Creepy - There Are Still Prisoners At Alcatraz

Episode Date: June 1, 2020

If you know where to look...***Written by Connor Phillips and narrated by Joe Stofko***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko 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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A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world, Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. There are still prisoners at Alcatraz. Written by Connor Phillips and narrated by Joe Stubes.

When faced with overwhelming fear, human beings will do almost anything to survive. Kill, lie, steal, pray, whatever gives them hope that each breath they take won't be their last. As long as hope remains, the human will is stronger than steel. It is when all hope is lost that human behavior reaches its basest form and actions at once seemed inconceivable to a rational person become real possibilities in desperate minds. My grandfather told my brother and I a story about his time at Alcatraz prison while languishing on his deathbed.

He'd been a prison guard there during the 50s and had never talked to anyone about his experiences, not even our grandmother. That's why we leaned in closer the moment he started his tale and relished every word that poured from his raspy throat. wrote. Well, something I want to tell you, boys, something that I've kept buried within me for a long time. During my time at Alcatraz, I stumbled across a secret that has haunted me for 60 years. I swore that I would carry it to my grave, but now that I have one foot in the soil with the other one soon to follow,

I've decided to break my silence. stories are just too important to die. The horrors being committed on that island are unspeakable. To think that human beings are capable of such heinous behavior would shock the public. I will let you, too, be the final judges of what I know, though, for I'm old, and my moral compass was fashioned by the fires of a different time. I worked in D-block, which was where the worst of the inmates were housed. Given the constant stress of keeping such unruly prisoners in order,

I often went on walks beyond the prison grounds during my lunch breaks or after my shifts. My fondest memories of my time at Alcatraz are of exploring the island. That island has a natural beauty to it, unlike any other, and nothing can beat the sight of San Francisco looming peacefully beyond the glimmering waters of the bay. While on one of these walks, I traveled further from the prison than I had ever dared to before, and stumbled across a wooden trapdoor nestled discreetly in the ground. Normally, this trapdoor would have been hidden, but the powerful storm that had ravaged the island the night before had cleared away the brush

that typically blocked it from the path. Now, this trapdoor immediately piqued my interest. I didn't know that human development had reached such a secluded part of the island and tried to guess its purpose. No matter how hard I attempted to rationalize its existence, my mind remained blank. It was just too far from the prison grounds

to possess any obvious utility. Now, wanting to satisfy, my curiosity. I stumbled through the ruinous remains of the brush and approached its handle. Well, much to my surprise, a thick iron padlock secured the door in place. It was while examining this padlock that I heard a frightened scream explode from under the door. The volume of the scream startled me so badly that I went stumbling backwards and almost tumbled off a nearby ledge. Confusion flooded my veins the moment I regained my balance. A thousand guesses for whose voice I had just heard whirled through my mind.

But before, I had much time to think, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and I left behind a nearby tree. A few moments later, a guard that I had never seen before approached the trap door and removed the padlock. He did this quickly as if he was worried about. about being seen. I watched as he swung the door open and disappeared into the darkest below.

He returned a few minutes later, just as I was working up the courage to follow him through the hole. His hands worked quickly as he re-secured the padlock, and then he hurried back down the path, leaving me hiding behind the tree and stunned silence. Now, once I was confident

that the guard had retreated too deep into the island to spot me, I stepped out from behind the tree, and I returned to my apartment. For the rest of that day, my head swam with questions. I couldn't get the sound of that frightened scream out of my mind and wondered what secrets the warden was housing so deep below the earth. My curiosity became so great that I returned to the trapdoor later that night with a paper clip, and I picked the lock.

I knew that I would get in serious trouble if I got caught, but I just couldn't sleep without seeing what was going on in the chamber below. The trapdoor was light and swung open with ease, revealing a ladder that descended so deep into the ground that the orange light of my lantern failed to reach the bottom. After peering curiously into this shop for several moments, I attached the lantern to my belt loop and began to climb. When I reached the bottom, I was surprised to find myself at the entrance of a long concrete hallway.

At the end of the hallway was a large metal door that looked ancient with rust. I approached the door and began to pick the lock. Well, this lock was harder to pick than the previous one, so it took me several minutes before I got the door opened. What I saw on the other side frightened me so much that I nearly dropped my lantern. Thirteen cells lined the walls, each of which housed an inmate. These inmates were naked and were so pale and malnourished that they barely looked human. Half of them screamed the moment the light of my lantern reached their eyes

and went cowering against the walls of their cells. The other half completely ignored my entrance. After raising my lantern, I discovered the reason for their obliviousness. Their eyes were gone. So were their ears. The sight of their mangled faces sent me stumbling towards the hallway. Not even my five years' experience patrolling D-block could prepare me for such a gruesome sight. My stomach reeled, and I resisted the urge to wretch.

Just as I was about to hightail it out of the chamber, one of the inmates shouted at me to wait. The forcefulness of his voice froze me. like headlights do a frightened animal. Don't leave, he said. For the love of God, please help us. I turned around and looked at him, doing my best to battle back the fear coursing through my veins.

He appeared to be healthier than the other prisoners and was the only inmate not cowering against the walls of his cell. I raised my lantern and took a step back into the cell block. I know that you are surprised. He continued, but we don't have a lot of time left. You have to free us.

What the hell is going on down here? I said trying my best to keep my voice steady. Why are they keeping all of you underground? The warden is using us for his experiments. Experiments? What kind of experiments? I'm not sure. He hasn't started on me yet.

I've only been here a few days. His lab is through that door. He pointed at a sprawling metal door, dividing the cells on the left wall. He takes us in there one by one. Your guess as to what he does next is as good as mine. Now that my fear has subsided a bit, I could examine the other prisoners with a level head, so I raised up my lantern and did a quick lap around the chamber, pausing for a moment in front of each cell to study the poor souls cowering behind the padlock doors.

What I saw shocked me. Not only were these men starving, filthy, and mutilated, but they also had strange. puncture wounds encircling their arms. These wounds were about an eighth of an inch in circumference and were caked with dried blood. And the warden must be injecting them with something, I said, resuming my place by the chamber door. Those wounds on their arms look like punctual wounds. I have tried dozens of times to get information, but they refuse to answer my questions, he said. It's as if they've lost the ability to speak. Either that or they're too frightened. Only God knows how long they've been held captive down here.

The sound of screeching metal erupted in the hallway, sending all of the prisoners back into hysterics. What was that, they said. The warden's coming, said the prisoner. You need to hide quickly. I wheeled my head around the chamber, trying desperately to locate anything that I could conceal myself. in, but my eyes were met with nothing but filth-laden prison cells.

Check the lab. Maybe the door is unlocked. I've never seen him use the keys. I sprinted across the room and grabbed the rusty handle bolted onto the door. Luckily, the door was unlocked and swung open with ease. The room in front of me was empty, other than an operating table in several carts, filled with surgical equipment. I shut the door quietly behind me, and then threw myself behind a cart nestled against the far wall. A few moments later, I heard the echoing sound of footsteps,

tearing through the hallway. The prisoner's hysterical screams intensified as the steps grew closer and became so loud at the swinging open of the chamber door that I had to cover my ears. Quiet! yelled the warden. His piercing voice cut through the cries of the prisoners like a sharpened knife. I had never heard him use such an aggressive tone before. He was typically a very patient man, especially for old warden. The yells of the prisoners faded into nothingness.

Restrain him, Mike, said the warden. A few moments later, I heard the scuffling of feet followed by a scream. The scream sounded breathless as if someone had got in the air knocked out of them. It's restrained, sir. Excellent. Carry him into the lab. The door swung open. I pressed my back against the wall and prayed at my knees, which were raised tightly against my chest, wouldn't slip and spill out from behind the cart. Place him on the table. I peeked my head around the lip of the cart and watched as Mike lowered the prisoner onto the operating table. Prisoner began to thrash his arms and legs the moment his back struck the metal. He lunged for the warden, and for a brief moment I could make out his sweat-drenched features

before Mike sent him crashing back onto the table. It was the prisoner that I had been talking to only moments before. Calm down, said the warden, or I'll dissolve your eyes and cut off your ears just like the others. The threat must have resonated with the inmate, for he immediately placed his limbs back on the table. I sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart. No matter how hard I tried to control my breathing, I could feel panics, icy fingers constricting my chest. For the first time since lowering myself into the tunnel, I feared that I might die. Try to remain collected, said the warden.

Struggling will only make the procedure more painful. I watched in horror as he grabbed a tube-covered machine from a nearby cart and placed it on the floor beside the operating table. Hook him up, Mike! Mike grabbed a handful of tubes and jammed them. into the inmate's arms. The inmate's screams were deafening despite the gags stuffed down his throat. Blood spilled out of his forearms and thick rivulets and went dripping onto the floor. Mike repeated this process with his other arm and then retreated towards the door.

The warden walked over to the inmate and lowered his mouth to his ear. You are receiving a gift, he said. Never forget that. Are you ready, sir? said Mike. The warden squeezed the inmate's shoulder so hard, his hand turned red. Yes, he said. Flip the switch. Viscuous black liquid exploded from the machine and filled the tubes.

This liquid produced such a potent stench. It made my eyes water. It bubbled and gurgled as it swelled the tubes almost to the point of bursting and radiated such heat that I could already feel the temperature in the room rising.

The inmate let forth a guttural scream as this liquid entered his body. Rancid smoke billowed from his wounds and covered the room in a sordid haze. His eyes bulged with pain as his blood was replaced with this vile concoction, which darkened his skin and made him look like a leper.

Restrain him, Mike, said the warden. He's starting to convulse. White foam spewed from the inmate's mouth, as his body was racked by uncontrollable spasms, soaking the rag stuffed down his throat. His legs pumped against the table like overworking. pistons, and his arms flapped uselessly by his side. Mike grabbed a handful of straps from below the machine,

and passing them around the invades' limbs. The inmate he violently as he secured the final buckle, as if he were trying to throw himself to the floor. Next time, let's secure the subject before you flip the switch, said Mike, voice breathless. The warden ignored him. and instead gazed upon the writhing inmate like a mother does a newborn. He's starting to mutate, said the warden.

The procedure is working. The inmate flailed against the straps as blood began to pour from his nose and ears. This blood looked phosphorescent against the purpling skin and reflected the light of the single bulb dangling from a chain above his head. A few moments later, the machine ever... eliminated an ear-splitting screech, then ceased pumping. The remaining black liquid oozed through the tubes like a stalking snake, forcing its way inside the inmate's swollen veins.

The inmate shrieked as his blood coagulated underneath his skin. His veins tripled in size, causing his entire body to swell. This swelling worsened to the point that it looked like his body was covered. in tumors, massive lumps dominating every inch of his skin, making him entirely unrecognizable. What happened next? I hardly had the will to recall, for it was so jarring it haunted my dreams for decades. After emanating a scream so powerful, his throat tore. The inmate fell unconscious. His blood then began to ooze from his paws in thick ribulets. I watched in terror as gallons of blood pooled on the floor beneath him before being sucked down a nearby drain. When every ounce of his blood had leaked from his veins, the warden pulled the tubes from his arms

and patched his wounds with thick bandages. The procedure was a success, said the warden. His blood has been replaced. We now have enough subjects to continue our trial. carry him back into the cell block and prepare the inmates for testing. Yes, sir, said Mike. He hoisted the inmate off the table and lugged him through the door. I watched as the warden produced a vial of black liquid from his coat pocket,

then followed Mike into the cell block. The inmates started shrieking the moment he appeared as if they knew they were about to be. subjected to another round of vile experiments. The warden left the lab door open, providing me with a perfect view of Mike as he grabbed the inmates from their cells and threw them to the ground beside the warden's feet. Much to my dismay, not a single one of them put up a fight.

The warden's procedure had rendered them completely docile, despite their frightening appearances. and behavior had more in common with lab mice than it did with men, willing to fight and die for their freedom. Once all of the inmates lay cowering in the middle of the cell block, the warden opened his vial and poured equal portions of the viscous liquid down their throat. His eyes widening with excitement as he administered the doses as if he were a doctor on the verge of developing a revolutionary vaccine.

The black liquid produced an immediate effect on the inmates. Their stomachs quadrupled in size, and then limbs flailed violently by their sides. Sweat poured down their faces in thick streams, making their faces glow insidiously in the low light of the lantern spaced evenly around the chamber. As the minutes ticked by, their reactions worsened to the point. I marveled that they still drew breath. Their eyes bowled as the veins expanded, pressed against their skin like parasitic worms.

Never before had I seen such a gruesome spectacle. The black liquid inflicted such extreme changes to their bodies. They hardly looked human. If it wasn't for their desperate pleas to God to end their suffering, I could have believed they were alien beings. The warden watched their writhing bodies with a look of amusement plastered to his face. This smile grew with each scream

that tumbled from their blood-stained mouths until I could practically see his molars. Seeing him take pleasure in such profound suffering frightened me even more than the mutated bodies languishing on the floor. Before that day, I had known the warden to be a kind, albeit stern, man. Our kids played on the same basketball team, and I even ate dinner at his house once every few weeks.

To think that he was facilitating, such sadistic experiments caused my hands to tremble and my lungs to constrict. What felt like in eternity later, the inmates stopped their screaming and laid lifelessly on the ground, staring up at the ceiling like reanimated corpses. If it wasn't for the steady rising and falling of their chests, I would have thought them to be dead. Hand me your gun, Mike, said the warden. It's time to see if our experiment was a success. Mike removed his gun from a soldier and handed it to the warden.

The warden took aim at the closest inmate and fired three rounds into his heart. I buried my fingers in my ears in a desperate attempt to protect myself from the deafening echoes that followed, but my efforts were useless. I could already hear loud ringing emanating from my damaged inner ears, which felt like they were covered in ant bites. Much to my amazement, the holes in the inmates' chimes. chest disappeared within moments, leaving no trace of what surely should have been a fatal wound. The warden dropped the gun and fell to his knees at this wondrous sight.

We've done it, he said, voice shaky. We've created the means for achieving immortality. Immediately after the warden said this, my foot slipped, and I went crashing into the metal cart I had been hiding behind, sending it plummeting to the ground and exposing my hiding spot. Warden's eyes locked onto mine. With such speed, my heart started palpitating. George, he said, you should have never come down here. I thought you knew better than to stick your nose into my affairs. He glanced over at Mike. Restrain him. Mike was on top of me before I had time to regain my feet. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck

as he forced me into a chokehold. Luckily, he failed to restrain my arms, so I punched him in the gut and threw him to the ground before his hairy forearms could choke me into oblivion. I then zigzagged through the chamber as the Jordan opened fire. Bullets whizzed past my head with frightening closeness,

but luckily I was able to flee through the tunnel and up the ladder before any of them could hit their mark. The last thing I heard as I fled into the brisk night hair was the warden's booming screams. Suffice it to say, I rounded up my family and fled California before sunrise. The warden was a dangerous and powerful man. I knew that he would kill me if he ever got the chance,

so I moved across the country and I kept a low problem. I tried my best to expose the warden for the man he really was, but no news outlet would take me seriously. I didn't have any proof, you see. I was just another conspiracy theorist who could easily be shrugged off as a disgruntled employee. For this reason, I did my best to forget the incident and move on with my life. I was successful too, but then ten years ago I felt an overwhelming urge to revisit Alcatraz. The warden was long dead by then. I wanted to see what had become of that bizarre chamber.

When I reached the spot where the trapdoor should have been during my visit, I found a guard tower in its place. Feeling relieved, I snuck through the door and sat down in a chair by the entrance. by the entrance. Just as I was about to get up and leave, my eyes fell on the spot where the trapdoor used to be. An overwhelming urge overtook me to place my ear on the concrete and listen for any signs of life stirring in the chamber below. Surely the warden hadn't ordered the chamber to be filled in, but doing so would have raised too many questions about its purpose. So I rose from my chair and lowered myself to the ground, shivering as the cold floor greeted my ear.

For the first minute that I laid there, I heard nothing. But then, a guttural scream greeted my ear. Although this scream was barely audible, it was crystal clear and filled my heart with dread. There are still prisoners at Alcatraz. You just have to know where. to look for more information including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast or to suggest stories for future episodes please visit us at creepy pod on Twitter Instagram and Facebook all stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com and are protected by a creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.

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