Creepy - The Wonderful Works of Nickolay the Wonderful

Episode Date: April 11, 2022

Some kind of wonderful...***Written by: Rene Rehn and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Bonus Episode: "There Was A Girl" written by JC Michael***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***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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.

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and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents The Wonderful Works of Nicolai the Wonderful Written by Renee Wren and narrated by Rissa Montanez The Wonderful The Wonderful

He read out loud as he stared at the book I'd handed him His eyes returned from the book to me And a questioning look formed on his face I couldn't help but giggle. Nikolai was the smartest man I knew, a bona fide genius. Yet whenever it came to things like social interactions or love, he acted like a young, innocent boy.

It's a present, a collection of all the memories we shared. I blurted out and felt myself blushing a bit. Each page of the book contained one memory I shared with Nikolai. The very first page detailed how Nikolai and I had met. We were about the same age, but he was already a professor while I was nothing but a lowly research assistant. Nikolai seemed so distant. Not just to me, but to everyone.

At first, I detested him because I mistook his social inaptitude for arrogance. In time, I learned that it was just how he was. He simply didn't understand how people worked, and so he didn't bother with them. Once I looked behind the mask, though, I learned how special he really was. On another page, I'd written about that long night we spent together, talking until the early morning hours. I was so fascinated with him. When you talked to Nikolai, it felt like he could answer all the questions you ever thought of asking. as he laid open the mysteries of the universe. I laid open the ones about humans and social interactions.

I told him so many things in the book. I wrote how much I cherished our relationship. It differed from that of other people, but it was exactly why I liked it so much. As an introvert, I hated crowds, or to be honest, most people in general. There'd been those nights when I let fellow students or colleagues drag me along to a bar or a club, where they'd introduce me to their charming friends. During these nights, I learned that I wasn't made for those normal interactions either. My relationship with Nikolai was just so much different, and because of that, our love flourished.

It wasn't just stories in the book. I added pictures, newspaper clippings, and details from his many research projects. I even added the interview that called him one of the rising stars in the field of neuroscience. Nikolai's reaction to the book was as simple as it could be. Oh, was all he said before he gave me a nod, put the book down, and returned to his work. I was a bit shocked, but not in the least surprised. Nicolai didn't function like normal people, and there was no reason for me to be mad at him.

I was surprised the next day, though, when he asked me to marry him. I was so blown away, I couldn't say a thing. Instead, I threw myself at him, kissed him, and nodded repeatedly. Our wedding was a quick and private affair. No church ceremony and no big celebrations. Instead, we went to the registry, and after that, we spent a bit of time with my parents. I liked it that way, and didn't want to make a big deal out of it, and Nikolai, I was sure, didn't either.

After our marriage, we continued to work at the university for a few more years. During that time, Nikolai worked on countless projects, some funded by the university, others by the private sector. When some of his discoveries were commercialized, he earned a small fortune. It was nothing compared to what his sponsors made, of course. I remember how mad I was about it, how I told him they'd cheated him. But Nikolai didn't. care. All he cared for was his research, and with the money he'd made, he could build his own

private laboratory. Finally, he told me, he could indulge in his own independent research without relying on outside funding. After his parents had died, Nikolai had inherited their old home. It was a small colonial house, far away from the busy city, and it was a small, and it was a small colonial house. at the edge of a tiny village. Here, Nicolai decided he'd built his laboratory. He didn't even need to ask me to come along. No, a life far away from the bustle of the city and its people sounded like a dream to me.

The laboratory Nikolai had planned wasn't big. It was nothing more than a few rooms in a small one-story building. Still, Nikolai was as happy as a little boy the night before Christmas when the construction began. Once it was finished, he spent a sizable chunk of his fortune on computers, state-of-the-art research equipment, and all sorts of chemicals and contraptions. Many people weren't happy with his decision. I still remember how the university begged him to return.

And my, the checks they threw at him. Nikolai didn't even bother to look at them. It was never about the money for him. Worse even was the private sector. No day passed without new offers arriving, but Nikolai ignored them all. Eventually, they stopped chasing him, and instead painted him a madman.

The mad scientist, they called him, a man too obsessed with his own demons to further the advancement of mankind. When I showed him the articles and asked how he could take it, he'd smile and tell me they might be right. Maybe he was mad. Back then, I could still laugh at his words. In the months to come, Nikolai would engross himself in his research. For days, sometimes even entire weeks, he'd lock himself away from the world, only leaving his laboratory to stock upon food or supplies. One day,

I asked him about his research and what he was trying to do. He started explaining with his usual vigor, but after only a few minutes I had to stop him. I didn't understand a single thing, so I pleaded with him to make it as simple as he could. He tried to explain he really did, but I still wasn't able to make full sense of it. The only thing I understood

was that he tried to uncover the mystery of life, as he called it. From what I gathered, he was referring to the brain and its functions. One might be tempted to think he was talking about the soul or other less feasible things, but Nikolai was always practical, always logical. I'd ask him if he needed any help, but he always declined. He had it all under control. He was making slow but steady progress, and the laboratory was too small for two people anyway.

Oh, he'd gotten better at it, but I knew he was lying. Still, I couldn't blame him. Deep down, I knew I didn't understand what he was doing and would only be in the way. Instead, I spent my days with my own interests, the ones I'd abandoned when I went to college and majored in science, writing, arts, crafts, and most of all, painting.

I soon learned that these were the other aspects of life that Nikolai did not understand. When I showed him the first painting I'd done in over a decade, he was more impressed than I'd ever seen him before. It was always like that with him. So many things others couldn't do came to him naturally, yet things that were easy to us were a mystery to him. that night

we made love like never before Nicolai was so different and it was the first time he took charge of things at first I was unsure

but after the sixth week I knew I was pregnant when I told Nikolai he was dismissive at first First, then panicky, but finally, happy. Our relationship had always been a distant one. I'd gotten used to not seeing him for days, yet it still hurt.

The moment he'd learned about the pregnancy, it all changed. Nikolai changed. It was during this time, during those beautiful months we spent together, that I returned to the wonderful works of Nicarland. Nikolai the Wonderful. No week passed without me adding a fresh page and filling it with pictures and memories. Other people might have called the things I added in mundane,

but to me they were so special. There was a page about us watching a movie together. Another page about spending the morning in bed cuddling and talking. I even wrote a long, lavish passage about a country walk we share. Most of all, though, I wrote about all the times we sat together and talked about our child. If it was a boy, he wanted to name him Aliyosha, after his late grandfather who'd introduced him to the wondrous world of science. If it was a girl, he wanted to call her Ivana, after his sister who died during childbirth.

He had become an entirely different person. Sure, he still worked on his research, but not with that same vigor. Gone was the time when he stayed at his laboratory for days on end. No, it seemed for the first time. Nikolai had learned that there were things more important than research, books, and science. As I grew heavier and daily life became harder. Nicolai spent more and more time by my side. I was happier than ever before and often imagined life with our child.

I saw myself reading him or her fantastical stories while Nikolai would talk about the stars that illuminated the universe. Life was like a dream. A dream I'd never thought possible. But like all dreams, it had to end. In a single moment, with nothing more than a missed step, it ended and turned into the worst nightmare imaginable. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and Nikolai's call from downstairs awoke me. Breakfast was ready, he announced.

Still sleepy. I went through the ordeal of putting on my clothes before I waddled down the hallway to the stairs. for a moment I felt drowsy. Like so often during these later weeks of the pregnancy, I staggered for a moment, but then I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the descent. My hands reached out and clung to the railing on both sides. Yet, I'd barely taken the first couple of steps when a sudden, sharp pain shot through my entire body. I cringed, lost my balance,

and one of my hands slipped off the railing. I called out in shock, tried to put my foot down to steady myself, but found nothing but thin air. Do you know that horrible feeling when you realize something bad is about to happen? But there's nothing you can do about it? The moment my foot didn't land on a step,

I knew I would fall, My one hand still holding onto the railing slipped off, and I felt myself toppling forward. For a moment, I felt weightless, as if gravity had stopped working before I crashed down. I felt the pain only for a moment, a blazing pain that cut into my abdomen. I heard myself screaming before sweet oblivion took me away. The time after the fall was the hardest in my entire life. So much of it just isn't there. Memories gone or reduced to unrelated bits and pieces.

I can still see Nikolai's pained face when I woke up. And the stern and determined look of the doctor. I could feel there was something different about my body. There was something missing. There was no need for words. I knew what had happened. I knew what I, we, had lost. Lying in the bed, I cried, wept, screamed, and wailed, and then I went away.

My consciousness retreated into a dark little place in the back of my mind. I can't tell how long I was there. My memories during that time were hazy, as if hidden behind thick fog or mist. In one, I'm in my bed with Nikolai standing above the, me, making me take some sort of medication. In another, we were at the family graveyard behind the house, and Nikolai is holding a small wooden box. Finally, I'm outside, sitting on the porch, staring out at the empty fields ahead. When I returned to myself, I was alone at the house again. Nicolai was back at his laboratory, back working on his damned research.

fleeing from the real world like he'd done so many times before. I waited for him to come back, to take me into his arms, but he never came. Not that day, not the next, and not the one after. I spent those days apathetic, staring out the window, bothering myself with chores that didn't need doing or in bed in a medically induced sleep. Existence was strange. I was less a person and more an empty husk, just trudging along. It was almost a week before I saw Nikolai again.

The moment he'd stepped through the front door, I gasped at how different he looked. Before the accident, he'd been happy and healthy, and now he was a scrawny, indifference man. His face had grown dark and haggard, deep circles. surrounded his eyes. I almost didn't recognize him, and for a moment I thought some ghastly apparition had appeared in our house.

My God, Nikolai, you look terrible. I burst out. He gave me the weakest hint of a smile. But there was something in his eyes. A strange glimmer. Just tired, he mumbled, and made his way towards the bedroom.

Nikolai, wait. I started, but he didn't react and soon vanished. I told myself to go after him to get into bed next to him, but I couldn't because of those damn stairs. I took one step, but the memory of the fall made me cringe back, and for a moment the pain I'd felt flared up inside of me again. Eventually, I returned to the living room to sleep on the couch. It had become my little world.

my safe haven I can't say when the dreams started those terrible dreams of the baby I'd lost in them I ran through the dark unlit hospital corridors while the distant cries of my baby reached my ears when I woke up in the middle of the night

the cries of my baby still fresh and lingering the only way to return to sleep was Nikolai's medication one day I couldn't take it anymore. I made my way to his laboratory and called out to him, but there was no reaction. He only noticed me when I pushed open the heavy doors, his face bearing a mixture of surprise and anger. Nikolai, I thought I could prepare dinner for us. It would be the first time. We ate together since... I broke up for a moment, swallowing the saliva that had gathered in my mouth. I was

before I continued. I thought it would be nice for us to eat together. All right, he said in a voice as thin as a whisper before he nudged me aside and closed the door behind himself. The word dinner didn't fit the meager meal I prepared for us. As we ate, Nikolai was quiet. His eyes wandered back to the window again and again, from which he nervously watched his laboratory. Finally, I had enough. Can you talk to me for once? I confronted him. I know you're suffering, Nikolai. I know you do, but you're not the only one. You're not the only one who's lost something that day, and I couldn't continue anymore. I need you, Nikolai. I need my husband.

I need my husband, Nikolai. I know, Lisa, but my work. There it was. The butt and the work. This was it. I couldn't take it anymore. As I pushed myself up, my chair clatter to the floor behind me. I stared at him.

But his eyes rest on the plate in front of him. He couldn't even muster up the courage to look at it. me. It's always work with you. I thought you'd changed. I thought we'd finally be a real. A real. I broke up, not able to say the word. And I felt my eyes welling up with tears. God, how could I have ever thought I could be more important than his work? I stormed from the room, leaving him there by himself. As I cried on the living room couch, there was a shimmer of hope in the back of my mind. He'd come into the room, put his arms around me, and tell me how sorry he was. That last small shimmer vanished when I heard the front door and knew he was returning to his laboratory. I knew

then that our marriage had failed. That evening, I took out the wonderful works of Nikolai the Wonderful once more. As I started reading, I couldn't help but call myself stupid. I cried as I read the parts about our would-be family and about our child when I fell asleep. The dreams came back to me. Once more, the terrible cries of my unborn child haunted me. I woke up again. A crying and sobbing mess. As I lay there, the baby's cry still lingering. I reached out for Nikolai's medication. For a moment, I held it in my hands before I threw it aside in a fit of anger. As I got up, the baby's cries seemed to follow me, to echo through my. To echo through my mind. A never-ending illusion that wasn't satisfied anymore by simply haunting my dreams. Had I finally snapped,

gone mad at last? I crossed the room, then the hallway, and then I stepped outside into the cool, fresh night air. I didn't know what I was doing, didn't know where I was going. All I knew was that I'd had enough, enough of all of this, this entire life. The moon was bright and high in the sky, yet I couldn't appreciate it. The baby's cries were still torturing me, still not letting up. For a moment, I screamed into the night, pushing my hands against my ears, desperate to drown them out. At that moment, though, when I pressed my hands against my ears,

cries almost vanished. They weren't coming from inside my head, I realized. They were coming from somewhere else. In shock and horror, I listened more closely. My eyes wandered toward the family graveyard, but that's not where they came from. No, they came from Nikolai's laboratory. In the bright moonlight, the place looks so different, a small bone-white structure that stood in stark contrasts to the dark and empty fields around it. With each step, the crying grew more distinct, clearer, and my mind was ablaze with confusion and shock. At first I thought it was something different, and the implications my mind were making seemed impossible. But somehow I knew that Nikolai had made the impossible. possible, and that I was hearing the cries of my stillborn child from inside of his laboratory.

When I reached the door, I put my ear against it. The crying ebbed down, got quieter. And finally, they vanished. I cracked the door, only an inch at a time, careful not to make any sound. Inside, I saw Nikolai, hurrying from one of his weird contraptions. onto the next. He was pushing buttons and punching numbers into computers before he rushed to something in the back of the laboratory.

I saw his face, and Nikolai was smiling. He went back to one of his computers, staring at the lines of numbers that flooded the screen and an excited chuckle escaped his mouth. That's when I couldn't take it anymore. This hunched over haggard creature Was it really my husband? I pushed open the door with all the strength I could muster

To confront him. Nikolai! What's going on? This time, the anger on his face was real. A hand shot up, urging me to be quiet as he leaned forward, almost pushing his face against the monitor. It works. He pressed out in a low, awestruck voice.

Works. He said again. This time louder, and I could hear the triumph in his voice. What are you? I started, but broke up when the baby's cries started again. My God, Nikolai, what's going on in here? That's when I saw the tank at the back of the laboratory. There was something inside.

something that was small, moving, and crying for his parents, for his mother. Nikolai smiled at me, his mouth agape. All the anger was gone from his face and his eyes glow with mad satisfaction. I pushed him aside and rushed over to the tank. My eyes grew wide when I saw what was inside. It was a small gray lump of flesh. Countless cables were connected to it. Shove deep into the wet gray flesh.

I watched in horror as it moved, opened its tiny mouth, its black, empty eyes, and then another cry followed. At work, Lisa. I brought him back. I brought our son back, our dear little Alyosha. I heard Nikolai mumble behind me. And I... I just stood there.

Frozen and unable to say anything. I stared down at the mutilated lump that would one day have been my son. I listened to those desperate, anxious cries, those heart-wrenching cries that should never come from a baby. And then I watched as my hands reached out. I carefully lift the grayish... abomination and held it gently in my hands. My fingers almost slipped before they sank deep into the

soft wet flesh. He was so small. So tiny, I thought. And as I held him, he giggled before crying again more intensely. It's the worst thing I've ever experienced. Worse than Nikolai's abandonment, worse than the fall, and worse even than the time that followed. I started shaking as the tears streamed hot and heavy from my eyes. I realized how wrong all of this was. The thing I was holding in my hands? The machinery all around me. This goddamn laboratory and the research Nikolai conducted here.

Despair washed over me. The tiny form that would one day have been my son, Alyosha, slipped from my hands, and I fell to the floor. Weeping, there was a wet squish as he crashed back into the trunk. And a moment later, all sounds died down. Nikolai rushed forward, kicking me aside. His attention completely focused on the thing in the trunk. The thing that was our son.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. He started in a panic and began frantically working on the small body. He tore off the remainder of the cables before he pushed his hands deep into the small body, prying it open. There was a disgusting wet sound as the flesh parted. Then he began meticulously reattaching the cables before he pushed thick metal connectors deep into the baby's organs. How could you? I pressed out.

Nikolai, how could you do something like that? Yet? He didn't listen. He was too absorbed into his work as he hurried through the laboratory, trying to bring our child back again once more. Why'd you bring him back? I finally screamed at him at the top of my lungs. At that, Nikolai's eyes focused on me.

Almost as if he'd forgotten I was still there. His face twisted into an innocent smile, so he could be the first. His face looked like that of a child. A child that didn't understand what he was doing, no, what he'd done. Or I realized. A child that couldn't understand. Without another word, I got up and stumbled from the laboratory.

I left Nikolai to his computers, his contraptions, his notes, and data, and his ghastly research. Back in the house, I picked up the book once more. The book I'd titled The Wonderful Works of Nicolai the Wonderful. At first, I wanted to tear it apart to burn it right then and there. But then I picked up a Sharpie. I crossed out the title and in crude letters, I wrote, the insane works of Nikolai the Mad below it. I even laughed as I did it.

And then I began to write. I wrote down everything I'd witnessed that night, everything he'd done. Once I was done with the last damn chapter of the book I knew what I had to do, I'd get a box of matches and some of the highly flammable chemicals that he had stored away. And then I'd return to his laboratory. and burn it all to the ground. Him, his research, our son, and myself. For your bonus episode, creepy presents.

There was a girl, written by J.C. Michael. The first time I woke up, it was pitch dark. I couldn't see a thing, sat up and bumped my head. It wasn't a big bump. What I hit was padded, but it came as a shock. I'd only lifted my head a few inches. When I woke up again, I panicked. It didn't take me long to figure out I was trapped inside a padded box,

and that brought only one thing to mind. What the hell was going on? My mind raced. I couldn't remember anything, but vague snippets of memories that evaded my gasp like half-recoucoucoucoucels. dreams. I screamed myself hoarse, pounded on the padded walls of what I was convinced was a coffin. The panic swept me up and down on a turbulent sea of emotions until exhaustion overtook me, and once more the blackness of wakefulness was swallowed by the blackness of sleep.

I woke for a third time and panic assaulted me once more. But this time it passed. I was breathing heavily, and the thought hit me that I was using up what could only be a severely limited supply of air. Panic tried to overwhelm me yet again, but I fought it back. Forced myself to think. I checked my wrist. I saw that I was wearing a watch. A light blue light shone from the dial when I pressed a button on the side. 3.30. But was that a.m. or p.m. What did? What day? What day, what months, what year? I laid there in the dark trying to think, trying to remember. My thoughts drifted.

I yawned. Was I tired or start of oxygen? Does the sleeping man use less air? I had no idea, but closed my eyes and tried to relax. For a fourth time I awoke. I could hear voices, faint, distant, but voices at least. I shouted and banged on the coffin lid, and then lay there quietly, listening. The voices were gone.

Shit. I pressed the button on my watch and the coffin filled with blue light, far brighter than before. So bright I couldn't even look at the face to read the time. What was happening to me? Had my eyes adjusted in my situation? Whatever it was, the light was hurting my eyes, so I released a button and fell back into darkness. There was a girl. The thought hit me like a sledgehammer.

A slim girl in a white jumper and a denim skirt. Black tights and brown boots. She'd been at the side of the road. Her arm held out, hitchhiking? No, not that. She'd flagged me down, and I pulled him behind another vehicle. A car. Her car.

Beyond that, nothing. Who was she? Who was I, for that matter? Did I know her? Where were we? Who, when, and why alluding me as thoughts nibbled at my consciousness but vanished as soon as I tried to pull them near. It was like trying to catch smoke. Then one caught.

She'd broken down. And another. She had no mobile signal. Could I help? I'd said yes. Was my phone working? Yes. No.

On, but no signal. A rural road. A road across the moors. I'd been working late. A night shift in the hospital. Was I a doctor? No. A nurse?

No. A cleaner. That's it, a cleaner. I've been cleaning the operating theater after the day's surgery's been completed and then set off home across the moors. My headlights picked up the car at the side of the road and she was standing there, flaking me down. It never entered my head not to stop. Never crossed my mind that there could be any danger.

I lay there in semi-darkness. My eyes were somehow still able to see even though there was no light, although it was getting steadily darker. I pressed the button on my watch and flooded the space with light, released it, and I could see as well as ever in daylight. Only everything was tinged blue, daylight. Would I ever see it again? I couldn't help but wonder if I was dead.

If at some point a door would open either above me or below me and I'd either ascend to heaven or plummet to the depths of hell. Was this waiting purgatory? Would I remain here? Thinking of my past as my memory slowly returned, until I made peace with myself and could move on, I had no great things to think through. I'd lived a pretty ordinary life.

I'd done good things. I'd done bad things. Or at least I thought. I had. I couldn't recall anything specific. But I felt that I'd been a good person, that there were no great issues I needed to reconcile. I tried to think, and the image of the girl raced back into my mind, long dark hair, a thin, pointed nose. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty. Can you help me? Is your phone? working? Two questions, and twice I said yes. I apologized because I had no signal,

and so it was my fault, not geography or technology or the people who decided where to put phone masts. It's a flat tire, she said. I asked if she had a spare. She said yes. I changed the tire for her. She thanked me. We shared a smile on the moonlight. She leaned forward, her head to one side, pushing up on her tiptoes to bring her nearer to my height. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty. A peck on the cheek is due payment for my chivalry. She wasn't beautiful. Large eyes a man could drown in. She was beautiful. A sweet smell surrounded her. The light of the moon danced over her flawless skin.

Her breath on my neck. I gasp, though no air pulled into my lungs. The girl bit me. I felt a pain in my neck as though she were there, next to me, biting again. Deep, sharp, red-hot pain lancing through me. I saw her face above me. She smiled, kissed me on the lips. Then she was gone.

I knew. Memories flooded back as though a damn had burst. My name, who I was, where I lived. School, college, work all of it. A whole lifetime leading up to a journey home across a movement more and a girl by the side of the road. I put my hand to my neck and felt something sticky, waxy.

I scraped it away and felt the holes. Two of them. That's when I screamed, howled, and roared. I began to claw at the top of the coffin and felt the strength unlike any I had ever felt before. My nails were like knives, tearing through the padding and then scouring the wood. I scratched and pulled until the wood split and soil began to fall on me, but I kept going, digging upward towards the surface. It was like I was swimming through the dirt, powerful strokes forcing the soil behind me.

I could hear voices, mourners in a graveyard. I'd been buried. But I hadn't been buried alive. I was dead. I knew that now. But I wasn't finished with life. The girl a bestowed either gift or curse and only time would tell which. I was about to break through when I stopped.

Another voice. A voice I recognized. The sun won't hurt you, but you'll be blind. Wait for nightfall. Then come to me. I didn't want to wait. I could smell blood above me. resist it can't you must i could hear sobbing there was a woman she was bleeding the curse common to her gender there was a child he had a scabbed knee an injury from football earlier in the week how could i know that the blood the blood

It called to me. I desired it. You need the blood, but you must wait. What have I become? You know. Will I need to kill? Yes. What if I don't? Then you will rot.

But the voices, the voices of the living, the voices above, me. I knew them. A sister, my sister, and a nephew, my nephew. They wept for me, wept over me. Had I been about to burst from the earth beneath them? Would I have been compelled to kill them? To slaughter my own flesh and blood, I contemplated the box below me and considered returning to it. You can't deny what you've become. You can't deny me. You will wait. And then you will rise.

The girl's voice was smooth, reassuring. Can I resist her? Or am I doomed to be a monster? I'm only inches from the surface. Am I now nothing more than a pawn of the girl? Or do I still have free will? Can I choose not to kill? elect to allow myself to rot, to suffer.

There is what she said inevitable. I don't know. Only time will tell. As I wait here for darkness to fall, I just don't know. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com.

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