hardly had time to adjust to their fleshy cages, these seeds rapidly expanded in size. This expansion occurred at such an explosive pace that they were ignorant of its cause. Soon their orifices resembled gaping holes, which burrowed deep into their wrinkled flesh. like dank crevices. Out of these orifices first sprang a torso, followed by limbs and a head.

Such pain accompanied the sudden growth of these appendages that the petrons visibly trembled as they recounted the experience. The new bodies contained similar proportions to human beings, but possessed gray skin and were entirely sexless. Now that the petrons had regained sight, they could gaze upon the hellish world

that they had been resurrected into. A putrid yellow lake of boiling acid stretched as far as their eyes could see. Spanning this lake was an obsidian bridge, black as night, which began at the rocky ledge on which they now stood and ended at the entrance of an equally black city. The spires of this city ascended miles into the cloudless red sky and were sharpened into rough, jagged edges. Trundling along the bridge and into the city

were millions of the recently deceased. Each one possessed a similar gray body as the petrons and brandished intense looks of despair. The bridge groaned under their collected weight. No matter how many bodies were crammed onto its formidable surface, though, it held strong and rippled malevolently in the rancid yellow glow of the lake. Occasionally, somebody would trip and go plummeting head over heels into this lake. They sent forth blood-curdling screams as their skin was scalded,

by as acidity and were left flailing in the viscous liquid for an eternity. As a result, the lake was overbrimming with gray heads, which drifted along the desolate surface as their bodies slowly dissolved, but never entirely disintegrated. The patrons were compelled to approach this bridge by an invisible force so powerful that it stole the air from their withered lungs. Their feet moved against their will, and before long they were crossing this bridge along with the endless sea of other unfortunate souls. When they reached the city, they were crammed into the bottom level of the spires like vermin. Before they could even assess their new surroundings, they were lifted and locked into harnesses,

which bore them slowly toward a massive red door. No matter how aggressively they struggled against their harnesses' chains, they remained ensnared. The guttural cries of the dead frenzied into a crescendo as they were swept through, through the red door and disappeared into the room beyond. It was while in this room that the Petron's first encountered the denizens of hell. Part 3. The Catholic Church knows the truth about hell, but the documents are buried deep within the Vatican's secret archive. Part 3.

The chains ensnaring the Petron's limbs groaned as the alien mechanism whirling above their heads carried them through the red door. They descended at a stander. deep incline into a dank cave deep below the spire which reeked of death and decay. Many of the patrons refused to continue their accounts beyond this point. What took place in this cave traumatized them that may never recover from the heinous crimes they were forced to endure. It was only after I depleted all of the persuasive techniques at my disposal that they agreed

to resume their narratives. But even then, at least a dozen of the patrons suffered nervous breakdowns, which I fear may have forever shattered what remained of their sanity. Standing on jet-black platforms surrounding this cave were demons of hell. Their appearances span from blindingly seductive to shockingly grotesque. Every few seconds, their faces, or occasionally their entire bodies, would drastically morph as if their human-like features were masks, disguising their true forms. Only their sizes remained constant.

each demon towered 12 feet above the ground and cast desolate shadows along the cave walls. The petrons trembled as their harnesses bore them ever closer to these frightful beings. All around them the cries of the deceased echoed around the cave, which reached such volume that dust and bits of rock rained down from the vaulted ceiling. Immediately after the petrons cleared the red door, thick steel bars exploded from their harnesses and locked their limbs into place.

So restrictive were these bars that they couldn't even turn their heads. All they could do was stare forward in frightful agony as the demons looming along the cave walls grew ever closer. Although I'm lauded for my calm heart and stoicism, the agonies the petron suffered at the hands of these demons causes me to shudder even now. No human beings, especially loyal Christians, should be forced to endure such calamity. As it stands, not even the Petron's faith could save them from their fates, which were taking such a bleak turn that they could do nothing but lament their very existences. One by one these demons plucked the Petrons from their harnesses and consumed their limbs.

Their teeth were stronger than diamonds and cleared flesh and bone in a single bite. Once nothing remained of the Petrons but desecrated torsosos, the demons would strap them back into their harnesses, where new limbs would sprout from their orifices like bloody saplings. The steel bars would then re-lock with tendon snapping force, and their woeful procession would continue towards the next demon. The process continued until the demons had their fill, which required so many rotations around the cave that Petron's lost count. Many of them went insane from the trauma of having their limbs continuously consumed and gnawed off their tongues the moment their heads grew back.

By most accounts, they spent months in this cave. Their wrinkled gray torsos developed rancid sores from the chains that spanned their chests and backs and dripped pus incessantly down into the chasm below. Eventually, time lost all meaning for the petrons. Their consciousnesses were consumed by nothing but pain,

which dominated every moment of their pitiful lives. When this procession finally stopped, the petrons cried out to God to save them, from such incessant torture. God didn't respond, though. And instead, the alien mechanism thundering above their heads roared back into life and bore them slowly towards the chasm below. The demons stared at them longingly as they descended,

as if any moment they might resume their barbaric menagerie. The lower the petron sank, the hotter the air became. Eventually the temperature became so extreme that their eyeballs withered and sunk deep into their skulls. If it wasn't for the screams of their companions, which billowed around them like banshee shrieks, they would have been entirely without sense perceptions. As they continued their plunge into the depths, though, their mouths met a similar fate as their eyes, silencing even the loudest of their cries.

After the petron sank for so long that their experiences in the cave became distant memory, the mechanisms stopped, sending them jolting forward into their chains with such force that their ribs cracked. What follows is a torment so sinister that only the king of shadows could devise it. Following a mechanical screech so jarring and exploded the Petron's eardrums, their harnesses started spinning. This spinning doubled in speed every ten seconds until the force of the air was enough to bruise their bodies. So violent did this speed become that the Petrins couldn't even form thoughts.

All they could do was languish in their chains as their brains vibrated inside their skulls like locust wings. accounts of how long the spinning continued varies from Petron to Petron. Some say it lasted no more than a few days, but others say it lasted for several years. Regardless, the vile experience they endured in this second room shattered what remained of their spirits and drove the majority of them past the brink of insanity.

The Petron's regained consciousness in the village square before the spinning concluded, which leaves me with countless questions. Would their harnesses have eventually propelled them into additional chambers, or is this violence spitting the final fate of poor souls cast into hell? Either option strikes fear in my heart, for both surpassed the threshold of human endurance. Given the horrors the Petron's experience during their pilgrimage, there's no wonder that many of them acted so crazed during the final moments of their lives.

They were pushed well beyond the limits of suffering. Even the most heartless of villains would have no choice but to take people. on their unfortunate souls. For this reason, I have to ask, why did God allow the petrons to be cast into the pits of hell? They're model Christians. If not even their piety is enough to ascend to heaven, then we must certainly all be doomed.

Can God really be so cruel? Does our father truly have such lofty expectations for his children? If believing in Jesus Christ isn't enough to forgive us of our sins, then what must we do in order to avoid a similar fate as the patrons? I leave you be the judge, for my mind is growing weary, and I must move on to my account of the children's experience while my candle still burns. My hand trembles as I reflect upon the freakishness of their fate,

which has left me with more questions regarding our faith than even the grotesque venture of their parents. The Catholic Church knows the truth about hell, but the documents are buried deep within the Vatican's Secret Archive, Part 4. I gathered the children into the pews of the sanctuary and ushered them, one by one, into the pulpit, so I could interview them. They were surprisingly eloquent for their ages, especially given the trauma they had just endured. Descriptions of their pilgrimage poured from their mouths like milk and honey from the promised land

and painted such an abstruse picture of the afterlife that left my heart galloping inside my chest. Unlike their parents, the children were overtaken by a blue light after their hearts stopped rather than a red one. This light consumed their entire being. They became the light, and for a time lost all notions of self. But then this light exploded like yoke from a cracked egg and sent them plummeting towards a landscape so alien, I find it nearly impossible to rationalize. Towering trees dominated this landscape.

bluer than the sky covered each jagged branch, which shook violently from the gusting wind. Each trunk was a different shade of white, and possessed so many wrinkles, it looked like ancient skin. The children huddled under these trees as yellow rain began to pour from the sky. This rain fell in unbroken streams rather than single droplets, and despite the protection of the leaves, the children soon became soaked. So thick was this rain that they could hardly breathe. All they could do was clutch the withered trunks with trembling arms and pray that each breath they took wouldn't be their last. Just as the children were on the verge of panicking, three creatures came barreling through the trees behind them and scoop them up with massive arms.

These creatures had human faces, but were missing mouths and noses. Instead, two sets of eyes dominated their ivory white skin, which blinked independently from each other. They had four arms and four legs and sucked in air through gaping toothy orifices on their backs. The children clung on for dear life as these creatures whisked them away to a nearby cave. The cave stretched for miles and wound upwards rather than downwards. Its walls were made of smooth white rock that glistened from the light spilling from the creature's eyes. The creatures placed the kids on their shoulders, grasped these walls with each of their appendages, and shimmied upwards like spiders.

They moved with such speed that soon the children's arms ached from the effort of holding on. Air billowed around them like thunderstorm gusts and blew their hair back from their brows. Eventually they came upon a sprawling chamber. The creatures placed them back onto the ground then ushered them through the weathered archway

that served as the chamber's entrance. This chamber was filled with every toy imaginable. dolls, balls, swings, wooden swords, any toy that a youthful soul could ever want. Additionally, thousands of children were milling about the chamber, playing with these toys and each other as if they were siblings. Their joyous laughter echoed pleasantly off the stone walls, and their footsteps reverberated through the air, like notes from a perfectly tuned drum.

The creatures gently pushed the petron children toward the toys. Their eyes glimmered with mirth as they, They surveyed the lively scene in front of them, as if they were the loving parents of every child dancing through their shadows. After a few moments' hesitation, the patrons approached the toys, and soon were bouncing around the alabaster walls with all of the other children. The fun they had in this chamber cannot be understated. Time slipped by in indeterminable chunks as they befriended each new child they came across

and tested the diversity of toys like gluttons tasting wine at a symposium. just as the Petrins were beginning to feel at home in their new environment. A base-filled chant exploded through the air, followed by a searing red light. The Petrons watched as the children around them pivoted southwards and prostrated themselves. The servants are coming, said a nearby child. Whose servants? said Claudius, the oldest of the Petrons.

The servants of the grinning man! Before Claudius could respond, six entities similar to the demons the adults had encountered in the depths of hell, ascended through a chasm in the middle of the chamber, and landed silently on the stones. Their massive frames made the prostrated children below look like ants. The patrons watched as these entities plucked armfuls of children from the ground and disappeared back into the chasm.

After the last entity vanished from sight, the chanting and red light vanished, and the children regained their feet and continued playing. "'Where did they go?' asked Claudius, "'grabbing a passing boy by the arm. "'The other petrons were cowering behind him like frightened lambs. "'To see the grinning man,' said the boy, yanking his arm away. "'Don't you know anything?'

"'Who's the grinning man?' "'He's the king of this place. "'He takes care of us.' "'Where is he? I want to meet him.' "'The boy laughed. "'The only way to see the grinning man as if he chooses to bring you to his castle. Where's that?

The boy pointed at the chasm. Down there. Claudius's eyes drifted over to the hole, which split the ivory floor like a tar pit. What happens at the Gritting Man's Castle? The boy shrugged his shoulders. Nobody knows. None of the kids who have been taken there have ever returned.

Before Claudius could respond, the boy picked up his ball, and disappeared into the throng of children speeding around them. Although the Petrons were shaken by the spectacle they had just witnessed, eventually the din of the hundreds of children dancing around them re-commanded their attention, and they drifted back towards the toys. Petrons watched in awe as the grinning man's servants burst through the chasm once more and landed ten feet to their right.

Despite the fear coursing through their veins like snake poison, their feet remained rooted to the ground, as if they were being constricted by an invisible force. They watched in horror as these entities scooped up a group of nearby children, then turned in their direction. Stay behind me, said Claudius, doing his best to keep his voice calm. All three of the entities snapped their eyes onto his. Grab him, said the largest of the entities. His soul is worth that of three men. I can sense it.

The patrons cried as Claudius was grabbed by a monstrous hand, then carried down the chasm looming beneath their feet like a cancerous sore. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At creepy pod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. or email us at creepypod at gmail.com. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license.

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