Creepy - This Is Not A Healing Pool

Episode Date: September 16, 2020

Careful where you swim...***Written by JGrupe***The Bloody Disgusting Podcast on iTunes: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-bloody-disgusting-podcast/id1528386150 ***The Bloody Disgusting Podcast on Spotify:https://open.spotify.com/show/7AcIAof1JPBxbdiIEX4mQC ***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.

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

Rupy Presents. This is not a healing pool. Written by Jay Grop and narrated by Mike Dent. I live near a healing spring. It's famous around the world. You may have heard of it. Then again, maybe not.

It's a well-known tourist trap about a half hour away from my house by car, so I can go there any time I like. Others have spent their entire lives saving up, dreaming of going there, hoping to heal their terminal illness or broken body after hearing a story on the news or from a website. And it works. Not all the time, of course. But every once in a while, someone steps into the little lake and comes out completely healed. X-rays and cat scans,

MRIs and ultrasounds, they confirm the impossible. The doctors will even tell them, this is a miracle. The church will be notified, and it gets put into writing that a person was supernaturally healed. These types of documented events are extremely rare. Each miracle is closely followed up on, and if the healing isn't permanent, it is no longer considered a miracle. But that's never happened, to my knowledge. Whatever goes on down there, under the murky mineral water, it sticks. The thing is, I've always been suspicious of the world-famous healing spring.

The church is so secretive about it, they refuse to allow any scientific experiments to be done on the water or soil there. This despite the fact that everything from cancer to MS to bone degeneration have been cured by the mystery water. They've owned the land for centuries. Maya's permission wants to take some scuba gear into the water to try and run some tests, and they refused vehemently. Even under supervision, they won't allow any sort of exploration. Security guards patrol the shore, and bags are inspected upon entering, so there's no way to sneak my equipment in during the day when the place is open. But I thought of another way.

I suppose I should explain why I'm so curious. Why don't I just trust the priest when they say it was simply, God healing the sick with his divine power. I believe that's possible, mind you. But that's not what's happening here. When I was eight years old, we went to visit the healing spring with my uncle. He had suffered from Parkinson's disease for years, and I thought that perhaps he could be cured through the divine power of the pool. His entire body was shaking, and he had stepped into the water with tentative quivering strides. But when he emerged from the pale blue lake, He was a different man.

As he swam into the deepest part of the water, I saw his head go under, and his eyes widened in surprise. It looked like someone had grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him under. When he came back up, he looked different. He came forth from the beach on sturdy legs, his gate sure and purposeful. I saw him walk right up to my mother and look her dead in the eyes.

his face slack. I'm fixed, he had said with a total lack of joy or enthusiasm. Let's get out of this place. As he spoke, I thought to myself, this man is not my uncle anymore. But of course my mom refused to believe it. She figured he was the same old Uncle Dan, only healed. I told her that Uncle Dan was in trouble.

He was still at the bottom of the lake. This new man, the new Uncle Dan, said not to be silly. that he was standing right there in front of me. But when he spoke, his eyes flashed with something evil and full of hate for me at having spoken. They flickered pale blue for a second, like a second eyelid blinking sideways.

Then back to Brown. He winked at me and smiled, and I saw his tongue now looked far too big for his mouth. It was bunched up and folded over, crammed into his maw like dinner leftovers in a bowl too small to hold them all. His yellow smoke-stained teeth were now white as snow, and he grinned widely, showing them to me. I tried to tell myself that it was just my imagination,

but I knew it was true. I was just lying to myself because I was scared. Who am I kidding? I was fucking petrified. The new Uncle Dan was not a nice man. Whereas my old uncle had sung and joked and danced on his wobbly legs, this man was serious, mean, and quick to anger. If I dropped something or took too long to get him a drink, he was always thirsty now.

He would turn bright red and scream at me in a deep and terrible voice. Hurry up, you little shit! What the fuck is taking your stupid ass so long? He would yell and scream and curse. He never joked anymore. Before that, he always had a joke or two. My mom stopped visiting him after a few months, and then pretty soon they barely spoke.

But she never admitted I'd been right. She stubbornly insisted that this doppelganger, this imposter, was still her brother. He had to be. I knew she was wrong, and worse yet, I had a feeling, a very overwhelming inkling that Uncle Dan was still.

down at the bottom of that lake. It was like he was calling out to me for help from down there. If I could only find his body, I could prove the man wasn't really him, that he had simply stolen my uncle's life. So one night when I was in my late twenties, full of pride and fearlessness, I made my way over to the property. I had all my gear.

My flippers, wetsuit, air tank, regulator, hoses, a waterproof camera, flashlight, and everything else I needed. I had been preparing for years to do this. I drove past the gated entrance a little ways and parked at the side of the road in the tall grass. I got out of my car. It made my way through the forest towards the little lake. The night sky was clear and cloudless.

The full moon shone up above and lit my path as I walked through the brush. I had to hide once or twice when I saw the flashed. light beams of security guards patrolling the area, but kept moving again once they had passed by. I slipped through the woods as quickly and quietly as I could, making my way towards the healing pool further within the property. The security guards were everywhere, dozens of them. Why do they need such protection for a little lake, I wondered? It only convinced me further that something sinister was happening there. After a few close calls,

once nearly walking right into a guard and only avoiding detection just barely I reached the water's edge the surface was still in black reflecting a mirror image of the stars and moon above I saw something move in the water and then it disappeared a second later probably just a fish or a frog

I thought to myself I put on my equipment still hiding at the edge of the forest next to the water after a few moments of gathering my courage I stepped into the inky black water. It was thick with minerals and difficult to see. I took up my flashlight and turned it on. The visibility was still poor, but slightly better now.

I kicked my legs and was propelled forward into the depths. My flippers making the work easy. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting to find down there. But I definitely wasn't expecting what I saw next. Those looked like. giant figs. I remember thinking to myself. Have you ever eaten a fig? You know, when you cut one open and inside there are all those tiny alien-looking finger hairs? Like cilia in a microscopic cell, but larger. They grouped together like a mouth in the middle. That's what I saw. There were

dozens of them, and they dotted the floor of the lake. They opened up like flowers blooming as I approached, and at the center of each large fig mouth was a white bulb, the size of a cantalove. They appeared to be plants growing on the bottom of the lake, but they were massive. Over 15 feet tall, I had never seen anything like them before in my life. They were purple and gold, and moved as if they were alive. As I got closer, I saw strange vines as well. coiled like snakes at the base of each plant. I swam down to look and saw they were moving around like snakes. The white bulb of the center of the plant closest to me moved suddenly.

I was far too close to it, I realized too late. My heart pounding with fear. The white round thing rotated downwards, and I saw what looked like eyes staring at me from it. I couldn't pry my eyes away. despite my rising terror. I looked closer and realized whose eyes they were. It was Uncle Dan, only his face was pale and bloated.

His brown eyes were wide and afraid, just as they looked that day when he went under the water and disappeared almost 20 years before. His entire body was enveloped in the cilia of its mouth. He looked like he had been swallowed alive by the disgusting purple fig plant. The finger hairs moved around his head, and wiggled around with sudden activity.

They fluttered up and down and seemed to draw him back in as he struggled. His head wriggled and squirmed, and I saw he was still fighting to get free. He was alive. Nearly two decades later, he was still alive. I saw his bloated face was covered in fibrous plant material, which made it impossible for him to scream or open his mouth.

The plant was feeding him oxygen and nutrients, I realized. It was keeping him alive. But why? I felt something wrapping itself around my ankle. And I looked down with increasing fear. I was pulled down suddenly, and I saw a long vine that had sneered my leg like a boa constrictor. Not good.

Not good at all. I looked and saw it was pulling me in, toward the open mouth of one of the giant purple figs. This one looked younger and slightly smaller. I got the feeling when it got me in its clutches it would hold me in its terrifying mouth forever, just like my uncle Dan. And not only that, but there would suddenly be a new me created,

a meaner, thirsty or me. My thoughts raced, and I suddenly remembered my knife. I managed to grab it as the vine dug deeper into my leg. I could feel it squeezing my bones and crushing my body tissues with its powerful grip. I reached down and slashed the vine with my blade, cutting shallow gashes into the tough skin of the thing. Its grip stayed firm and didn't relax.

With increasing horror, I realized it was wrapping itself even more tightly around my ankle and squeezing tighter and tighter. I began to feel pins and needles in my foot. I reached down again and this time tried to saw with the blade, running my knife back and forth quickly and ineffectively as panic began to take hold of me. Fear swelled and grew within me as I saw the monstrous plant was very close now. Its alia mouth opening and closing. The Celia moving around with anticipation as if the thing were licking its lips with hunger. This one did not have a white bulb at its center.

It wanted me for that coveted place. I sawed with my knife harder and quicker, my heart beating faster and heavy in my chest. Loud enough, I could hear it my ears. The pain in my leg was incredible. The thing felt like it was made of stone. I hacked and dug with the pointed tip of the blade and tried fruitlessly to gain purchase on the writhing tentacle.

The knife slipped and skidded painfully into my skin, causing me to wince in a sudden sharp pain of another variety. Another vine came up and began to pull at my mask, trying to rip it off my face. I slashed and hacked with the knife and managed to cut off a piece of this thinner vine and it retreated, but several others began to approach from the depths. This was not going well. The agony in my ankle and foot grew and grew until it went completely numb, as the pins and needle sensation went away to be replaced by a heavy pressure pain.

I pictured my foot turning increasingly darker shades of purple. At that moment, I was a little bit of. beyond desperate. The pain in my leg was worse than anything I had ever thought possible, and my hacking and sawing at the vine was making no progress. I took a deep breath and began to saw at my own leg, rather than the tentacle that had ensnared it, making quick progress on the flesh below the kneecap. Compared to the vine, my leg was easy work. The knife cut through the skin and tendon like it was a tough stake. The pain was tick. The pain was ticked. terrible, but the idea of getting free was better.

And I continued sawing, biting down on the regulator mouthpiece and trying desperately to keep breathing. I reached bone and continued to saw with the serrated part of the blade. I was making tiny bits of progress and starting to become slightly hopeful. When one of the vines pulled off my face mask and another yanked the regulator half my mouth. I managed to get one last good breath in before my air source was pulled away. I held my breath and swung the knife wildly, trying to scare the tentacles off, then went back to my leg. I was through the bone. Finally, my hand continued to saw through the other side, and I felt a huge weight drop off below me as my dismembered foot fell down to the depths.

Kicking with my one last remaining leg, I swam up to the surface. The other vines brushed against me as I escaped, but I managed to get away without any of them managing to grab onto me. I got up to the surface of the water and took huge gasping breaths of fresh air. My leg screamed in agony, and I struggled towards the beach. When I got there, several security guards were waiting for me. I got the impression they had no idea what happened beneath the lake at the bottom. They were simply hired goons. Their faces regarded me with pity as I coughed up water from my lungs and screamed in pain.

You lose your other leg? One of them asked dully. Luckily, they felt bad for me, indialed 911 before calling their bosses. I managed to escape from the place in the back of an ambulance and wound up in a nearby hospital and the trauma unit there. I was there for over three months.

After multiple surgeries, they had managed to make a stump that could be fitted for a prosthesis. The nurses and doctors were amazing, giving me encouragement and support as I made my heel. journey, as they called it. I guess I shouldn't laugh.

It really was a trip. I worked with prosthetists and occupational therapists, physiotherapists and orthopedic surgeons, rehab specialists, and finally, finally, outpatient treatment clinics. It was at one of my infrequent visits to one of these clinics recently that something happened, which prompted me to write this. I was sitting on the steel table in the examination room. trying not to slide off and tumble down to the floors, the disposable paper covering slipped beneath me.

The occupational therapist walked in with her student at her side. They regarded me for a moment and looked at their clipboard together as one. Their eyes looked up at me from the clipboard, two pairs together. At the same time, their eyelids didn't close, but I saw them blink a second set of eyes. Sideways. The irises flicked pale blue for just a second. And they smiled at me. What are you doing here? The occupational therapist asked me. Didn't you hear about the healing spring? That's very close. We can show you. Her long tongue slipped out of her mouth as she spoke. And she poked it back in.

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