Creepy - What Lies Beyond the Cornfields

Episode Date: September 13, 2021

Parents, do you know where you're children are?***Written by Rene Rehn***Bonus: "I never told another lie after my trip to Lithuania" written by Timothy Nurley and narrated by Owen McCuen***Content Warning: Mental Illness, Suicidal Ideation & Self harm***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***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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Consider what we're doing this year for the 31 Days of Horror, us taking extra steps to show how thankful we are. In the meantime, now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened

or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents What Lies Beyond the Cornfields Written by Renee Wren. They call childhood the happiest time of your life. This was true for me too, at least until a specific day.

After that, nightmares. guilt and therapy replaced my happiness. I grew up in a small rural community. It used to be one of the many small farming communities of the area and consisted in no more than a dozen houses. As you can imagine, there weren't many kids there either. The few of us, though, were close. Altogether, there were four of us,

oh, between the ages of nine and twelve. My best friend Jan and I were the oldest, both 12 years of age. Eric was a year younger than us and Sven the youngest was nine. We referred to us by silly names like The Glorious Four or other similar ones. They were all taken from or based on Saturday morning cartoons. We spent most of our free time on either the local soccer field or the playground. Every once in a while, we also went exploring the area in the small forest around the village. In summer and early autumn, that changed.

During that time, it drove us. the local cornfields. The tall and thickly planted stocks of corn were an entirely different world. It was always an adventure to venture into the fields. At times we searched for secrets inside. At others, we'd build small hideouts to the displeasure of the local farmers. To clear things up beforehand, cornfields in Germany are generally not as vast as the American counterpart. The ones around our village measured only a few kilometers in length. Sure, to us kids, seemed huge, but in reality they were pretty small. Our chances of getting lost were almost non-existent.

We could walk into any random direction and would end up at the edge of the field after no more than an hour. During the summer holidays, my friends and I would meet up right after lunch, who left our bikes at Jan's house and set out for the fields. On our adventures, we'd find all sorts of things. Shiny stones, rusty tools, old newspapers, and once in a while, even a coin or old piece of clothing. In typical kids' manner, we'd make up all sorts of stories about these things. Rusty tools were left behind by farmers who ran from scary monsters.

Coins have been dropped by bank robbers and newspapers belong to people who were hiding from the police. In our imagination, we uncover criminal conspiracies and prove the existence of monsters lurking in the fields. One day during the second week of the year's summer vacation, we were out in the fields again. That day, my friend Jan, found something interesting. There was something shiny on the ground that proved to be a small heart-shaped necklace. It was laying in the middle of a rough patch that cut through the corn. Now, small natural trails through the fields are not uncommon, but this was different. Here, the stocks were either pressed to the ground or ripped apart.

My thoughts turned to treasure in an instant. If they were the necklace here, then a group of thieves might have created this path. As we followed it along, we noticed that it wasn't a straight line. Instead, it was a wild zigzag to tour through the field. It added to the impression of the group of people rushing for their hideout. I was a bit surprised when the path led us to the edge of the cornfield and not to a hideout in the middle of the field. What was even stranger, though, was where we'd ended up.

We'd followed the path in roughly the same thing. same direction all this time. This should have made us end up near the neighboring village. Instead, we found ourselves in front of a small veil surrounded by endless meadows. At its end, the veil led to a huge dark forest. We should be nearing the neighboring village, shouldn't we? How would we end it up here? I'd explored every nook and cranny around the village and never seen this place. After a while, though, accepted things as they were. Maybe this area was usually cut off by cornfields. Perhaps as veil was in the center of the cornfield?

Or the field was larger than I'd been during the other years? Who knows? I said to myself. We were here for treasure. As I started to look around for a bit, I noticed something. The path we'd follow as the field continued down into the veil. Even from where I was, I could see something else laying not too far away from us. There's only a couple meters ahead. It turned out to be a small other pouch.

It was empty, though. There were no signs of jewelry, coins, or diamonds. Finding this pouch proved to me that we'd been on the right track. As I followed the path with my eyes, I saw that it led straight to the forest below. There's no doubt, I blurted out. At the hiding place of the treasure must be down there. I nodded to myself and set out in the direction of the forest. Dan and Eric followed me right away, but Sven's stay best.

That forest looks scary. I want to go home, he said in a weak voice. That's because you're a scared cat, Sven. That was never the sensitive type, especially with my friends around. Soon I started to laugh and moments later Jan joined in. When both of us were teasing him, he finally kept quiet and agreed to come along. Pure pressure at its finest. As we made our way through the veil, I noticed how unclaimed the place was. the grass was growing thick and reached almost up to my knees.

Small trees and bushes here and there made it seem as if the forest was hard at work extending itself into the veil. As we walked on, I felt cold all of a sudden. A fresh breeze had come up and only as I looked did I notice how dark it had gotten. Thick, great clouds that hid the sun filled the sky. Hadn't it been a perfectly clear sky when we'd walked through the cornfields? At the edge of the forest, I first thought the path stopped there. My hope was already fading, but Eric pointed at a few broken off branches nearby. Scanning the area revealed some on earth's trees and many scattered leaves.

I pointed in the direction we continued on. The forest ahead of us started out normal enough, but with each step it grew darker. As we made our way deeper and deeper inside, I stared to become a bit more anxious. The first thing I noticed was the light. By now it seemed as if we were walking in a sort of twilight. The world had changed from bright green and brown colors to an almost colorless gray unison. Looking back, I'm not sure why, it continued deeper into the forest. I guess it was a mixture of curiosity and not wanting to admit how anxious I was in front of my friends.

I heard Sven talking to Eric in a low voice. It sounded like he was out of it and barely held back. held back his tears. This was enough, I said to myself. I stopped and looked around and then at my friends. Only then did I notice how quiet things were around us. I'd lived near forest my whole life and knew that you were supposed to hear birds in the rustling of trees. Here in this great twilight, there was nothing. Everything started to feel wrong and for the first time I felt alone. I knew my friends were there, right next to me, but it didn't give me the comfort it usually did. When Eric poked me in the back, I jerked around to yell at him, but I saw that he was

pointing at something. With a strange feeling of premonition, I looked at what he was pointing at. It was a sort of construction nestled between a few trees. There was no more than 30 meters away, but so easy to miss. For a moment I scanned the area around us in a search of panic. Is there someone else here? This day had started out as just another little adventure. Pretending to hunt criminals and searching for treasure was one thing. Now, though, in this forest, the danger started to feel very real. I had enough of this whole thing.

We should go back, I thought. And I was about to suggest it when Jan took the first step in the direction of the weird construction. Let's check it out, he whispered with a grin on his face. What are you? I started, but then nodded. I didn't want to admit that I was afraid. So against my own feelings that things were wrong, I followed him. Eric tagged along after a while, but Sven stayed where he was.

I couldn't blame him. As we got closer, I saw that it was a sort of hut, who was constructed from nothing but sticks and branches of various size. The roof was covered by leaves, grass, and dirt. Only now did I see how big this whole thing was. The whole area in front of it was devoid of grass. It looked as if even the forest vegetation was retreating from the place. My skin started to crawl as I followed Jan.

This was wrong, a voice in my head said over and over again. This was not a natural thing or some animal then. No. This must be someone's hiding place. I could even see a fire pit in front of the hut. What if there was someone out here? What if they were dangerous? What if they were inside right now, waiting for us to get closer?

I stopped, but Jan walked on as if nothing was wrong. I cursed in my mind. Why did that idiot have to go closer? I stepped forward to tell him once and for all that we should get out of here now. At that moment, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I looked over at the hut, and my heart skipped a beat. There was a large open entrance, and there was something right inside of it. My first thought was that it really was a person lurking in there.

I already imagined something getting up and running over towards me. In fear, I took a step back and bumped into gym. I almost ran away, but then I saw that nothing over there was moving. What are you doing? he asked in annoyance. My eyes grew wide and raised my hand in motion from to be quiet. What is... But he broke up when I pointed at the inside of the hut. The two of us both watched.

Then we went closer one step at a time. Our eyes were focused on whatever was inside. After a few steps, I realized that it was way too small to be a person. After some more steps, we saw that it was a tiny heap, covered by a dirty old blanket. Jan went forward at the small heap, and I reluctantly followed him. Behind us, I heard Eric continue on in the direction. direction of the fire pit. "'Gu-guise?' I heard Eric called to us from outside in a shaken voice.

I turned to look, and I saw him standing near the fire pit. His mouth was wide agape, looking down at something. I took a step outside, when Jan, still holding on to the blanket, stumbled into me and fell to the ground. His face was white as a sheet, and when he started screaming, my eyes moved to what he'd revealed. My heart dropped. My breathing stopped. The world came to a halt.

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't find words. After a few more moments, my voice returned, and I started to scream as well, looking back at me with the empty eyes of a little girl. I stood there in the middle of this dark hut, unable to move or look away. She was younger than us, dirty and covered in bruises. Her clothes were torn. There was no movement. There wouldn't be. Somehow, even at my young age, I knew she was not alive anymore.

Her body was twisted, almost folded together to fit under the blanket. I don't know how long I was looking at it. Jan was next to me, pulling at me, but I was dazed. After another second, I was able to turn to him and look at what he was pointing at now. It was another heap in the corner near the entrance. This one wasn't covered. It consisted of only one thing. Shoes.

There in the corner was an innumerable amount of tiny shoes. It must be hundreds of them, I thought. Hundreds of children's shoes. As I stumbled outside, I saw Eric still standing next to the fire pit. He wasn't moving at all, just staring at something. Only as I came over did I see the real horror of this pit. In its center I saw a variety of bones. I saw at least two human skulls in between the mess and I knew what kinds of bones they must be.

I touched Derek's arm, but he wasn't reacting. I noticed only now that he wasn't looking down at the bones in the fire pit. He was frozen in place, shaking and looking at something between the trees ahead. At that moment I saw it too. Something was moving over there. Oh shit, I thought. Someone must have heard. mine and Jen scream. It must be the place's owner. I imagined it was some crazed

hagrid serial killer or considering the pit a cannibal. The reality, though, proved to be much, much worse. I noticed it right away. The size didn't match. Whatever was over there was much too tall for a person. Was it some kind of animal? Then I caught a glance of something. I saw long gray arms, an assortment of legs, and what I could only think of as huge, bulking bodies. I thought it was multiple creatures. There were too many arms and legs. Then I realized it was all an entangled, twisted hole. It made its way through the trees a good hundred or so meters ahead of us as of searching

for something. From where I stood, I could only watch the horrific nightmare creature in a day's state. This was not real? It couldn't be. In wonder and shock I stood there and watched. For a moment I wondered when I'd wake up from this dream. Then I saw that the creature was holding something. I told myself it was a small animal.

It was a rabbit or a deer. I said it to myself over and over again. It didn't help. I saw the tiny arms, the tiny legs. I saw the empty blue eyes. Finally, I saw the clothes and the little shoes at the end of the legs. What the creature was holding in one of its many arms was the limp body of a child. Oh, God, no, oh God, no, I heard Eric mutter next to me.

Right at that moment, Jan came over to us and saw the thing too. What the hell is that? He screamed. With that, that thing noticed us. It let out a weird, distorted scream of its own. that made my ears ring before it came crashing towards us. Branches splintered against the gray monstrosity's bulking body. I saw how it used two of its arms to push tree trunks aside as if there were nothing.

Its many legs were moving in a hypnotic disjointed way. I was still in shock. For a few moments, I could only watch as a surreal beast came closer and closer with each second. As I remember the shoes, the bones in the fire pit, and finally, the dead girl. I realized this would be me too. I saw the rest of my friends. Jan was tumbling backwards.

Sven was standing 10 meters behind crying, but turned to run. Only Eric and I were still standing there. Finally, I snapped out of it and pulled him after me. After we started running, the thing screamed once more. With each passing second, I knew it was coming closer. I could feel the ground to shake with each step of its many legs.

I turned around. sure to see the thing reach out for me, but no. It had stopped in front of the hut. It must be the thing's hideout. It dropped its prey and then it started to move its head around. It looked as if it was sniffing the air. Was it blind? I had no idea and kept running.

What the hell was that thing? Where were we? My legs ached and my lungs burned. For a short moment, I slowly. down to catch my breath, as if to answer this decision the creature screamed once again. Oh, please no. Just stay there. I prayed to myself. I didn't have that much luck. The noise behind me was enough to know that it was coming after us again. It sounded as if a truck, or better a tank, was crushing through the forest behind us. I heard the splintering of both trees and branches.

It was as if nothing could stop the thing. Finally, I saw the edge of the forest ahead. Then I reached it. Then I rushed outside in a small veil. My friends were ahead of me, even spent. I didn't get to focus on them. Only seconds after me I heard something huge explode out of the forest as well. Branches and twigs came rain down all around me.

I looked over my shoulder once more. I saw the sickly gray and leathery skin. of the centauric monstrosity only a dozen or so meters behind me. This time I was able to make out the deformed head. There was a garden maw and weird bony hole above it. Where the things eyes should have been was only grown together scar tissue. The things forearms are all reaching out for me. I remember that its hands had too many fingers. I don't know how many there were. They were almost as thin as twigs, but much longer as if they had too many joints. Right at this moment, I tripped over a hidden stone in the tall grass. For a few more steps,

I went on before I crashed straight to the ground. Jan who must have seen me fall to the ground toward me. Our eyes met, grew wide, and he screamed at me. Get up, get up, get up! Right then the creature behind me turned around. It focused its attention of it. on Jan. I saw how it rushed over to him on its many legs. Then only moments later, the long, thin fingers reached out for him. The thing let out a triumph and scream as it caught my friend's squirming body in one of its hands. He screamed up in pain, fear, and confusion. I saw tears streaming from his eyes. He struggled against the grip and then reached out his arms towards me. Tom, help me. Tom, Tom, help me.

We screamed my name over and over and over again as the fingers closed around him. I watched, shook my head, and the only thing on my mind was not me. But, God, the thing has not gotten me. I can't let him get me. I have to get away. I jump back to my feet and start running again, all the while Jane was screaming after me. I didn't look at it. I couldn't.

I only ran on. I didn't stop. I fought my way up at the end of the veil towards the edge of the cornfields. Finally, in a last ditch of effort, I made it and fell to the ground. My whole body was trembling in pain. Eric was there. Sven arrived soon after. They were both crying.

For long seconds, I lay there shivering. Any moment from now, I thought the creature would appear to get us to. Then I realized it must have given up. That's when I remembered Jan. I turned to look down towards a veil in the forest. It had happened right next to me, but I didn't want to accept it as a reality. I hoped, no, prayed for my friend Jan to come running up here as well. Instead, I saw only the grayish monstrosity as it made its way back.

It was almost at the forest now. It wasn't running it. anymore. Its many legs moved in a steady trot. Even from this distance, I could see that it was holding something in one of its overlong hands. It was something small that was now limp. It was Jan, I realized. Jan who had called out for me to get up. I was unable to take my eyes away from this sight as tears streamed down my face. It would have been me. I was the one who had tripped and fallen right in front of that thing. If Jan hadn't called out, it would have dragged me back into this ghastly forest.

He had saved me, and I hadn't done anything. Right as the thing it grabbed him, I ran away and ignored him. No, I'd abandoned him. Once we were able to move again, we started on our way back through the cornfield. none of us said a thing Sven was still crying even now Eric was as lethargic as I was

no one said a word no one mentioned that as soon as we made it out of the veil the sky was clear once again and the sun was shining down at us in our confused state it took us hours to find our way back each sound we heard made us turn around in fear of the creature when we finally made it home

It was already late in the evening. At first, no one in the village believed our story. When Jan stayed missing, though, the adults couldn't ignore it anymore. They talked about criminals and kidnappers hiding in the forest. When we told our story, they all disregarded it. They attributed the monster and everything else to our imagination and fear. A police search was started. They combed the whole area, searched through the forest and the meadows.

Finally, they even checked the course. cornfields. They found nothing. There was no hint to the tiny veil or the thick, dark forest behind it. It seemed as if this entire area, as well as the monster, had never existed. It was the same for Jan. They never found a hint of him. No body, no remains. Nothing. He, too, had all but vanished. I grew older and finally moved to leave all this behind. There was one thing I couldn't, though. My memories. For years I went to therapy, but it didn't help.

Many nights I wake up, covered in sweat. In some, I see the monster and it's gaping maw again. In others, I hear my friend screaming out for me and see his pleading eyes again. There are also those nights on which I lay in bed, wide awake, wishing. My friend would have not called out. for me. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents. I never told another lie after my trip to Lithuania, written by Timothy Nerley and narrated by Owen McCune. Growing up, I was not a pleasant child. I would often lie. Not big, grandiose lies. I wouldn't tell other kids

that I had superpowers or that my dad were. for Nintendo. Instead, my lives were sly, underhanded, and full of malice. It started in preschool when I learned that select words had the power to grant my desires. I had that toy first. He pushed me. I feel sick. She called me names. The grown-ups around me soon grew wise to my trickery and would give the other children the benefit of the doubt in a dispute. Instead of this teaching me a valuable lesson about being truthful, it instead taught me that I needed to be smarter. Clearly, my lies were not believable enough. At age five, I picked some berries from a bush and squeezed them under my shin. The berries came from a bush just outside the school fence,

and I was able to squeeze my hand through the bars to pick a few. Clutching just above where I had crushed the berries, I limped toward my teacher, who was supervising the playground. I told her that another boy had thrown a rock at me and that it had hit my leg. When she sent me to see the school nurse, I went instead to my backpack. I took it from the peg on which it hung, rummaging through for the plasters I had stolen

from my mother's first aid kit that morning. At the end of the day, exiting the school gates, hearing the boy receive a scolding from his father put a smile on my face. It was clear that I had been believed, and the teacher had informed the boy's father of his misdeeds. I skipped past the boy, holding my mother's hand, poking my tongue out at him, and he was lamb-based for the act of violence he had supposedly committed. When we were a distance away from the boy and his father, my mother turned to me. I saw you poking your tongue out at him. Did he really throw a rock at you?

She asked. Yeah, Mommy, I said. He did. Look, I have a plaster. I pointed to my leg. Remember, monsters eat the tongues of little boys who lie. She frowned. Her accent was thick, though mine was non-existent.

She had moved here from Eastern Europe before I was born. No, they don't. You're a line. I grinned smugly at her, knowing that I had her beat. My mother just sighed and continued walking alongside me. Years went by and my lies increased in their elaborateness. At seven years old, I pressed my hands into the gravel of the school car park and placed the blame on the same boy.

Another time, I poured water over my head at the bathroom's sink and claimed that another boy had given me a swirly. By age nine, I was willing to sustain injury to commit a lie. My mother and father sent me to a counselor. I lied to my counselor, though I'm certain she saw right through it. It doesn't take a genius to work out that a compulsive liar, and a particularly devious one at that, would lie in such a situation. I had been going to counseling for a year, and I had made a lot of progress,

in the sense that my lies had become even more undetectual. by grown-ups. I knew that I was under close scrutiny, so my lies had to be perfectly undoubtable. At ten years old, in class, we were tasked with drawing a picture of characters from a book that we had just read. I needed the green pencil from the pencil pot on my shared desk. My classmate had the green pencil. Give me the green pencil, I said.

I'm using it. She continued coloring. You can have it after. I'm almost done. I need it now. I lowered my tone as much as my prepubescent voice would allow. No, I'm using it, she said. I snatched the pencil from her hand. Hey, she cried.

I drove the pencil into my own shoulder, piercing through the sleeve of my school uniform. I cried out in genuine pain, and the class looked over to us. Why would you do that? I yelped at my classmate, my truthful agony creeping into my deceitful voice as I withdrew the pencil from my skin. By now you have probably gathered that my lies were no longer tools to gain that which I desired. At that point, the lies had become the thing I wanted. No longer were my false words to get something I needed or to get someone I didn't like into trouble. They were horrible little compulsions that I could not help but do.

If it was about personal gain, I could have told the teacher that the girl had taken the pencil from me, but it wasn't about the pencil. I had decided to punish her for not immediately giving me what I wanted. My mother received a call and picked me up from school not long after. That evening, after I heard a muffled argument between herself and my father through the bedroom door, she booked two plane tickets to Lithuania. My grandparents' home was a humble farmhouse in the Lithuanian countryside. It had a cozy attic room, through which the restored masonry of a stone-brick chimney ran.

Just outside was an ancient tree planted far before my grandparents were the owners of this home. Some of its lower branches rested tentatively against the roof of the farmhouse. Looking back, it was a beautiful work of antiquity that few in this world would be so lucky to spend their time at. At the time, however, I thought it was old and boring. I couldn't watch TV or play video games or do anything fun. My grandfather wouldn't speak to me in English, which irritated me. I pretended that I couldn't speak Lithuanian, and my mother shouted at me for lying. Shameful, boy, my grandfather said in English, shaking his head and walking away. We will put you to work tomorrow.

In the daytime, the attic room was illuminated by a skyward window on the sloping wall, a modern addition to the age-old farmhouse. The bright sunlight would caress my body with its warmth as I laid, bored, upon the small bed that was positioned in the center of the room. At night, the crescent moon peered over me like a tilted smile, prying on me as I lay sleepless. The rustling of the great tree unsettled me when I tried to rest, its gentle wrapping against the exterior of my grandparents' home,

occupying my mind and prohibiting me from drifting into slumber. Luckily, the tree was on the opposite side of the house to the window, so I wasn't subject to the dancing shadows that one would often see in movies or cartoons. In the morning, I would be awoken by the rooster that my grandparents, for some reason, decided to keep around. I was given duties, chores, and jobs that I would never have been given at home. Collecting eggs, watering crops, brushing the horse, I didn't want to do any of it. When I was asked to feed the chickens, I said I couldn't because I was allergic to the chicken feed.

My grandmother made me do it anyway. When I was asked to pick the tomatoes, I said I couldn't walk around because I had hurt my foot. my grandmother made me do it anyway. When I was asked to refill the horse's trough, I said I couldn't because the water bucket was too heavy. My grandmother, you guessed it, made me do it anyway. It seemed that my no-nonsense grandparents were having none of my antics and that my mother had informed them of my behavioral issues.

When we were eating our lunch at the dinner table, we spoke in Lithuanian. I see why you've brought him here. My grandfather didn't look up from his plate as he spoke to my mother, talking as though I wasn't there. He is a troubled boy. I'm sorry it has been so long, my mother replied. Not to worry, my grandmother reassured her. You're here now. It's good to see you.

And anyway, I'm sure some hard work will put the boy right. I hope so. My grandfather chewed on his tomato. We know what happens to little boys lie. I wasn't keen on the food that was prepared for me. There was a noticeable lack of chicken nuggets on my plate. In my glass with some putrid goat's milk, and I refused to drink it. I spent the rest of the day attempting to make excuses to avoid various chores,

none of which worked. Dinner time was much the same as lunch. My elders spoke about me as if I were. wasn't there, and I forced down a mouthful of some horrible slop out of a desperate hunger. After our evening meal, my mother and grandmother left to do the washing up, and I was left alone with my grandfather. When I was your age, the Russians were in control of this place, he said. Cool, I replied, in English. No, he frowned.

We worked hard, where we went. Hungary. I didn't respond, so he carried on speaking. The Soviets brought with them nothing but hurt. My brother, may God bring him peace, fought hard against them. With him gone, I was doing all his jobs to help my mother, twice as hard as you were working today, and I never made excuses to get out of it. I sat in silence for a second, confirming that he was done. with his monologue. He sighed at my lack of response. So what does that have to do with me? I muttered. Let me see your shoulder.

Fine. I pulled my t-shirt down to show my grandfather the self-inflicted wound. Why? He crouched by me and held his hand to my shoulder, placing his thumb right beside the scab they had formed on my skin. Your mother told me you did this. to yourself? I didn't, I blurted it out. The girl next to me stabbed me. I have told two lies in my life.

My grandfather kept his grip on my shoulder. One of them is a lie I've told a few times, and it is a lie I may have to tell again. What is it? I asked. I may tell you tomorrow, but know this. over here little boys who lie do not lie for long with those words i was reminded of the story my mother would tell about what monsters would do to little boys that lied a lie in itself a story filled with hypocrisy it aggravated me to no end

and i felt a rage rising inside me ow i screamed mom it hurts My voice warbled with sobbing tones as I shouted loudly. What happened? My mother came rushing through, seeing my grandfather holding my shoulder. He pushed his thumb into my cut. My grandfather stood, letting go of my shoulder, and gazed downwards at me. My mother was completely aware of exactly what I was doing. My last ditch attempt to release myself from this hell fell upon deaf ears.

She looked at my grandfather with worried eyes. His stay here is much needed, my grandfather uttered, his voice laced with a somber gravel that scratched at the back of my neck. I was sent to bed early that night and found myself unable to sleep once more. It took me a good few hours to even become anywhere close to tired, and when I was finally about to fall asleep, the branches of the tree would slam against the roof of the farmhouse. house. The rest of the house was still silent, but I could hear the obnoxiously loud, sporadic slapping and rustling. I noticed, halfway through the night, that despite all the rustling,

brushing, and slapping, I never heard any wind. I jolted upright and craned my neck to look through the window at various angles. There, the crescent moon still hung, accompanied by the mid-sections of two thin branches. Two thin branches. The tree didn't have branches that reached that far. They shouldn't be above the window, that much was certain. The branches raised themselves up in unison and brought themselves down on the window. The distinct sound of slamming on glass blared through the room, followed by that squeaking of something sliding along its surface. The branches left a wet trail along the window as they were dragged backwards into the night. As the ends of the branches were in sight, I noticed that they each splintered off into five

frail appendages. The fingers clawed at my window as they followed along behind the receding arms and eventually out of sight. I screamed for my mother, but was met with no response from my family. I got up out of bed and ran to the door, but as I approached, I heard that same tapping upon the wood that had come from the branches on the roof. A set of drumming fingers pattered on the hardwood door. Panicking, I called out for help again as I dashed behind the chimney masonry, peeking out at the door as the knob twisted back and forth, being fiddled with from the other side. I caught my breath as I hit against the chimney, the stonework cold against my bare skin. I closed my eyes, hoping that I would wake up in my bed.

But no such moment came. I waited for someone to come and rescue me to hear my screams. But nobody came. As the room returned to silence, I let out a subtle sigh of relief. Perhaps it was gone, I thought. As I enjoyed a moment of solace, I felt the icy gray stones rumbled beneath my back and the grinding sound of rocks sliding against one another.

I heard a pop, a slam, and a crack as one of those stones thudded onto the floor of the attic, splintering the wood. Out from the hole that had just been made stretched a long, slender arm. Dark under the shadows of the room, the arm wrapped itself around the chimney. I lurched away from the masonry

so that the hand wouldn't grab. grasp at me. From the corner of the room I watched in terror as he pulled himself from the brickwork. More bricks came crashing to the floor, and I screamed for help incessantly as a frail man pulled himself out of that hole that had just been made. My efforts to bring attention to myself were futile. Nobody came, no matter how hard I screamed. Facing away from me, the man stepped forwards into the moonlight that shone upon the bed. The white glow draped over his smooth porcelain-colored head, which gave way to a gray emaciated body.

His outstretched arms reached nearly halfway across the room. His fingertips creaked as they curled and uncurled. His breath was heavy, rasping. In a deep foreboding growl, he spoke in a language I couldn't understand. Somehow I instinctively knew what he was saying, like he was relaying the message to me mentally somehow. Little boys who lie, get what they deserve. The bed whelped under him as his large black boots stomp,

his body contorting my way before his feet finalized his turn. Swinging above his folding ribs, a necklace shimmered. Little milky white teeth basked under the skin. daylight, all the while I continued to scream in vain. Nobody is coming, he approached. I don't have the strength to relive what happened next. When I woke the next morning, I was in the living room, on an armchair, with a blanket wrapped around me.

I woke in a cold sweat and felt around my mouth throwing the blanket from myself as I erased my arms to my face. Everything was fine. It was if last night had never happened. I knew that I couldn't have dreamed it. Everything that had happened felt so real, but there was absolutely no indication that the events I so vividly remembered

had actually transpired. For the rest of the time we spent at my grandparents' home, I never complained. I did my chores and made up no excuses. I never said a word about what happened, but it seemingly lingered over the family. Perhaps it was just my sudden change and attitude that created such an atmosphere. After that night, I slept in my mother's bed. I was not allowed to return to the attic.

My grandfather claimed that there was a problem with the roof that needed fixing. It didn't sit right with me. A single thought niggled at the back of my mind. As silly as it might seem, I was certain that he was repairing the chimney. 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.

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