Creepy - The Corn Stand

Episode Date: March 10, 2025

The Corn Stand***Written by: EM Otero and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Sadie Said***Written by: Ashley Edens***Deserted***Written by: Cassandra O'Sullivan Sachar and Narrated by: Nichole Goodnight***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. For our first story this evening, when a small town produce stand starts to advertise a new kind of corn,

one man finds himself in the middle of a mystery, as well as mounting bodies. Creepy presents, The Corn Stand, written by E.M. Otero, and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. The detective glared at me with a scowel that car revealed. beans in his face. He already asked me what I knew about the 15 bodies, but he didn't believe that I didn't kill them. It didn't help that there were dozens more missing, and one was my

brother, a local police officer. The intense glare, though, with that deep scowl that said I was nothing but a child telling him a tall tail. That was because I told him it was all over corn. which was technically correct. The detective was state police. He wasn't familiar with the small town politics. The family dynasties are the history that bled into the soil. So? He obviously wasn't aware of the Susquehanna Black Corn.

So I told him the story from the very beginning. On that warm September day, when I stopped at a corn stand. Most people who lived in the country were familiar with the farmer's produce stands. They were unoccupied and had spots for various fruits, vegetables, and coffee can for money. Sometimes the more paranoid farmers had a lockbox that people slid the money in, but that's less common. The honor system was what people went by out here. More often than not, people abided by it. It was nice when there was just a coffee can.

because you can make change for yourself. I mean, I had a girlfriend, but I lived alone. I wouldn't use $20 worth of sweet corn. All that to say, a corn stand was normal. You could get better produce than any grocery store, and it wasn't ad for the farm. So you get some tasty heirloom tomatoes from O'Connor's farm stand. You knew to look at the farmer's market for them. them. Or if they had their own farm stand on the property, you could go there.

Most farms didn't have their own little store, but the bigger ones did. Like the O'Connor's. Apples, pumpkins, cucumbers, tomatoes were all covered it this way. But there was one that people loved more than most. Sweet corn. So when a corn stand showed up along Route 12 that was labeled Susquehanna black sweet corn people were intrigued hell even i stopped the first day i didn't like corn very much but my parents did it was strange though the stand was made from old barnwood and was gray with age it looked like it had been there for decades by the state of it only that wasn't true yesterday there was nothing in that spot. Then there was the corn itself, rather than the lush green with the yellowish brown fibrous tuft at the end. This corn, the husk, was dark green, almost black. The veins that

ran up the length of the husk were pale red, and the fibers that protruded from the top were fine, silky and blonde. It looked more like human hair than anything else. On a shelf on the side of the stand where the coffee can would normally rest was a clay pot. It looked like something you'd see in one of those hippie spots, where they make everything out of clay or glass. Only this one looked old. And on the rim was a simple face. I could feel the glare from its lifeless eye.

eyes. The sign below it said, dollar an ear, $15 for $10. So sweet it'll kill you. Many farm stands had some kind of hyperbole to them, but this was a bold one. My dad was going to be barbecuing tonight, so I figured I could grab five of them for $5.00. Grab some regular corn at another stand. When I grabbed the corn, it was weightier than I expected and surprisingly warm. They were in the stand's shade, and it wasn't a particularly hot day, so it had no reason to be as warm as it was. I didn't think anything else about the warm corn, though. Other than it was unusual. The detective rolled his eyes.

and motioned with his fingers to move along with the story. So I did. I bought some regular sweet corn on the way up to my parents and drove up there. Now, my dad's side of the family is Taino Puerto Rican and are extremely tight. My mother's family settled here back when people were getting scound and didn't feel a need to show up on a Thursday afternoon for barbecue. you. So only one of my aunts showed up with her husband and kids. This was important. Trust me. My father threw the corn on the grill right in the husks. He always insisted it was the best way to cook them and have them stay moist.

I trusted what he said since I never cared for corn. I handed over the bag and my father stopped and inspected the husks that were nearly pure black. I told him it was Siskihanah Black Corn. He shrugged and put it on the grill. This was where the oddity of the corn really made an impact. The aroma of the corn, as it cooked, wasn't like anything I expected. It smelled like meat. Still, at the time, it didn't really catch my attention.

I rationalized it away, thinking that it was leftover meat on the grill. I simply talked with my family about goings-on and my job working as a photographer. My stepmother's family, the Smiths, owned just about everything. They were old money and were a local dynasty. Her father was mayor forever. My uncles were treasurers and ran the town barn and so on. There were other dynasties like that, too, Howard's and Schultz. All I'd been there since the 1700s.

Before much longer, the food was served. It was a mixture of typical barbecue and pottery conditions. There was yellow rice and beans, burgers, roasts, pasteles, and of course, corn. I watched as my mother and father both sat with the charred black corn at their table. When they peeled back the husk, it tore with a wet rip, like skin. being flayed from flesh. Once the husk was torn away, it revealed the corn below and my stomach did a somersault. It was bright red, like exposed muscle.

My mother exclaimed how unique it was and how it smelled delicious. My father was more dubious. They snapped the cob free of the husk like breaking of a bone and slathered it in butter. I couldn't tear my eyes away as they sank their teeth in the husk. the bright red flesh of the corn. The butter now stained red, gripped down my mother's hands and arms. She moaned with pleasure and took another bite, her teeth tearing at the kernels like she was eating a small shank.

My father, on the other hand, spat his bite into a napkin and looked into disgust at his wife. His lips were red until he wiped them off, but he still had flex a bright red kernel in his teeth. She looked at him. Her eyes nearly rolling back in her head from pleasure. She couldn't speak, and her face looked like she had feasted on a fresh animal carcass. It was so red with juices. I met my father's eyes and we looked around at the others. My aunt, uncle, and cousin had the rest of the black corner and were all in complete bliss eating it. Their faces were covered in red. And I could smell what was the rusty odor of blood. Afterwards, they asked me where I'd gotten the corn.

I explained at this little stand on the side of the road. I couldn't look at my mother. Her face was stained with red even after wiping it off with napkins. My father said it was nasty. But if she liked it, she didn't have to worry about him stealing any. In fact, she stole the corn cob he didn't eat and finished that one. as well. The detective scowled and crossed his arms. Trust me. This matters, I insisted. Within a week, the corn was the talk of the town. Whether

people loved or hated it, it was peculiar. And you know small town gossip. What no one knew, though, is where it came from. Usually at these stands, there was a little sign that advertised for the farm. You know, to help them drive profit. There was nothing at this stand. The only unique thing was the strange clay face pot. It didn't matter to the locals as long as the stand was replenished each morning. It was always overflowing with the black corn, and people came by and droves to buy it.

Lines of cars were parked along the street, and people were filling their bags with as many as they could carry. It was completely out of hand. And Officer Hernandez, my brother, had to break up fights at least three or four times a week. People were livid if they couldn't get their corn and saw others with bags full of it. Now, I thought this was wild. I mean, it was just corn, right? Just a vegetable. And I wasn't the only one with this opinion.

My father and brother both thought the corn was nasty, yet my mother ate it with every meal now. Whenever I went to visit them, her teeth and lips were stained red from the corn. I had dinner with my brother one night and he told me about how crazy the town had been the last few weeks. There were constant fights at the corn stand, and then there were people all over trespassing on people's property looking for the source of corn. No one knew where it was coming from and it was driving them nuts. It was like people were addicted to the stuff. I went home that night, thoroughly creeped out. And on my kitchen counter was a bag of those deep, dark green ears of corn.

My girlfriend Abby came around the corner, her fiery red hair and a butt on top of her head. She was so focused that she hadn't heard me walk in. Abby put a pot to boil with butter, milk in it before ripping into the ears. She tore at the husks, shucking them with the ferocity of a coyote ripping into a fresh kill. The wrenching and the tearing was visceral and savage. The corn silk hung like bloody hair, and some of the corn juice dripped from the burst kernels like burst blood vessels. Thinking about this as I watched, I had never shucked corned.

corn where the ear dripped like that. Her fingers were red. She snapped the corn like a femur. She was going to suck for the marrow before putting it in the pot. I didn't know how long I watched her, but it was unsettling. She noticed me after a bit and said we were having corn for dinner. I asked if there was going to be anything else, and she said, no, with a shrug. She bought a ton of it, so why bother making anything else?

The house smelled like blood and raw meat as the corn boiled. And when I looked in the pot, the milk and butter were completely stained red. I opted for a frozen microwave pizza and ate it at my desk while working on photos for a wedding. The smell was nauseating. And I heard her moaning as she ate, slurping, crunching and ripping. I put on headphones and opened a window. I worked on the edits for a while. When I realized I should go to bed, Abby was already snoring away.

And I leaned in to give her a little kiss, but stopped. Her breath stank, like rotten meat. And even though she was a stickler for hygiene, she still had bits of corn flesh in her teeth. I decided to skip the kiss and went. right to bed. I woke up to a sound at like 2 a.m. at night. It was one of those things where I knew I heard a noise but couldn't remember what it was. Abby wasn't next to me anymore, but the bed was still warm. I called out, thinking she was in the bathroom, and she didn't answer, so I got up. And I could see a light coming from the kitchen. When I walked down the hallway, I saw the fridge

light peeking through the crack of the open door and bathed in its full glow, sitting on the floor was Abby. She was gnawing on an ear of corn. Her eyes rolled back in bliss as the red juices dripped down her arms and neck. I am not being hyperbolic either. She had eaten it clean off the kernels. All that was left was the bone, the white core that she was chewing on like a dog. I know this is a detour, but do you know anything about the Susquehanna people? The detective shrugged. Exactly. The only thing most people know about them is the river here, the Susquehanna.

His name for them. How's that for genocide, right? We literally killed them all. You used their names, their crops, and don't know anything about them. Well, let me give you a little history lesson. The Susquehannock people were traders and farmers. Can you guess their main crop? That's right.

It was corn. A lot of the natives had beliefs about corn. Salu, the first woman, was made from corn. But that was Cherokee, and we aren't talking about them. Anyway, Susquehannock were called. called giants. They were typically over six feet tall, which isn't as impressive these days, but was a marvel back then to the Europeans. Like most native nations, they warred with the others. When the Europeans came in, that's when things got deadly. Between disease, war and forced assimilation,

their culture and people were being destroyed. 500 fled and set up a settlement in what we call now, the Susquehanna Valley after battles with the Seneca. Here things were peaceful for a while after the French Indian War, only that ended with slaughter. A group of vigilantes that called themselves the Pax Tang Boys attacked them. This group was upset that the Saskohannock helped with a battle in the Potomac and slaughtered every man, woman, and child. So this culture that was so important to the area that we named, places. The places after them are gone. We know almost nothing about them.

The gods they worshipped are alone in their ethereal shrines. What we also don't know is the devils they feared. Unlike benevolent gods, that guy threw a subtle and gentle hand. Devils and demons got their hands dirty. I leaned back and rested my hands behind my head. Who knows? the once benevolent gods of a dead people could become our demons. The silent detective scowled at that.

No, I'm sure you are wondering why I am lecturing you on this. Well, it'll make sense soon. The next day, after finding my girlfriend eating the corn like an animal, she went missing. She left that morning saying that she was going to stop at the stand before going to work. And she never made it there. Her friend from work, Molly, texted me, wondering why she was a no-call no-show, since Abby was always reliable. I called my brother immediately, and apparently she wasn't the only one missing. There were nearly 20 people missing, and he was calling in the state police and neighboring stations for help.

That's when I got a call from my father. I had to switch lanes and my father was frantic. My mother was missing. And he didn't know what to do. He tried calling the police station, but the lions were busy. I told him to call my brother on his cell. I had to investigate myself. I knew this town was going to be flooded with law enforcement within the next few hours.

So this was my chance to search without too much interference. I started with her phone, which was. was off, so that was an elite. I went to the stand knowing that's where she was headed, and figured I would work it out from there. This was the first strange thing that day. When I got to the stand, there were a dozen cars, but no one was there. The stand wasn't full, but there was still plenty of corn left for the taking.

A few of the cars had leaves and pollen on their hoods, like they had been there for days. I walked up the road towards the stand looking for Abby's car, and I noticed that a few of the cars were still running, like they made a quick stop to grab corn and forgot, abandoning them. When I got closer to the stand, the air became foul, like rotten meat. It was the worst smell I had ever experienced, but I fought through it. At the stand, I realized the smell had to be the corn. But besides being so dark, it was almost black, there was nothing off about them. I picked up an ear and peeled back the husk and dropped it from shock.

There were dozens of squirming worms. No, caterpillars inside. White as maggots, eating the red corn. I looked at the rest and saw that they were all squirming with the bucks. I shuddered at the image and smell, but I noticed something else. That clay pot with the face on the rim. The face, it looked like it was smiling now. I googled it and saw it was a Sesquohannock pot.

Now, this didn't help me at the time, but it makes sense now. I was no closer to finding Abby until I saw someone get out of their car and start walking across the street into an empty field. I watched them for a while before recognizing him as one of the Smith boys. He walked in a straight line as if guided towards the wood at the far end of the field. I followed him because why not? I had no other leads. This was easier said than done. I didn't want to be seen.

And that's hard to do when you're in an enormous empty field. So I waited for him to almost be a little. the woodline before I started. At first I walked, and as soon as he was in the trees, I ran the rest of the distance. He didn't turn around once, even though I was certain I made all sorts of noise. He was so fixated by whatever was going on in these woods, I stopped being so sneaky. Either way, I still didn't want to be spotted, so I took it slowly, maintaining it. some distance. I lost him a few times, but he was wearing a bright red letter jacket, so it was pretty easy to spot him. Eventually, he came to a clearing. It was one of the Howard's family

fields on the massive farm. I just watched, kneeling next to a tree. That's when I noticed the strange pale flowers. All over the forest floor was called Indian Pipe, a kind of parasitic flower that was as white as a ghost. Something about this made me uncomfortable. So I looked away and watched the Smith boy keep walking towards a section of corn. This was when I really wondered what the hell was going on. Why had he walked through the woods to get here? With zero guidance.

The Indian pipe flowers were everywhere, like ghostly white arms reaching from the soil. I crept closer, trying not to be spotted after he moved into the rows of corn. After he vanished in the rows, I followed a row next to him, and kneeling so I could make sure I was still following him. The corn slowly turned from pale green to nearly black stalks I recognized as the Cisquohanic black corn. The air reeked as a freshly turned earth with something foul underneath. The smell of death. I heard a sound then.

Like a chopping of rotten wood. The corn thinned and I pushed some black stalks aside and saw a tall person hacking something with a hatchet. The axe head came up red before going back down with a wet thwack. Person then raised a glistening red chunk of flesh and placed it in the dark soil. Then, reached into a leather. pouch and produced a red kernel. They pressed it into the soil with the flesh and buried it lovingly, patting the mound of dirt before moving to the next. As the person dug the new hole, a plant rose from the mound next to him like a spear of black obsidian. Then the leaves

unfurled. As I watched, the ears appeared on the stalk. The strange farmer turns toward the approaching man. I heard them speak, but I couldn't understand the words. The man kneeled in front of the farmer, as if in supplication before the hatchet went up and backed down on his neck. I turned away and wretched, but held my hand over my mouth at the mistake. The farmer turned. Its body was long and lanky, shrouded in furs and leather. The hatchet had been. The hatchet it dripped gore. And I saw the farmer's smile like a ghastly wound filled with teeth as red as the corn, and it was growing. I turned and ran faster than I ever had before. I broke from the corn into the field, and as I ran, the ghostly flower seemed to grab my feet, trying to slow me down.

It didn't work, and I kept running. That smile burned into my vision like the after image, from looking at a bright light. After I got to the road, my thoughts caught up to me. I saw a person kill someone, and I saw that same man grow that cursed corn from a person's flesh. I stared out at the road and saw the abandoned vehicles and wondered how many people were out there chopped up like that in that field. I called my brother while walking back to my car.

I told him what I saw. He was saying something to me, but I stopped listening. I saw Abby walking through the woods. I ran for her. Following the fiery red hair. The Indian pipe flowers were everywhere in the forest now, too. Pale and ghostly. Set against the fallen leaves on the forest floor.

They seemed to pop up like that demonic corn den. And I wondered if there was people buried here, too. As I caught up to her, she turned. Her face and teeth stained from the corn. Her pupils were dilated and her expression blank. It reminded me of someone who was sleepwalking. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned, I saw that smile.

So bright it hurt to look at and then everything went blank. I woke up in that field of corn to the sound. of the hatchet hitting bones and flesh. I tried to move, but my hands and legs were bound. Abby was unconscious next to me, and I looked up and saw the man. You're not who I'm here for, you know. The father said while chopping with his bloody axe, I didn't respond and looked away from the bloody work.

The body was so torn up I couldn't even tell if it was male or female. The Shultz, Smiths, and Howards. They are the guilty. Guilty of what? I asked. They were part of the Paxton boys. It said between chops. They murdered men, women and children.

They were agents of hate. Who are you? I asked. The farmer turned to me at that. With that wide wicket smile, with too many red teeth, I am a vessel, filled with the blood in the soil. I am. You're killing innocent people for the sins of their ancestors, I said.

There's no such thing as innocence in the eyes of. The farmer stopped and listened. My ears registered the sound too. Sirens. The farmer rose and gunshots cracked the air like thunder, and I saw the bullets tear through the tall finger. It didn't move. Bullets passed through it like it was nothing there.

I turned and saw my brother. The corn farmer smiled a wide carnivorous grin, then turned and walked into the cornstalks as my brother reloaded his pistol. After seeing that the corn farmer's... was gone, he untied us, but Abby was still unconscious. So I fireman carried her over my shoulders and we moved through the corn. It seemed straightforward. But as we walked, the rows shifted and changed direction. The black leaves were sharp and blood ran down my arms from where the corn leaves were cutting into me as I walked. I kept moving even though the corn was reaching for us now.

It's razor leaves trying to wrap around my legs and arms. I kept pushing forward, sweating, and exhausted from carrying Abby. And just when I thought I would die in this field, pulled into the soil by the black corn leaves, I saw the end of the row. I turned back to tell my brother, but he was gone. I called out, but he didn't answer. A corn farmer was hunting the descendants of those who killed the Susquehannock people. Like some sort of vengeful demon or devil.

I don't know anything for sure, but the farmer's still out there. The detective just stared at me for a long while before I asked. Did you find my brother? Or his body? The detective shook his head. I sat there silent for a while and said, Well, there it is. The entire story.

Everyone growing crazy over corn, going missing. Getting killed and then just like it appeared, it was gone. The stand was even gone, so I'm told. The detective nodded and left the room. I stared at the table. My arms still stung from where they were slashed from the corn plants. One of my arms ached more than the other, though. I hitched at the spot and it felt strange,

like something was under the bandage. I peeled it back, and in my open wound, that was too deep from a cut from a plant. I saw something red that didn't belong. I pulled on it, but pain ran up my entire arm. I clenched my teeth and pulled again. until it came free with a wet pop. I stared at the strange object on the table.

It was bloody, small. The wider part dark red and tapered into a pale pink tip. I knew the moment I saw it in my wound what it was. It was a corn kernel. I stared at it, wishing to burn it to dust with my mind. Except instead of burst, into flames of fine black filament emerged from the seed and pulled it across my hand and onto the floor. I watched as the colonel moved across the floor and under the door outside the room.

I knew in my gut that it wasn't over. I pulled another kernel from the same wound and another before I felt my other wounds begin to ache. For our second story this evening, when a woman calls her brother to check out some strange noises in her house, the man soon finds himself in a dark place, one that's only going to get darker. Creepy Presents Sadie Said, written by Ashley Edens. Sadie heard thumping on the stairs each night. At least that's what she told me before throwing her car into reverse and jamming her foot.

down to the gas pedal like her shoe was filled with my grandma's antique iron. Okay, that might be an exaggeration because we only talked on the phone, but she called me while she fled. The familiar sounds of a car dinging, followed by a suitcase thudding, ending with the driver's door slamming, resonated through the speaker while she prattled at me. I asked her, what the fuck she was talking about as I rubbed my left eye and straightened up in my own driver's seat, opening the door to see. spit the leftover taste of soggy takeout on the ground.

She snapped at me, accusing me as sleeping in my car again, momentarily distracted from her own traumatic bullshit. I may be her older brother she bolts to as soon as she encounters any potentially scary situation, but she still thinks I want her unsolicited advice about my relationship. Annoyed, I told her no, and asked her again what the fuck she was talking about. She whined that she couldn't stay there, not tonight. She asked me to check it out for her before laughing and commenting that it might be nicer than sleeping in my car. I groaned and peered out at the inky darkness on the other side of my windshield.

A few light poles surrounding the rest area glowed lazily against some dense fog. I checked my watch. Jesus, it was almost midnight. I sighed and asked her if it needed to be. me tonight. She reminded me of the situation. A reminder I didn't need. I knew all about it. How sweet Sadie was forced into her less than ideal sub-lease after bad breakup with Scumbe Garrick. How she shared the place with two strangers, Jack and Liz. How Jack worked the graveyard shift and often picked up overtime. How Liz practically lived at her girlfriend's place and was most

definitely not home on the days she took night classes. How the two-story house, circa 1920, that hadn't been updated since E.T. phoned home, always left her unsettled, and how the stairs thudded every night. I slid my key into the ignition and asked her where she was staying as I started my old Camry. She gave a name and explained that it was a co-worker that she was friendly with, but not friendly enough to make this a habit. I told her that she could stay at my place. She retorted that that would probably go well, seeing as I wasn't even staying at my place again.

Not sleeping in my car! I nearly shouted, and the line fell quiet. Then in a small voice, she stated that she just needed her big brother's opinion. I was already on my way, but gently replied, I'll be over in 20. I pulled halfway up to crumbling driveway 15 minutes later. traffic was dead this time of night. Gee, thanks, Adie, I said, staring at the structure's silhouette.

Couldn't even leave the light on? My driver's door fell closed behind me, resonating a little too loudly in the night air. She lived in a relatively safe neighborhood, but it still felt too quiet for city standards. All the houses were bathed in shadows. The only real illumination provided by a light pole buzzing at the end of the the street. I shoved my keys in my pocket and approached the front door. The house had been painted white decades ago, patches of color now chipping away along the edges, not dissimilar to many of the other houses in these older neighborhoods. I trudged up to a couple slanting porch steps

and felt a twinge of unease as the darkness and the partially enclosed space enveloped me. Quickly I flipped down my phone's flashlight, sweeping the beam across the floorboards. The light flashed upon the stern expression of a little yard gnome with a pointy red hat in the far corner. I mumbled something along the lines of creepy fucker, as I walked over and slipped a spare key from beneath the clay creature. With that scare out of the way, I headed inside. Fortunately, I said he had left the interior light on, though it glowed so dimly I expected the last functioning bulb in the fixture to crap out at any moment. I glanced around, re-familiarizing myself with the place. I'd only been over once to help remove some furniture when she moved in a few months ago.

The whole downstairs was connected by a singular large space. I guess you'd call it a foyer. Straight across from the entryway was the kitchen with a bathroom just to the right of it. Directly to my right was the living room, and off to my left the staircase leading to the bedrooms on the second floor. I was about to slip my shoes off when I heard it. A female voice greeted me saying hello, distantly but distinctly. I stopped and listened.

The house was supposed to be empty. No more sounds greeted me. Right when I went to shout a response, the same voice now in a sing-song way. There. I cocked my head to the side. and rolled my shoulders around trying to counteract the goosebumps that had sprouted on my arms. Cautiously, I took a few steps over to the closet beneath the stairs.

City mentioned that Jack kept an aluminum bat in there specifically for self-defense purposes. I'm not sure how that would help if you were upstairs sleeping, but maybe he kept the second one in his bedroom. I found the handle easily in the blackened opening and slipped my fingers around it. The voice sounded distant, so I took it. took the clue and investigated the second floor first. The stairs were covered and thinning carpet, but thankfully it didn't release many creaks as I ascended. When I reached the landing, I found more blackness, and despite hoping to keep my presence a secret,

I hit the light switch. Another bathroom shared the landing space, and from there, a hallway ran the length of the floor, housing the three bedrooms. The closet door at the end of the hall faced me ominously. Since the sole light at the landing, an ugly brass thing with glass panels that dangled dangerously low, hardly touched the hallway. I hadn't heard any more voices since my name was called, but now on the second floor I noticed muffled sounds emanating from the hallway. I pushed the bathroom door open with the tip of the bat and found nothing notable aside from the pale pink tiles on the floor that spread up each wall to meet the ceiling like an evasive mold. I tightened my grip on the bat a bit as I approached the hallway.

I couldn't remember which room made at the large bedroom next to the bathroom, and who had the first bedroom on the left, but I knew Sadie's was in the back left corner. I listened closely as I entered the hallway. The muffled voice was definitely coming from her room. I stopped outside her door and lifted my hand to the wood, slowly forcing it open. The room glowed eerily from the screen on her death.

Damn it, Sadie. She left her laptop open to some YouTube channel with some Gen Z girl staring into the empty room, saying something in Gen Z speak while sitting inches away from the camera. I trudged across the space and slammed the laptop closed, relishing the silence as her voice cut away mid-sentence. That's all that mystery, I guess. A glimmer of doubt sparked in my mind as I turned away from the computer. I shook my head. Nah, it's fine, I said to the empty room.

Then I stopped to take a leak in the putre pink bathroom before heading back downstairs. I was more or less through the main floor sweep when music erupted from my pocket. I quickly pulled out my phone to see Sadie calling. I answered it gruffly. She immediately asked if I'd phoned anything. Yeah, some chick with way too much makeup. talking about some creepy paranormal shit on your laptop. You know, if you're scared of your house, you probably shouldn't be watching shit like that before bed.

She seemed surprised, swearing she turned it off before leaving the house and then apologized. I leaned back against the once-white tile countertop and stared at the kitchen's faded peach and green floral border. In the next breath, she asked me about the basement. My gaze fell over to the weathered white four-panel door leading to the one area I had. hadn't yet explored. Heading there right now, I said, reaching for the doorknob. Since I'd never been downstairs, Sadie found the need to explain every minute detail. How the basement only had pull lights in the center of both rooms.

How the railing wobbled if he leaned on it. How the furnace always seemed to roar to life when you were down there. And how Liz kept a collection of cardboard cutouts of 90s celebrities in the second room. Okay, I was glad she filled me in on that one. I hit my flashlight once again, then observed a long, tattered white cord hanging above the top step. I yanked it and a yellowy orange glow washed over the stairway. My tennis shoes stumped harshly against the boards on my way down,

despite my soft steps. I heard Sadie inhale sharply at my movement. When I reached the bottom, I was frustrated to find that the light barely extended past the side. the staircase. Bacements have never bothered me, but seeing the severe line in front of my feet separating sight from the underground inky abyss was unsettling. No wonder Sadie was scared of this place. I asked her where she'd been hearing the thumping as I held the narrow ray of light up against the dark wall. She confided in me that it was the basement. It was always the basement

stairs. Impulsively I turned around despite having not yet found the next light cord. Behind me, the stairs waited, entirely ordinary, plain and pan and wooden. But the flood of color from the bulb above did little to touch the darkness that seeped out from between the steps on the open back staircase. I trudged forward several more feet, then jerked the cord down, revealing a standard, obviously unfinished basement. The white shine unveiled a mismatched washer and dryer, a couple of metal shelves crammed with totes, and a village of spiderwebs.

Shadows still gathered in the corners despite the vibrant bulb. I spun around, declared it was clear, then ducked through the doorless opening leading to the other room. My flashlight illuminated several sets of eyes. I wasted no time pulling the chain. I knew it was coming, but still found myself dumbfounded looking at the collection. While I couldn't place most of their names, I recognized the faces.

A couple of female singers from my youth clad in artsy outfits. The teenage version of one of those heart throbs always featured on the cover of Tiger Beat. An anime character I couldn't place. A monster of a display featuring the whole cast of Full House. Then another one that was just John Stamos. Uh, um... The sounds croaked out of my throat involuntarily. Sadie laughed and said it sounded like I must have found Liz's stash.

When I tried to formulate a question, she brushed me off. I double-checked both the rooms, which seemed to satisfy Sadie, so I could end the call. Then I got the lights and had it back upstairs. The couch groaned as I fell into it in a heap. I closed my eyes. I immediately opened them. I swung my wrist to my face and then I groaned. It was 149.

I closed my eyes again. No you're stressing about it now. Then I remembered I needed to set my alarm back to account for the extra drive time to my house in the morning. I cursed and reached for my phone on the floor, reset my alarm, closed my eyes again. My eyes popped open. Boom, boom. Fuck! I moaned, stretching the word out miserably.

I sat up and glanced around the dim living room, black but for the thin ray of light spilling onto the floor from the foyer. The silent house suddenly felt sinister. I leaned forward and peered out through the narrow doorway. From my vantage point, I could see the staircase to the second floor across the foyer. The stairs were empty. I sighed and slowly stood, trying to remember where I pitched the bat. Stepping as noiselessly as my sneakers allowed, I made my way into the foyer. The light seeping into the kitchen gleamed against the practically polished metal bat lying on the countertop.

Feeling determined, I marched into the kitchen. I was going to figure this shit out so I could finally get some sleep. Boom. I wrapped my hand around the handle. slid the bat off the counter and strode to the basement door. Then I flung it open. I was met by another black barrier. Fucking stupid light!

I muttered as I reached forward awkwardly for the cord. In hindsight, I should have hit the kitchen light switch. But in full horror movie mode, I left the creepy house dark. My fingers slipped around the suspended string after a few seconds, and I pulled. A burst of yellowy orange saturated the staircase. There was nothing. I sighed in relief, I guess. I didn't want to bash anybody's brains against a basement wall,

but it was also a bit unsatisfying. Is anybody down here? I barked. If someone was actually in the basement, they already knew about my presence, so I'm not used trying to hide now. All I could hear was a barely audible buzz from the refrigerator. I swallowed and reached from my phone.

I clutched it to my left hand with the flashlight on and I cautiously walked down the steps. The bat in my right hand, wrist spinning, eager for an opportunity to strike. At the bottom, with no incident, I lifted my left hand to the consuming darkness. A piercing ray exposed the stained cinder block wall in part of the shindercule. shelf. And there was the ragged white cord. I stepped forward to grab it, suddenly aware of my lack of empty hands. It grumbled and slipped my phone between my right arm and torso, a beam shooting off at a strange angle. I was not putting either one of my defenses away in a pocket or on the ground. My left hand gripped the light cord.

I yanked it hard and felt the twinge in my gut as a soft. The string snapped off in my hand without engaging the light. Another thump struck the stairs behind me. I turned around slowly, clenching the bat fiercely and clasping my phone in my left hand once again. The flashlight beam shot across the bottom step as I rotated. The staircase looked almost comical for a moment. All that light confined to one's space surrounded by impenetrable darkness. Like heaven, it opened its divine doors over this chosen stairway.

I didn't see anything at first. It was just like any ordinary staircase I'd ever seen before, with something resting on one of the steps near the top. Confused, I squinted and took a step closer. Was it a toy? The thing sitting in the middle of the step nearly blended into the pale wood, but not quite. I blinked. It looked like a foot.

Not like any foot had ever seen before, though. The sallow, hairless surface was coated in fine lines, a pattern that struck me with the word snake. It had five toes, but the digits were nestled wrong. Each plump appendage twisted out in an attempt to separate from the others. An additional toe, this one long and finger-like extended from the inner soul, right where the arch would be. It twitched as it moved in small circular patterns,

a behavior akin to a reptilian tongue or insect antenna. Someone had to be controlling this thing, right? Like it was some robot or animatronic, sci-fi projects, some fucking nerd created as a prank since they could never get laid. Maybe it was Jack. How old did Sadie know this roommate? But while that thought took form, I noticed a shape in a shadowy gap between the stairs. The upper half of a body tucked tightly, clinging to the underside.

A second foot emerged on the step beneath the first. Bump. It was descending. Snapping out of my stupor, I shoved my phone in my pocket and raced forward. It was coming faster now. Right in front of the steps, I paused. It was almost to the bottom. I could see its ugly, crusty skin and translucent nails.

The weird twitching finger towel making a faint crackle as it spasmed. The body beneath the stairs was nearly impossible to interpret, but I could see more that disgusting, flaky skin. I heaved the bat above my head and slammed it against the nasty foot. A crunching escaped from beneath the metal barrier. while a scream exploded from beneath the stairs. I don't know what I was expecting, but it sounded deep in human. It was the scream of a man.

I vaulted myself up as far as I could, managing to clear the bottom three steps. Within seconds, I was at the top of the staircase. I dashed into the kitchen. The scream had already subsided, leaving the basement still once more. As I threw myself against the door and struggled to regain my brain. breath. A vibrant female voice rang out playfully from the other side. A voice I now recognized as Sadie's. It's saying to me. Saying that it would see me next time. For our final story this evening, a desert excursion turns catastrophic, leaving a woman lost and struggling for survival.

Creepy presents. Deserted. Written by Cassandra O'Sullivan Saccar and narrated by Nicole Goodnight. Virginia scanned the vast landscape in front of her in sight and contentment, capturing the moment in her memory as well as with her iPhone. Relaxing her grip on the horn of the saddle while attempting to open up her camera app was a risky maneuver,

so she squeezed extra hard with her thighs to stay upright on the camel. With all her troubles far away, she focused on her. staying in the present to appreciate the surreal quality of her experience. Here she was, a girl from small town Pennsylvania, riding a camel across the Sahara Desert as the great pyramids of Giza shimmered in the background haze. The hot sun bore down on Virginia's skin, and a fresh rivulet of sweat trickled down her back. She could almost hear her mother's voice scolding her for not wearing proper shoes yet again. Her feet were positively caked with sand and grime from her ill-thought sandals tramping across the sand to see the sights, but she didn't care. As far as she was concerned,

she might as well be Cleopatra for how glamorous she felt. Anoyed sounding snuffles and grunts from behind her forced her to remember that she was not alone. The camel whose harness was roped to hers carried its own cargo. The Mark Antony to her Cleopatra. Well, Mark, anyway, her fiancé. She twisted around to give him a smile. You haven't fun yet, babe? From underneath his comically large sun hat, Mark grinned back at her. That's amazing, Virginia replied. Thank you.

Mark had planned this whole trip, booked the excursion to the pyramids with the camel ride and everything. If it not for Mark's meticulous planning, they might have vacationed in Cape May or Roebuth Beach like most of their friends. She loved the beach, but this, this was living. Really sucking out the marrow of life and all that. vacationing to a part of the world so different from her everyday experience. Paying attention to details mattered when it came to flying halfway across the globe and getting up close and personal with one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. And Mark had done his homework.

This was the man she was marrying. All those frogs she'd kissed made it worth it. And they had a full lifetime ahead of them for more amazing adventures. Virginia wondered if she'd ever felt so full of life. Turn around again and smile. and I'll take your picture, he said. Virginia gave her best, biggest smile, posing in a few different angles,

not worrying for once about how her stomach might have created a role well-seated. In contrast to many of the photos she posted on Instagram, ones where she plastered on a fake smile and pretended to enjoy herself because that's what social media demanded of her, unadulterated delight manifested on her face. Madam, careful, please, so you do not distract the camel.

The guide, Ibrahim said, try to stay upright. I'll take your photos for you. Flushing, hating to get in trouble, Virginia swung around and grabbed the horn of the saddle with both hands. In doing so, she lost grip on our iPhone, which fell from the loose hold of her right hand. She tried to stop it from falling by moving her leg, opening it like a door hinge and swinging closed, but it escaped right through the gap. After chastising her for turning around, Ibrahim had gone back to his duty of leading the linked camels with his rope in front. He didn't see him. see Virginia dropped her phone or noticed that inadvertently, she had given Aziz a retired racing camel

who had been rescued for a better life, giving sleepy rides to enchanted tourists, the command to run. Meanwhile, likely catching up on the commotion and not wanting any part of it, Mark's camel Joe bobbed his long neck, effectively unhooking the rope that connected the front of his saddle to the back of Aziz's. Aziz took off in a gallop, Virginia stride, leaving behind an empty-handed Ibrahim and startled-looking mark. Joe chewed his cud languidly, content to avoid the hassle. Ibrahim had said that the camels were referred to as the ships of the desert. But rather than the lazy, lolling back-and-forth motion Virginia had experienced mere moments earlier, Aziz had transformed into a speedboat, racing through the sand as she held on for dear life, one sandal flew off, then the other.

She ventured a glance behind her shoulder to see her own party as well as the other strings of tourists, camels, and guides growing smaller and smaller. Stop! A halt! No! She yelled, desperate. Even with all her hands-on training to become a vet tech, she'd never worked with such a large animal and had no idea what to do.

She attempted clicking her tongue like her childhood horseback riding teacher had taught her, but Aziz ignored her. Then again, she also remembered her horse ditching her when she tried that, flinging her off his back into a blackberry bramble, so perhaps it was for the best. Aziz kept hot-footing it through the desert, Virginia powerless to do anything but continue holding on. Being vertically challenged,

she had only been able to climb up the Dramadaries back when Ibrahim had held out the saddle's skirt as a boost, so she was far too high up to dismount safely, not to mention at that speed. Where was the lethargic camel she had met 20 minutes ago? Aziz ran like his life depended on it. The dry desert breeze rifled through her hair and stirred dust into her eyes as she traversed the sand farther and farther away.

She had tried to adjust her sunglasses earlier, but they had gone to the way of her phone and sandals. How much time passed since the mad dash began? Five minutes, ten, maybe twenty? She had no idea. Each second dragged on as she waited for something to happen to end this interminable race. For Aziz to stop. For Ibrahim to send someone out to rescue her something! glancing to the side Virginia could still see the pyramids, but all other aspects of civilization had vanished into the dense, blurry air. There were no longer traces of people or luxurious air-conditioned cars waiting for tourists to return after their outing.

No promise of an ice-cold water or juice to quench the thirst brought on by the raging sun. Finally, the camel slowed, the fire that had been lit in his belly dying down and finally snuffing out entirely. He just stopped. Virginia let out a long, stale breath, releasing the clench of her thighs. Her muscles already ached from the strain of the journey, and her mouth had that dry, sticky feeling like she'd slept all night with her mouth open. She swallowed, trying to wet her throat, but there was nothing but the grit of sand on her teeth, no moisture at all.

Good boy, Aziz, now let's go back, she coaxed. Her voice tranquil despite everything. She didn't want to spook him, after all. Turn around, please. Again, Virginia thought of horseback riding. She stretched her arm out to Aziz's long neck, grabbing the rope Ibrahim had used to lead him, wondering if she could use it almost as a rain.

She gave a gentle tug backward. But Aziz wasn't having it, or maybe she had signaled another command. After an agonized sigh, and how he had any breath left in his lungs after that sprint, she didn't know, heaved his hefty body down into the sand. Virginia let out an exhalation.

of her own. While they weren't continuing to distance themselves, she didn't know how far away she was from civilization, or if she could find her way back on her own. It was hard to tell with the effort of holding on, but she didn't think Aziz had run in a straight line. If she dismounted and turned around, maybe she'd stumble upon the tourist site. But what if she didn't? What if she became lost in this endless desert? With a veterinary technician national exam coming up, she had little time to do anything but study and thus hadn't researched the land she was visiting. She told Mark that she wanted everything other than their location to be a surprise. She didn't know how many acres it was or if the barren landscape was deceiving. If, perhaps,

there might be a busy populated road right over the bend. All she knew was that, sitting on this camel, with her throat already aching for water as the sun continued its attack, wasn't helping. Maybe if she got off and tried leading him back, he would guide the way and surely help was coming soon. there was no way Mark was hanging around and casually waiting for her return. She trusted her fiancé had her back, and was hatching a plan to bring her back to safety. Dismounting from the camel, Virginia stepped with one bare foot directly on the burning sand and immediately pulled it up. But she didn't have enough leverage to get back on the saddle and fell on her butt, letting out a yelp.

The ground was lava, and she couldn't step on it. Harkening back to when she was a little girl at a sleepover, except this time, It wasn't a game, and the ground was literally hot enough to scorch her. She still felt the heat through the seat of her denim caprice, worn instead of shorts to be mindful of local customs, but it was more tolerable. She couldn't scoot all the way back on her butt, though. Her heels, the toughest part of her feet, rested on the ground and could scarcely stand it. What am I supposed to do?

She yelled upward, her voice cracking with emotion, the tears she had held at bay trickling out now when drying on her face from the sun's turidity. What she needed to do first, before making any other plans, was to calm down. Virginia knew she wasn't helping herself by having a pity party. She tried to remember the breathing techniques from a video she and her roommate had used freshman year to combat the stress of college life. Breathe in for two counts, and out for two counts, several rounds to self-regulate breathing and calm herself down.

But this couldn't distract her from the need for water. Her dry tongue lay like cotton in her mouth, thick and heavy. She could picture the water bottle she'd left in the car, likely sweating away. Their guide had suggested leaving everything but their phone so they would have their hands free during the brief camel ride. What she wouldn't give for a tiny sip of that water right now, just enough to coat her throat. Virginia looked contemptuously at Aziz, who had gotten her into this mess and could last many days without water. He lay there quietly, seemingly unbublished. bothered by the sun, chewing his cud, he was built for this.

Unfortunately, with her pale complexion and preference for air conditioning, Virginia was most certainly not. As time ticked by, she didn't know how long without a watch or phone to track the time. Virginia resigned herself to the fact that she couldn't wait around for someone to rescue her. She needed to take matters into her own hands. Easing herself up into a standing position, her leg muscles soar from her harrowing adventure on the camel's back. She squeezed her eyes tightly and exhaled several times in quick succession, as she placed her flat feet on the burning sand. She fell back down again, hard. The sand burned too

much. She couldn't take it. With limited options, she took off her oversized button-down shirt, now soaked through with sweat, and ripped it into two pieces, the thin material tearing easily. Though her shoulders and more of her chest were now exposed to the sun's wrath with only a thin tank top remaining, she needed protection for her feet. After wrapping the strips around her souls, she tried flattening them. Not perfect and certainly no substitute for a proper pair of shoes, but better than nothing. The next problem was figuring out how to get a Z's to move. Time to get up, buddy. Virginia patted the camel on his side, mindful of the tenuous line between being firm enough without pissing him off. Let's go back, lead the way. Otherwise I'm

in a roast or dry up into a husk. The camel harrumped and looked away from her. Suit yourself, I'm leaving, jackass. She would have made a show about gathering her things, but the camel wouldn't have cared. Besides, she had nothing. She could no longer see the pyramids or anything else for that matter. Nothing more than the rise and fall of the sand swells,

so she knew she must be fairly far away from her origin. But she had to try, had to do something if she wanted any chance of getting back in a reasonable time. She and Mark had a dinner cruise on the Nile later that night, and she knew she'd need to take a shower after all of this. Squinting her eyes against the brightness, Virginia started walking, retracing Aziz's light steps.

As long as his footprints didn't blow away from the gusts of sweltering, oppressive winds, she could, hypothetically anyway, follow these all the way. If she were lucky, maybe she'd bump into help as she traveled, and they'd surely have water for her. keep going, you can do hard things, she said aloud, despite knowing that talking might further part your throat, you're heading in the right direction. Even if untrue, it was a comforting thought, one that kept away some of the self-pity. As the hours passed, Virginia kept pacing one foot in front of the other, but her steps slowed. The sunscreen she'd slathered on her face, arms and neck

that morning had long since worn off, so her skin burned, especially her shoulders, which were completely defenseless. Her head had grown so unbearably hot that she had removed the now filthy cotton strips from her feet, ripped them into more pieces, and wrapped them around her head to block out the sun's fearsome rays. If only I'd worn a hat, she thought. Though that probably would have flown off on her wild journey along with her sandals and sunglasses. She might as well have wished for sneakers or her water bottle. There was nothing she could do to well these items into existence. casting her eyes down, searching for tracks that were no longer visible in the shifting, blowing sand, Virginia noticed the trailing strips of fabric on her feet.

I look like a fucking mummy, she thought, thinking of her trip to the museum the day before. She couldn't help but laugh, a brief staccato sound in the near silence. In her periphery vision, she saw the edges of the blowing pieces of cotton around her head and could only imagine how ridiculous she must look, especially compounded by her blistering skin. in. Maybe Mark will take a picture when I get back and we'll laugh about it someday. I got lost in the desert and turned into King Tut. But where was Mark with the rescue party? Where were the damn pyramids for that matter? She definitely started in the right direction. The camel's footprints proved that, but had she gotten turned around at some point? As the sun set in what should have been the

magical sight to behold with her fiancé over a bottle of wine, Virginia had to face the reality that she might really, truly, be heading in the wrong direction. Despite the relief of the cooler temperature, her spirits plummeted. I should have never left disease, she thought to herself. Though that asshole of a camel had gotten her into this mess, at least he had been a companion of sorts. Now she was alone in the desert, deserted. Water, she needed water, and aloe for her sunburn, and a bath. She needed to brush the sand out of her hair. and put this awful experience in the past, but she'd settle for water.

And a bed. She needed rest. Not only was her mind fatigued with the stress of the situation, but her body ached for having walked all day and from the assault of the sun. At some point she stopped, lay down in the sand, curled into a fetal position,

and fell into a fitful, uncomfortable sleep. When Virginia awoke in the bright morning light to a low, muffled sound, her disoriented brain could in understand what she heard, but she had hopes. Thunder from an impending storm with the promise of rain would be a blessing. She imagined opening her mouth to go big, greedy droplets. Or maybe it was a plane scouting the area for her. Whatever that rumble was, she prayed it means salvation. She limped toward the noise, closer and closer until she could make out a road in the distance.

And that meant people and cars. She was nearing her rescue. As she stumbled out onto the highway, way she would have cried with happiness, but she had no tears left. All she could do was smile. She never saw the car. When Harvey heard the news about the missing camel an American tourist, he had hurried to his vehicle, anxious to help. And if he were being honest, capitalized on the reward the woman's fiance had offered for her safe return. His past experiences as both a medic and a tracker in the Second Persian Gulf War made him feel uniquely qualified for the role of rescuer. even though he'd never moved back to the U.S. permanently after his time overseas, he retained a special place in his heart for fellow Americans.

When his phone sounded an alert, he picked it up off the passenger seat to check for updates in the case, but it slid right out of his hand. Harvey took his eyes off the road for the briefest second to reach down and rescue it. By the time he glanced back up, it was too late. The woman stood in the road, her blonde hair flowing and disheveled, her skin seared pink, strips of cloth trailing from her head like Medusa's snakes, her arms out stretched as if ready to embrace someone, Harvey let out a shriek and slammed on the brakes, but he couldn't stop,

much like Aziz refused to stop after Virginia dropped her phone the day before. He watched in horror as his car crashed into the woman, her body splitting open and splattering blood and chunks of gore across his windshield before disappearing underneath his car. Harvey felt a sickening crunch as he drove over her. When the forward momentum ceased and Harvey was able to steer his wrecked Nissan Centra over to the side of the road, he wept at the carnage in front of him, that which he had caused in his quest to stay apprised on the plate of this very woman. A smear of scarlet painted the road, a trail leading to a destroyed body.

Already other cars were pulling over, and the screams of terror from fellow motorists peppered the air, along with the metallic scent of blood. Tears and snots streaming down his face, Harvey ran to the woman, praying she was somehow okay. He knelt by her side. His pants now coated in dirt from the road and her warm, sticky blood,

and rolled her over by her shoulder. Half a smile. One of pure joy, graced what remained on her lifeless face. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration. Please visit creepypod.com.

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