Creepy - The Nameless Street

Episode Date: May 17, 2020

Know your enemy...***Written by hyperobscura***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. 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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Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures 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 Nameless Street

Written by Hyper Obscura Pancreatic Cancer. That's what it's called. The thing that's slowly killing my wife. And doesn't sound so horrifying, does it? Pancreatic. It's the cancer part that's bad, obviously. It's the cancer part that's slowly eating away at my wife.

My one true love, relentlessly devouring every part of her, until there's just a withering, wheezing stranger left. Her tormented gaze begging for it to be over. every fiber of her being aching for death. I tried everything up to that point, and I mean everything. You'd be amazed and appalled that the sheer quantity of bullshit snake oil miracle remedy shit you'll find if you just go looking for them. All the healers, shamans, witch doctors, and loathsome charlatans praying on the weak

and desperate. but conventional medicine had failed me, failed my wife, and I couldn't find it in me to give up, no matter how much she begged me to. At first glance, the nameless street seemed to be just another hoax, a nonsensical ritual boss to design to amass internet points. But the more I looked into it,

the more I came to believe that there had to be some merits to it, it. Too many identical claims, too many similar experiences, too many vivid descriptions coming up empty on all of their leads. I decided there'd be no harm in giving it a shot. The nameless tree was as simple in its complexity as it was complex in its simplicity. At the end of an unnamed street, look for an abandoned house with a locked basement door. Find a way to get into the basement without breaking the lock. In the room beyond, you'll find two chairs facing each other. Make sure to lock the door again. Place 66 candles in a wide circle around the room. At the center, place one sixth of a candle. One night is at its darkest. Light all the candles.

Sit down in the chair with the back turned to the door and count loudly to 66 and work. We're one-sixth. If you get it all right, the devil himself will appear, granting you a single wish in exchange for your soul. Finding the nameless street wasn't easy. But at the same time, it wasn't that hard either. I just stumbled upon it, I guess. I went searching every evening after my visit at the hospital. That's the only thing that kept me going. Seeing her wish, wasting away, another fragment of her dying every day. Mind, body, soul. Soon there'd be nothing left but memories.

I paced the streets tirelessly for weeks, making sure to cover as much ground as I possibly could. One night, it was just there. The doctors gave her a month, maybe less. We've been together since high school. Ten years. Got married as soon as we legally could. Sharing dreams of children.

A house, a dog, a station waken. A normal, boring, wonderful life. Hold together. Die together. Locked in an unbreakable embrace. Exhaling our last breath at the exact same moment. But now she was leaving, fading. and I felt helpless and lost and alone.

I needed this. I needed it to be real. It was just like I had imagined it. A harrowing house at the end of the street. All the windows smashed in. Front door missing. Exterior graying and faded. A faint smell of urine lingered inside.

And the walls were all covered in tasteless graffiti. I didn't care to that. inspect the house itself. I was there for one thing. I descended the ramshackle stairs leading down to a surprisingly sturdy looking wooden door and gave the handle

a try. This was the place. When I wasn't at the hospital, Stan was. I didn't even have to convince him. I just wanted someone to be there by her side at all times. And I think he understood that.

My brother got along well with my wife, and it seemed like the right thing to do. When I arrived after work, Stan would be there, and we talked for a bit. It affected him too, devoured him like it devoured me. He looked older than any younger brother should. I had to fix this. Or we'd all just fade to nothingness. I returned the next evening with candles and tools. I had no idea how to pick a lock, but luckily some guy on YouTube did.

And after about 30 minutes of finagling and cursing, I heard a soft click, followed by the door sliding open. The basement was just how I'd imagined it too. Cramped and damp and dark. Two chairs placed at the exact center of it. Once I'd made sure the door was locked, I started placing the candles in a wide circle. saving the one-sixth of a candle for last. I sat down on the chair with the back turned to the door and waited. When the night is at its darkest, how can you tell?

Isn't night just a lack of light? When the sun is down, isn't it just down? It's stupid, ignorant, like I'd fooled myself into believing something that never work. How could it work? It was utterly ridiculous. I couldn't give up now. I had to try. I owed my wife that much.

I started lighting the candles. I figured it wouldn't get any darker and couldn't very well spend all night in that creepy abandoned shit well better to just get it over with. It took a good five minutes to get all the candles and the circle lit. And I swallowed deeply before lighting the final.

one. It didn't feel any different. But I sat down regardless. He continued counting loudly to 66 and a six seconds. One, two, my voice rang hollow and insincere. I glanced around anxiously while counting. But save for the dancing shadows cast by the flickering candles, there was nothing. 33, 34, 34. Don't you find this hysterically ridiculous? A cheery voice queried from behind me. I suppose I wasn't really expecting anything to happen. Not really. That's the sudden realization that someone was there behind me caused me to tumble off the chair in shock.

I spent quite some time desperately struggling to get back home. I mean, you must have stopped at 66 and a sixth and gone. Wow, this is some next level absurdish shit nonsense, right? He was not as I expected. He was young, maybe in his mid-20s. Long, blonde hair dressed in jeans and a white hoodie. He smiled widely, Hamilled eyes sparkling vividly as they scanned the room.

All you had to do is ask. Mimicked holding a phone up to his ear. No need for this unnecessarily elaborate. He paused, wiggling his right index finger around. I want to say a ritual? Who are you? I stammered incoherently. Such a useless question.

Names have no meaning here. I stager back into the wall. Are you the devil? Look, buddy. He grinned widely. It really isn't important. What is important, however, is what I can do for you. He wandered around the room.

room nonchalantly, eyes darting back and forth between the flickering candles and me. He was tall and slim, yet unnaturally imposing, like he could squish me like a bug at any moment if he felt like it. I kept backing into the wall senselessly like a frightened animal. Let's sit, shall we? Beckoned for me to join him as he sat down. We have much to discuss. I mumbled.

Was this really happening? Nothing about it felt right. It felt unholy, blasphemous. My back scraped against the cold protruding bricks of the wall. Like the pain somehow grounded me to reality. Jesus fucking cry. You can call me anything you like if it makes you feel better. His piercing eyes dug into mine.

It really doesn't matter what fantasy you subscribe to. In the end, they're all nothing. lies. And just like names, the only old meaning to owners and believers. And let's just say them neither. Now, please just sit, James. You're making this whole satanic deal thing very awkward for both of us. How do you know my name?

I mumbled. Still subconsciously backing into the unmoving wall. He threw his head back and laughed hardly. So you came here ready to summon the literal. devil, but you're surprised he somehow knows your name. James, James, you're really out of your depth here, you know that, right? He motioned towards the vacant chair. Sit, James. Sit and we'll discuss what I can do for Nora. The mention of her name brought me back from whatever delirious state I was in. I suppose I immediately stopped caring whether it was real or not.

The end justifies the means. Isn't that a woman. what they say. Even if I was hallucinating, even if this was some insanely convoluted hoax, I had to give it a shot. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't at least try. I hesitantly stumbled to the chair and sat down facing the man. How do you know her name? Possibly know any of this. We've been through this, James. I know all I need to know. That's just how it is. For instance, I know that Nora, sweet, sweet darling Nora, is slowly dying from cancer. I say slowly, but that's not really the case anymore, is it? I'd give her maybe a few days, a week at most.

Better start making some arrangements. Choose a nice coffin. Find a decent plot. Organize a service. These things take time, you know. Wouldn't want to half-ass her funeral now, would you? I felt a sudden rush of anger. anger and resentment and sadness and despair. I wanted nothing more than it just punches and infuriating the carefree facing, but something deep down inside me told me that would be a horrible idea.

Instead, I just broke down crying, heavy convulsive sobs. There, there, James, my boy, it isn't over yet. He smiled. What if I told you I could take it all out of her? The cancer. Just reach into that frail broken body and rummage around in there until it's all gone. Wouldn't that be something? I stared at him blankly.

Tears running down my face. Could you do that? Could you really do that? I could. He leaned back, hands behind his head. But you know, I'd have to put it somewhere else. else. Natural order, balance, all that jazz. But I'll do you solid, since I kind of like you, James.

What do you mean? See, what I do with it? The cancer is entirely up to me. I mean, I could just stuff it into you. Normally, I would, you know. I'm a stickler for irony. You know how it goes. You can't live without the love of your life,

so you make an unholy deal with some diabolical lenity to save her only to die days later. Hilarious! But since you've grown on me like a tumor, I'll do you one better. What do you say we stick the big C into your worst enemy instead? Worst enemy? I even have enemies? Like my boss? My neighbor was incredibly annoying.

And truth be told, I could really do without a year not good enough for my daughter attitude for my mother-in-law too. But an enemy? I suppose my co-worker Eric was the closest thing I had. I had to an enemy and malicious. I was going out of his way to make me look bad. The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how much I hated him. There's this guy, Eric, at my...

Oh, I'm sorry. I think he misunderstood me. I don't need to know who you think your worst enemy is. No, James, my guy. I know who your worst enemy is. I just need a yes, an old handshake to confirm our arrangement. That's all. Do I know you can do it?

I suddenly felt a sobering doubt rising. This was all too good to be true. Too fucking crazy to be real. How do I know I can trust you? I'm glad you asked. It's smart, you know, to question these things. Sure, I manifested in this locked basement out of thin air, and know about you and your wife than any random stranger possibly could.

But I get it. You need proof. stood up from the chair and leaned in close to me. I instinctively sank into my seat, desperately trying to avoid his piercing gaze. Now, I would love to say that this wasn't going to hurt. His eyes gleamed dearly in the darkness. But I'd be lying.

And truth is everything, isn't it? That's why you're here, for the truth. You might not know it yet, granted, but you will. And who knows? He might even come to thank me one day. What are you to... Within human speed, he stuck both his hands into my chest. Of course, I know it's impossible.

But the pain was real. And the blood was too. Insufferable pain. Like every nerve ending in my body was set on fire. Fountains of blood showered both of us. And I felt the sudden presence of an impenetrable. darkness. Don't cross over just yet, James' boy.

We're only just getting started. I could feel him touching me from the inside, fingers taking into tissue and muscle and organs. Every little prod bringing insurmountable waves of torment, somehow spreading to every pain receptor at once. I couldn't breathe, so I couldn't scream. I imagine every synapse in my body lighting up simultaneously to form a hysterical howl. Ah, there we go. Just the suckers we were looking for.

They can be a handful. Let me tell you. Hell is blood makes it hard too, you know. Takes practice. Forcible yank, he pulled his hands back, leaving behind a gaping hole in my chest. I should be dead, I thought, as I stared into the mangled depths of my own body. I was convulsing uncontrollably in spasming seizures, but I still managed to get a long good look at what he was proudly holding in his blood-dripping hands. Recognize them?

They're called lungs. Primarily used for breathing, I've been told. Ugly suckers out, don't you think? Most of the stuff you find on the inside doesn't look as good on the outside. I guess there's some meaning to that, you know? Aesthetics and such. Wave them wrong playfully. Bloods thwarting everywhere.

Every muscle in my body was spasping violently now. And I felt my mind starting to slip. Overwhelmed by the unimaginable pain. I'm going to die. I thought. This is it. This is where thou find me. But just as the alluring darkness was about to overcome me,

I was brought back by his cheery voice. So does that do? it? He asked his mouth no inches from my ear. Are you convinced? Do we have an agreement? Best and not. But I'm not sure you could easily discern the voluntary movements from the involuntary anymore. Blood was flowing in thick streams from the gaping wound on my chest, pouring into an impossibly deep pond on the cold concrete below. Suddenly he grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously.

Good lad It's a deal then I'll yank the nasty tumors From sweet darling Nora And packed your worst enemy full of the stuff Really can't wait for this one James Sounds like an absolute Riot

Darkness was closing in And I felt some manner of peace As a thick blanket of heavy tiredness Enveloped every part of my being I'll be on my merry way then People to meet and eat You know how it goes I could hear him walking towards a door.

Heavy steps, echoing through the room, too heavy for his last frame. Everything was turning black now. And I suppose I was mere seconds away from passing out and on when his voice brought me back once more. All right, I forgot. You probably need these. And pain shot through my body as he pushed his hands into the wound again. brutally rummaging around in there for what felt like he was. With a sudden yank, he was out again.

There you go. Good as new. Keep those suckers clean now, you hear? Stay away from cigarettes and huffing asbestos. Anyway, be seen you, James. I have a feeling we'll talk again real soon. With that, he was gone. I was left slumped over my chair, wheezing and spasming for minutes before realizing I was completely fine.

I refused to believe it at first. I examined my chest thoroughly, every inch of it, then turned my attention to the floor, not a drop of blood. Not so much as a paper caught on my chest. It was like it had never happened. But it did, didn't it? The pain was so real,

so horribly, gruesomely real. Minutes of excruciating torture that felt like years and then... Nothing. I didn't stick around to question what had happened. I got out of that basement in a panicky haze and never looked back. When I got home, I immediately collapsed on the couch and slept for 12 hours straight. I'm sure I would have slept longer. Probably days, maybe a week.

But I was ripped from my deep slumber by the sound of my phone. Yeah. Who's this? Stan yelled excited like, a miracle. Even the doctors agreed. There was no medical explanation for nor a sudden recovery. No rational way to describe why the cancer just vanished, not a trace left in her. A miracle that all agreed.

Deep down, I knew that wasn't the case, of course. It wasn't miraculous at all. In fact, it was probably exactly the answer. opposite. But I didn't care. I was just so happy she was still here, still alive, still breathing. I've never cried like I cried that day. She was a joy. Who knew such a thing could be real? Weeks went by. And that night in the basement slowly faded from memory. I guess I just went with it, you know, pretending it was all some vivid hallucination, brought on by sleep deprivation and desperation and grief.

And when Eric didn't get horribly sick and die, like I'd secretly hoped, I'd just let it all go. Life moved on, except it didn't. It all stopped in that basement. Maybe not stopped, but perverted. Grew out of control. Like a cancerous cell. My wife sat down with me a month later. She said,

I could tell by the look on her face it wasn't anything good. There were tears, lots of them. Crocodile and otherwise, to kill ridden expression. She wanted a divorce, she told me. She'd been seeing another man for quite some time now. But because of the cancer and her imminent death, she didn't have it in her heart to tell me. But now that she was healthy,

and had her life back. She wanted to move on. Wanted to find happiness again. Who the fuck is he? Her brother. She sniffled pathetically. It's Stan. I suppose my life ended there.

Betrayal comes in all shapes and sizes. But from my own brother, own flesh and blood was too much to bear. And I guess I felt it already then. That seething, anger, and fury and resentment, consuming every fragment of my existence from there on out. She moved out the same day. Packed her shit and went to live with my brother. I sat in the darkness of my trash living room for days.

Fueled and fed by nothing but bubbling detestation and loathing and hatred. I wanted to burn him alive. nail him to the wall, dig out his eyes with a rusty knife. He was already dead to me, but I wanted him dead to the world. Two worst. Clock were diagnosed with cancer. Pancreatic. A painful word.

It rolls right off the tip of your tongue. Ancriatic. Instant and terminal. My brother died days after they, first caught it. It spread faster than anything they had ever seen, they told me. A reverse miracle of sorts. I cried no tears at the funeral.

I don't think I'll ever cry again, or couldn't deal with his death. Her sudden recovery followed by the hope of a new life with a new love, smothered instantly by cruel, hideous irony. She hung herself in Staines' garage a week later. I tried to cry at her funeral. I really did, but it was all empty, hollow and void. A soulless husk. There was this moment after they lowered her coffin. A brief second a sincere silence. No birds, no grieving masses, no wind. Just a perfect moment of tranquility. I could hear him clearly then, in the back of my mind, a cheerful chuckle, a hearty laugh.

I have the feeling we'll talk again real soon. Just like the uncontrollable growth of abnormal cells. The amassing the sum of my sins spread to cover every aspect of my existence. There is no miracle, reversed or otherwise waiting for me at the end of the line. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. There is no end of the tunnel. There is no end. As I stare into the fathomless depths of my empty void soul,

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