Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep84: Episode 84: Dead Men, Zombies and Vampires

Episode Date: June 9, 2022

We begin today’s podcast with an old school classic ‘The Dead Man of Varley Grange’, An anonymous classic work; a story in the public domain, but recorded here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Dead_Man_of_Varley_Grange                           Our second intriguing tale of mystery is ‘I started the Zombie Apocalypse’, an original story by Getyaisha, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.r-ddit.com/user/getyaisha/ We round off tonight’s entertainment with ‘Retribution’, a fantastic tale by Lisa Sinclair, again kindly shared with me via Dr. Creepen’s Vault and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.r-ddit.com/user/TheLisaCat/                                                    

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We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexsavers.cavers.ca.ca. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.com to learn more. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Well, they say that death is the wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all. Well, tonight's three stories may challenge that last part.

Now, my dear friends, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, And let's begin. Hello Jack. Where are you off to? Going down to the governess place for Christmas?

Jack Darren Toos in my old regiment stood drawing on his do-skin gloves upon the 23rd of December the year before last. He was equipped in a long ulster and top hat, and a handsome, already loaded with a guncase and portmanteau, stood awaiting him. He had a tall, strong figure, a fair, fresh-looking face, and a fair, fresh-looking face, and a handsome. the merriest blue eyes in the world. He had a cigarette between his lips, and late as was the season of the year, there was a flower in his buttonhole. Oh, when did I ever see handsome Jackdunt,

and he didn't look well-dressed and well-fed and jaunty? As I ran up the steps of the club, he turned round and laughed merrily. My dear fellow, do I look the sort of man to be victimized at a family Christmas meeting? Do you know the kind of business that? they have at home. Three maiden aunts and a bachelor uncle. My eldest brother and his insipid wife, all my sister's six noisy children at dinner. Church twice a day and a snapdragon between the

services. No, thank you. I have a great affection for my old parents, but you don't catch me going in for that sort of national festival. You irreverent Ruffian, I replied laughing. Ah, if you were a married man. If I were a married man, replied Captain Darrant with something that was almost a sigh, and then, lowering his voice, he said hurriedly, how is Miss Lester, Fred? My sister's quite well, thank you, I answered with becoming gravity. It was not without a spice of malice that I added. She's been going to a great many balls and enjoying herself very much. Captain Darren looked profoundly miserable. I don't see how a poor fellow in a marching regiment,

a younger son too, with nothing in the future to look to, is ever to marry nowadays. He said almost savagely, when girls too are used to so much luxury and extravagance that they can't live without it. Matrimony is at a deadlock in this century, Fred, chiefly owing to the price of butcher's meat and bonnets. In fifty years' time it will become

extinct and the country will be depopulated. But I must be off, old man, or I shall miss my train. You've never told me where you're going to, Jack. Oh, I'm going to stay with Old Henderson in Westonshire. He's taken a furnished house with some first-rate pheasant shooting for a year. There are seven of us going, all bachelors and all kindred spirits. We shall shoot all day and smoke half the night. Oh, think what you have lost, old fellow. by becoming a Benedict. Hmm. In Westernshire, is it?

I inquired. Whereabouts is this place? What's the name of it? For I'm a Westernshire man by birth myself, and I know every place in the county. Oh, it's a tumble-down sort of old house, I believe. Answered Jack carelessly. Gables and twisted chimneys outside and uncomfortable spindle-leg furniture inside.

You know the sort of thing. But the shooting is. capital, Henderson says, and we must put up with our quarters. He's taken his French cookdown, plenty of liquor, so I've no doubt we shan't have. Well, but what's the name of it? I persisted with a growing interest in the subject. Let me see. Referring to a letter he pulled out of his pocket. Oh, here it is. Vali Grange. Varly Grange, I repeated, August. Why it's not been inhabited for years? I believe not, answered Jack, unconcernedly. The shooting has been let separately, but Henderson

took a fancy to the house, too, and thought it would do for him, furniture and all, just as it is. Oh, my dear Fred, what are you looking so solemnly at me for? Jack, let me entreat of you not to go to this place, I said, laying my hands on his arm. Not go? Why, Lester, you must be mad? Why on earth shouldn't I go then? There are stories, uncomfortable things said of that house. I hadn't the moral courage to say, it's haunted. And I felt myself how weakened childish was my attempt to deter him from his intended visits. only I knew all about Farley Grange.

I think handsome Jack Durant thought privately that I was slightly out of my senses, for I'm sure I looked unaccountably upset and dismayed by the mention of the name of the house that Mr. Henderson had taken. I dare say it's cold and draughty and infested with rats and mice, he said laughingly, and I have no doubt the creature comforts will not be equal to Queens Gates. But I stand plush to go now, and, I must be off this very minute, so I have no time, old fellow, to inquire into the meaning

of your sensational warning. Goodbye and, well, and remember me to the ladies. He ran down the steps and jumped into the handsome. Write me if you have time, I cried out after him, but I don't think he heard me in the rattle of the departing cat. He nodded and smiled at me, and was swiftly whirled out of sight. As for me, I walked slowly back to my comfortable hands, but I walked slowly back to my comfortable house in Queen's Gates. There was my wife, presiding at the little five-clock tea-table,

our two fat, pink and white little children tumbling about upon the hearth rug amongst dolls and bricks, and too utterly spoilt and overfed pugs. Oh, and my sister Bella, who between ourselves, was the prettiest as well as the dearest girl in all London, sitting on the floor in her handsome brown velvet gown, resigning herself gracefully to be trampled. put it upon by the dogs and to have her hair poured by the babies. Why, Fred, you look as if you've heard bad news, said my wife, looking up anxiously as I entered. Well, I don't know that I've heard anything bad. I've just seen Jack Darant off for Christmas. I said, turning instinctively towards my sister. He was a poor man and a younger son,

and of course a very bad match for the beautiful Miss Lester. But for all that, I had an inkling that Bella was not quite indifferent to her brother's friend. Oh, says that hypocrite, shall I give you a cup of tea fret? It is wonderful how women can control their faces and pretend not to care a straw when they hear the name of their lover mentioned, and I think Bella overdid it. She looks so supremely indifferent. Where on earth do you suppose he's going to stay, Bella? Who?

Oh, Captain Durrenta. How should I possibly know where he's going? Archie pets, please don't poke the doll's head quite down Ponta's throat. I know he'll bite it off if you do. This last observation was addressed to my son and there. Well, I think you'll be very surprised when you're here. He's going to Westernshire to stay at Varley Grange. What?

No doubt about her interest in the subject now. Miss Lester turned as white as her collar. and sprang to her feet impetuously, scattering dogs, babies and toys in all directions away from her skirts as she rose. You can't mean it, Fred. Farley Grange, why, it hasn't been inhabited for ten years. Oh, and the last time, do you remember those poor people who took it? What a terrible story it has.

She shuddered. Well, it is taken now, I said, by a man I know called Henderson, a bachelor. he's asked down a party of men for a week's shooting and Jack Darant is one of them. For heaven's sake, prevent him from going, cried Bella, clasping her hands. My dear, he's gone. Oh, and write to him at a telegraph. Tell him to come back. She urged breathlessly.

I'm afraid it's no use, I said gravely. He would not come back. He wouldn't believe me. He would think I was mad. Did you tell him anything? She asked faintly. No, I had not time. I did say a word or two, but he began to laugh.

Yes, that's how it always is, she said distractedly. People laugh and poo-poo the whole thing, and they go there and see for themselves, and it's too late. She was thoroughly upset when she left the room. My wife turned to me in astonishment, not being a Western show woman. She was not well up on the traditions of that venerable county.

What on earth does it all mean, Fred? She asked me in amazement. What's the matter with Bella? Why is she so distressed that Captain Durant is going to stay in that particular house? Well, it's said to be haunted, and... You don't mean to say you believe in such rubbish, Fred? Interrupted my wife sternly with a side glance of apprehension at our firstborn, who, needless to say, stood by.

all eyes and ears, drinking in every word of the conversation of his elders. Never know what to believe or what I don't believe, I answered gravely. All I can say is that there are very singular traditions about that house, and that a great many credible witnesses have seen a very strange thing there, and that a great many disasters have happened to the persons who've seen it. What's been seen, friends? Pray tell me the story. Wait, I think I'll send the children away. my wife rang the bell for the nurse and as soon as the little ones had been taken from the room

she turned to me again i don't believe in ghosts for any such rubbish one bit but i shouldn't like to hear your story well the story's vague enough i answered in the old days varley grange belonged to the ancient family of varley now completely extinct there was some hundred years ago a daughter fame for her beauty and her fascination. She wanted to marry a poor penniless squire who loved her devotedly. Her brother, Dennis Varley, the new owner of Varley Grange, refused his consent and shut his sister up in the nunry that used to stand outside his park gates. A few ruins of it left still. The poor nun broke her vows and ran away into the night with her lover. But her brother pursued her and brought her back with him. The lover escaped, but the Lord of Varley murdered his sister under his own roof, swearing that

no sign of his race should live to disgrace and dishonour his ancient name. Ever since that day, Dennis Varley's spirit cannot rest in its grave. He wanders about the old house at night time, and those who have seen him are numberless. Now and then the pale, shadowy form of a nun flits across the old hall, or along the gloomy passages, and when both strange shapes are seen thus together, misfortune and illness, and even death, is sure to pursue the luckless man who's seen them with remorseless cruelty. Why wonder you believe in such rubbish, says my wife, at the conclusion of my tale. I shrug my shoulders and answer nothing for, but who are so obstinate as those who persist in

disbelieving everything that they cannot understand. It was a little more than a week later that, walking by myself along Palmaal one afternoon. I suddenly came upon Jack Darant walking towards me. Hello, Jack. Back again? Why, man, how odd you look. There was a change in the man that I was instantly aware of.

His frank, careless face, now look clouded and anxious, and the merry smile was missing from his handsome count. countenance. Come into the club, Fred, he said, taking me by the arm. I have something to say to you. He drew me into a corner of the club's smoking room. You were quite right. I wish to heaven I'd never gone to that house.

You mean, have you seen anything? I inquired eagerly. I have seen everything, he answered with a shudder. They say one dies within a year. Well, my dear fellow, don't be so upset about it, I interrupted. I was quite distressed to see how thoroughly the man had altered. Let me tell you about it, friend. He drew his chair close to mine and told me his story,

pretty nearly in the following words. You remember the day I went down. You kept me talking at the club door, and I had to race to catch the train. However, I just did it. I found the other fellows all waiting for me. There was Charlie Wells, the two Halfords, old Colonel Riddell. He was such a crack shot.

Two fellows in the guards, both pretty fair. A man called Thompson, a barrister, Owen Henderson and myself. Eight of us in all. We had a remarkably lively journey down, as you may imagine, and reached Varley Grange in the highest possible spirits. We all slept like tops that night. The next day we were out from eleven till dusk among the coverts, and a better day shooting I never enjoyed in the whole course of my life. The birds literally swarmed.

We bagged a hundred and thirty brace. We were all pretty well tired when we got home and did full justice to a very good dinner and first-class Perrier-Juay. After dinner we adjourned to the hall to smoke. This hall is quite the feature of the house. It's dark and bright. paddled halfway out with sombre old oak, and vaunted with heavy carved oak and rafters. At the farther end runs a gallery, into which open the door of my bedroom, and shut off from the rest of the passages by a swing door at either end.

Well, all we fellows set up there smoking and drinking brandy and soda, and jarring, you know, as men always do when they're together, about sport of all kinds, hunting and shooting and salmon fishing. And I assure you, not one of us had a thought in her heads beyond relating some wonderful incident of a long shot or big fence by which we could each cat the last speaker's experiences. We were just, I recollect, listening to a long story of the old colonels

about his experiences among Bisons in Kashmir. When suddenly one of us, I can't remember who it was, gave a sort of shout and started to his feet, pointing up to the gallery behind us. We all turned around and there I give you my word of honour, Lester, stood a man leaning over the rain of the gallery, staring down upon us.

We all saw him, every one of us. Eight of us, remember. He stood there for ten seconds, looking down with horrible, glittering eyes at us. He had a long, tawny beard in his hands that were crossed together before him were nothing but skin and bone. But it was his face that was so unspeakably dreadful.

It was livid, the face of a dead man. How was he dressed? I could not see. He wore some kind of black cloak every shoulder, I think, but the lower part of his figure was hidden behind the railings. Well, he all stood perfectly speechless for. as I said about ten seconds, and then the figure moved, backing slowly into the door of the room behind him, which stood open. It was the door of my bedroom. As soon as he disappeared, our senses

seemed to return to us. There was a general rush for the staircase, and, as you may imagine, there was not a corner of the house that was left unsearched. My bedroom especially was ransacked in every part of it. but all in vain, there was not the slightest trace to be found of any living being. You may suppose that not one of us slept that night. We lighted every candle and lamp we could lay hands upon and sat up till daylight, but nothing more was seen. At the next morning at breakfast, Henderson, who seemed very much annoyed by the whole thing,

begged us not to speak of it anymore. He said that he'd been told before he'd taken the house that it was supposed to be haunted, but not being a believer in such childish follies, he would pay little attention to the rumour. He did not, however, want it talked about because of the servants who would be so easily frightened. He was quite certain, he said, that the figure we'd seen last night must have been somebody dressed up to practice a trick upon us, and he recommended us all to bring our guns down loaded after dinner.

But meanwhile, to forget the startling apparition as far as we could. we of course readily agreed to do as he wished although i do not think that one of us imagined for a moment that any amount of dressing up would be able to stimulate the awful countenance that we all had seen so plainly it would have taken a hair or an arthur cecil though the theatrical applicants is known only to those two talented actors to have made up that face that was literally that of a corpse such a person could not be amongst us actually in the house without our knowledge. Well, we had another good day shooting, and by degrees the fresh air and exercise and the excitement of the sport obliterated the impression of what we'd seen

in some measure from the minds of most of us. That evening we all appeared in the hall after dinner without loaded guns beside us. But although we sat up till the small hours and not frequently up at the gallery at the end of the hall, nothing at all disturbed us that night. Two nights thus went by, and nothing further was seen of the gentleman with the tawny beard. What with the good company, the good cheer and the pheasants, we'd pretty well forgotten all about him.

We were sitting as usual upon the third night, with our pipes and our cigars. A pleasant glow from the bright wood fire in the great chimney lighted up the old hall and a shed of genial warmth about us, when suddenly it seemed to me as if there came a cold. breath, chill of air behind me, such as one feels when going down into some damp, cold vault or cellar. A strong shiver shook me from head to foot. Before I even saw it, I knew that it was there. It leant over the railing of the gallery and looked down at us all, just as it had done before. There was no change in the attitude, or alteration in the fixed, malignant glare in those stony lifeless eyes, no movement in the white and bloodless features. Below, amongst the eight of us

gathered there, there arose a panic of terror. Eight strong, healthy, well-educated 19th-century Englishmen, and yet I am not ashamed to say that we were paralysed with fear. Then one, more quickly recovering his senses than the rest, caught at his gun that leant against the wine. chimney corner and fired. The hall was filled with smoke, but as it cleared away, every one of us could see the figure of our supernatural visitant slowly backing, as he'd done on the previous occasion into the chamber behind him, with something like a sardonic smile of scornful derision upon his horrible, death-like face.

The next morning, it is a singular and remarkable fact that four out of the eight of us received by the morning post, so they stated, letters of importance which called them up to town by the very first train. One man's mother was ill, another had to consult his lawyer, whilst pressing engagements to which they could assign no definite name, called away the other two. They were left in the house that day, but four of us. Wells, Bob Hartford, our host and myself. Another sort of dogged determination not to be worsted by a scare of this kind kept us still there. The morning light brought a return of common sense and natural courage to us. We could manage to laugh over last night's terrace whilst discussing our bacon and kidneys and hot coffee over the late breakfast in the pleasant

morning room, with the sunshine streaming cheerily in through the diamond-pained windows. It must be a delusion of our brains, said one. Our host champagne. suggested another a well-organized hoax opined a third oh i will tell you what we'll do said our hosts now that those other fellows have gone and i suppose we don't any of us believe much in those elaborate family reasons which have so unaccountably summoned them away we four will sit up regularly at night for night after night and watch this thing whatever it may be i do not believe in ghosts however this morning i have to-be taking the trouble to go out before breakfast to see the rector of the parish, an old gentleman who's well up in all the traditions of the neighbourhood, and I've learnt from him the whole of the supposed story of our friend of the tawny beard, which, if you will, I will relate to you. Henderson then proceeded to tell us the tradition concerning the Dennis Varley, who murdered his sister, the nun, a story which I will not repeat to you, Lester, as I see you know it already.

The clergyman had furthermore told him that the figure of the murdered nun was almost sometimes seen in the same gallery, but this was a very rare occurrence. When both the murderer and his victim are seen together, terrible misfortunes are sure to assail the unfortunate living man who sees them. And if the nun's face is revealed, death within the year is the doom of the ill-fated person who has seen it. Of course, concluded our host, I consider all. these stories to be absolutely childish. At the same time I cannot help thinking that some human agency, probably a gang of thieves or housebreakers, is at work, and that we shall probably be able to unearth an organized system of villainy by which the rogues, presuming on the credulity of the persons who've inhabited the place, have been able to plant themselves securely among some secret

passages and hidden rooms in the house, and have carried on their depredations undiscovered and unsuspected. Now, will all of you help me to unravel this mystery? We all promise readily to do so. It is astonishing how brave we felt at eleven o'clock in the morning. What an amount of pluck and courage each man professed himself to be endued with. How lightly we jested about the old boy with a beard, and what jokes we cracked about the murdered nun. Oh, she'd show her face off from her if she was good-looking.

No fear of her looking at Bob Harford. he was too ugly. Well, it was Jack Darren, who was the showman of the party. She'd be sure to make straight for him if she could. He was always run after by the women, and so on, till we were all laughing loudly and heartily of our own witticisms. Well, that was eleven o'clock in the morning. At eleven o'clock at night we could have given a very different report of ourselves.

At eleven o'clock at night each man took up his appointed post in solemn, and somewhat depressed silence. The plan of our campaign had been carefully organized by our hosts. Each man was posted separately, with about 30 yards between them, so that no optical illusion, such as an effect of firelight upon the oak panel, nor any reflection from the circular mirror above the chimney-piece should be able to deceive more than one of us. Our host fixed himself in the very centre of the hall, facing the gallery at the end. Wells took up his position, half way up the short straight flight of steps. Harford was at the top of the stairs upon the gallery itself. I was opposite to him at the further end. In this manner, whenever the figure,

ghost or burglar, should appear, it must necessarily be between two of us, and be seen from both the right and the left side. We were prepared to believe that one amongst us might be deceived by his senses or by his imagination, but it was clear that two persons could not see the same object from a different point of view, and be simultaneously deluded by any effect of light or any optical hallucination. Each man was provided with a loaded revolver, a brandy and soda, and a sufficient stock of pipes or cigars to last him through the night. He took up our positions at eleven o'clock exactly, and waited. At first we were all four very silent and, as I've said before, slightly depressed. But as the hour wore away and nothing was seen or heard, we began to

talk to each other. Talking, however, was rather a difficulty. To begin with, we had to shout. Well, at least we in the gallery had to shout to Henderson, down in the hall. And though Harford and Wells could converse quite comfortably, I, not being able to see the latter at all from my end of the gallery, had to pass my remarks to him second-hand through Halford, who amused himself. in misstating every intelligent remark that I entrusted him with. Added to which, natural impediments to the flow of the soul, the elements thought fit to create such a hullabaloo without that conversation, was rendered still further a work of difficulty. I never remember such a night in all my life. The rain came down in torrents. The wind howled and shriek

wildly amongst the tall chimneys and the bare elm trees without. Every now and then there was a lulled, and then again and again a long sobbing moan came swirling round and round the house for all the world like the cry of a human being in agony it was a night to make one shudder and thank heaven for a roof over one's head we all sat on our separate posts hour after hour listening to the wind and talking at intervals but as the time wore on insensibly we became less and less talking and a sort of depression crept over us all. At last we relapsed into a profound silence, then suddenly it came upon us that chill blast of air, like a breath from a Chanel house that we had experienced before, and almost simultaneously a hoarse cry broke from Henderson in the body of the hall below, and from Wells halfway up the stairs.

Halford and I sprang to our feet, and we saw it too. The dead man was slowly coming up the stairs. He passed silently up with a sort of still, gliding motion, within a few inches of poor wells, who shrank back white with terror against the wall. Henderson rushed wildly up the staircase in pursuit, whilst Harford and I, up on the gallery, fell instinctively back, at his approach. He passed between us. We saw the glitter of his sightless eyes, the shrivelled skin upon his withered face, the mouth that fell away like the mouth of a corpse beneath his

tawny beard. We felt the cold death-like blast that came with him and the sickening horror of his terrible presence. Oh, can I ever forget it? With a strong shudder, Jack Durrant, buried his face in his hands and seemed too much overcome for some minutes to be able to proceed. My dear fellow, are you sure? I said in an awestruck whisper. He lifted his head. Forgive me, Lester. The whole business has shaken my nerves so thoroughly that have not been able to yet get over it. But I have not yet told you the worst. Good heavens, is there worse? I ejaculated. He nodded. No sooner, he continued, had this awful creature passed us, and Harford clutched at my arm and pointed to the farther end of the gallery.

Look! he cried hoarsely. The nun! There coming towards us from the opposite direction was the veiled figure of the nun. There were the long, flowing black and white garments, with the gleam of the crucifix at her neck, the jangle of her rosary beads from her waist, but her face was hidden. A sort of desperation sees me. With a violent effort over myself, I went towards this fresh apparition. It must be a hoax, I said to myself, and there was a half-formed intention in my mind of wrenching aside the flowing draperies

and of seeing for myself who and what it was. I strode towards the figure I stood within half a yard of it The nun raised her head slowly And Lester I saw her face There was a moment's silence What was it like Jack

I asked him presently He shook his head That I can never tell to any living creature Was it so? horrible. He nodded assent, shuddering. And what happened next? I believe I fainted. At all events, I remembered nothing further. They made me go to the vicarage next day. I was so knocked over by it all. I was quite ill. I could not have stayed in the house. I stopped there all yesterday, and I got up to town this morning. I wish to heaven I had taken your advice all, man. I could not.

and never gone to that horrible house. I wish you had, Jack. I wish you had. I answered fervently. Do you know that I shall die within the year? He asked me, presently. I tried to poo-poo it. My dear fellow, don't take the thing so seriously as all that.

Whatever may be the meaning of these horrible apparitions, there can be nothing but an old wife's fable in that sense. saying, why on earth should you die? You of all people, a good strong fellow with a constitution of iron. You don't look much like dying. For all that, I shall die. I cannot tell you why I'm so certain, but I know that it will be so. He answered in a low voice, and some terrible misfortune will happen to Harford. The other two never saw her. It is he and I who were doomed. A year has passed away. Our summer fashionable society rang for a week or more with the tale of poor Bob Hafer's

misfortune. The girl whom he was engaged to and to whom he was devotedly attached, young, beautiful and wealthy, ran away on the eve of her wedding day with a drinking, swindling villain who'd been turned out of ever so many clubs and tabooed for ages by every respectable man in town, and who had nothing but a handsome face in a fascinating manner to recommend him. and who, by dint of these, had succeeded in gaining complete ascendancy over the fickle heart of poor Bob's lovely fianc. As to Harford, he sold out and went off to the backwoods of Canada, and has never been heard of since. And what off Jack Darren's? Poor handsome Jack,

with his tall figure and his bright, happy face, and the merry blue eyes that had wild Bella Lester's heart away. Alas, far away in southern Africa Poor Jack Darant lies in an unknown grave Slamed by Azulu Assegai on the fatal plain of Isandula And Bella goes about clad in sable garments Heavy-eyed and stricken with sore grief A widow in heart if not in name Hey Ontario, come on down to Bed MGM Casino

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Here we go Another one of these survivalist nuts To be honest with you You'd be right to think that Because I am I've undergone weapons training and multiple Surviving Camps but None of that is why I chose to write this

In the book I mentioned before There's a part that references a film The 1965 Lawson footage This caught my attention and instantly put me on the path that led me here. The internet will tell you it's make-belief that it doesn't exist and it was just part of a silly book. But what else would they tell you about something they didn't want you to know?

It took two years of dead ends and dark web searches before I met Martin Lang. I met Martin through a wilderness survival forum on Reddit. he claimed to have the original film I couldn't convince him to sell it but he agreed to meet with me and let me watch the film the only problem was Martin lived in Tellerade

when I was living in Arizona at the time it was about an eight-hour trip had in traffic and stops more like nine or ten hours we agreed to meet on a Saturday that way neither of us had to miss work I remember hoping this wasn't going to be another bullshit blank trip.

And it wasn't. We met up some grill on the corner of North Fairland Columbia. Martin was an older guy, early 50s, I guess. Tall, around 6'2, clean-shaven with short-cropped grey hair.

It's hard to describe his demeanour. In a word, I would call it paranoid. He never really looks directly at you when he speaks. He's always scanning the area and talking under his breath, if someone might be listening. Dave, it's good to finally meet you in person,

reaching out to shake my hand with a slightly nervous chuckle. Then he got straight to his point. There's a library four blocks from here on Pine Street. They have a film room. I'll meet you there in the morning. There's a hotel one street over. Get a room, get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning. I had to stop him right there.

The way he was acting was starting to freak me out. a little bit. I started and wonder if we were in any real danger. Well, slow down man. Is there something wrong? He stopped scanning the area and looked me directly in the eyes and said, Yes, there is something horribly wrong.

But we'll talk about it in the morning. With that, he gave me that same nervous smile. Got in his car and drove away. I could have gotten in my car and gone home. But I didn't. Since I was already at the grill, I grabbed a burger and a beer and then headed over to the hotel. I woke up the next morning, feeling like a kid on Christmas, like I was about to unwrap the best gift ever.

This day of my freaking life. When I got to the library, Martin was already there. As soon as I walked into the film room, Martin jumped as if I caught him doing something wrong. It looked at me for a second and then relaxed. Look, I'm sorry, man, but after I tell you what I know and show you these films, you understand. The movies are bullshit. It's way worse than anyone could imagine. There are different stages of the virus.

Stage one only affects one super rare blood type, and even then most people's immune system destroys it. But there are some that virus thrives in. Once they're infected, they lose their minds. They start doing crazy shit like locking their children in cows or walking into malls and shooting everyone in sight. From what I can tell, this virus is responsible for every serial killer and mass shooting since the 1930s. The zombie party is real, but typically the infected party is either captured or killed. If the infected person is killed and the body isn't disposed of, the virus reanimates the corpse in an attempt to keep its same.

self alive. Then, and only then, the virus could be passed to any blood type through saliva. I couldn't take any more of nerd babble. I had to stop him from going any further. Look, Martin, this sounds like you're writing fan fiction for The Walking Dead. And to be honest, it feels like bullshit to me. Can we just watch the film already, so I can take my notes and get the hell out of here? It looked a little disappointed by my reaction, but then he said something I'll never forget. You'll understand everything real soon.

It wasn't so much what he said, but Howie said it that stuck in my head. As it turns out, there were actually four cans of film, hours and hours of footage, grainy eight millimeter home movies, chronicling, Harry Lawson going insane and killing three people,

before he was shot and killed by the town sheriff. The body was kept on the scene a little too long, and he reanimated then, infected several others. The part of the Lawson film everyone knows about is only a small part. The family trying to escape on a school bus was a small excerpt from the end of the film. Hours came and went as we sat in the dark watching the film. I must have dozed off at some point because a loud pop sound woke me up.

The coppery smell of blood and gunpowder filled my lungs. As I turned to see Martin propped up against the far wall, sitting on the floor. His blood and brains now dripping from the ceiling. Before I had a chance to process what I was seeing, the door flew open and two police officers came rushing in. I was taken into custody and questioned about Martin and what had happened, but in the end the security footage proved it was a suicide

and I was able to go home. I was on the highway for about an hour before it hit me. The film! I pulled off the highway and grinned. grabbed my phone, then called the Tellerid Police Department. I told them I purchased the films from mine, but with the situation being what it was, I've forgotten to pick him up before leaving. It worked. I got the films and was back on the road in no time. Yes, I know. It was a shitty move. But most films were potentially worth millions.

It took a while to line up serious buyers, but when some Asian rich kid from Virginia offered me $2,000 just to watch it, I took the money. That kid went on to gun down 32 people at his college before being killed by the police. My next buyer, some lady from Delaware, she came with two other guys. They said they were all film students. After they watched the films, they went home and executed three of their classmates before being taken into custody.

At this point, all I wanted was to get rid of the film. It was about four months before I saw another buyer. The guy seemed normal enough to me. He told me you worked with some mid-range production company. And if the film was legit, they'd make an offer on the rights to the films. Well, the deal never happened. The day after seeing the film, that asshole went out and killed nine people in a shopping mall somewhere in Nebraska. Because of that, another rep from that same company came by a few weeks later.

asked to view the films. At least time I said no. I tried to stop it, but after rejecting their deal several times, I offered half a million dollars for a copy of the films. And on Christmas Eve, that same rep killed her entire family before committing suicide by hanging itself. That one led to the first mini-outbreak of the virus. I believe that was in Washington, but the CDC and a few other government agencies got that contained and eliminated in no time, blaming the deaths on some horrible strain of the flu. I wouldn't see another customer for a year. Actually, it was the same time of year, Christmas. A businessman from California, he watched the film, bought a copy. He went home, I invited a few people over for a Christmas party. There, get this. The guy dressed up as

Santa, and proceeded to murder everyone at the party before he set the house on fire, committed suicide by coal. This process goes on for years, from 2007 to 2019. But as of a few months ago, I've finally done it. I spent all the money I've made from viewings and copies, spreading the virus to small isolated areas all over the world, places where no one could get there in time to stop the incubation period. America was first of fall. Why do you think all those people walked from Ecuador through Mexico to the border? It wasn't seeking the American dream.

They were running for their lives, and soon everyone will be. My name is Dave, and I started the zombie apocalypse. You're welcome. The hours seemed to drag tonight, he mused as he walked numbly, but deliberately along the city streets. most nights the time flew by quickly on dark wings of some swift and avenging nocturnal predator a fitting analogy he noted comparing speed to something akin to himself and his kind but this evening was different the city its inhabitants and indeed the very buildings and trees seemed to be locked in a sort of suspended animation as if captured in a photograph nothing moved for miles and still he tried to be locked in the sort of suspended animation as if captured in a photograph nothing moved for miles and still he tried to He could sense no sign of life and wondered if his usually keen senses had lost their edge. Worse yet.

Were they right? He was hungry and desperate. Unlike most of his kind, he was blessed, or perhaps cursed, with the ability to transform himself into other beings, both human and animal with ease. He could pass for an attractive man, or even transform himself into a very convincing facsimile of a dog or a cat in order to properly get nourishment. In addition to this, he could become invisible. Big deal, he thought. What good did all those things do if no one accepts you? He drew his cloak around him. Not that he really needed a cloak, with his shape-shifting abilities,

he was able to withstand cold, heat, and any other conditions thrown in his direction by the forces of nature. What he could not tolerate, however, was the separate. and ostracision of the other vampires. Since his entrance into the realm of the undead, it had been decided by the High Council that he be given the ability to shape you. But he often wondered why he was counted among those favourite few

who possessed this strange and coveted traits. He kept his questions to himself, though, for the ways of the Council were never to be doubted or questioned in any way, and he had been chosen. so he accepted that gift along with his immortality and he used it the council of course were adamant in the adherence to the ancient traditions and strict rules of transfiguration and the certain forms of animal other than human were allowed for one thing he could only assume the shape of a predatory animal very rarely a reptile and never a bird or a fish in addition to that the animal must always bare large teeth, long canines which were meant to rip and tear the flesh of victims, rather than

simply making neat little inconspicuous holes in the necks of the unfortunate prey. Once, long ago, on a journey in the jungles of Central America. He had brought the natives' legends of the fabled Chupacabra or Goat-Sucker into terrifying reality. True, it enabled him to snare prey more easily than he'd ever known. Yes, it did give him the advantage of human superstitions and irrational fears, but in the end he was sorry. Word of his transgression reached the High Council. He was therefore summoned to stand trial before them for breaking the ancient laws concerning shape-shifting. He was sure he'd done nothing wrong, or out of the ordinary. However, the Council strongly disagreed. Our laws and rules stay clearly.

that no shapeshifter must ever assume the form of anything fabricated in the minds of humans. The goat-sucker is every bit of fantasy figure, as the dragon, mermaid, or any other thing of legends and fairy tales. They expounded on that taboo, saying that fantasy creatures brought into this world would draw much unwanted attention and make humans aware of a once invisible threat. Realistic animals, dangerous as they may be, were more or less commonplace. But real animals such as a bearer or wolf could draw a considerable amount of attention, especially when a series of attacks sharpened people's interest as well as fear. Several years back, he had stalked the areas of Northern California in the form of a mountain lion,

making his way into populated areas, attacking and killing many people. When the park rangers as well as the police and the media took special notice of these mysterious mountain lion attacks, he knew he needed to disappear soon and find new hunting territory, for he himself was in danger of being caught. His punishment, ostracism from all his peers, even his beloved mentor and maker. He would know now what it was like to be truly alone. Before he was made,

he had read where some primitive peoples of various world cultures would banish a member of a tribe if he or she had broken taboo. That person would be considered dead by family, friends, and all who knew him or her. Loneliness would soon sap all will to live from the banished one's hearts, and mind, and suicide by auto-suggestion would occur. That would not happen in his case, he told himself repeatedly.

His will to live was far too strong. Besides this, he concluded in his own mind that the ugly green of general, who coloured the decision of those who bore witness against him at the trial. No one, not even the High Council, had the right to limit his darkness given talent. He would prove the victor, despite his circumstances. But first, he must satisfy his hunger. Tonight, though, that would prove a somewhat difficult task. It seemed his usual victims were scarce.

Perhaps it was time to try a new approach, maybe even a new source of food. He sniffed the air. He listened for signs of life. His reflective eyes pierced through the fog, trying to see anything new. His empty veins burned. He continued on his way. On this particular night he hunted in the guise of a man. It had not been the first time, and more often than not, he had been successful. In his human persona, he exhibited an intense, hypnotic charisma,

combined with raw sex appeal, which drew his victims to him with a little or no effort at all. As well, this was the easiest way to pass through cities and towns inconspicuously. He also had the option of going place to place unseen

via his invisibility method, but he rarely used that. It was an exhausting process, which left him little strength to hunt and feed. As for animals, he saved those forms for roaming the rural and more sparsely populated emies. Then, on the cool pre-dorm breeze, he sensed it, prey. Off in the distance, he could hear a woman's voice.

Another voice answered it. Two women. Hmm, now things would start happening for him. If he thought at least one of them beautiful, he'd remake her into a creature like himself. He found both of them attractive all the better. Yet he could never pass on the gift of shape-shifting. That talent was bestowed upon him alone. But at least he assured himself a companion in the long, dark years of immortality.

He would not be lonely, and she would live forever at his side, looking upon him as maker, hero, champion and lover. Moreover, she would know nothing of how he came to be shamed and excluded. She would know what he needed her to know, and that was it, he told himself. He started off in the direction of the two female voices. Well, it was necessary, the first spoke emphatically. An example had to be made, and we... Her voice trailed off at the first.

the sound of muffled footsteps. What was she talking about? No matter. He was ready to satisfy himself and mere words should never distract him. He approached. Both women turned. The woman who spoke was of medium height

with long, dark, wavy brown hair. Her posture was straight and she didn't seem to be the type that would startle easily. In fact, her demeanour was calm, assertive and full of practical purpose. Her dark blue eyes met his pale one. She didn't greet him, or was even the least bit surprised that he was there. It was as if she were expecting him to come to her at this particular place at this particular time.

Her companion was different, however, and at the side of the stranger she gasped and gave a sharp little cry. She was a petite little thing, with strawberry blonde hair which had been cut and teased in into a sort of faux, wind-blown look, which suited her pointed little chin and big, weepy, wet, green eyes. She was not only startled, but visibly frightened. She reminded him of a nervous bird, ready for flight at a moment's notice. She was right to feel some measure of all. Here was a man of rather ordinary appearance. Here beneath the surface, the intense magnetism was about to emerge like a serpent uncoiling itself from a tree.

Already there was tension in the air. His human persona was handsome, but not in the polished Hollywood leading manseau. There was a starkness and ferocity about him, on to mention the slightly shabby clothes he wore. His face was angular and pale, and his eyes were a soft mist grey which could harden into steel, charcoal, or even black

when provoked to attack. For now, there remains, soft and misty, reflecting light much the way cat's eyes do. The hair was dark and hung about his head and shoulders wildly, as if it had never been touched by brush or comb. He strode towards them the way a wolf does when encountering its next meal. His hands were large and bony with long fingernails, which more accurately resembled claws or talons than human fingernails, despite the flesh covering those hands being white, clean and deceptively silky salt. Yes, even as a man, much of him remained a beast.

The brunette smiled when he reached them. She seemed inexplicably pleased to see him, and he wondered if they'd ever met. He couldn't help noticing just how attractive she was with her tall, slim form and luxurious hair. She might make a fit companion for him after all. His hand slackened around the edges of his clothes. Deep in the mountains, in an almost forgotten part of the world the council had assembled itself.

At a massive table in the great hall of the castle twelve figures discussed at length the transgressions and broken rules of the animal shapeshifter among their kind. He seemed to learn nothing from his punishments. Banishment only made him penitent for a short while. His will to live was kept to fire by pure defiance.

What could be done about this? They were stymied for a solution, but certainly not at a loss for words. He's gotten just what he deserved. Snapped a tall, black-haired woman seated along the left-hand side of the table. Her long nails drummed noisily on the dark wood. It's just what the council ought to have done in the first place. Has he? Drawed a voice next to her.

Or are you simply jealous because you weren't chosen for such an honour? The speaker turned his angular features toward the table. dark beauty. She did not flinch, but looked past him to address the head of the council. You yourself know what he did was against everything our kind of dears to. He brought this on himself for abusing his power. Her dark eyes flashed in her austere, beautiful face. Why not send someone to take care of this lawbreaker once and for all? Perhaps, began a wheezy voice further down the table. it is because he is or rather was young when he was made youth does tend to be irresponsible with powers

that has no bearing whatsoever in tone to deep voice figure whose hand bore a rather ornate ruby ring young or old those who have lived millennia or centuries all must obey the laws set down for us by the council "'Oh, really?' "'It's not a young, slim female, dressed in black leather. "'She brushed aside a wisp of honey-blonde hair from her left eye. "'And just what makes you so quick to judge? "'I mean, after all, we're all trying to go our own way and get what we can. "'Who said anything about rules anyway?' "'Are you on his side?'

"'Drawled the man next to the dark woman. "'He set his small ice-blue eyes upon her. "'His gaze was steady. and chilling. What if I am? She snorted defiantly. You are all so damned high and mighty. We were never meant to follow rules.

Those are for the mortals, not us. They follow rules. The deep voice bearer of the ring went on in his deep, sonorous voice. So must we. A lion must learn the habits and behavior of wildebeests and buffalo. So must we. We need to be as cautious and clever as the humans are, and more. We can't risk scaring them off or exposing ourselves.

That would be disastrous. He rose from his place at the head of the table and raised a big, bony hand. From his black velvet robe, he seemed to produce as if by magic a long sceptre, at whose end was a solid gold skull adorned with rubies and sapphires. He bound it three times on the table, and the council fell into respectful silence. The twelve members of the council all looked up simultaneously into his skull-like face, peering out of a purple-lined black hood.

They waiting. For centuries, we have abided by the law set down to us by our ancestors, and in that time few rules have been broken. Those who have been so foolish or arrogant have suffered the consequences. That has always been a part of our plan. The shapeshifter must take his punishment and be made an example. What he did was unacceptable. And thus, I've sent the appropriate one to execute the correct punishment.

There were some scattered applause at the table, and a triumphant expression on the statues' face of the beautiful dark woman. The serpentine man, with the eyes, blue eyes and sarcastic drawl, simply tented his long hands together and stared at his own skeletal fingers. The wheezy-voiced man coughed noisily into a silk handkerchief. The blonde simply stared at the council leader with undisguised hatred. Once again, the butt of the sceptre was struck three times, staccato fashion on the dark table. The bony, ruby-ringed hand, commanded silence.

Again, he spoke. I wish to call the maker of the shape-shifter to account, he said, is a pained look across his face momentarily. To everyone's surprise, uprose a tall, statuesque figure in crimson velvet. The beautiful, black-haired woman strode purposefully to the end of the table. But now, all smugness had vanished from her face. She, too, looked pained and hideously ashamed of what she had created. she turned to face the others she glanced around after what seemed like an eternity she began when he was first created i had no idea he would be so rebellious perhaps i was the one at fault for putting the idea of shape-shifting into his head but in my own way i sense he had potential to be unique and skillful as one of our kinds and i also knew that animals possessed certainly

attributes which she did not. I wanted him to have those attributes, so I petitioned the High Council to bestow these gifts upon him, and I was proud of him. I was as proud of him as a mother is of a son, or a wife is of her husband, and yes, she addressed the serpentine man. I was jealous.

Hot tears welled in her eyes. I wanted to be those animals in every way, but I knew I was not destined or chosen for shape-shifting. So the next best choice was to see someone close to me given those gifts. And so I lived, to use the term loosely, vicariously through my latest creation. The young man had been wounded by a wild animal in the woods by his home and taken to the nearest hospital, and I was there, unknown to the mortal doctors and nurses in the hospital. So I saw the opportunity and I took forward.

full advantage. The young man lived, but not in the normal way that they'd all expected. He developed animalistic tendencies, and more tests were done. A few doctors had even suggested that he had contracted rabies, but I knew otherwise. He was becoming what I had always wanted to be. The first night I glimpsed him in his mountain lion form. I was moved to tears. It was magnificent. Her voice broke slightly, and she stopped to wipe her eyes with a handkerchief. At this, the blonde girl rose up and cried. So, you don't exactly have the moral ground. Silence, the robe leader roared.

I must have order. She will be allowed to speak. As time passed, she continued. He began asking questions about his abilities. Once he studied every animal he was allowed to emulate, he began to experiment with ones of mythical nature, such as that cursed goat-sucker from Central America. I was never more humiliated. Drawing attention to mythical creatures such as this one would no doubt inspire suspicion in the human's belief that we too exist

and are every bit as real as they are. Most of our societal camouflage has come from the fact that mortals see us as little more than legends and stuff of their horror genre of film or literature. We've hidden behind that lie for centuries. If they do not believe, and they are not aware of us, and thus I'd easy pray for us. Awareness of us is in itself a defence against us. Because of my own vanity, I assume that my creation would obey me and the rules that I followed. He did not.

I hadn't taken into account the notion of free will or individual pursuits, so he was punished by ostracision. No one would have anything to do with him after that, but he survived, and I wished he hadn't. I regretted the moment I ever made eyes on him. I wanted him punished, but I didn't know how. Very much like a parent who is forever marred by the offspring's misdeeds, I was only too glad to be separated from him permanently. For years, I have denied ever knowing him. I hid in a place in the northern mountains, hoping every once in a while to hear the news,

of his death. Yet I never heard anything about him being alive either. She paused. Until just a short while ago. Ah, yes. The leader's white face stared pensively down at the ruby ring on his bony finger. Ah, that was when the reports about the mountain lion attack were all over the human's media. That's correct, she nodded.

I knew his signature animal and killing style to be that of the North American mountain lion or Puma. I managed to travel halfway around the world and there he was. Very shortly after that he started assuming a human disguise. That was a wise move on his part for the mountain lion was beginning to bring much unwanted attention. The last few nights I followed his every step

and now I can see that your method of punishment is appropriate. Do what you need to do. She nodded respectfully, an emotion for her to be seated. The collective stare shifted from her downcast face, back to that of the stern leader. Then their thoughts turned slowly to the shapeshifter and his whereabouts. They knew his time was drawing to an end. Back on his own familiar territory, the transgressor regarded his intended

victims, unaware of the other's judgment and inevitable punishment. He continued to walk toward the two women, his lips drawn back in a feral grim. She said nothing, but continued to stare back at him as if to say, Here I am. He stopped. Then some shade of recognition passed over his face. Then he stopped and a jolt of fear passed through him as he saw his intended victim. something was wrong but what was it it was as if an alarm had gone off warning him of impending danger she however remained rooted to her spot as he took a hesitant step in her direction one thought burned in his mind at that moment never allow fear or any other emotion to distract you the powerful must always remain in control never feel forget that you and your kind are the supreme rulers. He didn't see what came next. In one flash,

a swift, snarling, clawing form was upon him, tossing him to the ground like a rag doll. He looked directly up into the yellow eyes of a raging mountain lion. But how? He was then aware of a searing, slicing pain as the animal's claws tore through him. In his weakened state, he then saw the face of the beast changed slowly into that of the strawberry blonde. How ironic, he mused, drawing his last breath, and he be defeated by another shape-shifter like himself. How strange that someone like that should find him, to-night of all nights. His captor once again morphed easily into her animal form and,

with her canine teeth, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and severed his spine. Above them The sky became pale As the star's winged out Soon They would be here And they would need to leave quickly The transgressor's body

Could not be disposed of just yet They would need to bring it back For confirmation to the council That everything had gone as planned And that everything had run According to plan The brown-haired woman bent over the body Just as the sun rose

And drew out a seat overnigh. With grim efficiency, she plunged it deep into the chest of the errant shape-shifter, and pierced his heart. The other woman joined her in human form, and they spoke quickly about returning to the mountains to notify the council that their task had been done. The next moment, the women noticed a dark shape that approached them from behind. Then two shapes. The first one was tall and powerful and moved in his black and purple robes with great strides. The other stood just as tall in red velvet, but her gate was much more sinuous. The gold scepter, the black robe figure carried, glinted in the early sunlight. The ruby on his big powerful hand shone through the mist

like a freshly open wood. The face of the figure in red was downcast and hidden beneath abundant black hair. The strangers approached the two women. Well done, proclaimed the leader, as he walked along the length of the transgressor's broken body, inspecting it as if it were a freshly tidied room or finished work of ours. I must admit you were the right one for this assignment. He turned his skeletal face in the direction of the strawberry blonde. It makes sense that you did the ultimate honours, my dear. his large mouth grinned displaying rows of large pristine white dagger-like teeth he regarded the body again this is what comes of disobedience an example has been made

he went back to the statuesque figure in red velvet and whispered something in her ear when she made no move to approach the body he took her by the arm and led her down where the distorted remains of her creation lay She did not cry. Neither did she show any anger or remorse. Her chiseled white face wore a look of dead, cold indifference. We must burn the body. She spoke in a low voice. But not here. It must be taken to the palace in the mountains, and a pyre must be made, and all of our kind must view it and learn from this man's, this beast's, errant ways. Disobedience cannot be looked upon like. the leader raised his sceptre and the two other women nodded in agreement the following night as expected many had gathered outside the palace grounds and kindling was piled high in preparation for the burning of the shapeshifter as others of his kind watched all who knew him mused over what he had done and reflected their own opinions of the matter there are those who felt as the council had that he had his punishment was just, while others truly sympathized with his plight, and praised his radical, rule-breaking ways, as courageous and imaginative. Still, others were uncertain as to what they thought, but all who had been there could have sworn that they heard the snarl of a mountain lion as the last of the funeral fire burned down. 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 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.