Creepy - Three Quick Facts Before I Tell You The Story of My Fiancé's Death

Episode Date: May 13, 2021

Just a few things...***Written by nslewis narrated by Nate Dufort***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***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 creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make important. graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Three quick facts before I tell you the story of my fiancé's death. Written by N.S. Lewis. And narrated by Nate Dufort. First, llamas, when sufficiently agitated, we'll spit. I don't mean like you're spitting a mouth. full of toothpaste into the sink, or even hocking up a good lugy onto the sidewalk. No, this is a spray of green gastric juice, summoned forth from the depths of one of the

animals several stomachs. It smells about as bad as anything you can imagine, and it's very hard to get that smell off of you. I got hit with this nasty shit once a few years ago, during my first visit to meet Marla's parents. They ran a llama farm. I got a little drunk and started goofing around with one of the llamas. And it got me right in the face. I wasn't allowed in the house that night because I smelled so bad, had to sleep in a tent alone. They burned the tent afterwards. I was very respectful to llamas after that.

Next, a single bolt of lightning can contain up to a billion volts of electricity. By comparison, a defibrillator operates at close to a thousand volts. Finally, there's a local legend in the town where Marla grew up about a ghost called the Weeping Whisp. As it goes, in 1698, a man by the name of William Stevens, was accused of murdering one of the four daughters of a wealthy businessman. Stevens was found guilty, chained to a tree in the woods, and left to starve to death. He survived for 26 days, drinking what rainwater he could,

and insisting that he was innocent until his throat was so raw that he couldn't talk anymore. When he died, he was in such rough shape that not even the animals would eat him, and his corpse was left there as an object lessened to the townsfolk. The corpse rotted away until it was a black, withered husk, and people said that it was weeping still, oozing whatever fluid still remained out of its eye sockets. Then the corpse disappeared. After that, the businessman who had accused Stevens of murder

began to lose his other three daughters. There was no obvious cause of death. The young women were simply found dead, one by one. In his suicide note, the businessman claimed to have witnessed his last remaining daughter's death. It was caused by the rotted corpse of William Stevens, he wrote. Stevens was, by then, just a blackened wisp and still weeping. He had burst into the drawing room, placed his mouth over the young woman's living. lips and hungrily sucked her soul out in front of her father. After describing all this, the businessman confessed that the first daughter was never murdered at all. She had died by accident, falling off a horse. He had framed Stevens, who was a rising competitor and a threat to his business. Now, he knew Stevens was coming for his righteous revenge.

Never since. Young woman around town have occasionally dropped dead for no apparent reason. And the Weeping Whisp has been glimpsed now and then, through a window at night, through the foliage and a hiking trail, etc. I don't know. I guess the guy figured that they already killed him for the crime of murder, so he might as well get some mileage out of the whole thing. Marla had always bought into the legend of The Weeping Whisp,

been, went so far as to drag me to the local library once, where we spent hours going through the micro-fiche archives. There was enough there that you could convince yourself that the story was true if you didn't think about it too hard. As for me, I thought it was utter bullshit. When you're dead, you're dead. Or that's what I always believed, right up until a few months ago. Now, I don't think that's always true. It was the night before our wedding was to take place. We were going to have it at Marla's parents' farm, and were gathered together with some of the wedding party in their house,

well into our cups. My best man, Jake, was quite hammered, and was standing up on the coffee table, making impromptu speeches, roasting me. Everyone was busting a gut at my expense. Easy, buddy, I mumbled. Don't want to be too hungover for tomorrow. Maybe you should call it a night.

I ever tell you about the time Dave pooped his pants? Jake bellowed to the audience. This wasn't when he was one or two. He was 22. Oh, I never heard that one, said Marla, delighted. I groaned. Well, it was two in the morning, and Dave was hangaring for some Taco Bell. There was a thunder clap, and Rain started hammering down on the metal roof.

Shoot, said Marla's mom. Mom, it found us. A big storm had been forecast, but had been uncertain if its path would cross the llama farm. It was supposed to pass by morning either way, but now all the fields would be soaking wet and muddy, which was a major bummer in terms of our outdoor wedding plans. There was a flash of lightning and another burst of thunder. Oh, no, said Marla. Floppy!

Floppy, or more formally, Mr. Floppy ears, was Marla's favorite. favorite llama. She named him as a kid and spent a lot of time growing up with him. He hates thunder. I better go check up on him. Baby, I said. It's pouring out. Floppy'll be fine. No, said my fiance, if I don't go out there, he'll be up all night freaking out. I want him fresh for the wedding. He has to be there. I sighed. All right, I'll come with you. No, I'm the only one he lets near when he's scared. I sighed again. All right, baby.

Do what you got to do. Marla got up, put on a raincoat, and left through the front door. So anyway, said Jake, still standing on the coffee table, we find somebody sober enough to drive us to Taco Bell, and our boy here just goes absolutely nuts. No self-control at all. Crunch rap supreme. Yeah, he'll have one of those. Shredded chicken burrito. Why get one when you can have three? Doritos, locos, how many you got? The sounds of laughter were drowned out by the massive rumbles of thunder, and the lights in the house cut out a moment later.

Marla's father called the power company right away and was told they were getting a lot of activity that night, or doing their best, but to expect a couple hours without power. "'Shute,' said Marla's mom. "'David, be a deer and get some candles from the kitchen, bottom drawer by the oven. There should be some matches in there as well.' "'Of course,' I said. Meanwhile, I can't wait to hear the conclusion of Jacob's story. I sighed in the darkness, then found my way into the kitchen with my phone's flashlight. I heard them all down the hall, just absolutely cracking up at Jake's story.

Fumbled around, found the candles and matches, brought them. them back to the living room. When I got there, Jake had finished his story and was gasping for air from laughing so hard. Oh, God, he said through the tears. Then he straightened up. Uh-oh. I feel something ruined myself right now. He patted his stomach.

Oof. All I can say is I hope the toilet flushes at the power out. Be right back. Without waiting for objection, Jake left the room and headed down the hall toward the bathroom. I was glad of that. I love the guy, but he was really laying it on thick that night. I jumped at the chance to change the subject and got Marla's mom to start talking about llamas, as I knew that once she started, there would be no stopping her.

And it would take the focus off me. It turned out to be a mistake because, in the spirit of the night, she wouldn't write for this story about the llama spitting at me. However, after everyone had a good cackle over that one, She'd end up getting into her groove, and I knew that she'd have the floor for a while. Before long, an intense day of drinking and socializing caught up with me, and I knotted off on the couch. I was awakened sometime later by a loud clap of thunder.

My head was pounding, and I was more than ready for bed, especially knowing what a big day I had ahead of me. I checked the time on my phone. It was after midnight. I looked around in the flickering candlelight for my fiancé, but she wasn't there. Marla hasn't come back yet? How long does it take to calm the Lama down? Oh, she'll be a while, dear, said Marla's mom.

I'm going to go get her, I said, standing up on wobbly legs. I walked over to the large bay window and looked out into the night. Does anybody have a raincoat I can borrow? The night lit up in the flash and I saw it out there, a few feet from the house, judging by the screams behind me. I wasn't the only one. There was something crawling on its belly through the grass. It was mostly the silhouette I saw against the lightning, since its body and particularly its face was as black as the night itself. I saw the outline of thin, wispy hair sticking out of its head.

Did you see it? Did you see it? cried Marla's mom. It's the weeping wisp. God, help us. I'm a rational person, but I'm also not one to deny what's right in front of my eyes. Suddenly, I was very much awake and as frightened as I'd ever been in my life. Marla, I thought, I have to find Marla.

The thought of going outside where that thing was crawling was terrifying, so I didn't let myself think about it. I just focused on moving towards the door, just one foot in front of the other. But when I was halfway there, I heard that door open and froze in my tracks. I couldn't see what was standing there as the candlelight didn't reach that far, but I sure could smell it. It was a smell of death. It was the smell of the weeping wisp, oozing gore from its eye sockets, come to feed its insatiable hunger.

Behind me, I heard the sounds of panic. Furniture was knocked around as people scrambled over each other. I turned and ran as fast as I could, towards the back door, struggling through the mass of bodies that were trying desperately to escape the weeping wisp. I wanted to help them, but more than anything, I needed to find Marla.

Maybe it was too late. Maybe the weeping wisp had already got to her, and was coming back for the bridesmaids. I made it outside and rushed to the reins. crazed with fear calling out my fiancée's name. I reached the barn and saw that the door was standing open. I searched all around but found no trace of Marla. Had the weeping wisp sucked her entire body up?

That wasn't how the legend went, but maybe the legend had gotten it wrong. I hunched over and vomited, then stood up and slapped myself in the face. She's out there somewhere, I told myself. Maybe she got away from it. I stumbled back outside and began looking around wildly, desperately, uselessly. Even with my phone's flashlight, I couldn't see very much on account of the driving rain. Marla! I screamed.

Marla! I tried to think rationally and optimistically. She must have run back to the house. So, that's where I headed. Back across the yard, back towards the house. Back to the weeping wisp. I could see the glow of candlelight inside through the bay window when I tripped over something. My phone went flying from my grasp, and I fell face-first into the mud.

I scrambled in a blind panic, reaching out with my hand trying to find my phone. It must have landed with a flashlight down to the ground, just as I was about to give up on the phone and run on through the dark. I felt it. It was soft on the surface, but as I pressed down, there was heart. underneath. I explored the object for a few moments before I realized what it was. It was a hand, I whispered.

I tried a little louder. I crawled over and began feeling the body in the darkness. It was a body I knew well. It was Marla. Here's what happened as cobbled together from different accounts. That night, when Jake said he was going to the bathroom, he went instead to the barn where Marla was comforting Mr. Floppy ears. Unbeknownst to me, Jack and Marla had slept together in college a few times.

Marla and I'd been casually seeing each other at the time, but it wasn't that serious yet. And to Marla, Jake was never a serious possibility, but he felt differently. He fell in love with her. He claims that he got over it, and for the most part he had, but On that night, the night before Marla was to get married, with liquor coursing through him, Jake made the sudden decision to give it one last shot. There in the barn, Jake professed his love to Marla. She told him to get his shit together and sleep it off.

He grabbed her and tried to kiss her. She leaned him in the groin and told him that if he left right then, she'd forget it ever happened. He tried to grab her again, and she turned to run back to the house. but he caught up to her. Jake choked Marla in the grass outside the barn until she stopped struggling. When that happened, the realization of what he had just done came down like gravity on his head.

He tried to get her up, but she wasn't breathing. He couldn't feel a pulse. Meanwhile, Mr. Floppy ears was going wild in his pen. He managed to break out of it and rush at the man who had attacked his friend, spitting on Jake's face. Already out of his mind with panic, Jake started running. He tried to form a plan.

As the rancid smell of llama spit circled around his brain, dancing with the whore of what he had just done, if he ran into the woods and away from the party, it would be obvious that it had been him who killed Marla. People were already probably noticing his absence. He decided to run back to the house, try to sneak into the bathroom and pretend that he'd pass out on the floor

after puking on himself. He'd still probably be found out in the end, but at least he'd have a chance. Meanwhile, as Jake was running back to the house, a bolt of lightning struck Marliss squarely in her chest, jolting her heart back into action. She shot awake with a gas, but found that her legs were too unsteady to support her weight.

Her body was on fire with paving. pain, and she dragged herself desperately through the muddy grass towards the house for help. That's when I saw her out the window. Her face had been scorched by the lightning, and she was covered in mud. Meanwhile, Jake had reached the house himself and had been pacing around the front door. Finally, he got up the courage to go inside and follow through with his plan. He opened the door, and that's when the repugnant odor of llama spit wafted in and reached the living room. Marla collapsed from the effort before she made it back to the house.

Later, when I tripped over her body on my way to look for her, she was still alive, but not by much. The doctor said that it was a miracle that Marla was still alive, but also insisted that she probably didn't die in a technical sense that night. Once the heart stops, no amount of electricity can make it start again. Marla disagrees. After hearing what she has to say, and I believe her.

Of all that happened, this is the worst part. Marla died. She saw firsthand what happens when we die. The horror of getting choked to death, she says, pales in comparison to the horror of what she experienced after she died. It's a pit, she said. It's all it is. It's an endless pit full of dead people.

We're piled on top of each other. I dropped right on top of. it all. Not a second later, somebody fell on top of me. Two people die every second in this world, and that's where they all end up, good or bad, on top of the pile for a moment. Then they start to get buried by the bodies of other dead people. I shivered, but offered rationalization. Maybe it was all in your head, you know, like a dream caused by oxygen deprivation, a nightmare. It wasn't a hallucination. I was there.

I couldn't move, but I could feel my body pressed up against the others. I could see around me, but not for long, as another body fell from above onto my head. I could smell and wanted to throw up, but I couldn't. I just wanted to get out of there. But I knew that I couldn't, ever. Because on the way down, I saw how many bodies were there. billions and billions and billions. You go there and you stay there forever,

and you're aware of your situation, but can't do a thing about it. I took a deep breath and looked down at Marla, lying scorched on the hospital bed. The look in her eyes left me with no doubt that what she was saying was true. But maybe you do get to leave eventually. Maybe that's just like...

purgatory where they dump your body while they decide where your soul goes. Yeah, said Marla. Maybe. But I could tell when she was just humoring me. A heavy fog came over my mind, and I needed a smoke. I'll be back in a minute, okay, baby? Okay. I walked out of the hospital and crossed the parking lot to my car or had a pack of camel filters.

I reached in, pulled out a cigarette, put it between my lips. My hands were shaking. I could picture the pit of dead bodies clearly in my mind. I could picture myself dropping down on top of it all. I could picture myself a hundred years later, wedged in the middle of the pile now, never able to do anything but think about how miserable I was if I hadn't lost my mind. I hope that there was at least that mercy, that maybe after a while you just stopped thinking and your mind was totally blank.

I looked down at my lighter, which I pulled out of my pocket without even realizing it. It was automatic. You sure you want to smoke that, buddy? I asked myself, I snapped the cigarette in half and walked back across the parking lot in order to spend time with the woman I loved while I still could. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com. If you'd like to submit a story for consideration or recommend a story, please see our submission page at creepypod.com slash submissions. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative comments, share-a-like licensing, or with written consent from the office.

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