Creepy - The Gift & The Rambler

Episode Date: August 15, 2024

The Gift***Written by: Jamie Anne and Narrated by: Nichole Goodnight***The Rambler***Written by: Justin Alcala and Narrated by: Cole Burkhardt***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***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. Creepy presents. The Gift.

Written by Jamie Ann, and narrated by Nicole Goodnight. The guests gather around and the room is filled with soft giggles and excitement. I start opening the gifts the ladies brought. Everyone ooze and awes over the little pink tool dresses and matching ruffled pants. When I think I'm done with the gift part of the celebration,

I get up to grab a cookie. As I reach for the dessert, a hand takes mine. I jump in surprise and turn to see my mother-in-law Carol standing near me holding a present in her hand. She tells me that she wanted me to open her gifts last, with a smile plastered on her overly makeuped face. Blushing, I reach out and hold the gift. As I pull the neatly folded bow apart, I hear a sound humming from the box. I shake it lightly and laugh at the little sound of musical notes. The paper tears easily and I lift the lid of the box.

A lovely golden-white fabricier egg is a little white fabricier egg. before me. Wow, it's beautiful. Thank you. I tell her with genuine enthusiasm. I gently hold the heavy egg in my hand and turn the winding key a few times. The egg hums its tune more loudly now. I attempted to open it thinking it was like a trinket box, but it didn't bulge. Carol leans in closely and whispers to me that it won't open until the time is right. She turns and walks away to enjoy the rest of my baby shower. I have to admit I always thought Carol was a little odd, but now I was convinced of it. Slipping the egg into my purse with one hand and grabbing a cookie with the other, I shake my head and laugh a little. I can't wait to get home later and tell John about this.

Later that afternoon, I unloaded the gifts from the car and set them on the floor in the nursery. The busy day had me feeling quite tired. I sat down outside on the porch swing and closed my eyes. The gentle sound of the wind blowing was soothing. I was woken suddenly by a sharp pain in my stomach, wrenching and agony I sat up as blood began gushing out from under my dress. Oh no, no, no, this isn't supposed to happen, I thought to myself. I needed to get to the phone to call John. But as I attempted to stand up, I felt a deep stabbing pain and I couldn't move. As I held my stomach and watched the blood continually flow all over the wooden porch,

I could feel tearing through my abdomen. A tiny appendage burst through my skin, ripping my dress. I was horrified at the sight of a hand-like shape with sharp cloth, protruding from the fingers, dripping with my blood. I began to scream for help when a hand grabbed me roughly, shaking me. John was looking at me with a look of horror across his face, shouting at me to wake up. He explained to me in a gentle tone that I was sleeping and then started screaming violently, while caressing my belly.

Oh, John! I said as I realized it was just a dream. I hugged him as tears poured from my eyes, looking down at the wooden porch. Relieved it was not covered in blood. As I stood up to go inside with him, I felt a sharp pain. This was no dream, though. This was for real. Just as I took the final step into the house, my water broke.

The next day and 11 grueling hours later, our little Princess Ruby was born. I counted and double-checked her fingers for claws, but none were present. I could rest easy now that our healthy baby was here, and all the worry I had was just a nightmare. The nurse came by with the papers to fill out Ruby's information, and my eyes became fixated on the realization of the date. She was a week and a half early, born on the sixth day of June, 2006, which makes her birthday 666.

I showed my husband and even he gave a surprised face. An eerie feeling washed over me as I signed the documents. That night as I tried to rest in between feedings and nurses barging in to check the baby's vitals, I began to feel like someone was watching me. I would close my eyes and still see a figure make a slight movement. quickly opening my eyes again and again, but each time nothing was there. The hairs on my arms would rise, and something made me feel like I was in danger somehow. I asked the lead nurse if I could lock the door, but she said it was not allowed.

The nurse gave me a knowing look as she informed me that no one would get in here, and that every mother feels overly protective after having her baby, that it's natural and to try to rest. The nightmares continued and left me feeling even more exhausted the next morning. We couldn't wait to get home late. that day. I rocked Ruby to sleep and began to unpack the new gifts from the shower. The quiet house was filled with a soft hum that began to get louder and louder. I walked through the halls in search of the sound. Then I remembered the Faberje egg was still in my purse. I pulled it out and looked

at it strangely. It must have been wound up from all the movement earlier. I brought it to the nursery and placed it on Ruby's dresser. I turned the key a few times and let the music hum as I walked out of the room. The tune was one I had never heard till now, smooth like Fioralis, and strong like Kenan and D. The melody made me feel even more sleepy. Climbing into bed I made sure the baby monitor was on, and I watched as Ruby slept so peacefully. I couldn't ask for more. This was true happiness. I could see the rise and fall of her little chest as she breathed and small movements of her hands occasionally. It was finally my turn to get some rest. John was already fast asleep, of course, since he worked so hard holding my hand through it all.

I rolled my eyes slightly as I pulled the covers over my body. I woke hours later to Ruby's cry. It took a few seconds from my eyes to adjust to the darkness all around. The clock next to the bed was blinking all zeros, so I had no idea what time it was. As I rushed to my feet and walked to the bedroom door, I got that eerie feeling again, like the one in the hospital. like someone was watching me. I turned and looked around the room. The dark corners made me shiver.

Ruby's cries became louder. Rubbing my eyes, I opened the door and walked into Ruby's room. But then, I froze. There was something standing near her crib, looking down at her. It was almost as tall as the eight-foot ceiling and as dark as the room, almost blending into the air, like smoke disappearing. I flipped the light switch on and ran for my baby. The shadowy figure disappeared as a room.

I ran towards the door with Ruby wrapped tightly in my arms. I noticed the Faberger egg was opened, but closing quickly. I slammed the door shut and ran to our bedroom and woke John. I told him what I just saw and about the egg. He grumbled that I was being paranoid and to go back to sleep. Maybe I was seeing things because I was tired. I fed Ruby and made her a little nest in bed with us. The next day, John had to leave for a three-day business trip.

He had it planned this way so he would be back by the baby's original due, date, he couldn't get out of it. He kissed the baby and me and then headed out the door. Later that morning while the baby was napping in a rocker, I hesitantly crept into the nursery. I looked all around and nothing was out of place, well, almost nothing. The golden egg was no longer on the dresser. It was now tipped over onto its side on the floor. I picked it up and inspected it closely. I could not find a spot where the egg could even open, but something didn't feel right about it. I brought it to the kitchen and set it on the table. I called Carol and invited her over for lunch.

I needed more information about this gift she gave me. A few hours later, Carol arrived with a bag of goodies and open arms to hold the baby. She annoyingly stamped bright red kiss marks all over Ruby's face. I tried to ignore it as we ate. Once Ruby was ready for nap number three of the day, I pulled my chair closer to Carol. Can you tell me about the gift you gave me at the shower? She sat there in silence for a moment and then cleared her throat before telling me her story. She explained that the Faberje egg has been in our family for hundreds of years.

It has passed down to each grown child when they have their first baby. I will only have one child. It has always been that way with our bloodline. Her great, great, great-grandfather made this trinket as a gift for his wife when they married. It was blessed by a spiritual guidance leader who lived in their village. It has brought luck to all the generations after that. I must cherish it and keep it safe till my child has grown, and I can pass it on to them.

The words our bloodline was somewhat haunting. I furrowed my eyebrows and looked at her like she was crazy. But John has a sister, so I don't understand. I said to her, confused. She told me that John had a sister. She was taken from them when she was just a few days old. She brought her hand to her chest and made the symbol of a cross. I apologized and felt to not form in my stomach at the thought of losing a child.

The egg, though, what exactly is the reason for it? I asked, feeling a bit frustrated. Carol stared at me seriously without blinking. She told me that it'll bring fortune to my family if I respect and heed its guidance. She picked the egg up from the table and held it in the air. She mumbled something under her breath and then closed her eyes, bringing the egg to her forehead and holding it there for an uncomfortable amount of time. Then she held it out to me and told me it needed to go back into the nursery.

It cannot stay in the dining room. We sat in silence while we ate. I was convinced that Carol had lost her mind, and I was ready for her to leave. After lunch, Carol left, and I felt like not only did she not answer any of the many questions I had, but she left me with even more, filling up my dizzy head. Between the diaper changes, feedings, and spit-ups, the day was long and messy. By nighttime I was more than ready to put it all behind me. I could not think any more about what I probably hallucinated.

It was time to catch up on some much-needed sleep. I checked the monitor and watched as Ruby slept so soundly. I lay down and closed my eyes. The room was dark and the ceiling fan made a slight noise as the blades turned quickly. Must be off balance, I thought. As I felt my mind becoming quiet, the sound of the mysterious hum began again. That is it, I thought. As I got up ready to throw the damn egg out the window,

I stomped my tired feet into the hall and headed towards the kitchen. But then, as I passed the nursery, the sound was echoing loudly from behind the door. Wait, what? I was confused. I left this stupid egg in the kitchen. Why would it be back in the nursery? I slowly opened the door and focused my eyes on the dresser, where the egg previously was, before I moved it.

It was there. I pinched my arm to make sure I was awake. Oh, yeah, I am awake. The Faberje was open, split in half. A swirling black smoke was circulating in the center. I brought my finger to the side and attempted to touch the sooty substance. I was instantly shocked. What the hell is this thing, I thought, as I pulled my hand away.

That's when I turned and noticed that Ruby was not in her crib. I grabbed the blanket and pulled it from the bedding. No one was there. Then from the corner of my eye I saw movement. I gasped as my eyes focused on the corner of the room. I reached for the lamp switch, but it wouldn't turn on. Ruby was suspended in the air with a black figure wrapped around her. The tall shadow I thought I imagined the other night had a hold of her.

Please, I begged. Give her to me. The shadow that stood several feet taller than me moved its head from looking at the baby to looking right at me. Its hideous red eyes were bright. in the room. Two large curved horns pointed towards the ceiling. It opened its mouth, and a long tongue slithered out and licked Ruby's sleeping face. I couldn't let this thing, whatever it was, hurt my baby. I lunged towards it, screaming, and it raised its claws towards me, slashing open my arm in the blink of an eye. I fell to the ground bleeding with a burst of burning

pain. I sobbed as I begged it to give me my baby. I could smell the foul breath of the creature as its tongue retreated back into its mouth. The countless teeth clasped shut as it seemed to be smirking at me. Its feet were not touching the ground. It was hovering a few inches from the carpet, yet when it began to walk, a thunder-like stomp filled the silent air.

The moonlight shining through the window showed me more of its features, and it was even more horrifying in the light. Oosing scales aligned its body and a long tail with a sharp point on the end swished in the air. I kept its eyes on me as it made its way towards the dresser.

My cries were growing louder as it moved and Ruby woke up and began to whine. I reached for her pleading to the creature and it hissed at me in response. The thumping of its steps were deafening and Ruby's cries began to grow louder. The shadowy figure wafted a grayish smoke over her face. Ruby breathed it in and her cries were silent.

As it approached the dresser near the egg, the creature began to get smaller, and Ruby as well. I jumped to my feet to grab her from him and his tail whipped around and cut me across the face. Blood streamed down my head and into one of my eyes. Even through my blurred vision, I could see that the thing was taking my baby into the open egg. Before I could make another move, all at once the room filled with a blackness,

and then it all rushed to the center of the egg, and it slammed shut with a bang that shook the house. Besides, my screaming all was quiet. The moonlight rushed back into the dark room, and everything looked the same. I grabbed the egg and held it in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably trying to open it, begging for my baby to come back. Music began to ring from the trinket, the sound that would forever halt my ears. I sat on the floor, bleeding, crying, and holding the Faberget egg.

Creepy Presents, The Rambler, written by Justin Alcala, and narrated by Cole Burkart. Cotton candy clouds hoisted a cherry sun over blueberry mountains. The splendor bothered a sleep-deprived, dramamine inebriated Adam Montanez. His first vacation was already an hour off schedule, and he couldn't spare a minute admiring skylines. Complitations with Adam's discount flight and rental car delayed him about an hour, and even though his cabin reservation was self-check-in, the audits manager fizzed like a shaken soda bottle as he dashed his 1.2-liter engine compact car

along the evergreen road. He had to hurry if he wanted to unravel. Adam's Mexican parents migrated to the U.S., desperate for work. From the time of his birth, they yearned for his success. It was difficult for Adam to watch his parents suffer through four jobs in order to pay for his education. So, when a corporate firm hired him as an audits accountant, he swore to climb the ladder. For the next decade, Adam's efforts drew raises and titles with a side of anxiety, migraines, and insomnia. Through the fires of profit, Adam forged into a fastidious model employee with more stowed PTO than the rest of his department.

Had his director not instructed him otherwise, Adam would be in his office now. Adam's romantic getaway retreat was situated outside of a tiny mountain town that showcased its bohemian charm. The village's sign read, Where hippie and hillbilly are one. Adam sneered at the pottery store, Karma shop, and tie-dye shed, with a misspelled sign that read, We die here.

Adam rode through the village's main street, his rental tires trading pavement for gravel, as he cut into the red maple woods. Fifteen minutes after staking through roads and passing over a suspect river bridge, Adam parked before a timber-framed cabin pinned on a hill. Adam glanced at his rental printout picture, followed by the shrunken lodge in front of him.

I smell a one-star review, Adam said to no one in particular, fetching his luggage and self-check-in key card from the passenger seat. Time to get back on schedule. On the inside, the cabin resembled a forgotten history exhibit with a scorched stone fireplace, a low timber ceiling, and floorboards powdered in ash. Cast iron pans adorned the walls like artwork, and secondhand furniture clung to splitting walls. A perfume of baked wood and mothballs stung Adam's nostrils, and a steady draught,

purred through the house. Adam realized his signal bars were likewise on vacation as he snapped a picture with his phone. Adam unpacked in the cabin's sole bedroom. The California king, smothered with lacy heart pillows, stole most of the resting quarters, except a lone dresser where Adam transferred his carry-ons pressed flannels. Once complete, Adam returned to the living room love seat, sat, and breathed his first paid time-off breath. The cabin's draft breathed back. Adam studied the ceiling, walls, and floors for secret treasures, and when he came up empty, he bit his cuticles clean.

He avoided work thoughts by humming a tune that sprung in his head while pacing through the living room, porch, and bedroom. He tested the bathroom's faucets, searched for the draft points of entry, then confirmed he'd locked the car. Adventures Zenith arrived when Adam fetched logs from the garden's mammoth, endless woodpile, and lit the place to cook markdown hot dogs he'd bought from a shady gas station. Depleaded from the excitement, Adam returned to bed at the crack of eight o'clock. That night, as Adam settled in a bed that stunk like sex, he leered into the blackness unearthed by lack of light pollution. Every branch track, fallen acorn, and owl call amplified in silence. Adam was unaware of how long this purgatory lasted until the leaves spoke. At first, it was a

distant shuffling of fallen brush that Adam attributed to a night animal, but as the rustling dragged closer, a song accompanied it. It was a raspy, gravelly, baritone voice like the creek from a back door. Adam fixed in terror, listening as lyrics and leaves cut through the front yard, forming words as the stranger crossed the bedroom window. Wanna see the moon's real color. Wanna hear a secret song. The finest things are always free. You'll see if you dance along.

Words fell apart as the vocalist wandered to the rear of the house into the woods. Adam's fingers stung from clutching his comforter. When the lands offered back its old tune, Adam's stone bones dissolved. He vaulted from his bed and scurried to the window, noticing an old condom stuck to the curtains as he drew them back. Moonlight washed the front row of trees silver. No phantom wanderer stirred.

Nope, not doing this. Adam said, whirling to the dresser, he donned his preset hiking clothes, snatched his car keys, then whisked outside to his rental. When he clipped the tea alarm, nothing happened. Adam tested the door.

A muddy handprint pasted on the driver's seat and another along the open fuse box. Adam used his cell phone light to investigate. Somebody, cut the wires. like one would in a cheap spy movie. Adam reached to test the ignition, but a Titanic crack from a healthy branch behind the backyard sent him into a treat.

He darted to the cabin, locked the doors, then pushed furniture against every point of entry. Okay, Adam, he said aloud, pressed against the door. Let's did some rest, and then report the nightmare fuel in the morning. Maybe the police know someone who lives nearby in the secluded wilds, who wanders the dark forest alone and tamperes with cars. For the rest of the night, Adam huddled motionless with his back to a windowless wall, fireplace poker and plastic food knife clutched in his hands. The somniferous orchestra of early birds, the winds keening, and his own humming, massages.

Adams' thoughts into a dull drone until he conceded to slumber. Dreams of fluorescent lit offices, corporate meetings, and an endless stack of marked reports stole Adam's repose. When his body jolted awake, Adam peered at his smartwatch and realized it was 1 o'clock p.m. His plotted trek to the police was four hours overdue. No, he bounced up, pushing away the love-seat barricade and withdrawing the front door, leaving it open. I can't be late. Adam dashed outside, still armed with his arsenal, and followed the gravel road, polluted with dead leaves because of a breezy autumn night. He made it 30 minutes before the russet and pewter landscape spun him in circles. He thought he'd heard an office phone ringing by a pile of dead evergreens as he trudged.

on, but wrote it off as exhaustion. By the time the cold and hungry audit manager reached the river, it verged on three o'clock in the afternoon. Adam's gasping open mouth sealed into a grimace as he took in the overpass. Over night, the suspect bridge turned into the broken bridge when a shore maple split the platform entwine. No way. He rubbed at his dark mane and pomade-greased hair until he looked like a rooster. This isn't a coincidence. Across the river, a distant slap like an axe to wood echoed between the trees.

Adam didn't spare a moment hurrying back towards the cabin, wood poker at the ready. He raced the sun's descent, mating it to the cabin's locked door in time for shadows to trade places with trees. He fumbled with a keycard, then barricaded himself inside. Backyards' woodpile was empty, so Adam used printed expense reports from his carry-on to make a roaring fire. He peered at his wristwatch. Knight stretched ahead, and Adam wondered if he could handle another double shift. He ate stale cereal, drank complimentary cabin chamomel tea, then retired to his windowless corner.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, returning to HR trainings, equity statements, and profit ledgers. The melody, he couldn't stop humming, looped in his dream's background. At 3.15 a.m., Adam roused, overheated. The cabin stood still. A drunk, Adam said, an isolated incident. Adam moved to the bedroom, settling in the dark and listening to the earth's murmur. Wind, evening creatures, and plummeting foliage took the night off. His body melted into the cool mattress as repose took him. Visions of standstill traffic, breakrooms, and copy machines formed before an electric church.

of the front door's lock pulled Adam from his shaping nightmare. A desert wanderer's voice crooned through the living room. Will cha-cha on the Lord's green hair? Play blackjack

by the stream's floor. Put some spiders in our pockets. Take our skin off near the shore. Adam locked in place. He listened as wet feet wotped into the kitchen and dug through the cupboards.

Adam recognized the crunch of chewing cereal, then the visitor proceeded past Adam's locked bedroom door and into the washroom. Bath knobs squealed as the shower turned on. Adam heard his visitor draw the shower curtain back, step inside, then clear his throat before singing again. You ain't lost if you are happy I use fireflies for light We are serving mouse-feel and blood wine

A wolf's feast is quite the sight Adam broke through his spell And rocketed up In a proteon race he struggled to shove on a boot before changing his mind, snatching his flannel, and then hurrying out of the bedroom. Light under the bathroom door shifted as the visitor trilled along. Adam wasted no time bounding out the open exit. A hazy, soft shower oiled the earth, causing Adam to slip through the yard. Adam plied his rental car as a handrail,

but vaulted onto the narrow gravel road when alarm lights and honking vociferated for attention. The shock to his system overloaded Adam's perception, computer typing, fluorescent lights, and burnt coffee flashed through Adam's senses. His mind returned to the woods, prompting Adam to sprint like an elk, his lungs ablaze in the brisk autumn cold.

adrenaline blunted the bottoms of his naked feet, unscrewed the tension in his neck, and galvanized his muscles. Adam's instinct rushed over reason, ordering him to keep flying. Payroll, month-end emails, and other Sisyphian tasks were an afterthought. By the time Adam returned to the river,

he wasn't afraid anymore. Adam was thirsty. He crawled on all fours to the edge of the river, cupped his filthy hands in the water, and drank. When he had his fill, Adam closed his eyes and breathed. Once his raw wheezing eased, Adam inspected his firm, flush hands, as the rivers were soothed him.

Muddy, shoeless, and rooster-haired, Adam sat on the cold ground until the rain subsided and the light bit darkness's crust. He lingered and hummed his tune while the sunrises apricot rays offered the grey province a second chance. Robbins chirped, fish splashed, and the foliage beneath him thawed. The living portrait's splendor roused up words from the melody,

rooting through Adam's head. Adam sang, throaty lyrics, his voice sounding like a buzzsaw. So come along, little baby, forever will gaily roam. The thicket wants your company. Don't you ever go back home? For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative common share-a-like licensing or with written consent from the authors.

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