Creepy - The Thing in the Zoo

Episode Date: November 13, 2023

Written by: Jerry W. Simmons***Bonus episode: "Beware of the Chalk Drawings" written by: Marcus H Noir and narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Support us 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.

What are we thinking? I don't even know anymore. All we can do is keep going, right? I guess. But for how long? Hey, listen, you know he'd do the same for us. Woody? Oh, hey, everyone.

Didn't expect to see you all today. Another day, another dollar. I told you I'm not giving you all a raise. Ha, ha, ha. Thanks for that reminder. What the fuck was that? It doesn't matter. We should get to recording.

Unless, again, offer still stands. Do you want a day off? A day off? No. No, I'm good to go. Got the list of patrons? Uh, yes. Here you go.

Okay. I guess I'll see you all later. Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons, Catherine Crowley, Christina Aguilar, Kurt Holman, and Logan Atkins. All patrons get early commercial free access to all Sunday and Wednesday episodes. From their tiers include weekly bonus episodes, immediate access to our entire back catalog of over a thousand Patreon exclusive episodes and logo merch. To see how you can support the show and be rewarded for it,

please check out the donation tiers at patreon.com slash creepy pod. 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 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 Thing in the Zoo Written by Jerry W. Simmons Getting bored in a small town is easy. Why I chose to stay home and go to the local university rather than venture out to a bigger city? I may never know. There's just something about a small town that keeps you locked tight. enveloped in its comfort and familiarity.

I guess we all hope to leave someday, but we know we never will. That is exactly what George Stephen and I were talking about. We were spending another boring Saturday night in our dorm room drinking contraband beers and complaining about the staleness of our situation. George was ranting about how his parents were trying to get him to move back in with them and Stephen was flaunting his lofty dreams of going to law school in Austin. He was dead certain they would overlook his 2.6 GPA once they saw how good his admission essay was. And he claimed to be a natural test taker.

So he was not planning to study for the LSAT. I just sat in my desk chair too buzzed to be paying attention to either of them. These were conversations I'd heard dozens of times before, and they'd lost their luster a long. time ago. I looked around at the dorm room George and I shared. Dirty clothes hung off the double bunk bed and our trash bin was filled with candy bar wrappers and crushed bud light cans.

Books were splayed open carelessly on our desks and chiefs of paper were arranged and disorganized acts. Like every other resident of our small town, we half-assed just about everything. And college was no exception. By the time the boys began arguing about the pros and cons of our capitalist system, I could not stand it any longer. I stood up abruptly and walked out of the room to go for a stroll in the cool night air, hoping to clear my head. The guys both stopped mid-conversation as I slammed the door without saying a word. By the time Stephen started shouting, I was already halfway down the carpeted hallway.

Dude! He yelled out. undoubtedly waking some of the dormitories more studious residents. What the hell's your problem? I hunched my shoulders and continued in silence. My dirty skate shoes patted away down the coarse carpet. Let him go, bro. George said to Stephen.

Odd well enough for me to hear. I don't know what his issue's been lately. Without needing to look at him, I knew they were headed back into the room to get drunk and pass out like they did every Saturday. I was tired of it, tired of the pure monotony of it all. I burst out into the cool night air, taken in the view of the dark campus illuminated by light posts. I had to admit it was impressive despite being so small. Our tiny town on the southern Texas border surely had its charm,

and the university attracted a few students from elsewhere in the state. Most buildings were either new or renovated in a colonial Spanish architectural style. Palm trees lined newly paved sidewalks and large promotional banners were strung up over the archway's buildings. I walked by one which is illuminated by light posts, picturing laughing students throwing up our university's hand symbol with the words, Why would you go anywhere else? Posted in big letters across the top. I couldn't help but scoff out loud, the rude noise echoing into the empty September night. The university surely appealed to those students who were too afraid to leave town.

I would guess that somewhere around 90% of our student body had gone to high school locally and subsequently headed straight over to the university upon graduation. So far the whole experience had felt like high school all over again. And I was getting bored of familiar faces rehashing the same old drama. As I exited campus, I tried to make up my mind as to where I was going. Much like my life in general, I did not have a compelling answer. I shoved my hands into the pocket of my hoodie and decided to walk down our town's Main Street a few blocks away. I braced as when rustled the palm trees, the early warning sign of a winter soon to come.

Main Street was a simultaneously depressing and hopeful sight. We'd been a small factory town many years ago and our residence and grown rich with the profits pre-World War II. Some of the finest blue jeans and everyday kitchen appliances were made in our little town. In Main Street, once been a bustling center of commerce. When corporations shut down the factories and sent the jobs overseas, there was not much for our forgotten citizens to do to survive. They had on to the grim situation. Many of their men died in the war. So, now downtown was a landscape crumbling mid-1900.

buildings. The echoes of a joyful long-gone era. However, fresh palm trees have been planted and new street lamps installed. What was at one time considered a seedy part of town was given new life thanks to thrift shops popping up in the carcasses of the old buildings. New restaurant owners did everything they could to make the places seem vintage, historical, and all-around hipster appealing. I chuckled as I walked past the only two bars in town in which college kids hung out. El Tunal and La Scalera were situated across from one another, bitter rivals who peddled the same product.

It was well past midnight, but throngs of underage college students were still waiting outside the doors hoping to get in. Loud reggaeton resounded from both buildings. The booming base ruining what had hoped would be a peaceful night. time stroll. I tried not to feel nihilistic about the youthful faces waiting in line and the joyful drunks stumbling around the road. I had tired of both places a long time ago and had no interest in drinking with the old men at the other bars in town. Therefore, I had resigned myself to spending my weekends drinking with George and Stephen in the dorms, friends I had known since grade school.

I continued down the boulevard, leaving the rowdy crowd behind. The new restaurants came next, all of them closed for the night. I've been hoping to grab a bite to eat or maybe a quiet beer. My head was still buzzing from the dorm room to botchery, but the euphoric tingling in my body was starting to fade. While I was not interested in passing out drunk in the street, I had a mind to forgive my present situation. Had a rundown and shaded gas station near the end of the main street, I picked up a 40. I sat on a curb near the end of the boulevard, taking sips from a brown paper bag. If I had to admit it, I suppose it would be depression.

Being stuck in a useless major with a mediocre GPA in the same town you graduated high school from will do that to you. I felt like I was running in circles with a loaded gun, hoping to find a target to shoot at. But I was going nowhere. if I could just find a target to aim at. I set the beer down on the curb beside me and looked to my right. Beyond Main Street, the rest of the historic sector of town sat in dimly lit shadow, abandoned from the past half century. There were no palm trees lining the road here, and the asphalt was cracked,

the street lamps less bright. More than half of them were not even functioning. Hardly anyone went into the old part of town. There's nothing there but the memories of individuals long past and the echoes of better days. I stood up off the curb and walked towards the darkness, leaving my beer half finished in the ghostly light of a street lamp. I'm not able to say what was attracting me to that other world. Perhaps my fear and anxiety of the future was compelling me to explore the past. After all, everyone who used to live here had bright hopes for their own future as well.

If their future had ended like this, how could I possibly find what I desired with the nihilism that was starting to take over every facet of my thoughts? I walked down the cracked asphalt directly in the middle of the road, feeling pleasantly drunk again from the 40, stumbling awkwardly in the deserted streets lived mostly by moonlight. With blurry vision, I looked with indifference upon the crumbling buildings to my left and right. Most of their roofs had caved in, giving them a sagging appearance. that was almost pathetic. I passed an old shoe store to my left,

its interior barely illuminated, and revealed just a few feet within the decrepit building. Shelves still line the inside of the abandoned store which stretched back into darkness. In the window were a pair of cowboy boots, covered in mildew, and in a state of irreversible decay. I stopped for a moment and took a closer look at the boots in the window,

placing my hand on the dusty glass. The decay of the boots was sickening, mildew turning what was once beautiful brown leather into sickly dark green. I startled as the dim light reflected movement at the barrel of the boot. I got a hold of my nerves when I saw I was just a large daddy long legs crawling out of its home. I shuddered my shoulders and kept walking, drawing up the hood of my jacket brace against the oncoming chilly wind. I continued my mindless track for a few more blocks. virtually no street lamps were working here, but a full moon was shining down bright in all its natural glory. I gazed upwards and saw a multitude of stars in the sky.

The small population of our town meant there was very little light pollution. I found the moonlight and its accompanying starlight would be far more comforting than the light from the outdated street lamps anyway. All around me that decaying carcasses of old restaurants, clothing stores, and sun. small workshops flashed by. I passed the historical century theater to my right. Its goddy totem with a crown on top shooting up into the night air. I chuckled at its absurdity and kept walking. The buildings were now becoming sparse.

The only sounds I heard were the crickets and the rustling wind. Large abandoned factories with gaping holes and their sheet metal roofs took the places of the early 20th century stores. I was approaching the outskirts of town, but did not quite feel like turning back, content to escape further into another era. I stopped in my tracks and looked to my left. As I stood on the cracked asphalt,

moonlight shining down on me. I could not help but feel a strange attraction to the decorative wrought iron gate that was a few yards away from me. A large wooden sign which read South Texas Zoo sat above it. The red and yellow paint chipped and peeling from years of neglect. Although I'd lived in town my entire life,

I had completely forgotten that this zoo was one of Texas's principal attractions before World War II. People had come from all over the state to see the exotic animals, and the zoo had been a tremendous source of income for our residents. I suppose a part of it was that I never found this part of town interesting. But then again, I thought the same of the rest of the town. I could not help but wonderful memories the abandoned zoo I tucked away in its steps. I approached the gate sheepishly, drunkenly tripping momentarily on the cracked concrete, but regaining balance quickly.

With a shaky hand, I reached out and touched the old iron bars, which were at least ten feet high. I hefted the old brass lock attached to a rusted chain which prevented the gate from opening. I was certain that he must have been forgotten decades ago. The lock not been removed for at least 80 years. Maybe it was my drunken state, a simple desire for novelty, or perhaps even something which was much stronger than either of those which possessed me to climb the wrought iron gate. I cannot say, but all I know is that I gripped the rough metal bars with my hands, the black paint flaking off at my touch.

I pulled myself up with my outstretched right hand, my dirty and torn vans dangling above the old pavement. With a grunt, I used what little upper body strength I had and slammed my feet vertically under the bars. With a heave of effort and a hefty dose of self-reflection on my decision-making skills, I began to climb. The old gate swayed back and forth, causing my already sloshy had to spin.

There were several times where I felt like I was about to flip right off and land on my back. I had crack an open wide on the concrete. I'm sure someone would find my body eventually. I reached the top with no small effort and sat straddling the metal gate, enjoying the gentle early morning breeze. I took in the sights, looking to my left and seeing Main Street lit up and what little Granger had had. Farther to the west I saw the university, the old bell tower situated in the darkness like a lighthouse.

I teetered slightly, but caught my balance and looked to my right. Before my eyes was the abandoned zoo, alone, decrepit, full of adventure. It seemed to stretch out into seeming eternity in the darkness. Cracked pavement gave way to unkempt lawns and large trees artificially planted to give the zoo a jungle feel were so dense it felt like I was peering into the threshold of an actual rainforest. The first animal enclosure sat just a few yards away from me, a large pit with an iron guardrail on which visitors could lean on and view the exotic animals.

Despite a moment of trepidation, I swung my left leg over the gate and began to descend. My sneakers plopped down on the other side of the fence, and I was officially in the zoo. I looked around in wonder at this new world as I walked towards the enclosure. I passed the gatehouse on the right. The old cash register behind the cracked window, a humongous bulk of rusted metal. Ancient stuffed animals leaking their guts were hung up on the walls, utterly forgotten keepsakes. The pavement was cracking and dirty, and the dense trees clogged my vision and blocked out most of the comforting moonlight I've been enjoying. The gentle night breeze was hardly blowing in this area, and while little moonlight penetrated

the overgrown canopy cast eerie and gnarled shadows in every direction. Perhaps I should have been more afraid, but the liquid courage pulsing through my veins gave me the artificial confidence I needed. I stumbled up to the enclosure, flanked on each side by dark paths which led further into the bowels of the zoo. I gripped the rusted iron railing and gazed down into the abandonment. enclosure. It was humongous.

I didn't know what animal was once housed there, but it had to been something large, perhaps a lion. It was at least 15 feet deep with a large artificial rock wall on the far end that included a gaping cave, likely the former home with a large beast. Unkempt weed, several feet high, carpeted to ground level. And directly below the guardrail was a deep concrete trench. Whatever had been in there, I certainly did not want it to get out. I thought about the strangeness of my surroundings.

What must things have been like all those years ago? Happy families enjoying their weekends. Children laughing gleefully, colorful animals in their prime. What a sight it must have been. I continued scanning the enclosure. Through my blurry vision, I almost... swore that I saw movement rustling the tall weeds below. A slight shiver went down the back of my neck,

but I somehow convinced myself there was nothing there. However, the cave in the wall captivated my attention. Its opening was large, at least ten feet wide, and in its gaping maw, I saw nothing but cool blackness. Gazing into that abyss gave me an eerie feeling in the depths of my gut. I shuddered and backed away from the guardrail. I felt inexplicably compelled to continue exploring the zoo. Directly to my left was an old wooden map painted onto a wall.

It seemed that the whole zoo was a continuous loop. And on the path to my right were the birds, aquarium, and most of the herbivores. To my left were the lions, bears, and other carnivorous terrors. I opted for the left-hand path and wandered further into the heart of the zoo. canopy above my head enveloping me in almost total darkness. I traversed down the darkened path while doing my best not to trip on the cracks in the concrete or stumble over debris. I passed several other enclosures, but none of them caught my interest any more than the next.

In my mind, I could almost hear the zoo of a bygone era. Children giggling, gazelles baying, lions roaring, and that is when I heard it. It was laughter, faint at first, but discernible. A child's laugh seemingly distant, yet simultaneously all around me. Its volume rose steadily from a soft whisper until it was as loud as a car revving its engine. The giggling of a child slowly morphed into a maddening laugh. Finally becoming a maniacal cackle that resounded all the way through the deep tunnel of trees. I put my hands in my ears as my heart pounded in my chest.

I turned to run and stumbled, falling face first onto the concrete and smashing my nose on the hard surface. The laughing stopped abruptly. I shivered, sitting on the concrete while trying to stay perfectly still. I felt my nose and pulled my hand back quickly when I realized fresh, warm blood was streaming over my lips and chin. I peered into the darkness around me while struggling to my feet. trying to discern what I could from the darkness. Directly in my ears as if the disembodied voice were right beside me. I heard,

Would you like to see the lions? In a throaty, guttural tone. I shot down the dark pathway like a bullet. The overgrown jungle canopy gave me the distinct sensation that I was in a dark tunnel, claustrophobia creeping ever closer. I could not shake the notion that something was right behind me, nipping at my heels. My feet padded quickly on the concrete. The old skate shoes and baggy jeans only adding to the exertion I was experiencing in my now half-sober state.

I turned a corner in the pathway, seeing moonlight in the close distance. The hair stood up on my arms and I could swear that I felt hot breath trickle the skin on the back of my neck. Breathing was becoming a chore, and I was certain my nose had been broken from the fall. With a rush of relief, I burst into the moonlight of the zoo's entrance courtyard, finding myself directly next to the main enclosure. I whipped around, peering down the dark path, silently listening for any indication that I might not be alone. I backed up slowly, eyes focused on the threshold of the pathway. eventually backing into the iron guardrail at the enclosure. Instinctively, I looked to my right and caught a glimpse of what was lurking there.

Dimly illuminated by the ghostly moonlight, I saw the whole enclosure spread out beneath me. From within the bowels of the artificial cave, there was a rustling which I could not deny hearing. I stood frozen, hands on the enclosure railing, gripping it with an icy embrace. Slowly the thing lumbered into the moonlight, silhouetted against the artificial rock wall, and casting a shadow which seemed to run the length of the entire enclosure. It was ghastly. Although humanoid had crawled on all fours,

its long spindly body revealing itself in the moonlight. The creatures sniffed the air, the light glinting up its pale skin and flat face which was blank and full of malice. Long, thin, shoulder-length hair fell from its head, a sickly contrast to its seemingly hairless body. It slithered through the weeds of the enclosure, stopping a moment to crack its long neck to the side before it suddenly turned to face me. Its flat face stared me dead in the eyes, and as its lanky and scalable form stood to full height, I saw the full horror of the creature. It flashed a toothy grin in my direction, bonged canines glistening brightly.

It shrieked with a sick joy, throwing its spindly arms into the air before rushing toward my side of the enclosure. With a leap from its long legs, it effortlessly cleared the moat and gripped the concrete wall below me. It began to cackle with a maddening chatter. Its horrid face gazing directly at me no more. more than 10 feet below.

Like a spider, began to scale the wall. Realizing I'd been frozen with terror, I did in about face and bolted for the gate. The iron structure stood dauntingly in the night, suddenly seemed much higher than I'd originally estimated. I could hear the thing climbing over the guardrail of the enclosure, claws clacking on the metal. It's incessant cackling near yards behind me.

I leapt up and gripped up and gripped the rod iron. bars, crying out as my foot slipped on the cold metal, before catching myself and using every ounce of strength I had to climb. As I reached the peak, the thing grabbed my foot with a clawed hand, crushing it under immense pressure. But holding onto the gate with both hands, I kicked repeatedly below at the spindly arm until I yield it, ripping away a piece of my jeans in the process. I didn't even consider straddling the gate and letting myself down slowly. Once I had both legs over the top, I've vaulted the entire ten feet down to the crack concrete below. My sneakers slammed into the pavement, my right ankle immediately spraining, but fortunately not snapping under the impact.

The ground approached my face quickly and I put my palms out to brace for the impact. I skidded on the concrete on all fours banging my knees painfully before bouncing to my feet relatively unscathed besides a sore ankle and raw palms. I turned around to face my pursuer. The creature was mere feet away. looking at me angrily from behind the wrought iron fence, pure hatred seeming to emanate from its sunken and beady eyes. The moonlight reflected off its ghastly fangs and when a creature saw me examining its features it flashed another toothy grin.

Slowly it lifted its thin right hand, waving one long finger back and forth in the universal no-a-uh-motion. It cackled a final time before slowly sinking back into the darkness of the zes. zoo, crawling backwards on all fours, never taking its eyes off me. When it was finally gone, I took a moment to assess my situation. My right ankle was throbbing, but I could walk. My palms were also reddened with abrasions, but that was the least of my concern. The nose was the most painful injury by far, now tended to the touch as fresh blood flowed

out of it. With the adrenaline still pumping, I began to jog back into town. the pain of my ankle at all throb. I jogged past the decrep and abandon old shops, feeling jitters and flinching at every shadow along the way. When I finally saw the streetlights and gaudy palm trees lined Main Street, the sight was a blessed relief. I passed the half-drunk 40 sitting on the curb and headed past the dueling bars.

The doors now tightly locked up from last call. The Spanish-style buildings, the campus came into view, and as I ran across the kept lawns and perfectly paved sidewalks, I could not help but let a few tears touch my cheek. I finally walked, relaxing, and taking in the sight of the situation which I'd cursed so many times before. Unshaky and painful legs, I walked into my dormitory building, heading straight for the community bathroom at the end of the hall.

I looked at myself in the rectangular mirror above a pristinely clean porcelain, unsink, shocked in my ragged appearance. My hair was wild, sticky, with sweat and dried blood. Abrasions and small cuts dotted my face. A particularly nasty one about three inches long directly above the brow of my tired eyes. The tip of my nose was shifted slightly to the left, and when I touched it, agony shot through my skull. I gingerly washed the dry trickle of blood streaming down the left nostril.

The warm water, singeing. the raw palms of my hands. Feeling satisfied and safe, I headed to my room. It was well past three in the morning. But I was not surprised to see that George and Stephen were exactly where I'd left them. I'll be much drunker. Stephen was sloppily leaning against the post of the bunk bed, gesturing with a hand holding his beer can and trying to articulate a philosophical idea

about deriving meaning from taking on responsibility. George was sitting on the tile floor, his own came between his legs, head-lawling while trying to gurgle out a coherent retort. Meaning... comes from shouldering responsibility, Stephen slurred. That's the problem, bro.

No one wants responsibility in this place. He hiccup and dropped his beer with a little bit. a rattle, a sticky puddle of foam now forming on the tile floor. Rather than pick up his mask, he chose to slump back against the wall. Nah, son! George began to say in a drunken drawl before hearing the door open. Both the drunken frat boys stared at me simultaneously in confusion before shouting out, Shit, bro!

At the exact same time. They began pelting me with questions about my regular appearance. appearance, my busted face, my apparent limp. I waved them off with my hand and reached for a beer in the mini-fridge. I popped the tab, enjoying the bittersweet smell the liquid held within before taking a long sip from the blue can. Heaven's honey could not be as sweet. The cool liquid splashed down my throat, and upon reaching my belly stirred up a warm sensation

that felt like coming home. Despite my miserable condition, a smile began to form on my lips. I motioned for the guys to continue their conversation. I sat down in my old desk chair, listening to the two drunks stammer and tried to make valid points about ideas which they knew little about. I had to have heard this exact same conversation more than 20 times. But as the beer mellowed my mind and I relaxed into the comfort of my room, There was nowhere else I would rather have been. Stephen was getting particularly excited, throwing his hands into the air and exaggerated bewilderment.

George rolled his eyes and turned his attention towards me, stumbling to get to his feet before rocking back and forth and deciding against it. Stephen, this guy here, George was drunkenly pointing at our mutual friend, thinks that all the answers lie in the old time. He drove his words slowly before belching and dropping his finger. I'm simply saying, Stephen spring forward, ready to defend himself, that perhaps past traditions hold meaningful lessons, which could be, he trailed off, waving his hand back and forth,

looking at the floor inquisitively before blurting out. Applicable. Applicable to modern times. And perhaps there are lessons from the past, which we still need to discover. Stephen looked at me. His eyes glazed over. Obviously, the beer was making his mouth move faster than his mind.

What do you think, bro? In our dreary modern times, don't you think they're undiscovered? I discovered ideas from our past which could lead to great philosophical advancements in the future? I sat a moment, sipping my beer. I reflected on the discovery I'd made that night, and the horror which followed. I reflected on my town, my school, and my friends. If they all disappeared, what would life mean?

Perhaps my nihilism of the present and nostalgia for an idealized past were destroying my ability to find meaning in the future. Perhaps it was time to leave certain things behind. I looked at Stephen with solemn eyes, absolutely serious and meaning every single word. Stephen, I really think that some things from the past are best left just where they are. Hey, John. Coffee break?

Uh, looks like it. Just grabbing some water before my read. Uh-huh. Is everything okay? No clue. Hey, Jimmy. Ready to hop in the booth? Yeah, I was just talking with John about...

Let's get your story recorded. We can talk about stuff later, but I got a schedule to keep. Okay. See you later, John. See you later, Jimmy. I guess. Oh, uh, John, are you going to be here for a while? No clue.

Okay, if you're still here after Jimmy's story, I'll be around if you need to talk about anything, okay? Okay. For your bonus episode, creepy presents. Beware of the chalk drawings, written by Marcus H. Noir and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. This is not a joke. Also, this is not some fever-induced or drug-tripping delusion. I need to post my story to share my waking nightmare and for someone to give me an out. It started not long ago.

As the weather became warmer and friendlier, spring pushed winter's last traces into memory. A renewed feeling of life showered me. It was a no-brainer, choosing the fresh scent of spring flowers, the chorus of singing returning birds, and the sun's warmth over the office's artificial lights to bathe my body and soul. This also allowed me to escape,

though temporarily, the daily barrages of the stench of my co-workers' mystery lunches, mind-numbing chatter of nonsense, excessive ringing of phones, and recirculated air. Humans are not meant to be caged like livestock.

We need open spaces and the smell of nature saturating our noses. I decided to spend my lunch hours outdoors, except for days of precipitation, of course. No one likes a soggy lunch. Anyway, having a late lunch avoided the stampede and noise of the lunch crowd and gave me the tranquility of nature. My island of serenity was always an empty forest green wooden park bench, tucked under the blooming cherry tree in a small park, facing away from traffic

and pedestrians. My bench was one of five, facing each other in a circular pattern. In between were paths leading out in open concrete spaces in the middle. Imagine a giant wagon wheel. Trees and flowers were behind the benches and along the paths, making you feel isolated. Though civilization was nearby. The air smelled fresher, cleaner, a welcome respite from the pollution, commotion, and the city itself. The park is located across the entrance from my job. Here you can hear yourself think. My companions were birds, the occasional squirrel, and my fellow lunchmate.

She was in her twenties, fair-skinned, attractive. with an athletic build and shoulder-length black hair, wearing different floral dresses, and always wore her signature hot pink headphones. She always arrived before me and sat in the same spot directly across from me. She looked up and gave a small, friendly wave with a beautiful, thin mouth, slightly curved into a sincere smile. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a loner and engaged with colleagues.

However, I hate a little. appreciate my time during lunch. It's therapeutic. Time to decompress and mentally reset from the bullshit of the office and clients. I need a break from constantly having to force a smile when dealing with clients, though they do not return the feeling, especially when they don't get their way. The customers are always right. Yeah. The young students from a nearby elementary school also used the park. Here they did what children are supposed to do away from their so-called modern conveniences like cell phones, video games, and social media. They were free to be

like the kids of yesteryears. Play ball, actually talk face to face, play tag, or use colored chalk to draw on the pavement. They are long gone when I arrive, returning to the classrooms to enlighten their growing minds. The entire area was always covered in drawings. I marveled at the pictures left, a concrete quilt, and walked to each depiction, like admiring paintings at a museum. The little darlings left interesting drawings depicting their dreams, windows to their lives, or just plain doodling. I would always

pause a moment to look before reaching my bench. While observing, I attempted to imagine the artists of the illustration. I amused, thinking we could have had a future Rembrandt or Picasso in their making. Every picture depicted happiness and fun, exactly what children should be. However, all that recently changed. Early last week during my usual stroll to my bench, while admiring the assortment of drawings and stick figures playing, smiling faces, and joy, the picture in front of my seat caught my attention. It was new and drawn by a gifted artist. The talent displayed starkly contrasted the simple childlike stick figures drawings around it. A chalk-drawn comic book rendering a smiling young girl, wearing a red hoodie, about ten, alone looking ahead, along on a path of towering

green trees under a cloudless yellow sun. The details were very impressive. Realistically curly hair stuck out over the forehead. Her partially covered smiling face peeked out of a hood and her hands exposed from the sleeves. She also wore black jeans and white sneakers. There were small creases, foams, and even brands on the clothing. Wow. I was awed by the minute detail.

details. This kid has natural talent. Looking forward to the next drawing, I said, smiling. From the corner of my eye, movement, I lifted my head to see my companion rise, strolled down a path on her left and disappear. My gaze returned to the girl, but her facial expression had changed. Huh? I did a double take. Am I hallucinating? Oddly, her hood was completely down, exposing her long curly hair, and her face was now discernible. Her thin eyebrows arched, and her innocent eyes changed from looking forward without a care in the world, to looking to her right, as if eyeing something she was afraid to look at. The lucky-go smile vanished, and replaced by a small, straight worry line.

How is this possible? I whispered. Suddenly the air filled with dread, and the muffled sounds of the city and nature were silenced. The drawn trees slowly morphed into naked, wooden skeletal hands reaching for unseen objects. They emitted an oppressive feeling, despite the chalk-drawn warm sun. A chill raced down my spine, like a mouse scurried on it. closed my eyes and rubbed, hoping that would cure the optical illusion. With uncertainty, my fingers dropped as my eyes opened slowly. To my great disappointment, the unsettling scene did not fade away.

My mind raced while it attempted to rationalize the bizarre scene. Instinctively, I followed her gaze and found nothing stranger to, disturbing. It dawned on me every illustration drawn by children, past and present, always had at least two kids. The sense of dread eventually lifted, and the sounds of the world returned. After a moment or two, I continued to my bench, watching for more changes, hoping the scene would change back. While sitting, I retrieved my lunch of a chicken salad sandwich. celery stocks, an apple, and a bottle of water. As I ate, I looked at the picture again, shivered, and tried calming myself a little bit.

I kept my eyes ahead and tried to enjoy my surroundings while trying to block the foreboding scene. Somehow I succeeded. Before returning to the office, I stood momentarily and waited for something to happen. But nothing. My head kept snapping back to the drawing as I walked away until it was out of view. The following day, I followed my routine and proceeded to my oasis when the drawing of the lonely girl changed. I had the same ominous trees, but dark, angry clouds replaced the friendly sun, and the girl's facial expression changed again.

Her rimmed and red eyes stared at me, lips perked into a tiny, dark, hole replacing the straight line. My heart sank, and I suddenly felt panicked, felt watched, like a predator hid in the trees, stalking. Suddenly, my little piece of paradise was gone. I froze in place, like a deer caught in headlights. The shock eventually wore off, and my eyes darted around the concrete canvas and the trees. hoping to find the source of my trepidation when my gaze fell on my companion. She observed me with a puzzled look while holding her cell phone. Is she recording me? I wondered.

She was suspicious. I didn't want to come off like a creep. So I gave her a reassuring smile despite my apprehension. That did the trick, because she returned the smile and lowered her head to her phone. I couldn't shake that primal feeling, though. Nothing but drawings of smiling faces and kids at play. Why was this drawn? Is she asking for help?

Is she trying to warn me? I shook my head at the absurdity of my thoughts. She can't be. We never met. I hope the teachers noticed. More disturbed than yesterday. I shivered and continued with my lunch. Seeing no present danger, I chose to stay, but my hair's pricked.

Day three, I found myself anxious, mixed with anticipation of seeing today's rendering. I hope today's outcome would be better. Maybe the girl in the picture may be playing with another child and smiling. Well, I hoped. While in a semi-crowded elevator, filled with some of the leftover lunch crowd, holding my lunch, I impatiently tap my foot against the carpeted floor and listened to the dings. And I watched the square metal box stop at every floor. Like a captive animal, I waited for the elevator to reach the ground floor.

Without realizing it, as soon as the door parted, I rushed down and weaved in between people. I'm sure some people had some choice words for me, but I didn't care. I bumped into a startled co-worker and he said something, but it didn't register. I replied, but I don't remember what was said. I darted through and out of the lobby's revolving door. I noticed my lunch companion was missing when I arrived at the park. Unheasiness covered me like a blanket as I strolled to my spot. My mouth went slack.

and my hands almost followed suit, but grabbed my falling lunch in time. Like yesterday and the day before, the items in the background remained the same, except the girl's eyes locked with mine, filled with terror again. As I drew closer, the eyes seemed to follow my every step. The feeling of being watched in the silence return, but with more intensity, Something is going to happen, like a six cents of impending doom. I couldn't put a finger on it. I wriggled my forehead in confusion.

What's going on? My eyes darted around, scanning the immediate area, the paths, the trees, looking for a coworker, friend, or stranger, pointing a cell phone at me and laughing at my expense. annoyed wouldn't cover if that was true. But relief, knowing this was a prank, and an innocent was not in danger. Eventually my attention returned to the two-dimensional girl, her raised arm and finger, pointed to the right, slightly upward. Slowly, my eyes gazed in that direction, finding nothing at first.

What was she pointing at? frustration built, like attempting to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. Aggravated, I was not able to see what the artist was trying to show. I surveyed the area. Deep and thought while trying to solve the mystery, someone said, cute, aren't they? Without looking away, I nodded slightly and replied with a week, yeah. Person continued to speak, but their voice seemed so far away. Was it my companion?

My attention was on the task at hand. About to give up when I noticed a prominent, dark blemish on a surprisingly empty slab of concrete. Pavement at the far end, like it was cursed ground. Not wanting to draw attention, I excused myself and bristly walked to my discovery. My eyes widened as my mind tried to comprehend what I saw. The blemish was uncanny and too realistic for my liking. It was definitely not a chalk creation. This blanche was very dark, darker than cold.

It pooled, rippled, and slowly oozed outward from an unseen opening in the concrete. It moved like lava, but with a sense of purpose. It shimmered. Like looking at hot air rising from pavement during the summer. But I felt no heat. A faint scent of decay drifted into my nose and rippled it. Something wasn't right, but I caught myself leaning closer with a hand reaching for it. Bile twisted in my stomach and I hurriedly backpedaled.

I looked back in the direction of the drawn girl and continued my backpedaling towards her while keeping an eye on the black goo. When I reached her and realized it aligned perfectly, unsure what to do and fear growing, I scurried away. Day four. Despite the previous events, I couldn't wait for the latest drawing. Unfortunately, I wasn't disappointed. The girl was in a running pose with her hood down, looking at me.

Eyes wild. Her mouth agape. And I swear I heard, a meek, fear soaked, fear soaked. Help me. Something directed me to look back at the location of the strange substance of yesterday. It was closer and different. Curiosity overrode my apprehension. Cautiously approached it.

And to my horror, it chained into something from the depths of hell. A dark, featureless, malevolent, tall, haunting, mound-shaped figure appeared with strands of scruffy, thick rope-like hair, like the creature from the predator franchise, smiling with bone-white, shark-like teeth. It had long spindly arms and clinched large claw-like hands, dragging, standing two-dimensionally in the concrete, each digit shaped like a dagger, with a sharp talent at each end. The claws reminded me of a bird of prey, readying its talons to grab the next meal.

The back enlarged as if it carried a large turtle shell. Two muscular legs and half-hoove feet carried it. Needing confirmation, I headed to my lunch companion in a calm but orderly fashion. Once I reached her, she looked up and jumped in her seat. Immediately, apologizing for interrupting, I paused and wondered if she would continue with my request. She looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. I kept glancing over my shoulder. Can I help you? she asked.

hesitant, pushing the headphones away from your ears. I stuttered. Can I show you something? Sure. She replied with a hint of nervousness. Knowing the situation had become uncomfortable, and this was the first time I had approached her and talked to her like that, I backed away to give her some space.

She relaxed slightly, placed her cell phone in her pocket and rose. Slowly I walked to the unholy thing and pointed. What do you see? I asked without looking away. From the corner of my eyes, she cautiously moved forward. but kept her social distance. I see what? Please describe what you are seeing, I asked with urgency.

I see our kid's drawings. Is there something I'm missing? I turned completely around. Exasperated. Don't you see it? Or smell it? The foul creature? Louder than expected while frantically pointing.

She backed away, lifted her hands and pushed them, Slowly forward to calm me. Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but you're starting to freak me out. With that, she turned, scrambled down a path and out of sight. I'm sure this will be the last time I will see her. I can't believe she doesn't see it. She bolted out of there like I was the monster. I twisted towards the drawing and saw it.

It was staring at me, and its coal-burning red eyes. flashed like lighting a matchstick. I heard a sinister, taunting laugh. A gas bespe escaped my throat, and I stomped on it, out of desperation, resulting in a wet, sticky sound, like walking on a gloomy floor. I applied all my weight and rubbed hard on the pavement, like stomping out a lit cigarette and attempting to erase it from existence. The smell of death rose.

from below, causing my throat to itch. I fell into a coughing fit. After recovering, I pulled back and saw no mutilation. It remained intact, but moved forward in slow motion. Towards the girl, I tried repeatedly. Despite the smell and how my body reacted, nothing changed. So I gave up. I slowly walked away.

Defeated Day five It rained No poured During lunch Sheets of rain slammed against the office windows

The skies were an angry dark grey Lightning flashed as if someone was trying to take pictures outside Thunder rolled near and above my building The vibrations oscillated through the building and my body. Disappointed that I couldn't see the next chapter, and thankful that the girl and the drawing received a lull. Later that day, as I left work and headed to the subway, curiosity got the better and detoured

me. I expected nothing, but my mouth opened and a scream died in my throat. It was like something from a horrific battle scene with carnage everywhere. Like on an altar, the creature stood up in the middle surrounded by chalk drawn, red splattered stick figure bodies of children. The monstrosity gnawed at the head of the stick figure child, like a child nibbled at candy with a sick sucking sound. While holding a chalky sack, a flayed skiske. in with the other, like a wet raincoat. Child's eyes were enlarged dexes.

Other stick-figured children and the other drawings were running away from it with their terror-filled eyes and mouths open, releasing their silent screams. I watched in horror as the creature grew multiple limbs and lunged out with unforgiving, deadly accuracy. Each strike, hungrily burrowing into the with a sickening sound of cracking bones. Macab, wet slapping, mixed with slurping sounds of marrow, being sucked, echoed as true-to-life blood and gore spilled from within the children

while exposing broken ribs. Tributaries of blood slowly wind across the gray, wet, concrete ground. The overwhelming smell of copper-filled the air. The scene was so absurd. It would be comical if it weren't so gruesome. My mind went numb as if I was trying to disconnect from reality, as bad as that was. It got worse. The smell of death drifted from my left.

I did my best to cover my nose. I turned toward the scene, screamed, and dropped to my knees. My lunch companion was here and met my phantom. Unfortunately, that moved to avoid me cost her dearly. She lay motionless with her hot pink headphones lying nearby, her body prone and skinned, leaving the wet muscles and tendons exposed. Dark cavities where her eyes should be. Blood streaked downward from the mouth.

Dark holes where her nose and ears used to be. Her face froze up. With a mixture of fear and shock, I threw up, somehow feeling responsible for dragging her into this. I didn't even know her name. Before my self-loathing continued, suddenly a dark limb reached out from behind me and sneaked towards her with a wet, sticky sound like a bucket filled with live worms. It coiled itself around her wrists. and dragged. She convulsed as her hands chained into chalk drawings, inch by inch, pulled into its realm through an invisible door and away from ours.

Something from the corner of my eye moved. I twisted my head and I saw the girl. She hid behind a chalk drawn skeletal tree. Her eyes filled with fear and sorrow. above her. The words she tried to help were written in white chalk lettering, hurriedly and aggressively. I'm not proud of what I did next.

Instead of helping, I turned and ran. Not once did I look back. I ran out of the park, pulled myself from my pocket, and raised it to dial the police. then realized that, well, what would I say to them? Something from hell killed and pulled an innocent woman into another dimension? With no other option, I placed my phone back into my pocket and returned to work like nothing happened. Later that night, I decided to try a new dinner recipe. My way of coping and attempting to push this feeling of helplessness and cowardliness aside.

A TV was on, and the news broadcasted in the background. Usually I don't pay much attention unless it's something really newsworthy. An alert of breaking news stirred me to look up from chopping parsley and listen. A somber female reporter stood across an entrance of the park I frequent during lunch. Yellow police tape criss-crossed the entrance. and an officer stood guard. She stated that the authorities discovered the bodies of 20 school-age children dumped in the park. They were savagely attacked beyond recognition.

And DNA samples are needed to identify them. She finished by stating as the authorities have theories on what killed the children, but will not deluge them at this time. Shocked, I dropped my kitchen. just narrowly missing my foot the following Monday I purchased carnations and placed them along the growing memorial for the victims small crowds gathered to pay their respects and look to fill their morbid curiosities but could not see the crime scene I squeezed to the front and knelt with flowers in hand when I saw a new drawing nearby my eyes widened and I swine

And I swallowed hard as the flowers dropped. My hands cut to the sides of my face, and terror electrified my body. Couldn't move. The source of my consternation? A lifeline, drawing of me, dressed in my present clothing with the girl. Above are the words in large,

aggressive chalk-written lettering. you're next. My doppelganger had a look of deep concern and looked to the side. I followed her gaze, and at the far end, the exact dark figure with the same taunting laugh, and eyes flashed like before, with a wide smile, exposing its miniature blades for teeth. I texted my boss to say I would not be coming in for the rest of the week. Should I quit my job and move? Any advice?

Anyone? Hey, John, you doing okay? Seems like a popular question around here? Listen, man, we care about you. And you know you can talk to us about anything. I mean, have you maybe been feeling anxious since October ended? Something like that. John, what's going on?

Does something feel wrong to you? I gosh, I mean, every time I look at social media, turn on the news, talk to literally anyone. No, I mean here, now. I don't know if I understand. Why are we here, Pacific? Like, on Earth? In this office? To do our jobs?

No. I mean, why do we have offices? We do a horror fiction narration podcast. How can we possibly afford renting office space? Listen, I'm no expert. I think that's a question for your accountant. Okay, well, why don't I remember being here before the last couple of weeks? Because we just started coming here.

But none of us live by each other. Most of us don't even live in the same state. Why would we have a central office? Again, I think that's a question for you to answer, John. This was all your idea. I don't think we're supposed to be here. Okay, I mean, I can let the crew know that they can go home. I mean, honestly, I think that's a good idea.

Speaking of, Wish, why don't you go home john take the rest of the day off we got this for you okay yeah that's probably a good idea see later pacific do you think he knows i'm not sure i think he's starting to suspect something's wrong though what happens when he realizes what's going on honestly knight i'm a lot more worried about what happens if he doesn't figure out what's going on. 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 common share-a-like 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.