Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep17: Episode 17: The Diary of a Madman

Episode Date: February 18, 2021

3 stories to spark the darkest corners of your imagination! A huge thank you to tonight's two fantastic sponsors: Get three months extra free access to much more online at https://www.expressvpn.com/creep Claim your super high-quality trial shaving set for just £4.95 at https://www.harrys.com/creep Today’s first fantastic tale of terror is ‘Diary of a Downward Spiral’, an original work by Joe dog 93, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/JoeDog93/ Today’s second phenomenal work is ‘Ehrenmord’, an original work by Grief 557, also kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/Grief557/ Tonight’s final epic macabre tale is ‘Dr. Mark’s Final Seminar’, an original story By Ryan Kinkor, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/RTKGuy/ 

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. It is said that words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality. Three terrifying tales to impress the mind for you this evening. Our first fantastic tale of terror is Diary of a Downward Spiral by Joe Dog 93.

That's followed by Erin Maud, by Grief 557. And we round off this evening with Dr. Mark's final seminar by Ryan Kinkal. Now as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's podcast may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violent and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Personal Diary of Felicity Beaumont, March 21st. Dear Diary.

Oh, God, I haven't done something like this since I was a little girl. it just sounds so silly coming from me now. It's amazing how life can change in the blink of an eye. A couple of months back, I was in peak physical and condition, training to run a marathon. Now I'd be lucky to hobble to the bathroom. How did this all happen? That's a good question. I can hardly remember myself.

The last thing I remember is visiting a friend's house for a Christmas party. And then waking up in the ICU barely being able to. able to move. To my understanding, black ice was the copriets. I guess it was the airbag that saved my life, or what was left of it. So, here I am now. Doctors recommended that I start writing things down. They say it will help me better keep my emotions and check, and maybe even jog my memory. Jog my memory. Maybe I should choose my words a little more carefully. Everyone tells me, how lucky I am to be alive. But you know what?

That's bullshit. I'm supposed to tell the truth here, if only here. Anyone who thinks we're lucky for just existing is too stupid to understand that there are in fact worse things than dying. I haven't slept well for months now. The funny thing about tossing and turning

is that you don't start to appreciate it until you can't do it anymore. And I keep hearing voices, coming from upstairs. When I finally do get to sleep, I'm haunted by hellish nightmares of the accident. The same horrifying images played on loop each time. My body being meshed and compressed

along with the cold, hard steel from the car, my body and it forming some kind of demented sandwich. Every morning I wake up and spend a good minute or so trying to force myself out of bed, eager to pour myself a cup of coffee and take on the day. The sight of my bed-saws and the agonising pain that comes with them stack me back to reality really quick. Okay, okay, enough negativity for today. I have to remember what the psychologist said.

Try your best to focus on the positive. Well, I hate to break it to you, Doc. Once you've been run off the row going 70 miles an hour, a rose-tinted spectacles you've been wearing your entire life tend to turn to shit. So here I am now, laying in a hospital bed set up in my family room. I can't even go upstairs to my own bedroom. With a string of burglaries that's been going on lately, anyone could get in here in the middle of the night. I'd be completely helpless.

My husband, Jack, said he'd take care of it, though, and make sure nothing happens to me. In the very least, I guess I do in fact have him to be thankful. for. I tell you what, if it wasn't for him, I don't know what I would have done. The poor thing was in the passenger seat that night. He'd had too much to drink that night and was riding shotgun. I've seen pictures of what's left of the car, and believe me when I tell you that that side took the brunt of it. The luck on my hubby though, other than some bumps and bruises, he'll be back to his old self in no time. Even though he wasn't driving, I think he still feels a little guilty for what happened.

He has to work a lot, but he made sure to get me the most expensive caretaker he could find to watch over me when he can't be there. She seems great, I'll give her that. But for the money, I would think she would have a slightly better attendance record. What was her name again? Alexa, something or other. My mind is drawing a blank right now,

although the doctors won't admit it I think this medicine is fucking with my head always has but what can I do I've got to take it asthma and a bedridden patient is a big no-no the last thing I need is to catch pneumonia

that goodness for Jack and Alexa they make sure I never miss a dose well I think that's enough for now I'm kind of tired hopefully I won't need this hospital bed much longer I miss going upstairs and sleeping next to Jack it's too bad this damn hospital bed was only built for one

March 28th Dear diary No You know what Dear God I wish I was dead Why couldn't he just kill me and be done with it There's a lot of things I can put up with

but there is a limit to this nightmarriage hell that I'm willing to endure. Did I even tell you I can't even wipe my own ass anymore? Nurse or no nurse. I don't care if you have a whole squad of caretakers on standby. Words cannot even begin to describe how much that hurts your pride. But wait, there's more. I had myself a little accident today. Alexis sat me up on the toilet today to do my business.

Everything was going okay until the telephone started to ring. I don't know what possessed her to do this, but she left me in there alone while she ran to get it. I wound up falling at a weird angle, banging my face against the sink. Now I looked like I went 15 rounds with Mike Tyson. The three of us had a talk about it when Jack got home from work. Turns out she was under orders from him to make sure the phone got answered.

I guess he was expecting an important phone call I'm glad to know Jack's job takes precedent over me it's nice to know where I stand where I stand look at me there I go again I talked to him about it after she left he apologised profusely and promised that from now on

Alexa is under no circumstances to talk on the phone when I'm in her care that was all I got and I'm sorry and an assurance that it wouldn't happen again my head was killing me and he didn't even offer to massage my neck or anything

he told me he would have his Amazon echo to remind him to pick up some cream for my eye I don't think Jack realizes that I can still remember where he keeps his gun he's lucky I can't get up out of his bed for myself this room could use some redecorating and I think my brains would be the perfect shade of red. I'm no gun expert. And I did in fact take a photography class in high school.

A general idea is basically the same. You just point and shoot. April 20th. Dear, you know what? Forget it. That was too childish. Down to business. Sorry it's been so long since I last wrote. I promised the doctor, I try to maintain a more consistent schedule. It's all been for good reason, though, I assure you. Sorry about my last post. I was in a very dark place, but I've had some good long sessions with my psychologist,

and after a swift medication change, I think I'll be okay. Plus, where my future once seemed bleak and uncertain, I now have a glimmer of hope. I've been working extra hard, both at physical therapy and back at home here with Alexa I'm proud to report

that some of my movement has started to come back I'm now able to hoist myself up in bed and sit up for a little bit the doctors were very pleased with me I said if I keep this up it might even be able to walk again granted it would most likely be with a cane and I wouldn't be running a marathon any time soon

but it would be so nice to be able to walk upstairs again to get to sleep in my own bed. Unfortunately, that's where the good news stocks. I wish Jack would have been more excited. He barely said two words on the ride home. He was too preoccupied with his own damn phone. Must have taken us 20 extra minutes to get home. We hit every goddamn red light on the way.

If he wasn't checking a text, he was yelling into that stupid thing. Siri, do this. Siri remind me about that. Talk to me, you son of a bitch. I might have banged my head a little in the accident, but I'm not an idiot. I'm your wife. Let me help you. Take your eyes off the damn phone and talk to me.

At least, tell me who you're texting. That might be something to talk about. But no. He's been so secretive lately, and I can't stand it. Ever since the accident, he's been this way. He says he loves me, but his heart just isn't in it. At first, I was grateful he got Alexa to help me out. But now I'm starting to think it was just more convenient for him to pay someone

rather than deal with me himself. I don't know. I guess I'm done for now. I'm exhausted. Those damn voices won't let up. April 27th. I haven't been sleeping well lately. Remember about the voices I was hearing.

I feel like they're getting louder. I didn't get to sleep until about 5 a.m. this morning. Jack keeps saying he doesn't hear anything. I don't know he can't. I swear they must be coming right from our room. Keeps telling me that I'm just dreaming it. And I can tell the difference between dreams and reality. I'm only having one dream.

and it's still the nightmare of the accident. And these voices are all too real. One of these days, I'll be strong enough to get out of this bed, and I'm going to confront them. I know that I'm not crazy. Maleksa didn't show up today. According to Jack, she wasn't feeling well, so it was just the two of us.

I must admit, today he did seem to be a bit more attentive than normal. we actually had a halfway pleasant day even though I was pretty tired he actually managed to take my mind off it he was just like he was when he carried me through the door when we first bought the house and he placed me into the passenger seat of his convertible we had a pleasant drive in the country

and for dinner he took me where we had our first date he apologized for being so tied up with work lately and presented me with a bottle of perfume both as a gift for doing so well with my therapy and an apology. The bottle was partially empty, but I didn't care. This stuff isn't easy to find anymore. He said he got it at a garage sale. He knows how much I love the old-fashioned stuff.

At least he was thinking of me. I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. I think that's enough for now. It's nice not being able to sleep from excitement. I never thought I'd feel this way again. April 28th. God damn it. Son of a bitch, I can't believe it.

Does you think I'm some kind of idiot or something? I refuse to put up with this. Alexa came back to work today. She smelled awfully familiar. I cannot believe that I didn't notice this before. That bitch was wearing perfume. The same kind that Jack claimed. he'd found for me. Oh, I'll bet he looked really hard all right. I can't believe I didn't see it

before. Alexis absences, Jack's clandestine phone calls, him being constantly preoccupied. Those voices, I wasn't imagining them at all, and that bastard tried to have me thinking maybe I really was imagining it. I'm not going to stand for this, literally. If I wasn't determined to walk again before. For sure now. I'm not going to let him make a fool out of me. He will pay for this. May 26th.

I think this will be my last entry for a while. Sorry I've been gone so long again. I had to take some time to myself. It's all been worth it, but... Unfortunately for my husband, my dreams have been coming in nice and clear lately. I remember everything now. That night of the accident,

my husband was in the passenger seats. After he put himself there, one of us drank too much that night, and it was him. I was never the designated driver. I've been training harder than I ever thought possible, both at therapy and here at home. I decided to put my sleepless nights to good use and get in some extra exercise.

No one knows this. Not Alexa. Not my husband. Nobody. I can walk again. I've had to hide it from everyone. I'm not in tip-top shape yet. My balance is very shaky and I'm not the fastest. But I think I can do the stairs. I can hear the two of them talking up there right now. I think I'll drop in and pay them a little visit. Oh boy, are they going to be surprised? I found where Jack moved his gun. I guess he wasn't as good as hiding as he thinks he is.

It's time to end this. I hope he burns in hell for what he did to me. To whoever reads this first, my doctor, the authorities, I'm sorry, but this was the only way. The following day, this is the Channel 7 News Bulletin special. We begin tonight with the tragic story of a domestic abuse situation turned deadly. 32-year-old Felicity Beaumont was found dead late yesterday afternoon, after her caretaker arrived late for a shift,

to find her laying motionless at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a 9-millimeter pistol in her hands. her husband, 34-year-old Jack Bowman, was found clinging to life in the couple's bedroom after suffering a severe gunshot wound to the chest. When he was discovered, he could still be heard muttering into his Amazon echo saying,

Alexa, dial 911. Authorities believe Ms. Beaumont who have been brandishing the firearm when she slipped down the stairs, causing her to break her neck. As an avid fan of horror, I like to keep up to date. with all the latest horror TV shows and movies.

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We now move on to our second phenomenal work. Aaron Maud by Grief 557. I feel like I should post this all now, as this may be my only chance to tell any one of my experiences here. I'm covered in blood, and I'm sure the cops are going to come as soon as the next shift shows up. First off, my name's John Miller, and I began working at Whispering Grove University as a night security guard about six months ago,

after an interesting stint of government work, details of which I probably shouldn't disclose here. It was an easy job, and it paid enough to live on. I figured I could use some normalcy, though. Well, normalcy is what I got up until recently. I was supposed to patrol the campus and verify that all of the doors were locked. The rest of the time I could just mess around and more or less do whatever I wanted, as long as every so often I walked around the campus.

Like I said, easy. being a school however i wasn't allowed to carry any weapons of course i felt naked without my knife so everything was fine and dandy until about a week ago that's when i started to hear footsteps coming from upstairs when i checked the lower rooms there were only two floors and up until then i thought everything was brick or cement footsteps sounded like a child running on hollow wood Being the skeptic that I am, I decided to go check. I figured some kids had sneaked in, and I must have missed a door and left it unlocked, even though I always, always check the upper floor first.

Oh, how wrong I was. Judging by the direction of the sound, must have come from room 1283. It was locked. Oh, I'm nothing, if not thorough, so I unlocked it with some difficult. and went inside. Usually the master key opens just about everything on campus. Not this door. It ended up being a small key I'd never used,

about halfway through my key ring of like 30 or 40 keys. The door stuck, and I yanked it open as though it hadn't been used in years. I later found out that was because it hadn't. So I got it open and went inside. for a fairly well-kept school. I looked like something from an abandoned elementary school. I persisted, though. And when I went in further and climbed the three small steps,

I found old computers and video equipment pointed at the wall. VHS tapes. I had nothing to watch them on, so I locked the room and continued the night as if nothing had happened, pushing through the sinking feeling in my gun. Now, a side note. I realized that I forgot to explain the shift we work here, so here's the breakdown. Three guards work 7am to 3pm, 3 work 3pm to 11pm, and I work 11pm to 7am.

We have a skeleton crew, so I usually work by myself. Sometimes I have to give up days off, but the overtime pay is nice, and it keeps the lights on at home. Not that anyone's there to use them. Well, back to the story at hand. So I went out the next day before work to a local porn shop and found a VCR. I brought it with me that night to work and plugged it in to the small TV in the security office. I was going to figure out what room 1283 was, but first a cigarette. Apparently, it wasn't just room 1283 that wasn't normal about the campus.

As when I went out for a cigarette, I ended up having a plight, but terrifying conversation. with a very proper sounding, talking boar, making his way through the campus to the grove out back that the school was named for. We more or less just exchanged pleasantries once I had come to terms with the fact that it would be rude not to return his greeting. It takes a lot to rattle me.

I guess I just had to adjust. I needed the job, and he didn't seem to be malevolent. His name was Ralph. I'm aware I probably sound crazy, but one of the afternoon guards, an older man named Jerry, confirmed that the grove outback attracted all sorts of oddities at night, and so the old buildings and the electrical grid were arranged in such a way to amplify that. So, I went back to 1283, after breezing through my rounds for the night.

I was on a mission. I got into the room once again, pushed through the chill in the air and the knots in my stomach, grabbed the VHS tapes in the small trash can from the room, locked the door and headed back to the office. Most were ruined from age, but one was not. On this tape I saw unspeakable acts, brutal, violent acts committed in the adjacent room

and recorded through a hole into 1283. It began with a man dressed as a Catholic priest, standing in the middle of a tiled room with a drain in the floor. There were shackles hanging from the ceiling that looked like something from at least a century ago. A young man was dragged into the room by another man in a hooded robe. The kid looked emaciated, like he hadn't eaten in days and was dirty.

The hooded man locked his hands into the shackles and left. The priest took a wicked-looking knife from somewhere in his robes, and the rest of the tape was the priests removing the boy's skin while laughing. The boy's screams were going to stick with me for a while. He finally, unceremoniously, slit the boy's throat so deep that his head almost came completely off. I puked. I had to find out what this was. An elaborate prank to scare me?

Or something darker? If it was a joke, it was a joke. the most realistic looking act I'd ever seen, spent the majority of the next few days at the public library, reading book after book and scouring website after websites. It turns out that Whispering Grove used to be a facility for the care of gifted children. What I'd seen was not care, and there was a special hate in my heart for someone who could do things like this to a child. The staff, now mostly dead, were funded by the church and apparently paid extra to assist and keep silent when the priest made his visits.

Those bastards. They'd apparently remodeled when they were about to shut down, as well as reflooring and boarding and painting over the studio windows. So no wonder it wasn't obvious. I brought some food for Ralph and his family. I met him outside at our usual meet up time and plied him with the food in exchange for information. The priest's name was Gabriel. He didn't know the last name.

Damn it. Well, I gave him some apples, as promised. My past work told me anything. It was that networking was important. That night, I went back to 1283 after hearing more scampering footsteps. The boy on the tape hadn't been the only one, and I had to figure out how to help these children. When I walked in, the roofed.

was colder than normal. I could see my breath inside. It was July and 85 degrees outside. I googled how to contact spirits, but most of it was bullshit make-believe. I was going to have to wing it. Something I did worked, though all I did was walk in and loudly proclaim, I'm here to help. I immediately felt a breeze and a ceiling panel rattled. The lights flickered, and dimmed. I had a flashlight, but this is exactly what I'd asked for. I wasn't the enemy, much to my horror. A skinless boy with his head flopping around crawled out of the now-discarded ceiling panel. He didn't move quite right, but I suppose that was to be expected. He scurried down the wall and onto the floor, coming to meet me at eye-level. I'm not a small man, so. This teenager

it clearly already gone through his growth spurt. He gurgled while trying to speak. He clearly hadn't used his voice in a while. While he tried clearing his throat more, he pointed to a chair and up to the panel he'd come from. He wanted me to go up there. Oh, fuck no. But it seemed that I had to.

So I moved the chair over, climbed onto it, and stuck my head into the ceiling while turning on my flashlight. Oh shit my pants as the light came on. I was face to face with a semi-transparent girl, no more than six years old. She was smiling at me.

When she moved out of my way, I guess, and she knew what I was doing. I saw the rope burns on her neck. I hated this priest more and more with each passing minute. I swallowed my anger and looked past. the girl into what seemed like an old boarded-up air vent. There were so many bones. Clearly this was the dumping ground for the remnants. So many kids had suffered here and were clearly trapped. When I came back down, the boy had found his voice, raspy as it still was. It was a bit unnerving

to see a mostly severed head speak. Later, he said in a voice that said in a voice that sounded like sandpaper. He pushed through with short sentences, punctuated by long pauses. For now, St. Peter's Church, then bones, we know who you are. The words clearly came at great difficulty, but I knew what he wanted. This sick asshole was still alive. I was supposed to fix that. Maybe I'm crazy, because I was going to do it. Apparently the time had gotten away from me, because, for whatever reason, Jerry had decided to come in early today. Not only that, he decided to look around for me. He got more than he intended when he came up the stairs, though. I thought the spirit of the boy was unnerving before. I was certainly scared shitless

when the ghost boy heard Jerry calling out my name, presumably after seeing the light on in the room. The boy's face twisted into a horrible mask of rage as he launched himself out the door and on to Jerry. The lights went out, and it was darker than it should have been. Jerry screamed that sickening, gut-wrenching scream of him in and death. By the time I'd gotten out of the room, Jerry was at the bottom of the stairs. he wasn't moving and the spirits were gone and closed the room

and caught the cops apparently a 76 year old man having a heart attack was sufficient enough for their medical examiner's research I told them I'd heard him yell for me by the time I'd come out I'd seen him at the bottom of the stairs well

not too far from the truth but not too close either and that was yesterday today. I found St. Peter's Church this morning. I hadn't slept, so it wasn't difficult to play the flustered co-worker that needed a priest for a cleansing of demonic energies. What a crock of shit. But I expressed an affinity for Father Gabriel and was assured that he would arrive during my shift. Awful late for an old man. Awful early for an old monster. Jews had to be paid in full, and I

I was going to collect. I'd been off for the day off, but declined as I needed the money, which wasn't a complete lie. I went out for my smoke at the start of my shift, I spotted Ralph. He told me to go to the groves before the night's events. How would he know? Smart pig. It did as he said. The grove was aptly named, as when I entered, I heard constant unintelligible whispering.

It was after a moment the glint of something shiny caught my eye from across the clearing. I made my way over to it and picked up a knife so long and sharp it could have been classified as a sword. Not knowing what else to do, I thanked the trees, hid the knife in my backpack, and made my way to the front of the building just as Father Gabriel arrived, emerging from the car before telling them to come back in the morning. He figured this was going to take all night. Little did he know. It would take the rest of his life. I had to mask my intentions.

I shifted my expression to that of timid concern and fear. I'm here now, my child, the old man said, with an airy tone of superiority. I threw up in my mouth a little at the attempted relation. I walked him through the rest of the school first, so as not to alert him of my intentions. pointless conversations about nothing the entire time as he made a show of pretending to cleanse the campus and banish evil spirits. The worst evil there was him, but not for long. If he was worried as we approached 1283,

then he hid it professionally. It was getting harder to hide my intentions and disgust and I could feel the temperature dropping. He must have felt it too. Maybe he was complacent. and oblivious. As he rounded the corner, I wound back and hit him in the head as hard as I'd ever hit anything before. I put my whole body into it, and he crumpled. He woke at about 3am. I couldn't use the room he'd used, as it was carpeted now, so I used a staff shower. He woke up

and started freaking out when he realized he was tied to the shower head. I pulled out the knife, and he started screaming. I couldn't help but laugh as I cut his skin off. His screams only fueling my laughter and drive to continue. This was my errand mord, my honour killing. I was the vengeance the children needed, and he felt that fact. He died within the hour. It took me about another hour to bag up all the bones,

videotapes and the priest's rogues. I took them out behind the grove to burn them. When I got back to the office to await my fate with the cops, as I had no way to dispose of a body, I picked up his wallet. An old, yellowed picture fell out. It was a picture of him, and the boy, and the hooded man. But the hooded man was uncloked,

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Again, head to harries.com slash creep today. Now, as ever it is with a degree of lament that I must announce that we've reached our final tale for this evening. But it's a good one. Dr. Mark's final seminar by Ryan Kinkle. For the record, I'm not telling this story to clear my name. I know a lot of people think I'm hiding something, or that I'm nuttier than a of almonds and I could change all that if I just coughed up the evidence they want.

Believe me, I was tempted in the beginning just to do that. Sorry, you are now out of luck. I destroyed the videophile, you understand. That video file, the evidence that every reporter and voyer and federal agent out there claims I still have, the evidence that would explain what happened with Dr. Mark's final seminar. I had to destroy the video. I even obliterated my hard drive, to be sure. I hope to God it was the only copy.

Besides, I'm better at telling my story through my writing than speaking to a reporter. I'm a transcriber by trade. My name is irrelevant. Only my job title matters. I get hired to write down the dialogue from live shows and official phone calls, all for record keeping and the hearing impaired and so on. I'm pretty good at my job, taking down words almost as quickly as I hear them.

And I'm also on the verge of obsolescence, since they have computer programs nearly good enough to do my job. A few more years, and my position is history. That used to depress me, but not so much now. I had the glorious task of transcribing the showing of doctor, to Mark Weston's final seminar, his big going away session, the kind of hype-driven event reserved as singers and revivalists. Usually, when I transcribe a show, I'm physically at the production. Mark had insisted that only the truest of fans could be present in the convention

hall, even amongst the production staff. His definition of true fan was someone who'd read his previous three self-help books cover to cover. He wasn't kidding either. He was so serious about this point that to get a ticket you had to complete an online survey, answering 30 random questions that demonstrated your knowledge of each book. If you pass a survey, you had a chance at a ticket. Dr. Mark also prohibited any cell phones or cameras in the auditorium, as well as any live feeds. Like I said, only true fans could be a part of this. But one of the producers, surely a true fan of Dr. Mark, but a true of making money, decided to live stream the seminar to my home laptop so I could do my job.

I signed the usual confidentiality agreement and went to work. So, what you're about to read is based on my written transcriptions. It won't be as good as the video file, but it's the best you're going to get. also keeping a few details vague or hidden so as to prevent you from retracing my steps or learning something dangerous this is a cliff that we're racing towards you and I

while I'll do my part to put on the brakes at the right time you'll have to do your part as well hell I keep thinking I shouldn't even do this much that I should burn all my records and let the knowledge die with me but I can't in good conscience stay quiet because it's not safe for you to know what happened but it's worse if you don't if you don't know which city the seminar took place in

or which convention centre held the event then you haven't been watching the news at all all that is public knowledge the convention centre was one Dr Mark had used before capable of accommodating an audience of 10,000 most of the time Dr Mark could get every seat filled in the place this time official numbers put Dr Mark's final seminar audience well the total was half that

it was unusual that he would restrict the event size so much but that didn't tip off anyone at the time after all it was for true fans only he also rented the place for a single one-day event with nothing else planned that may not seem important but since Dr. Mark made his living on improving the lives of his readers, he usually made himself available to clients and fans on a more personal basis

by doing workshops and special sessions for those folks willing to pay his fees, typically scheduled before and after his public performances. This time, it was just that one final seminar, and it was certainly starting to feel like his final one. By the time the live feed began, the audience was already seated expectantly. A few latecombers racing to get their chairs before the lights dimmed. The crowd was a genuine slice of Americana,

a melting pot of male and female light and dark youth and age. Lots of excited, beaming faces awaited Dr. Mark's final pearls of wisdom. Looking at the audience, I couldn't help but feel how perfect the scene appeared, as if Dr. Mark had deliberately summoned a crowd you could proudly feature in your company's advertising to show how egalitarian and global your company had become. I don't know the demographic makeup of Dr. Mark's fan base, but I have a hard time believing you could bring together an audience this perfectly diverse through random selection.

What were the odds? A few minutes into my feed, the show Start Time arrived. The ceiling lights dimmed. The crowd's murmurs hushed, and the spotlights kicked on, flooding the stage before us in brilliant white. Even through the live stream, I could feel the energy in the air, the pulsating desire of the people to give it up for the man who had maybe, kind of, sort of almost changed their lives for the better. They knew this was going to be special, a once-in-a-lifetime moment,

validation for all their loyalty and commitment to Dr. Mark's philosophy. I have to admit that, going into this job, I had no idea what that was. Self-help of some kind. Maybe business advice. I didn't know. I didn't need to know. Not for my role. Despite the queue from the ceiling lights,

Dr Mark didn't instantly appear on the stage. In fact, he was running late. No one came out to explain his tardiness, giving everyone a well-lit stage and curtain to stare at, but nothing else. Once the delay started going on five minutes, the crowd's murmuring returned, heads looking around to other heads

or to the rest of the auditorium in confusion. Delays weren't unheard of, technical issues can and do occur, often at the worst times. But considering how out of the loop I was, it began to make me irrationally nervous. Did Dr. Mark figure out he was being videoed and had stopped to chew out my boss?

Was he going to contact me and chew me out as well? So, when Dr. Mark finally walked onto the stage, I nearly clapped with the ecstatic crowd, mostly out of relief. Dr. Mark strolled out with the ease of a man who'd done this a thousand times before, waving his hands slowly and smiling like a politician at a bake-sale fundraiser.

I'd seen his picture before in the media. He was the doctor who was white. one of you, or so the tagline went. He wore nothing fancier than a black t-shirt and jeans. His hair, natural grey, his face dotted with a few moles and blemishes that he could have hidden behind pancake makeup. He was supposed to be approaching fifty, and he looked the part, but, for a moment, I swore that he seemed far older than that.

A trick of the light, the bad video buffer for a moment. can't say for sure. The audience hadn't shared my moment, for they poured on the acclaim and cheer with gusto. Dr. Mark reached the centre of the stage and stood there, waving, saying thank you over and over, gulping down their attention as the crowd went to a standing ovation. My question over Dr. Mark's real age faded,

as the good doctor grew livelier, invigorated by the adoration. Welcome, true fans, to the last words you will ever need to hear, he said, and the audience cheered some more. That might have been music to there is, but I winced at it. Just a little full of yourself there, eh, Dr. Mar? After the audience quieted again, Dr. Mark's smile faded to a neutral expression, and he seemed almost melancholy in that moment.

You know, I don't think I'll ever get tired of being in front of you, folks. You give me the energy I need to keep going. Just as I help you, you help me. It's what they call symbiosis. A wonderful word, symbiosis. It's too bad we can't talk about it more, because I have a lot to say, and not a lot of time to say it. Dr. Mart began strolling along the stage, due to casting his gaze around the auditorium as he continued to talk.

I have obligations to me tonight, folks. An obligation to you and an obligation to me. Obligations all around, really. Those of you that I picked for this seminar, for this special moment, deserve to know the real truth. I will tell you why you're here, what's expected of you, and I shall give you a peace of mind before it's over. Tonight is the culmination of all.

our hard work and I wouldn't be here without all of you. The audience clapped again, not as enthusiastically as before. Maybe they wanted Dr. Mark to get on with it, or maybe what he said had them a little confused. Only one camera was in use, and it was always focused on the stage. So I can only guess so much as to how Dr. Mark's words played with his audience. He certainly wasn't selling me on his business. brand of bull crap, that's for sure. Ah, but you're not here to listen to me ram alone about my duties and problems, right?

He continued. You're here to get empowered. You're here because you undertook a journey years ago, a three-book Odyssey to understand yourself and succeed in this messed up world of ours. And I know you guys are authentic. Each and every one of you passed the test. You know what I need you to know. Oh, you're almost ready, but as the cook say, you need to bake just a little longer.

On cue, the curtain behind him parted, revealing an unremarkable blank wall. With the clicker in his left hand, he summoned a projected screen onto that wall. It was a PowerPoint slide showing the title of his first book. What you need is inside you. There are a number of weird circle and line drawings peppering the papering the wall. the empty space around the title, none of which bore any resemblance to any recognizable iconography in my mental library. I was aware that Dr. Mark used these drawings in all his books. He called them his success sigils, designed to bring good fortune to his readers. Out of curiosity, I looked

up the word sigil before doing this job. Turns out, sigils are associated with magic and the supernatural. I dismissed it as another pointless gimmick from a modern-day snake-horse salesman. But whenever the camera focused on the slide directly, each time I would feel a sudden twinge of pain behind my eyes, as if the image was straining my vision. The pain intensified the longer I stared at the slides, and then diminished as either the camera or my eyes looked away. As much as it stung at times,

I waved it away as some weird, or visual effect, something that gave sensitive people headaches when they stared at a computer monitor for too long. I hope that wasn't happening to me, since my livelihood depended on looking at video screens for long periods of time. Regardless, I quickly learned to avert my eyes when needed and powered through the rest of the shop. My first book opened up your mind, Dr. Mark stated, gesturing at the screen behind him,

The words didn't matter so much, but the success sigils did. You read them along with all my thoughts about inner peace and special talents, and all that fortune-cookie nonsense. You thought they were there to help you succeed, like a Buddha statue or rabbit vote. But when you read these sigils in the right order, over and over again, they do something amazing with your minds. They prepared you for the next step. Oh, can anyone tell me what that was?

The audience, and I mean the entire audience, replied to him in one massive chorus, Get ready for further instructions. It was the title of his second book. When I say the audience replied, it was done with the utmost synchronicity. Five thousand voices managed to achieve the exact right tone with the exact right spacing and voice. wording. It was both beautiful and frightening at the same time, because there was no way that five thousand people could have pulled off that level of precision without a hefty amount of practice. Hell, it didn't seem humanly possible to be that perfect.

Beautiful, said Dr. Mark. Behind him, the screen switched to the title of his second book, and more sigils dotted the empty space around it. They were different than the last batch, and my eye strain was gone as well. I was relieved for a few blissful seconds when the tuna fish sandwich I had had for lunch wanted out of me all of a sudden. I grabbed the trash can next to my desk and barely managed to catch my puke before it all came flying out. After a few seconds of heaving, the nausea passed. And being the diligent worker I am, I placed the trash can to the side, wipe my mouth and went back to watching and typing.

It only took a few more seconds of exposure to that book title slide for my stomach to start feeling woozy once more. But when I wisely looked away, the nausea ended immediately. I knew that I could have paused the action and cleaned up my mess, since I was recording the stream on my laptop. But some part of me felt compelled to bear witness while it was still going on. I have to wonder now, looking back, if I was under a certain compulsion, probably a weaker version of what had enthralled Dr. Mark's audience. Because, near as I could tell, there was not a single moan, complaint, or display of gastronomical distress coming from the crowd.

I felt like crap, just looking at some tidal slides. They seem to be having the time of their lives, a sea of happy, smiling faces waiting on Dr. Mark's every word. Oh, with my second book, you gained a new understanding on life, he declared. Again, not with my sterling prose, but with all those sigils you viewed as you journey through my literature. I can't say that I understood it all myself, not at the time, but I began to realize, that it's like a computer programmer. Anyone here a programmer? When no one raised their hand after a few seconds,

Dr. Mark shrugged and went on. Not surprising. I never seemed to attract the technical types. Well, programs require a lot of time and work to get right. In this case, I was laying out a program for all of you, one, sigil at a time. Building inside you a new way of thinking, a new way of life preparing you for what comes next book title card number two went away behind him

and the next slide showed the title of his third book we're almost there at this point i'd learn that maybe staring at the damn sigils was a bad idea so i looked away initially debating whether i could do the rest of this job on hearing alone but either curiosity or compulsion got the better of me, and I snuck a quick glance. To my shock, book title card three was clear of sigils. Just the title of the book was displayed in a normal, boring font. Dr. Mark was now just standing there. His demeanour no longer enthused, replaced by a dire solemnity that made him age once again, to look far older than a man approaching fifty. That's when I heard the audience murmur for the first time since Dr. Mark had started his slideshow.

Little pockets of confused statements arising from the crowd to fill the silence. Apparently this move surprised them as well, or perhaps the lack of sigils had released them from Dr. Mark's enthronement. Then Dr. Mark slowly walked at the edge of the stage and sat down, dangled his feet over the edge and shaking his head slowly. He now reminded me of a father tasked with telling his kids, that he'd been lying to them about the trip to Disneyland this whole time. I said you deserve the real truth, and I meant it, he began.

I'm giving you all a moment of free will, so you can hear me clearly. Truth is, I didn't need to write a third book. I could have condensed all the sigils into my second book and sped this whole operation up a bit. But everyone likes trilogies. I was making a lot of money, so the third book was just more of the same. It was me stretching out your programming longer so I could make another millip. It wasn't my smartest move, I'll admit. A lot could have gone wrong, but what's life without some risk, right?

And that's really the point I want to make to you all right now. Do you ever stop to think how many self-help books are out there? how many philosophies and religions are out on display, promising success in life if you just follow their careful instructions, and yet very few of us are billionaires with glorious love-lives and lots of fame and admiration. We want a sure-fire strategy, but there isn't one.

It's just work and risk. I figured that out after enough years of doing things the hard way, and it was a bitter pill to swallow when I finally realized that even if I kept trying my best my best wasn't likely to be good enough. Dr. Mark stood up and began backing away from the stage's edge,

spreading his arms wide as if to encompass the whole of his congregation. That's when I learned of a second part, sucking up to someone with all the goodies. If you can't get everything you want, be next to the one who can all that it takes is paying the price

your dignity your morality your soul even the unhappy rumblings from the audience had gained traction and no one thought to cheer or agree with Dr Mark's ramblings the spell on the audience

seemed utterly broken at this point where before they had been too enthralled or controlled to put it together too hopeful or driven to see that their patron saint of success had hoodwinked them all. At that moment, I can't say I had any sympathy for them. The critics had been clear about Dr. Mark. The warnings had been obvious. P. T. Barnum knew a thing or two about human nature,

but very few people listened to his words because no one ever wants to admit that they have been or could be a sucker. but they didn't deserve what happened next neither did i dr mark had backed up all the way to the wall directly under the projected video slides and that solemn face of his quickly morphed back to its typical energetic self a big toothy smile formed and i felt goosebumps break out on my flesh upon seeing it symbiosis remember that word describes a cooperative relationship between two persons or two groups for us the idea was that I helped solve your life problems and you make me rich well let's be honest I doubt I solved your problems but you did solve mine and I'm now about to solve a problem for my other symbiotic relationship. You see, they gave me a certain amount of power, as long as I eventually got them

what they wanted. All my books, all my words, all my efforts culminate now in this final moment, and this final slide. He used his clicker, and the slide changed to a barren white background ungraced with a single solitary sigil, dead centre. This one had a familiar shape, that of a whirlpool circling counterclockwise. I couldn't tell if it was animated, or if the circular motion I saw was an optical illusion. And the centre of the image seemed deeper, like a hole or tunnel that went through the wall itself. I wasn't at all sure where this was going, but despite the lack of discomfort, I decided I'd had enough. and twisted my head away, intending to turn off the broadcast, job be damned.

I was done with this insanity. Except, my head didn't twist. My eyes couldn't shift. I tried my other body parts. Nothing. I couldn't type, stand up, or even blink. My eyes were fixed on my laptop. My body refusing to do anything but stare at that damn whirlpool sigil.

I was alone in my apartment, but I still tried yelling, hoping a neighbour might hear, but my vocal cords were as paralysed as the rest of me. Despite my growing panic, I remained keenly aware of what was transpiring on the live stream. The audience had snapped back to attention, all enthralled once more, the auditorium growing eerily silent. The camera operator was seemingly in the same three, as the audience, for the camera had tilted off a bit, revealing a small section of the audience in the forward seats. My eyes remained stuck on the screen, and I think I would have stayed

that way for as long as the sigil was present, but now I had a better view of the crowd. At first, I thought the audience was equally paralyzed, but I could see several people shaking in their seats like their chairs were equipped with vibration machines. As the seconds ticked by, more and more people followed suit, rattling their chairs and creating a humming sound that reminded me of a great engine slowly powering up. From my camera angle, I couldn't see any of their faces, couldn't read their expressions. In retrospect, I'm glad I couldn't. Dr. Mark's smile came and went, sometimes replaced by a look of contemplation, sometimes by surprise. He paced up and down the stage several times, often out of view of the camera.

I believe he was inspecting his audience, making sure everything was going according to plan. When he walked back into frame, he was practically jumping up and down with glee. Ah, this is amazing, he said, yelling his words to his captive audience. I honestly didn't know what was going to happen. I mean, I knew that showing you these sigils were just. change you, rewire you in some new way, but I didn't think it'd be so effective. I don't know if you have the capacity to hear me now, but I just want to say that again. Thanks for all your love and money over the years.

Trust me, it won't all be for nothing. More and more people joined in on the vibrations until there was nothing but people in motion. I feared that any moment I might start vibrating as well, but So far I was merely stuck in place. Purely by accident, I was now the unwilling soul witness to Dr. Mark's closing act. He started with a man of Turkish descent, near the edge of my vision. His arms suddenly rose up and elongated, his flesh stretching past any possible human limits, like he was a man of putty instead of flesh and bone.

His arms arched over the audience. as the bodies of others did the same. Hands and arms met each other in the air, entangled with one another, and then began to merge. The bodies left in the seats began to shrink as their mass spalled out through their limbs, their human forms losing shape and distorting. Something along the lines of a pillar of flesh

formed at the joining point of all these bodies. There might have been more to it, but I couldn't see all of it. and I dearly wished I couldn't see what I already could. This went on for several ghastly minutes, as the audience slowly merged their flesh into this central mass. I could see all manner of things flowing into the fleshy construct. Faces, fingers, hair, organs, skin of all colours and textures,

even bits of jewelry and clothing that had come along for the ride, not a drop of blood to be seen. And that somehow made it worse. The most maddening part of my exposure to Dr. Mark's machinations was that I began to feel an unnatural desire to be there. Couldn't be all that bad, right? All those other people joining together in one harmonious collective. No more pain, no more loneliness,

no more responsibilities or decisions to make. just go and be a part of it and be happy in your new prison wouldn't that be better than what i have now through the horror through my own conflict of blinding fear and unnatural yearning i heard dr mark speak i couldn't see him now but his microphone still relayed his last words loud and clear are you going to change the world are you one of my masters made flesh are you a door to let them through. I think, after everything I've done for you, that it's time I got an answer. His answer came in the form of the ceiling, caving in. I don't know how it happened,

though I would imagine that the flesh thing in the middle of the auditorium had something to do with it. He air suddenly screamed with the echoes of bright lights and sound equipment crashing to the floor, smashing into the still merging audience, crushing flesh and sparking fires as hot lamps encountered flammable material. The flesh construct reacted badly to this, writhing away from the impact points,

and the sound of more destruction erupted off-screen. I can't confirm it, but I swear I heard Dr. Mark himself scream out a denial as something huge collapsed near him. A moment later, the auditorium's projector cut out, and the sigil disappeared. My body immediately came back under my control, and then I lost it again as the strain of my ordeal overwhelm me,

my body forcing a shutdown. Darkness quickly grabbed my mind and pull me in, but I used my one brief moment of control to slam shut my laptop before I toppled off my chair into a long bout of unconsciousness. Well, you must have heard the official story by now. After all, it was one of the biggest tragedies in recent years, and equally one of the biggest mysteries. A convention centre burns down and collapses, with 5,000 attendees, 12 staff members, and the famous Dr. Mark himself all trapped inside.

Yet, not a single body recovered. Such a massive loss of life, but not a corpse to confirm it. The crime scene forensics people and insurance investigators still squabble over what happened to this day. You still might be thinking that I should have gone to the authorities, told them my story, shown them the video file. Before you judge me all my silence, you should understand where things stand for me right now. Because when I woke up from my collapse, I hurt. every joint in my body felt pulled and pinched. I'd sold myself and my head felt on fire.

Pain relievers got me through the next few days and I healed up enough to get on with my life. But my health has never been the same. I can't look at a video screen for too long before getting a headache. And my last doctor's visit showed that my blood chemistry was all out of whack. If watching the video could do that to me. He could do the same to others, or worse. Well, I'd probably die watching it again.

The only reason I'm alive is because I never read Dr. Mark's books, so I wasn't programmed like the rest of his fans. I still believe that deleting the file was the right thing to do. But, without any evidence, my story doesn't hold up. Besides, not only did they not find any bodies, they didn't find the flesh construct. Something that big, composed of 5,000 people, somehow being missed by all those investigators?

Not possible. So for the longest of times, I thought one of two things had happened. That either I was crazy, and the contents of the live stream hadn't been real. Or that the thing Dr. Mark created, perished in the fire, and its body had disintegrated. like you see happen to some types of monsters in supernatural fiction. But I'm telling you all this because I know that there is a third possibility

that the thing Dr Mark created escaped somehow. This thing that defies our laws of physics and biology may be out there, biding its time, waiting until Dr Mark's legacy becomes a distant memory when we've all moved on, because no matter what its true intentions for this world might be, it'll need to make more of itself. And so it will eventually find another mouthpiece, another Dr. Marr, to start selling people on a sure-fire path to success. And that's when it'll tell you the last words you will ever need to hear. Tales of Terror. If you did, please leave a good review and a five-star rating wherever you get your podcast from. Well, that's it for this week, but of course, I'll be back again this time next week,

and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until then, very, very sweet dreams, and bye-bye.