Creepy - The Midnight Run

Episode Date: September 2, 2024

What's your price?***Written by: No One of Consequence***Bonus episode: "Doctor What's Wrong With Me" Written by: Joshua Bryant and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Content Warning: Brief mention of suicide, graphic violence***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.

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Some of you may remember last year in my announcing the audible full cast presentation of Tales from the gas station volume 1. Well, as of this week, our full cast presentation of tales from the gas station volume 2 is now available on audible. For fans of the series, there's even more than what's been presented on the podcast. I highly recommend checking out the entire novel series. And it would probably be good if you checked out our audible presentation. I love these stories so much, and I know there are quite a few fans out there. Now, as a heads up, a solo narration was already done by Mr. Creepypasta,

but this newest version is fully cast and soundscape for the best experience we can provide. Hope you love it as much as I do. No. 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 Midnight Run

written by known of consequence. I've been a cargo hauler for about 15 years now. I've driven every kind of hauler their grace is public roads. The pay can be pretty decent, but things have been getting harder over the last few years. Everyone's been suffering from the economic changes, even those rich assholes that have more money than they could spend in a lifetime. Do I sound bitter? Probably because I am.

Before the changes, I'd made enough money to pay off my house, the cars, my wife didn't have to work, we even started a college fund for each of the kids. Life had been pretty nice, even though I didn't get to spend a lot of time at home. But everyone was comfortable. Now the cost of living's too steep, and my competitors are underbid me left and right. Insurance premiums are insanely high. Fuel costs are through the roof, and repairs have become difficult. Manufacturers are dangerously behind I'm making replacement parts

and getting anything shipped out as a freaking nightmare. Back before the economic changes ruined everything, I toyed around with the stupid idea. During my time in the industry, I'd heard stories about some mysterious under-the-table runs. They range from slightly illegal to downright Twilight's own shit. But one has always stood out to me. Near everyone that knows about it doesn't believe it exists and those that have tried it never been seen again.

I call it the midnight run. As an independent contractor, I developed a reputation for getting the job done, even under the worst circumstances. If I accepted a contract, I didn't let anything stand in my way. You wouldn't believe the number of times loads have been jacked by road pirates and thieving crews. I've been attacked a number of times, but not once did my load get jacked. Word about that gets around in our circles, and a man named Merrick reached out to me one day. Merrick's a point man for the midnight run. He's always on the lookout for drivers good enough, or desperate enough, to accept a job.

Back then, things were too good for me, so I passed after hearing as many of the details he's been willing to give me. It's a time window of only four hours from the point of departure, and the route is a near 100 mile straight level stretch of road. The problem is visibility is extremely limited, and everything in the vicinity is after the cargo. He wouldn't tell me who was after the load, nor would he say what I be hauling. The only real detail he'd give me were the dimensions of the cargo. So I passed. Didn't matter he was offering $250,000 for the run.

It was a sketchiest deal I'd ever heard, and I wasn't about to risk every good thing in my life for a big payday. Only one driver is known to have come back from attempting this impossible run. And two years ago, I managed to sit down with him. His name was Leland, and anyone I didn't know better, he came off as being a few cans sort of a six-pack. If people knew what he'd been through. they wouldn't blame them

being a drunk was the only way his feeble mind could cope with what happened Leland and his best friend accepted his job from Merrick and set out to deliver the cargo it was a metal box four feet wide five feet long and three feet tall weighing in at about a thousand pounds they had no clue what was inside the box but since they only had their 18 wheeler

the lone box was stored inside the cargo container. They had access to one other hauler, but it had too many electronic components in it. Merrick said not to use it. Apparently nothing more than simple wiring and switches was allowed on their own. Of course you wouldn't explain why, which seemed to be a reoccurring theme with Merrick. Leland was fuzzy on some of the details,

but Merrick installed some kind of device on their device, dashboard before sending them on their way. Leland talked about some odd flashing lights as they took off, and within moments, a fog like he'd never seen surrounded the truck. It was so bad that the headlights were useless, they couldn't see more than 20 feet in front of them. It sounded like an exaggeration, but I didn't question it. This had happened five years prior to a sit-down.

It was smooth sailing for about half an hour. but they were going so slow there was no way they could make the run in four hours then things started rushing in at them from the sides of the road beating the shit out of the trailer they were hauling got so bad that Leland's friend tried shooting at whatever was hitting them with a scatter gun but they ended up draking them out of the cab Lelan got real quiet at this point in this story

had been five years since that night but it might as well have been yesterday with the way he mourned. All I would say was what happened after that is that the container sustained so much damage that he couldn't keep the truck on the road and ended up jackknifing. The trailer became detached and he hauled ass out of there, back the way he'd come.

Whatever had attacked him, left him alone since they had the cargo. Now is the end of the story. Nothing about where he was, what Jack was, what jacked the load or any usable details. When he got back to the loading point, Merrick and his crew were long gone, and he never heard from him again. Things haven't been going well for me these days.

Between me and my old lady, we have five kids, and three of them are in high school. With clothes, food, utilities, and vehicle expenses, I'm looking up at broke and the view is a long way off. I may still have the skills, but I've finally gotten desperate enough that I go digging from Eric's business card. I'm not blind. I saw this coming and took steps to change the odds of success in my favor. In retrospect, these preparations are part of the reason that my debt is so substantial.

But everyone's got to have a hobby. The Midnight Run isn't a once-in-a-lifetime event. The run's done once a month. And the hardest part about it, aside from actually completing the run, is getting the invite. Between what Merrick told me when he first contacted me and Leland's story, the cargo is always the same size. It took a few years, but I dropped a lot of cash on parts and hit up every salvage and junkyard to create what I call Frank, short for Frankenstein. This hauler is a one-of-a-kind piece of machinery, a combination of half a dozen old-school diesel trucks designed to pull tractors and heavy machinery out of the mud at tractor pulls.

I could pull a freaking tank with this monster up the steepest hill, but it's not the weight of the cargo that had me wanting that much power. To say frank in street legal is the understatement of the year. Entire outsides lined with two-inch-thick steel plates. making it the fastest tank on wheels. All the windows, save for the windshield, and two front side windows, been replaced with solid steel plates.

As for the three windows still on it, they're covered by metal shutters that fold down like window blinds. If someone's going to come after me, shooting out my tires, is probably the first move. To counter this, I installed steel plates covering the tires from the outside, save for the bottom three inches. If there's even the slightest bump in the road, anything lower would scrape the asphalt.

I know this because I tested it out. With a custom 100-gallon fuel tank, this baby could run for hours without needing fuel stop. I've had to keep Frank a secret, even from my family. If my wife found out I was even contemplating making the midnight run, she'd tan my hide. Since she's one that's always been home, and she knows how to do it. it too. Our kids need more than their fair share of discipline over the years, and her hand is about on par with a chunk in the south. That's a flip-flop to those in the north. The only other thing I've done to prepare for this is a takeout a sizable life insurance policy on myself.

One way or another, my family's going to be financially set for a while. I just hope I'm there to enjoy the money when all is said and done. Thanks to the shitty economy, Merrick's been forced to increase to payout for completing the midnight run. I grabbed my duffel bag, kiss my wife goodbye, and drive off and my usual cargo hauler. Frank secured in the container. It takes a few hours of driving, but I make it to the GPS coordinate's Merrick gave me. It's a depot in the middle of nowhere. A fleet of truck sitting a lot next to a warehouse to look state of the art, but there are no

workers around. The security gate I pull up to is probably the most serious gate I've ever seen. I once hauled materials to a military base, and their gate look like a pushover compared to this thing. Armed guards come out of the shack and surround the cab. I know enough about guns, and the ones they're carrying can turn my cab into Swiss cheese if they open up on me. I keep my hands on the steering wheel, and only move to roll down my window and directed too. I give my name, and immediately weapons are pointed at the ground. Nice to know they're expecting me.

Once the gates open, I'm escorted by no less than four men on foot into the yard. As I follow their instructions, I see a man in a black suit standing near the warehouse. He's got a large black briefcase in one hand and a less than friendly smile on his face. I remember the first time I met Merrick, and he came off as sinister from the get. And world where things keep changing for the worse. I guess it's good to see that some things don't change. Parking the truck, I hop out and greet the man in black. He was surprised to give my call, and even more surprise that I accepted the job.

It's hard to pass up $375,000 for one run. Merrick moves to have a look inside my truck, asking if I have any modern computer circuits in my rig. I laugh at that, which gets his attention. If we holler on the road these days has a lot of the road these days, has at least one operating computer system built in, and my rig is state of the art. You knew the terms of the agreement. Why did you agree if your rig doesn't meet my standards? That's when I tell him my ride for the evenings in the back.

He stands to the side as I get Frank out of the trailer. After making a comment about it looking like something out of a Mad Max movie, he has a look inside. There's nothing modern about the indeed. Seats are comfortable enough, but there's no power windows, locks, controls, or anything. There isn't even an AC or heater, which is just fine with me. That air is cool enough that I shouldn't need AC, and I got a jacket put on if it gets too cold. I do believe this will work. Merritt taps on the steel plates and press by my work.

He opens up the back doors and inspect the cargo space and declares there's just enough room for the pallet and container to sit in comfortably. The bed of the truck has a clamshell over it with double thick steel plates to protect the cargo. As a forklift goes into the warehouse to get the cargo, Merrick opens a briefcase and shows me what $375,000 looks like. I've never seen so much cash in one place before, and I even flipped through some of it to make sure it's not faked with bundles and newspaper. Satisfied that the payment's legit.

He signals one of the men nearby. Closing up the briefcase, he exchanges it for a silver one. This one looks more like a weapon case. I watch as Merrick gets into the passenger seat and pulls some kind of device from the case. It's about the size of a kid's tablet, and I guess it has magnets on the backside because it placed on the dashboard about where the radio controls would be. If Frank had a radio. Before I can ask what it is,

Merrick starts explaining how this is going to go. Once a cargo is secured, the gate directly in front of my truck is going to open. I'm going to drive straight and the device will begin to light up. Once the color changes, the run begins. I have four hours to get to the end of the road, deposit the load at the facility that looks just like this one, and come back. Once a screen changes back to the original color, I get to click my fee and be on my way.

Sounds simple enough, but I have to ask again. Now that I'm in this, I want to know what I'm hauling. Merrick's still tight-lipped. I don't need details and specifics, but at least give me something general here. Is a cargo volatile? If things get rough, will the cargo break, leak, or explode? With the forklift moving in the warehouse, the unhappy man gives a heavy sigh. No, the cargo won't explode, but it can be volatile if breached.

You're hauling power cells for a mining operation, but as long as a cargo stays in the middle box, you'll be fine. There, you've gotten blood from a stone. I decide not to press my lock. Waiting in the cab while the crew loads my cargo. I feel the trucks sink down a bit as a container's inserted. I didn't spare any expense in the suspension system I installed. So the truck only bogged down by half an inch. Once the forklift backs away, the men on the ground close the compartment and attach a heavy-duty lock to the latch.

And they don't give me the key. With no fanfare, the gate directly in front of me opens. Look into Merrick, he nods, and I proceed forward. My lights flood the immediate area in front of me and I drive right through. The tablet on my dashboard lights up blue, so bright that it had illuminated. the entire cab, and a timer begins counting down from four hours. That's when things start getting interesting. Bright flash as a purple light penetrate the illumination of my floodlights, and for a moment,

I'm blinded with such intense brightness that I can't see. My foot leaves gas paddle on that coast as I try to refocus. As soon as I can see again, I'm thoroughly confused. A moment ago, the space around me was pitch black and clear. I was able to see a couple hundred yards in front of me. Now I find myself in the thickest fog I have ever seen, only able to see about 20 feet of asphalt in front of me. Leeland hadn't been kidding.

Reduced my speed to 20, my nerves are rattled as I try to make it through this pea soup. I was told the road was literally a straight line and there'd be no obstacles. So in theory, I could increase my speed to 50. If the distance is accurate, it's the lowest speed I can go and still have a shot of making the run-in time. However, if something's in the road, going that fast will make it impossible to maneuver out of the way. Is the risk worth it? As I try to convince myself to do it, I notice the light from the tablet has changed to the strangest hue of purple I've ever seen. On top of that, it's not nearly as bright as it been before the flash.

Looking down at it also gets me to notice something else that's odd. My skin tone is a light tan with freckles, but for some reason it looks red right now, kind of like my Irish pale wife does after spending the sun for a while, but I'm obviously not sunburned. Glancing around the rest of the cab, I note that everything has a strange red tint to it. On a whim, I open the shutters on both doors and have a look outside. There is illuminated with a dark red light, but the fog doesn't appear to be as dense there. It occurs to me that fog's always so much harder to see through when lights illuminate in

the space in front of you, but a light from a distance is a lot easier to spot. a chance I flipped a switch and kill the floodlights, and the entire world is red. Immediately I can see much farther ahead, enough that I can risk increase in my speed. The strange red light isn't very bright. It's about on par with the light of a full moon on a clear night. But for this color, it'd have to be a freaking blood moon. When I was driving to me Merrick, I noticed that the moon was half full of most. I'm getting the feeling I'm not in Kansas anymore.

Picking up my speed to a nerve rack in 55, I strained my eyes to see anything in the area. Just as advised, the road's perfectly straight and completely clear of obstructions. I've driven all over the nation, and I have never seen anything quite like this. Even the straightest roads have been on at some kind of deviation, even if only slight. There doesn't even appear to be a change in elevation, as if this is the flatest area in the world. Glancing at the timer, I see ten minutes have gone by. So far there hasn't been a sign of life, not even a bush or tree off the side of the road. If I was in the desert, that would make sense.

But I started this run in the middle of Kansas, and I don't even see grass along the side of the road. Seriously, I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore. Something slams into the passenger's side of the truck. Hard enough that I have to fight with steering wheels stay on asphalt. It hadn't been the impact of another vehicle. More like a deer tried to run across the road at the wrong time. Sadly, that's happened to me before, but the impact hadn't been near that hard. I'd say a moose raining to me, but I'm in the wrong part of the country for that.

At least I know it hadn't been a person. On any other run, I'd stop, assess the damage, and identify what hit me. There's nothing normal about this run. It's not like I have insurance on Frank anyway. There's to pick my speed back up. My peripheral vision picks up on dark shadows moving into dim red light along the road. I can't make out what they are, but the sound is something. and meaty, slapping down against the roof of my truck distracts me.

Whatever slammed into me is still on the damn truck. Slamming on the brakes, I see a large shadowy mass sail over my front hood and skid across the road. Flipping on the lights, I get a good look at pale flesh that at first looks like an amorphous blob. As I look at it, the body begins to form a more discernible shape. It's not like anything I've ever seen before. Imagine a kangaroo, but with arms, just as massive and powerful as its legs.

That's where the comparison ends. The thing picks its head off the road that belongs to some kind of jungle cat, and glares at me with way too many eyes. Open in its mouth I can see long fangs like a snake. There's about two dozen of them in that big mouth. Holy fucking shit I'm definitely not in Kansas anymore Stomping on the accelerator

My ears are assaulted by an ear-piercing roar A wet splash as the tires roll right over that thing Responding roars come from all around And I flip off the lights to better see There must be dozens Hundreds of those things out there I'm starting to see why people don't make it back from this run I don't pay attention to my speed.

I just keep the pedal of the metal. Things come rushing at me from both sides and I struggle to keep my wheels on the road. Something's holding on to the passenger side and I catch the reflection of too many eyes between the steel slats. The thing hanging off the side starts pounding on the door. So hard that the window skips cracking and goes right into shattering. reaching in my duffel bag on the passenger seat, I pull out my bowing knife and stick it between the slabs right in front of those eyes. The blade sinks into its skin, but never encounters something hard like bone. Yanking the knife back, the creature falls from the truck as if I somehow managed to stab it directly in the brain.

There's another one moving round on the roof, and it begins pounding down. When I was installing the steel plates, I thought I was being a little parent. I'm paranoid when I lie in the roof, but no, I see you've been a good idea. Otherwise, the roof would be caving in on me. As it is, the pounding's making the truck shudder, and I even have to drop the knife in favor of steering wheel. My left tires left the road and have to slow down in order to correct. It's only now I realize I've been going damn near 90. As I'm trying to get myself back on the road, something even larger than these things slams into my back end.

The impact caused me to spin out and by the time I get the truck under control again, I'm well off the road. I think it's behind me, but a shadow of the size of a damn rhinos coming right at me. I gun it, heading away from the thing, which is unfortunate. I think it was standing on the road. There's still a few of these weird kangaroo cat things on me, but I quickly discover the side of the road isn't as bare as I originally thought. I thought.

Trees come up out of nowhere and before I can turn, I plow headlong right into one. Instead of coming to a sudden stop, it would have knocked me the hell out. The truck keeps on going, only shuddering a bit. These trees are so old and dead that they're basically turning into splinters as they drive through them. The seriously sturdy grill I installed on the truck can take a beaten just fine, but I'm worried about the damn tires. It wasn't anything I could do to keep them from getting punctured, but I did fill them with quick seal foam.

It's not a long-lasting solution, but it'll have to do for now. With that in mind, I start making my way to the left, at the very least trying to stay parallel with the road. Somehow my mirrors are still hanging on, and I look in them as I plow through another tree. Hitting the second light switch, the floodlights on the back illuminates space behind me. And I see what made the large shadow. It's a size of a rhino, but everything else about it's completely alien. The tank-like body is as big as Frank, and it's sporting some seriously thick legs. But it looks like there's at least six of them.

What I can only guess is a mouth splits the entire head vertically, and a moss squirming worms reach out for my rear bumper. How the hell are those things so interested in? power cells. I see a rather large shape coming up on my left, but it's immobile. Just like every tree I've hit so far. Aiming my front end just right, I clipped the side of it, breaking the truck low enough on this side that the bulk of it falls on my tracks.

It doesn't rip up the monster behind me, but instead lands right on top of it, allow me to get that hell away. Veering back to the left, I eventually come back to the road. But the fight didn't over. He just keep coming at me, and I take up my knife again. It seems that they can't get through the steel plating on the back, so they're concentrating their efforts more on the cab. I keep stabbing between the slats while fighting with the steering wheel.

Whatever these things are, they're fucking relentless. I lose track of times as I defend myself as best as I can. My right arm is getting tired from all the thrusting, but I don't let it stop me. One of the beast slams down on the windshield, its body sort of flattens out. All the time I've been stabbing these things, the blade hasn't encountered bone, making me think they're nothing but flesh, muscle, and fangs. Unfortunately, the creature's ability to flatten out is completely obscure in my field of vision, making me dry blind.

Once again, I stab between the slats, but this one seems to have learned. The creature was expecting me to stab it, so a man just grab hold of the blade. I try to yank it this way and that, but either it's stuck on the metal slats or the creature's hold is too strong. Letting the knife go, I reach into my duffel and pull out two things, a lighter and a can of WD40. Use my knees to keep the steering wheel from turning. I turn the can into an impromptu flame thrower and torch the sucker. Before, the creatures roared at me like jungle cats when I stab him. This one screeches like a banshee.

It's only for a moment, but I see the pale flesh immediately scorch, and it flies off the truck and a quickly spreading fireball. I hadn't expected that. If I had, I wouldn't need to drop the cannon lighter to catch my knife. Had I not caught it, the damn thing would have stabbed me right in the leg. As it is, I only managed to cut the flesh. part between my thumb and index finger. I grab up the bandana I've been using to wipe sweat off my forehead and wrap it around my hand. There isn't near as much blood as I imagined to wound that

deep will produce. It doesn't even seem to hurt that much until I try to hold the wheel with it. I guess I'm done stabbing these things. I put all my efforts into recovering from multiple impacts until I see a new kind of light in the distance. It's brighter than the dominating red color. a kind of orange or yellow. It also seems to be pulsing, almost like a bonfire. Looking at the clock, I see there's only two hours left on the timer. Did I really go 100 miles already? I guess all the actions screwed with my perception of time.

As I get closer to what turns out to be several bonfires, a depot, similar to the one I loaded up, comes into view. With the fire has given off so much light, I can see a hell of a lot better than I could on the way here. The gate here is just as serious as the other one. The gate opens and a bunch of guys in flame-retarding suits come marching out, tilting flame-throwers. They scorched the roof and back of the truck.

Holy shit, did these things hate fire? Me screeching louder and cicadas and a Texas summer as they dislodged themselves and run the hell away. The guys escort me inside the depot and stop me right in front of a lot of, an identical warehouse. A forklift goes to the back and unloads a cargo. I can feel someone slam the door closed and everyone drifts away. I guess they're done with me. So I turn around and head back for the gate. Once I'm outside again, I don't waste any time. My foot hits the floor and I get Frank up over a hundred. I see an occasional shadow moving at the side of the road,

but I guess they could sense the cargo or something, because they have no interest in me whatsoever now. After another 45 minutes took off the timer, I slow my speed to a reasonable 50. Within minutes, the air in front of me lights up with those weird flashes again, and I slow my speed even more. By the time I can see again, I have to slam on my brakes before plowing into the gate that's already open. With my one good hand, I steer my way to the back of my hauler. ready to put Frank to bed. Both my mirror has been knocked off during my off-road portion of the run, so it'll be easier to load the behemoth back in.

As I park, a guy with that silver case climbs into the passenger side to retrieve the tablet. Merritt comes walking over with a briefcase with my money in hand as I load the truck into the container. You made it back, and with almost an hour to spare, no one that's completed the run has made it with someone. Much time left. Funny. It's first that I've heard of others exceeding in this insanity. That, and no one's ever agreed on a second run.

I open the case and make sure it's all there. How about it? Would you consider coming back next month? I could always use a driver like you. Another run. Well, I could take some of the money and make modifications to Frank now that I know. what I'm up against. But it won't be next month.

I need time to heal my hand and make repairs. If I can do this a few more times, I could potentially set my family for life. Could I really go through that again? Or better yet. Could I beat my time on the next run? I wonder, for your bonus episode, Creepy Presents.

Doctor, Wrong with me. Written by Joshua Bryant and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. It was all good sense until we let Dr. Clean Hands inside. Not that I blame the doctor. It just made sense before. Now it doesn't. My mother had terrible coughing fits in the middle of the night.

Heavy, bloody coughs that sounded like they were being pulled out of her with a chain. She would wake me up from a deep sleep every time and then I'd have to stay awake to make sure she didn't need to go to the emergency room. It was getting pretty rough on me. She would wake me up from a deep sleep every time. And then I'd have to stay awake to make sure she didn't need to go to the emergency room. It was getting pretty rough on me. I can't remember where I got Dr. Clean Hands phone numbers. I just remember calling.

him, punching the digits into the keypad without the aid of a note or a business card. The conversation with the secretary was brief. I know that, but the details also allude me. It played out with the mindlessness that I hadn't known before. We set an appointment for my day off from work. Dr. Clean Hands was going to come out himself to give my mother a personal checkup. I kept thinking that he would have an answer for everything, even things that didn't have any relevance to my mother's coughing fits. This confidence in the doctor must have stemmed from somewhere, but I can't put a finger on it.

On the day of the appointment, I was standing by the mailbox leaning over the curve, looking up and down the street. My palms were sweating. I'd made sure to shave. A small white van rounded the corner and I could see an old man in the driver's seat. Sunglasses sheaning and hair white and skin tanned. Is that him? My mother called out from the porch, a cigarette fuming between her yellow fingers. I nodded in reply and waved a hand at her.

I think she just said something else, but I wasn't paying attention. Dr. Clean Hands was pulling up in front of me. I took a few steps back and smoothed my hair out. He was taking his seatbelt off and putting on his long white coat. Then he stepped out of the van, and he smiled and his teeth were pristine. He was quite fit for his age, dressed in white save for his khaki pants. A red metal watch was on his right wrist. He smelled powdery.

and didn't sweat. After we had shaken hands, I showed him to the porch. My mother was giddy, cackling at every little thing the doctor said in his smooth voice. She even touched his arm. He didn't move away. We talked on the porch for what felt like a long time. He asked my mother's specific questions about her fits, her eating habits, or physical activity. She answered promptly, but asked him personal questions.

questions in return. The more she did this, the more the conversation veered into unrelated topics. Yet, it all felt so natural, like the doctor was an old friend we'd been missing. Soon we were all touching each other's arms and not moving away. It was all going so well that when he suddenly brought up my mother's treatment, I at first didn't know what he was talking about. We had a big laugh about that. Then he walked to his van, opened the back doors, reached way inside, and came back with something wrapped in butcher paper. He held it on his sleeves. He suddenly had gloves on. Looking at the butcher paper, my mind was immediately overcome by thoughts of red and bloody meat right off the block.

A strange anxiety took hold. I didn't want Dr. Clean Hands to over. open up that paper. I didn't want to see what was concealed, but I didn't look away. Very carefully, the doctor peeled back a corner of the butcher paper. My mother, with her glasses on, leaned in close. I watched over her shoulder, my heart pounding. A glistening wetness was revealed, but it wasn't red. It was purple. and as thick as paint. A little dripped onto the grass

where it quickly hardened into something like sand. Dr. Clean Hands pulled the paper back further and showed us the rest of the treatment. It was a moist pile of hairy orbs with wide slits along their tops. From these slits, the purple liquid was slowly bubbling out. I had to step away and wipe my eyes, lick my lips, and think about questions that I never asked.

My mother was the one that spoke. And those little things, they will stop my cough? Dr. Clean Hands laughed and said, They'll stop your coughing fits all right. Even as he spoke, he was stepping past my mother. I opened the front door for him and he walked straight to the bedroom in the house as if he already knew where it was. My mother and I followed him like children. Once inside the room, he took a moment to survey it.

I shared the room with my mother and our beds took up nearly the entire floor space. Dirty clothes were piled every available crack. Three blades of the ceiling fan were broken. Dr. Clean Hands, with great speed and control, jumped on top of my mattress, balancing the bundle in one arm. And he used his other hand to pick up. up one of the oozing balls at a time and stick them into the corner of the ceiling above my headboard. They adhered very easily and began splattering their purple juice all over the green walls.

The doctor jumped down while wadding up the empty butcher paper to put into his coat pocket. He smiled at me again and patted my waist. My mother got her purse and paid him $500 in cash. As he was leaving, he rolled down his van window. and shook my hand one last time. His grip was so sure and so confident. Her cough will be gone by tonight. But you have to keep the treatment up.

She'll be right back to where you guys started. He told me, and I took it to heart. I watched him drive away and wanted him to come back. But that, that's when things stopped making sense. I turned on my heel and went back inside. My mother was in the bedroom. I could see her from the hall. She was sitting on the edge of her bed.

Her hands folded in her lap like napkins. She was looking up at the ceiling. I could hear the hairy orb spinning. I had been on the verge of going to do something, but my attention had become so fixated on my mother's face and posture that I forgot what it was completely. She just wasn't sitting right. She was leaning backward heavily, holding her upper body off the mattress without the use of her arms.

Her hair had fallen back away from her face. Her lips were taut and pale. Her eyes were like goosey set into very large sockets, bulging nearly to the tip of her nose. I lost track of time. It was as if the rest of my evening had just been that single moment of looking. at my mother on the bed. It was burned into my eyes so deeply, and for so long that when night fell, I was terrified of the dark that obscured my vision. I screamed a little and stumbled away. I kicked the coffee table and spilled what had been on its surface. I smelled warm beer on dirty carpet.

A car passed by outside and its headlights briefly lit up the living room. Remembering where I was, I found the couch and sat down with a ragged breath. My skin was tingling. In the bedroom, my mother finally moved off the bed, and with stomping feet, she walked to the switch and turned the light on. Then she walked down the hall. I watched her emerge. The light was behind her, her head downcast and her hair hiding her face. I stayed completely still, even held my breath.

She walked to the kitchen and opened the knife drawer. The rattling of the blade set my teeth on edge. She murmured something in a voice filled with tremendous sadness. I don't know what she said. She slammed the drawer shut and I ran back to the bedroom. I followed her. When we crawled into our own beds later on, I found that we were at the end of a conversation that I couldn't remember starting.

The final words we shared gave me no clues as to what we had been talking about. But the tone of my mother's voice and the twisting angst I felt show that I hadn't been a pleasurable conversation. I pulled the sheets to my chin and looked at the ceiling. Of course, my gaze fell right on the pulsating mass that Dr. Clean hands had left up there. The orbs were all still spinning and dribbling the purple liquid. It was streaming down the walls like a curtain of tar drawing closer to where my mother and I lay. I'm certain she was as awake as me.

I watched the liquid creeping closer. I watched it come down and touched the edge of my sheets. I wondered if that was supposed to happen. Glancing towards my mother, I saw that the liquid hand. had drawn itself over her blankets like oil on water. It moved in a single tide that gradually narrowed into two thick streams that climbed into my mother's nostrils. I listened to her breathing it in. She started crying, but she remained motionless. I didn't watch her very much longer. I felt something prodding my flesh, looking down at myself my arm.

arms above the sheets. I saw the liquid had moved across my bed as well. But rather than a fork that fed into my nose, the liquid had traveled up my arm to the soft skin of my inner elbow. There, it had formed itself into a barb that stuck into the vein. It hurt, but I abruptly realized I could no longer move. Then my head was swimming in colors and numbness. It was all sensation, like my body had stolen my consciousness from my mind. None of it felt good, though. It was painful and sluggish and confusing. A mindless suffering I feared that would never end.

That nothing would ever be normal again. The next morning I woke up late, or my mind returned to me late. I don't think I actually slept. I looked over at my mother and asked, Did you cough at all? She looked back at me. She didn't look like my mother. She looked like a pale sheet of paper with holes cut for eyes

and a line drawn for a mouth. It seemed for a moment she didn't recognize me either. When she responded, her voice was hollow. No. I didn't cough, she said. I sat up and my limbs were heavy. My body felt strange all over. Like it wasn't meant for movement.

Everything was unfamiliar to my touch. When I stood my knees or trembling. When I walked, my feet dragged. I went to the kitchen and I couldn't find anything to do in there. I went to the living room and looked at the dead teeth. I stared at my reflection in the screen. I saw that I was just swaying from side to side. My jaw slack.

My tongue like a puffy strawberry hanging over my bottom lip. I didn't want to look like that. I tried to stop swaying, but my reflection kept going. I tried to slurped my tongue back in my mouth, but it stayed where it was. Panic was taking hold. Anger, too. And neither were gentle with me. I ripped the TV from the stand and threw it against the wall.

Plastic scattered and wires whipped about. The TV crumbled to the floor and wobbled with its shattered screen facing the ceiling. I stepped over to it and looked again at my reflection. Through the web of cracks, I saw my face. calmly returning my gaze. I went back to the kitchen and ate breakfast. My mother was standing in the hall watching me, an unlit cigarette drooping from her mouth.

With a very steady hand, she reached up and plucked the cigarette from her lips, and she dropped it. I looked at it roll on the gray carpet as she moved like a wraith back to the bedroom. When I was finished eating, I sat on the couch and watched the daylight shifting across the wall as the hours went by.

I didn't think. I didn't feel anything beyond a warm, entrancing buzz that went slowly up and down my spine. After night fell, my mother started sobbing. Her voice was very hoarse and crackled with congestion. I walked with great effort to the mouth of the hall. The bedroom was only faintly illuminated by the moonlight. Are you going to cough? I asked. My mother went quiet.

I waited, staring into the darkness. Then very monotonously, she replied. No, I am not going to cough. I believed her and walked back to the couch. My attention slipped, and I woke up the next morning in bed. My mother was hidden beneath her blankets, but she stirred when I yelled her name. Since she was alive, I walked out to the kitchen to eat breakfast. But after looking through all of our cabinets and cupboards in the fridge,

I realized we had nothing to eat. It's frustrated me, so I searched. again, but the result remained the same, which made me even more frustrated. I stomped to the bedroom. My mother was still hidden beneath the blankets. I ganged her purse off her dresser and stuffed all the bills I found into my pockets. I tossed the purse away and turned to leave. But something stopped me. Dr. Clean Hands treatment was burbling loudly, and the purple liquid had become a mist that clung to everything in the room. I wonder for a moment why I hadn't noticed such an obvious change before.

I couldn't think of anything at all. I looked at the purple droplets that flecked my skin. They glistened iridescently, like an infestation of beautiful beetles resting on top of my pores. Then they turned to a fine dust that was absorbed into my flesh. I went to the door and out onto the porch. As I made my way to the sidewalk, I looked back and saw my mother in the doorway. Strangely, she had her long red scarf knotted tightly around her throat.

She watched me walk away. The sun was like a burning hole in the sky. The world around me moved with my stride. pulsating with every rise and fall of my legs. I was freezing, and my mouth was dry. I was almost at the convenience store. I could see it on the other side of the bridge. There were only a few cars on the road.

In the store parking lot, there was a cop standing beside his car. His hair was very bright and his badge was very large. He noticed me when I noticed him. His expression melted into confusion quickly followed by anger. He flashed his teeth at me and yelled something. I couldn't understand him. His voice was just a shredded squeal that made my ears hurt.

I tried to ignore him. I tried to enter the store. In a heartbeat, he was at my side, pulling me away from the doors. I staggered into the parking lot as he ripped the sleeve off my shirt. He was yelling with even more ferocity now, but I couldn't understand him. I tried to say as much, but he didn't listen. He pushed me to his car and made me stand with my hands on the hood. I didn't know why it was happening.

I just hoped it would be over soon. The cop began reaching into my pockets. He pulled the money out by the handful and began letting it go. I watched all those slips of people. cash start fluttering away from me like little green birds. Acting fast, I began trying to snatch them out of the air before they were lost. The cop didn't like this very much. He began yelling again before grasping my arms to try to force my hands behind my back.

That's what set me over the edge. I didn't think it was right that he was doing that to me. So I ripped my arms away from him and smashed my elbow into his teeth. I felt them break. He moved backwards, his hands going to his face just for them to get smothered in blood. I tackled him, pinned his arms beneath my knees and began hammering my fists and elbows into his face. I felt his skull softening. I felt it being pushed inward with every strike.

I knocked his eyes out of his head. After I'd killed him, I'd stood up and thought it was a good idea to go home. I walked away and a couple of people ran out to stand over the dead cop and stare at me. I looked over at them until I had crossed the bridge. The sun burned brighter the rest of the way. I started sweating profusely. It coursed down my body in salty streams that ran off the heel of my shoe and left a gray trail on the concrete. I swayed forward and backward.

My footsteps loud and resounding in my own ears like the toiling of a bell. But there was another sound, too. A low, throaty groaning that was following me. I looked all around for the source. It saw nothing but the summer neighborhood. It was me. I was groaning. I noticed it at the same moment I noticed my mother.

I was just walking down the path from the mailbox to the port. fortune saw her dangling. Her red scarf was knotted tighter around her throat than when I had seen her last. Her face was dark and full of blood. Her eyes were huge, dimmed. I shumped past her hanging body and went inside. I heard a police siren wailie. I went to the bedroom and shut the door. It was flooding with purple, ankle deep and cold. The orbs had multiplied and clustered the ceiling from end to end. All of them started to cough through their slits. They

sputtered and hacked and weased. And as they did, they coated me from head to heal on the liquid. Soon, I was coughing, too. 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 creepy pod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons share-a-like 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.