Creepy - The Long-Term Consequences of Couple's Therapy, 1977

Episode Date: November 20, 2023

Written by: Linley B. Marcum***Bonus episode: "You Are What You Eat" Written By: Jules Rowlen and Narrated By: Alicia Atkins***Content Warning: Stalking, Kidnapping, Cannibalism***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***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.

Hey, John, before we get going, do you have a second to discuss something that's a little awkward? What? Go on, really? You're not going to have another classic John misinterpretation to make things extra weird? Not really in the mood. What's the problem? Well, like I said, it's a little awkward for a lot of reasons, mostly because I guess I'm stuck here talking to you about it. Dude, spit it out.

Um, oh, it's, uh, it's just that the narrators have been saying that you've been poking at them. What? I haven't touched anyone. No, not like literally. Like, you keep asking them really pointed questions. Asking what people are doing here, you know, stuff like that. So? Oh.

Um, I wasn't expecting that answer. Uh, it's just that they're getting a little uncomfortable. And? Wow. Really, John? This isn't like you? Isn't it? Okay, seriously. Do you need a day off? It's fine. We can get another... I don't have time for this. I need to go record. What did he say?

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Creepy presents. The long-term consequences of couples therapy, 1977. Written by Linley B. Markham. November 5th, 1977. I wonder if this is what my therapist is, This meant when she told me that if I go commune with nature, that I'd feel better. She wanted me to take this little notebook with me to document the trip, but I'm not a big fan

on journaling. I don't know what to say in these things. I've seen others journaling, but the sight of a grown man with a little pencil and a fancy notebook jotting down the details of his life is not the vision I've ever had for myself. but in the name of fixing my marriage, I'm journaling. So I guess I should take note for I am and what I'll be doing while I'm here. If nothing else, it'll serve as some sort of context when I find my dead body in the woods. Ha ha ha.

So, communing with nature. She told me to go camping somewhere all alone to, quote, try to reconnect with myself. What the hell? Anyway, I threw a dart at a map but West Virginia and decided I'd go to the park that was closest to where it landed.

So, Pip Stem State Park it is. I'm in the campground here, which is almost completely empty. It's cold at night. So thank you. God, I'm only here over the weekend. I can stick it out for a couple of nights. I brought the good camera, so hopefully I'll get some pictures while I'm out here.

The sun's starting to go down and I can't write by firelight, so I guess I'll go eat and go to bed. Tomorrow, if I don't freeze to death tonight, I'm going to take the camera, a little bit of food in this notebook, and I'm going to hike one of the park's trails. Signing off. November 6, 1977. Man, it was cold last night. I took my sleeping bag outside the tent and got as close to the fire as I could.

I had to wear a knit cap I found at the bottom of the sleeping bag. It smelled like ass. I pulled it down over my ears and nose. Thank goodness I'm a mouth breather when I sleep. Otherwise, I might have been sun. smothered. I don't know how I made it through the night, honestly. Anyway, when I woke up this morning, I looked at the park map. I think I found a trail that I want to hike. It's nice and long and will probably take me all day. I think the scenery will be great. I really wanted something that took me

near water and really out of the way, and this one goes way down in a gorge to a river, I think. Better get going November 6, 1977 Okay, so second entry today Maybe I should label these like One, two, three, you know I'm sure I'll be writing more updates as I go along I'm in the parking lot

Sitting in my car at the trailhead There's no ranger station here or anything So I can't sign a book or whatever like the National Parks have. Anyway, it's about 9.20 a.m. according to my watch, and as soon as this entry is done, I'm heading out on the trail. Wish me luck. 116, number three.

I kind of get it now. I made it to the bottom of the gorge and sat down next to the river and just closed my eyes to listen to the sounds all around me. It was... magical. That's the only way I can describe it. describe it. I've never felt so at peace in my whole life.

Being out here really does put things into perspective. I didn't believe that baddy therapist, that this could make a difference. But I'll have to let her know my next appointment that, yep, she was right. Oh, when I was sitting down next to the river, I slipped a little and grabbed a shrub to keep me from falling. I don't know what kind of shrub it is. I'm not a woodsman. but had these huge thorns on it. One of them went into my hand.

Must have had some kind of toxin or sap in it too. Not only is my hand bleeding like crazy, but strobing and starting to swell more than it should. I'm going to head back and find the ranger station and get my hand checked out. Oh, sorry for the little bit of blood on the page. Here there is an arrow drawn to a couple of smeared red stains on the page. 116, number four.

I should probably go ahead and admit this before I go much further, just in case, you know. I went off the marked path. Yeah, I know you're not supposed to do that. I thought I knew where I was and how to get back to the path, but... Well, I fell. I got disoriented and didn't have any kind of reference to figure it out. I went off path and I wasn't paying attention. My hand is getting worse.

Thank goodness it's my left hand, or I wouldn't be writing this right now. It's really swollen, and I've done all I can to try and help it. I ripped a bandage from a t-shirt I was carrying in my backpack and wrapped tight. I've also taken a picture of where I am right now so that hopefully... Man, I don't... It's on film, though. I'm just going to keep walking along the river. It has to eventually come out somewhere.

Right? 116 number 5 It's starting to get cooler in this gorge I can see the sun on the top of the mountain from here So I guess it's probably early evening now I'm gonna have to decide soon Either I need to stop and try to make camp somewhere I keep going through the night

I'll write again when I decide Maybe someone's phone my car in the parking lot I kind of doubt it though since this trail is out of the way. It didn't look like anyone had parked in the lot in quite a while, and the weeds were really high. I don't think even maintenance has been there for a bit. We'll see.

Perhaps my luck hasn't completely run out just yet. 11-6. Number 6. Okay, screw that therapist. It's her fault I'm down here and who knows where, are probably walking straight to my death right now. And screw that wife of mine, too. I'm sure we could have figured things out without going to see a damn therapist. I hope she's happy.

I don't think she's going to have to worry about saving a marriage much longer. She can go get her a new one. I guess my hand's turning red under the wrapping because my arm's starting to turn red too. I can see the blood vessels under the skin, and it looks like they're thrott. Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me. I'm pretty hungry. I had snacks I brought with me before I fell,

so I haven't had anything since around noon. I said I was going to write again when I decided whether I was going to camp out or keep going, but I haven't decided yet. I wanted to write just in case I'm not able to again. I wanted to update this little notebook just in case someone finds this journal someday and wonders what the hell I was thinking.

I'm going to try and go a little further, I think. I'll write again when I stop. It's dark down here in the gorge and cold, but I can still see the last little bit of twilight in the sky. I'm going to go until I see the stars come out. 11-6, number 7. I guess my luck isn't completely gone, but if I use the last of it here and now, I guess I'm just screwed when it comes to someone finding my car. I just happen to stumble upon one of the most welcome sites I've ever seen.

there's an old house out here. I want to say old, I mean old. The back's starting to fall down a little bit. One side of the porch has collapsed. But it looks sound enough for me to go inside. I think I can see the top of a stone fireplace too. So maybe it'll be safe enough for me to start a fire and keep warm. There's something a little odd about it though.

When I look around, up and down the river and can see the house out of the corner of my eye. It's a complete ruin, broken down and maybe even fire burnt. I can't really tell. When I look straight at it, though, it looks normal. Well, normal as an old house in the woods can look. I don't know. I don't care.

It's a shelter and a place to rest. Who knows? maybe I'll find something that'll help this hand. 117. Question mark. Number one. I managed to get a fire going using some of the broken furniture and the box of matches I had in my bag. I'm hoping in the morning I'll be able to find my way out of here because there's not enough stuff to burn to keep going for another night.

There's probably stuff upstairs, but I'm not sure I trust that staircase to go upstairs and get me back down again. All I need is to break a leg, too. Better safe than sorry. I didn't find anything downstairs that I could use the doctor of the hand, but I did unwrap it. I poked it a little bit with a finger, and it throbbed a bit. But it doesn't hurt anymore. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but whatever. It felt a little hard right under the hole where the thorn went in, so I squeezed on it some.

What came out was thick, yellow, and cloudy. It smelled like it was just foul. I don't want to say the D word right now. I don't want to jinx myself. It hurt a bit squeezing on it. Not as much as I expected. I squeezed long after the stuff stopped coming out of it. And it was probably good that I did because something popped out after a while.

I examined as best I could by light of the fire. And I think it was the tip end of the thorn that went into my hand. I ripped off a new piece of the shirt from my bag and wrapped it back up because once that, whatever it was, came out, it started to ooze blood and pus again. Maybe it'll get better now. If I was back at camp, I could take a couple of aspirin and maybe that had helped with pain. Because now my arm is red and aching all the way up to my shoulder. I can see the veins and blood vessels under my skin.

and they still look like they're throbbing. It's just my hunger. I hope so, anyway. I'm pretty positive now that whatever was inside that thorn was toxic, though. Because the further out my arm, it travels, the worse I feel. I'm a little nauseated right now. I feel hungry, but I can't imagine anything that might be appetizing. It's probably a good thing I'm not eating.

My luck, I'd eat berries or poison, and that'd be it. I am almost too thirsty to think though. River's only about 50 feet from the front porch, so I think I'm going to risk it. I found a bucket in the kitchen, and I'm going to take it out to the river and try to rinse it out, get rid of some of the filth, and bring back some water to drink. I think that even if the water is a little tainted, it'd be better than dying to thirst. 11-7, number two. Okay.

So I've had a few minutes now to catch my breath. Man, I'm a little afraid to write this down because it might make it more real or something. I think I do need to write it down, though, because if I don't, I'm afraid I might think myself crazy. Who knows? Maybe I am crazy. So I took the bucket out to the river. I washed and washed and rinsed and rinsed, and then when I tried to fill it, It just wouldn't hold water. I promise I held it close to the fire before I took it outside, and I couldn't see any light shining through any cracks.

And I even put my hand on the bottom and make sure there wasn't any thin rusty spots. I held it up to look at it by the light of the moon, and I... Okay. Here it goes. The bucket was destroyed. The bottom was gone. It was dented in on two sides, and, well, basically. there's no way this thing could ever hold water again.

I threw it out into the river. It didn't even float. I cut my hands and drank a few gulps of water straight out of the river. It was so cold and tasted sweet. I think it was okay. But that's not even the worst part of it. When I turned back and looked at the house, it was still okay. Everything was still standing.

But I swear I saw someone walking by the window in the living room where the fire's built. I visited every room before I lost the light completely, and I haven't hurt anything at all since I've been in the house. I mean no one walking around outside or upstairs. See? If you're reading this, you probably think I'm crazy right now. Hell, I think I'm crazy right now. I was hoping that I get a little bit of sleep tonight,

but between this damned hand and whatever it was that I'm sharing this house with, it doesn't seem likely. I would take off walking again, but I really don't think I'm able. At least it's warm here, and I'm just too hungry and tired to do much right now. I checked the house again, at least what I could, and there's no one here.

I swear there's no one here. 11-7. Number 3. I'm not sure how much time I have left now. I can feel my chest getting warm. I think the toxin or whatever it is is spreading closer to my heart. My head feels not right. I don't know. Here there's a mark down a large portion of the page.

The journal entry picks up again below the mark. I must have passed out or something. I don't know what's causing this feeling. Is it the lack of food? The infection or toxin or whatever it is? I don't feel well at all. And I think I'm stirring to see things now, too. When I woke up, there was a woman.

I'm not sure how to explain it exactly. She was sitting across from where I had fallen on the floor, except it was crazy. It was like she was hovering in the air in a seat of position. Like she was sitting in an armchair, but there was no chair there. This is an old house, and I'm burning what was left of the furniture in the living room. If it was there, it's not now. She disappeared almost as soon as I opened my eyes, so I didn't get a clear look at her. Her clothes looked old, though, like something my mom might wear.

I think her hair was in some kind of updo. I just need to get this down before... Before 11-7 number four. I must have passed out again. Banging, coming from the kitchen, woke me up, and I could only barely lift myself up to look in that direction. It was too dark to see in there, but I swear I heard the floors creaking.

And it wasn't just hearing the creaks. I could feel them. I could feel the floor thudding under me every time I heard. Whatever it is, take a step. There's something here. I don't know what it is, and I don't know if I even want to. I'm going to get my camera out of the bag and take a few pictures, and maybe I'll see something in the flash.

After that, I think I'm going to try and sleep. I took more energy than I realized to pull myself up. up so I could write this. 117 number 5. Can't sleep. If I do, it could be bad. I thought... I thought...

Here there's another mark that extends off the page. The entry begins again on the following page. Man, this is... Bad. I saw her in the camera flash. And I saw him, too. She was reaching out to me, and he was there just behind her. Oh my God, they were horrible.

I tried to concentrate on them when I took the photos. I wanted to try and remember everything that I could. Her clothes were burned, her face and hair were black, and... Oh, God, her face. He... If it really was ever a man, looked like nothing I've ever seen. I've never seen so much hatred and anger on a face before.

He looked like he was coming after her. At least, I hope he was coming after her. I hope he's not coming after me. 11-7. Number six. Well, I didn't want to sleep, but I guess my body had other plans. I did fall asleep again, and I must have slept for quite a while because I feel a bit better and it's almost dark outside again.

I'm going to keep using the same date, but I don't know how long I slept. I could have been home for a couple of days for all I know. I'm still not very hungry, so I must not have slept that long. I'm still a little bit busy, and my arm doesn't look too great. So I think I'll put off going outside again to look for anything to eat. I wouldn't want to pick those poisonous berries. in the dark. Better to wait until daylight.

If I feel better tomorrow, maybe I'll look in the kitchen again for something I can make into a fishing line, and I can have fire-roasted fish for dinner. There's still plenty of stuff burned in the house. Looks like I barely put a dent in this stuff that's just laying around in here. I may still be running a little bit of a fever from the toxin, but I don't think it's anywhere near as bad as it was before. I looked back over what I wrote when I felt so bad and a little embarrassing. It must have been fever dreams, or maybe I was just seeing things because of that stupid thorn.

It's so very quiet here this evening. I can hear the river outside, but that's it. I guess it's too cool outside for the bugs to make much noise. Perhaps animals are just used to avoiding the place. I'm going to try and look around a little bit and gather some wood to build another fire. 11-7, number 7. I managed to get the fire going again. It's not really as cold tonight as it has been.

I needed a fire anyway if I'm going to do any writing. And I found something pretty interesting, so I wanted to write it down. It seems like this house has been empty a lot longer than I thought. I found a calendar hanging in the kitchen. It was one of those old cloth ones that used to pick up from the grocery store for free. The year on it was 1954. It's almost 25 years ago.

A house in this shape, abandoned for so long and made out of wood, I would have thought it would have been completely gone by now. Lightning Strike or something should have taken it out. It's close enough to the river. I would even thought that maybe a flood might have done it. Oh well, my good luck, I suppose. It's lasted long enough to be here when I needed it. I think this house might have saved my life.

I think I'm going to try and sleep a little more. Perhaps when I wake up, it'll be morning, and I'll feel like eating something. Maybe try to get out of this hell. I guess I'll continue to follow the river. It has to end up somewhere, present it? Anyway, I'm getting sleepy again. I'll write more when I wake up. 117, question mark.

Number eight. I don't know what's going on anymore. I can't understand anything. I can't think. Not like I did before. I... Before I... Oh, God.

I don't know how I'm even writing. this right now. Things are weird. And I don't, I can't understand. I suppose I should just write it down before everything turns to dust. Something woke me up sometime in the night. Maybe it was the night of November 4. Maybe I've been here for a thousand years by now. I don't know, but something woke me up. The fire was starting to burn down, so I threw a few more pieces of broken furniture on it. My arm isn't hurting anymore. And it doesn't feel weird either. It's not throbbing anymore.

So it was easy to get the fire going. I just thought I was getting better. I just thought... Oh, God. This time they were all around me. There were five of them, and I could see them so closely. The burned woman, the demonic man, the woman dressed like my mother, and this time two children, a boy and a girl in really old clothes, like pioneer-looking clothes.

They were all standing around where I was sitting on the floor, bent over at the waist and staring at me. I was terrified. Were these people real? What did they come from? What did they want? In a panic, I stood up as fast as I could, and I just ran. Ran toward the door.

I had to get out, and... Oh, God, I didn't even notice it. I was focused on the open door, and I was keeping my eyes on the river and not looking what was going on around me. I just wanted to get out of yours. fast as I could. I wasn't watching where I was going and I guess that's why I tripped over trip in the doorway. I fell, closed my eyes and my hand landed on something soft. Something covered in fabric. When I opened my eyes, I saw it. I tripped over a body lying in the doorway,

fused. Where did this body come from? I was alone here. No one came in. No one came in. into the house, at least not, no one came into the house, at least not while I was awake. And that's when I finally noticed something familiar about the body in the doorway. The hair was red and shaky, just like my hair. There was a piece of cloth wrapped around the left hand that laid on the boards of the porch. Oh God. It was, that body, that body, that. that man in the doorway.

My body, how long have I been dead? How long have I lived this strange existence? Am I a ghost like the others in this place must be? I think, based on what I can see, that I died trying to go to the river where I took a little water to drink. But how can I be sure? Maybe I died when I first stepped foot in this awful place.

Doesn't matter now, I suppose. My luck did run out. The journal ends here. A hunter on a special permit to hunt within the state park found the ruins of the house. There was nothing but a bit of the front porch, a basement like Routseller, this journal, a broken camera, and a collection of bones. The state coroner's office has been able to identify six separate sets of human remains. two men, two women, and two children. No photographs were able to be recovered from the camera.

Some remains could not be identified. What are you doing? Knocking on the walls? Why? Trying to figure something out. Like if we have termites? No. Then what?

Trying to figure out if what I think is happening, is happening. You lost me. What do you think is happening? Still trying to figure that out. I'm lost. Me too. Try and see it from my standpoint. Here I am. Here we are, evidently, in our office space, recording our horror podcast. You all have uprooted your lives for us to be here and record together, even though it was all done remotely prior to this month. Okay. And at the same time, I don't believe any of this. I don't think I'm here at all.

And where do you think you are? In my basement, in the little closet under the stairs where I record, reading a script. Well, that's very meta of you. But how would that be possible? How could we be standing here, talking about this, and at the same time, you be in your house reading a script? Who wrote the script? Do you think you're reading a script right now? I don't have any idea.

But I don't know what's going on. Why are you here? I work here. Don't lie to me. John, you're scaring me. Scareing you? scary is what it feels like is happening to my mind right now and I don't know what's going on

and I don't know how to fix it we can talk about it John if you just Hey Alicia we need to go get that bonus recorded Dude do you mind Kind in the middle of something Sorry but we need to get it in if we're going to stay on schedule. No way around it, okay? Sorry. John, you're going to be around later?

Yeah? Sure. Don't know where else I'd be. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents. You are what you eat. Written by Jules Rowland and narrated by Alicia Atkins. Creepy presents. You are what you eat. Written by Jules Rowland. And narrated by Alicia Atkins. No one ever wants to wake up in the trunk of a car.

I don't realize that's where I am. Not at first. At first, I feel my body being jostled, my legs and shoulders bumping into a hard floor. It's the smell, that tells me where I am. Scratchy carpet with a rubber smell. Like tires in a hardware store.

Beneath the unmistakable reek of bodies that have been here before me. A fetid mix of blood and piss and sweat and fear. I winced because I recognize that smell, too. I wish I didn't. I wish I was anywhere else. Anywhere but here. No one wants to wake up in the trunk of a car. I try piecing together how this happened, as my body bounces and cracks with every bump in the road.

It was my turn to bring dinner to my weekly support group, and I was under a lot of pressure to make it good. Of all the members of our group, I'm the most obsessed with food, the most enraptured by the pleasure of eating beyond simple nourishment and survival. Because of this, I need the most help controlling my appetite and making healthier choices. Tonight the city streets were bustling, ripe with possible meal options, as they usually were at 10 o'clock on a Friday night. All around me, couples stopped for nightcaps amid rowdy pub crawlers, businessmen drowned whiskey in their suits, women in low-cut tops lit loose while their kids slept at home with the sitter. Then there was me, alone. I didn't have to try hard to blend in.

Almost no one notices my mousy brown hair, my slight frame, my beige peacoat. I'm pretty, but not in a way that draws attention. And yet somehow I attract his. I notice him behind me a few blocks back after I leave my support group in search of food. He looks like the kind of guy a woman avoids. Dark winter cap pulled down over his ears, prominent stubble on his cheeks. His hands buried in the pocket. pockets of a dark jacket zipped up to his chin. Intense, menacing eyes that might have been attractive

in one of those smutty novels that romanticized danger, but actually were dangerous to a woman out alone at night. The skin on the back of my neck prickles. He's getting closer. I can sense his presence creeping up on me. I hope I'm imagining it, so I decide to test it. He's followed me across three blocks, keeping just enough distance in the throngs of pedestrians that I can't be sure it's me he's after. So on the fourth block, I see a break in traffic and step off the curb in the middle of the block, and hurry to the other side. He does the same, skittering through traffic that approaches from both directions. I'm already across when the horns start blaring at him, and for a moment, when I dare to look him in the face, our eyes catch. And I'm a little bit, and I

I feel my guts twist because now he knows that I know he's following me. And this knowledge doesn't deter him. If anything, he moves faster. My senses ramp up, primal survival instincts kicking in. When I look to my left and see it. A car with an Uber sticker. The driver weighs me into his car. I don't dwell on his error, mistaking me for his fare.

I just open the back door and slip inside, locking it behind me. me. He asks if I'm okay and a strong whiff of old spice collects in my throat. I peer out my window down the block, but I don't see my pursuer. It's as if he's blended into the crowd or slipped into a building or alley. I think so. I breathe. I think I was being followed. He says he saw that too, and that's why he waved me into his car. I think the driver profusely, and he brushes is off like it's nothing, like he hasn't just saved a life, then hands me a bottle of water because I must be thirsty. I am. He has no idea how much. The last thing I remember is thinking that it's strange that he doesn't ask me where I want to go. He just drives. I'm about

to say something and then, and then, then I wake up here in the trunk. My stomach growls. It's a strange thing to notice at a time like this, but I'd been scouting dinner before my capture, and the hunger pains gave me something else to focus on, a point of calm so I can assess the situation. I swallow a few deep breaths of sour air, the stench of other bodies coating my tongue in a sickly sheen. I wonder how many others ended up in that trunk before me. I can move all of my limbs so I haven't been bound, and because I can move my limbs, I know that the trunk is empty. There are so many bumps in the road, and it's so quiet beyond the walls of the trunk that I figure us for somewhere in the country. Somewhere isolated.

I haven't eaten in days. I've been saving myself for the meal I was to share with my support group. And now the hunger in my gut is raw, visceral. I shouldn't be thinking about that as much as I am, but I can't help it. It's why I never miss a meeting. I don't know how long we've been driving. I reach into my pocket, but my phone is gone, so I have no idea what time it is, and no way to call for help. For a moment, I panic and force a few more sour breaths down my gullet.

I need to make a plan. This isn't one of those trunks with a safety latch inside it. I won't be getting out of here on my own. After what might have been a few minutes or an hour, the car slows. I feel a hard turn to the left. then the car creeps along down a heavily potted road. A few minutes later, the car stops and the engine quiets. I can hear crickets, then the opening and shutting of the car door and muffled voices.

What sounds like the Uber driver says that this one was almost too easy, and that it takes some of the fun out of it. I hear another voice, but don't catch what it says. Then the Uber driver asks if everything is ready. This time I hear the other voice say that it was. Of course it was. Then something about freezing his nuts off. The Uber driver chuckles and says I should still be out for another hour or two.

I latch on to this because I can use this information, but the other man's grim reply doesn't go unnoticed. Not that it matters, he says. It's not like anyone will hear a scream. For a moment my blood runs slow and cold. I've clearly stumbled into something terrible, getting worse by the minute, and I still don't have a plan. Then I realize that if they still think I'm unconscious, it's probably why they didn't bother tying me up. I can use this to my advantage until I see a way out.

I try to steady my breathing, even though my body hums with a horrifying cocktail of fear and anticipation. I hear footsteps approaching the trunk, the click of the latch. I will my body to be still, my heart to slow, my eyes to remain heavy and closed. I feel the cold night air kiss my skin as the man leans down in a plume of old spice and forces his hands underneath my body to lift me from the trunk. I'm aware of things now I hadn't noticed in my brief exchange with the Uber driver before he poisoned me. His skin is dry, his rough hand scraping along my clothes. He has trouble breathing, huffing and puffing as he pulls me free.

His stomach is so rotund he braces me on it to carry me away from the trunk. The other one, who, I assume, is the man who stalked me down the road, warns the Uber driver not to drop me. He grunts and adjusts my weight in his arms, claiming, this one's heavier than she looks. This one. Confirmation of what I already knew. That I'm not the first person.

person to be abducted, the first to be driven out to wherever we are. I hear more night sounds now, chirping crickets, the chittering of squirrels and other small forest fauna. I know we're in the woods without having to see the press of trees around us. I smell sap and bark and damp moss, and hear the crunch of pine needles under the feet of the men who are bringing me somewhere deeper, somewhere hidden. How many women have they brought here before me? How many times have they gotten away with whatever it is they're planning to do to me?

The thought turns my already fragile stomach, my empty stomach. I really, really shouldn't be thinking about food right now. It seems so silly, this obsession, this need. What would the others in my support groups say? They'd remind me there was the time and place for everything, and this was not the time or the place. I should be thinking about the horrors that lie ahead, and instead my mouth is watering at the thought of my next meal. My throat painfully dry because it's been so long.

Too long, really. Even the staunchiest members of the group couldn't fault me for it this time. Still, I can hear them muttering our mantra. You are what you eat. You are what you eat. It's supposed to remind us to take care with our food choices. Last week's dinner was lean,

barely feeding the whole group. It encouraged us to chew slowly, savor every morsel, and allow satiation to settle in before going back for more. Tonight, I was supposed to find something of similar quality, steering clear of the fatty artery-clogging fare that most of us, especially me,

crave so dearly. Unfortunately for them, I'll be bringing them an overweight Uber driver and his skinny sidekick. I silently apologize to the group in my mind. They won't be pleased, but they'll be so hungry by the time I get back that they'll eat any old thing I drop in front of them.

I slowly slide my hand up the Uber driver's neck. He jumps and almost drops me. When he tries calling out, I'm already sinking my teeth into the flesh on the other side of his neck. There's a lot of meat and fat to get through to reach his artery, but my canines eventually pierce it. I barely get a draw of his hot, oily blood when he screams and tries throwing me from his arms.

I fall away, taking a chunk of his neck with me. I grind my teeth through the gummy, fatty mess in my mouth. It's slimy and gooey and unctuous. Everything last week's girl with the mousy brown hair and 110-pound body wasn't. More importantly, it's enough to start the change. The Uber driver clutches the hole in his neck. Blood squirts through his pudgy fingers. Stout little sausages that appear at the end of my right and left hands

before my palms extend to fit the girth of this new form. The other man, who I've almost forgotten about while my body started morphing, watches with wide eyes and a slack jaw, frozen in fear. Sometimes they do that. Sometimes the process of change is too much for them to take. There aren't usually witnesses like this, though, either. I'm a foot taller suddenly, and my waist is filling out to match the girth of the Uber driver

when the other man starts stumbling through the woods away from me. This is the one time I will have trouble chasing him. It's unbelievably hard to run when I'm not used to this form yet. And when my legs and feet are growing with every step, straining against the women's pants and size seven shoes I'm currently wearing. I kick off the shoes and see the Uber driver's toes are fat and hairy, much like the rest of him. His ankles almost non-existent with calves like stumps connecting to his feet.

I applaud after the other man. He's screaming, but it's not like an animal. Anyone will hear him. He's made sure of that. I whip off the trench coat before the Uber driver's arms burst its seams and shed the pants as well, until I'm nearly naked as I chased down the other man. He stumbles and lands on his face and doesn't have time to get up before my puffy, blobbing mass of dry and cracking skin catches up to him. I see what he's tripped over.

A round metal door built into the ground. A sacred hatch. I know without having to see what's down there that this is where they were taking me. This is where they have taken others that they think are small and weak, like the woman's body I wore here tonight, to a pit in the middle of the woods. I smile then, because it's perfect. The man stares up at me and begs for his life. I think of the others who have begged him for the same.

I should be disgusted, and I am. I don't appreciate this kind of monster, but mostly, I'm grateful, because my group has been looking for a new place to meet. Some were safe and quiet, like a pit in the ground in the middle of the woods. I yank the man up by his neck. I imagine I'm quite a sight. By now I'm fully in my new form. I have the Uber driver's bushy eyebrows, balding head, big purpleish lips. and a giant belly stretching the tiny t-shirt I had already been wearing.

Going for the artery, the concentrated blood there usually does the trick. Knowing where to bite first and how much to take is what allows our group, all five of us, to share one body, one meal at a time. The group won't be pleased when they see what I've brought them, what we all will become for the next six days. But they might forgive me when I show them the pit in the ground in the middle of the forest. They might even congratulate me for finding us next week's meal. The skinny man with the stubble on his chin,

and eyes that beg for his own life rather than threaten mine. He'll be a healthier option to get us back on track after we gorge ourselves on the fat man bleeding out behind me. After all, we really are what we eat. Hey, Nate, have you seen Alicia? Um, not sure. I think she's recording. I was just on my way out, but I can go a little of a kiff.

No, it's okay. You go home. Sure about that? Yeah, I'll be fine here. Maybe you should leave with me. Get out. Get some fresh air. Nate, you'd tell me if something was wrong, right?

Like, with anything? Sure, John. Yeah. Sure you're okay? Yeah, Alicia and I were just talking before, and... I know it's home stupid. But parts of me are... God, it's fucking crazy.

Parts of me are trying to figure out if all this is real, or if I'm just at home imagining all this. That's crazy, right? What if I said it wasn't either of those things? What? Nate? Nate! Nate!

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