Creepy - True Love

Episode Date: August 7, 2023

What would you do for love?***Written by: Joseph Yenkavitch***Bonus Episode: "Welcome to Everywhere" Written by: Jamie Iacovitti and Narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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.

Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. NYC-E-1-S-A. Mythic Deoxys. Loretta Fickling. Roxanne Ford. Spoopy Butt. Rosemary. Wontanamo Bay Cardenas.

Durkey. Austin. I like fried bologna. That's all right. I like fried spam. Jasper and Isaac Howard. All patrons get early commercial free access to all Sunday and Wednesday episodes. From their,

tiers include weekly bonus episodes, immediate access to our entire back catalog of over a thousand Patreon exclusive episodes and logo merch. And we are continuing to post bonus content for all patrons, regardless at the donation level, just because thank you. To see how you can support the show and be rewarded for it, please check out the donation tiers at patreon.com slash creepypod. And a quick thank you to everyone who came out to the show and panel at Midsummer Scream or to anyone I talked to on the show floor. It was a lot. The convention was huge, with so much to see and so many awesome horror fans being their creepy selves. Nothing wrong with that.

Also, something I've been really excited to announce since I first started working on it, just in case you didn't see me post about it on social media. Tales from the Gas Station, Volume 1, is now available on Audible. Yes, I know, there's already a narration of this available performed by Mr. Creepypasta. Well, earlier this year, Jack reached out to us to see about doing what he calls a theatrical edition. more in line with what we've created on creepy with audio production and a larger cast. I was joined by Owen McHune, as Jerry of course, Nate DuFort, Atticus Jackson, Nicole Goodnight, David Alt, and Alicia Atkins,

with sound designed by Steve Blizzard to make something special for the story. So, if you love the gas station series even close to how much we do, don't forget to check out Tales from the gas station volume one on audible.com and maybe add a backslash with the name of a certain horror podcast, that's just one word. Just saying. Also, don't forget to look at who the narrator is and the version you're buying. If you buy one by Mr. Creepypasta, that's awesome too. It's all about promoting the stories and creators we love anyway.

Plus, if this says well, there may just be three more books in the series, so... All that said. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing 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. True love. Written by Joseph Yankovich. There weren't many houses along this section of the main coast. The one I'd chosen for the summer sat atop a small bluff, rocky cliffs on both sides with a long stairway leading down to a small private beach. From my porch, I could make out another house a short distance away.

A finer structure than mine. It sat lower so that its beach was a short walk. I'd settled in later than expected and decided to relax with a scotch before doing any unpacking. The coast had gotten quite a lashing the past few days from a near hurricane, keeping me away. Still, even with the post-storm blue skies and gentle breeze flowing through the porch, I doubt if my mood would have been much different if I'd arrived in the rain. The scotch went down sharp. Like the knife in my back at the investment firm.

I drank another gallop to keep the deceitful pain alive. Big money to be made. Friendship goes only so far. Maybe I would have done the same thing. Never know. I was too slow. I'd rent a place before all this. As good a get away as any.

With no family, my savings, and selling my apartment, I wasn't exactly in the poor house. I could skate along until something came up. My girlfriend, well, more than likely former girlfriend, tried to keep my spirits up. But I saw it in her eyes. Someone with few prospects was no longer a catch. I could hear the waves below crashing against the rocks,

the last remnants of the storm. The ocean caught the sharp blue of the sky. I glanced to my right at the other house. If I still had a soft spot for humanity, maybe later I'd go down and introduce myself. At that moment, a figure appeared on the veranda at the back of the house. I could easily see it was a woman. Dressed casually, but not for swimming.

She stood rather stately along the railing and stared out at the ocean. She didn't move for some time, giving the importance of her. impression of someone lost in deep, unfathomable thought. She had a book in her hand and began reading out loud, it seemed. As I watched, her head quickly turned as though she heard my thoughts and gazed directly at me. The change was so sudden I stepped back and bumped into a chair. She stood still a moment before retreating into the house. Her head still tilted slightly toward me.

However, that quick glance didn't feel like a meaningless gesture. Could have been nothing, but the energy of that stare. An emotion I knew nothing about warped the atmosphere where she'd stood. Fascinated, I looked out at the expanse of water trying to delve into what originally captivated her. The cell phone rang. It annoyed me. Broke the spell of the woman and the grip of the comfortable touch. day. I downed the rest of my drink and got up. The real estate agent who rented me the place was on the other end. Everything all right? She asked. Just fine, I replied, and gave positive answers to each of her

questions. Just before hanging up, I asked her she knew the name of the person in the house next to me, to the right. She couldn't give out the name, but let slip she run it alone. Then added, Sad thing, husband drowned some time ago. More prodding brought out that she didn't mingle much, but I always asked who was running my place. I returned to the porch, where the sea, the air, the rocks, the blue sky, all took a back seat to the house below. I'd made another drink and sat in my chair watching to see if the woman would reemerge.

If I'd used this little evidence about something being important in my investment business, I'd have been in the poor house. But the way the woman looked, acted, and the words, so sad by the agent, extinguished closer thought. She didn't come out. Half an hour later, I got up and began shoving everything I'd brought into closets and drawers. The dress clothes, Italian shoes, fitted suits, and silk shirts were obviously out of place around here. I'd been eating some everyday stuff to fit in. That was for later.

Right now I needed groceries and remembered a supermarket I'd seen in the nearby town. After checking the other house, I headed out. Even as I pushed a cart up and down aisles, grabbing cans, meat, and dairy, I kept her calling the woman. I wondered if she'd gone back out, maybe sitting on her veranda, a drink in hand, With that same faraway look, captured by something, as women passed me, their everyday lives, showing on their faces, I quickly realized I might be imbuelling the woman with a grander aspect.

Far too tragic. I gave a little snort at the thought. Too many movies, I suppose. A passing clerk glanced at me. I cleared my throat and returned to a stern expression. Still, the desire to meet the woman didn't fade. Back at the rental, I quickly put the perishables in the refrigerator and the rest of the groceries in the pantry. After that, I rushed to the porch and looked towards a woman's house.

And there she was. Only now she descended at the beach, standing in the water. White dress hiked up, waves lapping at her knees. She didn't move. But her head turned towards my direction and back to the book in her hand. She couldn't have known I was here. Yet that's the impression I got. Without hesitation, I decided to meet her.

At the end of my property, I crossed the barely navigable section of a rocky ravine that led to her small lawn. I went down the driveway to the top of the stairs leading to the beach. I watched her, unsure about whether to yell out. As I was about to yell, she turned. She gave no sense of being startled seeing me up there. I gave a weak wave. She didn't wave back.

Closed her book and headed to the stairs. Halfway up she stopped. The wind blew hair across her face. She pulled it aside. Whatever I had imagined as to her appearance proved inadequate. Neither of us said anything for a moment. She finally said hello. I pointed at my house.

I'm Brad Taylor. I'm running over there. I thought I'd meet the neighbors. She glanced both ways, indicating ours with the only two houses in sight. Well, this neighbor, I added. This brought a smile from her. She walked up the remaining stairs. At the top, she looked at me for a time bordering on awkward,

like being measured for something. Finally, she extended her hand and introduced herself as Cynthia Bauer. Even then, the scrutinizing wasn't quite over. It took a moment longer, and seemingly satisfied, she asked if I'd like to come in for tea. I hate tea, but said, certainly while taking her slender hand. I noticed the title of her book.

It was in Latin. I recognized only one word. Returning. The inside of the house fit the woman. Bright with light walls, off white furniture and rugs, large windows facing the ocean and tasteful accessories. Colors were everywhere.

This was a place to buoy any spirit. made my rental feel static and dull. But the tranquility didn't flow to the woman. As she put together the makings of tea, I noticed a stiffness, a preoccupation in her motion. Her hands worked while her eyes barely watched them. I turned my attention to photographs along one wall in the living room. Mostly of one man I assumed to be her husband. Handsome, seemingly happy with life.

engaged in various sports and travels. She was with him in many of the photos, especially those taken what appeared to be Europe. Even there, she held a book, a large tome that fit the ancient locale. Her appearance was pensive. I heard the tray land on the table and turned. Your husband?

I asked. I'm sorry. Sorry to hear he drowned. Cynthia gazed at the pictures and said they've been married 11 years. She turned to the window, gazing at the ocean. In a quiet voice, she explained he died out there a year ago. Best thing the elements. That's what he called it.

A day like this would have bored him. She paused before saying she loved him more than anything. But her tone seemed more hopeful than dishing. It made saying, I'm sorry, a bit less important. She didn't reply and lifted a cup asking if I wanted tea. I asked for milk and sugar. She frowned like I'd asked for a cube of shit. But she got some and handed the grouping to me.

I mixed everything. The tea looked like tan milk. Then she asked if I was married. I said I haven't had the time. That sounded lame. Like an errand you wanted to do, but the car needed fixing. Job, I added. You know how it is.

She sipped her tea, seemingly pleased at my answer. Her eyes locked on mine. I ventured an observation. You stare out at sea. Perhaps, I don't know, thinking about your husband out there. I mean his spirit. I waited for a reaction. Had I probed too far, she answered calmly.

Her eyes drilled into me what she'd said. The sea gives up its dead. I didn't know what to say. Her face softened with an unexpected smile. It's an old saying. Comforting, wouldn't you say? I wouldn't. Regardless, by now her words were lost in that smile.

Her delicate features, not to mention how her summer dress clung to her. I wasn't sure I'd ever had this reaction with another woman. So soon. So fully. Maybe it was how I first saw her. The sense of wanting to know her before ever meeting her. My thoughts must have shown on my face because she again smiled. her large eyes widening. She leaned toward me,

the top of her dress bowed, giving a good view of her breasts. Fixing her eyes on me, she asked if I could come for supper the following evening. It'd be something simple. She rubbed her arm and gave a quick glance out the window. She said in a coquettish manner that she'd like some company. I thought,

Can it be this easy? Definitely. I replied. She nodded her pleasure. No need pushing things, I decided. I finished my tea and rose. I'll leave you to this fine day. I reluctantly said and began leaving.

She didn't stop me. As I laughed watching her on the veranda. I noticed her take a deep breath, lean against the railing, and again begin reading from her book. I arrived early the next evening. The sun gave the clouds an orange tint. Cynthia was on the veranda. She had on a light blue dress and sandals.

She turned and smiled. Reaching down for a bottle of scotch, she poured half a glass and held it out to me. The look on her face told me she knew I hated tea. I took the glass and extended it as a thank you. Her dress and hair flowed in the direction of the breeze. As I drank, she gently asked. asked if I'd be going back to someone. A life I'd built?

Not the question I expected. I stepped up beside her. She didn't pull away. A light fragrance drifted from her. I didn't want to talk. I wanted to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer. Already I could feel the hostile feelings towards my former workmates disappearing. No.

Nothing, I replied. To tell the truth, I lost my job, certainly my girlfriend, and family is pretty much non-existent. Her hand gripped the railing tighter. She said she was sorry to hear it. I wondered if she was. You'll remain here? I asked. With defiance in her voice, she said she would.

It was the way she turned her head and looked at me that gave me pause. I couldn't quite put a finger on it, but her expression seemed more than just her own thoughts. I was included in there somewhere. She led me inside, where a table had been set with fine plates, crystal glasses, and candles. She sat me down and began serving a meal of chicken paccata and angel hair spaghetti. She poured wine, her hand lightly brushing my neck as she'd

finished. I looked up at her, but her face showed nothing. The touch, though, kept registering. I watched as she ate, making precise cuts of meat, followed by a small swirl of angel hair. This continued in a meticulous manner with quick gazes at me. My watching her didn't seem to bother her. Not that it mattered. I don't think I could have stopped continually glancing up. The conversation we had meandered as though she knew all she wanted to know, even though captivated by this woman. I couldn't help but be aware of additional pictures of her husband on the dining room wall. Those pictures didn't quite mesh with the vibe she was sending.

Anyone, I suppose, would keep pictures around. Even after a year, feelings do persist. But I wanted to think maybe I could change her husband into a fond memory. Let her feel that life had to go on. She certainly seemed receptive to that. As Cynthia began bringing dishes to the kitchen. I walked around the house yelling out praises for her decoration. I noticed bookshelves filled with titles,

some in English, dealing with arcane knowledge, others in Latin. I took one down. Scanning the pages, I saw symbols and more Latin. In pictures, it seemed religious, but no religion had ever heard. heard of. I approached a room at the far corner of the house and tried the door handle. I started to enter, but Cynthia came up behind me saying there was no need to look in there. She pulled a key from her

dress pocket and locked the door. That would have been fine if she hadn't acted with just a touch too much vehemence. I stepped back and she less dramatically said there was nothing in there to see. Her hand trembled. She dropped the key in her pocket. She sent me out to the veranda. while she made us drinks. The sunlight clipped the tops of the clouds out to sea, but the land and water took on a cooler appearance. Cynthia came out with two drinks, handing me one as she slipped off her sandals.

She held her drink toward me, asking if I'd be willing to toast her late husband. I reluctantly agreed, and held up my glass, waiting for her to speak. Charles, she said. And then spoke words. I didn't understand. She ended by extending her glass to me.

She drank, and I followed. The liquid stung, and I winced. This brought a smile from her. Yes, she said. You and me. She reached over and placed her hand on my arm. Its touch came almost as a jolt. Like my nerves had suddenly become inflamed.

How could this be? I wondered. I suppose things can happen fast, but they never had for me. Maybe the fifth date, and I'd figure I had a chance. But Cynthia's eyes were saying now or soon, and I swear there was a glow in them. Not something reflected, not from outside, but from within. She took my hand and led me into the couch. We passed the living room, went into a hallway and interleaders.

large bedroom. The surprise must have been evident on my face. I stopped at the doorway, feeling excited, unsure, perplexed, all of it jumbling around in my head. Cynthia stood beside the bed, saying nothing, eyes on me, and slowly began unbuttoning the top of her dress. She didn't stop until she was undressed. At that point, I simply walked to her and took her in my arms. Her lovemaking started off tentatively, but it was an uncertainty on her part. She had every movement, touch, kiss, count, and a slow, determined escalation I'd never experienced. Her hands did more than caress. Her lips pressed into mine in a manner that meant she wanted more for me than I could give. Again, her eyes had a light beyond reflection. When I felt completely lost,

in her. Her fingertips caressed my lips with tiny drops of liquid. She smiled as she did it and again spoke indescipherable words. Tasteless. Nonetheless, it acted as an accelerant to my desire. But rather than feeling fulfilled, I suddenly felt an emptying out of myself. Cynthia, at that moment, gasped and pressed her lips harder onto mine before rolling onto her side. Her eyes wide as her breathing struggled. She squeezed my hand, and her head kept moving like someone who had understood something. But no matter, confused as I was, I knew I wanted more. Back in my house later that evening, I sat on my dark porch, a scotch in hand,

listening to unseen waves and summer insects, and wondered, How could the unexpected feel both so wonderful and so baffling? No one could have ever been more driven to please, and yet, I finished my drink and stared at the glass as though there were an answer in it. Thing is, I felt different. Tired, that was understandable. Now, it was more interior. A subtle change in how my body was.

body felt. Not a feeling I'd had after sex before. To put a fine point on it, I had the oddest sensation I'd changed. If I looked in a mirror, I knew I'd see the same person. Same brown hair, brown eyes. A face no one would mistake for handsome, but did seem to have some character. I'd seen that. But now I sensed something else. An emptyness. needing to be filled. Had my life gone so off the rails that this brief encounter showed me I needed someone to help me retrieve a world

I desperately wanted? It seemed that way. One thing I had no doubt about. Cynthia would be just the person to do it. Whether she felt that way I'd know soon enough. As I sat there, the lights went off in Cynthia's house, but one flickered on in that locked corner room. It stayed on briefly before going out.

I waited a day before calling her. Uh, how's things going? Beautiful day. Perhaps get together for lunch sort of thing. But Cynthia beat me to it. Early that morning she called. Her voice soft and sweet, like someone cradling a baby. Even though I couldn't have been happier, it took me by surprise.

She suggested lunch. but at her place. Could I bring wine? I ran out and got a bottle. Started to buy flowers, but decided to go slow. She didn't. We had our lunch on the veranda, sipped our wine and engaged in small talk.

All the while Cynthia sat close to me, her hand constantly touching my arm, her eyes rarely leaving mine. At one point though, her demeanor changed she seemed to drift away into her own thoughts I could almost swear she was listening to something she mumbled

and when she did I thought I heard another sound a garbled noise almost a voice she noticed and grabbed my hand her fingers squeezed until my attention forgot the sound and returned to her we both stood She glanced back at the interior of the house and then led me back inside.

I had my answer. She would give me a new world. For the rest of the afternoon, I lost myself in her. Again, that evening, the light in the locked room went on briefly. More afternoons and evenings followed. Times when I might have wanted to break but couldn't draw my room. myself away from her. Just seeing her let the desire in me, something I could never have imagined happening, and everything always ended up in her bedroom. I wasn't complaining, but I had to

admit. I had lost any control when I came to her. The entire world disappeared every time I got close to her, but one thing didn't change. The emptiness didn't go away. All those times together should have been enough to fill my life a hundred times over, but it didn't. If anything, the emptiness grew deeper. Yet with it came the insatiable desire to keep filling it. Keep grasping for an ever-retreating substance in myself. There was something different about Cynthia too.

All the fiery ecstasy never faltered, and she always pulled me to her with the same, almost ruthless hunger to make me forget everything but her. And when we finished, you could see on her face a look of fulfillment I'd never seen before. But now the exhaustion seemed more extreme, but only briefly.

Her eyes would soon widen and sparkle. When we stood on the veranda afterwards, I could tell her thoughts weren't about me. I stood aside, feeling the emptiness in me deepen. But oddly, not as though I was fading out of her life, but more like I was existing more within her apart from myself. For the first time, I grew scared. When she called me again late on a warm evening to be with her, her voice had lost its delicate tone and had an urgency in it, a heightened sense of wanting me to be with her. Surprisingly, she said to come to come and she said to come

to the locked room. Having watched the light go on in there so many nights made the request seem odd. This time I hesitated. I didn't know why. I couldn't imagine overcoming my desire, yet the emptiness, the sense of having given her all I could give, unsettled me. I stood on the porch trying to decide. In the darkness, the sea below powned at the rocks. I kept thinking of that touch on my lips that accelerated my desire, but made more of me belong to her. Now, deep in me, what thin vestige of myself that remained in the emptiness made me want to retreat into the house and go nowhere. But deep down I knew I couldn't retreat.

All my energy, all the choices I'd normally be making became feeble or non-existent. The only direction I wanted to go in was to Cynthia. Already the urge to wrap my arms around her began to swell. I tried to tell myself, this time I'd break free, and the fulfillment would begin flowing my way. But did I really care? I went to her. From the veranda I saw no lights in the house.

I went through the sliding doors and stood in front of the room she had previously been reluctant for me to see. That, the darkness. And the quiet renewed my apprehension. I entered. The room was bathed in darkness, except for pale moonlight coming through the only window. I heard the rustle of sheets and glanced about. Vaguely now I could see Cynthia propped up on one elbow on a large bat.

Her eyes glistened. Another bed sat in a dark corner filled with something I couldn't recognize. A feeble light. played on Cynthia's nakedness. I noticed the smell of the sea permeating the room with a distinct impression of decay. I stepped back and heard a sharp intake of breath from Cynthia. She called softly to me. Still, I hesitated.

I took in the almost empty room wondering why she needed it locked. I looked out to one window at the silvery ocean and black rocks. Cynthia called again. Somehow, I knew if I turned, I'd be lost. Lost to what? I didn't know. Maybe just lost in her. I turned. Cynthia held her arms out to me, and I went to them.

Let them wrap around me, pull me into her. And as she embraced me, it was with a passion more intense than ever. I was no longer in control. Again, something touched my lips and again I felt that same emptying of myself. This time, though, I knew I'd empty completely. I felt a hollow shell, drained and frightened. I finally pulled away and slumped against the wall, finding myself staring at the other bat. Cynthia patted my hand and rose.

I could only watch, no longer aware of my own body. I wanted to rise and run, but no messages from my brain reached my body. Cynthia moved to the other bat. Carefully, she pulled off layers of material until she reached a form. Something misshapen. It moved awkwardly. The lamp stood beside the bat. She turned it on.

It couldn't scream. Couldn't run. I only stared at what seemed. the unfinished form of a man. The skin not covered by shredded clothes was a mottled black, but in places had the pinkish-white tinge of life. The cadaverous head resting on a pillow, had the same pattern of dark and pinkish skin,

although the flesh over the bones lacked body. Eyes, unblinking, stared over at me. The mouth hung open, a groan issuing from it. large hands partially reformed in flesh gripped a ragged shirt the eyes now moved and stared up at cynthia i had no doubt who this was impossible as it seemed i understood what had happened cynthia bent down her hand caressing the man's head small segments of decayed skin slipping off as she did she ignored it bending closer and lifting a bottle lying on the bed. Slowly she poured the contents onto the man's lips, then pressed her lips against his.

The man's hand moved. His body trembled. Cynthia then slipped onto the bed, pressing into the man, her arms around him pulling the misshapen man closer to her. She appeared to make love to him the way she did with me. But no, it was dead. different. I could tell she wasn't acting as though drawing something out of him as she did with me. Her body's actions, her gasps of release, and every way showed that she was imparting something,

merging herself into him. And now I saw more changes in him. His dark skin began to lighten, his form straightened, and the slashed, stringy skin tightened as he slowly reformed into a person and recognized. His wide-eyed look became more peaceful, and his hand rose and stroked Cynthia's hair. He struggled for a moment before his breath came in quick in exhales and exhales as though he relished each one.

Cynthia's body trembled, and I could see exhaustion overcome her. She slid to the side of her husband, breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling, her face, the image of ecstasy. She said, My love, and he repeated the words.

He rose on his elbow, his transformed face staring around at the room and at me. He grinned and grabbed Cynthia's hand. She shivered and drew closer to him whispering something I couldn't hear. I watched, but the whole room, the air itself, meant little. I was a hollow shell left with no connection to the world. But I had enough of myself to understand. The lights coming on in this room each night after our lovemaking. With me, she collected my life force, as much as she was able.

Then those times in this room she gave it to her husband. Each evening, she slowly brought him back, piece by piece. Tonight she completely emptied me and filled him. leaving me with a body no longer tethered to the world with disembodied thoughts which already are diminishing I now can only hope they'll go out completely Cynthia came over and looked down at me

her eyes sparkled and there might have been pity in them but it was fleeting she simply sighed seeing something that I heard only as indistinct sound I wanted it to be she was sorry, but she seemed too fulfilled for that. She went to her husband and cradled herself in his arms. She said something, and they both looked at me.

How I was able to watch, I didn't know. But already that too began to disappear. When there's no more of you, there's no need to see. Then is what was left to me slowly evaporated. I felt myself being lifted. I could vaguely hear sounds. First the door, then the scrape of wooden steps. Eventually the crunch of sand.

Finally, the waves. And I knew I was being carried to the sea. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents. Welcome to Everywhere. Written by Jamie Ayakowitti And narrated by Jimmy Ferrer Normally I would have dated this entry like I do every morning

But I don't even know what day it is anymore No matter how much I try to figure it out I have absolutely no inclination of how much time has passed here For all I know It's only been a few minutes since I first fell asleep that night It feels like I spent an eternity trapped in this wasteland. But I know for a fact it couldn't have been that long. That'd be impossible.

Although this entire city is the living essence of impossibility. It's clear to me now that time works differently here than what I'm used to. It's completely possible that I'm no longer living in the same plane of existence that the rest of humanity currently resides in. I'm somewhere else entirely, somewhere I don't belong, an unholy place between realities that no human should ever set foot in. I've angered the judge. It's something I regret deeply, but there's nothing I could do to reverse what has already been done.

There isn't much time left. I now know that my life is quickly coming to an end. I'm not sure exactly how much time I even have left. So it'd be incredibly foolish of me to waste another second on trying to figure out what the date is. I can feel myself slipping away, constantly losing aspects of my very being as time moves on. It was slow at first, a gradual loss of self, but the process is beginning to accelerate. Or maybe the passage of time is becoming more difficult for me to perceive. I'm still not sure how I exactly got it.

to the city of endless recursion. Otherwise, I would try to warn whoever is reading this, if there even is anyone, to stay as far away as possible from here. I have never been much of a religious man, so I doubt it was God that did this to me. Although given my current circumstances, my lack in faith in the existence of higher beings is beginning to wane. One thing I'm certain of, without a shadow of a doubt, is that, you know, that I'm a little bit of a is that I am not in hell.

No, hell would be a much more preferable alternative than the ceaseless desolation that I have found myself in. I know for a fact that a merciful God would never design such a soul-crushing, torturous prison, even for the most abhorrent of souls. What did I ever do in life to deserve such a wretched fate? I was neither immortal nor righteous. I was simply someone that existed. My whole life was entirely uneventful. So it would have been impossible for anyone of significance to have ever taken notice of me.

So then, why am I here? Who was it that decided I deserved this cruel punishment for just merely existing? Up until now, I've been able to live my life relatively peacefully, free of any enemies. although I now have to assume that my true enemy was the universe itself. It's during dreadful moments like this, ones in which anxiety drags my heart and mind into my core. When I attempt to look back on some of the joyful memories with my family and friends that I still cherish. However, when I currently think of my loved ones,

the select few I still have left, The only emotion I can feel is regret. These stinging tears always cloud my visions whenever I think of you all. Tirelessly searching for a loved one that will never return. I'll never be able to see any of you again. And that pains me. Alice, I just wish I could see your ethereal smile one last time. Its elegance always filled my wanting soul with a comforting warmth.

They cannot fully be described with words. All I can hope for is that one day, someone somehow will find this journal of mine and believe what I've experienced. I pray that my friends and family will be able to read these pages and be able to have some form of closure. Of course, if anyone is actually reading this, I'm sure that they will simply write this off as scrawlings of a madman, with an overactive imagination. All I can say to you, listener, is that, unfortunately, this is no nightmare. This is my reality. I hope that by the time someone is able to hear this account of what exactly happened to me,

my loved ones will still be alive on Earth. This passage of time is currently an enigma to me. I'm still utterly dumbfounded by the unfathomable. laws in which this reality seems to be governed by. Randomly, time will feel as if it has slowed down or sped up or has stopped entirely. The only concrete way I can ever tell how fast time is flowing is by listening to the pace at which my heart beats. Although now, I have a feeling that that will no longer be helpful for much longer.

There have been numerous times in which I have even seen myself far in the distance. either mimicking my exact movements or performing an action I seemingly did hours before. At first I thought I was simply hallucinating. But deep down, I am now certain that I was witnessing myself existing in a different time. I feel as if I'm simply repeating the same tired motions over and over again without a clear end in sight. Despite my utter confusion, however, I'll do my best to work. recount the events that have led up to this moment, in a desperate attempt to rationalize just what exactly is happening to me.

When I first woke up, however long ago that was, I found myself in a poor imitation of my apartment. I noticed something was wrong almost immediately. The room was incredibly dilapidated, as if no one had been inside it for centuries. Splotches of rust-covered grime coated the walls and floor, transforming my apartment into an unfamiliar environment that made me uneasy. The putrid smell of ammonia and urine permeated the air, churning my stomach. The stench was suffocating, causing me to cough and choke on its rancidness.

I soon understood that I was going to vomit if I didn't get out of that room as quickly as I could. so I immediately opened the door and abandoned my desecrated home. I was expecting to enter the familiar external hallway outside my apartment, the one where I'd often run into one of my neighbors while trying to slip by them unnoticed. However, I was completely dumbfounded when I was immediately met with the sight of outside. Although the streets looked somewhat similar, it didn't take long for me to. come to the realization that this was not the same city that I had always lived in. The city was different in ways I almost couldn't comprehend.

I truly thought I was dreaming at first. Buildings almost seemed to jut out at random from underneath the city's streets, from the sides of the other buildings, and even up from high in the sky. Many of the towers look to be infinite, extending so high. that they vanished into the grayish pink clouds above. Some structures partially appeared inside of others, as if they were both intangible, standing tall as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

A mixture of chilling air surrounding me and some primal fear boiling up inside myself caused the hair on my arms to stand up. I then looked out at the street in front of me. It seemed to endlessly stretch out in both directions disappearing in the light fog that clouded the distance. I slowly took a few steps back, intimidated by the anomalous dreamlike world that I observed in front of me. My instincts were telling me to hide and go back into my apartment.

I no longer cared how disgusting my home was, since it retained a tinge of normality. However, when I turned around, the building's entrance had been erased by the universe, leaving a gray, concrete wall in its place. So, left with no other choice. I began to walk around the city, doing everything my instincts were screaming at me not to do. After walking around for, who knows how long, I saw the closest thing to a namesake I could find in this godforsaken place. There was a street sign, standing up on a random corner, with that haunting phrase painted on it in luminous white letters. Welcome to everywhere. I'd personally hesitate to call this place everywhere.

In fact, I doubt this city even has a name to begin with. It looked as if those words were hastily painted on that sign by someone else, like a madman. driven to insanity by his own thoughts and dreams. I'd just written it down during a manic episode. Who that person actually was, though? I'll never know. Reading that sign filled me with an oppressive dreadful feeling that chilled me to the bone. I'm terrified.

I cautiously moved on, walking in another direction that I chose at random. I explored some more. wandering through random winding alleyways and following the endless streets that twisted through the city. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned to hours. For a while, I thought I was truly alone in this nightmare. That is, until I saw one of them for the first time. There, in the distance, was a figure of a person in a suit, slowly walking away from me.

Its movements were off, slightly inhuman. But it looked enough like a person that I decided to heed. But it looked enough like a person that I decided not to heed my own suspicions. I called out. Trying to get them to notice me. But they didn't react. They just kept on walking, ignoring my distress cries for attention. A desperate, I mustered up the courage to run up to them, hoping that they could somehow

help me figure out what the hell was happening. However, once I made it to them and saw what they actually were, my heart sank into my stomach, dragged down by the abject terror and despair. The image of that entity is still seared into my mind. The panic I felt was immeasurable. No longer how much of myself keeps sleeping away every second. I have a feeling that I won't lose that memory anytime soon. Like I said before, it had the body of a human, or at least a partial version of one.

Its skin was a sickly gray and was somewhat translucent. I could see its washed out veins spread out under its skin. in, like lightning cracking across a cloudy sky. From head to toe, all of its hair was completely gone, as if it was a doll come to life, where its face should have been. There was a blank slate, completely smoothed over with skin. The creature was like the lifeless husk of a molting cicada leaves behind on summer morning. Only in human form.

I was absolutely mortified, unable to process what exactly I was looking at. It wasn't human. Yet it wasn't a monster either. No. Monsters are malevolent. They work on primal instincts to hunt their prey. This thing wasn't a predator. It was too frail to do anything but walk forward.

I stumbled back from shock, shaken up from what I had just seen. But the husk paid me no mind as it continued on its way, slowly walking out into the distant fog. Before long, it was completely out of sight, becoming just another lifeless part of the city, trying my best to shake off my nerves. I began to move in the opposite direction of that walking set of skin. I explored the city at a moderate pace, surveying seemingly endless alleyways and traversing streets that spiraled into each other. I traveled down the lengthy, winding hallways

of the countless buildings that pierced the heavens so high up that they became out of sight. Randomly, I'd appear back on the streets when trying to enter a new room, or I'd enter a new building that appeared in the sky, or stuck out underground. There were so many times I'd find unexplainable exits and what I assume to be ordinary entrances.

I still don't think it's possible for a human to ever grasp how this world works. This place functions on a plane that exists several levels past the extent of our mortal understanding. As I continued to roam around for what felt like hours or even days, I'd randomly find another walking husk on the street, moving forward like all of the other ones. Same motions would always repeat. I'd spot a person in the distance, I'd call out to them, I'd run up to them. My disappointment would hit me when I find out what it actually was. At first, I believe that I was just finding the same shell over and over again.

But I eventually noticed that they were all wearing different outfits. Some even looked centuries old, causing me to realize that they're all somewhat unique. After a certain amount of time here, I could feel myself quickly losing my sanity. Every second that ticked away felt like a lifetime. Even if I knew they were just fleeting moments. I started to think it'd be impossible to truly figure out how long I've really been here. Hours turning into days, days into weeks. Now I found myself jumping at whatever shadow I see in the corner of my eye.

or any sound I hear in the distance. Of course I know it'll always just be a flickering light to my left, or a leaky pike to my right. But the notion that there's even a minute chance that something is out to get me leaves me in a constantly anxious state. Once I began to feel the pangs of hunger stabbing to my sides, I fully realized that I was not in a nightmare. This was my newfound reality.

Of course I have had dreams in the past that felt like they'd lasted days or weeks, but they were never this vivid. I never grew hungry in my dreams, because that just wasn't possible. I wanted to go home more than anything else. I wanted to see my friends and family one more time. But once I'll want to go home filled my heart, the panic had fully set in.

and that was the beginning of the end. Suddenly the sky began to shift into an amalgamation of greens, blues, and purples. The once grayish pink clouds that I was beginning to become accustomed to were gone, leaving chaos in their place. As I stood there in a state of worried confusion, a loud, low-pitched hum began to ring all throughout the city, sending primordial shivers down my spine. I can still feel that noise reverberating in my bones as they become more hollow.

My insides grew numb, like a foot that's fallen asleep. As the humming gets louder and louder, I want to scream to yell at the top of my lungs and beg for this all to stop. But I worry that I would just make the judge even angrier, which is the last thing I want to do right now as I stared into that turbulent sky. I suddenly saw what vaguely looked like a massive pair of eyes, or at least an outline of them, peering down at me. They were hard to make out at first, but I knew they weren't clouds because I saw them blink. Thankfully, some form of the primal instinct took hold of me. telling me to look down, else I die immediately.

If I didn't listen to that muffled voice inside my head, I wouldn't be able to have recorded all this for you. Within moments, however, I began to feel different. I no longer felt connected to my own body. My insides became lighter by the second, almost as if I was slowly being carved out from the inside. Whenever I moved, it was with delay, as if the physical and mental parts of me were partially severed. The delay only gets worse as time goes on.

Intuition soon took over, and I quickly ran into the closest building I could find. In an attempt to mitigate whatever was happening to me, I climbed and I climbed until my adrenaline ran out. Exhaustion took over me. To my surprise, when I looked to my surprise, when I looked at it, I was going to be able to me. out of a nearby window. I saw that someone had painted the phrase, Don't anger the judge, on the wall of a neighboring rooftop, although I already knew it was too late for me at that point. At first, I thought that street sign I saw when I first got here was simply a joke or a hallucination. I never gave it much of a thought since I still

believed I was in a dream. But I'm just beginning to realize that. I'm not the first person that's been sent here. Those husks, those things, that mindlessly roam the streets in a vain attempt to feel alive. They who were once human, too, weren't they? Oh, God. Let this serve as a warning to whoever's listening to this. If you ever find yourself here, just accept that you will never return home. You must come to terms with the fact that you will never see your loved ones again.

If you don't, I'm sorry. It'll be too late. What have I done? Against my better judgment, why did I look up again? For only a fleeting moment I stared into those eyes again. Those omniscient eyes. They were more visible this time, more concrete. I could feel them searing into my very soul.

I knew it was a grave moment. mistake to do that. But for some reason, I just couldn't help myself. I think my body has accepted my fate before my mind has. I just tried to scream out, to ask it for forgiveness. But for some reason I can't. In fact, I can't speak at all. Whenever I try to open my mouth to say anything, no sound comes out, no matter how hard I try. I looked down and saw a severed tongue writhing on the ground in a pool of blood. My own blood. It looks alive, squirming like a dying animal, holding on to whatever life it has left as it rise in pain. When did I rip out my own tongue? The blood on my face is dry. It must have done it days ago. Why don't I remember doing it,

though? When I first looked into those eyes, I was feeling. filled with a sort of panic that hadn't been felt for a thousand years. It was a fear reserved for primordial creatures that roamed the earth long before humans. I no longer feared death. I've known that my time had to come the moment I first heard that dreadful humming. I stared into the eyes of my executioner, the eyes of my savior. I don't no longer feel real anymore. I'm unsure if I'm still properly feeling.

fixed to any reality. I no longer feel human. It's as if I have become a puzzle piece, slightly popping out from the whole picture of our universe. Of course I'm not dead. If I was dead, I wouldn't be able to feel what is happening to me. If I was dead, you wouldn't be hearing this.

No, death wouldn't be as peaceful. Death wouldn't feel as nice. I drift further and further from the concrete as the nanoseconds take away. As I grow lighter and number, reality becomes more of an abstract idea. Was I ever real? Did I ever exist? If I was truly human, would this have happened to me? I know that if I stare into those eyes once again, the eyes of the judge, it will all be over.

I'll be able to go back to sleep. I'll no longer need to dream. All I need to do is love. Look up. 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. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons share-a-like licensing,

or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the story's author.