Creepy - The Sculptor

Episode Date: March 3, 2025

The Sculptor***Written by: Lewis Brett Smiler***Flies***Written by: Dr. Noche and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***The Previous Owners***Written by Paul Blinov and Narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***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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make sure to double check what we accept at creepypod.com slash submissions. Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors 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. For our first story this evening, when a man discovers an obscure movie, his world is turned upside down as he starts to see parallels between what's on the screen and real life.

Creepy presents. The sculptor. Written by Lewis Brett Smiler. Ben was in his early 40s, and his beard was starting to turn gray. The attorney worked long, difficult hours, and there seemed to be no end of the tedious documents and pressing deadlines.

His new neighbor was adding to the stress. Ben didn't know his name, but his blue baseball cap made him easy to recognize. as on many other days, when the attorney arrived home from work, the neighbor was there to greet him. He started to talk about a friend with marital issues, but Ben was quick to cut him off. The attorney reminded his neighbor once again that he worked in corporate, not divorce law. Yet, as Ben was unlocking his front door, he was continually pestered with questions. Ben firmly told the neighbor that he does not give free legal advice as he hurriedly dashed inside his condo and closed the door behind him.

When would the neighbor get the message? The attorney pulled out his favorite mug for a nice cup of coffee. The mug had an image of a majestic wolf, a perfect symbol of Ben's love for nature. He couldn't wait for his next hike in the mountains. But with all the demands of work, these opportunities were becoming. harder to find. Most of the time, Ben had to rely on the world of cinema to keep him sane. He was constantly recording movies on his DVR, watching them whenever he had a night free. It was often the only escape he had from life's pressures. Ben had recently recorded a movie

called The Sculptor that he once read about in the news. The director was furious with the studio's edit and it disavowed the final version. None of that matter to Ben. The The synopsis suggested that The Sculptor was a formulaic action movie, forgettable but entertaining. After an exhausting day at the office, it seemed like the perfect film to watch. The opening credits were barely finished when the movie's protagonist came on. The attorney was absolutely stunned by the young man's appearance. He bore a strong resemblance to Sean, Ben's former neighbor. His short blonde hair, facial features, and build were almost.

identical. The character's name was Tobias, but Ben felt like he could just as easily be watching his ex-neighbor. It was incredibly distracting. Tobias had spent countless hours carving a sculpture of doves for his younger sister Bethany's wedding. It was to be the perfect wedding present. There was such a look of pride on Tobias' face as he did the finishing touches. Ben had seen the same expression on Sean's face whenever he spoke about finishing a problem. project of work. Tobias' other sculptures were not selling, and he was struggling to pay his debts. He reluctantly rented out rooms in his house through a group of strangers.

Tobias later discovered that they were using the rooms to hide illicit narcotics. He hid the sculpture for Beth and he in a storage locker, wanting to get it away from the drug syndicate's dirty hands. However, when the gang discovered that Tobias knew their secret, he had to run for his life. The movie was getting very suspenseful, but it was hard for Ben to focus on the plot. He could not stop listening to the inflections in Tobias's voice. The way he talked was not much different from Sean. Tobias reported the syndicate to law enforcement, but he had to enter witness protection and leave his house behind.

Going against police advice, Tobias wanted to say goodbye to his sister Bethany and tell her about the sculpture he made for her. But on the way to her house, he was shot and killed by the ruthless henchman Marcus. What a charring sight! It was like watching Sean get killed. Tobias was hailed as a hero at his funeral, but would his sister get her wedding gift? Nobody else knew that it was hidden in a storage locker or seemed aware of its existence. The sculpture's future was left unresolved as the end credits rolled. Ben understood why the director hated the film so.

much. The studio probably cut key scenes at the end, but for better or worse, the sculptor was powerful to watch. Ben continued to think about how much Sean and Tobias were alike in their looks and behavior. Did Sean have his sister like Tobias? Yes, he had one younger sister. Shortly before Sean had moved away, he mentioned that his sister was engaged. Ben hadn't spoken to Sean since the move, but he always sat fondly of his ex-neighbor. The new neighbor, with the blue cap, was driving the attorney crazy with his periodic demands for free legal help. Sean was a very different person. He always knew how to make Ben's smile, even on the toughest days. Why did he have to move away? The attorney couldn't wait to tell

Sean about the sculptor and how much the movie's hero resembled him. The next thing, the Next evening, Ben called Sean's number, but there was no answer. The attorney left a message. Sean was probably busy hanging out with friends, but he called back when Ben was either too tired or too busy to talk. That was usually the way things happened. As Ben drank his morning coffee, he continued to stare at the wolf image on his mug. Would he ever get to go for that hike in the mountains?

Miserable as it was, Ben was lucky to have his job. He continued to eye those pesky gray hairs on his beard. One of these days he was going to shave the beard off. But then he was going to have to keep on shaving to stop it from growing back. It wasn't worth the trouble. A week passed before Ben had time to watch another movie. To a surprise, he'd never deleted the sculptor from his DVR. Ben usually deleted movies after viewing, but perhaps he wanted to give the sculptor a second look.

It made sense. sculptor had definitely left an impression. The attorney still could not believe how much the main character was a clone of Sean. Well, not a perfect clone. Sean was a software analyst, not a sculptor. Ben checked his phone and realized that Sean had never returned his call. The lawyer tried calling again, but there was still no answer. He left another message and then went back to the DVR, watching the sculptor a second time.

He still cannot help, but he still cannot help. would feel that he was watching Sean on screen. It was such a fun coincidence. But coincidences like this were probably common. Ben's friend Will used to play baseball with someone who looked like actor Steve McQueen. He once mentioned that he found films like The Magnificent Seven distracting to watch. Was Ben having the same experience? He'd definitely need to tell Will about the sculptor.

As the uncredits began, Ben eyed the name of the actor who played to play to bias. It was Devin Walsh. What other movies had he appeared in? Did he look like Sean in other roles? Ben Googled him. It turned out that he'd seen Devin Walsh in two other movies already. The lawyer viewed numerous photos and video clips. Devon definitely looked similar to Sean, but it wasn't as noticeable in his other films. His hair collar, accent, and behavior varied from role to roll. There were some roles where he had a beard, making him almost unrecognizable. If Ben hadn't read the credits, he never would have realized it as the same actor from the sculptor. Was it the way he was directed?

Ben wondered how Sean would react if he saw the film. Would he agree that Tobias resembled him? Perhaps Sean was already familiar with the movie and had his own copy. The attorney expected to find out soon. Ben was so absorbed with work that it took several days before he noticed Sean had not returned his calls. He knew that his old neighbor led a busy life, but this was unusual. Was Sean okay? The lawyer Googled Sean Cahill and was horrified of what he found.

A young man named Sean Cahill had been killed in a car accident last month. His vehicle was hit by a wrong way driver. Was this the same Sean that Ben knew? He prayed it was someone else. The lawyer carefully read through the article. It mentioned that Sean was a software analyst and had his sister Julie. Yes, it was Ben's old neighbor. The accident had taken place around the same time Ben had first watched the sculptor.

The attorney barely slept that night as Sean's death continued to trouble him. He was a warm, fun, caring person and didn't deserve to have his life cut short. Ben tried to tell himself that there were many good people who died too soon and many bad people who lived to old age. Unfortunately, that was the way of the world. Ben's firm handled cases involving accidents, but thankfully those were not his cases. He did not represent reckless drivers. The attorney got out of bed and went to his laptop.

He googled Sean again and read more about the accident. The driver would hit Sean's car was under the influence of heroin. In the sculptor, Tobias was killed by a gang that dealt in heroin. It was another coincidence. The neighbor with the blue cap continued to nag Ben about free legal help. The more the attorney saw him, the more he missed Sean. Why was it the good neighbors who disappeared? After a particularly frustrating day, Ben decided it was time.

He didn't care how much work he had to finish or how pressing the deadlines were. the attorney was going to go away for a weekend excursion to the mountains. His favorite blue backpack was ready with all the supplies. But then he remembered something. When Sean was cleaning out his apartment preparing to move, he'd given Ben another backpack. It might be nice to wear it and honor Sean's memory. Ben spent a few minutes rummaging through the closet before he fell in the black backpack.

Was it the one Sean had given him? Ben looked to bag over and saw it had a logo of doves on it. Why did that logo look so familiar? Ben went to his DVR and put on the sculptor again. The doves on the backpack looked almost exactly like the sculpture to buy his car for his sister. The attorney knew the coincidences were common, but this was ridiculous. He googled the dove logo but was unable to find any information. What was going on?

Ben had to cancel this trip to the mountains, but it was for a good reason. He was reading a speech at the wedding reception for Sean's sister Julie. There were many other people who were closer to Sean and his family, but if not for Ben, that speech would have never seen the light a day. He discovered it only two days before the wedding on a flash drive in the backpack Sean had given him. Nobody in Sean's family had any idea that the speech had existed, and they felt that Ben should be the one to present it. Carefully reading Sean's words, Ben watched as the wedding guests were moved to tears.

Multiple guests told him about how they felt Sean's presence. Julie could not thank Ben enough for bringing her brother to the wedding. If not for the movie, The Sculptor, he never would have found the speech. There were so many similarities between the movie and Sean's life. Not only did Sean and Tobias look and act alike, but they also both died. with the same unfinished business. Sean left behind a speech for his sister's wedding while Tobias had a sculpture for his sister.

How come the backpack from Sean had a logo resembling Tobias' sculpture? Ben asked Sean's family where the backpack was from, but nobody could tell him. All that Ben learned was that Sean had frequently attended Tech Expose and brought home free merchandise. Nobody in Sean's family was familiar with the sculptor, but unlike Julie's wedding.

The film had such a downbeat ending. There was no indication Tobias' sister Bethany ever learned about the sculpture intended for her. Ben knew how furious the director was with the film's final cut. He was certain that important scenes were missing from the end and wanted so much to see them. The sculptor would not be complete until those scenes were restored. A few months passed. The attorney was arriving home to the site of a blue baseball camp. that annoying neighbor was there again.

What did he want this time? The neighbor said that his cousin is renting a new apartment and wanted to know if Ben would review the lease. Ben gave a quick no, unlocked his front door, and dashed into his condo at record speed. Irritated as ever, his mood would soon change when he checked his voicemail messages.

Will wanted to know if Ben remembered the sculptor. The movie was Sean. Of course, Ben remembered. He was the one who brought the movie to Will's attention. Will's message went on to say that a director's cut was coming out with many new scenes. Ben couldn't recall the last time he felt so excited. The sculptor would finally appear the way the director intended it. Perhaps a new version would have a better ending where Bethany received her wedding gift.

What else would the new scenes add to the storyline? It'd be another month before the director's cut was a wedding gift. available on DVD. As soon as it hit the market, Ben immediately purchased a copy. Busy as he was, he put it on to watch that very evening. During the first few scenes, the lawyer hardly noticed any major differences from the studio edit. Tobias, the movie's ill-fated hero, continued to distract with his resemblance to Sean.

He continued to have the same financial struggles as before. But then a new scene came that left Ben and Shaw. Tobias was talking to his friend Simon, who looked exactly like Ben himself. Even his beard was the same with that cluster of gray hairs. Who was that actor? Ben watched carefully as Tobias joked around and made Simon smile. It was the same way Sean used to cheer Ben up. What was going on?

the lawyer knew it, the sculptor had moved on to its next scene and Simon was no longer present. But it didn't take long before he appeared again. There was a scene showing the trailer where Simon lived. It had no resemblance to Ben's condo. The dialogue revealed that Simon was an underpaid factory worker. Other than his appearance, he seemed to have nothing in common with Ben. But one detail caught Ben's eye. Simon had a sculpture that Tobias had given him and it looked familiar.

Where had Ben seen this before? He stopped the movie and went for his coffee mug. Simon's sculpture looked exactly like the wolf image on Ben's mug. The attorney stopped the DVD, unable to watch anymore. The movie was getting much too creepy. The lawyer put on his coat and went for a walk around the neighborhood, hoping to clear the sculptor from his house. He thought about his trips to the forest and the mountains and all the wildlife he saw.

Yes, wildlife. Ben started thinking about wolves, and before he knew it, his mind was back on his coffee mug. He thought about the wolf image and how it resembled Tobias' sculpture. The movie was dominating his thoughts again. Who was that lookalike actor who gave him the chills? How on earth did he wind up in that? that role? Ben pulled up his phone and Googled the actor who played Simon. His name was George Malsby, and he had five movie credits. Clearly he was not a major star and there was little information

about him. An article mentioned that George had a role in the sculptor, but that all his scenes were cut against the director's wishes. The article was clearly outdated. Those scenes with George Malsby were now restored and they were driving Ben crazy. He reminded himself that the sculptor was only a movie. Any resemblance to real persons or events was purely coincidental. The attorney kept repeating those words to himself as he walked back to his condo. Ben turned on the TV and restarted the DVD. He was going to watch the director's cut of the sculptor to the end.

There was no reason for a rational, respected lawyer to be afraid of any work of fiction. Ben saw more scenes with his lookalike Simon. There seemed to be a whole subplot featuring his character and his moral challenges. He delivered merchandise for the drug syndicate in order to pay his debts. The sculptor was soon nearing the end, and Ben watched again as Tobias was killed. But after Tobias's funeral, there were additional scenes that had not been in the studio edit. Simon showed up at Bethany's wedding and presented her with a dove sculpture that Tobias had carved. It seemed that Tobias had entrusted Simon with the key to his store,

Locker. Bethany thanked Simon for bringing her brother to the wedding. Ben was amazed at what he saw. Julie had made almost identical comments to him. In the next scene, Simon was walking outside when he saw Marcus following him. Marcus was the ruthless henchman who'd killed Tobias, and he'd evaded capture by the police. Simon tried to run away, but Marcus killed him with one shot. After that, the movie credits started to roll. Ben couldn't help but feel as if he'd watched his own murder. He thought about how the sculptor seemed to have predicted Sean's death. No. It was a coincidence. It was an unusually large coincidence. What about all the similarities between Ben and Simon? He again reminded himself that the sculptor was only a movie.

It was a creation of some studio trying to make a profit, nothing more. He had important work to do tomorrow. There's no time for silly distractions. Ben was about to have a cup of coffee before leaving for work. He reached for his favorite coffee mug. But the wolf image disturbed him. He couldn't stop thinking about the identical sculpture that belonged to Simon. Perhaps he should research the company that manufactured the mug.

Was merchandise being produced, to match the sculptures in the movie. This would also explain the dove logo on the backpack. But it didn't explain how the studio managed to cast lookalikes for both Ben and Sean. Simon had recovered Tobias' sculpture while Ben had recovered Sean's wedding speech. It was all so bizarre. The attorney hid the mug away in a cabinet so it was out of sight. He also had Sean's backpack in the closet.

Ben wanted to get the sculptor off his mind. However, in the weeks had followed, the image of Simon's murder continued to roam in his head. The attorney was pulling into the office parking lot one morning when he saw a black Cadillac parked a few spaces away. There's a noticeable dent in the front door. Didn't a character in the sculptor drive a car just like that? Was it Marcus? The man who shot Simon and Tobias? Ben spent a normal day at the office doing normal work.

When he left for the day, he noticed that the Cadillac was gone from the parking lot. There was nothing to make a big deal about. He had an uneventful drive home, ate dinner, and decided to turn in early for the night. But sleep remained elusive as the Cadillac continued to bother him. Why? Ben stepped out to bed at 1 a.m. and put on the DVD of the sculptor. Did Simon's killer drive a black Cadillac like the one he'd seen at work? The answer was no.

Marcus drove a black Lincoln with a larger dent in the rear door. It was not the same car Ben saw at the office. Ben watched as Simon appeared on the screen. It still felt as if you were watching himself in a mirror. Not wanting to see Simon's murder again, the attorney was about to turn the movie off. Another detail caught his attention. The sculpture Simon had in his home was a coyote, not a wolf.

In recent days, Ben had begun using a coffee mug with a coyote image. He paused the movie and dashed to the kitchen. Simon's coyote sculpture looked exactly like the image on the mug. This was not possible. Ben was certain that when he watched for the first time, Simon had a wolf sculpture resembling his old mug. How on earth could that animal have changed? The local library had a few shelves for discarded books and any other media people wanted to toss. Ben added his DVD of The Sculptor to the Discard section.

He also stopped over at the thrift shop and donated Sean's backpack with the dove logo. Ben didn't want anything around that would remind him of the sculptor. The movie was producing too much stress. He also decided that it was time to shave off his beard. The lawyer was not Simon and did not wish to resent him. him. Simon was a fictional character, while Ben was real. They lived in different homes and had different backgrounds, and there was no connection between them. When Ben returned to work the next day, everyone was surprised by his new look. A few associates were slow to recognize him,

while others asked what had happened to the beard. All Ben could say was that it was time for a change. What else could he say? He quickly absorbed himself into his work, hoping all those tedious documents would distract him from more unnerving thoughts. But some of the cases will put Simon on his mind. Simon needed money so badly that he tried to close his eyes to the evils of the drug syndicate. Was Ben also closing his eyes to what his law firm was doing? They successfully defended clients in wrongful death suits, and some of their victims were good people like Sean. Ben wasn't involved with these cases, but he was earning his living from the same firm.

He pushed those thoughts away. The firm was not involved in any illegal activities, and the sculptor had nothing to do with their work. After a long day at the office, Ben drove to Will's house. His friend had some new coffee samples that he wanted to share. The attorney rang the doorbell, and Will answered. But he was staring at Ben in the strangest way. What happened? Was he that disoriented by Ben's new appearance?

Will insisted that Ben looked exactly like the man in the sculptor. Ben was quick to say no. Simon, the character in the sculptor, had a beard, but Ben was now a clean-shaven. Will just shook his head. He insisted that Simon was clean-shaven just like Ben. The attorney was in no mood to argue. The last thing you wanted to do was talk about that weird movie, and it was obvious that Will did not remember it properly. But as Will began to discuss coffee, Ben was feeling the anxiety grow.

Suddenly, Will's wife Amy called Ben into the other room. She wanted him to see something. Ben walked in to see that she had the TV on, and before he knew it, he was watching the sculptor again. To his bewilderment. Simon was now clean-shaven exactly as Will had said. It was as if his appearance had changed along with Ben's appearance. The attorney was so shocked he could barely move. Ben didn't sleep at all that night, or the night after.

Was he destined for a tragic fate like Simon? What was going to happen? Sean and Tobias both lost their lives in very different ways. Would Ben have a different death from Simon? He couldn't figure out where fiction ended and reality began. The attorney pondered growing back his beard and watching the sculptor again. Would Simon also have his beard back? No. It was not going to watch that dreaded movie.

Ben's days at the office were becoming increasingly less productive, and his coworkers could see something was wrong. The partners began to hint that his job might be in danger. What could the lawyer do to clear the sculpture from his head? He needed something to relax him. The movies were no longer helpful. Ben hadn't gone out for dinner in a long time. Perhaps a fine restaurant meal will calm him down.

The attorney went to the nicest restaurant he knew and ordered filet mignon. He decided to focus his thoughts on the meal, but gasped in horror when another customer walked in. The man looked just like Marcus. Simon's killer and the sculptor. His dark hair, towering height, and facial features all seemed identical. Hey, Harvey! A voice called out. Was this stranger named Harvey?

The name didn't matter. The attorney watched as Harvey sat down at a table with two other men. Ben tried not to panic. He reminded himself that nobody had any reason to target him for murder. He was a boring lawyer doing boring work. But did reason matter anymore? No, not after seeing what happened with the sculptor. Ben wanted to dash out of the restaurant to get as far away from this Marcus lookalike as possible.

The lawyer began walking toward the door, but another thought crossed his mind. Sean's death was a result of a car accident, not murder or foul play. Would Ben experience a similar fate? Simon was killed while trying to run from the killer Marcus. Would Ben face tragedy if he tried to run away from Harvey? Perhaps he'd stay in the restaurant and wait for Harvey to leave. Yeah, that was the best solution. If Harvey left before Ben did, he wouldn't be running away.

The waitress soon brought Ben as filet mignon, but he could barely eat anything. The attorney could not stop looking at Harvey's face. His conversation with his friend seemed harmless and not too interesting, and it was obvious that nobody at the table was interested in Ben. Harvey started talking about additions to his watch collection. The attorney recalled that Marcus the killer liked wearing designer watches. The waitress showed up at their table to take orders. Harvey ordered poached salmon.

Simon's killer had also liked salmon. Ben walked over to the window and looked at the cars in the parking lot. He saw a black Lincoln with a dent on the rear door. It was the same car that Marcus drove in the movie. A terrified Ben wanted so much to leave the restaurant, but he knew it was a bad idea. He continued to watch the men at the other table as they ate and talked. There was still no indication that they were aware of Ben, but this brought him a little peace. the attorney could see was a ruthless killer's face only a few feet away from him.

It felt like an eternity before Harvey and his friends finally vacated the premises. Ben watched the Marcus look alike drive off in his Lincoln. For once, Ben felt a bit of relief. Was it possible that the danger had passed? Weeks past. Ben was sleeping better and starting to return to his old productive self, but his fears persisted. The lawyer tried to spend as little time in public as possible. Whenever he was out and about, he'd be careful attention to the other people around him.

He never wanted to see Harvey again. Ben couldn't help feeling this stranger would bring about his death. But he wasn't sure how. There was nothing you wanted more than an excursion to the mountains away from the human race. The mountains were now out of reach. At this point, the lawyer was lucky to still have a job. It was so behind in his work. Ben soon realized that he was also behind in his shopping.

He had so much on his mind lately that he barely noticed that his supply of toothpaste and soap was running low. After a quick dinner that evening, Ben walked over to the local pharmacy. As soon as he entered the store, he saw a familiar face. His neighbor with the blue baseball cap was browsing our house. the candy aisle. If he saw Ben, he was going to start badgering him again for free legal aid. The lawyer did not want to deal with this. He went outside and started heading to another store nearby. It was dark, and he wanted to get home. Ben was crossing in the middle of the street when a car struck him. It was the Black Lincoln. He was lying on the ground in extreme pain

as the driver stepped out. It was Harvey from the restaurant. Harvey quickly pulled out his phone and called for help as other people gathered around. The paramedics soon arrived and the attorney was lifted onto a stretcher. Ben noticed his neighbor with blue baseball cap standing nearby. Hey, Marcus, someone said to the neighbor. Did Ben hear that correctly? Was his neighbor's name Marcus? He couldn't believe it.

The ambulance sped away. His Ben's eyes closed And he saw the mountains For our second story this evening After a messy divorce A man moves into a new home Hoping for a fresh start But when he discovers a strange root growing

In his unfurnished basement His life takes a terrifying turn Creepy Presents The Previous Owners Written by Paul Blenov and narrated by J.V. Hemp and Van Sant. I'm not going to die down here. This is my home, God damn it.

I'm not going to die in my home. Darian Parker had been stuck in his basement for almost three days. His new basement. In the house, he'd spent far too much of his post-divorce divorce bank account moving himself into for the foreseeable future. There was nothing he could reach to help free himself, no way to gain leverage and release his stuck leg. Just a few nearby boxes, mostly full of records. A large, proud collection he'd cultivated at great expense and, with an almost singular focus. That level of obsession had been partly

to the detriment of his marriage, though ultimately his infidelity proved a larger issue. But the record player was somewhere upstairs. When he needed comfort songs more than ever before, these records were just useless wax. His predicament began a few nights after taking possession. Bending over yet another box he'd hurriedly packed a lot of, a month ago. He heaved his forearms under its edges and carried it down the creakless basement stairs. A pyramid of cardboard was forming there, a testament to his material wealth, if only a temporary one. The boxes would soon be unpacked onto a shelving unit, once he found time to go buy one.

The air was musty, dank. There was an edge to the dampness down here. In an otherwise gorgeous little forest-green bungalow, built in 1957, reasonably maintained by those who'd lived there over the decades, the state of the basement was a question nobody was able to answer. The previous owners had apparently been in the midst of, a renovation, the realtor had said during the showing, they'd torn it all up, exposing the cold dirt floor, a lattice of wooden support beams, and framework walls. Then they took off, vanishing overnight. We think they were gamblers who got in too deep. The realtor had

offered as an explanation, thrilled to share local gossip with a fresh, pair of years. They abandoned everything, trying to escape an insurmountable pile of debt. Lots of that in this town. Surprise they didn't fake their deaths, too. That's usually how it goes, until they're arrested at the casino two towns over. Their left behind furniture and personal items had gone up at public auction a few months back, clearing the way for a new and better owner to set down roots.

Still, that didn't feel like the whole story. Maybe they were perverts, chased out a town by a righteous mob, Darian considered. Or murderers? Maybe there are chopped up bodies just inches below my feet. He shuddered. smiling, imagining rotting slivers of fingers scattered like seeds below a surface

they'd never again breach. They knew the cops were closing in, so they skipped town to keep their horrible spree going, or something. Whatever the reason, their loss was Darien's gain. The locks were new, no unwanted midnight visitors, And despite the abandoned renovations down here, the wood seemed sturdy, unfazed by time.

The basement would be pleasantly cool in the summer, a welcome respite from the coastal heat, especially after some flooring went in and proper walls. A shiver of goosebumps crossed his arms as he set the box down and took in his surroundings. A midlife crisis in boxes, stacked accusingly under a lone, dim bulbs circle of light. It was hard to pretend it was anything other than the truth, the collected fragments of his hasty retreat. Fuck. It sucks. Taking stock of this new life was an exercise in misery, because it inevitably. meant thinking about how his old life burned down.

He shouldn't have kissed his now former assistant. He should have been more careful about it anyway. But he got caught, and Gloria took their daughter to her mothers and gave him a month to get out. That was the first domino. After his inappropriate workplace relationship, HR told him he could accomplish. accepted transfer to go rot at this podunk regional branch office, or he could be let go altogether.

Otherwise, his assistant would blast the story over social media. Darian wasn't really an online guy to begin with, so he wanted to push for better terms, but HR were scared, and thus firm. Oh, well, less chance. of an awkward run-in or two as we swim through the new dating pool, however small it is here. Maybe he could move back to the city in a few years. Once his daughter was 18 and his alimony payments wrapped up, enough time should have passed. He could re-approach old friends who'd taken Gloria's side, get back to a metropolitan way of living.

But for now, this was it. At least he had enough space to host. Darian was a good host. He could impress the local bumpkins with his records and his stories and charisma. He'd find out what happened to the previous owners. Add that story to his repertoire of interesting tales. Maybe he'd even try living like a better man. find a wife who wanted to be swooped out of this small-town life by his big city promise.

He'd lean on sympathetic tones when talking about the divorce, leave his cheating out of it all together. We realized we'd just grown too far in different directions, he'd offer, gazing into the middle distance of such a mature thought. Something drew his eye out of that middle distance. distance. Darien noticed that some discoloration had surfaced in the basement corner. He approached, squinting in the darkness. It was a small root, a single thread of undergrowth, breaching the dirt like a worm in the rain. What the hell? He loomed over the tiny shred of plant.

some stupid weed growing in his basement. Better than mold, I guess. Wait, is that better than mold? Either way, it had no business here. Darien bent over, slid his fingers between the root and the floor, and pulled. It came out of the ground easily, a long, twisting vine that revealed its unusual. length at both ends. It didn't break.

He adjusted his grip and tugged again, harder. The root refused to sever, growing longer and longer, like a dirty wire unspooling itself in his hand. No matter how he twisted, it didn't snap or end. Worse, Darien could feel vitality in this thin strand. Is this some fucking root system breaking through? Does this mean the foundation is fucked? He'd call the realtor first thing tomorrow.

But for now, Darien squatted down, took a deep breath, and pulled with his full body's strength. This time, the root held taut. It was the dirt under him that gave, his left foot vanishing underneath with a dirty burble. Darian's balance shifted and he fell, pain flashing across his ankle as he landed. Now level with the ground, Darian swore. He was in pain, and more pressingly, now had buyer's remorse.

Under a clean-up paint job, this place was falling apart. The home inspector said everything was up to code. An idiot who couldn't do his job right. Darian had been crossing this dirty, dangerous floor all day, bringing boxes down, speculating on life here. Now there was a sinkhole or something? Was this whole place about to collapse? Maybe he could sue.

After what felt like an hour of thrashing, pivoting fruitlessly around his foot, which remained firmly suction in place, no matter the angle he pulled from. Darien reached the grim conclusion that he was trapped in his own basement. Darian's phone alarm had been ringing for hours. It was somewhere upstairs. He'd shouted himself hoarse hoping a neighbor a passerby might hear. After almost a day of desperately holding them in,

he'd released his bowels, which added a certain level of shame to what he had first seemed like it was a funny, disarming story to share. And this, he imagined telling acquaintances at his first house party, this is the corner where I shit my pants. Huh. Maybe he'd leave it at a got stuck when he told people. Or women anyway, once he was found. If, if he was found. That thought was circling closer and closer, casting long shadows over his situation. Fuck.

He'd lost all feeling in his foot almost immediately after getting it stuck. But now, a dull burn had set in, fiery and raw feeling. He didn't think the foot was broken, infected maybe. A scrape in the dirt, all mixed up with grime and whatever other filth was in the soil. But something else nagged at him. He could see less of his sock than before.

Darian woke with a start. He didn't realize he'd passed out. A sudden feverish exhaustion had ushered him into unconsciousness. In that time, the dirt had crept up to his shin. More skin drawn gently into its depths. He pawed at the top layer, clawing back an inch or two. But found any further digging impeded by a thick web of roots encircling his sunken leg.

They were the source of the burning, countless thin pricks of pain, like a constellation spreading over a twilight sky. There were tiny spots of blood where skin met dirt, which he didn't understand at first. Some of the root ends were penetrating his skin. He twitched, wretched, and felt the pain increased. its simmer, reacting to his movement. The entire root system was clenching around his leg.

It was slowly, softly, pulling him into the soil. Horse and exhausted as he was, he still managed to scream. Days of sinking and delirium and loosened thoughts followed Darien into the ground. I should have been a better husband, father. Jesus, Gloria, I'm so sorry. No, she should have been a better wife. Where is she?

What's going to happen to my records? Some of these are worth thousands of dollars. Who's going to take these? Up past my knees. It's so cold. I'm scared. Just let me go. It's eating.

It's fucking eating me. By the time someone came looking for Darien, a month later, after his alimony payment failed to materialize. The dirt floor was smooth, giving no indication of his presence just beneath, or that of the previous owners. a few feet away from him in their shared, silent grave. But Darian wasn't dead, and he didn't quite die in the years that followed. The tangle of roots that work themselves through his flesh provided a kind of nourishment, dimly preserving his mind as a consequence of using his body. Damage, depressed thoughts devolved into urges, banal and horrifying,

his synaptic pathways lighting up only when nutrients passed through them. In essence, Darian Parker degraded into living decay, a shrunken hub of dirty flesh serving a much larger system, of tap roots and radicals. He became a waypoint for messages he couldn't understand, in a language he didn't speak, but which filled him with odd sensations. Meanwhile, Darien's body was breaking down.

His now useless eyes split and spilled, while his hair frayed and dissolved, unnoticed. Meridians of rot crossed his frame, casting it in sickly shades of crimson and purple. He felt his chest cavity slowly collapse over weeks, organs mixing with the earth, providing fertile pathways for something else's growth and stability. The slow agony of being repurposed was a lucid but peculiar horror, stranger than pain. Discarded from his functions,

he was a husk, detached from meaning, but dragged along out of necessity. A hand-me-down carrying case. Sediment, someone forgot to wipe away. Darien's lingering thoughts eventually broke open. pooling out in unstructured measures of instinct and feeling. Memories were few and far between, old ghosts flickering through walls of a remodeled house, but they were vivid when they came.

His wedding day, holding Gloria as he said his vows, wiping away genuine tears of happiness. locking eyes with a bridesmaid hours later, and knowing even then that his marriage wouldn't hold. The face of his daughter on the day of her birth. His first day in a corner office, staring out the window, over the downtown core at sunset, and then summoning his assistant into the room. Gloria's face when she confronted him. about the affair, her eyes teary and furious, firm.

Phoning his daughter weeks ago, on her birthday, and going right to voicemail twice, picking up that box of records and walking down those creakless stairs for the last time, again and again and again. Eventually, he couldn't place these. memories anymore. They were brief, bewildering flashes of alien life, strobes over an unfamiliar room. The only thing, the shriveled rhizome that had been Darren Parker still understood, was the persistent feeling of drawing a blank, of having forgotten some vital and important. in thought. He couldn't quite form it, but it lingered in his periphery, an urgent realization

waiting just out of reach. For our final story this evening, a man plagued by an infestation of flies in his apartment complex discovers the horrifying truth behind their origin and the implications they carry with them. Creepy presents, flies, written by Dr. Noche and narrated by Heather Thomas. Doctor, at first I thought my mind wasn't working well, that it probably was just a nightmare, or even the recent worldwide bedbug problem. But the feeling, the need to constantly scratch, the hives, the buzzing, and the the discomfort are still there. It started relatively recently. Where I lived, it was announced that by

official decree the green spaces would be restored, and that their maintenance would be encouraged, which no doubt about it. I thought was fabulous, a great idea, what we needed. And with this message came the announcement that this would be started by cleaning the parks and fertilizing them. along with the heat a new element began to appear on everyone's radar a buzzing a stain in the eyes of a tired person a flying insect that landed with its shit-covered legs atop all the uncovered food i know this appointment seemed stupid but believe me doctor i did what any person with common sense would have done first i killed the few flies that were flying near my kitchen and when i thought there were too many I bought bug spray, took my dog outside, and used all of it in the kitchen. I left it closed, and when I came back there were so many flies on the floor that they looked like tiny balls of charcoal or lint. If this seemed bothersome, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to take the metro or go to

college, where the bedbugs moved in clusters. That morning, at work, I mentioned the issue with the flies to a co-worker. I was about to finish telling her what had happened when we were told we would have to evacuate the building because an unusual number of bugs had been found in the common areas. As we are packing our stuff, I don't know if seriously or jokingly, my co-worker grabbed my arm and said,

The apocalypse starts with a pandemic, then a plague, then hunger, and finally with war. I laughed and thought to myself that Fasting would be good for me. That day I went back home looking for something to eat, looking for some rest, just waiting for the day to end. I was burned out.

There is no doubt that what awaited me would create a new level of stress that would eventually lead me here, right in front of you, labeled as crazy in searching for help. When I got home, I headed to the kitchen to cook something, took some rivetral, and slept until the next day.

Before opening the door, I could already hear the buzzing. I was afraid to open it. I could feel the buzzing inside my head, their wings beating on my ears and nape. I opened the door and I could count at least 40 flies, circling the fruit, the food that I had made the previous night, standing, rubbing their feet. To say I was angry would be putting it lately.

I was wrathful. I threw the food and used a whole can of bug spray, wanting for all of them to die in the slowest and most painful way possible. I'd used so much venom that I got dizzy. As best as I could, I took my dog out of the apartment, and stumbling, we got out of the building. At that moment, my nose was so overwhelmed by the bug spray that I didn't notice the whole building had the same smell.

bug spray. I swore the can I used would be more than enough, that I would come back an hour later after walking with my dog, cook something new, and rest. I took a chance and bought the best fly swatter I could find. I even thought I'd get some entertainment out of killing them. The electric racket I bought should at least make them afraid, or something, so they would stop showing up.

Regardless of not being in my apartment, I heard the buzzing, and I felt their legs in my arms, my nape, and my face. I came back in the scene that unfolded before me was exactly as I expected. Dozens of flies lay on my kitchen's floor, twitching, moving like a black tide. My dog lunged forward, trying to bite the fly-filled mat. I tugged his collar. I feared he would be poisoned by the bug spray or that something worse might happen. I stopped him, locked him in my room, took a broom, and once again I started sweeping and picking up the corpses of those damned flies that were all over my kitchen floor.

Doctor, I perfectly remember the dustpan being a phosphorescent green color, and now it was black with wings and feet moving like inadequate ticks in disorder. Doctor, I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to cry. I wanted to call my mother. I wanted a better solution or something that would kill them. I texted the building's group chat. I wanted to know if someone knew a little more about how to annihilate them, or if someone could help me with my problem.

Everyone started to complain about the unreal number of flies. We didn't know if it was the fertilizer or the cleaning or what was happening. One neighbor even mentioned that it had been a few days since he had last seen the tenant that lived in front of him. He said he heard his cat before, but that the meowing had stopped a couple of days ago. In fact, he kindly asked if someone could go with him to check that the old man was all right.

Because the only thing he had been hearing coming from his door was the buzzing sound of flies. I was desperate, but that didn't mean I wasn't a good person. I volunteered, went up a couple of floors, and contacted the neighbor who wanted help. He took out a key and mentioned that the old man had given it to him in case of an emergency, which he considered this to be. We crossed the hallway, he put the key on the door's bolt, and right before opening the door, he mentioned it was vibrating.

We opened the door and, although the sound was deafening, We first had to cover our noses because the apartment smelled like death, rot, and shit. The atmosphere felt heavy. There was a cloud moving throughout the apartment. It was a bunch of flies flying, bumping against each other. I don't know how long they had been in that apartment, but they were fat, huge, something I had never seen before. We almost immediately closed the door. We knew what had happened.

We knew that all those flies and the apartment sent meant that the possibilities of finding the owner alive were minimal, if not null. We noticed that when we closed the door, something had gone out with us. Something had escaped that apartment. We felt it on our legs, and when we turned around, it was the owner's cat. My neighbor screamed when he felt it, but I could see his expression going from joy to repulsion to finally fear. From what the neighbor had told me, that cat was beautiful. It was white and friendly. It didn't bite nor scratch. But instead asked for affection while respecting one's personal space.

What we saw was an amorphous ball with patches of fur, exposed skin, a single eye, and holes from which flies came out. I kicked it and the sensation was the same as kicking a deflated ball. It flew through the hallway and it slammed against a wall. When the amorphous mass that had previously been a cat fell, it started twitching and flies the size of mice came out of it. The flies were too heavy to fly. We stepped on them, trampled them, trying to stop them from fleeing or going into another room.

But there were too many, Doctor. I promise, we tried. I perfectly remember being afraid. With the adrenaline pumping, my neighbor surely feeling the same way. We were so focused on killing whatever those flies were that my neighbor didn't notice the entrance's mat was folded. He took a wrong step and ended up tripping towards the door, a hit that surely wasn't that hard,

but the building was old and its many doors surely had holes were moths once lived. The door gave way, broke, and my neighbor fell flat on his back in that apartment, full of flies. I heard his screams, his pleas for help. I saw how the swarm of starving flies lunged itself towards him. The dark cloud that covered the apartment was focused on my neighbor's body, who was writhing and begging for my help. I could finally see that at the living room's back, there was a brown couch with maroon stains, a mixture of liquid and body parts of what I assumed were the remains of the old man we had searched for. I ran shouting at everyone to lock their doors and keep them closed no matter what. In that moment I perfectly understood that the biggest defect

we had was our curiosity, or maybe morbid fascination, for the strange and dangerous. The tenants of that building decided to do the exact opposite. Peeping, looking for who was screaming and why they were screaming. I heard shouts of people pleading for help, of pain, of agony, and desperation. I entered my apartment, blocked any possible entrance, picked up my dog, and locked ourselves in my room. I know I'm a coward, doctor. I was locked in my room while people were devoured bit by bit by the flies. I knew that there were entire families, pets, and babies in my building. And I still didn't care. I locked my room with my dog, hugged to my chest, a lighter, and a can of deodorant. They knocked on my door many times, desperate knocks, but nothing mattered more than being safe.

I don't know how long I was locked in there. I thought I'd had a heart attack. My brother, were too quick and my heart wanted to burst out of my chest. After a few minutes of silence, I started hearing knocks on my door once again, but these were slower, heavy, and without rhythm. I didn't know if everything was over. I didn't know if it was safe to go out. I asked who it was and amongst the buzzing I heard someone or something say, help. I called the police I told them that there was a murderer in my building, knowing that if I told them what I'm telling you now, doctor, they'd think I'm crazy and they wouldn't come.

Minutes or maybe hours later, I heard the shouts of two men, gunshots, and the cracking of wooden doors that were toppled one at a time. Finally, they got to my apartment. A flashlight shone on my face. The officers in front of me helped me get up. My pants were covered in piss. They offered me a face mask and I covered my dog's nose with a shirt.

The entire building smelled of bug spray. I exited my apartment and horrified. I saw bloodied walls, bodies covered with white sheets, and the corpses of those fuzzy yellow-bellied insects with blood on their feet. They interrogated me at the police station, offered me some coffee and detained me there for a while until my mom and dad picked me up. They recommended an appointment with you. They told me I shouldn't talk with anyone about what had happened,

that they would report this as a massive murder, a neighbor that went mad, and that you, doctor, would help me forget it all. Initially, I refused to believe what had happened. I quit my job and moved in with my parents. Finally, I decided to come to see you because last night while I was sleeping with my dog, I heard a buzz coming from his right eye. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media. and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons Sherrillite licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.