Creepy - The Terror of Your Ways &The Patchwork Girl

Episode Date: May 26, 2022

The Terror of Your Ways***Written by: Verstahl and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Content warnings: Suicide, graphic violence***The Patchwork Girl***Written by: Stephen Baker and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of books. Violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. The Terror of Your Ways. Written by Vestal. And narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. When the woman got struck by the bus right in front of me, I didn't understand it. Because I'd been rude to my waiter ten minutes earlier. At the time, I had named.

even called myself being rude at all. He had left me without a refill for nearly ten minutes, and all I'd said when he apologized was sorry doesn't fill my cup. Well, that and, uh, or help your tip. But still, I thought it was a small thing, and I was irritated. And I did feel bad afterward. Even left a big tip to make up for it. But the moment.

moment that woman left the sidewalk, only to be slammed into by the metal face of the cross-town bus. I wasn't thinking about any of that. I was thinking about the terrible wet sound she made as she went under the wheels. The too warm spray of her juices hitting the right side of my face as I gasped and sucked down a bit of her. I started screaming. Everyone did.

It was 30 minutes before I could start out. I was absently wiping the blood off as I gave a statement to an officer. I didn't have anything to tell. I'd not even noticed the woman beside me until she stepped into oncoming traffic. I had no idea that she might have been pushed at all, much less because of my prior sin. It wasn't until I got home and started stripping off everything that I found it. I'd almost just thrown everything away I could without getting arrested for indecently.

But my coat was expensive, and I'd only had it a year. A couple of rounds of dry cleaning might get rid of that awful sm. There was something in my coat's outer pocket. My first thought was an old receipt or ticket. But no, the thickness and the weight was wrong. Pulling it free from my pocket, I saw it was a heavy piece of slick black paper. folded into a tight square and embossed with gold. The back, where the intersecting diamonds of folded corners were tucked together,

made a beautiful tangle of gleaming scroll work, turning it over. I sucked in an involuntary breath. It was a pair of golden eyes. Not just the eyes themselves, but the thick, fleshy lids around them. old, tired, pitiless eyes that stared out from the paper at me with the look that was both weary and knowing. I chided myself for being foolish. It was just a drawing after all.

I turned the paper back over quickly, telling myself it was just to unfold it and not to get away from that gaze. Opening it up, I found the inside was a nighttime blue, glittering with lines of silver text set to mimic a small and efficient style of handwritten note. It said, if you've found this note, you have acquired a very unique companion. There are some that call them the tangu or other things. But I prefer my own name. A sin goblin.

This sin goblin is always with you now. Though you cannot see or hear it, it will watch you all the time. And while this might be disquieting, rest assured that it will never harm you directly. In fact, at its core, this goblin is very upright and moral. And so long as you are sin,

similarly upright and moral. You may never notice its presence at all. Unfortunately, most of us are not perfect. There may well come times where you're transgresses in the sin goblin's eyes. And when that occurs, there will be consequences. Not to you, as I said. It will never harm you directly. But it will inflict punishment on others in your sight.

These punishments can be severe and cruel. You may not believe any of this now, of course. In time, that will change. I offer this message as an explanation and a kindness. A small lamp for your feet as you move forward with your new close friend. Good luck. I almost threw it in the trash then and there, but something stopped me. Instead, I put it on the hallway table and stripped off my clothes and scrubbed myself in the shower

until my skin was hot and raw. I was so tired and shell-shocked that I didn't even think about the note again until the next day. It was about the time that I watched one of my friends die. We'd been coming back in from a smoke break. Me and Tony Lasko from the third floor were ahead on the stairs going up, with Murray lagging behind us a few steps. We always took the stairs on a smoke break. It was our half-joking attempt at mitigating the damage we were doing to our heart and lungs with every puff. But Murray was older and heavier than us.

It made him a bit slower on the climb back up. When Murray fell, he gave a little startled gasp, not loud. But high, strange enough that I turned back to look, just in time to see his legs going up as he pitched backward toward the concrete landing where we just left. Plenty of time to see his head hit and turn as his weight and inertia drove him down, snapping his neck with muffled popping sounds, before his feet jittered for a few seconds. And then still. They told his wife later he died instantly.

That was a lie. We'd watched him gasp wetly for breath, his eyes rolling like a scared fish as he trying to understand why the world was suddenly upside down and closing in. I was wondering the same thing. Over the last two years, I've been responsible for twenty-two deaths. Eighteen cripplings, five blindings, two deafening's, and one animal attacked that, And, well, that person's still in the ICU and isn't expected to survive. For the first few days, I was in disbelief.

By the fifth accident, in my proximity, I was being questioned by police as a person of interest instead of a suspect. When they started questioning my bosses at work, my job didn't last that long. Not that anyone could actually say I'd done anything. All of it had either been around other people or in places with cameras that could be checked. There were times where it did look like someone had been shoved or pulled, but there were never any actual evidence that anyone had done it or touched them at all. By the time they got tired of talking to me, I'd already reached the point where I barely left my house.

And when I did, it was like exiting a space capsule to gather resources on some alien and hostile world. I guarded everything I said or did. Every look I gave or tone I had when speaking. I'd practice phrases and expressions in the mirror. Canned responses or requests for every scenario I thought might occur during my expeditions out into the world. I found remote work that required no real interaction beyond emails.

I would spend hours scrutinizing every detail of a paragraph. before hitting send. And for a time it worked. The horror started declining, and by six months I was averaging only one incident every few weeks. By my first anniversary of getting the card, I was on a street that lasted nearly 13 months. I almost bought one of those workplace signs to hang in my office, you know? The ones that let you brag how many days it's been since an incident. But then I thought the Sin Goblin might take offense to that. I quickly clicked off the website. I've moved to a different state in the meantime.

My few remaining friends and contacts in my old town, well, I'd cut them all off for fear of hurting them. And truth be told, they didn't seem to mind. I thought things would be easier with a fresh start, and I was right. I had my routines in place, and I remained ever vigilant. I even started to enjoy going out again, if only a little. I've been shut away for so long. And it had been such a long time since I'd had an incident after all. I started to think that either I'd become a nice person enough that the goblin was satisfied,

or maybe he hadn't followed me when I moved away. Then one day, I stopped in to pick up a pizza at a local place I liked. I had called ahead, so all I had to do was politely wait my turn in line to pick up the pizza and pay. The man in front of me was being slow and annoying, fiddling with his wallet, wiping his snoddy nose with his hand, and then putting in his pin with the offending finger. Pulling out his card too fast and he had to do it all over again. The old me would have been staring daggers at him, at the least. And a snide comment to him, where the cashier wouldn't have been out of bounds. Now?

I just hummed as I looked around the restaurant. Check my phone for any work emails while the dude finally shuffled away, offering a parting sneeze as he headed for the door. I was saying hello to the cashier, asking how they were doing, while inwardly congratulating myself on how far I'd come in the past couple of years. In so many ways, it had been bizarre and horrifying. But maybe if I'd become a better person, some good can come from it all. Heck, maybe the little guy wasn't all bad. I froze. Apologizing breathlessly to the cashier.

I ran for the door, opening it as quickly as I could without risking bumping anyone outside or knocking a passerby outside. I looked around for the snotty man, but there was no sign of him. Heart about to burst out of my chest, I raised my voice for the first time in months. Bless you! Bless you! He must not have heard. Or if he did, the goblin judged it as too late.

Because that night my next door neighbor burned to death in her bed. She lived long enough to knock a small hole through the wall into my living room. Not enough to get through. Of course. Just enough for me to smell her cooking and watch as she curled up like a spent match on what was left of her bed. The next day, I took $3,000 out of my savings and went to a private detective I found online. I didn't tell him about the sin goblin, of course, but I did outline a rough timeline of the two years of me being stalked and harassed, going all the way back to the day I got a sinister message left in my coat pocket.

I tried to retrace my steps at the time, figure out when I'd gotten the goblin and from who, but it never went anywhere. I couldn't remember any strange encounters that day. And all I'd done is go to an eye appointment, rode the train across town to get lunch, and then watched that poor woman get hit by the bus. I didn't hold out a lot of hope that detective will. will find out anything new.

And at first he didn't think he had. He had told me that he'd spoken to people at the eye doctor's office and the restaurant I'd eaten at. But in the two years, memories had faded and some staff had changed. Still, no one remembered seeing or hearing anything strange that day. Turning on his computer monitor, he took out a DVD and fumbled it into his desktop. My last option was the train. No real chance of finding a person.

to talk to him. If I know a guy that knows a guy, or granted, your money got me a copy of security cam footage from the day you rode the train. I was afraid it was a waste. But then I saw this. Hitting play on the video, he leaned back so I could see it more clearly. It only took me a moment for me to find myself, sitting on one of those aisle seats of a crowded midday train, quickening motion outside of the windows and the gentle sway of the rail handles let me know the train was starting back up after stopping at a station. As I watched, an old woman carrying several bags of what looked like groceries shuffled from the door over to my part of the car. She came to a stop in front of me, standing there expectantly, as though she thought I'd offer up my seat. For my part, that passed me never even looked up from my phone.

I don't remember if I truly didn't see her or just ignore her because I didn't want to get up. But after a few seconds, it didn't matter. A kid in the row behind me stood up and gave the woman his seat, even going so far as to help her put her bags in the overhead rack before finding another seat further back. I felt anger boiling in me as I stared at the small monochrome woman on the screen. Was this her? Was that it?

Had she really ruined my life and destroyed all those other people because I didn't hop up to give her my fucking seat? Gritting my teeth, I watched her like a hawk as a train rolled toward my station. She was right behind me. It would be the simplest thing in the world for her to slip in into my coat pocket without me noticing. The angle wasn't perfect, of course, but I felt like I'd see her at least look my way or lean forward when she did it. Instead, she leaned back with her eyes closed as though she'd fallen asleep. The walls outside the train slowed up again as it crawled up to my stop.

Past me stood up, as did several others, but the old woman kept to her seat without stirring. A line of people streaming off the train started forward. The guy who had given up his chair right beside me. It was fast and subtle. But right before I stepped across the platform and out of the camera's view, I saw him drop the folded paper into my coat's left pocket. I looked up at the detective. Tell me you know who he is.

The man smiled. Kind of. I can't get any government records for the money you paid. But I was able to track down his online persona, which led me to an internet phone number. I tried it yesterday, and it still works. The guy who answered sounds about like I'd expect your stalker to sound. He puffed out of breath. So the question is, what do you want to do now?

I can give this stuff to the cops here or there, but I doubt they'll do anything with it. If you have any more money, I can keep digging in on this cat and see what. Give it to me. Um, please. He frown. Give you what? I forced a smile. The number.

Please, just give me the number. When I got to my car, I forced myself to spend five minutes doing breathing exercises and rehearsing what I would say if he answered. I had to be polite and cordial, while also finding out what I could and trying to get him. to tell me how I can get rid of the goblin once and for all. Finger shaking, I punched in the number. He answered on the second ring.

I felt my jaw clench, but I forced myself to smile as I replied. Hey there, sorry to bother you, but I got your number from him in, uh, associate. I know this may sound strange, but I think you may have been on a train with me a couple years ago. You let in, um, nice elderly lady have your seat. I was sitting in front of you. This was in... Oh, so you're the guy, huh? I felt my face contracting into a frown. Mm, yes. I think you gave me an envelope and, um, a new friend. There was a short bray of laughter on the other end of the line. Shit.

Yeah, I did. Fuck, man. How did you track me down? Swallowing, I tried to keep my voice even. I, um... I paid a private detective. He found you from the camera on the train. Another chuckle.

Wow. That's like some CSI shit. Right? Good for you. The phone creaked slightly as I gripped it harder. Um, yeah. Thank you. I just, I wanted to know how to,

how to leave my new companion behind so my life can get back to normal. So you can go back to being an asshole like the rest of us, right? I feel you. Thing is, you can't. What? Why? I mean, there has to be some way to get rid of it. You gave it to me, didn't you?

Yeah, that's true. But that's like my family's thing. There was a pause and then he spoke again, his tone more serious. Look, man. My family got cursed with this thing like two hundred years ago, right? And the only way we can get rid of it for a while is to dump it on someone else. and they can't get rid of it without, you know, croaking. And then it comes back to us, and we find another...

person to help us out. And that's the deal. That's the deal. That's the fucking deal? I was yelling now, but I didn't care. You just kill people, ruin their lives, and it's all a big fucking joke to you? No-uh. I don't hurt anybody.

It's the goblin, and he doesn't hurt people unless you fuck up. Two weeks ago, I watched my neighbor burn to death because I didn't say bless you when a guy sneezed. I thought I had the rules figured out, but I'm not perfect, and I think he's getting stricter. There was a snort on the other end of the line. Oh, yeah. He's a ticky little fucker. He starts out a bit easygoing. The longer he's with you, more of a stickler he becomes.

I had him for four years before I had decided to sack up and pass him on. That was after I farted at dinner on accident. And when my girlfriend got mauled by a pack of dogs on the way home. His voice got thin, a watery sounding. I know it sucks, man. I really am kind of sorry. But hey, at least I gave you some headson. up. I've made a note all fancy so you'd take it serious.

I can actually hear the sarcasm in my voice as I started at the phone. Sure. Thanks for that. Now, listen. You're going to figure out how to take this thing back, or I'll find you. I'll find you and be your own personal sin goblin until you don't have shit left. You get me? He actually sounded mildly offended when he had. He actually sounded mildly offended when he answered. Whoa, dude. First of all, you won't find me. I'll drop this number after this call, and I don't live in that shit city. My family's loaded. Not unrelated to the curse, by the way. But for your purposes, you just need to get that you'll never find me. All he'll do is piss off the goblin and hurt more people. Is that what you want? I started crying then.

Please. I can't take it anymore. I don't want to hurt anyone else, but I want to have my life, too. He sighed. I get it. All you have to do is don't be a dick. Okay, well, maybe sometimes he'll still flag you because he has some weird hangups, but you can figure those out.

And when you make a mistake, just look at it like an act of God or something. Act of Goblin, right? I... I don't know that I can do that. You don't have much of a choice. But... I can't take it back even if I want it. Which I do not want.

Thank you very much. I mean, you can take the permanent way out, but I'll discourage that. And not just because it'll mean I have to find someone else to stick that little fucker on. Just... Just be a good person. and try not to worry about it. How hard can it be? He took a deep breath and went on.

Don't trip the time. You were pretty agro during this call, so you might see a bit of fallout from it. Just push past it and do better, right? That's easy for you to shit my food's here. Holla! Then the line was dead. I went to recall the number when I had.

saw something at the edge of my vision. It was the detective, hitting the asphalt in front of my car from his 12-story fall. Retching into my mouth, I put the phone away and started heading home. It took a while. Getting everywhere takes a while now. I drive slow and careful, yielding to everyone I come across while also trying not to go too slow, or cautious that I impede those around me. It's maddening and terrifying, but also necessary. I certainly don't want to offend anyone. Creepy presents The Patchwork Girl, written by Stephen Baker and narrated by Megan McDuffie. My trial starts in a few days, and I know I will be convicted. I don't know what will happen to me afterwards. sent to prison or an asylum. The media has been calling me one of the worst serial killers in recent

history. The picture they show of me is older. They can't show my mugshot. No cameras will be allowed in the courtroom either. No one outside the people involved in the trial will see what I look like now. I suppose I should start from the beginning. I was at a flea market trying to see if I could find any hidden gems to resell and make a couple bucks over. I found a few interesting knick-knacks here and there, but I had already spent a few hours looking at every item at every booth. I was getting tired and ready to head home. That's when the tugging sensation started. It was faint at first, but I noticed that it would either fade or gain strength depending on where I walked. If I walked with it, it would fade. But if I walked away, it felt like a small child was trying to

pull me with them. Enough to notice it, but not enough that I couldn't just leave. God, how I wish I had just left. I decided to follow the tugging sensation, and it led me to the far corner of the market. I had already been around there, but I didn't find anything interesting earlier, so I must have missed the small booth tucked away in the corner, set back a little further than the others. An old woman sat behind the table surrounded by jars and containers of all shapes and sizes. Some looked new and expensive with gold inlays on them, and others looked like they had been freshly dug up from the ground. The old woman smiled at me when she saw me approach. Half of her yellow teeth were missing. Her skin looked like aged leather, ready to fall off at

any moment, and her eyes looked sunken into her face with dark circles surrounding them. When she noticed me, she asked if there was anything special I was looking for. No, I'm just looking around. I was around here earlier, but I didn't notice your booth. Why has it set so far back? I asked. She ignored my question and pulled out a few jars of different sizes. I noticed that everything she had, the jars, boxes, containers of every kind, were sealed shut, some with rope, some with wax, and one with chains.

I turned down the jars and was about to leave when the tugging sensation practically pulled me over the table when I saw a small box with metal strips sealing it. I had never felt such an intense and overwhelming feeling. The old woman looked at me strangely and then noticed the box I was staring at. She grabbed it and placed it in front of me on the table. Immediately I felt a wave of nausea and my vision began to swim. I could hear something in my head. It seemed like inaudible whisperings. She handed me the box, and the moment I touched it, the whispering stopped. My vision cleared, and I no longer felt nauseous. This box is made of petrified wood. Very old. There are carvings

on the box that say it holds something powerful inside, a spirit. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. I didn't believe in ghosts. and the only spirits I believed in are the ones I drink. The story was interesting, though, and the box looked like something I could sell. The whisper, the tugging sensation. It was all just my mind playing tricks on me. The old woman was creepy and set my nerves on edge. I paid for the box and grabbed my things,

leaving the market and starting my long drive back home. The sun was setting and it got dark with much of my drive to go. my music playing on the radio started to fade in and out that's when i heard the whisper again but this time i understood it at first i thought it was the radio but it kept repeating itself over and over again overlapping in a cacophony of whispers in my head i turned the radio off pulled over in the first parking lot i could find and flipped the overhead lights on The dim light illuminated my new finds, but I pushed them aside and grab the box. Again, the moment I touched the box, the whispering stopped. It startled me so badly I dropped the box.

Immediately the whispering started again, low and barely audible, but gaining in volume quickly. Let me go. It repeated over and over again until I finally placed the box in my lap. After a grueling hours drive, I finally arrived at my apartment. In my haste to get inside, I left everything else in the car, bringing only the box. I sat it on my kitchen table and examined it as thoroughly as I could, looking for some kind of device that could be making that sound. There was nothing on the outside.

The box was made of petrified wood with strange etchings on it. I pulled at the lid, but the metal bands were bound shut. Eventually, I decided that there must be a device inside the box that was making the noise every time I set it down. I grabbed a hammer and brought it down on the lid of the box. It shattered on the first try, and I pulled some of the larger pieces away from it. At first I thought the inside was empty because I didn't see anything. Then I realized that I didn't see anything. I didn't see the bottom of the box.

Where the bottom should have been, instead was an inky darkness. I put my hand in the box to feel for the bottom. I felt nothing. I kept going, pushing my hand deeper in than my elbow. Finally, my entire arm was in and I still couldn't feel the bottom of the box. I couldn't even feel the walls. I was able to swing my arm around and didn't feel anything. After I pulled my arm out, thankful that it was still attached, I looked into the inky abyss, staring back at me was a face. I couldn't make out the details, but it was definitely a face, and it was getting closer to me.

I dropped the box on the table and backed away from it. How could this be happening? My heart felt like it would beat out of my chest, and I felt like my legs would give out. I finally talked myself into making sure I wasn't crazy and decided to double-check the box. Slowly, I peeked into it again, and nearly pissed myself.

The face was much closer now, so close, in fact, that I could make out every detail of it. The face shape looked human, but there was no nose, only small holes for nostrils. The mouth had no lips, just a slit that extended far past

where the lips should have ended. But the eyes were what petrified me. They were perfectly round instead of oval, and a sickly yellow color. The pupils were vertical slits like a knife had cut through them. Greasy and matted black hair framed the face.

I collapsed to the floor and nearly hyperventilated when a hand with gray skin and blackened fingertips reached out and grabbed the edge of the box. A second hand soon followed and I realized that whatever the hands belonged to was trying to get out.

The creature twisted and collapsed its body in impossible ways to get out of the box that was too small for someone to try to get through. After the torso, where its legs should have been, was a serpentine body, black as ink with scales covering every inch. He stared at me as the rest of his body left the box and lifted him until his head was almost touching the ceiling. I screamed and tried to crawl away from it, but my body moved sluggishly. It felt like I was in one of those nightmares where you try running away, but your body moves as if underwater, and you can never run fast enough to get away. The creature slithered in front of me, and I continued to scream and cry. He looked

annoyed and reached his open hand in front of me and closed his fingers together. My scream died in my throat. I couldn't scream or speak. I could barely keep from having a panic attack. It freed me. I am grateful. His voice was soft and smooth, like flowing oil. What are you? I managed to ask. I am a gin. A gin? You mean like a genie? I asked, thinking the two sounded similar enough. We have been called that. Yes. I didn't know what prompted me to ask, and I regret asking it, but I wanted to know. Do I get three wishes?

His eyes gleamed and he slithered much closer to me. His face inches from mine. Oh, yes. His voice hissed. I will grant you three wishes for freeing me. I wanted to test out the wishes first, so my first wish was simple and great. I asked for a million dollars. I had to show the gin a 20 so he knew the currency. He snapped his blackened fingers and stacks upon stacks of cash rained down in my kitchen.

I greedily grabbed handfuls and looked at them. They were all perfect copies of the 20 I had shown him. The fear I had evaporated quickly and I began thinking hard about what my other wishes would be. For a minute, I thought of doing something selfless and wishing for peace or to end world hunger. But I was a single woman in her 20s working a shitty job in a shitty apartment. This was my best chance to get ahead in life. Regretfully, I decided to be selfish with my last two wishes. I wish to be beautiful, I told the gin. I didn't think I was ugly.

I just wasn't beautiful. I felt more plain like someone in the background. My friends were all prettier than me, and more than once I felt jealous of their hair or lips or skin. The gin told me that when I woke up in the morning, I would be beautiful and have the best parts of all my friends. I couldn't wait until the morning. I made my final wish almost as an afterthought,

something that would help me even more now that I'm rich and would soon be beautiful. I told the gin I wished to be famous. Again, he told me when I awoke in the morning, I would become famous, and everyone would know who I was. By now it was about eight o'clock at night. I felt too excited for the morning to be tired, so the gin told me he could put me to sleep. When you awake, your wishes will be granted, and I will be gone. After that, he touched my eyes with his blackened fingers and put me into a deep sleep.

sleep. I remember having nightmares. I kept seeing the Jin's face and its splitting smile and feeling like I was being stabbed everywhere. I woke up exhausted and in pain. I walked to my bathroom but kept dragging my feet. They felt strange and I noticed everything seemed higher up than normal. I entered my bathroom and that's when I noticed my reflection in the mirror. I screamed and nearly passed out. Staring back at me wasn't me. It was a creature that looked sewn together. A pale nose was attached to olive cheeks. The hair was straight and blonde. The lips were thicker and dark. The stitching ran down my neck and I quickly found out that every part of my body wasn't mine. I had someone else's arms, legs, torso, hands, and feet. Even my eyes were different colors.

One blue, one green. Tears streamed down my patchwork face. From what I could tell, I had the body parts from four or five different women. I then noticed a small tattoo on the ankle of my right leg. I recognized the tattoo. I belonged to my friend. I had a little bit. I had a little bit of my right leg. I had a small tattoo on the ankle of my right leg. I her legs. I felt the stitching on my face and body. It was real. I pulled at the threads on one of my arms until I had a small section free and, ignoring the pain, pulled the skin back. I hoped that maybe my own skin, my real skin, was underneath. All I saw was blood and muscle. After staring horrified at myself for what seemed like ours, I started to realize that I recognized every peace and who they belonged to. They were all parts from my friends, the parts I was most jealous of.

Frantically, I called each of their phones, hoping they would answer and be fine, and that I was having some kind of mental breakdown. That would be better than the alternative, but not a single one picked up. Still in shock, I walked on unfamiliar legs to my living room. The sight made me vomit immediately. Blood was everywhere, covering the floor and furniture. More body parts. My body parts littered the room. I could see my legs and arms tossed in a pile. Bags soaked with blood held my skin, and on the table, staring back at me were my eyes. I passed out after seeing the gruesome scene and woke to police breaking down my door and handcuffing me. I vaguely remember seeing the horror in those officers' eyes when they saw my apartment and then me. The police showed me a video from one of my friend's cameras she had in her house.

You could see me enter the house with a cleaver, kill my friend, hack off parts of her body, and stuff them in a bag before leaving. I told the police, the lawyers, the psychologists, the psychiatrists, everything. My lawyer can't even look at me and has to communicate over the phone only. It was only after one of my phone calls with my lawyer that I realized that Jin did, in fact, grant my final wish. He said my case is world news and that I'm called the most infamous serial killer in recent history. He wants me to plead insanity. He says no one will believe my story about the gin or my wishes.

They don't believe I didn't do this. to myself. They think I'm insane. I'm not insane. I'm not insane. I'm not insane. I'm not insane. 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 are done so through Creative Commons share-a-like licensing, or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast

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