Creepy - The Holders 165 - 168

Episode Date: August 31, 2024

165. The Holder of Research***166. The Holder of the Ethereal***167. The Holder of the Palette***168. The Holder of Zeal***Stories can be found at: https://theholderseries.wordpress.com/***Sound design by: Samii Taylor***Music credit: "Melancholia" by Ryan Creep, "Haunted" by Ross Bugden, "A Deep Voice" and "Unspoken" by Myuu 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 Holders series.

Number 165. The Holder of Research. In any city, in any country, go to any laboratory or place of learning that you can get yourself to. Walk to the front desk and ask the secretary if you can attend the next class taught by someone calling himself, the holder of research. The holder of research. She should drop whatever she is holding and look at you as though you are an alien. Should she drop whatever she is holding and look at you as though you were an alien, you've come to the right place.

She will motion for the nearest scientist to come over. Pray this person is a man. For a woman will subject you to experiments long thought-proven, unnecessary. If it is a man, you will ask you to get into an elevator. Do so and press the button for the lowest floor in the complex. When you reach this floor, do not get off or you will fall into a bottomless pit.

Instead, wait on the elevator for the lights on the buttons to turn red, and the elevator will descend to six more floors. When it stops this time, wait for the scientist to get out before doing so yourself. The scientist will lead you down a sterilized hallway filled with glass panels on each wall. Through these panels, you will see people performing experiments, not unusual for a laboratory. What is odd here is that as you walk down the hall, the experiments you will see become increasingly primitive. You will see people attempting to prove the existence of black holes, and you will see people trying to prove the earth goes around the sun. You will see those who split the atom and those who studied the stars to build the pyramids. Also, as typical of these adventures, do not be surprised to see a demon or two walking down the hall.

If you see a demon, acknowledge him with a wink or a nod. The inhabitants of this hall do not like to be ignored, and there's always demand for new subjects. You will know you have reached the end of the hall, when you can see through the panels people wearing animal skins disemboweling one another to learn about the human body. Before that, you will find a metal door, which your guide will push open for you. This next room will be of the future, impossibly wiped and clean. You will see sickening monsters preserved in tanks on the wall, and despite the fact that this room should be underground, You will see windows that indicate it as several stories up. Sitting at a desk in the middle of the room is a small, spectacled man in a lab coat, scribbling

names, dates, numbers, and results of experiments into a diary at blinding speed. Wait for this man to notice you before you say anything. He will ask you, Have you met my colleague, the holder of science? This is a trap. Whether you have met the holder of science or not, answering this man will only get you thrown into one of the tanks on the wall, in which you will be turned into a monster. Instead, produce an object. Any object will do.

At the sight of an object, one of the tanks on the wall will shatter, revealing an enormous monster. It should be humanoid in shape. But with horns, four arms, three small, one impossibly huge, and a bulk no human could possibly possess. It will have five eyes, all strewn about its face in a mad manner and vicious curved teeth. One leg will be thin and spindly, but still muscular. The other will be swallowed up in a mound of flesh. If this is the monster you see, you are safe. if it is any other

be prepared to take his place in the tank the correct monster will slash the small man's throat with his largest arm then throw his corpse out the window you must ask the monster one question and one alone ask him how can science stop them

he will then tell of every wrong that has occurred with the advancement of science used as justification. Just as he is about to answer your question, however, there will be a banging sound on the door. They've found you. The monster will ask if you want him to help you escape. Take him up on his offer, for he can handle them on his own. He will shove the small man's diary into your hands and flip you through the window just

as they break down the door. You will wake up on the lawn. of the laboratory. Next to you will be the diary, open to the second to last page, which reads, Dear Seeker, I am sorry I was not able to help you further. Best of luck. And then a name not of this earth. The diary is Object 165 of 538. Its final page contains the one way science can stop them. Holder of the Ethereal In any city and any country, go to any concert or music hall you can get into. Once inside, find the head custodian and ask to see the holder of the ethereal.

He'll blink a few times, as if unsure if what you asked was real. Ask him again so it sinks in. Should he continue to stare and blink, you may wish to close your own? eyes and hold your ears shut before witnessing your inner its being chewed apart by hell's starving demons. However, if he should shake his head and turn to leave, go ahead and let him walk off, as it means your request was granted. At this point, all you can do is wait. You'll notice the room getting darker and darker very, very slowly, but you can't be sure until some time has passed. As this is happening, the faint, nearly inaudible sounds of a tune will begin to play.

This sound will grow louder and louder very, very slowly. Do not, however, strain to listen, for this will cause it to vanish and your ears to be ripped from your head. You must treat it as a background noise and nothing more, even though it will be the most beautiful song you've ever heard. Soon, a low chorus of singing will rise to join in with the song. The lyrics these voices sing are the most foul of any you will ever encounter in your life. But just like the song, you must not focus on them. In heart-rendingly beautiful melodies, they will sing about every murder, every rape,

every tale of false and broken love the world has ever known. Should you focus for even a second on any of the lyrics being sung, You will encounter the misery in that lyric a hundredfold until the day you die or go mad. After what feels like a very long time, the song will slowly fade, but the lights will continue to lower until all is pitch black with the exception of a spot a few feet ahead, inhabited by dimly lit shadows. Don't look too closely into it, for you may well go mad from the sight of the creatures lurking there. therein. A few moments will pass, and soon an eyeless figure dressed in formal attire will appear standing within this spot, holding at his side an old, rotting cello, as tall as he. He will sit in a rusty chair that gradually takes form within the shadows as well.

He will sit ready to play, but will not until you ask him one question. Why did they sing? He will smile a sad smile. and instead ask you, What did you think of my song? When he asks you this, you must respond with, I didn't come just to hear old beauties. He will sigh and begin to play another tune.

This one at once lighthearted and heavy, whimsical and breathtaking. Whatever you do, you cannot listen to the tune he's playing at all, for everything will vanish in a flash, and you'll find yourself standing in front of Satan himself, listening to his ears shattering wails for eternity. He will speak slowly, but at length, about why they sing,

about their attempts to drown out their sorrows and mornings with music. He will tell you how music is the one thing able to calm their bloodlust and their rage, even though they are doomed to sing the most horrible things imaginable. Once he finishes talking, his tune should stop as well. If it doesn't, your death will be quick and painless by his hands, and he will join in his chorus forever. If it does stop, he will rise and pack away the cello, then turn to you and take a bow.

He will then slowly fade away into nothingness, as if never really there to begin with. The cello he left behind is yours to keep. The cello is object 166 of 538. Playing it will calm the very depths of your soul, but each time you play will cause the chorus from before to rise up in volume once again. And so, you should be careful. Not only will they grow louder and more numerous as time passes,

but the more you play, the closer you will come to joining them. Number 167 The Holder of the Pallet In any city and any country Find any art supply store or painting studio that you can get yourself into Look around the room to see if you can find someone working on a piece of art If they have started

Then do not disturb them until they are nearly finished Once they are almost done Ask them if you can see a painting of the holder of the palette. The artist should freeze on the spot and turn to face you, a look of utter disbelief on their face. Should the look be anything besides that, either boredom or worse, hunger,

then the object has been gained, and you are only a few short moments before you become the artist's new source of red paint. The artist will begin to paint bizarre markings on the painting, ending with flourish that will send paint, into your exposed eyes. You will scream at this point. The pain from the paint will be like none you have ever felt from something contacting your eyes.

When you regain your sight, you should find yourself in the landscape the artist's painting. You may freely explore your surroundings, for you will need to find the thing here that is different from the painting. After a while, you may find that something. or rather some one. The person should be an old man with a palette, a well-used smock covered in red, paint, and a light-colored brush, busy with filling in the missing scenery.

On the palette will be differently colored eyeballs with every color in its collection but one. Walk up to the man and ask him, With what do they provide the red? The man will begin to tell you, in a well-educated manner, the history of colors, how each one gained its name, the chemical compositions, on what each color has been used and why they use the color. Not necessarily terrifying, until he begins on the color red.

You will begin with telling the discovery of red, with the blood that flowed in making the color. How diverse it is with different sources and how the colors differ. You may well go insane and plead the man to end your life, but this will only lead to an unexplained amount of pain in being his siphon for the rapidly depleting supply of red. You shall now look up at you and look you deep in the eyes. It is unavoidable, and he shall find his missing color. You look into his eyes, you will find that the color of his is the exact same as yours.

You must then rip the dull paintbrush from the man's hands and gouge it into his eye before he has the chance to get it to you. Rip out the paintbrush and the man will scream in an ungodly way, shaking the very scenery. He will attack you and begin to claw at your eyes. not kill this man, for to do so is to take his place as the painter of the universe. Remove his other eye with the paintbrush, then shove the now quivering man off of you. Tell him only one thing. For the master, I have no sympathy. For the rest, I feel. If he responds with, Why not pity them both?

Then you are doomed, and you will become a new painting subject, being molded and shaped in ways at which even they would cringe. However, should he respond, I am no longer the master. Then respond with, When were you ever? You should find yourself in front of the painting that the artist was working on. The mark already made upon it, and the palette the man used lying on the ground. Pick it up and quickly leave, for the artist will wonder why you have ruined his work. This palette is object 167 of 538. The colors on it will pave the way.

Number 168. The holder of zeal. In any country, in any city, go to the largest cemetery within city limits. Take with you another holder's object, a shovel, a compass, and a watch, as well as a light source and reading material if you bore easily. Do this on the night of a full moon. Make your way to the highest point in the cemetery and, keeping an eye on your watch, wait for midnight.

When the time comes, stand up and say, Deliver me unto the holder of zeal. Upon saying these words, the full moon will wane into darkness, rendering your surroundings without light, except for one grave, which will glow with wan paleness, which will glow with wan paleness. Take your supplies and go towards it.

The headstone will read, The holder of zeal, along with the epitaph. Through devotion, all things are possible. Start digging up the dirt in front of the headstone, and do not stop until you have completely unearthed the coffin seal below. Open the lid of the sarcophagus. It should lift easily enough. And note that it contains no body,

or indeed anything but total darkness. Now is your last chance to back. out. Any further, and the only way out of this will be to see it through to the end. Now, divest yourself of everything but the holder's object and the compass. Any light sources will sabotage your continued efforts now, and all other things will merely be an encumbrance. Orient your compass precisely west, and position yourself in the pit so that you face the same direction as the arrow. You should be facing the right side of the open casket.

Step forward and carefully lower yourself into the coffin. The drop will take a few seconds, but the landing will be painless. The darkness here is total, but through touching your surroundings, you will discern that you are at a stone walled corridor. It span roughly eight feet. Despite the absence of any light, your compass should glow. with the same weak luminescence as the grave you just unearthed, just enough for you to make out its face. Start walking westwards. From now until the end of the tunnel, you'll know when.

Do not look at anything but the compass face. Do not move in any direction but westward, and do not veer from the center of the tunnel. You left behind the stone partition with the first step. The crunching sound beneath your feet is the grinding of bone fragments, and on either side of you are solid, twitching masses of flesh. Dead things, alien things, abominable things, all knitted together into twin, loathsome tableau, that should be your only companions on this Stygian path. Chilling insinuations and insane secrets shall be whispered. Wrathful, oh, the snarled, dire shrieks howled among a cacophony of less recognizable noise. To see these fused monstrosities in any light would shock you to your core, petrifying

you long enough for shapeless limbs to tear you to pieces, adding your bloody remains to their composite bodies. Even to see the writhing shadows beside you will fill your being with horror. So, to repeat, do not look up from the compass, do not fear from the corridor's center, and do not slow. In time, the loathsome babble will fall behind you. When it ceases entirely, look up. You will now be in an alcove now much wider than the corridor you just left. The walls are stone once more, and affixed to them in several places are length. lanterns burning with an eerie green light.

The floor is divided into non-Euclidean-shaped tiles surrounding an octagonal dais. On the dais is a statue of a long-forgotten deity, whose form is so horrible that none but its most devout worshippers can look upon it without succumbing to terror. Look instead on the cloaked figure bowed before the statue. Its back turned against you. Quietly, with head by the statue. bowed respectfully, walk up to the figure and ask, Why should I believe in them?

On hearing these words, the acolyte shall stand up and respond, Because they believe in you. Turning to face you, the acolyte will lift its hood, revealing a face without eyes in its sockets, yet with one in the middle of its forehead. From its serpentine nostrils and lipless mouth, itchre flows incessantly. From its formless robes, countless limbs,

like scorpion's tails terminating and chittinous blades, will snake out and make ready to shred you. Do not defend yourself. Instead, take out the holder's objects you brought with you and focus your mind entirely on its form. Your memories of its former owner, how you obtained it. But do not give a thought. thought to what is about to happen.

When you have lost yourself entirely to the object and therefore to the power of its maker, the acolyte will set to his task. The pain inflicted by the blades will be terrible, but still you must not be distracted. Even as the severed segments of your body hit the stone floor, you must not take notice. Either way you will die. But only through this supreme exercise of will shall you be restored. If you are successful, you will wake up in your bat, in your room, and the alarm clock will read 12 a.m. Make your way to the nearest mirror and observe the network of red lines across your

body. These scars will ache mildly, but the pain will flare in the presence of another holder. The Red Lines are Object 168 to 538, the brands of the zealot. 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 Commons Sherrillite licensing, or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express

written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.