Creepy - When God Blinks

Episode Date: March 26, 2018

For centuries, humanity has looked to the sky and wondered, wondered what is out there. What happens when whatever is out there, sends us a message? Who will hear it?***Credited to CharminglyShallow and guest narrated by Owen McCuen***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***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This episode of Creepy is presented by patrons Rose Lewis, Jillian Kenny, Cliff Berg, Casey Gilley, EJG, Tyler Tigno, Molly Coolz, and Kristen Lauri. If you'd like to see how you can support the podcast, they get rewarded for it, please visit patreon.com slash creepypod. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or 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

When God's Blink Credited to Charmingly Shallow With guest narration by Owen McCune On March 25th At 1457 Greenwich Mean Time The world stopped for 27 minutes and 54 seconds No one noticed at first But those that eventually did

Were ordered to keep quiet There was no sudden jolt no collapsing into unconsciousness, no transition into utter darkness and back again. Nothing. For everyone, time it appeared to pass as normal. One second moving uneventfully into the next. Birds flew, people talked, the wind and rain blew and fell respectively. Nothing had occurred to indicate that anything untoward or unexpected had happened to the inhabitants of the earth.

Only those who look beyond our planet and its ring of constantly chattering satellites now found that the rest of the universe told a different story. NASA and related space agencies noticed first. Signals the ongoing missions beyond those in orbit around the Earth were all off by almost 30 minutes. Frantic investigation revealed that the same time discrepancy was occurring for all incoming signals. Naturally, it came to the conclusion that the problem was therefore laying, not within these external elements, but with the computers on Earth. But this led to a bigger question. One computer glitch was possible,

but all the various space agencies' computers across the globe showing the same failure at exactly the same time? Naturally, a virus or a sophisticated global hacking attack was the next obvious answer. An international team to investigate such a large, well-coordinated cyber attack was being discussed, when the first calls of alarm came in from confused and concerned astronomers, and the true significance of what had actually happened became known. Using data retrieved from telescopic arrays at Jodrell Bank, Palo Alto, Mount Pleasant, and others across the world,

confirmed against existing stellar records and computational models of the local galaxy and beyond. It became apparent that for 27 minutes and 54 seconds, the earth had somehow been out of sync with the rest of known time and space. In essence, the world as we knew it had winked out of existence during this period, and then returned as if nothing had happened.

For all intents and purposes during that short window of time, we had ceased to be. The international investigation team was repurposed, a blank check written, giving it its picker resources, and the best minds in their fields, all to investigate this one event, and all sworn to the utmost secrecy. None of them needed to be told to panic that would ensue if this information became

public before suitable and hopefully reassuring reason could be given for the event. Those that couldn't keep silent were quickly and quietly silenced themselves. Despite the various project names assigned to the subteams, those involved began referring to this event in a half-joking manner as the day God blinked. In casual conversation between project members, this was eventually shortened even further to just the blink. After six rings, Ben finally answered the door. Mark, what are you doing here?

You invited me, remember? Did I? How odd? I probably had a reason at the time. It's still good to see you anyway. Come on in. I'd know Ben since childhood. We attended the same schools for a while,

before his crazily high IQ led him onto the fast track of higher education and beyond. We kept in touch, though. His parents were sensible enough to realize he needed some grounding in the real world and encouraged our friendship with the usual sleepovers and camping trips. Their smartsly enforcing Ben not to let his social skills atrophy completely like a lot of very intelligent kids were wont to do. As a result, while he was frequently sidetracked and forgetful, he still functioned in normal society with a degree of success.

After our respective schooling had finished, we both moved into the IT industry, although at vastly different levels. For myself, I now worked in tech support, mostly maintaining insurance systems for a range of small independent companies. Boring, but it paid well, allowed me to. to travel. He, on the other hand, was self-employed and preferred working from his apartment of solitude, as he called it, referring to himself as a consulting technician. He gotten the idea from watching reruns of Sherlock. His work was a lot more varied and advanced,

and while he never openly admitted to hacking, he certainly had enough technical knowledge and experience to have been employed in the past by such names as Google and Microsoft and IBM, and they need someone to test the all-new, unshakable security they'd just put in place, or tracked down those who had subsequently been able to breach their all-new unshakable security. He preferred the latter work, he told me. It added the thrill of the chase. Plus, it usually paid better. What was less well-known was the work he occasionally did.

off the books for such groups as the Department of Defense in the NSA. He admitted his working for them was twofold. One, they wanted his expertise and brilliance. And two, it allowed them to keep tabs on his expertise and brilliance. He didn't mind this as he explained once. Well, it keeps them happy knowing where I am and what I'm doing, or at least what they think I'm doing. And then he'd grin and passed me the latest decoded email he'd intercepted.

He didn't do anything with the stuff he found. He just enjoyed the challenge. To be completely honest, sometimes it was hard to pin down just who Ben was and what his motivations were from one moment to the next. I'd just grown up accepting him in his eccentricities, quickly come into the conclusion his life was a complex pattern of impulses and ideas, woven together from threads that were as much madness as a genius.

There was his belief that every time someone said abracadabra, an angel lost its wings, or that the common cold existed as a vast hive mentality that avoided detection by its elements constantly hopping from body to body. Mad, crazy shit like that. Half the time I thought he was joking. For the rest, I just hoped he had enough common sense to rein it in when in public. Then there were the times he did and said things that ended up on the opposite end of that. when what he said made absolute unnerving sense.

On those occasions, he spoke with a lucidity that seemed to cut through all the crap humankind built around its certainties and beliefs, as if he touched on some universal truth we should all by rights know. All I could do at those times was marvel, that someone was such a kaleidoscope for a brain, entertaining such a maelstrom of contradictory thoughts consistently

could suddenly bring all those elements together to produce those single, blindingly white lights of truth. Then he'd suddenly go off on a tangent, accusing his neighbors of being CIA agents, trailing neurotoxins on the local cats, and we'd be back to normal. Still, I came into summons. Despite the craze theories and odd habits, it was definitely the most entertaining conversation around.

Plus, his library of illegally downloaded films was truly a wonder to behold. That. And he was my friend. It was during a piece of work for NASA, idling through their secure systems, looking for proof of Area 51 during his off time, to let him to first discover and then piece together all the facts concerning March 25th, and the blink found by the international team so far. Being his only close friend, he decided to fill me in on this ongoing conspiracy, mainly so he could show off his talents once more, and see invitation.

As he spoke, he appeared completely oblivious to how my face was gradually growing more and more incredulous. He described what the world's space agencies and astronomers had discovered and how a secret scientific think tank was now investigating what had happened. physics, quantum theorists, mathematicians, the whole spectrum of sciences, all focused on this one problem and the questions associated with it. What had happened? Why did it happen? And most importantly, was it likely to happen again? And if so, what was the risk of it being permanent?

He told me the total news blackout and how any amateur astronomers are similar, who now came to the same conclusions were to be either brought on board, treated as cranks, or disappeared with extreme prejudice. Their biggest fear was a mass panic, he said, or were the world's religions taking credit on behalf of their respective gods, and several genocidal wars kicking off as a result. As he said,

There's nothing more disconcerting, I guess, than not being able to trust your own reality. We've been raised in a world where it's fine, to distress your government, your employers, even your family, but your own entire existence? Definitely a recipe for chaos. Places like CERN have been placed on almost permanent hiatus. The governments of the world have no proof experiments like the ones they were doing there are the cause, but then I suppose they had to point the finger somewhere until more evidence

showed up. There's a lot of theoretical work being done now, but pretty much zero practical. I guess it's only a matter of time before they get the scriptwriters in from Doctor Who to brainstorm a possible cause. He sighed at this, sat back in his swivel chair and spun around, gazing at the ceiling seemingly lost in thought. Then he slowly came to a stop and returned his gaze to me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Then, on the other side, you have all the religions. At this he paused again, looking around his clutter desk and then started building what looked like a tower of various bits and pieces.

As it slowly grew in height, he continued speaking. Remember our Bible classes? I like the stories, if not the morality. I especially liked the story of Babel. The rising structure of books, hard drives, chocolate bars, magazines, and other random items his hands could find in reach had risen to a height just below his chin. He added a few more items, adding to the precarious sway it already had. Pausing again, his hand's not touching it but spread wide on either side to stop any imminent collapse.

He attempted the voice of an old English vicar delivering a sermon. Man in his hubris decided to build a tower to God, so he may converse with his creator. God, though, in his glorious wisdom, decided man should not be allowed to do this and took steps to rectify the situation. So he cursed mankind with the gift of many tongues. He smiled at this. His eyes never leaving the tower. and returned his normal voice. Well, many a project, plan, or peace

has been ruined by the inability of people to understand each other. It might be that humanity is overreaching itself again. With the final proof of existence of the Higgs boson, and maybe God's decided we're getting too close again, and he's selfish about his tricks. Time for another lesson, perhaps? At this he slowly closed his hands into fists

on either side of the precarious edifice he created. Then, with a single single thing, finger gingerly pushed it near the top. With a crash, his metaphorical tower scattered across the table and the floor. He waited until the sounds of the books and rubbish falling and died away before speaking again. This time in a thoughtful voice. Maybe the blink, as they call it, was God giving us a heads-up, a warning to stop encroaching on his intellectual property, else risk the consequences.

Then he grinned. His tried and true atheism once more reassertive. itself. Personally, looking at all the facts so far accumulated, I believe the answer lies even further afield, he said, the knowing smile on his face. I took a comfort break at this point, shaking my head to his new conspiracy theory. When I got back, he moved on already. His head now buried to the side of a PC tower casing now perched on a different desk he reserved for mechanical endeavors. It was quiet for a while, broken only by his humming, as he fiddled inside the case while I looked for somewhere reasonably clean to sit.

Then abruptly he spoke again. His voice oddly masked by the case. As I was saying, I believe the answers they seek lie further afield. I have statistical proof, in fact. Statistics. You. He'd often laughed at statistics in the past and blamed them for 63.75% of the world's ills.

In his mad pedantry, He had indeed worked out a formula that he said proved this figure. That being said, he told me once he could destroy the world with a single spreadsheet, and in my more fatalistic moments, I honestly believed him. I accept. Statistics in all their perceived infallibility are the most fallible things in the world. He mumbled from inside the case, reaching aimlessly for a screwdriver on the desk next to him with a hand-colored orange and black from a mix of grease and cheetah.

goes. Take a work of fiction and add numbers to it, and suddenly it becomes nonfiction. Add a pie chart and a graph, and it becomes an inviolate truth. Bullshit! I said. Only half listening as I lounged on a large, dirty beanbag littered with rappers and an odd wire. He then retracted his head from the case, looked me in the eyes and said with a devilish glint in his own. Pass it to the right people in the right places at the right time, and it becomes law.

Hmm. I replied. Deciding not to entertain his paranoid fantasies further in favor of a magazine I just found on the floor amongst all the other junk, haphazardly discarded as part of his less than ordered, less than sanitary, lifestyle. He grunted in my lack of enthusiasm for continuing one of his favorite topics. Buried his head back in the tower case once more before continuing anyway. However, in those cases I'm referring to your basic biased status. statistics, marketing, pressure group, political, that kind of unreliable crap. Now, pattern recognition, that element within the field of otherwise exploitable statistics,

that I do have time for. Extracting his head again, he looked around the desk the case was on. Shifting papers this way and that as he continued, partially lost in thought. You've heard of SETI, of course? Hold on. If we're heading into alien territory, you can kiss my ass right here and now. He fixed me with a glare and I threw my hands up. in the air and resignation muttering,

I'm sorry, please continue, oh, knowledgeable one. Thank you. SETI, the search for extraterrestrial life, one of their jobs being the analysis of signals bouncing in and around our local galaxy. Of course, they've never found any conclusive proof of intelligent life. I reminded him pointedly.

He ignored me. What if the patterns they've been looking for are wrong? What if you could analyze these seemingly random signals another way? What if there is a pattern, but it's spread over a longer period, so you don't even see it as a pattern? Aha! Triumphantly, his hand came out of a pile of books clutching a pad of post-it notes, scattering the books across the desk and doing so. Fishing a pen from his trouser pocket, I saw him scribble, to-do, on the top note and slap it on the side of the tower's case,

before turning around a face-mew with an excited grin on his face. Have you been watching the Discovery Channel again? Is there a UFO special on this week? I asked pointedly. He looked at me indignantly, though I noticed he quickly closed a TV guide that had been open on his desk amongst the mess. What if I told you I had written my own pattern recognition algorithm?

What if I told you that I had found a message in those signals? Oh shit. I said quietly. Suddenly less sure of myself. Now I'm more than a little shaken by what this meant if he had indeed. he'd succeeded in discovering a message from an alien race. Well, it wasn't easy. He continued, feigning an air of false modesty.

And I do have the NSA to thank. Although if they discover I've been running this algorithm in the background of their decryption supercomputer, then I may have to leave abruptly, or apologize. You never can tell what mood they'll be in one day to the next. Ben, what about the message? I said firmly, cutting him short, standing to face him. Oh, that.

He went quiet, looking around evasively. My doubts quickly returned. What about the message, Ben? Well, it was short, and it is really rather impressive decoding anything like this, obviously. Ben! He paused, then said objectively. Hello. Are you content?

There were a few seconds of silence before I started laughing uncontrollably, mostly out of relief Ben looked indignant well I think it's a very poignant message better than prepare to be annihilated oh god hold on a sec

I can't breathe you have me shitting myself there for a moment I take it then you don't believe what I found is a message from an alien race would you please stop laughing I'm sorry I'm sorry Ben, you've got to admit,

if you were to imagine contact from another species, I think I'd be looking for something a little more, I don't know, profound? I mean, we've sent a gold disc giving a snapshot of the human race and our knowledge. Music, mathematics, you name it. And what do the hyper-intelligent aliens send back? The equivalent of, have a nice step. You don't think it's from outer space then?

He reiterated. I looked at his pained expression and answered in a more reasonable voice. Look, Ben, I'm sorry. I think your algorithm found a pattern that wasn't there, extrapolated meaning from it. Turning, I returned to the beanbag in my perusal of the magazine. He stood there a few moments, and then turned and flop down on a large, comfortable sofa chair behind another desk.

This one littered with laptops in various states of construction and destruction, connected by an array of cables in what appeared like haphazard fashion. Pressing the on switch is the three of them. His face was illuminated in the telltale glow of their screens. His focus flittering between the screens and his fingers dancing across the keyboard in front of him. He'd nevertheless decided to continue and began outlining his newest theory. I disagree. I'll go even further and state that this is an alien species with an interest in the human race,

a species directly involved in the evolution of mankind. Here we go. Are we really back on the engineer's theory once more? Has Ridley Scott been sending you secret message in his films again? I muttered, not looking up from the page I was now reading. He ignored this and continued. Think about it. The human body is an amazing machine.

It regulates its. itself, heals itself, and has the ability to create more of itself through reproduction. I thought you only believed in things you'd experience for yourself, I asked, peering over the top of the magazine at him. My voice now openly amused. I saw him scowl before he continued with his monologue. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the human body is an amazing machine, and that is exactly what it is, a piece of technology built using biological parts rather than mechanical ones. It is not, however, a perfect machine. What do you mean? I asked, despite myself.

Well, think about it. It has its own defensive capabilities in the form of white blood cells to ward off illness, the ability to heal wounds, etc., etc. Occasionally, though, this excellent piece of machinery goes wrong. It functions incorrectly. It overreacts to certain stimuli. It has a faulty piece of code, if you will. And what's that? Like cancer, of course. What? I asked, shocked despite myself.

It was only another crazy conversation with Ben, but the word cancer always sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. I'd seen enough of its effects on friends and family would be adverse to even its mentioning. Ben, though, oblivious to my discomfort, had continued. Cancer is the body performing incorrect actions, creating cells where it does not need to. it's not an attack from an external source causing this, but rather an internal failure of the biological system. A mistake, nothing more.

We have, in essence, a design flaw, and if our god or gods are supposedly infallible, then logic dictates we were not built by a benign, omnipotent being, but rather are constructs of more fallible ones. Action should have been taken to rectify these errors, to complain, if you will. Despite myself, I took another look over the magazine at him. nervous now for a reason I can't quite put my finger on.

What did you do? I sent a message back telling them this, of course. I hadn't seen Ben in six months. Work had kept me busy in London, and he wasn't one for texting or casual phone conversations to catch up. Then one day he called me up suddenly to come visit. By this time, snippets of information about the blink have begun to leak out onto the internet, and even some of the more respected sites and journals.

Most normal people saw it as another mad conspiracy theory. Haven't spoken to Ben before, though, when he outlined all the data, the fact that the other sources were just now relaying the same information sent chills through me. It was one thing for it just to be another of its crazy theories, but quite another when a growing number of external bodies were now seeming to confirm the event's existence. This time when I rang his doorbell, he answered on the first ring. But I wasn't ready for this sight when he opened the door. He was haggard and tired, like he hadn't slept in days.

And his clothes were rumpled and dirty, even more than normal. As I stood there, I caught a look in his eyes. They were bloodshot, and there were large dark circles under them. But there was a calm I hadn't seen before, which was echoed in his voice as he welcomed me. in. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at first, but then it dawned on me. I had seen and heard this kind of response before and those were in the final stages of terminal illness. Acceptance. I felt my body prickle with unease. That chill that ripples across your skin when you

stop thinking in the past or the future, now your attention is suddenly focused on the now because you know the world you're used to is about to change in some fundamental way. I paused in the doorway and looked him in the eyes. Then without thinking, I drew him into a massive bear hug. Ben had never been one for physical contact and all the time I'd known him, but he accepted the hug without question. And I felt some of the tension released from him. We parted after a short while and I asked him sincerely,

Are you okay? Nothing's wrong with you? No. No. Nothing physically, at least. Good. Good. Because you look like shit.

He laughed weakly at that, and then quieted. We stood there silently for a few moments, before the thought had been nagging at my mind since he'd invited me forced itself out. I've noticed on the web that there, There has been a lot of noise about this blink thing you mentioned last time. I was wondering, did you get an answer? He smiled weakly, ignoring my question, inviting me in and simply pointing me to the large beanbag for me to sit, as I had done so many times before.

If anything, his apartment was even messier than the last time, but somehow the impression of organized chaos was gone. This was just a mess that had been left to accumulate, like the owner no longer cared. As I sat down, he went over to a desk and fiddled with a laptop, moving some random items on the desk, almost like you was stalling. Then, turning to face me, resting himself against the desk, he asked me in a vague voice.

Do you remember what I was talking about the last time you visited? You mean the alien thing? I answered, trying to make my voice sound light, a smirk on my face forced and obviously fake. I'd given into his suspicions and he knew it. Before he would have rubbed this fact in my face, but today he didn't. Such things didn't seem to matter to him anymore, which made my voiceless fears even greater. Not just humanity, but all life on earth has been engineered. an external source created it and maintained it.

It is my belief. At this he laughed a dry mocking laugh at his use of a word he had previously despised. It is my belief now that the Earth has experienced various stages of life. There have probably been several of these stages back from when Earth was first formed, up to and including today.

Of these earlier versions, we have no substantial evidence of. The last one before us, though, We do have several indicators lying around. He left it hanging, waiting for my mind to catch up. Didn't take long, although I was surprised at how easily I was accepting was possibly another one of his eccentric theories. You mean the dinosaurs, don't you? I said quietly.

His restraint somehow infecting me as well now. A small smile arranged itself on his lips again. though the sadness never left his eyes. Indeed. Those big stumbling sods before us. For the sake of clarity, I've classified them as version 5.0 of life on Earth. We are version 6.0. I now have reason to believe. What about your message?

Did you get an answer? I asked again, a bit more impatiently. Not just my message. The Earth's been sending radio signals and more, for quite a few years now. If we can find their signals, as I've proven, then they can certainly pick up ours, even the unintended ones.

What are you trying to say, Ben? That they got our messages, and they took action. I tried to swallow now in a dry throat. What action? You work in technical support. What is usually your first recommendation when something stops working correctly?

I don't know. turning it off and back on again does a trick in the majority of cases. At this, my voice trailed off as I realized what he was implying. What this said about March 25th and I lost 27 minutes and 54 seconds, Ben started laughing, trailing off into a sad cough as he saw what he'd said take hold on my mind. Then he suddenly went off on a tangent, just like the old days. And I listened despite the sick feeling. in the pit of my stomach at what I was now thinking.

Chariots of the gods. Chariots of the frigging gods. Imagine that. Aliens coming down to teach ancient civilization's new tricks. Or maybe they didn't. Maybe version 6.0 was still under warranty at that time, and part of that warranty included on-site maintenance. Hell, my money's on the Greek gods

actually being extraterrestrial consultants sent down to fix bug problems. Make you wonder which fucked up piece of code triggered Pompeii. Shut up! I suddenly raged. Maybe he was in one of those mad phases again, but I knew that he wasn't. The sane, logical part of me, didn't want any more truth.

He knew I couldn't handle anymore. I looked up, and Ben was staring at me, not in anger, but in sympathy. He settled down next to me on the beanbag, passing me a beer he'd obviously just fished out of the small fridge he kept behind his desk. I took a long swig, let my breath settle, and then passed it back. Taking this as a cue to continue, he did, but quieter this time,

less tinged with the hysterical note that it appeared to be emerging in his speech earlier, like he'd reached the peak of his madness and was now trailing off the other side. It would explain why so many people believed in pantheons of gods back in the day, alien engineers popping down to fix the system whilst we were still covered. Just like Microsoft ending support for older versions of Windows, though maybe we just passed the date where version 6.0 of life on Earth was covered, so they stopped coming. He took a swig and passed it back.

His voice now, wistful, his eyes unfocused, trying to look across the unfathomable void to where he imagined our progenitors resided. And now in this age of radio and microwave signals, the people of Earth are finally sending messages and emails that can be picked up by their gods, bemoaning this and that failure with their bodies, their families and the world around them, demanding answers. And these messages tumble out across the ether of space, picked up by some backwater tech support desk and some forgotten nebula. The number of messages reaches a critical mass, a statistical point where action must be taken, and some alien, unquote, equivalent of a high school dropout named Gary, checks a scrap of paper on his desk for the instructions to an age-old piece of software. He downed the rest of his beer.

And then turns it off and on again. Silence rained for a few minutes, during which he stood up and made another trip to the fridge, this time bringing back several more bottles. He settled back down in a bean bag and passed me one before he spoke again. I got a message back, you know. He said simply. I looked at him incredulously and then demanded.

Jesus, Ben, what did it say? His eyes were dark, pausing a long while before reaching into his back pocket and slowly unfolding a piece of paper, mumbling something about decryption software, language analysis, and word auto formatting before passing it to me. It read. Dear Earth, thank you for a preception. applying in regard to our recent query as to your ongoing happiness with your software. We passed on your multiple concerns to the relevant technical support help task. Unfortunately, ongoing support for your current version of Life 6.0 has ended.

The initial reboot of your hardware software attempted previously appears to have not resolved your issues. Therefore, we will be refreshing your system to previous stable release, Life 5.3. your contract does not include backup restoration of existing data, so all current data will be wiped post-version 5.3. Thank you for using life, and please contact us if further issues occur. Best regards. Refresh? Was all I could mutter, confusion and dread dulling my senses. Using the version numbering as a guide,

my guess is that would be resetting the earth back to the late Jurassic period. He murmured thoughtfully. Taking another swig of beer. I sent a message back, of course, asking them not to do anything. I even couched it in the proper terms. We have decided to continue with our current installation. Please do not reboot nor refresh the system. Please ignore all other bug reports unless forwarded by me.

Ben Glover, cisadmin of Earth. Hopefully they got it in time. Bug reports? Prayers. Oh, then I looked at them again. I look a disbelief obvious in my eyes. Sisadmin of Earth? Well, I had to sound like I was in charge, didn't I?

He didn't meet my gaze, but rather sheepishly kept his eyes locked on his beer bottle. Do you think they got your message? I asked hopefully after a pause. I honestly don't know. We can hope, though. By my calculations, we'll know in the next couple of hours or so. That's why I invited you over, I guess. so we can watch the end together.

Then again, we might just wink out of existence. His voice trailed off. Silence reigned again, broken only by our occasional sips. There wasn't, in all truth, very much else to say. After a while, he finished his beer, rested a gently down next to him, and then yawned expansively, leaning back on the beam bag with his hands clasped behind his head and said matter-of-factly.

Well, to be perfectly honest, I don't think the dinosaurs were given a fair enough crack of the whip the first time around. Only right, they should be given another go. I turned in disbelief to argue with him at this irresponsible attitude. And then, saw the barely suppressed laughter in his eyes.

When all was said and done, what was there left to do but wait and see what happened? Laugh at the absurdity of it all. He started. I joined in until the tears were rolling down our cheeks. And there we sat, laughing and drinking beer until our world ended. Maybe. 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 CreepyPub on Twitter, Instagram. and Facebook or email us at Gmail. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com and are protected by a creative commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.