Creepy - The Sheds

Episode Date: July 28, 2025

The Sheds***Written by: J.T. Johnson and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Cursed Waters***Written by: Christian Achilles and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***My Wall Sockets Breathe***Written by: Mr. Michael Squid***Support the show at patreon.com/creeoyoid***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.

Please join me in welcoming and thanking the patrons White Rabbit 13, Aragon, Jonathan Tolstead, Ugg, Yvette, Yvette, Vat Horsefall, Terry Waits, Rydis Clemens, Kelly Caudill, Anne Rose Centoro, Harry Mermaid, Cassie Rustanus, David Riley, Courtney, James, Joy, Misanthropy, and Jim Kowalik. All patrons enjoy early commercial-free access to all episodes, like receiving Sunday episodes commercial free on Friday morning. Rewards also include immediate access to our entire back catalog of over 1,500 Patreon exclusive stories, with up to four new stories added every week.

So if you'd like to support the show and get rewarded for it, please check out the donation tiers of patreon.com slash creepy pod. There will be a special episode dropping on Tuesday to help roll out the new toxic Avenger movies starring Peter Dinklage, opening in theaters August 29th. Several of the Bloody Disgusting Network podcast have taken part, and you'll be able to find bonus content on their feeds in the next couple of weeks. But on creepy, it'll be this Tuesday, set in the world of the toxic Avenger. It was a lot of fun to make, so I hope you all enjoy it and get your tickets at Toxic Avenger,

opening in theaters August 29th. And, and this is the most important, a reminder that submissions will be open for the 31 days of horror for about two more weeks. So if you have a story and think it would be good for the show, please make sure to check out how to submit to us at creepypod.com slash submissions. We're already about half full, so get your stories in. Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypasters 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, a young girl trapped in a house of horrors faces starvation, madness, and a family consumed by darkness. When a desperate escape leads her into cursed woods, she learns some places were never meant to be left behind. Creepy presents The Sheds, written by J.T. Johnson and narrated by Danielle Hewitt.

I sit in the kitchen. My body's shaking as my feet swing tensely over the floor. I was ordered to sit here hours ago. I don't quite know how to tell time correctly, and Daddy has removed all the clocks, so I can only use my mind and the sun to judge the passing time. My belly turns with hunger, which might mean it's nearing lunch. However, my stomach cannot be trusted, as it had been three days since I've eaten a proper meal, and it seems to grumble with hunger at all hours now. I don't know where Henry or Helen are. Was it yesterday I last saw them?

Perhaps the day before. I looked to the window, the one directly in front of me. Certainly, not the one near Mama. To look there would mean I moved, and I was instructed to not move. The sky is a dark and churning gray. Another storm builds just beyond the woods. and I think I can hear Daddy chopping more wood.

Chop, chop, chop. The sound of that ugly axe coming down rings my ears over and over. Only I cannot help but imagine other things in place of the wood he should be preparing for winter. I picture poor Henry, his face streaked with snot and tears, his cheeks mushed against the rough slab of wood

as Daddy demands he holds still. I imagine the way Daddy might swing that acts back up and over his head. The way his chest heaves. The way his eyes might be wild and wide as he brings that ugly axe down. Down. There's an evilness in you, girl. Her voice jars me from my wandering mind.

The only thing she cannot control. Her words sending little sparks of ice through my veins. I say nothing. Only listen with the utmost care as the dishes in the old porcelain's sink clinked together quietly in the suds in water. I see it in you. Her voice is low. So low I could almost question if it was even me she was speaking to. I listen all the time. Aware at any moment she might demand me to repeat what she had said. It lurks behind those deceiving eyes, like a beast behind grass. The clanking dishes and sloshing water stop. The only sound now

is of my own thudding heart. My eyes freeze on the table, running over the deep grooves and grains that stretch across the top like some strange map. I try to ignore the small flex of rusty stains. Try even harder to ignore the memory of how those stains came to be. It's not easy to forget the way your sister screams as your mama holds her hand down on the table.

As your daddy growls at her, that she's a thieving liar. There's no forgetting the way. skin and bone tear and pop and snap beneath the blunt edge of an old hunting knife. It was the last time I saw Helen, though I'm sure she's still here somewhere. Although where, I don't know. Mama's still talking, mumbling more than anything. But I curse myself for letting my mind wander again.

Shivers racking my body as I try my hardest to ignore the icy fear slowly circling around my neck. I cannot harbor your evil here, girl. I jump at the slight touch of her hand on my neck. A single finger sliding away my hair to reveal the shivering flesh of my shoulder. I see how you watch us. How your wicked mind plans to ruin us. Was it you who ruined Helen? Have you begun to taint my Ella?

I know you are the reason for Henry's fall into evil and wickedness. I swallow. My heart's so high in my throat, I wonder if it might just leap out of my mouth like a nasty old frog. I still say nothing. Not entirely out of obedience, but because the fear is so strongly tight around my neck. I don't think I could speak even if I wanted to. She sighs. Her footsteps light as she walks around the table.

Her back to me as she stands to look out the same window I had been. Her arms crossed, her head tilted thoughtfully to the side. Chop, chop, chop. Daddy still works away at those logs. Each chop making my shoulders jerk. Are you hungry, girl? Though it was not spoken like a question, I know now is when I speak.

My lips dry and cracking as I open my mouth. A weak croak is all I can muster, causing her to turn and face me at last. I do not react to the woman I see before me. The thing that now wears my mama's face, parading around in her body as if she were nothing more than a Halloween costume. She and daddy speak of evils and devils. Yet they do not even know that it is they who have been taken.

Their bodies seized and rendered into something evil. Her eyes are like two pools of bottomless oil. No trace of those emerald eyes that I once shared with her. I blink, licking my lips, with little gain. My mouth's so dry. I fear I will never know the glory of water again. I nod. Yes, Mama. She curls her mouth. It's not a smile but a snarl. Revealing teeth that don't look like they've been brushed for weeks now. Her eyes narrow. Do you think you're worthy of a meal girl? I nod. My heart pounding as my leg shake.

My hands burning into the table as I press my palms into the deep grooves. Yes. She nods moving quietly, almost soundlessly to the stove. The old door creaking open as I hear one of her ceramic pots slide out, quietly clanking against the counter. I can hear something sloshing and mucking together, the quiet tap of her spoon against the pot as she ladles whatever it is, into what I can only guess is a bowl.

She's muttering again. The words so fast and strung closely together, I cannot make heads or tails of it. Only able to hear small bits muddled into other bits. I count her steps as she returns to the table, standing directly behind me as she reaches over. A thin arm webbed with dark blue veins brushing my cheek as she sets the bowl in front of me. I stare at it. My spine's so tense I fear it may snap as I feel her sharp fingers rest against my shoulder. Eat.

I reach for the spoon. Iying the food in the bowl with hungry speculation as I take my first spoonful, shakily bringing it to my lips. It's stew, I think. The flavor is strange, but not awful. As the contents begin to fill my aching belly, I'm sure to go slow, mindful to not drop any on my clothes as I spoon the stew into my mouth.

Wondering what vegetables I might be eating as I try to keep my eyes, fixed on the table. I'd made the mistake once of questioning Mama's meals. It bought me three days locked in our attic. No food or drink for the entire duration. I thought I would surely die in those moments. Little did I know. Just how terrible things would become. It hadn't always been like this. We were happy once. Helen, Henry, me, and Ella would play all day. using the endless woods to run and explore in, only to come flying home for lunch and dinner, and then back out we went. We had a field of horses in the back.

Lucy was mine, a perfect girl, the color of chocolate with the most wonderful black mane and tail. I'd spend hours out there with her, riding her and doting on her, sneaking her carrots and apples from Mama's Garden. I miss those days. days where daddy would laugh and tell us spectacular stories of his childhood. Days when he would bring us to the creek that wove through the woods and we would come home with a basket full of fish for Mama to fry. Tears stung my eyes as the memories burned in my mind. Painful reminders of how much things have changed.

The stew feeling like wet cement in my stomach as I continued to eat. I winced as my teeth hit something hard and thick. my tongue tentatively tracing it as I swallowed around the hard piece slopped in my teeth. My stomach twisted at the elongated shape of it. My mouth salivating this time with nausea as the shape became too familiar. I leaned forward, spitting the piece of meat out with a quiet gag. Drewl and broth dripping out of my mouth as I stared down through blurring eyes at the fleshy, half-chewed finger. Mama.

Revolution and horror cut my words into gags as I looked down at the table, at the finger that I knew, I knew, had been chopped off only days ago. Helen screams, filled my ears. The image of blood splattering across the table as Mama plucked up the freshly chopped appendage, dropping it into her apron pocket, as if it were nothing more than a sock or a sock or

misplaced toy. Are you not hungry now, girl? Do you not wish to feed on the innocent children of my family? I thought perhaps if I fed you the one you tainted first, perhaps you would leave this place and free us of your wickedness. I did not let the tears filling my eyes fall as I curled my hand around the finger, quietly pulling it onto my lap and into my pocket. The movement documented by her ever watchful eyes. I said nothing as she snatched the bowl away, nor did I move when I heard her throat in the sink, the sound of its shattering snapping me out of whatever paralyzed fear I had been in. It was as if in that moment, I knew she planned to kill me, that my time on this earth was nearing its end. And should I sit there, even one more second? They would surely be my last.

as if zapped with the power of lightning. I felt my body surge and move, pure energy and instinct controlling my limbs as I found myself lunging for the door. Knowing full well, Daddy might just be on the other side. I heard her howl with rage, heard something crash into the chair I had sprung up from. I heard her footsteps, no longer soft and light,

but a heavy and thunderous pounding against the old kitchen floor behind me as I pumped my legs. Those damn tears finally spilling for, free as fresh air caressed my face. I ran, the soft grass gentle against my bare feet as I heard the distant chop, chop, chop of daddy chopping wood, knowing I had only moments before he would know of my disobedience. I thought of Henry, of his pale face and tear-streaked cheeks as he tried to run, as he tore down that old dirt road that stretched for miles and miles, eventually leading to town, to what we thought might be our side.

salvation. Henry was fast, the fastest kid I'd ever seen. And I always wondered if things hadn't gone so bat-shit crazy. If he might have become one of those men who played baseball on the TV that Daddy liked to watch so much. Henry ran. And I thought maybe he'd make it. Maybe he'd make it to town and tell someone, anyone, that Mama and Daddy had gone crazy. But Daddy jumped in his old truck. rusty piece of shit roaring to life as if it only had one purpose. Henry was fast, but not faster than that damn truck. Not faster than that thing that wore daddy's skin. Run, run!

The words were my own voice, screaming in my mind as I heard Mama doing that strange chittering sound. The steady chop, chop, chop, stopping with suddenness that made my blood go cold. Fear spiked in my chest as I made it for the woods, praying that those endless trails and hideaways would shelter me from the inevitable wrath to come. Thunder rumbled, a flash of bright lightning cracked the sky, as the world around me grew darker as the storm clouds at last, settled over us.

Henry's face burned in my mind, then Helens. Then poor sweet Ellis, As I flung myself into the now deepening shadows, my dress clinging to me as the rain began to fall down in heavy drops. Lucy. I could ride Lucy to town, maybe. If I stay in the woods with her, surely. A sound broke through the crashing thunder and wind.

A guttural scream carried on some sort of demon's breeze, seeking me out, only to strike at me, making my body seize in the same fear that had held me so obediently at the table for so long. Lydia! My name was screamed, like a curse. The sound of my daddy's rage so thick and dripping with hatred, I felt a whole new wave of fear overtake me.

Away. I had to get away. I started running again. The soft grass now replaced with sharp roots and twigs and brush. My teeth clenched as I wove in and out of the trees that seemed to grow so closely they were nearly a wall. I'd played in these woods almost every day, chasing and laughing,

finding solace and warmth in the woods. These woods were not my woods. These trees not the same wide and towering things I'd grown to admire, but bent and broken and brittle pillars that seemed to shoot up out of even more of the broken ground. Fear clung to me as I began to wonder if the same thing that had snuck into my mom and daddy, had also somehow taken the woods.

I wiped at my eyes. My only goal, my only salvation was to get Lucy and pray. Pray I could somehow get her to run to town. To someone, anyone. Lightning lit up the sky. Even beneath the heavy tree tops, the light streaked through the woods, sending a shuddering scream through me as I watched hundreds of pale faces watching me from within the shadows. I stumbled landing hard on my hands and knees as another cracker.

of thunder shook the earth, an even brighter slash of lightning turning the dark woods to light once more. I screamed. The scream so hoarse and filled with fear. I didn't even recognize my own voice, my own cries. Thin, bone-like faces protruded from the dark shadows and stretched out around me like ink, emerging from the hollows of trees, the ground, high up in branches. My eyes could not take them all in, nor make sense of the not-quite-human features that appeared more corpse than living. With eyes so sunken all I could see with a small flex of light reflecting from within those deep caverns. Move, you need to move. Again, my own voice filled my ears, urged on by the image of poor Henry.

His face pale, deep red splotches smearing his cheek where I knew daddy had surely laid into him. the way he looked at me as daddy drug him out toward the old dirt path, where there had once been a one single shed standing. Now there stood four, old broken sheds, a shed for each one of us children. Ellis had been so small, no bigger than a doghouse, really. And I can't even begin to imagine what happened to my poor baby sister.

But Henry, I didn't need an imagine. of any sort to know what happened to my brave big brother, the fastest kid I'd ever known. Chop, chop, chop. The ghost of the swinging axe tried to distract me as I ran. My legs wobbling no better than a fresh baby calf as I ignored the faces watching me. Ignored the strange moaning that seemed to rise up from the ground now. Lydia! My name became webbed between each roar of thunder, a name that promised death and pain and harm and... I shook the water from my face as the familiar smell of horse manure and hay filled my nose. My eyes blurring from rain and tears as I knew I was getting closer to the one thing I could count on.

Lucy. My sweet Lucy who never failed me once. Not ever throwing me or biting. Never giving me anything more than love and affection. Lucy, who I could leap onto her back and kick her into a run, and off we would go. I could almost imagine it. The way the wind would whip through both of our hair,

the way her body would feel as it charged down the dirt road, the feel of her powerful legs, carrying us far, far away. I felt something thin and bony snagged through my hair, the sharp pain of it catching against my scalp, pulling a scream from me as I ran faster, knowing every second wasted was a second given to Daddy and Mama, who I could only imagine were tearing through these very woods,

chasing me the way a hound might chase that for a coon. I scrambled and stumbled to a stop. My body flopping over the old fence daddy had built when we first moved here. The wood no longer rich and strong but now faded and worn. My eyes scanned the field. My thoughts tripping and whirling as I saw not one single horse in that big old space. I scrambled over the fence, not carrying. a single bit over the splinters that stuck and stabbed into my legs.

My heart thundering so fast I thought perhaps it may explode. I landed awkwardly onto the grass, my hands sinking into the soft earth as I tried to see through the storm and darkness. No horses. The horses gone? My voice was broken, so broken and wet with sobs as I stood, trying to train my eyes to somehow see through the darkness that seemed unnatural.

evil. As if the darkness itself were a living, breathing beast, I was the foolish animal walking directly into its widening jaws. An explosion of thunder shook the ground so violent, I felt it vibrate all the way up to my knees as I tried to balance myself. My hair sticking to my face as I tried walking through the now-flooding field, each step splashing water up into my legs and torso. No sound, no quiet knickering or hot.

huffing, no muted tail swishes, no noise. Gone. Despair filled me as I watched the sky flash a bright white, a thin line of electric blue crackling the sky into a thousand pieces. And with that flash of light bringing me to the most horrific sight I'd ever seen. There, scattered through the field, bloody mounds, unmoor. moving. Deep gouges ruining their once beautiful, strong bodies. The vomit spewed out of me as I lurched forward. Shock and horror making my mind nothing more than a blank slate as another pop of lightning forced me to look upon the carnage once more. Chop, chop, chop. I cried into my hands. I had known earlier that it surely was not wood daddy had been swinging away on. That ugly,

evil acts coming down over and over and over. Chop, chop, chop. Lucy! Her name was shrilled. Broken scream on my trembling lips as I ran. Being careful not to touch the poor things heaped around me in gruesome piles. The puddles splashing up into me now tinged with a sickening pink.

Lucy! I screamed her name. She'd always come to me. always trotting over to me. Her ears perked and listening. Big brown eyes filled with all the hopes and dreams I ever dared to have. Tears and rain made my face wet as a flash of lightning spotlighted a large mass at the end of the field, just where the fence stood in a crooked line. My knee shook, dreaded and bile and terror crawling up my throat as I ran, praying, praying with all of my heart. It was not Lucy there collapsed on the ground.

When I reached it, there was no lying. There was no denying the creature before me was the one single best friend I had ever had. Her beautiful soul, gone. I could see the wounds my daddy had inflicted. The fence post broken beneath her. Her upper half-limp on the other side of the splintered wood. You tried to run, didn't you, girl?

I sobbed running my hand over her cold flank as I cried. Lucy. Lucy, I'm sorry. Ella. Henry. Helen. Lucy. My brain felt as if it could just snap in two as the tears spilled out of me and mixed with the rain pelting down around us.

A flash of white-hot lightning lit up the world. And I could not muffle my scream as I saw. hundreds of those pale corpse-like faces looming towards me. Growing out from the shadows like some sort of unholy weed. Their hollow, shadowed eyes watching me, the way a wolf might watch after a lamb. I shook. My legs unsteady as I gathered myself to my feet.

My dress sticking to my legs and torso as I stumbled against Lucy's stiff legs. My eyes wild as I tried to keep track of them all. What do you want? I sobbed, the smell of rain and blood filling the air. The field flooded around my ankles as I dared to glance at Lucy's vacant eyes. At the water, rising up around her. They said nothing, only looming closer. Some towering so high I had to crane my neck back while others barely emerged from the flooding waters.

I tried to walk, my legs hitting the fence post. There was nowhere else to run unless I wanted to chance climbing the old fence or, chance running the other way back to. As if summoned by the mere thought, a crack of lightning and thunder shook the world, allowing me to see the new shadows coming toward me with unholy ease through the rising water. Mama and Daddy were coming. Much faster than I think should have been possible. Their eyes black, black and hollow and so much like the pale faces surrounding me. I screamed. I screamed so hard and powerful I felt the muscles in my neck snap and twirling. I felt my lungs quake in my stomach spasm as an irrational fear pushed at my body,

and I tried to turn to run, to climb that awful fence even if it meant scrambling over my poor, sweet Lucy. Lydia! A roar from my daddy made me only scramble harder, my aching hands finding it impossible to find purchase against anything. My arms weak with fatigue and fear. As I heard the water sloshing with their every step, something sharp and I was Ice cold reached out from the shadows, wrapping around one of my wrists.

Drying from me, a breathless cry as it yanked me up, as if intending to throw me over the fence entirely. I saw the thin hand there on my wrist, black fingertips embedded deep in my skin. A monstrous grin glaring out from the darkness, as a low hiss accompanied the sudden stench of rot and death. I kicked and pulled, screamed suffocated in my throat as I tried to break free. aware of daddy's low growling breaths as he charged through the flooding field. Of Mama's strange cackling laughter, not much farther behind. The hand that held me down felt as if it would burn right through my skin. It was so cold.

Dagger-like pain shooting up my arm from those claw-like fingertips. Every passing second, a wave of terror threatened to knock me out entirely. I felt something grabbed me from behind then. heavy fingers digging into my scalp. Gathering up so much hair, my entire head came lashing backwards. It was only then that the phantom hand let go, the sharp grin fading back into the rain and shadows as I felt the blunt end of something large cracked down on me.

And then? All there was was darkness. I don't know how long I slept. How long that empty darkness held me. I only know that I woke with a jarring start, as if someone had snapped my attention out of that deep sleep. I was first aware of the throbbing pain in my head, the heavy burning that seemed to melt into my brain and into my face. My eyes unable to clear no matter how many times I tried to blink away the sleep. Then I felt the pain of my arm, limp and unmoving at my side, filled with a burning heat that seemed to scream directly from the bone.

trying my best to not even move it as I took purchase of the rest of my surroundings. My fingertips ran across the bumpy dirt floor, my eyes looking up at the wooden tin ceiling. Even through the heavy blur I could see thick spider webs, dirt, and wasp nests covering the surface of the space above me. Dread filled me. I didn't need to wonder long where Daddy had taken me. The slight clink of metal confirming what I already knew.

A shed for every child. If I had the energy I would have cried. Yet no tears came to my pain-riddled face as I looked down at the heavy shackles that tethered me to the old third floor. Something like despair and emptiness, taking over me. There were no windows in this shed. My shed. Though I could see the dim outline of morning light around the old wood, along with the large rusty nails keeping it shut from the other side.

I saw movement beneath the door where the ground was not quite level, or perhaps where all that water had washed away enough mud and land to leave a small little gap. I leaned down, ignoring the pain as I saw the glimpse of one of Mama's dresses pass by, followed by Daddy's old dirty boots moving to stand before the door. Had I been able to, I would have shied away. But my body felt so broken and tired. I could do nothing more than let my aching head press heavily into the dirt. The constant throb creating an almost-wishing noise deep in my ears.

I thought back to that painful blow that made my world turn black and began to wonder if maybe my brain was hurt. If maybe that fire-hot pain bleeding inside my scalp might be something more serious than just a goose egg. I thought of Henry, of the deafening chop, chop, chop, that came not too long after Daddy had drug him out to his shed. I thought of Helen. Her bloody hand and stumpy fingers dripping blood all over Mama's kitchen,

as Daddy pulled her out by her hair as she screamed and kicked like a feral barn cat. I thought of Ella. Poor sweet Ella, whose only real crime had been her high-pitched screaming every time Daddy or Mama tried to hold her. As if she knew from the start, whatever lay inside of them was not here to keep us safe. You better get comfy in there. Daddy's wet, thick voice came from the other side of the door. You better get real, acquainted with your new home.

I swallowed back the words that wanted so desperately to tumble out of my dry mouth to beg him. Why? Why did they do this to us? Why did they quit loving us? But I stuffed my good hand into my mouth. As if somehow, choking back those. Those words would erase the burning pain from wishing I could know why. I lay there, my arm vibrating in so much pain I found myself vomiting at times.

The other times I was so consumed with pain, bleeding inside my head, that I could hardly think of anything else. But when the pain would lessen, even for a moment, my mind would wander off, seeking out the days when Mama and Daddy were like sunshine and laughter. I thought of the strong hugs Daddy would wrap me up in. the smell of Mama's perfume in her hair when she would kiss me good night. I thought of baking cookies in the kitchen, the flour floating through the air after Ella managed to throw a handful. The sound of laughter, like music, that would flutter out of Mama.

I thought of how their hands always held mine. I thought of how they smiled, how they loved us. I remember how Daddy wandered into the woods one day and never came back. Not really. His body came back. But laying there in that shed, a red ooze beginning to seep out of my ears and nose. My eyes going all fuzzy and dark. I thought back to that day.

I don't think Daddy did come back from those woods. I think something else came back wearing his skin and speaking with his voice. I think that thing then took Mama to the woods. And she came back wrong, too. I knew death was coming for me. Just as surely as I knew those things I'd seen in the woods now scratched quietly outside my shed. Beyond those quiet sounds and the throbbing wishing in my ears, I could hear the softest whistle.

As if whoever carried the whistle had no more worry in the world than a brand new babe, I let my eyes close, gave in to the coldness claiming me from the ground as I waited for death. or whatever cruel fate would come from me from within those woods. For our second story this evening, a lifeguard's nostalgic night swim turns deadly, trapped. The group must survive the night or become the latest victims. Creepy presents.

Cursed Waters, written by Christian Achilles, and narrated by Megan McDuffie. The pool that will not be named was built in 1993. It was set to be the largest live-action wave pool in the country, though issues surrounding this pool started from its inception. Rumor had it that this site was formerly an ancient Native American burial ground. I know what you're thinking. That's a very cliche premise.

However, it's also very much true. According to local historians, this area was home to the Cherokee tribe. They were known to use scenic hilltops to bury their dead. The pool sits at one of the highest points in the county and has an amazing view. Some say that this land is cursed because of the desecrated burial site. Based on my personal experiences, I would have to agree. I became a lifeguard at the pool, which will not be named, after my sophomore year in high school. Lifeguarding is often regarded as one of the best summer jobs because the pay is great, breaks are long,

friends regularly visit you at work, and you get a great tan. What I liked most about lifeguarding was the responsibility. There is no other position where they entrust a 16-year-old to save lives. During my first season, I rescued 13 people from drowning in the waves. It's hard for me to explain the feeling of recognizing an active drowning victim, diving in, and pulling that person to safety. Rewarding would be an understatement. I truly felt like I was making a job.

difference in the community. Lifeguarding at this pool was a great experience because we saw a lot of action. After just four seasons, I had rescued nearly 100 active drowning victims. I came to find that many of the dangers associated with the pool are due to the wave generator. When running, it creates rip currents that pull swimmers toward the wall housing the generator. Undertoes are also created and suck swimmers underwater. The combination of these two currents make for a deadly environment. In between wave cycles, when the water is still, it just seemed like a normal pool. On top of the in-water rescues, people were constantly getting injured at the facility. We performed first aid for just about every medical emergency they trained us for.

Abrasions, anaphylaxis, burns, breaks, bruises, cuts, concussions, dislocations, diabetic shock, fractures, heat stroke, heart attack, lacerations, overdoses, strains, sprains, splinters, stings, seizures, and spinal cord injuries. Needless to say, we were on a first-name basis with EMS personnel. They would praise our lifeguarding staff for the quality of care provided. In my fifth season, I was promoted to the head guard position. The head lifeguard doesn't monitor swimmers. They sit poolside and observe the life cards to make sure they are watching their assigned water. Another part of my job was to take incident reports. Anytime we provided care for someone, I needed to get a statement from them and the responding lifeguard.

One thing that stuck out as odd was the number of people who reported hearing drums right before the incident took place. The curse always came to mind, but I never gave it much thought. My first year as head lifeguard was a success. I ran a tight ship. There were no fatalities and incidents were at an all-time low. Abby, my best friend, helped with this effort. She was the assistant head guard and we were co-captains on the swim team. Her swimming technique was flawless. Watching her swim was truly a thing of beauty.

The only reason I was made headguard over her is because I'm one year older. Together, we made an excellent management duo. Sometimes when opening the pool, we would find empty beer cans scattered around. Remnants left behind from locals who snuck in to enjoy a night swim. It seemed relatively harmless because the wave machines weren't running through the night. It inspired us to do the same. During my second season as head guard, we decided to sneak in one night. After working there for six seasons, we just wanted to enjoy the pool to ourselves for once.

Our only fear was getting caught by the cops and losing our jobs. We figured we could talk our way out of that situation, if it were to arise. July 18th was a clear day, and the moon was going to be full that night. It seemed like the perfect night to sneak in. We decided to bring our friends Ashley and Ethan. Ethan was our friend from the diving team. He always begged us to let him jump from the wall. I never let him because it was against pool rules,

but this would be his opportunity to do so without getting us in trouble. Throughout the day, we concocted a plan to avoid getting caught. That night, we all piled in my car and left the house around 10 p.m. I parked in a public lot about a half mile away from the pool. Then we started hiking through the water. I was a hot night and the stars were on full display. The moonlight pierced through the canopy of trees and illuminated a path to the pool. It was so bright we didn't even need the flashlights I brought.

We then emerged from the woods and walked up to the fence that surrounds the pool. I revealed a damaged section of fencing and pulled it back so everyone could climb through. There was a picnic table at the far side of the pool where we placed our bags. The facility looked serene at night. The water was like glass, reflecting the moon's light. I had never seen the water surface so still. Abby, Ashley, and Ethan wasted no time and charged for the water. They took long running strides and dove into the deep end, breaking through the glassy veil.

I walked to the pool's edge, admired the empty facility for a moment, and then dove in myself. We splashed around for a few minutes before Ethan did. declared his intent to jump from the wall. My only instruction to him was to enter feet first. I was not in the mood to perform an after-hours backboarding. There was a ladder on the side of the pool that led up to the top of the wall, but he rejected this. Instead, Ethan started to scale the rock wall to impress us. I took the easy way up using the ladder. Abby and Ashley followed. Ashley wasn't on the swimming or diving team, so I was a little surprised she wanted to make the jump.

Once we were on top of the wall, I started to coach Ashley on how to make the jump safely. Ethan stood on the edge with his back to the pool, still breathing heavy from the climb. His arms started windmilling as if he were falling backwards into the pool. We all let out panicked gasps. Then he snapped down, pressed through his toes, and executed a fully laid-out backflip. He entered the water feet first, per my request. Abby and I rolled our eyes, but Ashley giggled at the feet. Ashley was now looking down at the water skeptically.

I told her if she didn't want to jump, that I would climb back down the ladder with her. Abby put her at ease by offering to jump with her. She would be right next to her, the whole way. This was enough reassurance and they made the jump together. Once Ashley resurfaced, we all clapped. Any initial anxiety was gone, and she smiled from ear to ear. She said she couldn't wait to jump again. I remained on top of the wall, just admiring.

the scenery. My friends were climbing back up when we had our first scare of the night. I could see headlights coming up the pool's driveway. I yelled cops and told everyone to lay flat on the wall. I was hoping if we remained still and quiet, they wouldn't notice us from a distance. The squad car drove past slowly and shone their spotlight into the pool area. They were looking to catch trespassers, which is exactly what we were doing. Luckily, they didn't have a good angle to see on of the wall. The squad car proceeded to the pool's main parking lot, circled around, and drove away. We totally would have been busted if we were parked there. After the cops left, we took a moment and sat on the edge of the wall, laughing about near run-in with the law. That's when I felt a phantom

chill. A general sense of unease swept through me. In the distance, I thought I could hear the faint sound of drums. I asked the group, does anyone hear that? Everyone went silent for a moment to listen. Ethan and Abby shook their heads no, but Ashley said she could hear drums. Sensing my unease, Abby offered up the explanation that it was probably someone driving by with a loud car stereo. This was plausible enough for me to shrug it off, even though the drums sounded tribal and menacing in a way. Ashley was still excited to jump for a second time, and announced she was going again. Abby told her no backflips, to which we all laughed.

She then took a running start and jumped out further than her first attempt. She hit the water in good form, but a few seconds passed and she didn't resurface. I thought she was just playing with us. Then a few more seconds passed. Once the bubbles on the surface dissipated, we could see that she was on the bottom of the pool. Abby and I reacted instantly and jumped near her location. Ethan followed us. I hit the water first and propelled myself to the bottom.

Once I got to Ashley, I could see her hair was caught in the floor drain and she was panicking. I grabbed her hair and began to pull. There wasn't time to be gentle about it, so I pulled hard but wasn't able to break her free. Abby was there shortly after. She gripped Ashley from the back of the head and began to pull with me, but we couldn't get her free. I repositioned myself in a squatting position, and Abby did the same. Together we pressed through our legs and pulled as hard as we could.

Ashley became free, but her hair remained in the drain. A palm-sized flap of skin ripped from her head, still attached to the hair that was entangled in the drain. Blood stained the water as we brought her to the surface. Ashley gasped for air and screamed in horror. It looked like she had been scalped. This was the most hard. horrific injury I had witnessed. She was panicking and hyperventilating, but Abby and I remained calm.

We started to make our way toward the shallow end when we felt the pull from the wave machines firing up. Typically, there was a loud bell to alert swimmers a wave cycle was about to begin. We were not afforded that warning. We were dead, center in the deep end. This was the worst spot to be in. 25 meters from either side wall and even further to the shallow end. Abby and I looked at each other with matching expressions of desperation and wonder. I could tell our thoughts were aligned. Why was this happening? How was this happening?

To make things even worse, the pole of the water felt exponentially stronger than a normal wave cycle. It was as if the governor, which regulates the intensity of the waves, was removed completely. leaving us to face the suction of the wave machine at its full capacity. Ashley went into shock and became unresponsive. She was dead weight in the water. I hooked both arms under her shoulders to keep her afloat. My powerful breaststroke kick was good enough to maintain my position against the rip current, but I wasn't gaining any ground.

Abby urged Ethan to swim for the sidewall. She trusted that I could hold position long enough for her to go get a lifeguard chair. Each chair was fitted with a kill switch that cut power to the wave machine. Ethan set off for the west side of the pool. Abbey went for the opposite side. Ethan swam frantically over the peaks and valleys of the waves. He fought hard, but was no match for the current. For every meter gained, he lost two toward the wave machine.

I lost sight of him after a few seconds. This made me start to panic, but I couldn't let go of Ashley. All I could do was pray that he could hold on long enough. for Abby to get to a kill switch. Abby buried her head and swam as she always did. Not even the thrashing of the waves could disrupt her perfect technique. I had seen her cover this distance in less than 15 seconds. Unfortunately, this was not the still water of a competition pool. I don't know how long it took her to make it to the sidewall. Maybe it was two minutes, but it felt a lot longer to me. My legs were burning from the lactic acid buildup and were beginning to cramp.

Finally, Abby made it to the sidewall and climbed out on shaky legs. She raced for the lifeguard chair and slammed the red cutoff button. Immediately I felt the current subside and saw the waves taper down. I started making progress toward the shallow water. The sound of my heart pounding was reminiscent of the drums I heard earlier that night. Abby called out to me asking where Ethan was. Over short exhausted breaths, I only replied, Call 911.

I dragged Ashley out of the shallow end and began to assess her vitals. She had a pulse and was breathing on her own, but she was unconscious. My main concern was the amount of blood lost from the missing part of her scalp. Abby rushed to us, phone in one hand and my duffel bag in the other. I used my towel to apply pressure to the top of Ashley's bloody head. I had Abby take over. applying pressure to Ashley's scalp, then I rushed toward the west side of the pool to find Ethan. This time I ran along the side of the pool rather than getting back into the water.

My legs were heavy and my breathing labored. Once I made it to the far side of the pool, I could see Ethan pressed up against the underwater barrier about ten meters from the sidewall. Without hesitation, I dove back in for him. After a short swim, I noticed his feet had been sucked through the chain-length fence. I dove down and worked frantically to free him. I got one foot out before I had to return to the surface for air. Normally I could hold my breath for much longer, but not in my exhausted state. I sucked in a breath and went back to work. Freeing the second foot, I then pulled his limp body to the surface. With the same double underhook technique used on Ashley, I started to tow Ethan toward the shallow end. I quickly realized he wasn't breathing and called to Abby.

She met us in the shallow and helped me drag him out of the pool. She assessed his vitals and began performing CPR immediately. Police arrived on scene shortly after and took over chest compressions. One officer radioed in for an AED. EMS arrived minutes after and began providing care. Defibrillation didn't work on Ethan. He had been under for too long. They rushed him to the hospital.

Later we found out he was pronounced DOA. Ashley started to regain consciousness and was taken to the ER. Abby and I both refused treatment. Police officers began to take statements from us separately. I thought this night couldn't get any worse. Then I was informed we were both going to be charged with criminal trespassing. They also threatened to charge us with criminal negligence and potentially manslaughter. The officer wanted me to say Abby had started the wave cycle.

If I said Abby started the wave cycle, if I said Abby started the wave cycle, cycle, I wouldn't receive the additional charges. I assumed they were pressing Abby for the same deal. We maintained each other's innocence and told them we were both in the water when the wave cycle started. This was the truth, but they said our stories didn't add up. Things changed shortly after when the pool's engineer showed up with one of the county executives. The county executive demanded an investigation be performed before any charges were filed. He spoke to Abby and directly. We were instructed to say nothing more until the investigation was complete. He wanted to help us avoid any legal repercussions. No charges were filed, but we were detained for the night.

This investigation was completed by Sunrise. Rich, the Pools engineer, worked with the county detectives throughout the night. They found that the Pools mechanical room remained locked and showed no signs of entry. There was no possible way we started the wave cycle. It was a also concluded that there was a power surge in the area. This reset the wave machines programming to a factory setting and triggered the wave cycle. This explains the increased intensity of the waves. The county executive spoke with us before we were released from detention. He told us we wouldn't be charged with criminal trespassing if we signed an NDA agreement. The county wanted to keep this quiet, and we were in no position to reject the offer. We both signed the NDA and were released.

that morning. Later that day, the pool's manager fired us. It was for the best. I'm now deathly afraid of that pool and fully believe it's cursed. Since then, I've conducted extensive research about the history of the pool in the surrounding area. The things I've learned only solidify my belief in this curse. Here's what I've learned so far. In 1927, the remaining members of the Cherokee tribe were brutally forced from this land when it was designated as a county park. Many lives were lost during their relocation to a reservation out west. There's also evidence to support the claim that the pool was built on a burial ground. However, this cannot be proven without tearing up the pool.

The construction crew who built the pool experienced two fatalities due to site collapses. Once the pool was finally opened in 1998, the first season was horrific. There were countless injuries and three fatalities from drowning. Only after public backlash did the county implement more safety measures. Fatalities decreased, but they did not cease. The pool continued to murder and maim its patrons while the county looked the other way. They'd invested too much tax revenue to simply close the pool. Plus, the pool was generating revenue.

Only a handful of deaths have been reported in the local papers over the years. However, if you look at the police records, over 20 people have died in this pool. You might ask why I'm sharing this story. No, my NDA didn't expire, but it's not right that these details weren't made public. I can't reveal the name that people need to know about the dangers of this pool. They need to know if it's murderous intent and insidious past. I'm begging you. If you visit a wave pool this summer,

Look into the local history before you do. If it sounds like this may be your local pool, be wary of these cursed waters. For our final story this evening, a father discovers his apartment walls breathe. And maybe, just maybe, there's something in them. Creepy Presents My Wall Sockets Breathe, written by Mr. Michael Squid. I noticed it a few days ago when plugging my new laptop into the electrical outlet on the wall. Warm air rippled over the tiny hairs on my knuckles.

I quickly retracted my hand in disbelief and stared at the pair of sockets near the floor. I approached again and placed my hand in front of the slots once more, feeling the warm air breathed in the building and waning gusts. The same as you'd feel if you were to breathe on your own fingers. I immediately freaked out and looked online to find no related inquiries aside from slow leaking cold air from outside, which this was clearly not. I grew concerned at the phenomenon and tried to understand what exactly was causing it. I've lived in this old apartment building no more than six months with my daughter Mabel. She had some minor social development disabilities and is on the spectrum, so I wanted her to be near some good schools and resources.

That search led from the Bronx to Manhattan and into this building, which is over a century old and rich with history. The heater clings at night and can't be adjusted, and the carpet looks unchanged as if flappers from the 20s spilled wine on it. But it is safe, surprisingly affordable, and just large enough for the both of us. At least it felt safe until Monday, when I felt the wall sockets breathe. I took out my screwdriver set and unscrewed the outlet cover, removing the plugs and attached wiring. I was disturbed to see the blackness of a hollowed out back from the rusted metal housing.

I used my penlight to shine inside, following the wires back a few inches to an ancient brick wall. I felt a shiver playing with the idea of someone living within the space. But I quickly talked to myself out of it. It was only four inches deep. There was no possible way anyone could fit back there. I soon calmed myself down, taped up the back, and returned the plugs and housing into the square cut into the wall and screw the outlet back securely in place. I didn't think much of it until last night when I was forcing myself to stay awake in my chair, building spreadsheets on my laptop with some take-home work I was trying to wrap up before the holidays. Mabel was playing with her doll on the carpet, making Queenie kiss a plastic horse toy, which was too adorable.

When she yelled, my turn, causing my head to turn and look to see what the commotion was about. Mabel was facing the old heat register great on the floor, her horse doll missing from view. I asked her where it was, and she replied with a flustered sigh. The room took it back. but it's my turn to have him. I pulled her away from the grate and asked her what she meant, fear forcing my eyes wide. It let me play with the horse toy, but it took him away.

It isn't fair, she said, pouting. And I then realized I had no recollection of her owning anything like the horse had seen. I fetched my light and approached the grate, staring down in absolute horror with the sight of a wide eye, staring back from within before sliding quickly out of view. My heart shuddered and pure fear chilled my spine at the realization that someone or something was inside at the tiny crawl space surrounding the apartment. I raced to my cell on the counter and called my neighbor Mrs. Benson, nearly shaking with

anxiety while hugging my daughter close and trying to sound calm. I asked if we could stop by and when she agreed I ushered Mabel out, locked the apartment door with shaky hands and walked briskly down the hall to her sweet neighbor two doors down. Mrs. Benson's door opened, revealing that dyed orange hair puffed up above her wrinkled, smiling face. I was the most intoxicating actress in the 60s, but that was another life. She would often say before retelling yarns of one of her rendezvouses with celebrities and singers, including Mr. Presley himself.

She saw the worried look in my wide eyes and welcomed us in for tea. I only realized once the teacup and saucer were on my lap that my leg was tapping nervously, and I whispered to her I saw something in the floor, in the walls. I expected her to look at me like a lunatic, but she just smiled and nodded, her languid gaze drifting over to her large-framed Picasso reproduction. I used to call her Clara after my sister, but I don't think she has a name, and I'd be lying if I had any proof she's a she, Mrs. Benson said with a relaxed smile. She was here when I moved in back in the early 60s.

I found out about her when the rodents almost became a problem. I sat in absolute awe and amazement as she explained. Years ago, this part of town was filled with filth, junkie. and drunks, muggers and gangs and everything in between. It was also filled with garbage which attracted smaller pests, roaches, and rats. Still has a fair share of those, I thought to myself. But I just nodded and let her continue. I hated rats.

So after finally seeing one, I put down a wooden trap. I heard the snap and went to clean it up, but the rat was gone. Just a few red drops on the trap. This happened for a few weeks, and I just assumed they somehow escaped until one day the landlord decided to raise the rent. I stared at her, bewildered and contemplating moving or heading to a hotel to stay the night, but I listened and thralled as her story continued. The landlord was a horrible man.

Jerry the jerk is what I called him as soon as he left my sight, threatening to raise the rent and always eyeing me up and down like that. Mrs. Benson lowered her gaze to my Mabel, her eyes lighting up and a smile spread wide on her face. Mabel, can you fetch me some tissues from the bathroom? She asked in a warm-hearted manner. Yes, Miss Benson? Mabel replied, the most polite little lady,

before walking over to give us the privacy Mrs. Benson have been seeking. That Jerry barged in and tried to raise you. the rent one day to an amount he absolutely knew I couldn't afford to pay, offering some lewd suggestion of payment plans. I could tell by the slimy look on his sweaty face he strictly intended for me to make it up to him by other means. I frowned, feeling pity for her plight. She continued in her calm, plotting tone.

I refused to pay or do anything of the sort and said I was leaving at the end of the month. But Jerry refused to hear it. He grabbed me, ripping my dress, and I backed into the wall, pinned by that monster. It was too strong for me to fight off. I screamed only once before Clara showed up. Mrs. Benson lifted herself slowly on shaky arms and walked over the large painting on her wall that I just then realized might not be a reproduction. She tilted the painting diagonally, revealing a large hole in the plaster and spruce.

blintered wood about three feet in diameter, clearly cracked outward from the inside. I saw black specks of what I assumed to be ancient blood drip from the edges of the hole. This is Benson quickly lower the painting back into place as Mabel emerged from the bathroom with a box of tissues, and she gently tussled Mabel's silken hair. Jerry never came back, but his brother Merv was far nicer once he finally showed up to request in newly discounted rent. Mrs. Benson concluded casually. My jaw hung slightly open, fascination outwearing the fear that previously consumed me.

I decided to stay. As insane as it might sound, I feel safer knowing something is looking after. I'm always careful when nailing up paintings, gently tapping a few warning alerts to the enigma that is Clara to shift away from an incoming foreign object. I sometimes hear that soft breathing, coming impossibly from multiple signs of the room at once, but I have no desire to find out what Clara exactly is. I can tell she shares toys, such as that familiar plastic horse, with other children in the building,

like Mabel's friend Josephine who lives upstairs. I occasionally get a glimpse of an eyeball in the grate or in a pipe, and I can now even tell whether the tapping is the ductwork expanding or something more organic. But I've decided to say, Maple seems happy to have a babysitter and be part of a unique toy share program as well. The building is in a great area, close to our classes. If you listen closely, you may find that my wall sockets breathe, but it's safe, surprisingly affordable.

and just large enough for the three of us. 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 Sherylite 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 story's author.