Creepy - The Worms Will Come For You & Take One, Leave One

Episode Date: March 7, 2024

The Worms Will Come For You***Written by: Olivia White and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt and Riley Mello***Take One, Leave One ***Written by: Rory Say and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Support the show at: patreon.com/creepypod***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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

Written by Olivia White, and narrated by Daniel Hewitt and Riley Mello. Check out that view. Fucking beautiful. Chad was standing at the crest of the hill, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun. I hurried up the path to join him. my heavy backpack bouncing against the small of my back.

Sweat had pooled against the thin fabric of my shirt, making the material clammy and rough against my skin. I felt like I was coated in dust and desperately needed a shower. Regardless, I dragged my aching body to Chad's side and nodded in appreciation. Derek, Rami, and Isaiah joined us. We all stood there for a moment, catching our breath.

Looking out across the valley as the sunset cast a purple-orange glow across the sky. Fucking beautiful indeed. We'd been hiking the bluffs for six hours already. Day one of the annual boys' trip to the mountains. As some of our respective girlfriends called it. Aaking Pines Peak. Our place. Ever since the five of us, as teens, had discovered our love for the outdoors.

The fact that I wasn't actually a boy had never mattered to the others, or to me. Christine, Derek's girlfriend, had once joked to me that I was a braver girl than she was, going camping with four guys in the middle of nowhere. But it wasn't like that. I was one of them, always had been, and hoped I always would be. I could hold my own against most of them in an arm wrestle. I used to be able to drink all but Isaiah under the table. Back in my teenage years when I actually did drink.

I liked it. I liked coming out here with them, my best friends in the world, and all of us being equal under the same sky. Sappy and sentimental, I don't care. Chad nodded down the hillaways. I saw a crop of trees and what looked like a clearing. Good camp and spot. He said.

Chad was always the leader. He picked the trails, selected where we stopped, organized everything. Already he was heading off, tromping over the wild grass, swishing at the undergrowth with a stick he'd picked up along the way. And he's off. Rami said, wiping sweat from his brow. Remy was the least fit of us, and I could see that the hike was taking its toll already.

Derek slapped him on the back and Rami stumbled forward laughing, before the pair followed Chad strides. Isaiah and I walked side by side, taking up the rear. So hey, how you doing, Anna? He asked. Outside of our yearly tracks, we didn't often have much time to catch up. This was the first chance we'd had to speak properly in months. Yeah, I'm good, bro, I said between heavy breaths.

You? Not bad, not bad You know, still bartending Just keep it on, keep it on You seeing anyone? Nah, um How's, uh, Simone? How's Simone?

I smiled Yeah, she's fine, Isaiah Told me to say hi Probably grateful to have a weekend away from me, I imagine. Oh? Nothing wrong? Chuckling, I shook my head. No, no, no, no.

Just, you know, Simone, likes her peace and quiet sometimes. I saw Isaiah's glance flickered to the wedding ring on my finger. He and Simone had briefly dated halfway through high school, back when she was still in the closet about her bisexuality. The fact that she'd ended up dating and ultimately marrying me had surprised him. I'd always suspected he still had the remnants of a crush on her. It made me a little sad, thinking that he'd carried that around for seven years.

We caught up to Chad and the others in the clearing. Chad had already began erecting the two-man tent that he shared with Isaiah. Derek and Rami were fumbling around with their own, getting tangled in the guy ropes. A decade, we'd been camping. And they were still as hopeless at tent construction as they had been the first summer, when after giving a variety of fake stories to our parents, the five of us came out to spend the weekend on Aking Pine's Peak and Derek's brother's truck. I dropped my overstuffed backpack to the ground with a clang

and unhooked the circular bag containing my tent. Unzipping it, I stood back as my small one-man's shelter popped itself in a shape. Fishing out a hammer, I nailed the ropes in place and stood back admiring my handiwork. The whole thing was done in a matter of seconds. Derek, Isaiah, and Rami looked at me in envious wonder. Good investment, huh?

I said smugly, patting my little thing. tent as I gave the boys a wink. I knew I'd get my comeuppance the next day. The automatically assembling tent was a dream to put up, but trying to fold it back into the bag was a whole other story. They'd soon be laughing as I contorted myself gracelessly, trying to cram it back into its circular shape. But for now, I had somewhere to sleep overnight, and that was the important thing. By the time the other tents had been assembled, night had fallen, and I'd already proceeded to make and light a campfire. We sat around talking about nothing in particular, just chilling and having fun. Chad fried sausages on a small camp stove and served them up in buns.

A vegetarian, I passed on the meat and ate a cold can of bean straight from the tin. Glad I'm not sharing a tent with you. Derek said, pointing at my meal. I flipped him the bird. You love it, Carnivore. Derek opened his mouth laughing, showing me the chewed-up sausage. I laughed and disgust. Chad fished warm cans of beer out of his bag.

The guys began to drink while I finished my beans and downed a bottle of Coke. It was just a fun, relaxed evening. We all caught up with one another, lamenting our jobs, talking about our romantic lives, the usual. It was great to be with them again. again, some of my best friends in the world. Shortly before midnight, Derek stood up. He belched loudly and exclaimed that he had to pee. Yeah, me too. Wait there. I climbed into my tent, fished out a flashlight and toilet roll, then met up with Derek on the edge of the woods. We headed through the undergrowth lit by the beam of my torch, looking for a path of ground that was

suitably free of poison ivy. The forest looked strange in the glow from my light, the trees looming up without detail. Insubstantial somehow, fake plastic monoliths that towered above us. I reached out and ran my fingers against the bark of one trunk, as if to convince myself of what we were surrounded by. It was rough and natural beneath my touch. Reassuring. Right, you.

Over there. I said to Derek, pointing to a large tree. Other side. No watching me pee. Like I'd be interested. Derek retorted, giggling drunkenly. We headed off in our separate directions. I was still crouched down doing my business when Derek called to me across the brush. Hey, uh, come check out this gross thing.

I don't want to see your dick again. Fuck you! This was our whole thing. out of all of them Derek was probably my best friend we'd known each other since we were two if he had something gross to show me I wanted in

I quickly finished peeing pulled up my pants and used my flashlight to find where Derek was standing staring down at something amongst the leaves check it out he said quietly as I reached him I squinted in the darkness sweeping the flashlight over the area

dude you didn't pee here did you You? No, no, no, no, no. No, just look. Just look. Here. He took the flashlight from me and guided it to a spot on the ground. I frowned trying to work out what I was seeing. It looked like a sea an enemy or something. A mass of pinkish, purple tendrils spread out in a halo. What the hell is that? Some kind of weird plant? Derek snorted. No, watch. He reached his leg out gently and nudged the. the strange pink thing with the toe of his big boot. I let out a squeal as the thing began to move, writhing and wiggling in response to his touch. That was very girly.

I punched his arm softly. Fuck you, I am a girl. I'm allowed to be girly sometimes. I watched the undulating creature for a moment. Then, holding on to Derek's arm for support, I crouched down to get a better look. Oh shit Does get down here

This is fucked up Derek crouched beside me and I held the flashlight steady so he could see Oh, I'm a bit drunk What actually is it? It's worms Look A whole pile of worms Why are they one thing?

I bit my lip I don't know Look where they join together It's all mashed up and bloody I think maybe someone stepped on them And they've like healed up together I don't know Like a rat king

Oh shit, yeah Kind of I agreed A worm king The Conqueror worm Remember that poem Lo, tis a gala night Within those lonesome latter years "'Darrett quoted, his deep, rich voice sending shivers through me.

"'That poem had always creeped me out. "'The worms wriggled almost in response to his speech, "'and I let out a nervous giggle. "'I think they heard you, dude.' "'An angel throng, beringed bedlight, and veils, and drowned in tears.' "'Derick exclaimed theatrically. "'The worms quivered and twisted, writhing in and around each other, around the solid ball of flesh that bound them together.

Dude, that is so creepy. Wait, what the hell are you doing? Derek was reaching out, moving to touch the creatures. I watched as his fingertips brushed the wiggling pink worms. It cavorted and twisted around his finger, as if his touch was stimulating them somehow. He gently reached past them and prodded the place where their bodies had apparently mashed together.

Whoa, dude, it's kind of solid, but spongy. His finger had sunk into the wad of flesh. As he pulled it back, I saw the worm bodies spring back into place. The worms were flailing wildly now. Don't hurt them. And it's kind of gross to even touch them. They're just worms, bro. The worms reacted to this, wrapping around one another,

reaching towards Derek and I as if they were, trying to grab his finger again. We knelt, watching them for a minute or two longer until the worms, apparently bored of us, directed themselves against the forest floor and began dragging themselves along, the mashed up flesh pulling behind them, leaving a shallow trail in the dirt.

Holy shit. Kind of amazing how nature adapts, huh? We left the worms to it and walked back to camp. After a bit more chat and a few more drinks, we all decided to retire to our tents. I got into mine, stripped off down to my underwear, slipped inside my sleeping bag and promptly fell asleep. I awoke in the darkness, a bitter taste in my mouth.

Like I'd been sucking a lemon. My bladder ached and I was shivering, a cold sweat covering my body. I squinted into the blackness of the tent, groggy and uncomfortable. It took me a few seconds to my chest. to notice the strange smell that permeated my quarters. Something earthy, like the dark wet mulch we'd kicked up walking through the forest. The smell of vegetation decomposing on the damp ground.

And beneath that, something living, fleshy. As asleep drained from my dream dizzy head, I noticed a strange sensation on my skin. What I had thought to be a cold sweat was something else. something foreign touching me inside my sleeping bag clammy and soft and wiggling in horror i reached inside the bag gingerly feeling for my bare skin my hand recoiled as i felt them worms inside my sleeping bag they must have gotten in somehow i shuddered quickly trying not to move too much and cruddered quickly trying not to move too much and crows any of the worms against myself. I unzipped the side and shone the flashlight over my body. What I saw made me wretch. Not just a few worms, but 30, 40, 50, maybe more. Wiggling in patches on my damp skin. I looked down in my sleeping bag and withdrew my legs in disgust as I saw a squirming

mass of worms at the bottom. Shit, shit, shit, shit. The only opening in the bag was at the top. They must have wiggled in there and crawled down my body as I slept. Gross, gross, gross. As an experienced camper, I wasn't too bothered by bugs. Hell, my mom always teased that I used to collect worms as a kid. Worms didn't freak me out. But this many worms? Crawling over my sleeping nearly naked body?

Hell yeah, that was disgusting. I moved to leave the tent. to step outside and brush them off. There was so many of them all over me, like ridges in my flesh, spiraling and twisting against my bare belly. The image of a worm crawling into my mouth as I slept, flashed into my mind, and I started to gag.

The smell was becoming putrescent. I was starting to panic. I could feel it in my chest. I had to get them all off me. As I scrambled around in the time, tiny tent, my flashlight beam arced upwards and I caught a glimpse of the tent roof as I reached for the inner zip.

Hundreds of worms. Thousands maybe. All writhing and pulsing in the light from my torch. Clinging to the canvas above me. Climbing up the walls. I let out a short scream. As if in response to my voice, the worms began angling their heads downwards,

dropping on to me with audible plops. They were falling in my hair on my face, on my back, my thighs. I no longer cared about being careful not to crush them. I let out a strangled cry, ripped the zipper of my tent up, and flung myself out into the cold night. I must have looked a sight, hopping around, brushing the worms off my body. I swiped at them knocking the pink squirming things off my flesh, sparing no thought for anything but the desire to get them off. I was openly panicking now, awful thoughts flooding my mind. I could feel them writhing inside my bra over my breasts. I tore that off, throwing it as far as I could into the forest. I brushed and slapped and I pulled and I threw

worms everywhere touching my skin, pushing against me. They were in my underwear. I could feel them now, wriggling between my thighs, sliding under the elastic of my panties. I tore those off too, slapping at my crotch, my nails catching my flesh. I was crying, screaming, I abandoned all reason. What if they'd gone inside me? What if they were inside me now, burrowing into me, these worms inside the warmth of my body? Suddenly all the panic drained out of me.

I stood there naked, shivering it alone in the middle of the campsite. A single worm slithered up my thigh. I brushed it off, sobbing. I looked down at the ground expecting to see an army of the creatures. There were six, maybe seven worms laying in the grass, moving listlessly as if they were as confused as I was. Nervously I ran my hands over my body, through my hair. No more worms.

Had that really been all there were, had I imagined so many of the beasts in my sleep-battled state? They'd been all over me. Hadn't they? I suddenly felt very stupid and very, very, very exposed. Clapping one arm over my breasts and the other hand over my vagina, I darted back into my tent. I might have been one of the boys,

but that didn't mean I wanted them to catch me wandering around the campsite naked in the middle of the night. At the entrance of my tent, I froze. There had been hundreds of worms in there, maybe more. This would be the litmus test. This would tell me whether my horrific experience had been as it seemed, or an overreaction of a few bugs getting into my sleeping bag. Gingerly, staying in the shadows so nobody appeared behind me,

and caught an extremely compromising view of my naked ass, I crouched down in the shadows and peered into the tent. The flashlight was still on, illuminating the blue canvas from inside. A single worm wriggled in my open sleeping bag. Beyond that, the tent was empty. I plucked the worm out, shuddering at the feeling of its fleshy body between my fingers, then hastily grabbed my huge warm sweatshirt, the only item of clothing I could reach without getting in the tent. I scooted around behind my shelter and shook my top out, examining it as carefully as I could to ensure it was worm-free.

Thankfully, the big baggy sweater came down almost to my knees, protecting my modest. Christ, the boys were going to get a laugh about this when I told them, which would have to be now because no fucking way was I going back into my tent to sleep, even with the apparent lack of worms. I'd persuade Derek to go in there and retrieve my pants, and then they could damn well let me share with them for the night. I stood up, turned around, and froze. All four of the boys were standing around.

on the campfire, outside their tents. Had they been watching me silently? The idea made me shiver. I'd kill my fucking stomach. I stepped forward out of the shadows. I expected them to say something, to comment on my predicament, to laugh or joke with me. They didn't even look at me. They were all staring off into space, blank expressions on their faces. Derek swayed on his feet slightly. Chad's upper lip was twitching. Rami and Isaiah were close to one another. Their heads angled slightly downwards, as if they were whispering. But none of them made a sound.

I took a step closer. Guys? I wasn't sure if it was the previous panic attack, but I had a deeply sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong. That same putrid earthy smell had seemed to, to fill up the entire campsite, emanating from God knows where. It was only as I drew closer that I realized the smell was originating from the boys.

The four of them looked sickly. Their glazed eyes darted around wildly, unable to focus on any one thing. A dribble of blood was seeping from Chad's right eye. Derek's skin had a filmy sheen, pallid moonlight reflecting off his dark. complexion. I called their names, a knot of fear keeping me from getting too close. Derek, Chad, and Ramey didn't react. Only Isaiah looked up at me, his wild jaundice eyes unable to focus on me. He opened his mouth, his lips wet and trembling. I gasped as a single, fat worm wriggled out from between his teeth. I watched an awestruck horror as the creature fell to the ground,

then quickly burrowed into the earth. So fast, I could have almost thought I imagined it. Well, I'd been watching Isaiah. I hadn't noticed Derek taking a few steps forward. He moaned and I jumped in fright. He was so close that I could smell him. He stank like he'd been rolling in wet, dead leaves. Fetted breath flowed from his mouth as he let out another groan, and I gagged on the scent. One of his eyes was almost rolled back into his skull, the iris just barely visible in the top corner of the socket. His other eye was fixed on me. Derek reached out and grabbed my wrist.

His grip was firm, so strong that his fingers bit into me, hurting me. And yet they felt soft, too. like his digits were just muscle, no bone. Derek's skin rippled as I tried to pull away. Derek, you're hurting me, I wailed. He didn't react. My best friend, the man I trusted with my life, just fixed me with that dead-eyed glare

and clamped his fingers even tighter around my arm. I yanked backwards, harder this time. I heard a vile, tearing, squelching sound, and the pressure on my wrist suddenly disappeared as I stumbled back. My eyes flew to Derek's hand. His fingers had come off just past the knuckle. There was no blood, just pink raw flesh along the top of his palm. I looked down.

His fingers were on the grass. And they were wiggling. I screamed, and before the sound had died in my throat, Derek's fingers had burrowed into the earth and disappeared. I propelled myself backwards, trying to get as much distance between myself and Derek as possible. Isaiah, Rami, and Chad were advancing now, mouths hanging open, tongues lolling out, flicking and writing, and worms, more and more worms spilling from their mouths, falling from their bodies. crawling out of their clothes. As the boys moved, they twitched, shuffling forward,

like the neurons in their brains were firing erratically, driving them forward in mindless squirming bursts. Blinded by tears, quaking in terror, I turned and ran. A group of hikers found me the next morning, crouched up against a tree over two miles away from the campsite. I'd somehow managed to fall asleep. My feet bloody and torn, my body covered only by my sweatshirt. At first they thought I'd been a victim of an assault,

but eventually I forced the story out through cracked and puffy lips. I think, even then, they interpreted my tale as the boys having turned on me, trying to hurt me. I don't think they believed a word of the worm part. Neither did the search and rescue team when they showed up. Of course they went looking for the boys anyway. I was able to guide them back to the campsite since it had just been down the hill from one of the popular bluffs.

I refused to go in. I sat at the top of the hill, shaking, tears streaming down my face. They found all of our belongings. Our tents, our clothes, our backpacks. They did not find Derek, Isaiah, Chad, or Rami. There was no sign of them. I refused to let them carry me on a stretcher. I walked with them back to their rescue vehicle.

My feet protected by boots I'd been given, far too big for me, rubbing and chafing against my torn heel. The search and rescue team had already called for a major search. I heard them on the radio as I walked in silence. One of the hikers who'd found me and stuck with us, guiding me gently with her arm around my shoulders. It was fucking strict.

The Sargai said, trying to keep his voice low so I wouldn't hear. There was a pile of goddamn worms there. And the girl we found had been going on about worms. I figure she must have seen at the time of the attack and it stuck in her mind. Raoul shoved him away with his foot and the whole thing just fucking rolled across the ground like they were all attached somehow. Weirdest shit I saw. The boys still haven't shown up. Everyone else is holding out hope

But I know they'll never be found The official line is that they went off together exploring in the night Leaving me asleep I woke up alone and afraid and suffered a temporary psychotic breakdown And so they all go out there Searching every day they can Christine, Chad's girlfriend Brandy Even Simone, my wife

They won't find them. Today a raven landed on my windowsill. It had a worm in its beak. I could see its beady eyes watching me staring. It looked dead. Its feathers were molting, wings ragged and torn. The bird caught at me, dropping the worm to the floor. Then it flew off.

I picked up the little worm. It was still alive, wiggling between my feet. fingers. I lay down on the couch and put it on my face. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, the worm was gone. I can feel it inside my head, burrowed deep, settling into my brain like a jigsaw, falling into place. I can feel them out there now, beneath the dirt. As the worm even, into my brain, the earth crawls. While they're all out there looking for my friends, I wait. Because I know now that I am one with them.

As I should have been that night, I know, just as I know myself, that soon, Thorms will come for me. creepy presents Take one Leave one Written by Rory Say And narrated By Jimmy Ferrer

How had he gone so long Without noticing it was there Nicolai must have walked past the house Dozens of times before his house caught some shape Trapped in the overgrowth infesting the front yard It drew him

Before he knew it, he was tearing weeds from their roots and tugging up the ropy vines of ivy that hid what he wanted to see. What he uncovered was a standing bookcase made of black lacquered wood, alarmingly intact, even clean. How? He asked himself again. Had he missed this? He was often slowed or even stopped to look up at the house. to study its splintered walls and dusty windows, wondering how long it had stood empty, and why?

And what did its emptiness look like? Once, daring himself, he'd gone so far as to approach a window and found its glass opaque as thick smoke. He pressed an ear to it, and only heard his own blood pumping in his head. And when he turned away, he was so dizzy he had to see. stand still with his eyes tightly shut. He looked now at the newly discovered bookcase, a square black box supported by a wooden beam, a little door in the front yard with a knob you could pull. Signwalk libraries, he'd heard them called. Nailed below the center of its door was a

block of wood, on which the words, leave one, were neatly painted in a fine cursive script. I opened the bookcase and found it empty. For some reason, this upset him. It had no right to be empty. He had put a hand inside and felt for something that wasn't there, unwilling to believe what his eyes plainly saw. Leave one. The sign beneath the case instructed. Nikolai could almost hear the words in his ears.

Behind him, the street was empty. the low sky already beginning to darken with an early dusk. He hesitated. Then, only half aware of his movements, he slipped his school bag from his shoulder and unclipped it open. From inside, he took a book. The image on its cover, a rudimentary depiction of the four closest planets to the sun, and carefully placed it inside the bookcase. resting its back cover against the back wall.

But as soon as he shut the door, the impulse came to reopen it and take back his book, Chapter 3, of which was to be read by 10 the following morning. Only some part of him knew that it was too late. That to open the bookcase now would be to break some rule or disrupt some process now set in irrevocable motion. More than anything, he was frightened of not finding what he'd put there. So Nikolai shouldered his bag and went back out to the road. It was quiet. The houses he passed seemingly already asleep.

By the time he was halfway up the hill, the fear he'd felt had left him. And as he kicked his shoes off at the front door of his house, he had all but forgotten about the sidewalk library he'd rescued from the house. the weeds and the ivy. Days passed. He was taken from school the following afternoon for his weekly assessment, and afterwards he was brought straight home by the woman who cared for him. Then it was the weekend.

He'd never mentioned the vacant house down the hill to the woman who cared for him or to anyone else. Perhaps he felt in some way protective of its mystery, for it stood in partial ruin for all to see. Nikolai imagined himself as the only one who could really see it. See it, that is, for more than the eyesore that it so obviously was. And he worried that voicing his thoughts might be all it took to blind him to its wonder. It was also true that he only dwelt upon the house when he passed by, most often on his way home from school, as if somehow its image was prevented from being carried in his mind, from forming there when he was somewhere else.

For this reason, it was with a brief surprise that he noticed a sidewalk library the next time he journeyed home. It came back to him at once. The battle to uncover it, the painful disappointment at finding it empty, in the book he'd have to have replaced by one of his teachers. His fingers were already on the knob when he noticed the sign. Take one. Nikolai paused. He remembered vividly that the words had been different. Even now he could hear them as an echoed voice in his head,

gently demanding that he leaves something behind. He felt equally impelled now. Quickly opened the bookcase and peered inside. There was a book waiting. Just where he left his book of Planet. the previous week. Only this was a different book. Even before he touched it, he knew it was strange.

Its cover which faced him appeared to be made of a smooth, dark wood, so that it took more than a second to notice it against the back wall. No words or images adjourned it. But when Nikolai took the book in his hands, he found it was covered in a sooty layer which dirtied his fingers. It was not a large book, but weighted as if it was. Nor was it really made of wood as it first had appeared, but rather of some supple material that felt strange

and vaguely repellent in Nikolai's hands. He opened the book roughly down the middle. On either page was a detailed description of a plank of wood, perfectly anonymous, and yet rendered by draftsmanship so photorealistic. that Nikolai's eyes were momentarily stunned. The following pages showed what might have been the same plank and even closer detail from the various angles.

Nikolai ran his fingers over the undulating grains in the wood, amazed that he couldn't feel them on the page. He turned the page, a nail, somewhat bent and modeled with rust, was reproduced perhaps three dozen times in need. measured rows, unless the nails were in fact different but almost identical. There were very many pages of nails. Nikolai's eyes grew sore as he continued turning the pages, which were translucently thin

and oddly pliant, more like living tissue than dead pulp. There were no numbers in the corners or elsewhere to denote the pages, and as he kept turning them and turning them. He felt with a kind of nauseating certainty that it would not be possible to reach the end of the book by his method alone, by turning the pages one after another. How much time passed as he did this? When Nikolai finally closed the book, his arms were aching. There was a funny feeling in his head, a light, groggy emptiness.

as though he'd been forgetting to breathe. What he'd begun to realize was that the Bucky Help contained the house before him, the whole of it, every crevice in silent shadow, every mode of dust and splinter and screw, every pane of glass and strip of molding plaster. All of it was recorded and accounted for

in such maddening detail as to agonize the brain. Nikolai stood very still as he attempted to comprehend this, his eyes traveling between the book and its subject. He decided at last that he did not want the book, or at least some frightened part of him decided this. But when he went to replace it in the bookcase he had found, the door had somehow shut itself and would not budge.

He pulled the knob harder until his fingers hurt from the door. squeezing. But the door held fast. In anger, he kicked a supporting beam and stubbed his toe. Next, he placed the book down in the weeds and picked it up again. A sharp sense of fear it stung him as soon as he'd let it go. There was simply no alternative, but to take with him what he'd found. He understood this without understanding how, turning slowly away. Nikolai opened his school bag and took the book inside, avoiding it with his eyes. It weighed heavily on his shoulder as he trekked up the hill, and he had not forgotten about it by the time he'd reached home. He came down with the sickness that kept him from school.

He was no stranger to confinement. The fire that had swept his parents from his life was thought for a time to have had taken him too, or rather in this case the smoke. But he persisted, sleep, then awake. A sterile eternity in a white bed with twos down his throat was his earliest memory. And still, his damaged lungs hardly worked without help. Only this time, it was different. In the bed he shivered with cold, though his skin burned with sweat.

He grew weak and then weaker. The tooth came loose and fell from his head. He slept. When he wasn't sleeping, he thought about the book. How could you get rid of something that would not be rid of you? He tried to destroy it the very night he had taken it home, but its pages would neither tear no catch from the flame of the match he held under them. the point of the kitchen knife would pierce no part of it.

Running water left it perfectly dry, and he began to suspect that his present illness was an act of revenge. Best he could do was keep it hidden from sight. At times he'd wake up from burning sleep and briefly wonder if it wasn't real, if it might not be the severed remnant of a fevered dream. But when he mustered himself and crawled from the bed, he'd find it at the bottom of his school bank, protectively wrapped in an old towel, waiting with patience.

That other times, it was propped up in his lap when he woke. Open to pages he was conscious of having poured over in his sleep. Of course, he could share none of this with the woman who cared for him. Where was the woman who cared for him? Even in the deaths of his fever, he recognized the important. of keeping secret what he'd found. Only he had been granted access to the book. Only he could see the house.

It revealed for the limitless possibilities its walls harbored. His mind now turned to the house. Finally it formed in his head, as it had never done when he was separated from it. He saw it in his thoughts, how strange it was. Who had ever heard of a house without a house? door. Surely Nikolai must have noticed this absence in the past. And why did the whole of it appear scorched? Its walls burnt black and ashy gray. These were the questions that roused him at last.

Aside from them, his mind was empty. He felt suddenly better, though it hardly occurred to him to notice. His body when he rose was light, almost numb. In both hands he held the buck. Why? He wondered now. Had it frightened him? He kept it close to his breast and his feet carried him down the hall and outdoors. It was dark. For how many days had he laying in bed?

He had no memory. If he had been asked his name, He would not in that moment have known what to say. His legs took him quickly downhill. The house he'd just fled beginning to grow in the night behind him, yellow and red and black clouds rising above. No one who spilled shouting into the street took notice of him as he went. His own eyes were open, but sightless.

It was, until he came upon the house at the foot of the hill. Several red trucks barreled by at his back as he stood on the weedy verge, looking up. The house appeared even stranger than usual, like an imposter, a mere painting of itself on a huge flatboard. Then it changed. As he stepped closer, it became for an instant distinct. Its outline, uncertain. It's outlined uncertain. only to clarify in the span of a footfall. Now he saw it clearly, almost radiantly. Just as he'd seen it in his fevered thoughts, and in the unending pages of the book he still carried with him.

It was real. A solid thing with dimensions and obvious depth. But still no door. Cries filled the night. As well as hot flashing, lights and now the forceful sound of high-pressure water being unleashed in the distance. Part of the sky was lit by a bright false sunrise. But Nikolai paid no attention.

His eyes were searching for the sidewalk library, which wasn't where he knew it to be. He groped about in the dark but felt only tangled weeds and empty air. Then a strangeness caught his eye. Where once there had been a single ground-level weed, window in the house, there was now a small black square of barnished wood. It drew him. He saw when he was near a little knob in the wood, and also a smaller dark square beneath it, on which the words leave one, were neatly painted in a hand he knew well. Nicolai did not hesitate to open the door. What did he see inside?

What wonders awaited him as he crawled headfirst into the swallowing dark. He was neither found that night nor any day thereafter. The wreckage of his foster home revealed only the charred remains of a grown woman. The point of a kitchen knife lodged in her breast. So the search widened. until finally some days later an odd clue was discovered in the form of a tattered black notebook it was found open in a field of dead weeds down the hill from the burned-down house and though torn here and there partially seared all of its surviving pages were filled with a child scribbled drawings which after analysis were thought to be the work of the van 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.

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