Creepy - The Ghost of Lela & Infected

Episode Date: May 8, 2025

The Ghost of Lela***Written by: Linda Gambill and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***Infected***Written by: Juan Cardenas***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 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 Ghost of Leela. Written by Linda Gamble and narrated by Megan McDuffie. People who believe in ghosts often wonder why ghosts haunt certain places or why they linger so long after death. Did they like the place when they were alive? Or did they remain because they just did not want to move on? Our ghost did not fit? into either category.

My name is Madison Long, and my husband Ross had just accepted a new job in a different state, so we were looking for a place to settle in before he started work. Since this move was sudden, it didn't give us a lot of time to look around. When we found the trailer for sale in Lila, we knew we had found our new home. Lila is now just a place that's a dot on the map and a stop sign at the highway intersection. But when it was at its peak, it was a town full of life, and activity. The area had a school, a store, a grain elevator, and several houses. Today the school is in ruins. The grain elevator has been torn down, and the store and nearly all the houses are completely gone.

It was an ideal place for us when we found it. It was just a short commute to work for Ross. It was in the country, and best of all, it was not on a dirt road. I was so relieved that I no longer had to deal with the muddy roads, although Ross had always seemed to relish the challenge. The trailer was nestled in the corner of the intersection on a hill that was framed by two highways on each side. We loved that the trailer was surrounded by large trees and a huge yard to the south. Ross and I thought that hopefully in a few years we would be able to build our own house where the trailer stood. It was late summer when the sale was finalized. I was excited at the prospect of having a garden and was already planning where it would be and all that I would

plant. Before we signed the final paperwork, our realtor told us she had just received some information we needed to know about the land. The current owner, Daniel Biggs, had bought several lots and combined them to create the three-acre piece of land we were buying. He was very impatient and wanted his new place to be ready immediately so he could move in and start his retirement. There were several old houses still on the lots he had bought, but rather than having the houses torn down and hauled away, Biggs just hired a bulldozer to come in and knock them down. Once the houses were flattened, he had the bulldozer bury them and then smooth the ground. They seeded, watered his new land, and created a beautiful lawn. As soon as the land was ready,

Biggs had the trailer moved in. He had started the process in early spring and was able to move into his new home, just as summer started. His occupancy was brief. By midwinter, he suffered a stroke that sent him to the hospital. Biggs ultimately found himself in an assisted living center. He would never be able to come home, and now he needed money for his expenses, so he was forced to sell his retirement dream. Ross and I were really surprised by this news. The realtor quickly pointed out that the trailer was located on stable land. That part of the property had not been bulldozed. and since this latest information had just come out, Biggs was going to drop his asking price. We really liked the property and decided that we could work with this new challenge.

We moved in as soon as we closed the deal and began making the place our own. We plowed up land for a garden plot, and we planted bulbs that would bloom the following spring. We picked up fallen tree limbs, and we trimmed some of the trees so that we could mow the lawn without ducking under branches. but we had noticed a large depression at the south end of the yard. It was a large circular area, and we decided to make it the site of our burn pile. We figured it was a spot that the bulldozer had not been able to smooth out, and it would be difficult to mow. We began gathering all the tree branches and piling them on that spot,

with the intention of burning them in the spring. We fell into a routine. We continued for two years. We gardened, trimmed the trees as needed, and mowed. Our third spring was different. We gathered branches and limbs as usual, but we were unable to light the burn pile. Normally, when everything had been gathered, we checked weather conditions and then set the burn pile ablaze. However, we had a very dry winter. The resulting drought had led to a statewide burn ban. It was not safe to light the pile, so we left it alone. This

was when everything strange began to happen. When it grows warm enough in the springtime, we like to sleep with the windows open, at least until it turns hot enough that we need the air conditioner. The first night we left our windows open, we heard someone walking through our backyard. Ross got up and looked out the window but couldn't see anything. They crawled back into bed and we tried to go back to sleep.

Soon we heard footsteps again. Now Ross was angry. He got up again, looked out, saw nothing, and then yelled at the intruder anyway. We did not hear anything else that night. The next morning, we discussed the incident and decided not to worry about it. We thought that some of our neighbor's kids might have been exploring at night. If it happened again, we would act on it then. That night we went to bed as usual and woke up when we heard someone walking around again.

This time, Ross was prepared. He grabbed his flashlight and swept its light across the backyard, but no one was there. The third night this happened was on a Friday. Ross yelled out the window again, then turned, and said we were getting up early in the morning and buying a camera with a motion sensor. The following day, after making our purchases and making a stop for pancakes, we headed home. When night came, we were ready. We had the camera with the motion sensor installed at the back of our trailer as well as in the front.

We were determined to catch our neighbor's offspring in the act and then confront the parents. Ross was still indignant about what he considered a violation of our property. I, on the other hand, was more worried about having a peeping tom in the neighborhood. We went to bed that night expecting answers, but all we got was confusion. As we heard footsteps approach, the motion sensor turned on the light of the camera, and the camera started recording. we could see depressions being made in the grass as if someone were walking, but there was no one there. I felt myself getting goosebumps. I asked Ross to close the windows and pull down the blind so we could get some sleep.

We would try to figure things out in the morning. When we got up the next morning, we looked at the camera recording again, but we still had no explanation for what we had witnessed. I guess we had made our ghost angry by trying to capture him on film. We had begun to call him our ghost, for lack of a better term. That night, our ghost set off the motion sensor again, and then began tapping on our closed window. Not seeing anyone on the camera, we tried to ignore the sound. Apparently, he was not getting our attention by tapping on the window. So the screams began.

Ross and I agreed that they were the worst sounds we had ever heard. It was the wrenching sound of agony mixed with anger, ending with a high-pitched. note of excruciating pain. It was terrifying to hear. Our dog was so scared by the sounds that she tucked her tail between her legs, began whimpering, and tried to crawl under her bed. It was so bad that Ross and I thought about crawling under the bed too, but we knew we would not all fit. The next night we braced for the worst, and that is exactly what happened. The footsteps had returned, and there was even more tapping. Then even more agonized. screaming and a strange new sound that sounded like the rumble of a diesel engine, which

confused us even further. Since our ghost had given up for the night, we'd quietly talked. We had to figure out where the screams were coming from and how we were ever going to stop this. At that point, our life was in shambles. We couldn't get any rest at night. We couldn't get our dog to go outside of the trailer unless it was daylight. With the unrelenting stress, we were starting to argue more than usual. All these strange noises were driving us crazy. Ross and I decided that we would pretend to go to sleep that night. We would sneak out the front door and lay down on our deck. We figured if we were careful, we would avoid being seen by anyone. It felt like we were dealing with the supernatural, but we still hoped we could find a rational explanation. There was no window

on the south end of the trailer with an unobstructed view, but from the deck we could see the rest of our yard that was out of camera range. We pretended to go to bed, then crept out on the deck. We stayed quiet and waited, and waited. At first, the only ones with any success were the mosquitoes. We had forgotten to apply repellent before we went outside, sadly. Despite this constant irritation, we tried to be patient. At last, we heard sounds in the backyard, and before last, we heard sounds in the backyard and before long, the screaming started. We started looking around for anyone in the yard. This time we actually saw something, but what we saw didn't make us feel any safer and chilled us to the bone. We focused our attention on the area around the burn pile. We saw a shadowy figure of a

man standing by the stacked branches. He reached out with his right hand, and his arm was stretched out straight above his head, as if he were reaching for something. I wanted to go back to the trailer at that point because whoever, or whatever this was, had a very scary appearance. Ross just gave into his need to exert his ownership rights by yelling at the figure and asking him what he was doing in our yard. The result was a repeat of the blood-curdling scream we had heard before. I grabbed my husband's arm and tried pulling him into the trailer unsuccessfully. He had firmly planted his feet and was determined to find out who this guy was, and what he was doing on our land.

Ross yelled again, and again the scream answered him. He was now more determined to go over to the burn pile and run this person off, but I didn't want to go with him. Yet I did not want to go into the trailer and wait and imagine terrible things happening to Ross. So, at this point, we went together and walked toward the burn pile to confront the man. As we got closer, the man simply faded away. There was nothing there, except for an unexplained chill in the air. After going back into the trailer, we sat down and talked about what we thought we had seen.

We reached the conclusion that we had seen a ghost, because no living person could have disappeared so quickly. What we couldn't figure out was why the ghost was even here, and why the burn pile was so significant. Ross and I finally decided that we had to find out what was causing our ghost to appear near the burn pile. If we could figure that out, maybe we could figure out how to make the ghost leave us alone. We would need to get up once it was daylight and take the burn pile apart. We got up early the next morning and fortified ourselves with coffee and bagels. We geared up and headed out to the burn pile. Ross and I began removing branches and limbs and stacking them to one side.

This took quite a bit of time because we had a lot of branches and a number of these were covered with thorns. between the locust tree, rose bushes, and blackberry brambles, we had a tangled mess. We worked steadily until we had cleared the ground of our yard debris. We were left with a blackened circle, the same size as the depression. We had a late lunch and then went back to the burn pile carrying our shovels. We started at the perimeter of the circle and began to work our way toward the center. Our progress was terribly slow because we didn't know what was beneath our feet. We assumed it could be a crushed house underneath, and the structure would not be able to support our weight and could cause us to fall.

It was early evening when we decided to stop digging. We had uncovered scraps of lumber, pipes, shingles, and wire from the house we were digging up. Yet we'd still not found anything that gave us a clue about our ghost. We decided to quit for the night and head back to the trailer. We would wait until the morning before finishing our task. As I started to walk back to the trailer, my arm was grabbed by a hand that felt as if it was made of ice. It kept me from moving forward. I knew it wasn't Ross.

So I screamed and tried to pull my arm away. Instead of breaking free, the unknown hand tightened and jerked me back with such force that I fell to the ground. I landed so hard that the breath was knocked out of me. Before I could move, the ghostly figure was bending over me. his presence, chilling my whole body. I tried to get my breath back to scream, but Ross came running to me just in time. He yelled at the creepy figure that was bending over me,

and as he did, the figure just faded away. Ross helped me up and asked if I was hurt. Trying to catch my breath, I shook my head no, and then looked down at my arm. I gasped as I saw marks in the shape of someone's hand. That's when I began to. shake uncontrollably. Ross put his arm around me, and we walked back to the trailer. After a hot shower, Ross settled me into my favorite chair, wrapped up in the knitted throw my mother had given me for my

birthday, thinking he had made me feel safe as he could. Ross handed me a cup of hot chocolate and said it was time to talk. Ross said it was obviously something unnatural that was out there, and we had both seen it. He tried to make a joke about it, but the look on my face was, told him that was not such a great idea. We checked my arm again, and Ross thought the marks looked like frostbite, but that was impossible for this time of year. We began to discuss what our next move should be. We knew there was a crushed house under that burn pile because of all the items we had already dug up, so we decided there had to be something connected to that house that was causing our ghost to manifest. Planning to get up early again the next day, we headed to bed so we could

get up as soon as it was light. If we had to dig that house entirely out of the ground, we would. We had to find out what was causing our ghost such anguish, and what was making him so persistent. We did not get much sleep that night. Once we had turned in, the tapping and screaming resumed. The ghost was really frustrated, because the screams sounded more agonizing than before, and was constantly broken up by that strange engine sound. I thought it would never end, but it did stop shortly before dawn. That morning, as we got ready to go out, I told Ross I did not care how hard we had to work today,

but we had to find the answer before it got dark. There was no way I was going to be anywhere near the burn pile when night fell. I was still having chilling flashbacks, just thinking about what had happened to me the night before. Taking our shovels, we walked. walked across the yard to the burn pile. When we got close to the circle, we realized we did not have to look any further for our answers. In the center of the burn pile circle, a skeletal hand, an arm, were thrust up out of the surrounding ground.

The morning sunlight gleamed on the stark white bones and stringy tendons. We were stunned by what we were looking at. There was nothing like this in the circle last night when we had quit working. In fact, the arm and hand were sticking up in the exact spot where I had been pulled off my feet the night before. We backed away from the burn pile, then turned and walked back to the trailer to report what we had discovered. Since we lived in the country, we called the office of the county sheriff. I don't think the dispatcher believed Ross when he started to tell her about our problem, but she said she would send a deputy out to investigate.

When the deputy showed up, we took him over to the burn pile. After one look, the deputy called in more help. The south end of our yard was a hive of activity for the next two days. When the investigation was complete, we learned that the skeleton belonged to Stanley Marshall. As the coroner removed the remains, he found identification in what was left of Stanley's backpack. Stanley had been working on the West Coast for a few years. He had called his family almost four years ago and told them he was hitchhiking back home to Pennsylvania. When he never arrived, his family started searching for him.

They hadn't had any news since that final call. The coroner's conclusion was that he had been hitchhiking on the highway and saw the abandoned houses, needing a place to stay for the night. He had gone to sleep in one of the houses, not knowing the bulldozer would be destroying them the next morning. The coroner guessed that Stanley probably woke up too late to escape the house he was in before it was demolished and he was killed. Stanley's family was notified that he had been found.

They had him shipped back to Pennsylvania so he could have a proper burial in the family plot. Ross and I were very relieved that we no longer had to contend with our ghost. We were equally saddened by the circumstances of Stanley's death. We wondered why Stanley's ghost had not shown up the first two springs we were at Lila. Searching the web, I found that fire is so. supposed to be a deterrent to ghosts. We think the first anniversary of Stanley's death. No one was living in the trailer. We didn't move in until later that summer. And since we had set our burn

pile on fire for the next two years, this prevented him from appearing. This year, we didn't light our burn pile, so he was able to make an appearance. His desire to get back home intensified as we kept interacting with him, his final effort was to reveal his location. so that he could finally be brought back home. Creepy presents. Infected. Written by Juan Cardenas. Wesley?

Wesley, I know you're in there. I heard you when he moved aside the cover of the people. It's all right. You don't have to let me in. I know you've seen the news. We all heard the announcement. Let me just sit here and listen to me, It's been a while since I got to sit down and catch my breath.

If I just lay here on the door, they'll think I'm passed out or dead. Hey, look, you're the last friend I have in this world. That's alive, anyway. What's that? Yeah, Cynthia's gone, man. When they made the announcements, all our phones buzzed and said that we were in lockdown. shelter in place, all that. But she insisted, insisted on going to the church.

Just for a few minutes, she said. She's going to drop off those extra divay covers and canned foods she had been saving up. She told me that the nuns that worked there were ever so sweet, but so old. She'd pop in and see if they needed any help. It was just a block and a half away. God, why did I have to marry such a kind-hearted, soul. She's gone, Wesley. She said she'd be back before Emily woke up from her nap.

She said that she'd wear a mask and zip on by. Can't be that serious, after all. But then after she left, the broadcast happened. Did you see it? You must have. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so protective of this door. This guy with the big white teeth and the perfect blonde hairdo.

It's just behind his desk, looking dead at the camera. We're setting the same story over and over. New strain, highly contagious, full quarantine and lockdown. Do not open your doors for any reason. And then it happened. I noticed it because I always looked down at the corner for that little text crawl, but instead I caught wind of his co-host. She's just kind of staring out into space.

Slowly, as he spoke, she just kind of clicked off. Like something in her brain had just turned off. And her jaw went slack. Her teeth looked especially vicious. Then she lunged at him. He barely got to scream. She went for his jugular. I can't believe they didn't cut away.

I think the cameraman was. was already one of them because a bunch of them descended on them, tearing them apart. No one cut away. Screams echoed. Causing distortion and feedback on the microphones. Then the TV went black. So did the phones. I put on the radio and I got a brief broadcast.

They said it spreads by touch and, get this, direct eye contact. The fuck is that? I knew that we were screwed. I didn't even have enough food or formula for the rest of the day, let alone however long this was going to go down for. Cynthia wasn't back after an hour. I didn't know what to do. Then I realized something pretty frightening, Wes. I don't think you're ready for this.

Emily. Emily should have been awake already. I didn't know what to do. I froze for a half second If something would come and rescue me out of this situation Like some camera crew would show up and tell me this was all a big prank and everything was okay But that didn't happen pal I walked slowly to the bathroom door

I knew something was off It felt colder there I touched the doorknob and opened it to see the window wide open Cynthia had her back to me. I almost cried out in relief, but why did she come in through the window? Why were there deep, dark stains on the carpet? I could just barely see her in the mirror. Her entire face was smeared red.

She was loudly chewing on something. It only took a millisecond for me to realize what. I ran. I bolted out of there. I felt like a coward, but what else could I do? I could hear Cynthia chasing me down like a dog. It sounded like she was on all fours, barreling down the stairs in the hallway in her building. But I had a head start.

I got outside first, turned the corner. There are fires everywhere, man. The smoke and the screaming. Everywhere. It's like a war zone. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. chest. I got to an alley and ducked in behind a dumpster. I waited around for a bit. I kept peeking out. I saw a man with a stump for an arm, carrying someone else's head in the other. I stayed quiet,

utterly exhausted. I wanted to pass out, but I was frozen with fear. Then I heard the patrols. I could just barely see the National Guard in their camouflage, firing at random places. One of them stopped, took his mask off, and started dry heaving. The others didn't even hesitate. They just gunned him down and kept walking without a word. They didn't say anything. No questions asked. I stayed hidden until the shooting sounded far enough away.

I've been wandering the streets, man. there's no one out here alive anymore. That's why I'm here, bud. You're the only person I know around here. I knew you'd come to the door. I knew you'd hear me out at least. But you're feeling it now, right? It comes on slow.

You can feel something in you, shutting down, and something else is taking over. You see, it happened to Cynthia like that. She knew that our bedroom window was always on. unlocked. So whatever it was it took her over knew it too. It looks for food and more hosts. There's shivers. There's a feeling of fading away. Exhaustion, rapid heartbeat, just like I was feeling, like you're feeling right now. It's not just touch or eye contact, pal. Proximity and even listening to an infected does it.

That's right. Just listening to this story has made the sickness burrow into that brain of yours. I'm not going to be myself in a few seconds. But guess what? Neither will you. So let an old friend in. What do you say, Wes? For all time's sake, let me...

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