Creepy - The Day the Sky Fell

Episode Date: May 17, 2021

Where will you be?***Written by Barry Charman***Bonus episode: Crystal Infection written by: PurgeRed 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***Produced 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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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 Day the Sky Fell Written by Barry Charmin And produced by Steve Blizzin When the rain came I was driving home when I saw a woman standing by the side of the road Her face was streaked with red I stopped and let her in

Asked if she'd been attacked She said it was raining blood I drove to her place cautiously. The windshield wipers nervously spreading streaks of blood across the glass. It was coming down much harder now. She let me in. We sat in the kitchen, wondering when it would stop. The voices on the radio were distant and alarmed.

The faces on TV were pale and unnerved. There were no answers. Nothing like that. Everyone was on a knife edge, waiting for something. I slept on the couch. Amy, that was her name. Came down in the middle of the night and lay beside me. She shivered, telling me the blood had been drizzling against her window.

I self-consciously put an arm around her. She was in her mid-20s, I guessed, about five years younger than me. Her blonde hair still had red in the roots, where she'd failed to wash the rain out. She asked me to stay, and I hadn't wanted to leave. The next day we stood at the window and stared outside. The rain had ended. At first, we thought it was snowing. I realized before she did and told her not to go out.

She wouldn't listen. was excited. Snow was pure. It would wash away the blood. She went outside. I didn't follow. I froze, refusing to contemplate what I was seeing. When she came back in, there was something white in her hands. Her eyes were darting about. She was not holding snowflakes. They were feathers. Her hands turned into fists. I tried to clumb her down. Eventually, she let the feathers go and watched them drop. She turned to look at the snow outside, then ran upstairs.

Too troubled to speak. I stood at the window, my thoughts slowly turning over. A strange, dense mist was forming. As I watched it rolled in from nowhere. The whole garden was quite. quickly consumed by it. Shortly nothing could be seen of the world outside, not the feathers-strewn lawn, not the blood-smeared flowers.

I stared and stared. I found Amy upstairs lying on her bed. She was on her side, staring at the window. I wanted to distract her, so I sat beside her and told her about my small life and little hobbies, Anything was better than silence. Then something crashed. Everywhere that soared to violent applause.

The volume was terrifying, overwhelming. Disoriented, we collapsed toward knees. My hands were clutching in my ears. I tried to remove one and extend a hand to her, but had to instantly replace it. Shaken, we picked ourselves up. Our ears ringing. The sound, brief but infinitely jarring, had come and gone.

The silence it left was dreadful, even if it wasn't immediately clear why. Everything was done slowly. It took a lot of time to get downstairs, a lot of nerve to go to the front door. A lot of fear was dealt with before my hand was put on the handle. I didn't know what to expect, but something had happened. We felt that in her bones. Fearful, curious, I opened the door. All I could see was the thick, heavy mist.

I had to see what had happened. I had to know. Amy followed me out. We quickly clutched for each other, terrified of becoming separate. We were separated, losing the only people we had. We walked through the mist, needing to find something we could make sense of. Possible shapes were glimpsed in the distance, but there would be trees or walls, or just disappear before we reached them.

There was nothing ordinary, nothing natural. We walked on. We had to. There was no finding our way back. in this. We called out to people. At first we offered help, but soon we were asking for it. What had happened? Where was everyone? Why was everything so silent? Dupid really, that neither of us had noticed their deafness. Maybe it was the ringing that we still suffered from after the crash. Maybe it was the deafening quality of the silence. But it was a woman.

while before either of us realized we pawed at each other in panic when it finally hit us. Her panic helped to subdue mine, and I put my hands to her face and stroked it, mouthing, soothing words. I hoped she would understand the phrase, it's okay, sat in my mouth, and I framed it over and over again. I thought we just needed to wait. Something would change. Either people would come or a hearing would suddenly return. Of course, I realized everyone else would be affected and that there was no help. Both of us were deaf, and we were calling to the death. But was this guest? Actually, we found people. They had been outside when the crash had occurred. and looked at us with horrible, profoundly disturbed expressions.

The first people we approached just retreated, overwhelmed, appalled. There was a terror to them that was beyond reaching. Moving on, we met others who were just sitting on the curb, cradling their skulls as though inside there were infants weeping. Some had seen, some had felt. Others had no idea, but were simply affected by everyone else. And everyone was affected, unable to do anything else. Eventually we met another man.

He was signing frantically. I didn't know any sign language, nor did Amy, but we both realized the source of his distress. He had been deaf already when the crash happened. Seeing everyone's stager around in a terrified parody of his own condition, it greatly unnerved him. He was pleading with us, hands moving in a blur, lips working in a murmur. What has happened? looked sorry, but we could give no comfort. So we had to look away.

The people who were wandering in confusion everywhere we went. Some had stumbled half-dressed from their homes. Some were calling soundlessly for children and lovers. Amy saw a small boy alone. She gestured to me, and we went over to him. She tried to speak, and the boy tried to listen. He made faces that were unbearable to see. Eventually, he pulled away from us and ran.

Into the smoke, the mist. Gone in a second. Alamy's hand. Looking at her, I saw she was crying. I wiped away her tears and thought for something hopeful to say. I'd never been good with words, never having the right ones for the right moment. Suddenly, I comprehended that there were no more words and almost laughed. Then I realized, there was no more laughter. Can you laugh if no one can hear you?

I wiped her tears and held her hand. Then I kept us moving. It was a nightmare, really. The world had become a strange, delusional place. No sound, no reality bar the immediate mist. Everything felt like a dream. I knew I wouldn't wake up, and in a way I didn't care. If I woke up, Amy would be gone. It was then I embraced the dream that kept me going.

It was probably what kept us alive. Oh, what other people did that day. There must be a million tales. I can't even imagine how terrified some people must have been, or how strong some others. That first day. How many didn't make it past that first day? Then I raided a fridge and made us some dinner.

Both of us were slowly calming, exchanging odd little gestures. We read each other's lips as best we could. We were scared. Everything we knew had somehow ended, vanished. But we wanted to endure. We wanted to survive. We thought things would be better in the morning. The next day I was a little surprised to find myself still deaf,

but not so much that it did me any real harm. I think I knew the damage was done. Strange. How sometimes you can adapt to something. Just absorb it and carry on. There were those who would adapt and those would not. I realized that well. The mind helped you to cope with the most extraordinary of things held on to this, to the idea I might be more capable, more durable than I'd ever imagined.

Amy had slept in the next room, and when I woke her gently, she stared up at me and tried to say something. She couldn't hear herself speak, and the previous day flooded over her like she was a damn made for tears. I made her breakfast. She came downstairs and sat opposite me in a stranger's kitchen. Her long hair was tied back, and she looked different. She seemed practical, ready, determined to hold on to whatever she could. She had a notebook and pen and wrote, What do we do?

This is what we did. We each had family, friends. The idea was to work together, rally all the people we knew, stay together, stay safe. The subtext of all this kept something of the world we knew alive. We found some rucksacks, filled them with food, then left to go back into the mist. Outside, the world was unchanged. All the same silent shroud as the day before. It was like falling asleep and falling back into the same dream.

We had debated through furious scribbles whether we should steal a car or try to find mine. But we knew that these conditions had rendered the roads unthinkable. Like this, as we walked, to the name nearest on the little list we had compiled, which turned out to be Amy's mother. A car hurtled past us. Neither of us had heard it coming, and it scared us with. The driver, whoever he was, had no chance. Only was he blind and deaf, he was clearly terrified.

He was just going, just going on and on, until he got away from what was happening, or until he was killed. It occurred to me that I had instinctively assumed that everywhere was affected by what had happened. But I didn't know this. I had nothing to base this on. Yet even then, I knew the mist wasn't going to clear. We weren't suddenly going to emerge back into an unmarked world. This was too big.

Too much. We got to Amy's mother's house. We found nobody there. Amy took it well enough. She had seen the panic-stricken people yesterday. We had seen few of those today. Her mother was out there somewhere trying to find help. Maybe she found it.

Maybe she didn't. Amy accepted it because she had to. She wanted to survive. So we waited a while. Then Amy left a note. Sometimes I would look up and see a small gap in the clouds. In between heartbeats, I hope the gaps would multiply. That the blue of the old,

would return and the sky be healed, but nothing changed. Often the mist was so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. So we held hands. We kept to the pavement. When we rested, we scribble down whatever jokes we remember to cheer each other out. Sometimes she wouldn't know she was crying, and I would wipe away her tears. And vice versa. We never saw the police or the military.

There were no flashing lights to pierce the mist and reassure us. No paramedics or men in quarantine suits. Sometimes we saw bodies. Sometimes they were covered. Sometimes they were stripped. But we saw nothing that spoke of an order beyond the chaos. The longer we went without order. I guess the less we needed it.

We met a group of people who were tied together into a sort of desperate chain. A man at the front was leading with an expression of grim determination. The chain was stumbling and sobbing, but he wouldn't let them rest. Like most we met, they were gone as quickly as they had appeared. We tried to break into a house and found that someone had bricked up the windows and doors from the inside. They were building walls within walls. Anything to keep the world out. I wondered how long they had waited before making that drastic decision.

The tenth day? Or had it been the first. We'd lost track of time. It had become impossible to measure. Even night was only marked by an increase in oppression. Strangely, the loss of time affected me worse than anything else. The unreality surrounding us became more intrusive, more pervasive, as if it was leaching from me something so basic that I only now feel violated. A head of us, a huge cobweb-like scaffolding structure emerged from the mist, erected around a tall building.

We found a group who were trying to build upwards. They wrote an explanation for us. They wanted to get to the sky. To break through. We stayed with them for a couple of days. Curious. Fascinated. They were a mixed bunch, different ages, backgrounds.

They used the scaffold as a bridge to relate to each other. They all wanted to understand. We sat with a man and his wife. She was pregnant and constantly. held her stomach as though the kicking in her womb was the only thing she dared believe in. We all wondered if the child would be able to hear, and what would it hear? We discussed this through scribbles for as long as we could, but the idea that there was something around us that we couldn't hear, it was too much for any of us.

A pile of scrunched-up notes lay around us as we tried to sleep. a nest of prayers and ideas, introductions, and theories. Above us, the scaffolding was comforting. It was man-made. It was new. Things were ongoing. New things were still possible when they got high enough, and one man went up to see what he could. We all waited with bated breath. He came down and just shook his head.

He didn't look disappointed. But then he had probably expected the worst. The group began to break up. So we left it before it felt like we were abandoning it. I walked away with Amy, her hand in mine. Our fingers were locked tight. A sign of that lingering fear that we could be separated. even though we knew nothing could easily separate us now.

Some days later we came across a circle of kneeling shapes. Men and women. Eyes shut to the world. Heads bowed. At the center of their circle was an old Bible. And next to that was the Quran, the Torah. Their lips were all moving. Whispering or pleading.

praying or accusing. We stepped around them, unheard and unnoticed. I was strangely afraid of them, of what they might see if they opened their eyes. Were those who were not in the circle to blame? Were they blasphemers? What sort of person was not in the circle? Invoking answers from God now unreachable. We avoided them.

leaving them behind us as quickly as we could. Soon we'd left the houses and then the city's behind. We found ourselves walking down an abandoned highway. I wanted to say how calm it was, how peaceful. I looked at Amy and saw she felt the same. This was like a lull in the madness. The mist seemed softer. The world further away than ever, on a collision.

I made Amy stop and wait while I looked closer. The drivers were dead behind their wheels. Looks of shock and confusion still readable on their faces. The doors were all open. The cars were carcasses picked clean by New World vultures. Left was a teddy bear on a back seat, showered in glass. A present, perhaps, never to be given, one had touched it. It was kept in place, cradled by a frayed seatbelt.

I went back to Amy and shook my head. We agreed silently to get off this road as soon as we could. This would be one of many stories. With two few endings, we found our way back to the streets, which blurred into each other as we wandered on. Breaking into random houses we lived as best we could. Sometimes it struck me as we wrote our thoughts and exchanged them by candlelight. How honest life was now.

How simple. Without words, we entrusted something to silence that was special. New to us. We kept moving. The list was our guide. Each name we crossed off was a link severed to the past. It haunted us, yet liberated us, directed us. Once we finished with a list, what then?

We needed to find people. We needed supplies. We needed to make a future out of these ruins. We tried to join up with a few people, but some groups were too large and intimidated us. Some were too small and erratic. There's a lot of violence in the survivors we found. It was a snake uncoiling in their guts.

It was a maddening thought pacing in their minds, a hand twitching with yearned for but undeveloped actions. There were signs we'd come to quickly pick up on. Some people were bitter. lost, confused. They were not moving. They were waiting for terrible acts to manifest themselves. We kept moving.

Occasionally we saw footprints that were rad from having run through blood. We didn't need to think about those things. We just needed to keep going. It must have been the eighth or ninth week that we saw the body. At first we thought it was an ordinary man. Some poor person who'd been mugged or attacked. We took a closer look, and that's when we first began to accept what had happened. Where were you when the sky came down?

Were there bodies? Were there many? It was larger than a normal man. Its skin was a strange bronzed color. It was beautiful, naked. and sexless. Horrible jigged wounds scarred its back. I stood there for a while,

contemplating this latest piece of the jigsaw. I looked up at the mist around me, at the hidden, wounded sky. Do such a thing. And what did it want? So we broke into a nearby house. This one is abandoned as all the others. That night,

As we lay together for the first time, we tried not to think, not to understand. We surrendered ourselves completely to the present, and to each other felt good, untied her hair, and felt it tumble through my fingers. Stroking it as a sensation made her smile. There would always be moments like this, I thought, and that alone could bring you peace. I woke up and felt Amy beside me. Sometimes I would remember sounds from my dreams and be disturbed by the reduced world around me. But feeling her close just made me feel relieved.

I thought back to that first night. I remembered a tedious drive abruptly ending with the sight of her, alone and frightened in the bloody rain. I smiled sadly for that other life and the simplicity of it. that I sometimes only barely remembered. Thirsty, restless. I got up and walked downstairs. From the window in the hall, I glanced out and saw some sort of commotion. I wondered if other people had discovered the body.

How would they react? I looked out. Eyes desperate to pierce the pale, veiled world. On door I opened it slightly. I was maddened by my loss of you. Hearing frustrated by the clouded view as soon as I opened the door. One of my other senses was suddenly overwhelmed. An odor assaulted me.

Rancid beyond anything I had ever smelled before. A single second I was on my knees. Tears and bile streaming from my face. Distressed. And saw inhuman shapes clustered around the body we had discovered earlier. Not of its kind. They shall go undescribed. them by how your body rejects them, and by how your mind refutes them.

They cast six shapes in the mist, and they are always feeding. As they ate of the body, I quietly closed the door. I wondered if I understood something now, or if this was not worth understanding. I never conveyed what I'd seen to Amy. Names on our list. We traveled by what we thought was the day, and we hid at night. We saw fewer people with each passing day. Sometimes we saw the sexless bodies.

No matter how much time it passed from the crash, they seemed unchanged. They didn't decompose. Their beauty didn't falter. They just lay there as though stunned, with delicate expressions of surprise, perturbing their soft skin. Some people we came across had taken to collecting these bodies, storing them. They would surround them and pray as if thinking they could be made to wake up at this point.

The only people you met were the ones with big ideas. By the time we completed the list, we'd found a few people. Old friends and knew that fell in with us. happy to have any direction other than the restless waiting or endless fear that had kept them alive, but alone. Amy was never quite sure why we had to keep moving, but she trusted me. Perhaps she sensed I had been different since that night. Then maybe I'd seen something. Maybe she had seen something, but didn't want to worry me.

Whatever it was, we trusted each other. We held hands and we never let. go. On and on we went. Sometimes I saw the creatures or just their work. Once I broke into a house and found one inside and get away before it saw me, but it didn't care. It just leered. And as its twisted lips smacked together in what might have been laughter, I was strangely haunted by a sound I didn't even want to hear. The house was dark. I never saw it fully.

And I was glad, never cleared. The silence was never broken. Everywhere the same. Aw, and where were you when the rain came? When the end came. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents Crystal Infection

written by Purgret and narrated by Owen McCune. Holy shit. I jumped out of the van and elbowed my way through the small crowd of uniformed soldiers and towards the fence. I peered through it and looked at the villa standing up ahead, or at least what was left of it. It was almost entirely covered with some sort of brown crystal or rock. windows had been broken to make room. Hell, even the walls had been destroyed to give the crystal more space. It was like a massive explosion had gone off from inside the mansion

and then turned into crystal mid-blast. Hey, a police officer behind me grabbed my shoulder. What are we dealing with here exactly? I've got absolutely no clue, I lied as I looked at him. But that's why we're here, isn't it? Grab your team and get that gate open. Secure us a path towards that mansion. I?

The man nodded, rallied his team and went off to execute my orders. I stayed near the vehicles until eventually another man, dressed in all-black armor like me, walked up to me. We stood there alone, watching the officers open the way to hell.

They made a right, bloody mess of this, I mumbled, as I gestured toward the rock-covered mansion. Thought they were, supposed to be monitoring him. The man took out a cigarette and sighed. They were, and they did. Just slightly got out of hand, I guess. He responded, as he offered me one.

I declined. Slightly got out of hand? The entire building's covered in that stupid rock. The thing's probably a massive safety hazard as well. Can't imagine it did anything good for structural integrity. I turned to look at it. him in the eye. Think they just let it happen? You know, to see how far this thing goes? The man shrugged in response. I know a lot, but that'd be too high up even for me. He reached for

something inside his jacket and retrieved a set of photographs. You read the file, so you know what to expect. Use these to identify our guy, if there's still something left of him, that is. I nodded as I took the photographs before turning to join the police officers up ahead. I stopped for a moment, looking back at the man. What about the officers? Confidentiality is not your concern. Communication with the outside has been cut off. Just get the job done, he responded, before getting back inside a vehicle.

When I joined up with the officers, I sent ahead. We were standing right in front of the mansion, which allowed us to take it. take a closer look at the brown rock. It was even more intimidating up close, and had almost completely covered the building. I was scanning for a way in when one of the officers called us. He'd found a partially uncovered window leading into what appeared to be the remains of a kitchen. All right, I mumbled, as I made sure my mask completely covered all my skin, leaving nothing exposed. Three of you stay here, make sure nothing leaves or enters the house. The rest, come with me. me, and please, try not to touch this stuff.

I squeezed my way through the window and eventually ended up crouched inside the remains of a kitchen. It was too tight to stand. I had to make my way further into the room to create space for the two officers coming with me. The further away from the window I got, the darker it became. There weren't a lot of places where light could penetrate darkness in there. All right, I spoke in a whisper. We're looking for this guy. I held up one of the photographs, showing a man proudly smiling into the camera.

He's somewhere in here, so we're going to have to look around. Now, he's one of us, so don't shoot anybody, all right? The others nodded. They were visibly tense, but that was understandable. I felt the same with every step I took in that house. I turned on my flashlight and started to slowly move towards the hall. It was so dark that even my flashlight had trouble to expel the darkness. The faint glinted from the rock was everywhere.

Not soon after we reached the stairs. One set went up, the other went down. Looks like the rest of this floor is inaccessible, I whispered. I sure as hell hope we don't need to start digging our way through this stuff. Suddenly, a muffled rumbling echoed through the halls. The two officers frantically looked around, and I amissued. immediately raised my weapon before realizing it was nothing more except a plane flying by outside. I silently cursed before turning around to face my companions.

All right, you two check the basement. I'll take the upper floor. The two men nodded in response as they headed for the stairway. And, I continued, pausing for a second to find the right words. If you do find him, or something. you feel isn't right. Don't approach it. Don't make any noise. We'll do anything. If you find something, come straight to me. When I reached the top of the stairs, I had to get on my stomach to crawl my way through some of the tight spaces. Eventually, I ended up in what I assumed must be the master bedroom. The bed, as with most objects in the room, was covered with rock as well. In the middle, though,

the faint shape of a human being could be seen, as if one had lied there some time ago. I sighed. It was something, but not much. He'd been here, sure. But where was he now? Come on, Red, where the hell are you? I muttered, as I looked around the room some more, trying to find some more holes I could squeeze through,

but to no avail. The crystals had grown so much it blocked off most of the house. If the Red was somewhere behind there, that meant that at least he couldn't escape either. I sat down on a chair that had miraculously survived most of the growth, then took another look at the photographs. Most of them I had seen before, but a couple were new to me. A man stood staring straight into

the camera with wide eyes, but no expression on his face. Half of his neck had been replaced with brown rocks. The more I looked, the more little ones I found on his body. The next photograph showed a woman sitting on the ground who appeared to be missing her right arm. It had been replaced. placed by massive crystals that reached all the way from her shoulder to her hips. I shuddered as I put the pictures away. I stood up slowly, now even more conscious about the parasitic crystal all around me as I started to make my way back down. When I did, I found one of the officers sitting down on the staircase leading to the basement.

He seemed to be watching the basement door intensely. Hey, you find something? I whispered as silently I approached him from behind. I got no response, so I walked up to him and placed my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. I stumbled back against the stairs when the man just fell forward at my touch and rolled down the stairs. His body hit the door with a loud bong, which made my heart skip a beat. I wanted to curse, but it felt like any noise I made would kill me. I silently walked down the staircase and knelt down next to the man.

Strangely enough, I felt a pulse. I leaned him up against the wall before I turned toward the basement door. I reached for the handle, but I couldn't leave. I turned back to the unconscious man. His mask was broken. I didn't want to do it. But I knew what I had to do. I shot him once in his head.

At least it wasn't. I wasn't painful, I told myself. He messed up, and I wasn't about to risk my life by hauling an infected guy back to the outside world. Orders were orders. If you messed up, you paid the price. I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to find on the other side of the door, but I did know it was what I was looking for. The door creaked as I closed it behind me.

I stood in a large room with my flashlight serving as the only lights. source. I could hear the sounds of fluids dripping somewhere in the distance, but apart from that, it was quiet. I slowly moved forward, step by step, keeping my ears open for any noise, but I heard nothing, until suddenly a soft thump came from somewhere in front of me, and then it happened again, and I recognized it to be a footstep. And another one. Another one. Another one. Rapid footsteps came from the darkness ahead, coming closer and closer. I raised my weapon as I tried to illuminate whatever was coming at me with my flashlight. Finally, the other police officer came into view as he stumbled into the light.

He had his arms wrapped around himself, and his eyes were wide open. I took a step back. Did you find anything? I asked firmly. He suddenly snapped his face towards me. I'm all right. I'm okay, he whispered as he looked down. At this point, I noticed small smears of blood on his hands.

I'm all right, he repeated as he said another step closer to me. I could hear the fear in his voice. I could tell he was trying to convince himself he was fine, but he needed help right away. You're okay, I assured him as I took two steps towards the door. It'll be okay. Come on. I'm all right. I'm all right. I'm all right. I'm all right. I'm all right. He kept repeating those words as he kept getting closer to me. I reached out to grab him,

but just before I did, I heard something from the darkness. I immediately retracted my hand as I realized what I should have done long before. I took a few steps back and ordered the officer to stay put. but he looked at me with a confused expression, but followed my orders nonetheless. Just as we both stopped walking, though, one final footstep could be heard. One footstep too much. Something else was down there. The officer looked at me with wide eyes and started walking again. I instinctively raised my weapon and ordered him to stay back multiple times, but he kept coming.

I'm warning you. Stay back! I shouted as he stumbled closer. He didn't listen. I could hear footsteps again. Of course, the officer was walking, but there were just too many footsteps. I shot him five times, all of them in his chest. The man stumbled back from the impact and almost fell over.

It looked like it should have hurt, but... He just kept staring at me. Almost instantly, my light started reflecting off the bullet holes in his uniform. Off of the rock that had immediately grown over the wounds. Oh, fuck, I whispered as I started backing up. I fired my gun once more. This time the officer barely flinched. I turned around and ran towards the door, slamming it shut behind me.

I reached for the unconscious officer to get him out of there, only to find an empty staircase. He was gone. I don't think I've ever run this hard in my entire life. I almost flew through the kitchen, making my way outside so quickly I tripped over the window and fell outside. The other officers helped me get up, after which I ordered them to get away from the window. We watched it for hours, but nothing followed me. They must still be in there. The operation's been called off.

It's out of my hands now. I'm sitting in a tent, a few hundred meters away from the house, trying to convince myself that thing in the basement isn't going to come out here. If it were up to me, I'd be long gone. But for some reason, I'm not allowed to leave. Almost all the police officers have been sent away, and the field is now crowded with men in black or white armor. They escorted the last police officer away a few moments ago,

and I can't stop thinking about it. Because from the small glimpse I managed to get, he really looked a lot like the guy I killed. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com. If you'd like to submit a story for consideration, or recommend a story, please see our submission page at creepypod.com slash submissions. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative comments, share-a-like licensing,

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