Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep61: Episode 61: Christmas Horror Stories

Episode Date: December 23, 2021

Happy Holidays to one and all; come join me and my storytelling friends for an evening of partying and terror! All of the stories featured in tonight’s special have been kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  Evening one’s first fantastic offering is the ‘The Ghoul of Valley Forge’, an original work by MrEvan312. https://www.reddit.com/user/MrEvan312/  This story features the vocal talents of Nature’s Temper and G.M. Danielson:  Nature’s Temper: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UClVVgQbEUPxJZXCawn3Bexg  G.M. Danielson: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBw81PNN5O6oqgkjqFksvng  Today’s second tale is ‘Ashes to Dust’, an original work by C. J. Cannatelli.  https://www.reddit.com/user/cjhorrorauthor  This story features the vocal talents of Kyra the Doll. Kyra the Doll:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqn4myd3twzR-jtPii59PlQ  Today’s third tale of terror is ‘Skin and Bones’, an original work by nerdxcorexneal.  https://www.reddit.com/user/nerdxcorexneal/  This story features the vocal talents of Madame Raven, Swamp Dweller and Tales to Chill the Bone:  Madame Raven: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCw69XwQGRhIjzg5DcDDQQoQ  Swamp Dweller: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCyYjOfKMuuIv0oMjG68Reug  Tales to Chill the Bone: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCaQYgdVnVzqRCuohyQ8Or9g  Today’s fourth wondrous tale is ‘Itchy’, an original work by Sylvester Cooper.  https://www.reddit.com/user/Sylvester-Cooper/  This story features the vocal talents of Mr. Creeps. Mr. Creeps:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCbHgXazE2qRPwa2NJ8Vua4g  Today’s final fantastic offering is ‘Killing My Childhood Monster Was Easier Than I Thought’, an original work by nerdxcorexneal.  https://www.reddit.com/user/nerdxcorexneal/  This story features the vocal talents of Being Scared. Being Scared:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCrggft5vtcVpzLVCfQ0FBhg Evening two’s first fantastic offering is the ‘It wasn't a Reindeer’, an original work by Michael Paige.  https://michaelpaigeblog.wordpress.com/  Today’s second tale is ‘Drip, Drip, Drip’, an original work by Night Horizon.  https://www.reddit.com/user/Night_Horizon  This story features the vocal talents of Spirit Voices. Spirit Voices:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi_0J4Zm1qwiYVSGRsA0_Bg  Today’s third tale of terror is ‘The 20 Days in Sarsha’, an original work by Chase Lamb. (received via email) This story features the vocal talents of G.M. Danielson, Don’t turn Around, Mr. Davis, UNIT 522 and Dead Man Talking’s Forest of Fear:  G.M. Danielson: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBw81PNN5O6oqgkjqFksvng  Don’t turn Around: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCOTvG8GRkiteKcea98JxirQ  Mr. Davis: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC23nJ5NfrsN4wX9fAynA1SA  UNIT 522: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC7_ZYv6nTFatzuhnbY0AIng  Dead Man Talking’s Forest of Fear: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCJyP_5eps-qngCmftiy4khA  Today’s fourth wondrous tale is ‘When all of the children in our town disappeared, everyone was heartbroken. When all of the children in our town reappeared, everyone was terrified’, an original work by BunnyB03.  https://www.reddit.com/user/BunnyB03/  This story features the vocal talents of Pumpkin Queen. Pumpkin Queen:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC5K1I5QiGWScK_2bfpEp_ZA  Today’s final fantastic offering is ‘Tracks in the Snow’, an original work by Ryan Brennaman.  http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Tracks_in_the_Snow#

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to Dr. Creepin's Christmas Dungeon. Well, my dear friends, we've made it to the end of the year, and it's time to celebrate. You're not going to sit back and realize with your favorite drink this evening. You're going to party with me and a lot of my dear, dear friends from the YouTube storytelling community. Got a fantastic lineup for you this evening. Some ensemble stories featuring a lot of us together, and a few guests as well. you are going to be reading stories for you as part of our celebration this evening.

Well, once again, it is time to sit back and relax if you want, or time to get up and party if you feel like it. And we have a real treat to begin with this evening. Two of my go-to storytellers, the ones that I listen to when I'm not busy reading, we have a fantastic story featuring me, Nature's Temper, and G.M. Danielson. Are you ready for the excitement? Well, let's get this party started. The ghoul of Valley Forge by Mr. Evan 312.

Bloody hell I'm starving. Those dreary words often echoed around the camp of desperate, bloodied souls. Some spoken aloud, others only passed in pained whispers, or simply pervaying the entire atmosphere in the Valley Forge in Cameroot. Morale was incredibly low, lower than the temperature. The flashing steel and the blood-red uniforms of the British Army were as far from everyone's mind as the ragged band of patriots languished in the coal.

The biggest danger to the Continental Army did not come from without, but from within. No enlisted man, officer nor volunteer did not know hunger. Without proper supplies, they'd taken to eating anything from roots and tree bark to cotton or sawdust just to fill the howling voids

that were there shrunken guts. What Solomon or Sully, as his comrades called him, did not like was that the words came from Arthur, his closest friend. They were dragging a rapt, stiff corpse of a perished fellow patriot through the surrounding forest. The look in his eyes as he sized up the body gave suddenly a strange feeling in his stomach. He could not fault Arthur that much. They wore ragged uniforms, or at least what passed for uniforms in this outfit,

none of which did much to prevent the cold from seeping into their very bones. They carried muskets over their shoulders, which they'd fired in anger at the English, and both of them had killed men before. Yet, just like many of the boys in this so-called army, they could not call themselves true hardened soldiers. Even those true soldiers that remained were in the same boat as the rest. Officer or low-ranking, the hunger, misery and the cold were truly equalizes. What's wrong, Sully? The boy tried biting his tongue. Arthur was younger than him

Not by much, but he acted even younger He was a rash and flight of youth Sully made sure to stick to his friend like honey To keep him out of trouble But like Arthur's hunger made him impulsive and morbid Sully's made him incredibly irritable and quick to anger And this time he gave in to the rage Must you always say that whenever you look at a corpse?

He barked harshly God damn it Arthur These are people. Sully dropped the feet of the body, causing his friend to stumble under the waves as he stood to take his full height. Christ, give you so much as think of that sort of thing again.

I'm not. Arthur protested. The look of hunger replaced with one of shame. He nervously rubbed his hands on his threadbare sleeves trying to warm his stiff, achingly cold fingers as best he could. I've just... I've been hearing things in the camera.

they're keeping washington's also under arm guard under what they're getting paid to keep their chops off that thing i bet you'd feed a dozen men for a week i'm long tired of bald bark and moss sully folded his arms tightly to his chest hugging what was left of his already thin blue and red trim jacket to his pronounced ribs like arthur he'd forgotten the feeling of a full belly forced to subsist on little more than a few scarce roots that they dug from the winter hardened Can't enjoy the meat when you've got a noose around your neck with a bullet in your liver. Don't make me teach you what becomes of those who give in and eat human flesh. Arthur suddenly froze in place, turning only his eyes to look onto those of his older friend. A pale look had entered the boy's rosy, frost-nipped cheeks. Please spare me, Sally. You know, I hate those kind of stories. And so, he did.

Arthur was in many ways a fearless lad, never scared of his fellow man. He was a fierce fighter in battle for his smaller size, reminding one of a scrappy wildcats. However, Sully knew he was terrified of the old wives' tales of what stalked in the dark. More than once growing up, Arthur had slept with a lit lantern or curled up by the fire after his father or his brothers had teased him with stories. The story of the Scottish banshee from their ancestral homeland gave him. the boy a particular fright in his youth. So much as hearing a female yell in the distance could set him

off. Sully was not so cruel as Arthur's family and friends, so he kept those tales to himself. However, just because he did not speak them aloud did not mean that he was lacking a few yarns of his own to spin on some nights around a fire with the men. Many of the natives who he'd made contact with, such as the Lenape, had their own ghost stories tied to the land itself. These were just tales, however, stories to scared children or fools like Arthur. But Sully was no fool, and was certainly no longer a child. He knew that man only had itself to fear. After a moment, the two picked up their ends of the corpse again.

They'd nearly forgotten about it, standing quietly and awkward in the cold, as the snowfall became thicker around them. They did not speak now. Arthur was ashamed of himself, and Sully simply having no more to say. At least, having starved to death, this body was not very heavy. It was all they could muster the strength to shuffle about their job, at little more than a snail's pace. Their hunger and the cold had cost them both a great deal of sleep.

There was no proper burial place near the camp. Sickness was already ravaging the army, and the last thing anyone wanted was to bury the dead too close by. A few soldiers, who had simply withered away from hunger, were elected to be buried deep in the woods, in a small clearing Arthur had found while on patrol. By now, even in the now surprisingly thick snowfall, the two knew their way by heart, and by now the corpse seemed to be growing heavier. It had become easier to let down one's guard in the banal dismal conditions.

In these close quarters, the only thing more familiar than one's fellow soldiers and their grumbling stomachs, was the daily monotty of waking up, starving, and trying to sleep. The woods around the camp had long since been harvested to the bone. The animals were virtually gone, and any roots, berries, or even carrion had been inevitably devoured. Vigilant patriot scouts made sure that no one, not even the stealthiest natives, could penetrate the defences. A shame, Sully thought to himself, because he would have traded his month's ammunition ration, perhaps even his musket, with a Lenarpi warrior for a scrawny rabbit or a couple of squirrels. And that's why, when Sully looked past Arthur's shoulder into the clearing, he stopped, dead in his tracks.

Just ahead in the pale gloom of the falling snow was a small pile of frozen corpses. The two boys had been working much of the day to prepare them for burial. They've been wrapped in white linen, which was rapidly blending with the forest floor. as snow began to dust the rotting leaves and dirms. This made it stand out even more. Leaning over the pile of bodies was a tall figure, completely hidden under a long, cream-coloured coat with a black tricorna hat atop their head.

The coat had been well made, yet was incredibly worn and tattered, covered in dark stains, and the green colour and cuffs all but faded to a washed-out draught. Sully knew that regimental colour was part of no army he knew, had ever faced. Still, he could swear that he'd seen that green and cream-coloured sort of coat somewhere before. The figure seemed to be rummaging through one of the cadavis, having discarded

its burial sheet off to the sign. What immediately alarmed Sully was that this man was set to be buried without any clothing or possessions, for uniforms were preserved to be given to other recruits that needed them. So, this meant the newcomer was, in fact, not merely interested, but interested in pickpocketing the dead. It was clear that this person was interested in the only earthly possession this lost soul had to offer. This revelation sickened scully to his stomach, and rage began to boil in his blood. Dropping his end of the burden, he swung his musket off his shoulder, raised it to his shoulder, and levelled it in the stranger's direction.

Just what do you think you're doing, friend? His deep harsh voice rang across the clasp. clearing with an unmistakable echo. The stranger stopped whatever it was doing, and was frozen in plain. What are you playing at, Sully? Arthur, his back still to the sea, glared at Sully in confusion.

With the speed that neither of the boys had ever witnessed in a living creature, the figure whipped around to meet them. Sully's weapon began to shake when he noticed the figure had not turned, but rather, only his head had somehow twisted around, to look him in the face. This had not been an arcing twist or the craning of the neck, reminding Sully of one of the wooden neck hinges from one of his father's puppets. However, this action did not sicken him nearly so much as the face of the figure.

If it had once been human, that had clearly long been abandoned or stripped away. The shape of its head clearly matched a human skull, but the skull was almost the sum total of what remained. Whatever flesh that remained hung in thin, desiccated, tattered strands. Bits of it even hung loose like drying lichen. The teeth were jagged, brown, broken with bits of flesh stuck between them, and the lower jaw was smeared with cold, thick, dark, congealed blood. The eye-sockets looked like they've been long, empty,

the sightless eyes having perhaps been stolen by carrion birds. In their place, the sockets poor. forth a thin trail of what looked like white smoke or mist. The two stood and stared at each other. If what the figure was doing could even be called staring for what felt like hours. It did not so much as waver or shift position from where it silently considered these two intruders upon its gruesome meal. Even Arthur did not so much as budge, fixated on the absence of colour in his friend's face. Arthur?

Sully spoke quietly, not sure if he was trying not to be heard by the creature or to mask the quiver in his voice. When I give the word, throw yourself to the ground. What hell is it, Sully? What the devil's behind me? Damn it all. Just do as you're told. Now. Everything seemed to happen slowly in Sully's eyes. Arthur began falling to his right-hand side. His finger, Ridded with frostbites, curled tighter around the trigger of his brown baths. A cloud, like gunsmoke, slowly curled from his lips as he let out a breath to steady his aim.

Arthur's foot lifted some of the rotting leaves from the forest floor into the air. He could see the hammer of the flint lock begin to plunge towards the priming pin. Sparks from the flint drifted into the air like leaves in a breeze. The priming powder slowly began to spark, and then blaze brightly. So he could swear he saw everything happen at once at that moment. And yet, in the midst of all this movement, not once did he see the figure even twitch.

It stayed motionless as a stone. The musket thundered and bucked backward, filling the area with smoke and shattering the deathly silence like a hammer to a crystal glass. Solomon had positioned himself well to handle the recoil, but he did not even notice. is the weapon's substantial kick. He stood with bated breath,

Arthur having twisted to look behind him from where he lay on the forest floor. They stared into the cloud. Neither of them sure what to expect. It finally settled and cleared, revealing the figure to be sitting exactly where it had been before. Sully was at a loss for words.

He was certain he'd hit it full square, right beneath the left shoulder blade. And that's when Arthur raised a trembling finger towards the stranger, pointing to the back of its coat. Mother of Christ, Sully, look. Sully's aim had been true, striking the stranger right where his heart should have been, producing a clear home. However, no blood was coming from the wound at all. This was an injury that should have been spraying that vital fluid across the forest floor,

or spreading in a crimson stain upon the coat. Instead, all the two could see was a black, seemingly bottomless hole, from which drifted a whisper of that strange pale smoke. The creature, for it was already clear this was inhuman, was entirely unperturned. By God, what are you? Was all Solomon could bring himself to say. With the hushed utterance of these words, The thing leaped into action, moving like a mere blur.

Sully's gut instinct kicked in, dropping his now useless musket. He threw himself on top of Arthur in a gallant, brotherly action. Draping his larger frame over that of the boy, he braced for the clasp of a cold, dead hand around his neck. Yet, he did not come. When Sully dared to crane his neck and see, the figure had instead taken the corpse by the ankles with its rotting hands, quickly lugging it out of the clearing, it had already reached the tree-line.

The corpse had taken two boys to carry, yet this monster moved with a strength of three large, well-fed men at once. In its hurry to leave, the corner of its great coat is snagged on a protruding route. However, seemingly not noticing, just ignoring the inconvenience, it merely continued along, and the coat was discarded on the ground. This gave Sully a full view of the horror he had just encountered, before it disappeared with its grisly prize for ever. It had a human shape, walking on a pair of legs with two arms, but it more closely resembled a bedraggled scarecrow.

Almost all of its skin and muscle were absent, as if this were a corpse picked clean by vultures, yet miraculously continued to walk afterward. It was almost pathetic to look upon, as if a stiff wind could carry it away. The few shrivel tendons that were left, seemed barely sufficient to hold the buns together, never mind provide it with the unearthly strength,

speed and grace with which it moved. There was undoubtedly something incredibly dark and unholy that drove this wretch past the point of death if it had ever been alive in the first place. All the two boys could do was stare at each other in absolute shock of what they had just witnessed. They were uncertain about what they'd actually seen. They were not sure of when the alerted Patriot sentries

had come running to the scene of the gunwomen. shot, demanding to know what had happened. They were at a loss what they would say to their commanding offices back in the camp. But one thought was foremost on the two young men's minds. Their appetites and shriveled stomachs had been thoroughly vanquished from the forefront of their minds. Well, I think you can all agree that was a very fine start to this evening's celebrations. Two of my favourites, as I said, so if you're not familiar with their work, how can you not be? But if you're not, go and visit their channels. I've left links to them in the evening. video description below. Oh, what's more? We have a very special Christmas message from GM Danielson.

Hello friends, this is GM Danielson, wishing all of you Dr. Creepin fans a very Merry Christmas. I am so grateful Dr. Creepin requisitioned me for the part of Sully in the story. Our good doctor, as some of you know, has been very generous with his narrative talents, supplying me with several stories for my channel of late since Halloween, 2019, and when he asked, I was very much glad to give back the favor. I certainly hope everyone enjoys this chilling winter tale, and if you could, please consider stopping by my channel this Christmas. It certainly would unfreeze my blood this season. Farewell and happy, happy Christmas. well you heard the man why don't you drop by his place and nature's tempers and give their work a listen to if you're not already familiar with them now it's time to move on to our next story and in this one i'm very very happy to introduce the wonderfully talented kaira the doll

Ashes to Dust by C.J. Canatelli. I woke up in a pool of sweat, gasping in the humid air. The atmosphere was heavy and I felt sticky from head to tongue. My matted hair expanded, unable to handle the environment I'd fallen asleep in. I sighed, tossing myself back onto my mattress. I closed my eyes before I hit the bed and felt my heart stopping my chest as a cracking pot boom through my window. My eyes shot open, and before I knew what was happening, my bedframe collapsed in on itself, sending my waterbed toppling onto broken wood. Another quieter popping sound ripped through the air.

I gasped as I sank into my waterbed, which erupted and spilled everywhere, soaking my boxes. Took me a few seconds to get a grip on a splintered section of the baseball of my now dismantled bed. What the fuck? Before I could pull myself up, something occurred to me. Something was very wrong. There were a couple of small rays of sunlight creeping through my window, which was apparently boarded up. The cracks in the wood were enough to let the bare minimum of light enter the room,

but not enough to see anything through. What the hell happened? I thought. Dad! Dad! What's going on? silence nothing but my words echoed and trailed into nothing my room was destroyed my laptop had apparently suffered to fall from what had once been my desk trophies from high school were scattered into shattered pieces across the dust-covered carpets upon closer inspection i realized it was hot ash what the hell had happened here tried to open my bedroom door but something heavy was blocking blind with rage to mask my terror

I slammed myself into the door seven or eight times without even getting it to budge I found my phone it wouldn't turn on even though it was plugged in an electrical fire perhaps that didn't explain why I was here instead of a hospital I covered my mouth and listened for the life of me

the only sounds I could hear was the thumping of my heart and the rush of blood travelling to my aching head help i murmured to no one in particular oh god oh my god someone can anyone hear me help please god after a few moments i collapsed feeling a tingling sensation in my legs everything felt so heavy i suddenly became very disoriented who am i thought i I know this place. This is my home.

Where the hell did everyone go? I braced myself against the wall and attempted to catch a glimpse through the narrow boards blocking my window. It seemed bright outside, but silent. Maybe not so bright, but lighter than the black abyss that had once been my bedroom. I began to cough, barely covering my mouth before blood, pulled out of it. Clapsed to the floor. Landing on a stray newspaper on my ash-covered floor.

November 9th, 2021. Nuclear war imminent. So, uh, it shortened, not particularly sweet one there. A bit of a downer, but, um, well, you know, more stories are coming up very soon. My dear friends, I promise. So that was Cairo the doll featured there. Uh, please go and check out her channel. Uh, doing all I can to support.

her on her journey into the world of YouTube storytellers. Well, this has been an interesting year for me, certainly. Big move, moved my family over from Turkey to the Netherlands, and it's a really beautiful place, really enjoying living here, but lots and lots of bureaucracy, and of course, having gone full-time YouTube this year in the last couple of months, I have to prove that I can support my family through the channel, which has not been the easiest of things. But all in all, everything's been going pretty well for me. Can't complain. Life's good. So many of you were always showering me with such positivity in the comment section in the videos. Can't help but be enjoying life. Yeah, so one thing that was a bit of a downer, I got a copyright strike

a month or so ago. A bit of a kerfuffle. I didn't do anything wrong. Turns out the person whose footage I'd used had licensed it under a Creative Commons license that they didn't really want to. And, well, tricky situation this one. I could have pressed the issue and ended up just demanding that I get to use their footage, which seems a bit weird. I could end up sort of, not suing them, but counteracting their claim against me. And I would have been in the right, but it just seems a bit weird, isn't it? You know, they've done, they made the video and it was on the edge of space, the upper atmosphere. So as you can imagine, not an easy video to make and cost a lot of money to produce.

And like I said, they had licensed a stit under a Creative Commons license, so I did absolutely nothing wrong. And, well, you know, you always try and look for a good outcome in these situations. And we talked a lot, me and the person in question. And, well, we've come to some kind of resolution. Didn't really help me as much as I wanted, but you have to always try and find positives in every situation in the world. Not always easy, but, well, I think it's an outlook that sort of definitely

helps me keep going in life. Anyway, that's a bit of a waffle, isn't it? I will be waffling on a little bit between these videos, not all the time, but occasionally, so please indulge me, dear friends. So what have we got now? Ooh, so this is another one with a very impressive ensemble cast. I, of course, will be telling the story, and I'm joined by the wonderful Mother Avon, by Tales to Chill the Bone, and also by the wonderful swan dweller. So, Got a drink in your hands? Are you ready to party some more? That sounds good to me.

Well, here we go then with our next story. Skin and Bones by Nerdcore Neal. I don't like her. She's weird. Complains Travis. Arms crossed and pacing back and fall. Look, bud. Answers Trevor, anxiously watching out of the living room window.

I have to go to this meeting where I could lose my job. Kim and I have been dating for a long time now. I really like her and wouldn't trust anyone else to watch you while I'm gone. It's just for tonight, and this will give you a chance to really get to know her. Who knows? By the time I get back to you, you two might be best friends. Doubted, Travis replied. Trevor sighs and turns to his son. Travis, ever since your mom died, I didn't think I'd ever find another woman that I could feel this way about.

But Kim is different. I really like her, and I think that we might have. actually get married someday. If everything keeps as good as it has been. I get it. You miss your mom and I do too. But I've got to move on. I'm not asking you to like Kim, just because I do. I just want you to give her a chance. Please, for me. This makes Travis feel a little guilty. You hadn't really gotten to know her all that well, but Kim really freaked him out. She was a very tall, very skinny woman that kind of reminded him of Mama. She had a lot of. She had a lot of long black hair and a huge pair of eyes that looked like they could pop out of her head if she tried. The face was constantly covered in heavy amounts of makeup and she drenched herself in strong

perfume to the point that he could literally smell her coming. To her credit, the few times that Travis had actually met him in person, she was actually very sweet and friendly to him, but her appearance made him extremely uncomfortable. Rolling his eyes, arms still crossed, Travis replies. fine not too much later a black car pulls into the driveway and a tall figure wearing a long fur coat steps out as she comes to the door and rings the bell

Travis is immediately hit in the face with a strong smell of her perfume well he coughs it's definitely her be nice replies Trevor in a stern voice Trevor opens the door

and Travis can't help but shudder as he sees the image of this alien-looking person standing in the doorway, their huge eyes staring gleefully at his father, and then quickly to him. Hey, bud! Kim squeaks in a high-pitched voice. Are you having a fun night? A smile is stretched wide, showing off her way too white teeth. Oh, yeah.

Answered Travis, unenthusiastically. Super fun. For a second, it kind of looks to Travis that her left-eyed twitches just the tiniest bit after he says that. Travis swallows her. Trevor invites Kim inside, and she gives him a huge extended kiss. Travis has to keep himself from gagging at the sight of his father making out with this strange-looking woman. Eventually, Trevor leaves for his trip, meaning that Travis was now alone with Kim, and his dread began to rise quickly.

At first, things are relatively uneventful. Travis stays in his room playing video games, and Kim sits in the living room watching TV, periodically checking Facebook on her phone. Eventually, it was time for dinner, which, to Travis's delight, Kim just ordered a large pizza. They sat at the dinner table,

and Travis was shocked at just how much pizza Kim had eaten. He often wondered if she ate at all, but she easily put away half the pizza within ten minutes. Travis wanted to ask her how she could eat so much and be so skinny, but he was afraid to offend her again. Hey, Kim? He starts. Yeah, bud.

She replies, chewing on the latest slice of pizza she'd started on. I was just wondering, um, how it is that, uh, well... You want to know why I'm so skinny, right? Travis nearly chokes on his own slice. Uh... Yeah, actually. Well, I have an extremely high metabolism, which means that my body burns calories a lot faster than other people.

I actually eat quite a lot, believe it or not. But no matter how much I eat, my body just stays the way it is. Oh, okay. Travis feels really bad then. He feels like an ass for thinking she looked scary because of how skinny she was, and it wasn't even anything she could. control. Sorry.

Don't worry about it, bud. She says, finishing the last of her meal. I know I look funny, but it is what it is. As the night progressed, Kim and Travis actually started to bond pretty quickly. They played video games together and then watched a scary movie. Eventually, it was bedtime, and after brushing his teeth, Kim bid him good night and he crawled into his bed. After about half an hour, he realized. He realizes that he needs to pee and makes his way to the bathroom.

After he does his business, he notices that Dad's bedroom light is on, realizing that it must be Kim, an idea comes to him. Now, Travis is a 12-year-old boy, and dirty thoughts as well as genuine curiosity began to come to him. He wonders if she's changing, or maybe even just completely naked. Maybe you could get a quick peek. he'd never seen a real naked lady in real life before and he especially wondered what Kim looked like without clothes on sneaking close to the door he slowly turns the knob it's not locked to his relief even slower he opens the door a crack just enough to peek inside what he sees is not what he was expecting

Kim was standing in front of his mum's old vanity, but something was very wrong. Sitting on the table was what at first looked to be a mask, but soon became clear to be something sinister. It was Kim's face. Not just the face, it was basically her entire head minus the skull. Slowly and shakily, Travis turns his attention to Kim's head, which was literally, a pale white skull. Travis didn't even care that she stood there completely nude like he'd hoped. He was too transfixed on the freaking skull with two large eyes. Travis then watches as she begins to remove her skin as though she were taking off one-piece

pajamas. She reaches inside of it and pulls out what appears to be a large sack. She takes it to the small private bathroom and Travis can hear her dumping something into the toilet and then flush it. She comes back, folds the skin and places it in a large black box that was laying on the floor next to the video. Finally, she pops out her left eye and places it in a small bowl of water on the table. And then she does the same with the writer. She turns off the light and slowly shambles her way over to Trevor's bed. Travis slowly closes the door and silently freaks out. Not knowing what to do, he slowly walks back to his room and climbs into bed. He does not sleep this night. The next morning, Kim gets Travis out of bed for breakfast. They sit at the

table, eating the scramble eggs that Kim had prepared before getting him up. No words are spoken at first until Kim breaks the silence. I know you saw me last night, she says flatly. She says flatly, i don't um i don't know what you're talking about responds travis refusing to look at her stop she says sternly freezing travis in place just stop i know you saw my face my real face i know you watched me i thought it was my imagination until this morning you're acting like you've seen a monster and i need you've seen a monster and i need you You need you to understand. You are a monster! Travis yells, cutting her off, immediately regretting that decision. Kim's face becomes sad.

Look, bud, there's things in this world that you wouldn't understand. Yes, there are monsters in the world. Real monsters that would have killed you in your bag the second they suspected you saw them in their true form. But I didn't. Because I'm not a monster. Am I human? No, not really. Do I mean you harm?

No, I don't, but you need to understand that beings like me are not understood by regular people. So my existence has to stay between us. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to scare you. But I will protect myself and others like me. terrified yet understanding at the same time Travis agrees to not speak of what he saw to anyone ever

later that day Trevor returns and Travis nearly knocks him over as he runs over and hugs him wow bud Trevor laughs I've missed you too did you two get along Travis looks over to Kim who stares at him with a somewhat worried look on her face yeah he answers genuinely smiling

She's actually pretty cool. We had pizza, played some games, and watched movies. I like her a lot. He looks over to Kim, who is smiling brightly. Kim gives Trevor a big kiss and gives Travis an even bigger hug. Thank you, she whispers in his ear. Travis whispers back. You can trust me. I am trusting you too.

And with that, Kim's. leaves and Travis waves goodbye. With a newfound respect for Kim and new questions about what else is out there, he walks over to his dad to ask how his trip was. So how you doing out there everyone? Having a good time? Enjoying the party? I do hope so. So thanks once again to my three guests in that story.

Please go and check out their channels, all doing phenomenal work, telling you some wonderful stories here on YouTube. Now, oh, I'm getting a bit tired. I need a little bit of a sit back and relax myself. Grabbing my own favourite drink. A white Russian for those who were interested. A couple of my dear friends have a little go themselves, okay? So first up, who have we got?

Oh, we have the incredible Mr. Creeps. Now, we got to work together pretty early on in his YouTube career. Since then, his channel has skyrocketed. He's doing phenomenally well. And with good reason, he does, in fact, really, really good work. So if for some reason you're not familiar, with Mr. Creep's channel, go check him out as well, okay? Highly recommend it. And he has a little Christmas message for you, which is this. Simply, be kind. The smallest thing could make a huge

difference in someone else's life. There you go. So, over to you then, Mr. Creeps. Itchy by Sylvester Cooper. You know that feeling of an overpowering itch? The type you can't possibly resist scratching. It's truly annoying, isn't it? It usually starts a slight irritation of the tissue beneath your skin. As though it was being pricked by some sort of thin, fibrous probe

and tenta and driving you insane. Another maddening trait of a terrible itches is how it jumps randomly to another patch of your epidermis. The seemingly random jump is made all the more irritating in that it always takes place. after you've either satisfied the itch's original location,

when you've mentally pushed the urge aside. This relocation is also usually to a spot several times more sensitive to the irksome itch. This jump can repeat a number of times until you're driven into a mad fit of scratching. Then your skin gets all red and irritated, and if you're not careful, you may draw blood. For a fraction of a second, you might think the itch and its ability to jump randomly around your body seemed a bit too calculated, as though there had been a wicked intelligence behind it. Then you would think better about it. Call yourself a fool for considering such a thing. Even take medication, believing that you might have suffered from a potent allergen.

Well, you would be both wrong and right. Your itch wasn't caused by a bit of pollen, mold, or animal dander. Okay, sometimes they can be the cause, but not nearly as often as you would think. No, there is usually an intelligence behind a terrible edge. How do I know, you may ask? Well, I'll tell you, you silly human. I'm the intellect behind the edge. Well, either me or one of my siblings.

Now don't try and find us. The greatest of your hunters couldn't find one of us in an open field on a sunny day. So don't bother trying. What are we called and what do we look like? Well, I won't share a name, but seeing as impossible for you to find us, I'll give you a brief description. We are roughly the size of a small child, but our arms are longer than. A grown man is tall. Our faces are wide and usually sported fiendish grins,

especially if we have driven a human mad from itching. The nail, talons, or claws which ever you're more uncomfortable with, extend out from our three-fingered hands. They can slither across entire rooms without a hint of noise as they seek human flesh. With painstaking patients, and incredibly skilled strikes. They embed themselves deep into human tissue

like hypodermic needles in a thousandth of a second. And then they retreat, waiting to strike again. Hmm. Why do we do this? Well, the same reason why I'm writing this. To screw with you. Geez, you would think a species as smart as you think you're sure,

yourselves to be, would be able to figure that out. Unpleasant itching, everyone. Very, very kind of you to tell us that story there, Mr. Creeps. Thank you so much for being a part of this. Go check Eddie's channel, as I said, doing phenomenal work. As is my next test, being scared, another channel I've worked with on several occasions, and of course we'll be working with again in the future. So, how's I've going?

It's going very well. Thank you so much for asking. Cool. All right, do you have a Christmas message for everyone? I do. During the holiday season, don't worry about the past or the future. Just cherish those around you. Your friends, your family.

Just look around you. They are all that matters right now. Awesome. Thanks again for being part of this. Now, on to the story from you. Killing my childhood monster was easier than I thought. By nerd core Neil. I never thought that I could do it, but there we were. I did it. I thought that it would be hard, but it was so, so easy. The idea of ending a man's life, with my own hands no less, gave me a great sense of anxiety before. The act of it, however, was so much more satisfying than I had ever thought possible. Don't get me wrong. When I say that it was easy, I do not mean the literal action of taking his life.

He put up quite a fight, as he was so much bigger than I was. He always was, after all, which made him so intimidating when I was a child. For so long the pain he inflicted on me went unpunished, because I was scared. I was scared that if I told anyone, I wouldn't be believed. I was scared that if I had attempted to defend myself, he would hurt me so much worse. It's funny, when I was finished. I looked over at him lying there, weak, helpless, dead. He was a monster, a cruel, evil beast.

The only regret is that it took me so long to finally put him down. It sickens me to think about how many other children had to suffer because of my silence and inaction. I hate that it took the idea of him touching my boy to finally do something. The first time my boy came to me and told me about him. it. I knew who it was right away. I had always hoped that my own childhood trauma was all in my head, that I imagined it, but it had always been a reality. When my boy told me about the tall man, I shuddered. When he told me about his long, skinny arms, reaching out to him, I cried. When he told me about these cold, dead eyes, staring at him as he choked him to the point of near

death before releasing his grip. I was done. Tonight, as the boy slept, I hid in his room, and I waited. I waited all night long. I almost believe that it was all in his head, as I had previously imagined it was in my head until I saw it. I saw the doorknob turn, and I could feel my heart racing. The door opened, and there it was, the tall, skinny silhouette. It became bigger as he began to walk toward the boy's bed. I gripped my baseball bat and struck first. He turned around in surprise as I swung with all my might. He dodged it at first, and then he grabbed me by the throat.

He cursed as he screamed at me before I smashed his face with my forehead. I quickly grabbed the bat again and swung once more. The bat broke in half as it smashed over his head. He screamed so loud, and it was so. disturbing that I almost threw up. But I kept my cool. He fell to the ground and I mounted him. Remembering my childhood, I began punching repeatedly, thinking about how he hurt me.

I kept punching. Thinking about how he hurt my boy, I began punching harder. I kept punching until there was nothing left to punch but the floor, stained with blood and fragments of bone. When I was finally finished, I took the time to calm down and think about the same. situation I was now in. I look over to the boy, a look of shock, fear, and confusion on his face. It was then that I remembered that he was not my son, but my patient. I then remembered that it wasn't my monster that was hurting him, but his own. I remembered that my own monster is still

out there, hurting God knows how many children, and until I find him, I'm going to settle for the monsters of other children. who come to see me in my office. This was the first, and there are so many more to go. Lucky for me, my mask hides my identity, so the boy doesn't know who I am. All he knows right now is that he won't be hurt anymore. Before too long, the light in the hallway turned on,

and I could hear his mother call out to his father. I quickly escaped from the bedroom window that I snuck in and could hear the scream of the mother calling out name of the father. I killed a monster tonight, though only the boy will ever know, unless he decides to tell the police about the abuse his own father had inflicted on him. I have so many patience with their own monsters that I need to deal with. Parents, teachers, and every other monster that has touched these children will be hunted and slaughtered. One day, I will track him down.

I will kill my own monster. Oh, welcome back, my dear friends. The party is still going strong. Did you have fun last night? I hope you did, I did. Lots of guests came by and helped me out with the stories, which is just lovely, really is. And guess what?

More of the same this evening. So, um, got a selection of stories, and this tonight I'm going to be reading a couple myself because I just realized I didn't do that last night, did I? had help in every single story. There will be some ensemble stories again with all-star casts

and a couple of guest appearances from other narrators as well. So, without further ado, let's get this party started just again. You got a drink, ready to sit back? Because you can, you know, you can sit back and relax with your favourite drink or you can get up and party with me and the gang.

Well, here we go then. Five stories for you this evening, and it is time to get things started. It wasn't a reindeer by Michael Page. Christ, I muttered to myself, as the first flakes of snow started to fall. They gathered in fuzzy clumps over the windshield, before my wipers cleared them away. I'd been waiting for fifteen, no, twenty minutes now, in my sister's driveway. Had I chosen to wait inside with her, I'd have been dead by now from her two grey cats.

Cute little devils, but a murder to my sinuses. Buffy eyes and a clogged-up throat. That's just what I needed. Every Christmas our family made the annual trip to my grandparents' cabin tucked away in the woods of Hope, Alaska. I'd hoped to beat the heavy snowfall that was forecasted. Since my sister's licence was suspended from a DUI, here I was, a hostage to time,

with my finger tapping anxiously on the steering room. When my mother had asked me to be the one to grab my sister, I'd honestly dreaded it from the start. It wasn't that we hated one another. we just weren't as close anymore. After decades of constant arguments and bitter disagreements, our relationship was distant and fizzled. Yes, we were siblings, but it felt more accurate

to call us the residue of what siblings once were. Finally, like the gates of Valhalla, her front door opened and out she came. Her hair was forest green. The last time I'd seen her, it had been white. The time before that, it was violent. got everything i asked as she clambered her way into the passenger seat hmm she responded and she adjusted her glasses and stuffed a few bags in the back seat and just like that we were off hope was about a thirty-minute drive and it didn't take long for the awkward silence to inflate between us it didn't help that the radio didn't work in my car and at the broken auxiliary port made your music sound like it was having a seizure oh by the time we reached the time we reached it to the car and that the broken auxiliary port made your music sound like it was having a seizure oh by the time we reached

the turn off for Hope Highway, the road was turning into a thick white sheet. Thankfully, on Christmas Eve night, the long stretch to Hope's small community was quick and vacant. The cabin was tucked away in a fortress of trees five miles off the main road. As I made the turn, my sister cracked the window, pulling out a blunt and led it with a lighter. Why on it hit? She asked. Snow crunched beneath us. Not while I'm driving. "'It's a straight path. We're practically there already.' She took a drag and blew it out the window. "'I just want to focus on this, all right?'

She huffed and pushed up her glasses. "'If you're that worried, maybe slowed down a bit then.' "'There was the jab. A piece of bait to lure me into another fight. But I wasn't going to bite. Not this time. She could live with us getting there faster. Well, the drive was almost over. I'd soon be in a warm living room with my feet up and a spiked eggnog in my hand.

Bobby Helms, Jingle Bell Rock in the air. I could already hear Uncle Jed spouting off one of his crew jokes. Hey, why does Santa Claus have such a be? Dude, my sister shrieked, jabbing a finger in my side and whipping my mind back to the windshield. The car had just finished winding around the thick trail. A large body of a reindeer stood in our path. eyes wide open and blank. It didn't move as the high beams found it.

Snapped into a panic, I twisted the wheels in a desperate swerve. The car veered greasily to the side in a fine spray of slosh. The reindeer, also known as a caribou, remained still, even as the bumper soared inches from its nose. He came to a crunching halt off the main path. Jesus, I sighed, blessed with relief. Did we hit it?

No, my sister said, leaning out the window while exhaling another plume of smoke. I wound the steering wheel back around and pressed on the gas. The wheel shrilled in place, kicking up globs of sleep but not moving an inch. Oh, perfect, I moaned, and unfolded myself from the seat to check it out. The two front tires were caked in black slush and practically swallowed in a mound of snow. I kicked at it, trying to clear off the icy debris from the treads and beneath the wheel well. When that tired me out, I resorted to scraping it off with my fingers. Screw off, Prancer.

I heard my sister call toward the dark silhouette of the reindeer, its antlers like gnarled fingers reaching for the treetops. Then she made a sort of startled yip, followed by a, what the fuck? I looked up from the scrim of snow. The reindeer was now standing tall on both of its hind legs. It looked strange, like a silly caricature you'd see in a kid's book. But out there, in the silence of the woods, it was a creepy image.

The way its vague shape stood on just two legs held an almost human-like balance. For whatever reason, I realized then, it didn't have a tale. Its muscular neck craned to the side and let out an ullulating scream, a miserable squeal of metal grinding against metal. My legs were ice sculptures, cementing me to the spot as the shriek quieted to a succession of wet grunts. The reindeer dropped down to its original posture and stomped heavily. uffs of white vapour and strings of snot vented from its nostrils.

I was no hunter, but it didn't take a lot to tell me when a pissed-off animal was about to charge. I leapt for the driver's seat, pulled the door open and slammed it shut just as the muffled thud of hooves reach me. Antlers scraped the door as its large body practically flew over the patch I'd just been standing in.

Fast. Very fast. My sister screamed as the large bulk of its frame wound back around and charged again, this time shattering the headlights and submerging us in the darkness. Just go already! My sister hollowed.

in my ear. I'm trying. God damn it, I hissed. The wheel still helplessly spun. We were trapped. The creature charged again, this time nailing the window and blew me a cobweb of cracks near my sister's head. I searched for anything, literally anything that I could use as a weapon. I was never really a gun enthusiast, but at that moment I'd have shaved my head and joined the secular monks if it meant having a glock in my hand right then and there. After rattling the car once more, the reindeer finally appeared to lose interest and disappear between the cluster of trees. Granted some time to breathe and think. We phoned our dad and told him about this situation.

He was going to come down in his pickup and get us unstuck and out of this mess. I looked over at my sister, who was taking long, steady breaths between her fingers. You're all right, I asked. What do you think? She grumbled. I told you to slow down. Another jab. And this time I wasn't going to have it.

Want to be useful? I yelled. Or get out there and push. No. Shut the hell up. I don't need this right now. She said nothing else. And neither did I.

Returning once again to the pocket of silence their relationship had succumbed to. The sooner Dad's headlights peaked in the distance, the better. Suddenly, she rolled the window, dead. "'What are you doing?' I asked. "'Shh!' she pursed her lips. "'Just listen.' "'Humering her, I waited, and sure enough, the sound reached me too.

"'The quiet voice of a little girl coming from outside.' "'Somebody,' it whimpered. "'I'm lost. Please help me. I'm last.' "'My sister unlocked the door and motioned to open it. I grabbed her wrist What are you doing? She snapped. There's someone out there.

Just wait a second. It's weird, isn't it? The voice continued to whine, choking between sobs and pleading for someone anyone to help her. I didn't like the way it sounded. The same lasting drawl between words, the same weeping sounds

like someone was hitting repeat on a speaker. Something wasn't right. and my instincts were hoisting red flags left and right. And then my sister looked at me, and her expression walked into shock. She flung back, pinning both her shoulders against the interior. Things that sounded like words bubbled up, but didn't quite make it out of her throat. I turned and saw what was looking at me. It had the face of a man, surrounded by the mottled fur of a caribou's body.

The skin was a mummified brown colour, wound tightly around its long skull, like old crinkled leather. Snowflakes landed against its wide, expressionless eyes, and melted into the dark membrane of its pupils. It circled the car, bobbing its antlers and fogging out the windows as it peered inside. The heart shook the walls of my throat. I locked eyes with my sister, unable to say anything behind the sheer disbelief. I should have grabbed my phone, snapped a photo, recorded a video of anything, but my thoughts were jangled. It then led out that same horrible scream, but I didn't see its tight, contorted lips open. The sound was coming from its neck.

Small, fleshy orifices, flapping open like mouths, were converted the high-pitched shrill into the mimic cry of a little girl. Help me. I'm lost. Help me. Headlights glazed the area. My father's pickup came into view, paving its way down the path. The reindeer, or whatever the hell it was, ran off, vanishing once again into the snow-covered thicket. Nobody believed us. Why would they? If anyone he had told me that story, I would have assumed they were hopped up on some crazy psychedelic.

But the reality of what I saw was cold, and it's something I still, to this day, can't fully swallow. Instead of sleeping that night, my sister and I did some research that led us to the myth of skin walkers. Beings of some sort able to mimic voices and disguise themselves as animals to lure people into the woods. After reading other accounts, there wasn't a doubt in my mind what we had witnessed out there. Every so often that night I'd stare out the window and eyeed the yard, wondering if I'd see that leathery face watching from the tree line. Neither I nor my sister ever made that trip again, much to the frustration of my family. But I was a silver lining.

She and I have never been closer. So in case you're wondering, that was me. You should know that by now, shouldn't you? Yeah, that was one from me, because I didn't read any stories for you last night. Well, I was part of it, wasn't I? Yeah, most of the way along the way. But it wasn't me. Oh, it's just a story on my own.

I really liked that one. Yes, it wasn't a reindeer. very festive indeed. So what have I got lined up for you next? Well, I'm very, very delighted to introduce to you the one and only spirit voices. Now, this is a beautiful, beautiful female narrator,

and I highly advise you to check her out after you've listened to this party time tonight. Get over to her channel and check her out. Like, subscribe, listen to the stories. You know the drill, don't you? Yes, you do. Well, here we go, the next story. Drip.

Drip by night horizon. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. A metronome of decay. The plump sound of death knocking on creamy alabaster. Coaxing whatever fool it could with its soothing groan.

To feel its embrace. Indescribable warmth. Death wasn't a cold hand on the shoulder of the shelteredly and sick, oh no, quite the contrary, it was a heated sensuality that crept over goose-bumped skin with a deliberate determination. It was a sentence that intertwined its way into every fleeting second of existence. It was always there, looming and watching, just waiting for the perfect moment in order to introduce itself. Perhaps that was why even its scent was always described as something sweet, almost to the point of sickness.

Drip, toes first. Before plunging into the depths, they sank past the steam that rose in ghostly wisps from the surface of the water. The heat was abusive as Anthony's foot reached the bottom of the porcelain tub, and as the rest of his body began the slothly. low descent, he could have sworn the water itself had an infestation of gnawing teeth that pricked his flesh like little needles. The water lapped like forked tongues against his skin, meffling any concern that had bubbled up in the back of his mind. Any fear or second-guessing was easily quelled by the enamoring sensation. With fingers welded to the sides, his knuckles were almost as pale as the rolled cast iron that they clenched as he braced his weight. Drip. Submerged to his waist now,

Anthony let his shoulders relax, muscles going slack as his fingers relinquished their vice on the edge of the tub. Saturated in the sultry bath, Anthony's gaze flicked upward to focus on the source of that infernal petter. Above him, dangling just mere inches from his own face, was a sedated body. Fresh from the hunt, it hung in suspension by a series of meat hooks, placed purposely so that they dug in under the skin, deep into the layers of muscle and tendon to anchor the dead weight. The ankle was a perfect place. The curve of the hook fits so well into the soft flesh just above the heel and under the tendon. The clavicles, too, offered surprising support for the mass of the upper torso.

bone and muscle helping to keep the body from ripping from its suspension there were a few others fastened into the abdominal muscles to keep the sagging weight from the middle from putting too much tension on the other insertion points the dripping was the incessant prattle of blood trickling over supple flesh until it mounded into a drop large enough for gravity to sequester it away and towards the darkening water below it trailed over bulged sections of flesh soaking into the twine that was too tightly wrapped around the unconscious figure it looked as if death had already taken the poor thing if not for the subtle shift of muscle with each shallow breath that was weakly swaying the chains Anthony was almost mesmerized by this purgatory, this nuanced position between existence and oblivion. It was a delicacy to see such an unnatural state of life hanging by a perpetual thread. And all Anthony had to do was make one final snip. It was too easy of a move, an action that felt not. nearly surreal at the moment as his fingers grasped around the molded handle of his hunting knife.

The blade kissed the concrete floor, singing out in a harsh growl as he dragged the instrument from the floor and pressed the soiled edge against a barely visible pulse, just below the sweat, dampened skin. Even though it was unconscious, Anthony could still catch that jilt of fear run its course through the unfortunate creature. He had, prior to working hooks through the most sturdy areas of the soon-to-be carcass, taken the liberty of sewing its eyes open. It wasn't the most appealing stitch job. He was no seamstress by any means, but it achieved its purpose of allowing him to watch every nuance change as life finally succumbed to its eternal fate. And as the knife embedded itself just under the jaw, forcing out a spray of red that speckled across the tub and the young

hunter's face as he delivered the final blow, the ecstasy in Anthony's eyes seemed to be mirrored in those of his fading prey. There was little more than a sudden dilation, a fluttering of the people as it contracted and relaxed, as what little hope this poor individual had, was drained away. It was as if Anthony had opened up a spigot, letting a spurting, dribbled leak from the freshly deceased

into the tub below. The water would have been chilled by now, had it not been for the introduction of that new addition to top it off, still warm from the body that now hung lifeless above him. No longer was there a soft rattle as the chains were moved with desperate inhalations. Drip. Everything in that moment was devoured by a silence that bordered on deafening. Just the residual dripping of blood splattered. against the surface of the water and Anthony's own heartbeat seemed able to avoid being choked out. It was metered, a baseline to some unintelligible lullaby that sounded too familiar, but not familiar

enough to place a name to, let alone words or a solid melody. But there was still intimacy, weaved in between each drip, and every low drum. that flooded his ears. Sinking lower into the corrupted bath, he felt the water swaddle him, leaving a red patina of decay as it mounted and slacked away from his skin. The still air echoed over those stained patches

with a ghostly whisper. Anthony surrendered himself into the ambience, listening to the residual plop of blood and the slapping of water against the tub walls. His eyelids drooped, shrouding the edges of his vision with phantom visitors that encroached closer, spectators to this discordant symphony. They towered over him like obliques, stretching infinitely above the still motionless body that stared down with a glassy gaze.

That orb-like stare, fenced by shadowed mockeries of his shadowed mockeries of his own. an audience was the last thing he recognized before the gloom consumed everything beautiful beautiful storytelling there thank you so much for being a part of this evening spirit voices very very glad to have you along for the ride go check out our channel she's doing some phenomenal work subscribe like comment you know the drill well time for an ensemble work you can tell i like saying the word ensemble Well, we've got an all-star line-up for this next one. Who have we got? You're not going to believe this.

Got my good old friend, Unit 522. One of the first people to give me a big break in the storytelling world. I think I had about 100 subscribers when he had me guest on his channel, and it was a really big boost to me and getting things going in the right direction. So we've got Unit 522. We've got Mr. Davis, who's doing some fantastic real-life True Kheim stuff. I can't recommend it highly enough. Brilliant stuff, go check him out.

Who else have we got? GM Danielson again. He had a pretty big star turn last night, and he's back again. I know, yes. Who else? All right, don't turn around and dead man talking's forest of fear. So this really is an absolutely star-studied cast for this story. So, here we go.

The 20 Days in Sasha by Chase Lair. If you can hear this, this is Chey. chase lamb. We need help right away. There's something in the woods. It's coming to the door. Oh God. The footsteps are outside the door. Oh my God. It's almost here. End of transmission. Hello. Mrs. Chase Lamb, along with the four other idiots I have with me. Brandon, Mitch, Gordon, and Mike. We met in college while we were studying to be game designers, but we figured out that wasn't for any of us. Instead, we decided to explore the unknown and unexplained.

We are what you call paranormal explorers. We travel to places that can be explained and try to bring it into the light for an answer. So today we're heading to a town called Sarsha. We got a lead on this from one of those Facebook posts from people going on about, oh, hell, the scary stuff doesn't exist. The thing that got our attention, though,

was when we tried to find it on Google or any mapping system, we weren't able to locate it. Luckily, our local library has some information on it, as well as a couple of old newspaper articles on the town. Well, according to old books and newspapers that we've read so far, the town has no sign of life, well, none for nearly 80 years. Nobody can explain it. Why, but it's rumoured that anybody that attempts to stay there for 20 days simply disappears.

and on top of it all, they never found again. These apparent warnings given to us raised our curiosity. After doing a lot of research and database searches, we were able to find out where Sasha's location is. Day one. Since, apparently, nobody has stayed here for 20 days and we need proof, I brought my journal so I could keep notes. Mitch also brought along his video camera,

so you'll be able to watch clips of us at the same time. We're now 20 minutes away from Sasha, and I'm looking forward. Get out of here. Leave now. A ghostly figure of myself appeared and showed me dead. Wake up, Chase. Wake up! Gordon shook me, violent. Wait, what happened? I said, dazed and confused.

He started to drift off, and it looked like you were falling asleep or passing out. Yeah, I'm fine, Gordon. Don't worry about it. I didn't want to tell him what I just seen because, well, I might think I've been trying to chicken out. I hardly doubt they believe me, anyway. I just decided to shake the whole thing off as a small dream or some hallucination. It had been, well, a while since I got any sleep. Yeah.

So Mitch, stopped the car. Looked to us with a playful look. Welcome to Sarsha. Brandon took out the camera and started to film the surrounding. around us. They were right about it looking abandoned. It looked like nobody had lived here in years. The grass was almost seven feet tall. No cornfields with dead brown pieces of corn all around them. We recorded the area and found nothing except for an old wooden house that was destroyed. Since it's likely no one lives there, we decided that this is where we would set up camp.

Day two. We spent most of the night trimming the hedges, but couldn't do much. It seems like we were trying to trim down metal and steel all in one. Today, the plans for us consist of fixing up the house and making it livable again. We all looked around it and found nothing ghostly or any signs that people had even lived here. We were able to see what tons of dust, or a bunch of spider webs, like the place was trying to tell us that, oh, we shouldn't be here. Ah, well, enough of that. I'm going to help the rest of the group get the repairs done.

I'll be writing back in my journal in the couple. of hours. Well, it took us four hours, but we were able to settle in the house. We all celebrated with the cold beer as we were able to get the electricity in the house, which almost seemed impossible to do. It makes things dinner. Mitch brought out their camcorder and said in a playful voice. All right, people, for our wait until this ancient evil crap gets us. What do you want? He brought out a selection of burgers in his left hand, and he brought out a T-bone steak on the right. We all pointed to the left, and we had the burgers. After dinner, we're all exhausted. So this is where I'm going to put the journal down and get some shut-eye.

I'll be sure to write tomorrow. You all have a good night. Day four. I feel like a complete fool. Forgot to write in my journal about the third day. I apologize for that. There's nothing I can do about it now. We're all bored from sitting around and just exploring the house, so we decided to have some fun. Took the camp quarters to go out and explore the woods. As expected, we found nothing of talent and fortune. All we saw were trees and, well, insects. However, one thing that stuck out and provided mystery was, how was there a fresh dead deer out here? There'd be no sign of life for eight years. So how could something be out here? Well, we were all trying to think of possible explanations. Animals get into it. Dying of starvation, natural causes. Eventually we all calmed down and decided

to claim that the wildlife had taken it. The rest of the day mostly consisted of us playing cards at the table, just relaxing until at 8.30 p.m., we heard a banging at the door. Grabbed our gear and went outside, and it was shocked when we saw the dish. We saw the dish. that was not even dead four hours ago was gone. It's gone. All of it. The body, the tracks, even the blood. It was almost as if something was coming to clean up a mistake it had made during its work.

Well, that night, none of us got any sleep. Day five. No, I don't claim to believe in the paranormal activity or, well, things like that, but all of last night I heard these. These unexplainable noise. It sounded like small children. Every time we went outside, the noise would stop. It was almost as if something knew we were coming,

to see what it was, and in our state of confusion, we heard a loud howling screech. When we went outside to investigate the noise, nothing was there. This place keeps on getting creepier and creepier. Day 7. Sorry, I haven't written in a couple of days. I hit my head and I was in and out of it yesterday.

We don't know what caused me to fall. I was thinking there's maybe some mold or something in the air. Instead, we found something inexplainable. It was a journal with a key sloths. The shape of it looked like it was a diary, but of course there was no key to be found. Instead of bashing it open and seeing what it was in, side. We picked the lock, try not to damage the contents. In the meantime, Gordon decided what we

were doing was boring. He thought it would be fun if we went fishing instead. We all got our rotten reels. We went fishing for two hours. To the surprise of everybody, turns out they were fish that were living in the yellow ponds. In the end of our trip, we decided to head back and heat the fish, since they looked edible. We were all excited to head back to the house. But that feeling was slowly turning to panic and fear. Oh, the house looked a total wreck. It looked like a tornado had come in and thrown all our stuff around. Our cameras were distorted, along with all our belongings scattered on the floor.

We were frustrated and confused. But I noticed something that nobody else had. A place where the journal lay is torn into pieces. Something was looking for this journal. Well, I had hidden it in one of the... the closets and logged it behind me, not telling anyone, but the journal is gone. Someone was here. I don't think it was any of us. We gathered in the room, staring at one another in silence.

Okay, who pulled off this prank? Gordon said with fury in his voice. None of us replied. All we could do was look and hope someone confess and say it was a prank. That didn't happen. Well, we just decided that it would be best to clean up and forget about this mess. But that wouldn't be easy. After we'd finished cleaning the house and putting everything back where it was, we all went to sleep. Within the hour, the other four were all snoring. I couldn't sleep.

Not after what had happened today. I tossed and turned, hearing the sound of paper crumbling. I heard it again and again. It sounded like it was coming from under my bed. So I lifted my bed to see a perfectly intact piece. Day 8, I decided not to tell the others about the paper. I think they suspect me for the big mess that was made. We all went downstairs for breakfast and decided we were going to explore the cornfield later.

It was different than the first time I'd seen it. Just as we were putting our plates away, there was a giant thump at the door. sounded like something had charged at it we all jumped out of our chairs in shop and Brandon went into a frenzy reaching in his bag and taking out a gun and then

he ran off Brandon stop what are you doing he ran after him to stop him we followed his footsteps which led to the coffee we had to find him before he did something stupid or ended up hurting himself

we followed the steps for what felt like an hour. In our hunt, we came across something strange. We found this weird footstep in the dirt. It looked like something was walking with five feet, except every footprint was different, almost like every print was a different animal. As we inspected it,

we heard a blood-curdling scream to the left of us. It was Brandon. We ran to him, pushing off every piece of corn that came in our way. We got to him and saw him in this fetal position, shaking his blood ran down his body. Some animal had bitten him on the right shoulder. We grabbed him and brought him back into the house. Thankfully, his time, it wasn't torn to shreds. But Brandon's shoulder was bleeding.

He was starting to have convulsions. Grabbing a cloth from the bathroom, we made a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. Luckily, it worked. I hadn't noticed, but in all of the commotion, that paper was somehow on the ground. A drop of blood dripped from Brandon's shoulder, hitting the page, only for words to show up. Day 10, I didn't write this yesterday, since we spent the entire day trying to decode the paper. It would only show words with Brandon's blood. We tried ours, but, well, nothing was.

We gathered his blood, and deciphering four lines of the page. We, well, after our efforts, we figured out the four lines and what it said. This is Baden Marcus. We were very stupid to come here. The tracks at night are from the animal. We have never seen anything like this. If you see... Then it ends there.

Everyone was convinced this animal, the paper mentioned, was the one that left the weird foot track in the dirt. I sat at the door for what seemed like hours and came up with a plan. Yeah, I would sit at the side of the door, and when it would appear, I'd take a picture of it. I stood there for an hour, ready to give up, before I heard noises coming from the side of the house, taking the camera. Oh, I saw its face before it ran off into the cornfield, like a wolf with a scar running from its forehead to its eye. I was looking at the footage to see it up close and to show the guides. When I saw the film, I saw nothing of the animal.

I slowed the camera, looking at it frame by frame. Only show was me running to the back of the house and looking at nothing. Frustrated, I went to bed. Day 11. Ever since Brandon got bit by the animal, he's been acting strange. not in a medical way, but he started speaking French randomly, and his emotions turned into anger and depression. Well, I'm not a doctor, but this isn't the Brandon Eamon.

Plus, he doesn't even know French. After we helped Brandon get out of bed, we gave him an aspirin and put some peroxide on the bite. Everything was working out. We put a band-aid on to keep anything from getting into the bite. after that we were all bored and decided to go fishing we put up a can quarter

so if anything could get into the house we would catch it on film after a walk to the dock and got our equipment out and went to get started I put the rod out and within the first five minutes I caught a fish on the line excited we poured it to the surface and the feeling

turned into dust as the reality of our catch came into view It was a human skull I thought after seeing this Our next thought would be getting the hell out of this crazy place That's what same people would do But how stubbornness got to us

We voted together that we were going to stay After this little voting stage Might got thirsty So he went back to the house to get some water 30 minutes passed and he hadn't yet come back Well, we all started to worry that something had happened to him, so we went back to the house to check on him. When we got there, there was nothing there besides his shirts and the five claw-like footprints.

Day 13. Yesterday, the thoughts of my journal didn't even come to my head. The day consisted of trying to find our lost friend. We looked in the plains, in the house, and the cornfields. There was no... sign of him. And to make things worse, the footprints were gone. After the search, we couldn't find him or even see any signs he was there. We got our phones out to get a signal to call 911, but no one could get one. The only way to finding Mike was the paper. In a panicked effort, we applied pressure on Brandon's now-heeled wound to get blood out and show the final words of the page. Nothing came out, though. In a rage of few years, we were in a rage of fear. In a rage of few,

Mitch through a book at the wall, breaking aboard and revealing the dog skull. We were in shock, went to examine it. It was indeed a dog skull, and by the looks of it, it had been there for a very long time. What in the hell is a dog skull doing here? There's got to be more to this place than just a scary legend. In a curious effort, we took our shovels and dug around the back and front yard to find anything to help us. and what we found was nothing what we would have ever expected bodies

lots of bodies not just human bodies the more we dug the more bodies we saw there were so many animals dogs cats and humans whatever was here

was making it look like a signal to get out because something did not want us here Day 14 This is going to be a terror century We're getting ready to leave And to go to the police Talk about all of this We have to report what we found in the yard

And the story about Mike and reporting him missing Again We heard something last night When we were investigating And we saw one of the footprints This, this is it We're packing And we're leaving first thing tomorrow

Day 15 We're almost done packing, keeping guard at the door with Mitch's gun. If the creature comes to get us, we'll be ready this time. Brandon needs to go to the hospital. His eyes have been getting more bloodshot every hour, and he randomly jerks his body. The rest of the things were packed, and I started carrying Brandon out to the car.

God, it's time to get out of this place. But just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I was wrong. Our car was destroyed. It looked as if someone had whacked it with a baseball bat for 200 times. The windows are bashed in. The engine looked like someone had dropped it, a giant boulder on it. We had nowhere to go, no one to contact.

In the nearest town is 105 miles away. We were screwed. We're going to die here. The only thing that we could do is hope and pray. How only hope was the paper. We went to get it, hoping that it may contain some clue, some way to get out of here, anything to get out of this hellhole. Well, we got the paper ready to squirt Brandon's blood hole over the pages, not caring how we escape this plane. And when we grabbed the paper, I was shocked to see it was readable.

All of the other times we'd seen it, it was blank. It turned out it was a journal similar to the one that I was writing Except a man named Bernard Jenkins had written It explains all the events that had happened to us in the journal And was a warning He warns us of a creature that shouldn't even have been born here in this world It's made this, its home And it will kill anyone that invades its property

Inside is also a video recording from him being questioned by the police. Day 16. Here's the police tape recording we found taped to the journal. We pulled out our video camera and recorded what came next. Bernard, are you okay? The officer said in a very calm voice. Am I safe? But it asks in a very edgy voice.

Yes, it can't hurt you. but we need to ask you a couple of questions about what happened in Sasha. He paused. Seven of you went in. One comes out 20 days later. Doesn't look good for you. The officer says. Bernard replies in an earth-shattering voice.

It wasn't me. It was that thing. I saw it. It bit all of my friends and killed my Allison. My sweet Allison. He puts his hands on his head. shaking violently. She became one of those things.

The creature's bloodshot eyes. They came for me, but I got away. But every time I close my eyes, I see it. You don't know what it's like. I can't live, I can't sleep. Every second is just me wondering if I can live an extra minute before it comes to get me. The officer seems to be not paying any attention. The thing that bit us.

It had brown fur, five legs, and we couldn't kill it. We tried shooting it, but it wouldn't die. Bernard starts to shake violently. It wouldn't die. It would not die. The officer grabs Bernard and says, Arm down. You're safe now. His voice is reassuring that the calm is broken.

Suddenly, Bernard yells again. Oh my God, it's right behind you. Camera flips over. Two gunshots fired, and then it ends. The end says that Bernard and the officer were never found in the room where the shots had been fired. All they found were the two bullets. It's terrifying even to think that the same thing that hunted Bernard is now hunting us. What should we do?

It's 105 miles away from a town and whatever is trying to kill us is driving us to insanity. Is this what it wants for us to turn on each other one by one? Day 70. All night we heard the growling. Every second I heard it. It wasn't until the littlest sight of sunlight came out that the growling stopped. We were granted with a morning present that had made us all sick to our stomach. At the doorstep was Mike's body.

Destroyed and everything. It looked like he'd been ripped in half by a chainsaw. Mitch and I couldn't even look at the body. We took a blanket, covered him, and put him into one of the holes we previously done. We promised we'd find the thing that did this to him and Bernard, and we will kill that creature and deliver this evil away from this world. We took all of our weapon-related items ready to hunt, but we were interrupted by another of Brandon's seizures.

We thought of what Bernard had said. One of those things. God. Was Brandon turning into something else that wasn't human? Well, I loaded my gun and pointed it at Brandon. I almost pulled the trigger, but was interrupted by Gordon. Dude, what the hell are you doing? He tackled me to the ground, yelling those words.

I took a deep breath and replied slowly. What Brandon said about people turning, we should kill him before he turns. Gordon had the most disgusting expression that I'd ever seen him. make. He slapped me in the face and told me never to think that again. After 15 minutes, things calmed down with Brandon. We finished preparing our weapons. 11 p.m., he grabbed our guns and were about to walk out the front door. But Brandon was gone. He'd run out the front door and left the house, and there was a train of blood to follow. We instantly thought the worst had

happened to him. We had the sounds of movements somewhere out in the field, though whenever we shun our lights out on the movements, there was nothing there. The blood trail was coming to an end. And then we found Brandon. He was dead. We left his body, swearing we'd get a proper burial for him after we'd killed the creature. We gave up on our search finding the beast at night, decided to try and find it during the daylight instead. We arrived back at the house and garried our things for the night. We went to bed and within a moment of laying down, we were all fast asleep.

Day 18. 3 a.m., the door randomly burst open and what we saw instantly woke us. It was the creature. It had the head of a bear, followed by scars covering the right side of its face. I immediately grabbed one of the guns and shot at it. dodge my bullet and ran back to the front door.

It must have considered me a threat. Before it ran, Gordon swung a baseball bat and hid it in the ribs. We saw it run off with blood coming from its men. We were both excited and happy that it could be hurt because if it bleeds, it can be killed. No noises were made that night, nor did it show emotion. You could tell by its movements that it was, hurt. It ran, and we chased it outside, but before we could leave, we heard the shatter of glass

breaking behind us. He was Brandon. We didn't know if he was alive at all. His eyes were completely bloodshot, and foam ran down from his mouth. A thought popped in my head, going back to the things Bernard had said how it turned people into those creatures. Brandon, was now one of those things. He ran at us, not like how an average person should. We heard his bones crack. It made me want to throw up, but I was able to hold it back. Gordon and I ran to the basement as fast as we could,

and we boarded up the door. Brandon was still outside, smashing the door and trying to break it. We were frantically looking for something to help us in any way. We spotted an old ham radio. I set it up. With deep breaths, I said. If anyone can hear this, this is Chase Lamb.

We need help right now. We're in grave danger. If anyone can hear us, we're in Sasha. And need help right away. Just then, the smashing of the door stopped. We heard a howl come from outside. It must have been the creature calling its flock back to its heart. After hours of waiting in the basement,

and listening for any sign of living things in the house, we came out. Exhausted and in pain, we needed sleep. We decided that someone would keep guard, and we would switch every three hours. I hope this is a better day than the one we've had in the past. Day 20, it's now the afternoon. We've made a plan to escape Sasha. We don't know how this didn't come across our minds before. At the dock, when we first found the skull, there was a boat.

It was in decaying. Looks like it hadn't been used in years. It was our only choice. It was hard abandoning everyone, but Gordon and I just had to. Mitch was missing. Brandon had turned into one of those things. Mike was dead. We gathered the gear ready to make the fastest run of our lives to the boat.

We checked the inside of the house in case Brandon was hiding. Oh, the creature was waiting for us. We looked down at the windows and found that everything was the same outside. Oh, the saying, looks can be deceiving, couldn't be further from the truth. It was quiet. No footprints were there, and nothing new was outside. We knew it was watching somewhere. I mean, it has to be.

Remember, it's the 20th day. Nobody survives 20 days. So we got the bags and all the guns we could and opened the door. running out as fast as we could. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but this didn't even get us to the thought of slowing down. As if I just jinx myself, the creature came from the cornfield,

screaming and hissing as loud as it could. Looking at its fang teeth and its wolf-like structure only made me run faster as it ran at us with extraordinary speech. Gordon must have noticed that he was almost near us I saw him pull the pistol and shoot off three rounds. One hit the creature, and we heard it gasp out in desperate pain. I yelled at Gordon to keep shooting, but when he did, the gun jammed. There was no time to fix it, so he threw it, and we just kept on running.

Halfway to the boat, we're almost there, we can make it out of here. We were running, and we suddenly saw it in front of him. It was Brandon, or what used to be Brandon. Blood was spilling from his mouth, and his eyes were completely red. He caught us off guard and tackled Gordon to the ground. I went to help, but Gordon just yelled, saying, Run, it's safe yourself. I had no choice but to listen to my friend and watch as both the creature and Brandon attacked him.

I was finally at the door. And to my surprise, I found Mitch working on the boat. at a frantic pace. Mitch, what are you doing here? Where were you? He cut me off. I'll tell you everything later. We just need to escape this place.

He jumped on the boat and revved the engine to try and get it to work. But it wouldn't budge. The creature was now in eyesight. And along with it was Gordon and Brandon right behind it. The beast and the rest of them ran at us. And we were about 20 feet away from each other before the engine started. It started.

Oh, it started. We drove off slowly into the distance to see the creature and my two friends screaming and yelling at us. A tear came down my cheek. As reality set in, that I'd lost almost everything

I'd had in my life. I turned to my right to talk to Mitch, but he wasn't there. Instead of sitting in the passenger seats, He was staring back at the town. When I asked if he was all right and turned him around, I saw his eyes were bloodshund. He bit me right before I pushed him off the boat into the propellants,

where they broke and sliced him to pieces. So, I write this, not knowing how long before I turned. But if, for some reason you get the mad idea that we did, and a reading this. Run. Run now. Never look back. I feel the change is coming.

Don't make the same mistake we meant. Just turn back and save yourself. Yeah, so a pretty good one there. Now that's one I've been working on for about a year and a half. It's taken me that way. I don't know. What can I say? I'm very disorganized.

Sometimes it just takes me a long, long time to get around to it. Sometimes somebody will post something on the subreddit. and I'll just read it the next day. Other times it takes me a year, two years. Just happens that way, okay? That's just how I roll with things. The better or the worse. That's just how it is.

How are you all doing? You're okay? Having a good time? Got a drinking hand. Having a good time and relaxing. Maybe you're at work still. Oh my God. If you're still at work, your thoughts are with me.

My thoughts are with you. I've done that. I've done the Christmas Eve shift many a time. when I was younger, and, well, life gets better. You pay your dues, things get better, and one day you'll be at home with your family, not working on Christmas Eve. Now, I can't promise you that, but I hope all the best for you all in the future. So where on earth are we now? Oh, it's my absolute delight to introduce another guest to you. Now this is a fellow country person of mine now, now that I'm living in the Netherlands. This is the Pumpkin Queen, quite new to the

narration game, but well worth checking out. And she has quite a fantastic, one of the most popular recent stories on No Sleep, so I hope you're going to enjoy this one. Here we go then, our next door. When all of the children in our town disappeared, everyone was heartbroken. When all of the children in our town reappeared, everyone was terrified by Bunny B-O-3. When all the children in town disappeared, everyone was heartbroken. When all the children in town reappeared, everyone was terrified. December 25th, 2018, was the worst day our town had seen since the founding. People called the Christmas of the Lost.

My heart yearns to shatter just writing about it. Hundreds of parents laid our gifts under the Christmas tree the night before. Each parent awoke up to a little. an identical scene when they went to sleep. Cookies and milk were untouched, stockings bulged with undisturbed treats, and gifts rested in the places under the Christmas trees, cold from the lack of children's joy. My wife Nina and I were no exception. I remember us tiptoeing past our son's bedroom as we carried his gifts from Santa down the hall. Nina was tipped Gypsy on Agnock, and I had a bit of a holiday bus going myself.

We giggled and shushed each other as we stumbled through the house. It's one of my best memories, because it's the last time we've ever laughed together. Hell, I can't even remember if we've laughed at all since then. Ronnie was sleeping in his bed, as he always was. I know this because my wife and I bigoted about her going in there to give him a good night kiss. Looking back, I thank God that she won the battle. It brings me something close to a hint of silence to know that some of his last moments in this house were spent under his mother's laugh. We set up this tricycle, placing the largest

yellow bow atop the handlebars that we could find. Nina's mother's tradition, dedicated that we place an orange at the bottom of his stockings. But the rest was filled with little toys and candy. I groaned as she handed me the full plate of cookies. Ugh, why do we always make so many again? I joked. Because it's fun. I don't know about you, but when Ronnie and I are making them, a small part of me actually believes they'll be eating.

by Father Christmas. She blushed as she placed an amber strand of hair behind the dainty ear. The trick peanut butter cups at top of the cookies were killing me that year. I remember choking on my own saliva, turned into a bittery syrup by sugar, who got it done though, leaving exactly one cookie uneaten for Ronnie to sneak in the morning. The milk, however, was all mine. We are We awoke to the sounds of sirens and the sun shining through her windows. Nina's bedside clock read 9.80 a.m. As much as I tried to fight it, a cold shale enveloped each shell of my body. We knew something was wrong.

It's not normal for running to sleep in past 7 o'clock, but especially not on Christmas. He took off running into his room on instinct, fearing that he had left the house and gotten hit by a car or injured. I held my breath, praying to hear his sleepy little voice. But so far, my wife's calls had gone unanswered. Chris, Ronnie's not here! She yelled down the hall. What do you mean he's not here?

You haven't even checked the living room. Chris, I'm telling you, our baby is not fucking here. She choked out through sobs. Her footsteps boomed through the house, and I hear the front door slam shut as she left. My breath started coming in faster, and larger puffs as I tried to process the quickly unfolding situation. The rope I wore the night before was disgusting on my skin.

Nothing felt right. It's like... In the moment, I already knew that the joy in my life was over. I just couldn't accept it. Thousands of scenarios invaded my rationality. From the corners I'd done so well at keeping them hidden in. Each fear I've ever had as a parent that was always out of reach for someone like me was now all too tangible. When I opened my front door, I was met with an overwhelming night.

number of sobs and wheels. Dozens of people on her streets were outside of their homes. Most of them were crying hysterically. Some were blank expressions of shock. Others demanded to search every person's home on the block who didn't have children. I held my wife as she tumbled to the ground. An officer had told her every child in the country had gone missing Christmas Eve night. My brain fought with itself as to how I should feel. On one hand, hundreds of children kidnapped at the same time would be hard to house and even harder to hide. On the other hand though, the original part of my mind told me that something unnatural had happened altogether, and none of us would ever see our children ever again.

Again, as the months went on and the seasons changed, most parents in town had reached the same heart rendering conclusion. Until this morning, Nina and I are still married, though we sleep in separate bedrooms now. She got on this kick right away about trying for another baby, which I was... Am, folly against. First off, I felt that if we had another child, we would be replacing Ronnie, even worse, would be accepting the fact that he was never coming back.

We didn't know that. I always held out on heart-breaking hope that they'll find him, find all of the missing kids. Secondly, if something in this town was taking children, I certainly didn't want to give them a new target. Nina screams woke me from a heavily medicated sleep. Chris, it's Ronnie! He's home! The coffers are thrown in a corner of the room as I spring out of my now-called bed. Each step closer to my son fills my heart of happiness.

I feared I no longer possessed. The long-lost and dearly missed sounds of his voice stops me called. Whoever is talking to Nina is not a little boy. His voice sounds low and detached, like it's being run through a voice synthesizer. My stomach heavens, when I finally bring myself to finish taking steps, bedroom. A mutilated, mangled body lay in the bed that was once meant for a son. Don't get me wrong, he is alive and healthy. He just came back. Wrong. His face is a mingle of features that seem random at best. It was as if Picasso had genetically designed a human

being and brought him to life. One leg is shorter than the other, by six inches. His left arm is thinner than the four shades lighter on his right. The left eye placed haphazardly on his face is one of the only qualities that proves to me it's really him. The eye on his right looks like it belongs to someone else entirely. Once again, the street is sick with police officers, but fire rescuers is here this time too. Parents are holding disfigured children as they're laid on stretches.

Each one yelling about how they're fine and don't need treatment. I caught eyes with the little girl who lived across the street from us, and I recognized one of them as my sons. Whatever happened, it's as if each child was spit into a machine, had the DNA all mixed, and randomized, and spit back out. The children walk, talk, eat and play like they always have. It's almost impossible to tell whose is whose anymore. This Christmas, I'm hearing whispers of a reckoning of sorts.

The town leaders and religious figures have labelled these children, some of them their own, as abominations. I've heard there will be a massive event to return the children to the melting parts from which they came from. I'm writing this as a warning and for proof for Ronnie down the line to know that his dad and mom love him, and never regrets a single thing about who he is. We're taking him the hell out of here. By the time they notice a child missing, we'll be long gone. Surely there's something in the world that will greet him with acceptance and love. We're just happy to have him back.

Though I can't help but wonder what surprises Nina and I will wake up to this Christmas day morning. Ah, brilliant stuff there from the Pumpkin Queen. So once again, you know the drill. Check her out. Like, subscribe, comment, and everything else that comes with being nice to other people in this festive season. So, ah, the party's almost coming to an end. Can you believe it? Yeah, I know. Heartbreaking. And of course, the stories don't end. I'll be back again with you very, very soon. Now, tomorrow's a Wednesday, but it's Christmas day. So just for once, I'm taking a break

from the Wednesday night slot. But I will be back with you on Friday, I promise. I absolutely promise, just to tide you over one more story from me. Yeah, sound good. Okay then, here we go. Tracks in the Snow by Ryan Brennam. She didn't know where Charlie was, but she could see where he had gone. The snow was thick, and it betrayed Charlie in an instant. Jenna followed the tracks with her eyes and her flashlight away from the house, and up and over the hill. She hesitated. She knew exactly where Charlie had snuck off to yet again, and that gave her a pause. Jenna knew her older brother well.

They were never apart, except for when he went there, when he went to the marsh house across the creek. That's where he was now, over the hill, across the creek, and he was watching it. again trying to see what was inside how could he he had left her there by herself outside the thought that she was alone at night finally came to her she turned monsters suddenly behind her but reality blew her nightmares away there was only darkness there dotted with specks of late snow they flowed with specks of late snow they float voted in no particular direction, carefree and unconcerned which way they took.

Beyond them, a solid wall of night, so thick that it could drown her if she lowered her flashlight. Silence her. She could face it, chase it, chase it back, and walk into the house. She could leave Charlie to his own foolish decisions. But she didn't. She couldn't leave Charlie alone. Not there, not tonight. Tonight she could finally catch him. She allowed the darkness to follow as she ran up the hill. Trudging through the snow that swallowed her ankles, she kicked and pushed to get over the incline, and she struggled to stay upright as gravity pulled her down the other side. With darkness keeping pace, she knew she couldn't stop. She didn't want to. She only wanted Charlie.

The wind whispered in her ear, and she took its sharp tongue from her face. Bushes rose out of the night. Where they grew thinnest, she slipped between them, and she dropped down to the creek bed below. The water was shallowest here, narrow, and she leapt across it with ease. Scampering up the other bank, The cold stabbed at her exhausted lungs with daggers, but she didn't yield. She found Charlie's footprints again, and she chased him. She could have called, but she was across the creek now. This wasn't home anymore.

The barren land here was hard beneath the snow. Home was further and further away every second, and her father had told her many times about this place. He warned her that the land over the creek is the marshes land. She wasn't allowed to play on it, and neither was Charlie. The difference was that Charlie didn't care. The marshes are dead, he had told her. I heard about it at school.

Everyone knows they're dead. It's the thing that lives in the house that you've got to watch out for. She never believed him. Their mum said it was all known. nonsense, a tall tale. It wasn't real for Jen, but it was for Charlie. She knew that's why he snuck out at night, into the dark. Isn't that where monsters live? Though the footprints guided her to Charlie, she felt a warmth leak from her eyes as she imagined the darkness behind her growing corporeal. She could feel it scraping her back with claws, nudging her arms

as she ran and breathing down her tiny neck. She could feel every laboured breath coming in sync with hers, just as fast, just as strong, just as overwhelming. Jenna wiped away the tear. Charlie was strong, she could be too. But Jenna was worried. She knew the house was getting near. The snow fell harder now, and with her vision reduced to nothing but black and white, she studied to hate, Charlie. Truly, she hated him in the way siblings do. How dare he make her run out here, alone, after him! She was going to beat him when she found him, if you find him, the knight whispered. The tracks went on, but it wasn't right.

Charlie should have stopped by now. He never got too close to the marsh house. Never. Not even he and his friends dared when they tried, and Jenna had watched. They barely went further than the creek, not even halfway to the place. None of them had the guts to go closer. Not Charlie, certainly not alone. So, why had Charlie continue to continue?

What did he want? They never saw anything of interest at the Marsh House. There was no monster. It wasn't real. So why had he come so close? What had he seen? Then, as a shape rose from the dark, Jenna realized that she was there.

It stood, just at the edge of sight, like a ghost. Like a ghost. A legend born from shadow. The home was grey and rotted, and it seemed to stare at her with a stoic face. The windows looked like eyes, and the shutters made it look cross. Hmm, the old Marsh House.

It was here that Charlie's footsteps stopped. Jenna stared at the prince, heartbroken that she hadn't found Charlie, and terrified that he had brought her so close. She felt betrayed. She couldn't look away. She watched it move. The door was ajar, and it swung in with each and every gust.

It was like the house was breathing. The air for each breath raced past her ears and up its stairs, and into its dark jaw. She wondered if something watched from within. It was angry. Yes, the house was angry, and she felt shame. So she looked down. The footsteps at her feet hadn't ended.

Instead, they had turned. Charlie had turned from the house and he had left. He'd headed back towards the creek. He'd turned his back on the place. place and she would have to as well but how it was far too terrible to ignore so she fell away slowly following her brother's backtracks the house started to slip out of existence once more it still stared at her as she glanced back to it and it seemed to change with the light upon it it looked like it had been betrayed by her departure in raged.

It looked to Jenna like it could, well, that it would, spring up at any moment and follow her. She shouted, and, turning the flashlight away from it, allowed the evil place to drown itself in the night. She whimpered. Charlie's footsteps were different than they'd been before. Before she could almost match its strides. Now she had to leap from foot to foot if she wished to do this.

same. He was taking bigger steps. Huge steps. Jenna shook her head. No, he was running, but from what? The thought of the house charging from beyond like some great ravenous beast forced her to stop in her tracks and turn. Nothing followed her, and nothing had fallen Charlie either. in the snow were hers. Even though the thought that it was only her and Charlie out there in the marshes land should have comforted her. It didn't. Her breath shook. She trembled, and she could no longer stop the tears from flowing free, nor could she stop them from running. Like her brother before, Jenna ran into the night. The creek would come soon. She knew that for sure. Charlie had to be on the other side. He was just ahead. He would be just across the creek

waiting for her. He'd be smiling like an idiot. She knew she'd find him, and everything would be okay. The footprints moved across her sight like cars down a highway. She counted each one as it passed. Soon, very soon, they would turn to feet, turn in, to Charlie. Charlie would be there. She would cry, she would scream. She would hug him, and they would never go back to that place, ever. Never again. They would. The tracks stopped. She gasped as she came to a halt. It wasn't possible. It hadn't been like before when Charlie had turned. No. There was nowhere left to go. The tracks stopped. Dead. There were two prints, side by side in the snow, but then no more. No more Prince and no Charlie. The snow in each direction, except for the back, was still, unmarred and fresh. The end of the trail was here, but how to have? Her brother had been plucked from the face of the earth. Charlie was gone.

Her face contorting with overwhelming sadness, fear and confusion, Jenna fell to her knees. She finally cried. Charlie, she said to the sky. Charlie, I need you. Where are you, Charlie? Oh, Charlie, come back. she wailed. Nealing in the snow that late night, Jenna had no idea that Charlie could hear her.

In fact, he was forced to watch as she cried out for him. Struggle as he might, there was nothing he could do but watch from above her in the trees. Tears rolled down his face too, and he watched as one rolled down the modly, rotted hand of his captor. The same hand, that silenced his own screams of terror. The creature that held him trembled at the sight of his sister. His breath, like fetid flesh, burned hot inside Charlie's nose. It shifted, and Charlie knew that soon it would swooped down from the tree like it had before and hoist Jenna up with him.

It could do it easily. Both of them captured, one under each of its history. hideous arms. Its white eyes were wide and shaking it in anticipation. Its black tongue licked scaly lips. Charlie shook as the evil thing smile. There was only one chance. Charlie watched the tear roll down the beast's fingers. It had gathered into a droplet there on the creature's pinky finger. A single drop that was ready to fall as the beast spread its bat-like wings behind them. The droplet trembled. Charlie readied himself, for he knew now what to do. He hoped. He prayed that if he could just struggle at the right moment, that tear would fall.

He would fall onto his beloved sister's face, and she would look up. Maybe then. Just maybe, she would have enough time to react, to run. It was too late for Charlie, but his sister wouldn't suffer like he would. She could go home. She shouldn't have come here, but she'd done it for the right reasons. Charlie loved her. He hoped in the confusion to come that he would be able to tell her. The beast loosened its grip just for a moment and Charlie

Charlie pushed. The teardrop fell. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words,

and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place. and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.