Creepy - Ticci Toby

Episode Date: February 26, 2018

When you can't feel physical pain, the mental toll can be too much, especially with a nudge in the wrong direction. Know his name...***Subscribe to the show on YouTube at: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod or creepypod.com/support***Tales can be found at Parcast.com/Tales***Guest narration by Owen McCuen, Victoria Juan, Molly Lankford, and Steve & Cheryl Blizin***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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Our patrons mean the world to us. They make this show possible. If you'd like to see what you can do to support the podcast, please visit patreon.com slash creepypot. And, if you're a fan of creepy, you probably enjoy myths, legends, and folklore. Let me tell you about a new podcast that I love, Tales. Each episode of Tales presents an original fairy tale. Not the popular wateredown versions you're accustomed to hearing. You think you know the story. But do you really? Each episode combines analysis

with captivating campfire style storytelling. Every story takes you through dark twists and turns. The host presents real fairy tales and lore. Stories much different than what you heard as a child. You can check out episodes on Beauty and the Beast now. And with a new episode coming out every other Saturday, you can expect episodes on Bluebeard, Little Red Riding Hood, and many more. Visit Apple Podcasts, tune in, Spotify, Google Play, or wherever you listen to podcasts, and search for Tales. Again, that's T-A-L-E-S. Or visit P-R-C-C-A-S-T-L-E-S to start listening now. That's P-A-R-C-A-S-T-com to listen now. You can also stay tuned after today's story for a special trailer from Tales. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy

pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain Traffic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. Tickey Toby credited to user castaway. With guest narration courtesy of Owen McKeown,

Victoria Wan, Molly Langford, Cheryl Blizzin, and Steve Blizzin. The long road home seemed to go on and on. The road continued to outstriended. stretch in front of the vehicle endlessly. The light that shone through the branches of the tall green trees danced across the window in random patterns. Every once in a while, obnoxiously shining in your eyes.

The surrounding was full of deep green trees forming a forest around the road. The only sound was the sound of the car engine as a travel down the path. It was peaceful and let off a serene feeling. Although the ride seemed like a nice one, it lacked every form of nice for both passengers. The middle-aged woman behind the steering wheel had neat, short brown hair that fitted her complexion quite well. She wore a green V-neck t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Diamond said earrings decorated each of her ears which partially showed from behind her haircut. She had deep green eyes which were brought out by her shirt.

and the lighting seemed to make them more noticeable. There wasn't much significance to her appearance. She just looked like any average mother that you'd see on TV shows and such. But one thing for sure made her differ from those average mothers, and that was the dark bags under her eyes. Her facial expression was gloomy and sad, although she genuinely looked like one who smiled a lot. She would sniffle every once in a while and occasionally glanced back in the rearview mirror to look back at her son in the back seat.

I was hunched over partially. His arms held tight around his chest and his head pressed against the cold window. The boy lacked any normal appearance. Anyone could blandly see that something was wrong with him. His messy brown hair went in every which way and his pale, almost gray skin was bright. out by a luminescent lighting. His eyes were dark, unlike his mother's and he wore a white t-shirt and scrub pants that had been provided to him by the hospital.

The clothes he had worn before were so shredded and blood-stained that they weren't wearable anymore. The right side of his face bared a few cuts along with a split eyebrow. His right arm was bandaged all the way up to his shoulder, which had been shredded when his right side had hit the shatter glass. His injuries appeared to be painful, when really, he couldn't feel a thing. He never could feel a thing. That was just one of the glories about being him. One of the many challenges he had to face growing up was growing up with the rare disease that caused him to be completely numb towards pain. Never before had he felt himself get

hurt. He could have lost an arm and felt nothing. That, and another major disorder he had faced, was the one that deemed him many insulting nicknames in the short time he attended grade school before he was moved to homeschooling. His Tourette syndrome, which caused him to tick and twitch in ways he couldn't control. He would crack his neck uncontrollably and twitch every once in a while. The kids would tease him and call him Tiki Toby and mock him with exaggerated twitching and laughing. It got so bad he turned to homeschooling. It was too hard for him to be in a common learning environment with seemingly every kid poking or more like stabbing fun at him.

Toby stared blankly out the window. His face was empty of any depictable emotion. and every few minutes his shoulder, arm or foot would twitch. Every bump that the car tires hit made his stomach turn. Toby Rogers was the boy's name. And the last time Toby remembered riding a car was when it crashed. That's all he thought about. Unconsciously were playing everything he had remembered before he blacked out over and over again.

Toby'd been the lucky one when his sister hadn't been so lucky. When the thought of his older sister came, he couldn't help but let his eyes begin to tear up. The horrible memories replayed in his mind. Her screaming that had been cut off when the front of the car was smashed in. It all went blank for a moment before Toby opened his eyes to see his sister's body. Her forehead pierced with glass shards. Her hips and legs were crushed under the force of the steering wheel. Her torso pushed in from the late inflated airbag.

This was the last thing he had seen of his dear older sister. The road home continued on for what seemed like forever. It took so long to get home due to his mother wanting to avoid passing this sight of the crash. When the surrounding gave into a familiar neighborhood, they had both been more than ready to get out of the car and step back into the car. their own home. It was an older neighborhood, with quaint little houses all next to each other. The car drove in front of a little blue house with white window panes. They both quickly noticed the old vehicle that was parked in front of the house and the familiar figure who stood out in the

driveway. Toby felt automatic anger and frustration take over him at the sight of his father, his father who wasn't there. His mother pulled a car into the driveway beside him before turning off the engine and preparing to step out and face her husband. Why is he here? Toby said quietly as he looked back at his mother who reached to open the car door. He's your father, Toby. He's here because he wants to see you.

His mother responded with a monotone voice, trying to sound less shaky. Yet he couldn't have driven up to the hospital to see Lear before she died. Toby narrowed his eyes out the window. He was drunk that night, honey. He couldn't drive. Yeah, when is he not? Toby pushed open the door before his mother and stumbled out onto the driveway

where he met his father's gaze before looking down at his feet with a stern expression. His mother stepped out behind him and met her husband's eyes before walking around the car. His father opened his arms, expecting a hug from his wife. But she passed him and put her arm around Toby's shoulder and influenced him to begin walking inside. Connie? Her husband began to say under a raspy voice. What? No welcome home hug, huh?

She ignored her husband's obnoxious words and passed him with her son under her arm. Hey, he's 16. He can walk by himself. His father began to follow them in. He's 17. Connie glared back at him before opening the door to the house and stepping inside. Toby, why don't we get you in your room to rest, okay? I'll come get you when dinner is ready. No.

I'm 16. I can walk by myself. Toby said sarcastically, glared back at his father before stumbling up the small staircase and turning into his room where he slammed the door violently. His little room didn't have much in it. Just a small bed, a dresser, a window, and his walls had a few-framed pictures of his family. Back when they were a family, before his father became an alcoholic and acted violently

towards the rest of his family. Toby remembered when he was arguing with his mother and he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the floor. When Lira had tried to break it up, he pushed her, and she had to do. her and she hit her back on the corner of the kitchen counter. Toby could never forgive him for what he did to his mother and sister. Never. Toby didn't care how much his father beat him down.

He couldn't feel it anyway. What he did care about was how he intentionally hurt the only two people he cared about. And when he waited in the hospital, where his sister took her last few breaths. The only person who didn't rush there, It was his dad. Toby stood by the window and looked out onto the street. He could have sworn he saw things out of the corner of his eye but quickly blamed it on the medication he'd been put on.

When dinner time had come around and his mother called up to him, Toby came downstairs and hesitantly sat down at the table across from his father and in between his mother and an empty chair. It was quiet as his parents picked at their food. Toby refused to eat. Instead, he just watched his dad with a blank stare. His mother caught onto a stare towards his father and elbowed him slightly. Toby looked over at her slightly and looked down at his uneaten food, which he didn't touch. Toby laid in bed. He pulled his covers over his head and stared at the window. He was tired, but there was no way he would fall asleep. He couldn't.

There was too much to think about. He'd been debating on whether or not to follow his mother's directions and forgive his father, or to continue holding the grudge with his boiling hatred. He heard her door creak open, and his mother patted into the room and sat on the bed next to him. She reached over and rubbed his back, which had been turned to her. I know it's hard, Toby. Trust me. I understand.

But I promise you it will get better. She said softly. When is he going to leave? Toby said with an innocent tone and his shaky voice. Connie let her gaze fall down to her feet. I don't know, honey. He's staying as far as I know. Toby didn't respond.

He just continued to look forward at the wall, holding his damaged arm near his chest. After a few minutes of silence, his mother sighed, before she leaned in to kiss his cheek and set up to walk out of the room. Good night. She sat as she closed the door. The hours passed slowly and Toby couldn't quit tossing and turning. Every time he let his imagination take over, he heard the screeching of tires, the screaming of his sister.

And he'd uncontrollably jerk in bed. He threw off his covers, laying on his back, he pulled his pillow over his face and cried into a He could feel his chest rise and fall as he let out each shaky breath as he cried. He could hear his own pitiful weeping. He would have been screaming and crying if he didn't press his pillow over his face. After a few seconds he threw the pillow off his face as well and sat up, hunched over, holding his head and breathing roughly, tears streaming from his eyes. He couldn't help but cry.

He tried to keep it in, but he couldn't help but whine and whimper as he sat there shaking. He inhaled before he stood up and walked around his bed to the window and peered out, taking deep breaths trying to calm down. He rubbed his eyes and looked out at the group of tall pine trees across the street. He stopped suddenly, and his gaze slowly centered on something standing under the street. the street light. He heard a ringing in his ears, and he couldn't look away. The figure stood beside the street light, about two feet shorter than it. Long arms draped at its sides as it stared up

at him with non-existing eyes. The figure had no features whatsoever. No mouth, no nose, yet it held Toby's hypnotized stare, seemingly peering into his very being. The ringing in his ears grew louder and louder each second he stared before suddenly and all looked black. The next morning Toby woke up in his bed. He felt different. He wasn't tired at all. And when he consciously woke up, it felt like he'd been lying there, a week for hours.

He had no thoughts flowing through his mind. He sat up slowly and stumbled over to the wall, but when he stood up, you automatically felt dizzy. He stumbled at the doorway and walked down the stairs. His parents were sitting at the table. His father was tuned in with a small TV that sat on the countertop, and his mother reading the newspaper. She quickly looked over when she felt Toby's presence looming behind. her.

Well, good morning, sleepy head. You've been sleeping forever. She greeted him with a hesitated smile. Toby slowly looked over at the clock and noticed it was 12.30 p.m. I made you breakfast, but it got cold. I was going to wake you, but I felt you needed sleep. Her expression fell from happy to worried, as her son resisted responding to her. Are you all right?

Toby stumbled over and sat by his father. He felt as if he was on idle and had no control over his actions. He was seeing everything he did, but it didn't seem to register in his brain properly. He reached out to his father's arm, but his hand ended up getting slapped. His father turned to him abruptly and pushed his chair over with his father. Don't touch me, boy. His mother stood up. All right, knock that off.

That is the last thing we need. The days went by, and things continued on as they were. Connie spent most of her time cleaning up the house, and her rude husband spent most of his time ordering her around. It was just how it used to be before the crash. Toby never left his room. He would sit by his bed and tremble. His mind would wander.

his thoughts changed too fast to be remembered. He would pace around his small room like a caged animal or stare out the window. The unhealthy cycle continued. Connie continued to be pushed around by her husband, being way too submissive to him, and Toby remained in his room. Before he could think twice he would begin to chew on his hands, tearing the flesh from his fingers. He would gnaw his hands until they bled.

When his mother walked in on him while he was doing so, she reacted horribly. She rushed him downstairs and grabbed the first aid kit, wrapping his hands in it. She demanded that he wouldn't leave her side from then. He isolated himself so much that he grew to hate being around others. His memory grew glitchy as well. He started missing memory of minutes, hours. his days and so on. He began talking nonsense about things completely unrelated to conversations he would have.

He'd go off about seeing things. Sharks in his sink as he washed the dishes. Hearing crickets in his pillows. And seeing ghosts outside his bedroom window. All the nonsense landed him in a counselor's office. His mother grew too anxious about his mental health. She decided to be good for him to talk to a professional about what he was feeling. Connie walked Toby into the building, holding his hand and guiding him in.

She walked him up to the front desk and began talking to the lady who sat behind it. Mrs. Rogers? Yes, that's me. We're here to see Dr. Oliver. I'm here with Toby Rogers. Yes, right this way. The lady stood up and led them down a long hallway. Toby looked at the framed artwork down the halls and tuned into the sound of the lady's high heels on the hardwood floor.

She opened the door to a room with a table and two chairs. If we can get him to sit in here for a few minutes, I'll get the doctor. She smiled and held the door open. Toby stumbled into the room and sat down at the table. He looked over at his mother and the lady before the door slowly shut behind them. He looked around the room before he held up his tightly bandaged hands and began to bite at the bandages to unwrap them. Bo was interrupted as the door swung open and a young woman in a black and white spotted dress and light blonde hair stepped in, holding a clipboard and a pen.

Toby? She asked with a smile. Toby looked up at her and nodded. Nice to meet you, Toby. My name is Dr. Oliver. She put her hand out to shake but hesitantly pulled away when she was. she noticed his bandages. Oh.

She smiled nervously before clearing her throat and sitting in the chair across a table from him. So I'm going to ask you a few questions. Try to answer them as honestly as possible, okay? She placed her clipboard down on the table. Toby nodded slowly and held his restrained hands in his lap. How old are you, Toby? 17? He responded quietly. She wrote that down on the paper that was clipped to the clipboard. What is your full name? Toby Aaron Rogers. What is your birthday? April 28th.

Who is your immediate family? Toby paused for a minute before answering her question. My mom, my dad, and... He stopped. My sister. I heard about your sister, dear. I'm really sorry. Her expression faded into a sad, pity-filled look.

Toby nodded. Do you remember anything from the crash, Toby? He looked away from her. His mind went blank for a moment. He looked down at his lap and in the surrounding, he heard a faint ringing sound. His eyes widened and he froze in his place. Toby, Toby, are you listening?

Toby felt a shiver go down his spine until he froze once again and slowly looked over out the little window through the door, where he saw it. A dark, featureless figure, peering in at him. He stared, eyes widened, the ringer. ringing, growing louder and louder until suddenly the loud voice of the counselor broke his trance. Toby! Toby jumped and fell sideways out of his chair, backing up into the corner.

Dr. Oliver stood up, holding her clipboard to her chest, a surprised look in her eyes. Toby met her eyes again. His breath hitching as he twitched. That night Toby laid in bed. His eyes dazed as he stared straight up at his ceiling. He could feel himself begin to doze off when he heard the scattering of footsteps down his hallway. He sat up and looked towards the door.

His wide open door. There was no light. Everything was lit by the luminousine blue glow of the moon through his window, leaving a cold light in. He stood up and slowly made his way towards the doorway, when suddenly the door, which was previously wide open, slammed in his face. He gasped and fell back.

He was out of breath when he hit the ground and he began breathing heavily. His eyes wide open. He waited for a few seconds before getting back up on his feet. He reached out and grasped the cold door handle with his bandaged hand and creaked it open. He looked out into the dark hallway and tiptoed out of his room. The window at the end of the hallway lit up the darkness, with blue moonlight as he patted his way down. He could hear footsteps rustling around him and faint giggling led out by the pitter-patter of small feet, which sounded like a child had run in front of him.

Giggling and running. The hallway was a lot longer than he had remembered. It seemed endless. Like the ride home from the hospital. He heard a door creak in front of him. Mom? He called out in a shaky voice. Suddenly a door slammed behind him and he jumped and turned around.

Behind him he heard a long, eerie groan. That sounded to croak right in his ear. He turned around as fast as he could and was suddenly face to face with none other. Then his dead sister. Her eyes were clouded white, her skin pale, and the right side of her jaw only dangling on by tissue and muscle, glass protruding from her forehead and black blood leaking down her face. Her blonde hair pulled up back in a ponytail as it always was. Wearing her gray t-shirt and athletic shorts which were dirty and spotted with blood.

Her legs were bent in ways they shouldn't be. She stood emitting a long, croaking noise Only an inch away from Toby's face Toby yelped and fell back He started to crawl backwards Away from her Not able to break the eye contact he held with her

Blink Dead eyes He dragged himself backwards Until he backed up into something He stopped for a second Everything was dead silent except for his heavy breathing and crying. He slowly looked up to meet the blank face of a tall, dark figure that stood over him. Behind the tall, dark mass were rows of children, looking to range from three to ten years.

Their eyes completely black, and dark black blood leaked from their eye sockets. He screamed and stood up as fast as he could, only to be tripped by dark black tendrils that wrapped around his ankles. He fell straight on his stomach and got the wind knocked out of his chest. He tried to scream out, but he couldn't make a sound. He weased out.

Before it all went black, Toby woke up with a start. He screamed out and sat up as fast as he could, completely short of breath. He weased out and held his chest with his bandaged hands. It was just a dream. Just a dream. He laid back down on his bed and rolled over to his side.

It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his chest and he took in deep breaths. He stood up and patted over to his window. He saw nothing. Nobody was out there. No ghosts. No figures. Nothing. He heard the rustling and coughing of his father out the doorway.

His door was closed. He walked over and opened it, looking out into the hallway once again. He walked down the hallway and into the kitchen where he found his dad standing and having a smoke in their living room. Toby waited a second and watched him from around the corner before burning feelings started deep in his chest. Deep. He heard the little imaginary voices in his head. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it, do it, do it, do it. turned away and held his arms.

He felt like he actually had control over himself. Unlike he did for the past few weeks since he got home from the hospital. He actually had complete thoughts for just moments before they were clouded by the chanting and little voices in his head. Kill him. He wasn't there. He wasn't there. He wasn't there. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. He wasn't there. He wasn't there. Kill him. Kill him. He wasn't there. Kill him. He wasn't there. Kill him. They didn't kill him. He wasn't there. He wasn't there. Kill him.

They continued on. Toby trembled. No. No, he wasn't going to do it. What? Was he crazy? No. He won't kill anyone. He can't. He hated his father. But no way was he going to kill him. That was it.

The last thought he had before he fell in. to an idle state once again. The influence of the voices in his head was too much. He began to silently walk up behind his father. He reached over the counter to the knife holder in the kitchen and pulled out the largest knife that had been resting in the case. He gripped it in his hand. He felt a sensation take over his chest.

He let out a snicker. He began laughing so hard he had to gasp for breath. His father turned around abruptly before he felt a brute force shove him to the floor. He grunted as the air was knocked out of him. He looked up at the boy who stood over him, grasping the kitchen knife in his hand. Tommy, what are you doing? He went to sit up and put his hands out in front of him, self-defense.

But before he knew it, Toby was on top of him. He went to grab at his neck, but his father reached out and blocked his hands by grabbing onto his wrist. Stop! Get off me, you little fucker! He yelled, and with his other hand he threw an off-center punch towards

Toby's shoulder. But he didn't stop. The look in Toby's eyes was not sane. It looked as if a demon had taken control. He yelled back and went to stab the knife into his father's chest, but he blocked him and grabbed onto his wrists once again.

He went to shove him back, but Toby kicked out his feet in front of him and landed a hard blow straight to his face. His father recoiled and pulled his arms away to cover his face. But Toby got back up and drove the knife straight into his shoulder. His father let out a loud cry and went to pull the knife out. Not before he could, Toby threw his fist straight into his face. He began to palm his fist into his head, laughing and wheezing. He cracked his neck and grabbed the knife and ripped it out of his shoulder.

He drove it deep into his dad's chest and repeatedly stabbed it into his torso, blood spilling out and getting splattered everywhere. He didn't stop until his father's body went still. He threw the knife over to the side and leaned over his body, coughing and panting. He stared at his smashed in face and sat there twitching until a loud scream broke the silence. He looked over to see his mother standing a few feet away, covering her mouth, tears streaming down her eyes. Toby!

Toby stood up and began to back away from his father's bloody corpse. He began to back out of the kitchen. He looked down at the blood-soaked bandages on his hands and looked up at his mother one last time before he turned and ran out of the house. He ran into the garage and slammed his hand into the control panel on the wall and pushed the button to open the door. Before he ran out, he looked at his father's two hatchets that had been hanging on the tool rack above the table full of jars, filled to the brim with old rusted nails

and screws. One hatchet was new. It had a bright orange handle and a shiny blade. The other was old with a wooden handle on an old dull blade. He grabbed both and looked down at the table. His eyes met a box and matches. And under the table was a red gasoline tank. He held both of the hatchets in one hand and grabbed the matches and gasoline before running out of the garage, down the driveway, and up the street. As he approached the streetlight that he could see out his bedroom window, he heard police sirens in the distance. He turned around and the red-blue flashing lights came rushing down the street.

Toby stood for a second, before he pulled open the cap on the gasoline tank and ran down the street spilling gasoline all over after him. He turned to run into the trees. He poured the last bit of gasoline out before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a match. He struck it against the box and immediately dropped it. Burst out around him. The fire caught onto the trees and the bushes around him. And before he knew it, it was surrounded by fire.

The silhouettes of police cars were visible through the flames as he backed away into the forest. He looked around, but his vision was blurred. His heart was pounding, and he closed his eyes for a moment. This was it. This was the end. Toby felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked over to see a large white hand with long, bony fingers that rested upon his shoulder. He followed the arm that was attached to the hand up to a towering dark figure.

It appeared to be wearing a arm. dark black suit and its face was completely blank. It towered over Toby's small frame and it looked down on him. Tendrils reached out from its back. Before Toby knew it, his vision blurred and was surrounded by the sound of ringing in his ears. Everything went blank. That was it? That was the end. That was how Toby Rogers died. A few weeks later, Connie sat in her sister's kitchen. Her sister Lori sat next to her drinking a cup of coffee. About three weeks ago, Connie lost her husband and her son. And a few weeks before that, she lost her daughter to a car crash. Since then, she moved in with her sister. The police were keeping her busy. They'd just finished cleaning up the case. The story had been released two weeks ago.

The focus of the world seemed to have shifted to completely new stories. Lori switched on the TV to a news broadcast. On the TV, the news reporter began introducing the new headline. News, last night there has been a reported murder of four individuals. There are no suspects yet, but the victims were a group of middle school kids who had been out in the woods late last night. The kids had been bludgeoned and stabbed to death. The investigators had discovered a weapon at the crime scene, which appears to be an old, dull-bladed hatchet, as you can see here.

The picture changed to show snapshots of the weapon exactly as it was left on the crime scene. Investigators had pulled the name of a possible suspect, Toby Rogers, a 17-year-old boy, who, a few weeks ago, had stabbed his father to death and tried to cover up his escape by setting a fire in the streets and forest or forest. around the neighborhood. Although they had believed the young boy had died in the fire, investigators suspect that Rogers may still be alive due to the fact that his body was never found. Once upon a time, there lived a handsome prince. But an evil fairy transformed him into a frog. He was cursed to remain so until he found a wife. Luckily, the frog prince fell in love with a beautiful princess, whom he hoped would be his bride. Day and night, the frog prince expressed his undying love.

This annoyed the princess, so she picked up an axe and chopped off his head. Not exactly what you were expecting? Well, that's how the story goes, or when originally. Traditional fairy tales aren't exactly suitable for children. I'm Vanessa Richardson, host of the newest podcast from Parcast, Tales. Every other Saturday, Tales presents fairy tales the way they were originally told, orally and unadulterated. There's sex, murder, and not so happily ever afters. Children get eaten. Women vomit spiders, princesses chop off their own body parts. There's even accidental

cannibalism. You think you know the stories, but do you really? 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 Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, or email us at Gmail. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wiki.com

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