Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep76: Episode 76: Scary Stories to Keep You Up at Night

Episode Date: April 8, 2022

‘The Walk’ is our first tale of terror; an original story by Coffee Glitter Queen, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/coffeeglitterqueen Next up is ‘What to Do with the Voices in your Head’ by aLooLoo:  https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/6hy9l5/what_to_do_with_the_voices_in_your_head/  Our third tale of the macabre is ‘Someone’s Downstairs’ by Sammmy134:  https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/6hb7h5/someones_downstairs_fiction_someones_downstairs/  We continue with ‘Signs and Wonders’ by BensTerribleFate:  https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/6iviad/signs_and_wonders_death_contest  Next up is ‘Laughing in the Dark’ by Sammmy134:  https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/6hfwax/laughing_in_the_dark_fiction  Our penultimate tale of terror is ‘Hunted’ by Boewhishey: https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/6gh5l5/hunted_fiction  We round off tonight’s proceedings with ‘The Charity’ by MidnightTalesUntold:  https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/6j3ki4/the_charity

Think about your health for a second. Are your eyes the first thing that come to mind? Probably not. But our eyes go through a lot. From squinting at screens to driving at night. That's why regular eye exams matter. And at Specsavers, they come with an OCT 3D eye health scan, which helps optometrists detect conditions at early stages.

We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexavers.cavers.caps. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.cavers.ca to learn more. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. Sometimes it's not just the wind. Sometimes it's not all in your head. And you know what?

It's definitely something to worry about. Seven terrifying tales to keep you up at night this evening. And of course, before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tales may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Resto changeo. I watched as the magician made a bunch of flowers

that popped from his previously empty hat in awe. I glanced at my mother to see her reaction as well when she wore a tight-lipped smile. She looked down at me as if sensing my eyes on her and tried for a bigger, more genuine smile while patting my hat. It was a special night. I was up late eating pizza, drinking soda and watching a magician with my mom. I was unsure what the occasion was, but it didn't really matter to me.

I noticed my mom seemed upset. Obviously something was bothering her, but I knew better than to ask. Problem with being small is that there were never any answers to my questions. We left with my mother carrying me out. I rested my head on her shoulder and tried to keep myself awake. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest. her breath on my shoulder, coming in laborious gasps. I was already too old to be carried, really,

but since it was so late, and I was sluggish with my exhaustion, my mother had scooped me up and kissed my forehead before carrying me to the parking lot. People swarmed around us, some bumping into my mother, which in turn jostled me. It was about that time I noticed a person behind us, smiling at me. I lifted my fingers and gave a half-way,

before shyly burrowing my face into my mother's blonde hair. My mother was put off by my movement and had to hitch me up higher to catch her balance. We made it to the car and I climbed into my seat and pulled the clip on my chest closed while my mum buckled the bottom. She gave a tug to the car seat strap to make sure it was tight

and then shut me in the back seat alone. I'd expected her to turn and get in the front seat immediately but instead I saw her leaning against her. the car. Her body seemed to shiver, and she reached into her purse and pulled out a box. Cigarettes. Not to touch, not to ask about for sure. Because I was little, or because it was a fibbid and topic in general, I wasn't sure, but I was generally redirected to another area if I spoke, as if she realized I could see what she was doing, and it had just occurred to her that I probably shouldn't be watching her. I waited.

sleepily, making an effort to stay awake. It was so late, much later than my usual bedtime. The world around was dark than I'd ever remembered seeing it. I yawned and felt myself falling into asleep before my mum even got back into the car. I awoke to my mom driving. I could hear the road sounds and my mom was crying quietly, the sound of her sniffling and the catch of her breath giving her away. I was too tired to ask where we were, although I wondered. The scenery looked unfamiliar. I started to drift off again, lulled by the hum of the wheels on the road, but then a bang, and the car jolted gracelessly, pulling and shaking. My mum pulled over, and the car shuddered, and then shut off all together. I stayed quiet and watched the back of my mother. She didn't move.

she'd move her hand to the steering wheel and then drop it halfway i wondered what she was doing she glanced back at me her expression was worried and her cheeks were covered in tears are you all right love she asked reaching for me i nodded mummy must have hit something on the road the tires flat we're going to have to walk see if we can find help okay call daddy i asked I wondered where my daddy was. My mom's face fell and then she recovered. She pulled her face into an apologetic smile. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. She stared at me like that for a while before turning around and getting the keys out of the ignition. She came around and unbuckle me and helped me out.

We stood behind the car on a back country road. My mother shifted her feet and bit her lip, looking forward and behind us. indecisive, unsure of the best way to go. I assumed that meant that anyone worth walking to was very far behind us. I lifted my arms to her, wanting to be picked up, but she gently pushed one arm down and grabbed my hand. Forward, she exclaimed. I jumped at the sudden sound of her voice after the silence.

The cheeriness in her voice made me think that maybe it wasn't so bad. She gave me a light tug, and we headed. forward leaving the car behind. I was still tired, but I tried to keep pace with her as much as I could. A few times my feet seemed to just stop moving, and she would continue on, unaware, until she was yanking me behind her,

nearly tripping herself up. A heavy sigh would follow, and she would slow her own pace. After a while she stopped and gestured for me to sit. I looked at the ground she was gesturing towards, and sat down uneasily, hoping that the grass wouldn't brush my legs, making them itchy and scratchy. She herself did not sit down, but instead pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

She also pulled out her phone and stared at it. It wasn't on because it didn't light up like it usually does, but she continued to stare all the same. Once her cigarette was gone, she tossed it in the road and stomped it out. She dropped her hand down, fingers splayed as an indication that I was to rise and hold her hand, so we could walk again. I was so tired and I felt the tears building up.

No. I cried, sitting back down. She looked helpless standing there, staring down at me, unsure of how to proceed. You're very sleepy and very tired. I know that. You've been very brave

walking along the road with me in the dark. I just need you to be brave a little longer, okay? She was kneeling in front of me, stroking my face and pushing my hair back behind my ear, even though in such short length the curl would spring it right back to where it was. She was smiling at me. It can be a game, okay? You see if you can walk a hundred steps without losing counts. I want to go home. No walking, no counting. I whined, even though the idea of counting my steps did sound like fun. I crossed my arm over my chest defiantly. I'll give you ice cream when we're getting. get home, okay? She was pleading now, pulling at me to stand and follow her. I was suspicious.

Ice cream sounded good, but only if she actually remembered to give me some. When will we be home? I don't know, but it's going to take a hell of a lot longer if we're sitting here instead of moving forward, she said, pointedly. I yawned and stood. I started walking with her, trying to convince my short, tired legs to continue moving. The walking seemed to go on forever, so at first I didn't notice how it had grown completely silent. I was, instead, focused on what kind of ice cream I wanted and how much I thought I could get. I noticed her hand squeezed mine tight for a second, and her steps had slowed. I looked at her face, wondering what was going on.

She was glancing around nervously. her head cocked as if trying to locate a sound. Mommy? I asked, staring at her. She put a finger over her lips and shushed me and continued to listen. That was when I noticed the silence. I wondered what she could be trying to hear. She grasped my hand tighter and yanked my arm to hurry me a little, like when we were crossing a street downtown.

I tried to move myself faster, but I was hurting something. so much that it was very difficult. We continued to move quickly before hearing a crunchy noise. My mum jumped and grabbed me in one, swift motion up in her arms. The relief my feet felt was overshadowed by the new pain in my arm from being grabbed up so violently. She hugged me to her, crushing me as she spun slowly around trying to find the soars.

I could feel her heart jackhammering against my stomach. She couldn't find the sound, but after a while she continued our part with me crushed into her. I was afraid to wiggle myself around for room in case she remembered she was carrying me when I was such a big boy who could walk by himself and much too big to be carried. The steps were much faster now that she didn't have to stay slow for me, and we were making much better progress than before. I began to hear a shuffling noise off in the distance. Judging by the way we move faster and the frantic breathing from my mum, I had a feeling she could hear it too.

There were no bird sounds and no other animal sounds, no wind or other cars driving by. Just the slow stop and go shuffling sound over dead leaves. Occasionally a twig would snap, sounding nearer to us every time, causing my mum to whimper and tighten her constrictor-like hold on me. It wasn't a hurried sound like my mother's steps were, but rather a slow, casual sound, managing to stay close to us anyway. Then there was a crash, something falling into the leaves and then rustling. My mum put her hand against the back of my head, and I buried my face in her neck. She began to run, faster than I knew she could.

I was bouncing against her, my chin hitting her shoulder repeatedly, so I can't. I kept my tongue in check in case I accidentally bit it. There was a roaring in my ears, and I could barely hear the sounds outside of my head. I heard enough to know it sounded like several people or animals behind us. I piqued my eyes out to glance back to sea. I saw nothing at first. I had to concentrate from my mother running and subsequently my vision being bounced about.

But there, in the woods, a white flash would slip between the trees seemingly liquid. It would come close to the edge of the clearing, but never came all the way out. Never came close enough for me to make out any other features besides being a white blur following next to us. My mom was getting tired, and she was having trouble running anymore, the adrenaline waning and exhaustion setting in. So it was a huge relief to see lights on the left side of us. a path that led to an enormous house. My mom ran again, faster.

Her breath came out gasping and uneven. We got to the door, and she threw her free arm, not holding me up against it. Banging again and again, she began to scream for them to let us in. A bewildered old woman opened the door. Mom ran in and slammed the door shut, grasping for the locks. She practically threw me down as she herself collapsed on the floor. Are you all right? The old woman asked, shaking.

Is this something I can get you? Do you need a phone? Someone behind us. My mom had her hands on her stomach, trying desperately to control her breathing. I could hear the rhythm returning. Our car broke down a few miles back. We walked. Then the noise.

Someone behind us. We ran until we got here. It was at that much. moment something else slammed against the door. I started to cry, so tired and scared I just wanted to go home. It kept slamming, hard enough to shake the house. The elderly woman looked conflicted. Was there someone else with you? She asked, hesitating, wondering if she should open the door again. More than likely regretting having opened the door for us. My mother shook her head violently as the banging increased.

She reached for me and ran her fingers through my hair, although she made no attempt to really console me. The banging increased in volume. The elderly woman held up her phone and started calling the police, ushering us to a bedroom. As we entered the room, the door came open. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it. My mother grabbed me close to her, and the other woman pushed us all into a closet. my face was smashed against my mother's chest and it felt like I couldn't breathe in the small space

my mother shushed me when I whimpered I heard footsteps coming closer now then without warning the door flew open I looked up and saw the magician presto change oh he said and then he and I were gone. Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM.

Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only available at BedMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BenMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. Ah, yes, here it is. My descent into madness reaches an ear-splitting crescendo.

My last whisper of sanity reeks of whiskey and stale breath. I take a final swig of sullen comfort before violently smashing the empty bottle on the grimy, tiled floor. The voice calls it. to me, taunting me, James, didn't your doctor tell you to breathe deeply and relax? A string of curses escapes my mouth. Its mocking laughter echoes throughout my head, forcing my face into a contemptuous scowl. Eventually, I concede to the voice and laugh along with it manically. Shards of plastic ricochet about the room. as I hurl a bottle of antipsychotic medication at the wall.

I suppose alcoholism preceded my psychosis. At the very least, it was around the period of heavy drinking, subsequent to my wife's unceremonious departure, that the voice began haunting me. The welfare and disability checks continued flowing in. However, all available funds were inevitably squandered on cheap liquor and cigarettes. My mind spiraled in. into a state of self-pity, self-loathing and self-destruction.

I started to lose control in the most peculiar manner. Let's just say that getting blackout drunk daily had quite disturbing effect. I would wake up in strange circumstances, such as naked in my musty cellar, using a dirty floor mat as a blanket. Another morning I woke up to an unpleasant draught, and found that every window and door in the house was left wide open. In these instances, I had absolutely zero recollection of my intoxicated shenanigans, nor did I give a shit. I simply reached for the bottle and scorned my pathetic existence. So, given my bizarre sleeping habits, it didn't surprise me when I awoke in my bathtub

beneath a pile of soiled clothing. However, my heart exploded in fear when I heard deep chuckling echo throughout the room. I shouted loudly, Who the fuck is there? I scanned the room frantically, but couldn't seem to locate the source of the sound. A voice cooed warmly. Why? It's just me, dear chap.

The voice in your room. your head. Fuck you. I'm phoning the police, you sicko, I screamed, darting out of the room. Well, fuck. The police were unable to find anything, despite scouring the house thoroughly.

I recalled the voice seeming to come from the heavens, and pointed the officers to the ceiling vents. A sweep of the cop's maglights revealed a dust-ridden, decrepit interior, with no apparent signs of activity. Ain't nobody living in those dustments, you washed up drunk. See a shrink instead of wasting our time. I laughed at myself after the cops left, surmising that my perpetual intoxication had led to the decay of my mental faculties.

This provided me with some comfort until that dark chuckled boomed over my laugh, making me go silent. I know what you're thinking, James. Maybe that police officer was right about you being insane. Don't visit a psychiatrist, however. For if you can't hear me, won't we both be so alone? I tried to ignore the voice, but it kept pestering me, making it clear that it wouldn't accept my silence.

The voice was clearly female, yet it had a sick distorted timber that unsettled me to the call. What do you want? I croaked hoarsely. Rich bellowing laughter flooded the room, somehow pouring into my ears from all directions and engulfing me. Ah, yes, there we go, sweet James. I knew you'd come around.

She cooed. I just want to listen to your problems. I can make everything all right again. I can make you happy. I just want to help. Disturbingly, I found myself quite enjoying my conversations with the voice. Even if I was likely insane, she was beyond mentally unstable. Hearing about her sick fetishes for gore and disembowelment,

I couldn't help but chuckle manically. Needless to say, I booked a night of her. appointment with a psychiatrist as soon as possible. I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. How completely and disgustingly predictable. I recall the doctor looking at me sternly and asking me solemnly, does the voice in your head ask you to hurt anyone? I pondered for a moment, reflecting on the voice's disturbing comments. Well, despite expressing, a clear preference for Gore. She never specifically asked me to commit such an act yet.

Uh, no, not at all, sir, I replied. Multiple doctor visits, several courses of antipsychotic medication, and months of intensive counselling sessions later, and I was still bat-shit crazy. It was around then that she started questioning my lifestyle. James, James, James, you're wasting away. Why fight your insanity? Embrace it, she purred, and stop drinking alcohol, dearie, it's such a pathetic crutch. I sat on my worn-out couch, dumbfounded by her sheer nerve.

Gathering my thoughts, I slowly replied, well, That's an interesting proposition. But am I truly insane? Your voice seems quite real to me. Out of nowhere, she snarled. Don't kid yourself, you crazy alcoholic bitch. You're wasting your fleeting time on this earth. And for what purpose?

While you wallow in self-pity, a father weeps over the warm corpse of his dead daughter. A cancer patient in a dying. breaths, emaciated village children fight over meagre rations, and youths indoctrinated by false prophets marched to their deaths. Meanwhile, you, with the opportunity to have great twisted fun, just sit here and rot. I silently stared at the floor as her words resonated with me. By God, she was right. What great fun could I have? I stuttered.

Shut the fuck up, you sack of crap. I'm sick of your shit. I'll come back when you have your shit together. She bellowed. Wiping gin off my lips, I smirked. In what circumstances does an imaginary voice disappear from a mind of a lunatic? She won't go anywhere. She can't.

I need her, I thought, as the gin put me to sleep, and the world faded to black. When I awoke to a throbbing headache, I didn't receive the usual sarcastic greeting. I called for her, helplessly. Are you there? I'm sorry. I will stop drinking, I promise. I cried desperately, but my hollow promise fell on stale air. I grogily recalled making that very same promise, oh, so many times to my sweet ex-wife.

I violently face-palmed, realizing that it was futile to try coaxing a voice in my own head with lies. I clasped on my bed and shivered. I was alone. Pathetically, I cried into my dirty pillow and drifted back into a restless sleep. Strangely, I woke up with a clear mind and a new-found sense of resilience and determination. I set about tidying my house with a silly grin plastered on my face. Over the next few days I cleared the house of trash and debris, pouring my stash of alcohol down the sink.

I no longer had a thirst for liquor. I no longer needed a crutch for my shattered psyche. My government checks were no longer squandered. I bought healthy, nutritious food and saved any remaining funds. For months I honed my body with a rigorous exercise routine, strengthening my muscles and enhancing my cardio. Needless to say, I was diligent in avoiding any government detection of these activities, lest my disability funds be rescinded.

I felt better than I ever. had in my entire life and yet something was missing. Her voice, I yearned for it, that smoky and darkly sensual tone that used to resonate throughout my disturbed mind, coaxing me further into depravity. She had abandoned me due to my alcoholism and lack of productivity. Yet, after such a long period of sobriety, her voice had not yet her voice had not returned. No, that's not it at all. A wicked grin spread upon my face, my eyes narrowing into gleeful crescents. All the twisted fun I'd been missing out on became apparent. John was a hard-working

businessman, a doting husband, and a loving father of two. He furrowed his brow in anxiety as he strode about the vacant parkade, his briefcase swaying as he rushed to his sedan. The corporate manager was incredibly demanding, forcing him to work ridiculously late. His wife would surely be frustrated by his absence, and his children would be quite upset that he missed their usual after-dinner playtime. John absent-mindedly entered his car and shoved the key in the ignition. Oh, how surprised John was, when I leapt from the back seat and stabbed a needle into his arm, emptying the syringe into him. Oh, how he squirmed as the powerful sedatives put him to sleep.

I tucked his body beneath the blankets under which I had been hiding all day, and drove back to my house. Her voice murmured gleeful compliments as I coiled rope around John's unconscious. body, binding him securely to a metal chair. Oh, what a great job you've done, my dear James. She cooed as I stuffed a cloth into John's mouth, slapping duct tape on to seal his lips. John's eyelids fluttered briefly. He's awake. Can I slash open his guts now? I asked. No, you absolute dunce. We must wait until he regurg. He must wait until he regents. He's awake. Can I slash open his guts now? I ask. I asked. No. No, you absolute dunce. We must wait until he regains complete consciousness. Plus, until the sedatives wear off,

he won't feel the maximum amount of pain. My stomach churned in disgust. The idea of murdering someone previously seemed quite exhilarating, but now I felt quite uneasy about actually putting that absurd idea into practice. The extent of the voice's insanity became apparent. me. Before, I'd assumed that the voice was a byproduct of my insanity. Though my conscience tugged at me to abandon the act of depravity

I was about to commit. No, no, I can't do it. This is beyond fucked up. I just can't. I croaked hoarsely. Don't be a fucking pussy, James. You signed up for this

when you decided to become a lunatic. She screamed at me. When John regained complete consciousness, he struggled unrelentingly to free himself from his binds. But the thick ropes were tied meticulously around him, rendering him hopelessly immobile. His eyes widened in true fear, and he made muffled screams through his duct-taped mouth, as I went to work on him with an assortment of sharp instruments. I threw up frequently while torturing him. But each time I beg to stop inflicting pain upon the poor man, her cruel voice chided me and convinced

me to push forward. At last, the final flicker of life left John's eyes, and his frantic heart stopped pulsing, his bloody, mangled corpse dangling limply from the chair. Following her instructions, I incinerated the body and buried the ashes deep. deep within a forest several miles outside of the middle of nowhere. For days, guilt consumed me, and I relapsed into alcoholism. What I did was beyond disgusting. It was heinous and revolting.

I've tried to commit suicide, but I've always been a coward, and inevitably I return to the bottle to drown my sorrows. So, now... Here we are. Her voice echoes in my head, complimenting me, telling me to lighten up. She says that what I did was a beautiful work of art, my initiation to bloodlust. But she is wrong. I harboured no urge to kill another.

I am disturbed by the vile, demonic excuse of a human being I have become. My descent into madness reaches an ear. splitting crescendo. My last whisper of sanity reeks of whiskey and stale breath. My heart slams against my rib cage as I heard a loud crash. Dust spills about the dimly lit room as an emaciated figure slowly descends the ladder from the attic. I amid panic screams as I stumbled backwards trying to escape. Who the fuck are you? I scream. A toothy grin spreads across her pale face.

Why, James, I'm the voice in your head. When Serena was five, her mother had left one cold and miserable day in late October to pick up some milk at the grocery store in town and never come back. That was nine years ago, and now Serena was 14 and could barely remember her. The memories she'd managed to keep of her mother was of her sitting by the window day after day, staring out at the dense woods surrounding their house. She always had a worried look on her face, like she was scared of something hiding within them. The rest of what she knew about her mother came from photos of holidays and birthday parties,

and the occasional disgruntled mumblings of her father. Serena's dad was almost as absent as her missing mother. It wasn't because he was a bad man, it was just that Serena had the misfortune of looking exactly like her mother. She had her mother's thick blonde hair, fair skin, and her almond-shaped blue eyes. She also had her high cheekbones, small chin and slender build. She looked nothing like her father, who was very broad and dark. Serena's father often used his work as an excuse to avoid her. He always went into work at the crack of dawn, and usually worked late into the night,

a night like tonight. At ten, the sound of the front door opening and heavy footsteps on the wooden floors downstairs announced his return home. The house phone began to ring. Dad, can you get that? She called out. She'd finally found a comfortable position under her covers, and she didn't want to get up. The sound of the footsteps stopped, but the ring of the phone did not.

Anoyed, Serena threw off her cover and ran into the hallway. She grabbed the phone just before the person on the other side hung up. Hello? Serena said. She could hear her father begin to climb the stairs. He would want to know who was calling this late. Hi, her father answered back. Serena's mouth went dry.

I'm just calling to say I won't be home tonight. I'm going to stay overnight at the office. You mean you aren't home right now? And you're not downstairs? Serena asked. Her voice cracking in the middle. No. Why?

The footsteps had reached the top of the stairs and someone was standing behind her. she felt their hot breath caressed the back of her neck because I heard you come in and now you're standing right behind me only it's not you a pause at the other end I love you Serena

her father said into the phone I'm hanging up now and calling the police Serena began to cry not because she was scared but because her father had said he loved her. She hadn't heard those words in a long time. It was a bitter, sweet moment. I love you too, Dad, she said, right before two massive hands reached out and cut off her air. Dear diary, today's the day. Today I get to be bitten by a snake, just like Daddy.

I've been waiting for this since the first time Daddy picked up a snake at church. He said the God had come and told him that he could pick up snakes, and he did. He picked up a big rattler and held out his arm, and he bit him. A lot of people screamed. I did too. But except for a little blood, he didn't die. He read from the good book about picking up snakes. and drinking poison and other things.

It was really cool. Later I heard him tell him Mama that he finally figured out how he can save all of our people. Daddy's real smart. He knows a lot about God and about snakes too. Daddy's picked up his snake a lot in the past two years. I call him Sammy. Daddy keeps him in the garage and feeds him mice and stuff. It's icky.

Jimmy says there are other churches that pick up snakes. But Daddy's the only one that lets his snake bite him like that. God must like him a whole lot. Jimmy pulled my hair again yesterday. He makes me so mad. But he also kind of makes me smile. Every time Daddy lets Sammy bite him, he says it's a miracle. He says that whenever a miracle happens,

We get to see the face of Jesus, and that makes us blessed. I think he's right. Blessings have been happening to people in our church. Jimmy's folks got a shining new car. Daddy clicked his tongue and said he didn't know if that was such a good idea. But I hope Mr. Jones will take me for a ride soon. I bet it goes fast. And Mama asked Daddy if we could go someplace fun next month.

Since the Peterson's just got tickets to Mexico, Daddy said now is not a good time. Maybe they could talk about it later, which means no. Daddy and some of the other men went out in the hills and got more snakes. Enough for each family. He said we should all be better at the same time. I'm excited to be special too. But I don't know about something. When Daddy first got Sammy, he took him out into the garage.

I don't think I was supposed to look, but I did. Daddy was messing with Sammy's mouth. I think he took something out of his teeth. He caught me looking and told me that he was doing God's work and healing Sammy and that it was our little secret. But he didn't heal the new snakes. I guess they just weren't sick. I can't wait for this afternoon

We're gonna have a big meeting and everyone's gonna be there I like Daddy's summons more since he let Sammy bite him He used to just talk about how bad things were And how the world was going to hell But now he talks about heaven and how great it is there Sammy really seems to make him happy When daddy put me to bed last night I asked him if you thought we'd see Jesus' face today.

He smiles and kissed me on my forehead and said, I know we will, honey. I really want to see Jesus, just like he does. I have to go. We're starting soon. I'll tell you all about it tonight when we get home. Love, Ruby. If you happen to find yourself alone at night on Oakwood Road,

with no moonlight nor a friend at your side. Pray that you don't hear the laughing coming from the dark behind you. It starts out as a small laugh, a schoolyard giggle. It's high and sweet, like that of a young child. You turn, startled by the sound. You thought you were alone on this isolated road, and why is a small child out so late at night, especially on a road like Oakwood?

Then you wonder why you're alone on a road like Oakwood so late at night yourself, especially when you hear that laugh again. But this time it isn't so sweet. It's louder this time. It sounds like the laugh a twisted little kid would make after he pushed his mother down the stairs. how can a laugh sound like that? You don't know.

Your head snaps around and this time you see something standing in the middle of the road about five yards back. It's small, about the size of a child. It looks like a kid dressed up for Halloween

back in the early 1900s. You know, one of those home, made costumes, but it is nothing as innocent as that. The custom is nothing more than a brown sack with two holes cut out for eyes and a blue onesie. The eye just pushed my mummy down the stairs, laugh is coming for it, but not for long. It soon begins to croak, like father came home, found mummy dead at the bottom of the stairs,

and is ringing the wicked child's neck. Then there's a snap. All goes silent and its head falls to its side at an unnatural angle. And that's when you run. You get all the way home and crawl under your covers. You can't stop shaking. What was that? Did you dream it?

Or did that really happen? That's when you hear a tap at the window. A cold sweat breaks out on your forehead and your eyes slowly inch towards the glass square. You see a shape pressed against it and you feel terror rise up in your gut. But it's only a tree branch. Ah, you need to stop.

This is silly. You didn't really see that thing back there It was just your mind playing tricks on you in the dark The sound of your front door opening Causes you to sit up in bed Did you lock the door behind you when you came in? You came in in such a hurry That you don't think so

You hear footsteps climbing the stairs It feels like an eternity before they reach the top. Then there's a sound of small feet running down the hallway. Your door flies open and then slams shut. If you hadn't been feeling terrified already, you are now. But instantly, your mind tries to rationalize it. Maybe one of your family members mistook your door for the bathroom door or even the door to their own bedroom although you aren't sure why they would be coming in this late at night from the darkness of your bedroom you hear a small laugh a schoolyard giggle it's high and sweet like that of a young child it's coming from under your bed you lie there

frozen, unable to move a muscle out of fear. Even as you hear it pull itself out from under your bed with its small fingernails, even as it climbs into bed with you, even as it wraps its cold little hands around your neck and begins to squeeze. It's been lost as to when exactly it happened, when they came. it seemed like they were just a few of them. They weren't too much of a threat. Some of us would go missing from time to time, but it wasn't enough to really worry anyone.

Every living thing has disappearances from other creatures or simply losing one's way. Eventually they came like locusts, like a plague. They were everywhere. They were taking over our homes, tearing them apart to create their own crude structure. They brought with them unimaginably loud noises and screaming. Then along the way, one of us found out that they, those things were, they were eating us.

More and more of us began to disappear. And sometimes one of us would stumble across the body, strung up, cut, gutted, lifeless. Butchered beyond recognition. Those creatures would carve off pieces of flesh, add some kind of dirt to them, or an odd liquid, some sort of unusual seasoning, perhaps. Then put it in a pan or other cooking means. And the smell. Oh, God, the smell.

Have you ever smelled the flesh of your brother? Father, sister, neighbor. someone you grew up with, someone you knew. The smell of them, it's horrid. We weren't the only ones though, no. They snatched up just about any other species to feast on, to make meals of. Over time, we gave up and moved into the forests. Some of us lived on the edges, roaming close to the things and places that these creatures.

has created. Some of us pushed deep into the woods in an attempt to hide and try to live a new life, away from the gnashing teeth of those things and the horror they brought with them. But in the forest, our chances of survival dwindled as well. We now had to be careful of other predators, mountain lions, bears, wolves, coyotes, anything that ate me. eat. We didn't have the spaces to hide from these threats anymore, and those demons, those alien things, that pushed us deeper, also pushed animals that would hunt us deeper into the forest as well. Although we still used the sun to see, we grew accustomed to the dark moor, and we could easily move around. It was easiest to search out food in the between times, such as dusk and dawn,

Those things weren't as active then. We learned what areas to avoid, when we could creep up to their buildings and homes to find some sort of forgotten treat long missed by our mouths. Sometimes a night of searching for something to put in our bellies and sustain us was met with disgusting horror, finding bodies of fallen brethren on the sides of the roads, mangled, broken, twisted. If we were lucky, the bodies we came across weren't too badly mutilated. But sometimes, oh, sometimes they were worse. The body might be cut in half, looking as if something ripped it apart rather than cut it.

Blood would be splattered around, and intestines or other internal organs would be spilling out of whatever unnatural whole was nearest to them. The eyes would stare at it. nothing. Dark, lifeless, haunting. All you could do was cringe, hope that they didn't feel too much pain before they died, and walk or run away from it all. Many times we tried to take solace in the fact that if one of us was found dead on the road, we knew at least it wouldn't be eaten by one of those lanky, groping, angry things. They treated us like nothing.

We had become nothing. I'm sure we were just kept around, and our population not completely wiped out, so they could have some sport, some entertainment. But they didn't even really care if we were hungry, or tired, or just wanted a little food, just wanted our family. Most of the time, they would just be just.

break us and throw us aside if we even crossed that path. By the time I came into this world, this was the type of life we had known for generations, living on the edge of a world that was stolen from us, doing what we could to survive, sometimes going hungry for months, and sometimes I was so hungry. This morning I woke up that way. Well, I say morning, but it was actually just before dawn. I stretched and stood up, walking the sleep off with my cramped limbs. My stomach grumbled almost immediately. I hadn't eaten anything substantial in a few days. I'd kept to the forest, foraging for what I could find that nature provided. I knew there was a clearing not far, but it was dangerous to be out in the open

for too long. The air was getting cold at each day, and frost could be found on the grass in the mornings. It would be winter soon, and seemed like it was gearing up to be a rough one. My stomach groaned at me again, and I knew I had to risk it. With winter, food would become more scarce, so I needed as much as I could get right now. Maybe I wouldn't have to get too exposed. Maybe I could just go to the edge of the clearing and find something I could use to satiate my stomach for a bit. When I got there, I could look around and make sure that it was safe. Take my time to be sure there were no lurking predators. Then push into the clearing where I knew I could find some bushes with berries at least.

I made my way slowly to my destination, stopping at a stream along the way to drink some of the cold water. It felt icy, but good, slid. down my throat. Before I knew it, I was in the trees at the edge of the open space. It didn't seem like there was anything around. I'd seen a few others through the trees on my way, but I didn't see anything that would harm me. Still, I waited a while, circling the little clearing and looking for anything good to eat as I did. Eventually, I'd walk twice around it, and there were still no sign of anything or anyone lurking around. I stepped hesitantly out of the tree line, and thought I heard a noise. I jerked my head up and looked around for a second, then froze and

strained my eyes to hear it again. Nothing. Just the normal sounds of the forest. Birds chirping, wind rustling the leaves of it, small animals scurrying around. The night around me seemed to be getting just slightly lighter, and I looked towards the sky, knowing the sun was inching its way around to bring on the day to our corner of the world. I shook off the feeling that something was out there, since I'd heard nothing else. Just a few feet into the clearing, I could see a bush. It was a bush full of beautiful, delicious berries. My mouth watered just looking at them.

Still moving slowly and carefully, stepping gingerly through the grass in very calculated motions. I approached the berry bush. By the time I reached it, I'd still hurt nothing and felt at ease now, relishing the thought that I would get those juicy berries into my belly soon. I bent down to pull a berry from a small branch when I heard it. this time it was unmistakable leaves being crunched slowly and methodically under feet i looked up again searching for where the sound was coming from but couldn't quite tell then i saw it it was one of those things that liked to cut us up to torture us then dined on our seared flesh and body parts until it could

no longer stuff any more into its stomach. It was coming from just ahead of me, stalking quietly, partially covered by the trees surrounding it on the opposite side of the clearing, eyes staring straight at me. I needed to move, and fast. My thoughts all ran and screamed in my head. My bones burned with the knowledge that they needed to run. My blood pumped with the adrenaline trying to make my limbs respond to what my brain knew they needed to do. I started breathing heavy and quick. I screamed in my head to tell myself to just run, get out of here. Finally, as the creature lifted its arms, pointed toward me, wanting me,

and was almost to the edge of the clearing. My legs remembered how to work, and I spun around to run as rapidly as I could. suddenly an intense burning pain shot up through my back and I crumpled to the ground I was too late it had me I tried getting up but my left leg couldn't move and then pain rippled through me I heard it coming up to stand over me the last thing I saw was that thing pointing something at me I could see the top of his body at a sort of bright skin, orange and blinding in the rising lights. The last thing I heard was it say.

Your antlers are going to look mighty fine on my wall. Then the human shot me again, ending the pain. The rain always made me miserable. was nothing worse than getting mail from across a wide street. Dodging cars on a slippery road often upset me, yet I jogged to the rusty old mailbox, which screeched open with age. The thick envelopes of bills filled my hands. One particular small square package stood out, labeled, Save Their Lives Fund. Normally I would never bother with these packages. but I would still set them aside out of curiosity.

I crossed the wet, car-sped street and entered the house, throwing the mail on the table. Oh, I realized again that I was late for work. After a long drive through the bad weather, I made it to my dead-end job, where my boss was waiting to nag my ear off about how close I was to being fired. Most of the employees knew that he needed me, so I considered his threats as empty words.

Now, I work in the credit card fraud department, overlooking serious changes on accounts of people who have more money than I would make in 40 years. I won't lie. I have been tempted to use accounts to take some extra cash, but I've always chickened out. After a long shift, I headed home to rest my feet and watch Netflix. While turning on my PS4 and waiting for the menu to show up, I caught a glimpse at the plain charity package from the mail this morning.

It wasn't much to look at, but I opened it and outslip pictures of sad Nigerian children, followed by a cheap DVD which showed more Nigerian kids in tears. I placed the DVD into my PlayStation 4, which activated a special app to download from the disc. I accepted and the app played. Like Skype, the app showed a real-time video of numerous Nigerian kids, crying in a dirty, dimly lit room. They were malnourished and wore tattered clothing. Urine, fecal matter and some blood stained the floor.

Two old Nigerian men came into the room. One faced the camera as the old. grabbed a screaming boy the man facing the camera said these children are in dire need of money so with your generous offer of 30,000 American dollars you can save this boy's life the other man gripped the boy's hand and cut off four of his little fingers the child screamed in agonizing pain as the man lifted the boy's blood-spraying hand up to the screen. I didn't think this was real. Maybe it was a special effect. The man then said, So, Daniel Parson of 5-677, Lake Drive, Austin, Texas. Will you do what it takes to save this boy's

life? The app I had installed had hacked my PS4 profile, which showed my exact information and location. He gave me two days to donate the money. I was thinking. I was thinking, about calling the police. Then the man broke my thought process by saying that if I went to the authorities, they would kill all of the kids. I witnessed the injured boy being taken away with his blood trailing behind, still crying from the intense pain. So I went to work the following morning and stole some account numbers. Twenty stolen accounts granted me the money I needed. needed in two days. I turned on the PS4 and got into the app. The men asked if I had the money. I agreed while sending the amount. Ah, we humbly thank you for your generous donation, Daniel.

The man said, as the other man let the boy go. I was relieved, until he grabbed another screaming child. Ready to do the same to that boy as he did with the unlawful. He did with the the man looked directly into the screen and said so done are you ready to save another life and so once again 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 wrong 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.