Creepy - The Slayer & The Windows

Episode Date: January 16, 2025

The Slayer***Written by: Nicki Brumback and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***The Windows***Written by: Elizabeth Hunter and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***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.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. The Slayer.

Written by Nikki Brumback, and narrated by Daniel Hewitt. To whom it may concern. My lawyer instructed me to write this letter to you. She's a well-meaning woman with my best interests at heart. Although I've told her that this is pointless. She's insistent that I didn't get a fair deal at my trial. and that you're the people who can help with that. I've heard that's your organization's entire job,

looking at the cases where inmates got a raw deal. That's admirable. I've met a lot of people here who could use their help. Prison is full of people who haven't been treated fairly. I'll include a list of their names with this letter. Here's the thing. I know what people think. They think that I suffered from sort of men.

until breakdown when my wife was killed. My lawyer says my mental state should have been taken into consideration when I was sentenced. Karen, my lawyer, she's a good person, and she truly cares, and I truly appreciate it. So that's why I agreed to write this thing and tell you my story. She's become a good friend in the time that I've known her, but this isn't going to go anywhere. You won't be able to get me out of here. I'm not crazy. I wasn't crazy when I did what I did. I killed Brian.

Though I didn't know it was Brian at the time. I wasn't crazy. I was defending myself. Lauren and I met in Boston. I was going to school and she had just published her second book. We got married a year after I graduated. And we spent another two years or so living in the city before we decided to make a change. The city life was just feeling a little fast-paced for Lauren,

who wanted someplace quiet and laid back where she could write. For me, I had always intended to live the small-town lifestyle. I wasn't a Boston native. I came from a small Appalachian town that no one has ever heard of. I'm sure it's somewhere in my file. The point is, I had my fill of city life when I was in school. Lauren's books were successful enough that we weren't really struggling, struggling financially, and she could work from anywhere.

I was offered a position at a small hospital. Not exactly in my hometown, but in a place that was similar enough to be familiar. We moved into a rental property while we looked for a house to buy. We fell in love with the community we built there. I must admit, I was a little concerned about how the locals would react to a gay couple moving in. You know how some of these places can be. but our neighbors weren't like that at all. They were kind and accepting.

We made a lot of friends and had barbecues. Lauren started a book club, and I joined a running hiking group. We were happy. The house hunting didn't turn up any results at first, but a few months in, our realtor took us out to the cabin. It was such a nice place, if a little outdated. three bedrooms, two and a half baths with a finished basement. There was a stone fireplace in the living room and a tiny greenhouse in the rear of the building.

A winding driveway led from the main road through the towering trees. Before we even entered the cabin, I could tell by the look on Lauren's face that we would end up putting in an offer. She must have looked it up online because she was doing more to sell me on the place than the realtor was. Lauren guided me through the house as if she had the layout memorized, telling me about the work that could be done to make the place ours. I remember the excitement in her voice so clearly. We would have a spare bedroom for guests, an office where she could do all of her writing,

and the basement could become a cozy entertainment space. The kitchen would need to be brought into the 21st century, but we could cook with the vegetables we grew ourselves, once we fixed up that old greenhouse. Plus, it was out of the way, giving us a lot of privacy while still being within a reasonable distance of my job, the markets, and our friends.

It took a while for the paperwork to go through, but the place was ours. It was the biggest mistake of our lives. We didn't move in right away. We stayed in the rental property until the lease was up, and we used that time to make renovation. to the cabin. When we told some of our neighbors where we were moving,

we were told to keep an eye out for the local weirdo, Brian Ford. He rarely came down to town. He lived mostly off the grid, growing his own vegetables and hunting his own meat. He wandered down the mountain occasionally to go to the library or stalk up on whatever he could make himself. He'd wander into town on foot,

his bare feet, arms, and face covered in thick, painful-looking scars. None of the locals remembered going to school with Brian, but no one could say exactly when he first started appearing either. They told us it was best to just stay clear of him, and let him go about his business. That was certainly fine by us. We weren't going to harass the poor fellow. We officially moved in on a bright spring morning.

It was exhausting, but we were full of joy. It took a long time to get settled in. unpacking our boxes was a lengthy process because we kept stopping to reminisce hanging up pictures from our time dating our wedding and our honeymoon led to flirtatious giggling flipping through smiling photos of our families

turned into storytelling and phone calls to the people we missed those first few weeks passed in a blur we were so wrapped up in our new lives a relationship in the cabin that if anything strange happened, we didn't notice it. Then one night, I was working the late shift at the hospital when I got a call from Lauren. She was taking deep breaths, but her voice was shaking, and I could tell she was trying to keep herself calm.

She told me that she thought there was someone outside. She couldn't see their face. It was too dark. But she could make out a shape near the tree line. She didn't want to call the police. She couldn't be sure whether it was really anything legitimate, but she also couldn't help being anxious about it. I told her that I'd come home, but she didn't want me to do that.

I only had a few hours left in my shift, and it was probably nothing. Just wanted to hear my voice, she said. Probably just a bush or something. I remember telling her that everything would be okay. She was right. It was probably nothing. But it was also totally understanding.

to be scared. It's night. It's her first evening home in a secluded area, and the brain takes that anxiety and seeks out patterns in the shadows. I promised I'd keep an eye on the phone, and then I'd be happy to talk with her on speaker during my entire drive back if that would help. But nothing further happened. We didn't think about the incident again. Not until my next day off. We were working on the yard, cleaning up the damage from the move and renovations, not to mention the years of neglect. I took a break to wipe away the sweat from my forehead, get a drink of water, and I looked around. I was just taking in my surroundings when I spotted something strange, something I wouldn't have been able to see from our porch. I crossed the yard to a tall oak tree on the edge of the property.

It was a beautiful tree, its limb stretching and providing. plentiful shade, the kind of tree you could have picnics beneath in the height of summer. And there were four deep gashes in the bark. I called out to Lauren and asked if that was where she had seen something in the night. She confirmed, and I asked her to come check out the marks. She was horrified. But I was excited. Here was an explanation for what she had seen, possibly a bear or mountain lion.

It was unlikely that the animal would have come this close again now that the cabin was occupied. That's just what living in nature was about. We were destined to have some animal encounters, and that was the first of many. Lauren, on the other hand, still a city girl at heart, insisted on safety measures for the house. She did research on deterrence and looked into motion-activated floodlights. I was totally fine with that, too. It was our home. and she should have whatever she needs to be comfortable while adjusting to the transition.

We took measures to make her feel safe and it worked to put Lauren's mind at ease. She relaxed again. I had laid off night shift whenever possible, but Lauren encouraged me to return to it. Honestly, I preferred to work at night. The hospital was quieter without visiting families. Most of the patients were asleep or drowsy enough to only lightly grumble when nurses performed vital checks. With the warm weather, Lauren took to watching the sunset from our porch after I left. That's what they think she was doing the night it happened.

She had been working on her seventh book, the third and final part of a trilogy that was getting some potential movie buzz. She was working on it that night. On the table that sits between our two deck chairs, she left behind her moleskin notebook, her constant companion while she was working on a new project. and a half-empty mug of coffee. Things at the hospital were uneventful.

But I had a nagging feeling at the back of my mind. I dismissed it and focused on my work. I drove home as usual, but when I got there, I felt frozen. I knew something was wrong. Looking back on it, it was probably just how strange it was that I never received her usual heading to bed see you and.

in the morning text. My subconscious had picked up the clue, but at the time, I wasn't aware of it. I got out of the car and tried to go about my routine as normally as possible. I put on a pot of coffee and started preparing breakfast. We always shared the meal together before I went to bed, and she held herself up in the office. Normally the noise brought Lauren shuffling like a zombie out of the bedroom to greet me. That morning, she never came. I tried to put it out of my mind and told myself she had a long night writing.

I could just wake her up myself when everything was finished. Yet that sense of unease plagued me, so I stopped what I was doing and went to check on her. The bedroom was empty. The bed was still made. The unease quickly turned to panic. I checked the bathrooms, her office in the basement. I called her name again and again.

Her car was still in the driveway. keys where she always left them on the kitchen counter. Her cell phone, however, was nowhere to be seen. I called, but there was no answer, and I couldn't hear the ring of it anywhere in the cabin. Lauren never silenced her cell phone out of fear that she would miss an emergency call from her family. I walked out to the porch and called again.

This time I heard the familiar ringtone. Distant, but there. It was coming from behind the cabin, in the direction of our greenhouse. I ran toward the sound, full of dread at the idea that she had some sort of medical emergency and laid out all night. I spotted her right away. Her thick red curls stood out amongst the weeds. What I saw, there was clearly no helping her. I would have realized that if I had been capable of any rational thought at that moment. Half of her face had been torn away, leaving nothing more than

mangled pile of flesh and shattered bone. The other side was coated in blood, but her eye open. A remarkable shade of blue, among all the red, stared up at the morning sky. Her abdomen had been ripped open. Her organs exposed and shredded while bugs crawled and squirmed over what remained. I tried, CPR. My brain refused any logic or reason. I didn't see what. I didn't see what what was right in front of me, that she was already gone. Instead, the image in my mind was of how she had been the night before. In a sundress, her wild hair pulled back in the way I loved, a teasing smile on her face as she blew me a kiss from the doorway.

It was only when my arms gave out that I accepted there was nothing I could do. Even then, I stayed beside her for a long time after that. I told her everything that I would have wanted to say to her if I had known the night before was going to be our last night together. I'm not going to write that down. It's between me and her. I called the police, and the coroner came to take her body away. Then came the questioning from the well-meaning officers.

They talked slowly to me as if trying to calm a frightened animal. Probably a bear, they said. Maybe a mountain lion. Rare, but not unheard of in these parts. Lauren is buried in a family plot up in Boston. Her family still calls me and sends me letters and family photos. I have some of them taped up beside my bunk. It's good to have someone on the outside who still cares enough to reach out.

My own parents are too ashamed. But before all of this, I was still just a grieving widow. Lauren's death brought reporters to the tiny town, but they could not reach me. No one could. I've since seen the interviews our friends gave and the kind words they said about her. I appreciate it. It means a lot knowing Lauren was so loved. There was an outpouring of love and support from her readers on social media.

Her sister told me that even now, strangers will leave flowers at her grave. I was numb to everything. After the funeral, I went back to the cabin and shut myself off from the rest of the world. I was just going through the motions. I had some time off work to grieve. But I don't think that I was doing that. I was only half-existing. And one day, as I was wandering like a ghost through the cabin at night, unable to sleep.

I saw the porch light flip on. The motion detector had picked up on something in the yard. I didn't think about it. I just went out to see what it was. As soon as I stepped outside, I saw something dart through the trees. But I couldn't make out the shape of it. I waited, but there was no further movement. Eventually, the light shut off again and I returned inside and went back to bed.

Come morning, a dead deer was laid out on my porch. The stomach ripped open. Its glassy eye was unresponsive as a fly crawled across it. I blinked. And suddenly it was Lauren there. Looking just as she had, the day I found her. Then the image was gone. Disgusted, I vomited in the kitchen sink.

It took about an hour to get someone to come remove the deer. By then, I had splashed some water on my face and made myself at least somewhat presentable. Now, I had to have. I will admit that I was somewhat on edge after the incident. Something had killed my wife, and then a dead deer turns up two weeks later. Who wouldn't have been at the end of their rope? But I was still thinking clearly. I hadn't decided that I was being hunted by some monster.

In my mind, I still thought the issue was that there was an aggressive bear in the area who had decided that this was its territory. A report was filed, but... the game wardens and locals were already on the hunt for whichever animal it was that killed Lauren. A dead deer wasn't worth much notice. It was more just an alert that the animal was still in the area. Getting back to work was a bigger concern for me. It was difficult.

In fact, it almost felt like a betrayal that the world continued to turn. But focusing on work did help. And yeah, maybe this isn't entirely a healthy way of going. about things. But you show me a perfect way to grieve, okay? There isn't one. An older co-worker who had lost her husband to a heart attack a few years before suggested a group. Something about connecting with people who understand. Between that and work, I get into a rhythm and the incident with the deer left my mind. Weeks passed before the next event. It was the first time I saw him. Brian Ford.

I was leaving for work, and just as I got in the car, I looked up and saw him standing there beyond the trees. He was watching me. I got out to try and speak to him. I didn't know if I was going to ask him if something was wrong or tell him to stay away from my property, but I said neither.

I didn't get the chance to speak at all. He turned and stalked off through the brush. I can only assume it was in the direction of his home, wherever that may be. The next time it happened, I called the police. Do you know what they said to me? They told me that he was off my property line and hadn't done any harm. There was nothing missing. He didn't touch me, and he wasn't leering through the windows. They acted like he was looking out for me. My wife died, and I was alone out there, just a woman in the woods who needed some gruff man to protect her. I should be grateful.

Finally, I decided that I'd had enough. I would confront him about it. As fate would have it, I had a night off, and that very night as I was getting a glass of water, the porch light switched on. I was certain that it was him. I chucked on a jacket over my pajamas and slipped my feet into shoes. I marched outside with the confidence of someone who had reached their limit.

Absolutely sure that the universe was on my side. It had to be. That's what I told myself. After everything I had gone through, I was taking control of my life. Looking back now, I see everything for what it really was. A trap.

Brian set a trap, and I walked right into it. I stepped outside and walked right to where I had been seeing him the last. few days. I couldn't see him now, but I knew he would be there. I yelled his name and told him to show his face. I heard a shuffle of leaves to my left and my heart fluttered in my chest. But I refused to let him drive me back inside. I wasn't going to be terrorized by him any longer. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could make out a little more of the shape in the woods. It was bigger than it should be, bigger than Brian. That's when the regret hit.

I thought at first that it must be a bear, but it was taller, even than a black bear would be on its hind legs. I fell back. I still couldn't see it clearly, but I wanted to get back to the yard. I felt certain that the light would keep this beast back. The light would protect me somehow.

It was childish, I know. The light was no more protection than hiding under a blanket. For every slow, measured step I took away, the hulking beast took one towards me. It was playing with me. It wanted me to see it. It wanted to take in my horror before it devoured me.

It worked. What followed me into the light was no bear. The creature had the head of a wolf, viscous drool dripping from its gaping mauve, sharp, yellowed teeth. From the neck down, the beast was not dissimilar from a man. It had the rough shape of a human, but the limbs were distorted, unnaturally long and ending in thick, clawed hands. His body was covered in the dense, dark fur of a wolf,

bare only where the snake had been broken by gnarled scars. The thing swiped at me, its claws outstretched, and I fell backward tripping over the unused hosed coiled in the grass. I fell hard, but it was enough to jar me to my senses. I had to fight if I wanted to live. And I did want to live. I had just been going through the motion since Lauren died, but she wouldn't want me to go out without a fight.

And, in all likelihood, the monster in front of me is what killed her. I tried to channel that rage to drive the fear out. It's easier said than done. I can tell you that. I scrambled backward and got to my feet as the beast lumbered toward me. It was taking its time, toying with me. It was arrogant, confident that I would not get away or do anything to harm it. I didn't take my eyes off it as I walked backward with slow, measured steps.

My back collided with the door of the old greenhouse. Not far from where Lauren had been when I found her. I slid to the left side of the building and reached behind me carefully. My hands fumbled behind me over the edge of a rickety table that we had put there. Among the unused pots, there was a large pair of garden shears. There wasn't time to hesitate as the beast lunged for me, seemingly tired of its games. I dropped out of reach and plunged the shears into its belly. It roared back with a howl and I yanked on the shears.

It took a great deal of force. A surprising amount, really. but I forced the shears into him again, higher this time, near his heart. I think it was the surprise that gave me the advantage. Its arrogance left him open. I didn't stop. Even when he fell, and his growls turned to gurgling whines, I sat across his chest and hacked at him until he no longer moved.

When the adrenaline finally left me, I got up to catch my breath. pain hit me then I guess at some point the shears slipped and I cut my own thigh I was going to go for a phone to call for help trying to reckon with how I was going to explain this but I heard a loud snap

in a second and a third I watched as the beast's face seemed to collapse in on itself the arms and legs rippled as the bone shifted beneath the skin the fur receded and as the body reshaped, the figure before me became recognizable as Brian Ford.

And that brings me to where we are today. I have not been in prison for four years. Of course, my case made headlines, and it stirred up a lot of opinions. I've received letters of support from people who have interpreted my case as a sort of feminist rage scenario. A woman killing a potential abuser. That makes me a hero in their eyes. I suppose that's the closest to the truth. Others have insisted I went crazy because of my wife's death,

that I just imagined the beast and portrayed it into the man who was showing up unwelcomed at my house. The worst are those who think that I killed Lauren. I never would have hurt her. Never. There you have it. You know my story. I've fulfilled my promise.

Do with it what you want. Creepy presents. The Windows. Written by Elizabeth Hunter. And narrated by Heather Thomas. Jenny? Can you hear me? Is this thing on?

I think it's on. The light's green anyway. I'm on the voice recorder Nick uses at his office to take notes. I found it in his briefcase in the living room. But that's not where I am now. I'm in the bedroom closet. I just have to stay away from the windows for another few hours, just until morning. Then I can go down to my car and leave.

I can get away from here, but I have to wait until the sun comes up. That's the safest. You see, I've never seen it during the daytime. Look, before I tell you everything. I wanted to say that I love you, both you and mom. I know you're still angry with me and Nick for suddenly picking up and moving all the way out here. It's so funny, Jenny, right before all this happened, I was going to call you to find out if you'd forgiven me yet. I even wanted to ask you and mom to come out for Christmas.

That's just a dream now. But I wanted you to hear it, especially if I can't stay away from the windows. I haven't heard anything in a few hours. No scratching like there was before. but that doesn't mean anything it can be very very still once it didn't move for two hours i swear jenny it didn't even blink but at least it's not tall enough to look in the windows or it wasn't the last time i saw it anyway i suppose i could go take a peek no no i'm not going i promise i'm staying i'm staying i promise i'm staying here, Jenny. I wish now that this was a two-story house. But no, I wanted a ranch, just like what

you and I grew up in. Remember that place, Jenny? I suppose I was feeling nostalgic. Nick and I were starting to think about children. My big sister would be an auntie. That's something else I was going to tell you when I called. So when we saw this house, with its big rolling lawn and all the woodland beyond it. We knew we'd found our family home. Our kids would have all that space to run and play, and I could put in a little vegetable garden, grow tomatoes, string beans, and squash. We would even carve our own pumpkins in the fall. How wonderful would that be, Jenny. True, it was a little far from where Nick would be working. And yes, we wouldn't have any neighbors. The nearest house is about two miles down the road. But after living in the city for so long, we thought that might be a

nice change. Nick joked that we could walk around naked, and no one would be the wiser. But if we had a two-story house, there would be no way it could look in the windows. I mean, it can get a little bit bigger, but not that big. Not two stories high. Can it? I don't think so. I haven't quite figured out exactly how it works. I think it can change its color and its size, but it has to keep its same general shape and form. It's always a dog. Or maybe it's just a dog for us, Jenny.

Maybe if we liked cats, it would be that. Except that I do like cats. I wonder if it's a cat now, since I thought that. Should I go look? No, no, no. I need to stay away from the windows. Breathe. Just breathe. There, that's better.

You didn't lose me yet, Jenny. Do you remember Nick's dad, Bruce? I know you only met him that one time at our wedding two years ago. But remember me telling you how he was a cop? I don't know if I ever told you this, but he had a canine partner, and Nick was always around German Shepherds as a job. child. He still has a huge soft spot for them. Don't get me wrong, he loved my sweet old girl

Winnie, and cried as much as I did when she died last year. With all this talk about a family, Nick even suggested we try to find a golden retriever puppy, and our kids could have their very own Winnie girl. But then, four nights ago, Nick saw it, and everything changed. We were out on the back patio after dinner, and he pointed to the edge of the woods. That's where it comes from, Jenny. The woods. It gets dark quickly here, so far from the light of any other homes or buildings, and when he said,

Look, there's a dog over there. I had to squint to see what he was talking about. If you say so, I told him, looks like a big black blob to me. But then he called to it, and it came right to him. Right into his open hands, Jenny. If you'd have asked me then, I would have said it was some sorry mix of a yellow Labrador and a German shepherd,

maybe with a bit of boxer thrown in. The ears were floppy and hung down like a lab, but its snout was squatty and upturned. It had that odd gait of a shepherd, too, you know, sort of slanted and low. almost sneaky. Nick rubbed its head, patted it down for any injuries or soreness.

That's when he saw the collar. It wasn't like what you'd buy at a pet store, the kind of collar made from nylon, with a metal loop you could hook a leash on to. This was just a circle red fabric, fine and silky, and there didn't seem to be any way to take it off. I mean it didn't have a closure,

no buckle or plastic snap. The only way to remove it would be to tug it over the dog's head, and the head seemed too big for that. For a second, I wondered if it was some sort of training collar, or worse, something to do with dog fighting. But the dog didn't look sick or wounded. It was just homely and strange to look at, like someone had tried to cobble together a dog from leftover bits of other dogs.

And it was definitely friendly. It lowered its head onto the dog. Nick's bent knee, and Nick was suddenly stroking behind its ears as if he'd known it for years. I knew what my husband was going to say before it was even out of his mouth. We should keep him, Nick said, just for the night. He's got a collar, so he must belong to someone. I'll go around tomorrow after work to see if I can find his owner. I started to shake my head. The rain had stopped about an hour ago, and the dog was a muddy mess. Where? Not in the house.

The garage then. So I agreed. Why not, Jenny? It was only for the night, as Nick said. And isn't life full of moments like this? You return the lost wallet, help change a stranger's flat tire, give shelter to a runaway dog. We do it without thinking. We joke about having done our good deed for the day.

We don't stop to worry about who or what we are inviting into our home. But Jenny, listen to me. You should. Nick walked around to the front of the house and opened the garage door. I watched him towel it off, trying to clean it up. He asked if I wanted to help, but I laughed and said I'd pass. Just seeing all that dirt fly made me want another shower. Then Nick made a soft place on the hard floor for it to rest.

turned out the garage light and came inside. We went to bed after that, but I slept badly. Around 1 a.m., I woke up, and my husband wasn't there. Instead, he was in the garage again, going through the boxes we'd brought with us from back east, the ones I hadn't unpacked yet. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was worried about the dog.

He had come down to check on, it, and he thought he would try to find some of Winnie's old toys for it. Jenny, I didn't know what to do. It was the middle of the night, and my husband was tearing up the garage to find a squeaky toy for some random dog. I'm all for animal kindness, but this was too much. And there was something else that left me feeling unsettled. Despite the activity and the boxes being dumped onto the floor,

That dog didn't do a single thing. It didn't grow curious, didn't come over to inspect what was happening and poke around at Nick's feet. No. It just sat on the towels and watched me with its flat, black eyes. What dog does that? All at once I wanted to get away from it. So I told, more like begged, Nick to come inside, that we need to be. needed to go back to bed. That's what it took, near begging to get him away from that dog. The next morning he was groggy, dazed.

And that's not like Nick. True, he'd been up in the night, but you know him, Jenny. Remember when we all went on that cruise together? And we never had to worry about getting up early to snag our deck chairs? Because no matter how much he drank or how late the three of us stayed out, Nick was always awake long before you and me. He just has that kind of constitution, the sort that never shows the wear and tear from life's pushes and shoves.

Maybe that's why he was able to hold out against it, for as long as he did. I'm not Nick, though. I can't risk looking at it again, Jenny. But if I did, here's how I'd do it. I'd crack open the closet door. just enough to slide out, then I'd slide along the carpet over to the picture window by our bed, and I'd put my back along the wall, and I'd listen. I'd listen to see if it was there before I looked.

Do you think that would work? No, no, I have to stay away from the windows, especially now that I've touched it. I didn't mean to touch it, Jenny. And if everything had gone like I thought it would. I never would have had the chance. But the next morning, a few minutes after he woke up, Nick headed out to the garage, to let the dog out and feed it, he said. Then he was calling for me, shouting that the dog was gone. He's not in here, Nick said. I've looked everywhere. I helped him look. But the dog was nowhere to be found. Had it escaped? I checked the side door to the garage, and it was shut tight and locked, just as it was the night before. The overhead door has a small vent to the outside at the bottom, and I suppose it could have squeezed out that way.

But if it had done that, the vent would show some damage, and it didn't. I started to say all this to Nick, and found him looking at me with a face as red as an overripe tomato. You let the dog go, didn't you? He demanded. Before I came out here, I was stunned. Honestly, Jenny, I wish I had done exactly that. I wish I had slipped out of bed while my husband dozed beside me and chased that damn dog out of our home, out of our lives,

as far away from us as I could. Or better yet. I wish I had fed it a big, delicious bowl of antifreeze, but I hadn't. And knowing what I know now, it probably wouldn't even have made a difference. Of course not, I told him. Why would I do that?

Besides, I've been with you all morning. You know I have. He gave his head a shake, and some of the scarlet in his face started to fade. Yes, he said. I know. I'm sorry. I'm upset.

I don't know where he could have gone. Or how. I wanted to know that, too. Aside from slipping up the vent, the only other thing I could imagine was that the overhead door had malfunctioned somehow, opening and closing without any assistance from us. And that's when the dog ran out,

which meant the door might have some faulty wiring and the garage wasn't secure. I would need to call a service technician. There was a problem with that theory, though, Jenny. The garage door is noisy. If Nick goes out early on a Saturday morning for a bike ride and I'm still asleep, or if he comes home late from work and I've already gone to bed, the sound of the door opening wakes me up.

If that had been how the dog slipped out, I would have heard it. And I didn't. No. The dog had simply vanished. It wasn't the best answer, but it was the only one I had. Nick came into the house with me and got ready for work. He asked me to keep an eye out for the dog in case I saw it in the yard.

But after he left, I closed the blinds. I didn't want to see it again. That's just what happened, though. I made spaghetti for dinner that night, Nick's favorite. There was a tension in the house, a fuse waiting to be lit. I wanted to take away the matches if I could. And it seemed as though I had. Nick apologized once more for snapping at me that morning,

said it must have been because he was so tired. He asked if I'd seen the dog, and I shook my head no. That seemed to be the end of it, and I started to run some water for the dishes. Nick filled a glass to drink, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and then turned to look out the window over the sink. "'Hey,' he said, he put his glass down on the counter. "'He's back. It was halfway down the lawn this time, Jenny, "'well into the faint semicircle of light cast by the house.

"'Just sitting, just looking up at the house. "'In all the years I had Winnie, I could never get her to sit like that. "'Oh, yes, she'd sit and stay until you told her good girl and gave her a treat. but she'd still pant and scratch and wiggle. This dog was as still as stone, as if it was deciding on something. I told Nick he was crazy. That's not the same dog, babe, I said.

It wasn't, Jenny. It couldn't have been. Yes, this dog had the same fur, the wheat and color of a yellow lab, and when Nick went out to call to it, its walk was sloped like a shepherd. but it lacked the mashed nose and droopy ears. This dog's snout was longer, and the ears were perked,

and it was bigger, more substantial. This dog was clearly a cross between a lab and a shepherd, with the shepherd bit winning out. Nick went out back and brought the dog up to the patio. He told me to come outside, but I said I needed to finish up in the kitchen. Fine, he said. But look, it's the same dog. The collar.

And there it was, the delicate loop of red fabric around the dog's neck. How could that be, Jenny? Maybe whoever owned this dog also owned the dog from last night, and they'd both run off. That would explain the identical collars. The other possibility, that it was the same dog, changed somehow to better suit my husband's long-held love of shepherds. flitted into my mind, too, only to be dismissed immediately. At the time, it was ludicrous.

Nick came back into the house. I need to get my coat, he said. It will be cool tonight. What do you mean? I asked. Aren't you going to put it in the garage? Why? Because that worked so well last night? No, I'm going to try to find who owns him. He said. He needs me. And so I climbed into bed, annoyed and confused with my husband, for wandering out into the night, off on a mission of mercy for some strange dog. He needs me, Nick had said. What did that mean? The dog needs him? The dog's owner? Who? Plus, if he was so set on finding the dog's owner that night, why didn't Nick load it into the back of his car and drive down?

to see our neighbors, ask them if they knew anything. They were only two miles away, but the way Nick had gone cutting through the woods, it would take him at least an hour to walk there, especially in the dark. I don't know how I fell asleep that night, Jenny, but I did. In the morning, Nick was passed out on the couch, still wearing his jacket. I called his office and told them he'd come down with a stomach bug and needed to take a sick day. Then I covered him with the blanket, went into the den, and turned on the computer. In the internet search box, I typed missing dogs in the name of our town. The website for the county shelter

came up, as did a few rescue organizations, and a social media site where locals could post if they'd lost or found a pet. I scanned through them all, hoping for photos that matched the dog in our yard, or anyone who said their missing dog wore a red collar. There is nothing. I realized too late that I should have searched for something else. No chance of that now, though. The power in the house went off shortly after sunset, so I can't use the computer. The phone's out, too.

I think Nick had a hand in that. He was loping across the yard a few minutes before everything flickered and died. heading to the side of the house where all the external liars connect. I wanted to throw open the back door and scream at him to stop. Please, Nick, stop. There was no point in that, though. It wasn't really Nick anymore. Jenny.

I should have made us leave after that second morning. But Nick was sleeping so deeply and I didn't want to wake him. As the late afternoon slogged into early evening, I heard him start to move, showing the first signs he'd made all day that he was going to come around to me again. I went into the living room. How are you feeling? I asked. Then, because I knew I had to. Did you find the dog's owner? There was a shine on his forehead, old sweat that had dulled into oil, and his skin was a mottled gray beneath. He reminded me of Uncle Vince how he was a little bit of.

He looked when he came to tell Mom that he'd stopped responding to the medications they'd been giving him. Remember that day, Jenny? He gave us both the book of fairy tales as he left and told us our mother was the only good person he had ever known. Mom let us have chocolate ice cream for dinner that night, and then we all fell asleep on the couch, watching movies. No, Nick said. I tried. I looked all night. and then, damn it.

He ran off. He ran off. There was no point in making dinner that night. I wasn't hungry, and Nick seemed as if anything he put in his stomach would come right back up again. So I made some hot tea and came back into the living room to watch television.

Nick was standing by the window. He's here, he said. He's outside. It was the dog. smack up under the eaves of our house and staring in at us. The red collar was bright against his fur, which was now a deep tan. There is a wide wash of black across its back, too, and the snout and ears had extended even more. There was no doubt about it.

This was a German shepherd, purebred, maybe even from a champion line. Impressive, but impossible. I need to find him, Nick said. He was already headed for the back door. Who, Nick? The irritation I felt with him the night before was nothing compared to the fury I felt then. The dog? It's here.

The dog's owner? You tried last night and you couldn't. Don't go. He gave me one last look, Jenny. And I'm not completely. sure what I saw in it. Exhaustion? The last bit of Nick struggling to hold on?

Or maybe just vacancy. Maybe there was no Nick left by then. Oh, Jenny, I don't mean to cry so much. I want to protect you like you've always protected me. I want you to be able to understand every word I'm recording. Because what if I can't stay away from the windows? What if you get a phone call next week to say that your baby's sister has disappeared, and you come out here to try and figure out why?

It might be waiting for you, Jenny. Then you'd make the same mistake Nick and I did. You might think it was just some stray dog. When it's actually something else. A scout, maybe. No, an envoy. That's what it is. An envoy from whatever is in the woods.

And it's come for us, Jenny, to tell us that we're needed, to take us to where we must go. That's how I know Nick is out there waiting for me. He's waiting for me to come to the windows, helping me. He has to be. How else could it have known what Winnie looked like? After Nick didn't come back this morning, I stayed inside. I wanted to call the police to tell them my husband vanished into the woods last night. But when I searched for my cell phone, I discovered it's missing.

Maybe I've just misplaced it here in the house. I'm not really sure anymore. Or maybe Nick managed to take it with him somehow when he left. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I go to the windows. If I do that, I'll be able to see it again. Just once, Jenny. It's almost morning.

now, and it'll be gone in the daylight. Then I'll have to wait until tomorrow night to see it again. And I don't want to do that. I want that feeling I had when I put my hand on her head. The touching of everything and nothing, that ecstasy of illumination. This was earlier tonight when I thought maybe I should go to the back door and yell Nick's name to try and bring him back to me. But only once, I swore. Only once. I stepped into the light of the back patio and screamed for my husband. The woods gave their answer.

I didn't even think. And I'm sorry, Jenny. I'm so sorry. She was there, and I put out my hand because it was instinct, because of the way we would always give Winnie's fur a quick pet when she walked by. You know how she loved to be with me, how she'd always find a quiet corner of the kitchen to curl up in while I made dinner, or how she'd snuggle herself under your legs while you were reading.

A born footrest, my sweet old girl, after I realized what I'd done. I slammed the door shut behind me and ran into the house. I poured rubbing alcohol all over my hand. It was too late, though. I could feel the hook in the back of my brain, setting its raiser. her edge. That's when I knew I couldn't look at it again. If I did, I'd have to go. That's what it wants, Jenny. For all the familiar shapes it takes, for all its hard stairs, for all the times it comes up to the house seeking sanctuary and acting as if it wants in. It's a lie, a trick. It doesn't want in,

Jenny. It needs me to come out, which is why I must go to the windows. If I go to the windows, I'll see it. I'll look into its eyes, and I will finally understand. I want to understand. I'm just going to open this closet door a bit, Jenny. I'll wait for you. 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 Shererlight 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.