Creepy - Why I Became an Atheist

Episode Date: July 8, 2024

Beliefs can be dangerous...***Written by: RaydiantWon***Content warning: animal death, self mutilation, blasphemy***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Why_I_Became_an_Atheist***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/***Bonus episode: "Killing Solitude" Written by: Joshua Bryant and Narrated by Nate DuFort ***Content Warning: death of horse ***Support the show 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.

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 Why I became an atheist Written by Radiant One

Atheist gets something of a bad rap When a religious person hears the word It often fills them with a sense of dread or anger Personally I believe that this is because the possibility that the God that they've dedicated their lives to being fake fills them with an empty sadness. I don't believe in God. Along with that, I don't believe in ghosts, schools, or monsters.

This isn't a story about some supernatural terror that stalks tonight. If things like that do exist, I haven't seen them. You have to understand that I'm a skeptic first. I only believe in what evidence compels me to believe. That's why I'm an atheist. What I've seen is far more terrifying than any monster. I was not always an atheist. My father and I were both very pious.

We're involved in a religious movement called The Followers of the Way. This was by no means a large group. In my time with the sect, it never reached more than 25 members, adults and children included. I know realized that this church, as we called it, was really a cult. The story I'm about to tell took place when I was about to turn 16. Dad and I had joined the movement about a year prior. After moving to the area, my father, a deeply spiritual man, was unable to find a church he liked. We felt like a couple of guys without a home.

Understand that when you're deeply entrenched in religion, it becomes the center of your life. Life without a church can feel like life without meaning. Eventually, however, he spoke to people in the right circles, and before I knew it, we were attending three weekly meetings of the followers of the way. I never had much choice in this. My father was quite strict, you see. I grew up without video games or intervie. internet. Every night after dinner and before bed, my dad and I would read scripture together and discuss

how we could enrich our connection with God. As strange as this may sound, I never really complained. My dad was a consultant with an engineering firm, so we moved a lot. I never had a lot of close friends, so he really was my closest companion. My mother died when I was 10, so all we had was each other. It was the only life I knew. My only other friend in the world before joining the followers was Bear. Bear was our giant Leonberger. If you've never seen one, these are tall, stocky dogs with great personalities. I loved Bear.

We'd gotten him shortly after Mom died. He'd helped me get through the hardest time in my life. When Dad started taking me to followers' meetings, I was struck by how different it was from any other church I'd attended growing up. We didn't actually meet in a church for one. Every meeting was in a member's house. The leader, Ross, will lead us in deep scripture lessons and prayer. Similar to many churches halfway through,

those below the age of 16 would leave the meeting to do activities befitting a younger age. For us, he usually met doing a written report on the scriptures or solitary prayer. The biggest differences, though, were in our beliefs. In our eyes, our group was the chosen circle of God's true word. The people who packed into commercial churches for an hour every Sunday were just puppets going through the religious motions. Maybe they meant well, but they were not God's true followers. We believe that we, and we alone, were predestined to enter God's glory.

I can't stress enough. that I now realize how cult like these beliefs were. But please understand. It was all I knew. Amongst the teens, we always wondered what happened after we joined the adult study. At the time, there were only four of us. Myself, 13-year-old Chris,

and the 14-year-old twins, Katie and Becky. Kids younger than 12 were deemed too young to take God seriously and typically stayed home. At that age, I never really thought about romance. Pastor Ross, as we called him, forbade it. He called it a destruction from God. Love was for adults. But looking back, I think I had a little crush on the twins.

Do you think they take communion with Christ? Like in John 6? Katie asked inquisitively after one Wednesday meeting. My mom always talks about speaking with God. She really hears him, Chris insisted. I bet that you get to talk to God once you're an adult. This was a touchy subject for me. Scripture and friends alike always talked about hearing the word of God.

Well, I was sure that I'd felt him many times. I'd never actually heard his voice. Was I not a good enough follower? Was I doing something wrong? I always felt that desire to commune with God. I yearned for it. But I never heard his voice. Nonetheless, as the oldest, I always tried to sound wise.

You guys know we'll all see soon enough. When our 16th birthdays come, we'll be in the adult group too. Easy for you to say. You turned 16, what, like two weeks? replied Becky. She was right. Even though I'd been with a group shorter than my three friends, I was going to be the one to join the adult group soon. Some nights after prayer, I would lay in bed with bear snoring lightly at my feet while thinking about what was ahead.

I tried not to give in to the sin of pride, but I was thrilled at what lay before me. Oh, you have to tell us what it's like, Chris pleaded. Just a little bit. I still have three years to wait. Before I could say anything, Becky interjected with a smile. Nah, he'll be a big, cool adult like Brad. He won't tell us anything. Yep, Katie said.

He'll probably strut around like an adult and send us away when it's time for adult study. She emphasized the word adult. I knew they were kidding. But it still made me a little sad because I knew they were right. I want to go when Brad, the twins' older brother, he turned 16, he'd stopped hanging out with us literally overnight. Part of my excitement at coming of age was getting Brad back as a friend. When Brad had his 16th birthday, it was bittersweet for me.

Of course, I was happy that my friend would get to deepen his relationship with God, but I was afraid of losing him, even for a little while. I liked Chris, Katie, and Becky well enough. but Brad was both a boy and my age. I was closest with him, and I knew he liked me a lot too. As soon as Brad and I had met, we just hit it off. Our friendship felt natural. Whenever we were together, Brad went out of his way to sit by me or make sure we work

together in group activities at meetings. I think you'd been hoping a boy as age would join the followers for a long time. He wanted a best friend. Two weeks before his birthday, he'd come to stay over in my house. He did this every once in a while. I never got to stay at his house since he had sisters, and Pastor Ross would have said it was inappropriate for me to stay there. After dinner in Scripture, we went up to my room to talk for a while before bed.

When he stayed over, I usually let him have the bed while I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor with Bear. As weird as it may sound, we talked a lot about Scripture for fun. I mentioned before that things like internet, video games, and comics were forbidden by my dad. But we had the Bible. We had our own heroes. That night we sat on my bed and talked about how cool it would have been to be there to see David fight Goliath. We went on at length about how epic the battle must have been. But in the middle of the conversation, Brad just went in another direction,

like you've been holding something in. Do you think we'll still be friends like this after we turn 16? Of course, Brad, I said. You're my best friend after Bear here. I scratched his massive head and he sighed with approval. I just, Brad paused staring at his feet. Sometimes I just want things to just stay like this. You're really important to me, and I don't want things to change.

I felt like Brad wanted to say something important, but he was struggling with the words. Hey, I said, putting my hand on his knee to get his attention. He tensed up slightly. Our birthdays are only a month apart. Even if we don't get to see each other much for that month, things will go back to normal when I turn 16. It'll be all right. Brad sat there for a while as if thinking. After a minute, he unexpectedly pulled me into a strong hug.

I really love you, he whispered into my shoulder. Hey, I love you too, brother. It would be a long time before I realized the significance of that night. After Brad's birthday, I didn't see him for a week. When I inquired, Pastor Ross told me that Brad was away, deepening his connection with God. I missed my friend immensely, but I knew that eventually I'd turn 16 and be in the loop. When Brad finally did come back, he seemed different. The first time I saw him, I ran over to give him a hug, but Brad pulled away.

In the weeks before my birthday, he just seemed off. It wasn't that he wouldn't talk to me. Rather, he just seemed to treat me like a random acquaintance. Gone was the close friendship we'd built over the year we'd known each other. I can't lie. It hurt. But I hope that pain would be short-lived with my birthday fast approaching. On the day of my 16th birthday, Dad picked me up from school, something he almost never did.

He'd left work early to spend the afternoon with me. Hey, champ, are you ready for your big day? Yeah, Dad. I can't wait. Praise God. Praise God, son. Dad was so proud of me that night. He made me feel special.

Since Mama died, we've gone through everything together. This night was a culmination of my journey into adulthood, and I knew my dad was with me every step of the way. He took me to my favorite restaurant, a local pizza joint, for an early dinner. After dinner, we went for a few rounds of bowling to kill time until our followers meeting. So far, it was turning out to be a great birthday. Within a few hours, it would be the worst day in my life.

When we arrived at Ross's house for the meeting, it was such a surreal experience. From the moment I got there, I was the center of attention. Everyone, Brad included, wished me a happy birthday. After a round of the birthday song, Pastor Ross Lettuce in Scripture, I was no doubt beaming with joy. As was customary, after an hour, the kids were dismissed. As I left, Katie jokingly said to me, see in a few years, Mr. Adult. The other grown-ups laughed as Katie, Becky, and Chris were ushered out of the room. Suddenly it felt very quiet.

I looked around and realized that everyone was looking intently at me. Dad came up behind me. Ready, kiddo? He asked. Yes, sir? At that, Pastor Ross walked right up to me. His tall build loomed nearly a foot over me. Let's step outside for a minute while everyone else gets ready for the ceremony.

I want to talk to you alone first. I looked at dad, confused. ceremony. I didn't realize how formal this really was. I was suddenly overly cautious of my scuffed shoes, t-shirt, and old blue jeans. But Dad just gave me a thumbs up and I headed outside with Pastor Ross. We went on a short walk around Ross's ranch house. Pastor Ross lived out in the country.

The area was rather secluded and surrounded by trees. Some people might be scared at the prospect walking in the woods with an old. older man, but I trusted Pastor Ross completely. As we walked the circle of the property, I never lost sight of the house. Do you know what it means to be a servant of God, son? He asked me. I thought about it for a moment, wondering if this was some sort of test. Well, it's living our lives wholly for his glory.

That's right, Pastor Ross said. Ross was a very charismatic man who's very good at making he feel loved by God. On top of that, he made all of us feel like we belonged to the followers as a family. He put his arms up and continued. Our lives are meant to glorify the Creator. We were created in his divine image to exemplify his name among the heathens who abandoned him. You mean all the sinners and evil people? I asked.

His arms went down. Yes, but also those who believe they follow. They drag his holy name through the dirt by claiming to follow our Lord God above. I became a little uncomfortable at this. Pastor Ross, I'm curious. I know that we're God's children, but why can't people outside the followers of the way be godly people as well? Ross stopped and turned to face me. Do not forget, son, what is said in Matthew 7,

but small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it. Never forget that we are those few. All others who carries God name do so without sanction. Yeah, I know you're right, I said. I just feel sad for everyone. going to hell. You have a big heart,

Ross replied. Use it to grow a family in the church and glorify God's name. We nearly circled the property. The main reason I brought you out here was to ask you a question. I'm sure your father and the others are nearly done setting up. You've been a good child of God this past year. But are you ready to make the sacrifice needed to be a man of God.

He put his heavy hand on my shoulder. Sacrifices? At the time, I thought he meant charity, or some sort of community service. Yes, Pastor Ross, I am. He smiled and let me back inside. The door to the room where a meeting was being held was shut, but Brad was waiting for me.

Pastor Ross nodded to Brad, then slipped into the meeting room. Wait up a minute, Brad said to me, I want you to know that I'm sorry things have been weird. I'm really happy that now we can be brothers in Christ again. I smiled at him. I was happy too. He looked at me and said, Happy birthday, and swung the door open.

And then my childhood ended. Pastor Ross, my dad, Brad, and the twins' parents, and a few other adults were in the room. The shades had all been drawn, and the only illumination came from several dozen candles which were all around the room. Brad entered behind me and closed the door. Welcome, brother, said Pastor Ross. Tonight you are a man of God. I was scared. I wasn't sure why at first, but something about this unnerved me to my core.

The room was almost unrecognizable. Gone was the comfortable living room we typically met in. If I had ever seen a horror movie, I might have likened it to some sort of demonic altar. The dim lighting drew the shadows of the room long. They seemed to darken everyone's faces. Perhaps because of the darkened. darkness, I only now realize that my dad was holding a leash. At the end of that leash was Bear.

Dad, what's going on? Why is Bear here? Pastor Ross spoke up before my dad could respond. To be a true follower of the way means we are all one family. And families trust each other. Love each other. But mostly, we hold each other accountable. To truly commune with God, we must purge ourselves of sin.

That is why we are all here. I looked around the room. Dad was smiling while Bear rested at his feet. Brad stood beside me. Pastor Ross's gaze never left my face. I noticed a one-handed remain behind his back since I'd entered the room. It is a sin to put any of the same. Anything else before God, son?

Pastor Ross said, that is why the animal is here. Both your father and brother, Brad, have told us that you put this beast before God. God must always come first in our lives. To be a true follower, we have all had to purge ourselves of our sin. Be that pride, adultery, or in your case, create a true follower. a false idol, didn't know what was happening. My happy little world was crashing in on me. I was acutely aware that I was shaking.

My breath quickened. What had I done wrong? Pastor Ross walked up to me and pulled his hand out from behind his back, revealing a large chef's knife. It is time for you to absolve yourself of your sins. As is said in Paul's letter to the Romans, the way. Ages of sin, his death. It took a moment before I realized what he was saying.

I absentmindedly took the knife from his hand before it sunk in. Wait, what? Bear? You want me to... My chest started heaving. Hot tears welled in my eyes. But no, that's crazy. Bear's a good boy.

But I never put him before God. But he's my friend. You can't ask me to... I fell to my knees. Bear looked up at me and tried to walk over to me. My dad pulled him back. Son? Dad said, you must.

We all must give things up in the name of God. I lost your mother so many years ago. That was my punishment for living a sin. life when I was your age. Pastor Ross has helped me see that. I know that this is hard, but we must stand firm and resolute in the eyes of God. But Dad... I was bawling now.

This was too much. I couldn't comprehend what I was hearing. They were asking me to sacrifice Bear in the name of God. But I loved Bear. Without Bear, I never would have made it through Mom's death. He'd given me so much and only asked for my love in return. Could I really do this? I realized that Brad had not down beside me.

I know how hard this is. Cleansing sin is so difficult because Satan has a hold on you. Like he did me. I... He paused as if looking for the right words. I was filled with a sinful lust, a lust that would have torn our friendship apart. That was my sin.

It was evil and it nearly consumed me. But with Pastor Ross's help and that knife, I removed my lust. And then I saw God. I really saw Him. My head swam. My entire world was crumbling. What was this?

I felt like a lot of God. I couldn't handle the information coming into my head. In that moment, I just sat there, my gaze alternating from bearer to the knife. I was in shock. A faint numbness settled in, almost as though I wasn't really there. It wouldn't last. Pastor Ross stepped between my father and I and knelt in front of me. To commune with God, you must be free of sin.

I felt my grip on the knife tighten. For a moment, I actually considered it. I had told Pastor Ross that my life belonged to God. It was my duty to see that nothing stood before him. I was a follower of the way, but then I saw Bear. He was looking right at me, painting slightly with that big dog smile that I still loved at this day. This was my best friend. He loved me unconditionally.

I could no more hurt him than myself. The knife slipped from my fingers and clattered to the ground. I can't. The atmosphere in the room grew tense. It was silent for some time. I just stared at the floor waiting for what came next. Everyone seemed to have shifted. They were looking at Pastor Ross, waiting to see how he'd respond.

Ross eyed me, deciding how to handle the situation. He hunched over and picked up the knife. You seem sure. He said quietly. Then he violently grabbed my arm and said coldly, then if you choose to abandon God, you will forever wear the mark of the beast. With surprising strength, Ross pinned my left arm down. fully understood what was happening.

He slowly went about carving into my arm. The pain was blinding. The heat of the knife seared through my body. I tried to ink my arm away, but Ross's strength was significant. What hurt the most, though, was my father. Standing there, watching this happen. He did nothing to stop his only son from being mutilated. Even after I gave up resisting,

Ed stood there. Emotionless. When Ross was done, I looked down at my arm. To my horror, he truly had marked me as evil. Three deep sixes had been carved into my flesh down to the muscle. Blood ran down my arm and pooled on the floor below me. I bore the mark of the beast. Why?

I sobbed as I fell to the floor. I knew I was finished. I was done with a group. I'd failed. I lay there in agony as Ross spoke. You are the evil of the world, boy, and I cast you out of this fellowship and out of my home. But before that, I must finish God's work. He bent down, inches from my face, and whispered so that only I could hear,

God's will be done. Ross's arm whipped back and flash. I realized too late what he'd meant. In his eyes, he had to vanquish the evil beast of Satan, which stood in his own home. I peered over his shoulder and saw the silver steel blade of the knife already embedded deep with him bare's skull. He fell unceremoniously in a heap on the groan. I would eventually tell myself that it had been fast. I'm sure Bear felt nothing.

It had been a quick death, and he didn't suffer. In the moment, though, my arm was completely forgotten. The agony I felt in my heart was a torrent of complete pain. I shoved past Ross and grabbed Bear's head. In that moment, I lay there cradling him. My face burned as tears streamed down. Part of me died that night. I heard Ross say to my father,

get the monster out of my house. I had no doubt he was talking about me. Together they forced me off a bear. I tried to resist to hold on to my bear. Between my wound and their adult strength, I couldn't fight him. I was forced out of the house and into our car. Dad drove me home in silence,

but I didn't shed any more tears. Not in front of him. In that moment, I had lost all capacity to feel. When we got home, I went straight to my bedroom. Several minutes later, my father came in. He held a first-aid kit in his hand. My father had always been there for me. He was my constant.

Even now, our finite of pizza and bowling thousands of miles away, I still wanted him to tell me it'll be okay. You'll need this. He said curtly before tossing the first-day kid on my bed. He turned his back to leave but paused at my door. Everything's packed by morning. And may God have mercy on your wretched soul. After that, I heard him leave the house, climb into his car, and speed off.

I did my best to wrap my wound. It was a sloppy job, but it would keep me from bleeding to death in my sleep. That was no professional, though. I had no stitches or anything else to fix myself. I knew I would bear these scars forever. I did as instructed and packed up anything meaningful, which didn't amount to much. One suitcase filled with some clothes and a picture of me with bear when he was a puppy. To this day, it's still my prize possession.

I didn't pack my Bible. Finally, I called into bed. Instinctively, I looked down at the foot of my bed where bear usually slept. At that point, my sobs came freely. I mourned everything that I had lost that night. My church, my friend, my father, my bear. I had always been a good, godly person. I saw the best in everyone.

I'd never been in a fight. I'd never had any bad feelings towards anyone in my life. That night, I experienced hate for the first time. I hated Pastor Ross. I hated my father. I hated God. Despite what happened to me all those years ago, I like to think that I'm an optimist at heart.

So I want to end this story on a positive note. The next morning I went downstairs to find not my father but my aunt and uncle. It turned out my father's sister, whom I'd only seen a few times, had always disapproved of my overly religious upbringing. At some point in the night, my father called her and asked if I could move in with him. He told her that I was a rebellious teenager who needed a change of scenery. Despite his lies, she knew me better than that. She told me that she was worried I might be in trouble and flew out that night.

24 hours after the worst moment of my life, I was three states away. I never saw my father again. My aunt and uncle were kind people. She was a science teacher at the local high school and he was a journalist at the local paper. I never gave them the sick details of my falling out with dad and they didn't ask. They took me in as their own. They were the embodiment of the normal Sunday churchgoers I grew up looking down on. I was so ashamed of myself when I realized how good these people really were.

How could I have been so blind? I loved learning about science from my aunt. Growing up, my dad, I always tried to suppress my enjoyment of the subject. Two years after my ordeal, I went to college with a planned major in microbiologists. I had difficulty making friends in high school, but my first college roommate, Rick, and I headed off. It wasn't until I realized that he was gay that I put the pieces of Brad's puzzle together. Brad had loved me. That revelation hurt more than I thought I had the capacity for after that night.

What hurt even more was the nightmares. In the dream, I was back in the room. Only now it was just me, Pastor Ross, and my dad. Bear was already lying dead on the floor. I was standing there naked. Ross and dad were chanting, Remove your sin, remove your sin, remove your sin, remove your sin, over and over again.

The knife was in my hand. I would slowly lower the blade to my crotch. But before I cut myself, before I mutilated myself as Brad had, I woke screaming. What still burns inside me is that part of me still Mrs. Brad. Despite the circumstances of that night, I never hated or even blamed him. He was a kid, like I was. We were indoctrinated, brainwashed by our church.

I wish I could go back and save him, but I'm sure he's too far gone now. A few months into college, I met Amy at an on-campus family abuse support group. I could never bring myself to share, but it felt good to listen to others. Amy had been beaten up pretty regularly by her alcoholic mother as a kid. She was everything I never thought I deserved. She was beautiful, smart, but most of all, kind before I knew what we were dating. Things moved quickly between us. After we made love for the first time, she noticed the 666 scars carved into my arm.

I started telling her a bogus story about doing it myself, but... Then I broke down into tears and told her the truth. The entire truth. I'd never told anybody that. Most girls would have run after something like that. We hardly knew each other. But Amy just held me and let me cry. She made it easier somehow.

Talking made it easier. After that night, the frequency of the nightmare has declined drastically. I guess that brings us back to the beginning. Eventually, I came to view myself as an atheist. Because no loving God could ever allow the horrors that came to me that night. No God could let a group of so-called religious people mutilate defenseless kids and get away with it. I could also go into my scientific reason for my atheism, but that isn't the point of this story. It's been five years since that night.

Next year when I finish college, Amy and I are getting married. My roommate Rick will be my best man, and my aunt and uncle will be there for me. I have a new family now, and that's all I've ever wanted. I still have that picture of myself with Bear on my nightstand. I miss him every day. To this day, I'm still haunted by the past. I recently saw a flyer on my college campus for a meeting of the followers of the way. It couldn't be the same group.

Could it? It got me thinking, though. Chris, Katie, Becky, and Brad are all college age now. They went off to college. Surely they'd want to spread their sick gospel. I know I would have. The reason I put this out there is a warning. If you choose to attend a church or a religious club, be careful.

I know most are harmless and mean well. But remember, there are no monsters, no evil ghouls, men can be evil. Ideologies can be evil. And both can scar you for life. For your bonus episode, creepy presents, killings. Solitude, written by Joshua Bryant and narrated by Nate Dufort. When I was three days deep in the mountains, I finally allowed myself to feel relieved. No more human sounds, sights, or smells, not even a sign of human touch, just the great red

mountain walls and the towering broadleaf trees. The buzz of blue bottles and gnats during the day, the tunes of crickets and owls at night. The clouds missed at the peaks, and I was alone with it all. Well, not exactly alone. Cobb was with me, and he was about the only company I could stomach. Cobb was the best horse I'd ever thrown a saddle on, a short-legged palomino with a Morgan neck. He could go anywhere you needed him too.

without argument. He'd been with me 17 years. I'd gotten him when he was three. For the longest time, he was a cold back son of a gun. Every time I swung up into the saddle, I knew I'd best take a deep seat and a faraway look. He could air it out as bad as any bronc I'd ever worked with. Even in his old age, he could thump a dude on his ass without much effort at all. That being said, if a man man could ride him, he'd soon learned old Cobb was one of the best cowhorses around. I'd ridden him through some tough situations, and he never got me in a bad way. So, when I decided I'd had enough of the world, it wasn't a difficult decision to take him with me. I tied my bedroll to the saddle, stuffed a bag full of the necessaries, and Cobb and me rode off into the

mountains. Three days we went up and down the trails, made our way through the thicket, drank from creeks and springs that bubbled out of the rock. It felt real, and I didn't have to answer to any boss or cop or any other would-be authority. It felt like shrugging off a load of chains that had been swinging around my neck all my life. But really? The best thing was that I didn't have the eyes on me anymore. All the eyes peeking around corners, from out of windows, from passing crowds, and from behind all the lying smiles. All those eyes watching and all those ears listening and all those minds tinkering with unknown thoughts and desires. Not announce any of that in the mountains and forests. Just what's real. I made camp on top of a grassy hill under the branches of an

old oak tree. I'd set up my little stretch of canvas to keep the weather off and hobbled cobs so he could graze without wandering off. I stretched out on my back, boots off, shirt untucked, and I breathed my relief up at the sky. The sun was hiding behind a wandering cloud and the coolness was soft on my skin. I had my carbine in the grass next to me in case there was bears around, but I felt, pretty damn safe and dozed off real quick. And I suffered a terrible nightmare. It was too strange to recall, too confusing to really even describe, but it was so bad that I woke up screaming.

It was well into the night and it was very cold. It was like a sudden winter chill it rose up and out of the ground to hang heavy in the air, but I was sweating. My head was spinning. The nightmare had me so shook up, I couldn't even look up at the starry sky without feeling like something was staring down at me. I held my head and tried to calm down.

Kept telling myself it was just a fool dream. Nothing to it but stray thoughts and riled emotions. It would have been easier if the night animals were talking, but everything was quiet. Even the leaves didn't stir. and I had this strange feeling that I needed to match the silence that if I was too loud, something would notice me. I was getting sick on that fear.

My stomach began rolling, threatening to throw what it held up in my throat. I moaned and glanced at the trees to make sure nothing was leaping out at me. There was just the still shadows in the deep of night. Then my eyes fell on Cobb. He was standing nearby, still hobbled, but he wasn't grazing anymore. His head was low when his sides were rising and falling like he was in pain. Quickly I put my boots back on and staggered over to my horse, clutching at my twisting stomach. When I got to him, I put a palm on his neck and felt that he was trembling.

My heart sank a little. I walked my bag and got a rope halter. I went on back to Cobb, undid the hobbles, and put the halter on his head. I led him a few steps, and he coughed. Snot exploded out of his nostrils and under the grass where it steamed and glistened in the moonlight. I'd seen plenty of things grosser than that my life, but for some reason, the sight of his snot made me gag. Suddenly, I was bent double and throwing up hard. It hurt, too, like I'd a pile of nails in my stomach.

I screamed as I heaved, came up and splattered on the ground. Stumbling back a little, I stared at it. It looked like milk, but there were these little hard objects in it. Shook my head, wiped the sweat from out of my eyes. I couldn't believe what I was looking at. Couldn't believe what I'd thrown up. I groaned and backed away. a little, pulling Cobb with me. Still staring at them. All 32, I whispered to myself.

No, it's impossible. No, those teeth couldn't have been inside me? I glanced at Cobb as if he'd give me an answer. He was looking back at me, half-litted and tired. Without wasting any more time, I picked up the camp, saddled Cobb up, and rode him slowly. away from the set of human teeth that I'd puked up. I didn't push him hard. He was still sick himself. I hadn't stopped sweating and my head hadn't stopped spinning, but I wasn't about to spend a night next to something so horrible. I rode into the trees following a deer trail that took us deep into the forest and led to a fast-running creek a few miles away. Here we stopped and I unloaded everything, but I didn't try to sleep.

I squatted between the roots of a fallen tree, resting my carbine across my knees, and staring out into the night. I tied Cobb up a few feet away, and he wasn't doing any better. And the forest and mountains were still too damn quiet. Even the creek water seemed only to be whispering. I was fully awake when the sun rose.

With the breaking of the golden sun rays through the trees, songbirds steadily began waking up. A gentle breeze came out of the east, smelling sweet with moisture. In the creek I saw trout swimming through the clear water. Cobbs started pawing at the ground. Looking over at him, I saw that his head was up and his eyes were soft. He was looking back at me and I knew he was wanting breakfast. I placed my car being aside and stood up. I'd expected to be exhausted, but with the morning all around me and my horse feeling better,

I couldn't help but feel refreshed myself. I breathed deep and stretched my arms and legs. I even started thinking the whole experience from the night before there only been a dream. The sort of final gasp my fears had let out. I walked over to Cobb and untied them. I led him over to a nice patch of grass and hobbled him again. Immediately, the old horse started grazing.

I smiled and patted his shoulder. My stomach growled and I walked over to my pack. But as I grabbed a can of pork and beans, a better idea jumped into my mind. I wanted to go hunt my breakfast, not eat it cold out of a can. So I got my carbine, filled up a bottle of water,

and set out from camp. I moved quietly, ears and eyes at full attention. The forest was alive with sounds that were clear and peaceful. Squirrels were barking as they hop from branch to branch. Birds were singing and chattering to one another, and big red dragonflies swooped through the air, snapping up slow-moving mosquitoes. I let myself feel a part of it all.

I was walking around 15 minutes before I caught sight of the cotton tail I saw it munching on a little mound of moss at the base of a smooth boulder keeping myself as quiet as possible I kneeled down behind a little stand of saplings looking through the young trees I brought my carbine to my shoulder the cotton tail was fat and healthy completely oblivious to my presence I lined up my sights Took a breath

And let half out And I squeezed the trigger The bullet took the cotton tail In the side spinning it about It took three long jumps forward Before rolling to the ground It started kicking And screaming

I dropped my gun and clamp my hands Over my ears The rabbit was screaming in a man's voice Loud, shrill and agonized From the corners of my eyes I saw a quick pink flash move behind a tree. It had only been for a second, but the outline of the moving form was unmistakably human. I grabbed up my carbine and brought it again to my shoulder. I pointed it toward the tree I'd seen the person dart behind.

The rabbit scream had faded down to a gravely moan, but it was still horribly human-like. I tried my best to ignore it. there? I yelled. Nothing answered. I breathed hard out my nose. My eyelids were trembling and my trigger finger was awful flinchy. I called out again and my voice broke. Still, nothing answered. The rabbit finally died, but there wasn't silence. I could hear a sort of distant murmur. It wasn't an animal sound either. From every direction. it came, a low talking that couldn't be anything other than a group of people. My skin went cold. I couldn't make out any words. It was too far away for that, but it was like

a dozen or more people were all in the middle of a conversation just out of my sight. I was breathing fast out of my mouth at that point. My heart was pattering quick. I was getting lightheaded with fear. I screamed even louder. Who's there? None of the voices answered me. They just continued mindlessly talking to each other. Then another glimpse of movement caught my attention. I spun and squeezed off around in panic. Gunshot was swallowed by the forest. The bullet struck a tree stump.

I was surrounded, being toyed with. A crowd was somewhere out there watching me, playing with me, laughing at my fear. I gripped my teeth and stood up, firing my gun blindly in the trees until I was out of bullets. I didn't hear any cries of pain. The murmur just kept right on going, as if I didn't exist at all. I had to get away from it. I turned around and started running back towards my camp. I stumbled and crashed through the tree branches and bushes.

Thorns tore into my clothes and scratched to my skin. I lost my hat. As I ran, the murmur got quieter and quieter. By the time I'd gotten back, the voices were all gone, but I was still dead afraid. I skidded down next to my pack and got a box of cartridges. With desperate hands, I reloaded my carbine. I kept my head on a swivel, eyes darting from one shadow to the next, but nothing moved or made a sound.

The squirrels and songbirds seemed to have fled, leaving only the sunlight to remind me that things have been peaceful, only a short time before. The stillness, the suffocating quiet. It was insufferable, as if there was a cage slowly getting smaller and smaller all around me. All I could do was pretend that I could see it, pretend that I could hear it, pretend that I had some tiny control over something. It was enough to make me lose my head. My lips were trembling, my eyes dry, sweat was burning out of my cold skin.

I looked down at the carbine in my hands. Look down at the black barrel and the lever and the trigger, I swallowed the dry lump in my throat and slowly turned the gun. I pressed the end of the barrel under my chin, put my thumb on the trigger. I closed my eyes. Behind me, Cobb let out a long and pitiful groan. Then I heard him fall heavily under the ground. Opening my eyes, I turned around and saw that the old, horse was on his side, breathing heavily out of wide nostrils. I called out to him, my voice frantic.

As I stumbled over, Cobb stretched his neck out and placed his head on the ground. One look into his cloudy eyes and I knew he was dying. My fear was forgotten for a moment. A cold feeling washed over me from head to heels like a douse of ice water. Somewhere in the forest I heard three or four people laugh. I looked the trees around me The leaves look like Liddless green eyes I saw faces in the twisted surfaces of the bark At my feet

I listened to Cobbs dying breath When the old cow horse had finally given it up I sank to my knees I leaned forward Ran my fingers through his mane Felt the coolness of his skin Looked into his faded eye The distant laughter burst out again, mocking me.

Suddenly angry, I stood up and yelled at the hidden people. I didn't use any words, just screamed all my hate and fear and sadness at them. I did it while pointing my gun at each tree and the spaces between them. I so badly wanted to see a body or a head so I could blow it away. When my outburst was over, my arms drooped to my sides. My head sank and tears filled my eyes. I'd never felt so low, never felt so completely defeated. Behind me, I heard skin being ripped open.

Without even having to look, I knew something was happening to Cobb, something horrible. I could hear blood spilling. I could smell it. It took a few steps forward before turning around. I couldn't scream at what I had. saw. All I could do was let out a shaky breath. Dozens of pale hands were squirming their way out of holes ripped in Cobb's stomach, fingers bright with blood. A few arms emerged, flopping back and forth to widen the tears made in the horse's flesh. Gradually, as the holes were made bigger,

I started to see faces. Men and women both, all without expression. Their eyes glistened. and were every shade of brown, green, and blue. Their hair was slick with Cobb's blood and clung to their bare shoulders. There was a horde of them. I watched as they started to crawl out of my horse's gut. They crowded against each other, even mashing those that didn't get up fast enough underfoot. It was like a great flood of maggots falling out of a corpse.

They stared at me with unfocused eyes, their lips loosely drawn down in meaningless frowns. Some of them talked, but it didn't make sense to me. After a long time, I dropped my carbine and fell down. I felt my stomach and a hand touched mine through the skin. I let out a sob. The crowd began breaking up. There was only a few at first.

They just turned their heads away from me as if bored and left. They disappeared into the trees. talking their gibberish at each other. Soon, others began following them. I listened as they formed groups and started up conversation. Their low, constant voices made a buzz through the forest. A strain to a sitting position, clutching at my suddenly bulging stomach. I looked over at Cobbs spayed open body.

They had killed my horse and were now killing. me. None were looking at me anymore. I couldn't understand the purpose. I could hear them all laughing, but it wasn't laughter directed at me. It was the kind of laughter friends share over lunch. I couldn't understand their words, but I knew that I wasn't what any of them were talking about. They'd completely forgotten about me. A sudden pain exploded from my stomach, forcing me onto my back. I looked down and saw my stomach thrashing under my shirt. I felt them scratching away in there, tearing at my skin the same way they'd torn at cobs. It was too painful to even scream.

They pushed so hard, the buttons of my shirt popped off and went flying into the leaf litter. I saw my own stomach rising in front of me like a white tent made of skin. I saw hands and arms and faces pressed hard against the inside of me, straining to burst out. I screamed when they ripped me open. Blood misted my vision. I heard my voice as if I was hovering above my body, head turned away from the hideous sight.

In those final fading moments, I saw the pale faces staring at me from out of the red. They were not smiling. They were not scowling. They were not angry or hateful. They didn't care. So why couldn't they leave me alone? 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.