Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep86: Episode 86: Horror Stories round the Campfire

Episode Date: June 30, 2022

We start proceedings this evening with ‘The Tavern on the Borderlands’ by Catcid:  http://www.creepypasta.com/the-tavern-on-the-borderlands/ Next, we have ‘The Creeping horror’ by EmpyrealInvective:  http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/The_Creeping_Horror We round off with ‘The Hot Springs’ by Tyler T:  http://www.creepypasta.com/the-hot-springs/

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Well, it's true what they say, you know. Each and every one of us becomes a storyteller when you light a campfire. As we shall see with tonight's three delightful tales of terror. Now, come join me round the campfire for an evening of entertainment. But before we begin, as always, a word of caution.

Tonight's tales may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence. descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, let's begin. Cage didn't know if Richie was serious, but then again, he thought it didn't matter. They'd been running down this thin country road for nearly one and a half hour, pushing 60 ever since the state line was out of sight.

With a speed like that, there wouldn't even be jelly left if they crashed. But Cage didn't really think that mattered either. He almost welcomed the thought. Just get me out of this nightmare, he thought. Just get me the fuck out of this hell. Fuck you think about Cage, Richie asked him, throwing him a scant smile and a naked look of contempt.

A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, bopping up and down with the irregularity, of the road. The stink of tobacco and tar was almost unbearable, but none of the others seemed to mind. Just shut the fuck up and keep your eyes on the road, Cage said. His head felt as if he was splitting in half. The side where that copper had socked him was sticky with dry blood. He was in a bad mood. In his lap he had a bottle of whiskey concealed. in a brown paper bag. Old school bum style.

He took a gulp and felt the carousel in his head slowed down a bit. He then passed it to Richie, the driver, who took a large swig himself before passing it to the back seat. Jimmy Katz, at least that's what everyone called him,

took his arms off one of the girls he was groping to grab the paper bag. He took a swill and coughed before he passed it to Anne, the redhead to his left. They were all high on something, but Cage didn't know what. Jenna looked like she was seconds away from passing out, all as if she already had.

Her head rested on Jimmy's shoulder, and her lips were parted in a rather unattractive way. It was how retards looked just before they started drooling. Where the fuck are we even going? Cage exclaimed. making no attempt to conceal his frustration. Jimmy cackled and passed him the bottle. The women grinning at him from whatever drug haze they currently inhabited.

Who the fuck cares, man, he said, and Cage could see his pupils for as large as industrial plates. Yeah, Jenna agreed as she flung her arms around Jimmy's neck. Who the fuck cares, right? Cage gave her a short look of disgust. before he peered back out the window. The woods flung by as the car sped forth. Its headlights illuminated the trees briefly

before giving way to the dark, and the effect created a soothing optical illusion. Cage felt his eyes lull shut, and, as his mind started to drift onto the oceans of sleep, he remembered the cop. He remembered us stopping them just a few, miles from the Texas state line. She'd seen the booze and ordered Ritchie to step out of the car. They had all followed, even the girls, and before anyone even knew what was

happening, they'd been beating her half to death. Cage had been socked once with a black heavy-duty flashlight, the kind the cops wore when they wanted to feel important. No one else had been hurt and after Cage took revenge with a crowbar they got back in the truck and raced off leaving the hillbilly Hicks state behind with a trooper dying in the dirt Cage thought of her face how it had somehow caved in as he beat down on it with the iron he'd been in a lot of fights they all had but he most of all The first man he'd fought was his father, who'd been rather keen on fighting as well, but only five to ten-year-old boys.

When Cage turned fifteen, he'd broken the old fucker's arms in three places and had him running out of the house like a squealing pig. After that the fighting just sort of came naturally. He beat people up for everything. He didn't get the right amount of change at the local diner. a sock on the jaw. A stranger bumped him on the street, a kick in the ass,

one in the face too if he was stupid enough to protest. He fought anyone for everything. Didn't matter how big or tough they were. You just didn't fuck with Cage Reynolds. Despite this, however, he'd never killed anyone before. Sure, the cop was breathing. when they left, but with a head injury like that, not for long. Yeah, she was dead all right. The thought formed a thick lump of dread in his chest, dread that he was responsible for the

death of, well, someone, anyone. Most likely she was just a deadbeat bitch with two fatherless kids and too much of a taste for the booze. But so what? She was just doing her job. A bribe could have done the trick, maybe, unless she was one of those naive. The law is everything hoars. Well, it was too late to be sorry anyway.

It had happened and... A sudden sound. Like an explosion. And the car span out of control. The wheel shrieked as Ritchie stood on the brakes, the car turning sideways across the road and coming to halt just moments before it would have turned over. Cage hit his sore head and the pain was immeasurable. It no longer felt as if he was splitting in two, but as if it already had.

He felt as if in the next second he would be sitting with two halves of his brain resting in his lap. "'Holy shit!' Ritchie exclaimed, "'and Cage was furious to hear a giggle just underneath his words. "'What the fuck did that stupid prick have to laugh about?' "'What the fuck happened?' he asked, "'and the pain was so bad he couldn't even bring himself to shout. "'Flat tire,' Ritchie said.

"'We had a nail or something. I don't know.' "'He opened the door and got out. Cage followed on trembling legs, feeling as if he'd stepped out of the car and into the sea. Nausea set in as soon as his maiden steps were over, and the wretched stink of burnt rubber didn't precisely liven up the day. He struggled to reach the ditch, but it was already too late. He bent over and left the steaming remains of his lunch on the worn road, adding another glorious smell to bless the area.

What the fuck, man? Richie yelled, and, as in cue, there was another retching of sick bowels from behind them. Jenna was on her knees on the other side of the car, pale like bleak moonlight, and in the process of spewing scrambled eggs and coffee on the road. Jesus fucking Christ, Richie said, and the tired exasperation in his voice was thick enough to win awards. Guys, I don't feel too good, Jenna moaned, falling on her side next to her mess and curling up into a shivering ball. Cage didn't have time for them. As soon as his leg stopped trembling, he went around to the back of the car.

He flung the truck open, removed the hatch to the spare wheel compartment, and blinked to what he saw. There was a white plastic bag splotched with blood. The crowbar was inside, the chosen murder weapon used to escape a charge of drunk driving. There was nothing else, however. He slammed the trunk shut and turned his ever-rising fury on Richie. How the fuck can you drive around without a spare? Now we're stuck here in the ass end of nowhere, you piece of shit. His face had flushed with a bright red, and Spittle was flying from his lips as he yelled.

He wanted to take it all out on Richie, blame him for the cop and for his entire fucking nightmare. Yet he knew he couldn't. It really wasn't Richie's fault. Even the spare tire wasn't his fault. How could he have known they were going to get a flat out here? His reasoning didn't catch up to him just yet, however. He was half a second away from using his fists to relieve all of that shit clogging up his brain pipes. When Jimmy said, Shh, shut up a moment. He'd gone out of the car and was still holding Anne. You guys hear that?

Cage was just about to tell him off, but then he too heard it. There was something moving around in the woods. Leaves were scuffled by heavy feet. Branches snapped and bushes were rattled. It sounded like a very large man who didn't mind announcing himself was tumbling around in the underbrush. Who goes there? Richie yelled, and even the rebounding echo carried his trembling anxiety back with it.

The darkness was too thick to reveal anything. And if it wasn't for the glaring headlights of the car, they would have been engulfed by the unsettling blackness. It's just a fucking animal or something, Cage said. the explanation more for his own sake than theirs. The relief in his voice was palpable, but then Ritchie shot off the newest, lovely idea. What if it's a bear or something? he asked.

And if Cage didn't know better, he bet the guy was close to tears. He was just about to open his mouth and tell him to get his fucking act together when a shrill shriek echoed between the trees. It sounded like the voice of a young woman, screaming to the point where a throat was just about to burst. Cage fell his heart grow tired of its original place and moved somewhere up his throat. The blood drained from his face and he actually thought he'd pissed himself a bit.

Get in the fucking car! Jimmy screamed, abandoning Anne to force himself into the backseat. The others came after, Cage throwing himself in the passenger seat and Ritchie putting the pedal to the metal. The car screeched as it turned, leaning heavily on the flat tire and making a thunderous rumbling sound as it went. No one cared. Ritchie stood on the gas, barely having the time to switch gears which sent the engine into a roar of disapproval. after a while maybe after five minutes of rushing down the narrow road richie calmed down he brought the car down to a slow roll and eventually stopped entirely they just sat there in silence and eventually cage started laughing richie stared at him as if struck by thunder then he first smiled and was soon laughing as well a moment later they were all cackling like loons they didn't stop until their eyes were teary red their chest numb and hysteria leaked

dry fucking animals scared the shit out of me cage said still smiling and Ritchie answered it you're preaching to the choir son he said and leaned back in his seat panting That's when Cage spotted the sign on the left side of the road. The text was faded and tested by hard weather, but still possible to make out. Crawford Home, Bed and Breakfast, Cage read out loud, his eyes squinted to make out the text. There was nothing odd about the sign, but as he read it, they all shared a brief, chill of superstitious dread.

They may have a spare tire to sell, or give away. If anything, they'll have a phone, Ritchie said. Trying to sound nonchalant without fooling anybody. His voice quaked with unsettled nerves. Neglecting the opportunity of civilization was a stupid decision, but Cage had no wish to go there. As a matter of fact, his entire being told him to get out of

the car and run for his god-dam life. Inhaling, shakily and not knowing why, he said. Yeah, let's go. Richie nodded and put his foot on the gas. The car moved unevenly and seemed to rock rather than roll. But they made progress. During all of this, no one saw the six shadowy shapes, staring at them from the woods. The house itself was a convincing sight. It was a cozy, deep wood version of a Cape Cod, complete with an outdoor garage and country-style porch. A white wooden fence surrounded the building and a faint, oily light shone inside its tall windows. There were no other cars on the gravel driveway. and Cage figured the Crawford's must keep their car in the garage.

The alien feeling of wrongness had subsided, but it still lingered in the background. Cage brought it down to nothing. Cage put it down to nothing but the rather fast-paced events of the last few hours. His memory flashed the cop dying in the road, a pale grey eyes staring up at him with a sort of accusing bewilderment. What happened? Did you strike me? If so, why would you do that? He shook the thought and opened the passenger-side door. He was immediately struck by the rather misplaced smell of newly cut grass. It was a grotesque mix of childhood harmony invading on a sinister sense of danger, making him almost light-headed. Behind him, he heard the other doors open, then he was a little bit of the other doors open. the crusty protest of feet on the gravel. Jimmy came up to him and put an arm around his shoulders, smiling at him scantily with that pompadour greaseball haircut ruffled by the cool breeze.

Something about that wind unsettled cage further. It was like a breath of something large, cruel and dead. Fuck you smiling about, he said, and shrew. shrugged him off. I'm not one of your whores. Jimmy rolled his eyes and shot back. You're on your period or something, prick. Cage ignored him and started walking towards the house. The others following closely behind. He wondered who built the place like this, surrounded by forest on both sides and situated deep in the middle of nowhere. Even the road, which was likely the closest thing this place ever got to a highway,

was likely to go on forever into the uncharted wilds of nowhere land. He was glad to have found this place, though, already forgetting about his earlier sense of foreboding. He strode up to the door and knocked like a fool, before he noticed the doorbell. He rang it, and the chime from inside was also somehow strange. It rang with the metallic wine of something which was old and had stood unused for decades, like striking the key of an old piano.

There was no answer, and after some time Cage rang it again. The sleepy chime returned, wrapping them in a thick atmosphere of cold unease. I don't like this, Anne said, and no one missed the fear in her face. voice. There's nothing to be fucking afraid of, Cage said, speaking more to himself than to anyone else. After a while, he beat the door in frustration. Not very hard, but it swung open on whining hinges. Cage took a cautious step inside, even though his heart pounded in his chest. It was a narrow hallway with a staircase on the left. What looked like a century-old lamp stood on a dresser just inside the door, emitting the oily light they'd seen from outside.

Hello? Cage said, taking another step inside. The floorboards creaked underneath his feet, and Jimmy said, well, don't gauge. They didn't hear the doorbell, but they'll most likely hear your whispers. Shut the fuck up. Don't call me, Gage. You know I hate it. Cage roared in. His cheeks flushed with anger.

Jimmy threw up his hands in a, I give up, gesture. And didn't say anything more. Cage took another step inside and looked around. Haunted now by a fresh bout of misgiving anxiety. Hello? he yelled. And this time there was no doubt that if no one heard, the place was either empty or all the residents were dead. There was no answer. Cage forced the chills away and said determinedly, all right, the place is dead. Let's spend the night. Tomorrow we can look through the garage for something to use. no one spoke up but Jenna, who held Anne's hand tightly in hers, and seemed to sway on her feet somewhat. Can't we just go? Her eyes pleaded to the group, but Cage knew the decision was up to him.

Whether he or anyone else liked it didn't matter. He was the leader. It was one of those things that just sort of happened. a take charge and run personality, which made the others just fall in line. He ignored Jenna and stepped deeper into the narrow hallway. There was a musty smell about it, something which reminisced of old timber and dusty attics. Still, the place looked fresh. The floorboards were of a dark oak, elegantly veined and looking pleasantly antique. There were, and there and the vintage appearance of the furniture made him sure this was the home of an elderly couple.

Made sense, he supposed. Old people living out here in the bushes must lack for company. So why not find it in strangers and get paid while you're at it? While Cage, Jimmy and Ritchie went upstairs, Anne took Jenna by the hand and led her to a door on the far end of the hallway. It opened up onto a medium-sized living room, complete with the fireplace and old leather couches. A gramophone stood on a desk in the left corner along with a great collection of old photos. Jenna stepped inside first, looking like a girl in a dream. She moved slowly, as if sleepwalking, her fingers coming up to trail along the pictures on the walls, humming softly to herself, Anne wondered just how much X she'd been doing.

For the moment, neglecting to remember, she'd been pretty shit-faced herself. She strode cautiously across the room, reaching the fireplace and taking up one of the photos placed on the mantelpiece. Mom and Benny, the picture said, and it showed a black and white photograph of a young woman in her third. 30s, petting a large black dog. The picture looked as if it had been taken sometimes in the late 40s or the early 50s. And, to Anne's surprise, she noticed there was a rather thick sheen of dust covering the display. Jean, I don't think anyone's been here for some time, she said thoughtfully. But when she spun around, she was alone in the room.

Opposite to the hallway and next to the desk with the grammar. phone. A door stood ajar. She couldn't make out what was inside. The darkness was just too thick. But the sight of that wall of blackness made her more than just uneasy. It did a panicked flame of cold dread somewhere inside her chest, and she felt a longing for the bleak light in the hallway. She swallowed, trying to gather her courage by thinking. she might just be a little too old to be afraid of the dark. Then again, she didn't feel like it was something that simple. It was not unlike being haunted by that anxious notion that someone

or something may be waiting beyond the borders of what you could see. This was the heart-curdling terror you felt when you were walking around the woods and saw a bear approaching in the distance. It was the sheer and simple instinct of preservation, telling her to put her fucking legs on her back and get the fuck away. Just away, wherever and never come back. Of course, like in most such instances, two natural forces collided. Thoughts, and one prevailed. In this case it was human curiosity, mixed with the simple pattern of taught knowledge that the darkness couldn't hurt you.

Anne proceeded forward. The open door loomed in front of her, silent and ominous like the gaping mouth of a hungry beast. As she came closer to the door, she became aware of a rank. smell wasn't unbearable but it was not very pleasant either it reminded her of when she'd been a child those golden days in her hometown where she and the other kids on the block used to catch bugs and place them in little jars like all kids as soon as the game was over they dropped the jar somewhere and forgot about it one time she'd found one of those jars

almost covered in dirt and concealed behind the shed in the backyard. At the bottom of the jar, magnitudes of dead insects had gathered in some sort of goo, a yellow liquid of some stuff she didn't want to think about, not even when she was six or seven years old. Then, too, her curiosity had prevailed, and she had opened the jar. The stink which had come out was exactly like that,

which emanated from the inside of that ominous door. Still, it was faded and not at all as strong. Her throat was too dry to let her make any sounds. But even if she could, she didn't think she would have. She stepped through the door, and she immediately became aware of a cool, chill creeping up her back. It was like stepping into a cellar. but the room was so dark she couldn't make out anything inside her eyes did adjust however and she

could suddenly make out something in the distance it was the human shape of someone standing against the far wall she couldn't make out any of the features but then again she didn't think she'd need to she knew who it was as she approached her approached it the smell became heavier it seemed to surround her now thick like a blanket of dead things and she put a hand in front of her mouth and clamped down on her nose she eventually reached what had been standing against the wall but she never found Jenna the building had six bedrooms This was something Caged Jimmy and Richie had investigated thoroughly on the second floor.

Each room was just what you would expect, situated on rows of threes on each side of a narrow hallway. It was neat, cozy, and old. Everything was old. The three talked about it later, and all agreed that not a single piece of furniture could have been younger than the room. the 40s, somewhere around the early 50s, but it was all vintage and worn in a loving way. Cage got into one of the rooms and closed the door. He felt his day of exploration was over. All he really wanted to do was take something for his head and sleep. His muscles ached, or rather everything ached. The room was small, just largely. enough to fit a bed and a dresser, upon which an old mirror was situated. He trailed his hand over

the wall on the side of the door, searching for the light switch. But there was none. So far they'd used their phones to navigate the area. But he wondered about the lack of electric lights. He spotted a candle in a nightstand next to the bed and walked over to light it. Sure, a brilliant flash of modern ceiling lights would have been preferable, but you took what you could get. Small as the room was, the candle managed it fine. Just when he'd lit it, however, his peripheral vision called a glance of something

who shoved his heart right down his stomach before filling it with ice. There was a shape on that. the bed, or at least he thought so, the shape of someone or something, sitting on the other side. Their back turned towards him and gaze staring endlessly into the wall. Cage spun around, a mask of fear contorting his face and a scream being born in his throat. There was nothing there. The room was empty, and he exhaled deeply. His heart was still racing in his chest, but he paid it no mind.

Just a trick of the shadows, just his imagination. That was all. He sighed and fell backwards, feeling his muscles melt away as they relaxed. He groaned and allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment. It was heaven, absolute heaven. And before his mind had even had the time to slow down. He was sleeping. Jimmy didn't hear what Ritchie said, but he honestly didn't care.

He found the old place neat, actually kind of awesome. It reminded him of his grandparents' place back in New York. Hell, it even smelled the same. Old geese as such as they always saved all their stuff, never threw shit away, and as such their place was always littered with vintage stuff. Like the others, he used the flashlight in his phone to navigate the dark rooms, open drawers, and even pocketed something nice here and there. What did it matter? The owners seem to have gone AWOL anyway. They might not even be back in the morning, or even this week. He smiled his scant smile as he went from room to room, pocketing a nice-looking porcelain figure here,

a silver spoon there, or something else which caught his eye. He stopped once to check his face in one of the mirrors and ran a hand through his jet's black hair. He winked at his reflection. What a good-looking guy he was, honestly. He was going to bring both Jenna and Anne. up here together and let them tell him that as he fucked them he hoped Cage would hear the moan he always got pissed well in truth he got jealous but he got pissed because he knew it

when Jimmy was about to leave for the first floor again he noticed something odd the wall panel was slightly ajar and a cold breeze came through it He put his finger in the crack and opened it, realized it was not the wall panel at all, but a door. A dusty staircase dwelt behind it, and he realized it was the way to the attic. He, neat, he exclaimed,

smiling the way he always did and traversed the stairs. He didn't hear the door closed behind him. On top of the stairs was another door, or, well, rather like a thing. thin board of wood attached to a pair of hinges. He pushed it open with one hand, and it whined quite forlornly. The rusty hinges almost screeching. The walls were thin here, and he could hear the wind whining outside. It was an eerie tune as if the world gained a spooky voice. Jimmy didn't mind, though. He liked spooky.

liked feeling a bit creeped out. As he shone his light around the room, he wasn't disappointed. It was full of old toys, and not just toys which had been put in neat boxes or scattered around the area. No. The room was set up as if someone was ready to play. But a silky sheet of cobweb covered them. There was a child-sized table with four small chairs around it.

In each chair a doll had been put, presumably to serve his guests, and the scene sure did a number on Jimmy. The thought that they'd all been sitting here for 20 or even 30 years, left exactly the way some kid had abandoned them decades ago, was a thought which sent chills down his spine. Just fucking kid get up, Jimmy. He said, trying to swallow his unsettled dress. He strode past the toys to explore deeper in the attic. As he passed the little table, a sense of real terror seeped into his heart. It was impossible to explain just how he felt it, but he got the notion as if he'd been invited to look at something. But he had disobeyed the rules.

He'd walked right onto enemy territory. He tried to smile and shake the feeling, telling himself he was a tough son of a bitch, and he sure as hell wasn't afraid of nothing. As if in defiance to the creeps, he put his phone down on the floor and started going through an old box. He uncovered an old diary which immediately caught his attention. He was just about to look through it when the light vanished. His heart stopped in his chest. and he sat there in the pitch blackness, unable to even see his hand in front of his face. He took a deep breath and reached for his phone.

His fingers trailed over the floor, but they found nothing but dust. Huh, what the fuck? he said, feeling tears welling up in his throat. He'd never been so scared in his whole. life. That's when the sound came. It was something from the deepest pit of his nightmares, born from the hell of his subconscious, and manifested in the physical world. It was a sound of something very heavy being dragged across the floor, or in this case, up the stairs. It slammed against each step, creating a heart-curdling lump every time. It came closer, approached the attic, and soon he heard the thin, wooden door creak open.

It did so slowly, as if whatever was on the other side was in no particular rush. Jimmy felt a warm wetness within his pants, and he realized he'd soiled himself. He was shaking. Each breath strained and escaping him in short gasps. The heavy dragging began again. This time, inside the attic. There was a heavy pounding step, and then came the sound of something slipping across the floor. Jimmy couldn't make out what it was, just that it was heavy.

Richie! he whispered, but his throat was so clogged up, he only managed a thin wheeze. The dragon came closer, and the pounding step had vanished. Now there was only the drag and the slip. drag slip drag slip drag slip drag slip soon he could feel the vibrations from whatever it was approaching in the floor

that's how close it was this is where his mind gave in however where it decided to have mercy on his straining sanity he managed to make out the faintest shape of something moving in the pitch black darkness and then he fainted cage awoke to the rumble of thunder he had no idea how long he'd been asleep not even where he was he took a deep breath and the air felt stale and wrong on his

tongue he set up the bed springs creaking lightly and suddenly he was aware that something was very off. When lightning cracked, he saw what? The room which lit up was not the same he'd fallen asleep in, or rather it was not the same version. Thick cobwebs hung in the corners, uncomfortably heavy with black spiders. The window looked as if it'd been bashed to pieces and then rotted apart. It was cracked inwards.

The glass broken and scattered over the bedroom floor. A heavy blanket of dust covered it. Dust, which seemed to have been undisturbed for at least five decades. Confused and out of his mind with bewildered fear, he made the mistake of looking to his right. The lightning cracked again. the pale, leering face of an old woman stared into his. Her eyes were wide and round, insane, and hollow. Her wrinkled skin seemed as if it was just about to snap, stretched to its limit as the smiles seemed to make up at least half of her face. She was there for a very brief moment,

before the lightning left him in the dark. Somewhere as the seconds passed by in a slow, tumbling motion, he became aware that he was screaming. He couldn't even hear it at first, couldn't even hear the window crack as he backed into it. The rotten wood give way, and the air rushing past his ears as he fell. He was a woman. aware of the chill but all other sensations had been lost on his way to hell he crashed onto the muddy gravel hard a numbing pain shooting through his entire body he was aware that something had snapped but only far away in the back of his mind he stared at the house and that was when the

final strings let go and his sanity plummeted into the void. The neat little Cape Cod, which indeed might have been just that once, was a miserable wreck. The paint had peeled off almost completely, leaving tiny flakes behind on the ground. The front door had been boarded up completely, so long ago that even the boards were rotting. Part of the the roof had caved in and every window was either smashed or on its way to falling apart the sign which had been saying Crawford home bed and breakfast now said building has been condemned structure is deemed unsafe weeping and laughing at the same time he realized he couldn't feel his toes. He couldn't feel his legs either for that matter. He could still move them though,

which was the weird part. If he'd snapped his spine, he should have been basically just a head on a stick, not much more. He realized his arms were gnombing off as well. But before they did, he managed to feel his way down his body. He grabbed at the sharp piece of fence which had impaled him. not feeling any pain at all until that precise moment. Even then, though, it was just an aching throb somewhere far away. Oh, he managed, weeping a little more now, even sobbing. Something about this was just so fucked up. It couldn't be real.

It just couldn't. It was one fucking true. tripped out right of Exorite. Thinking this, he saw pieces of his guts on the bloody fence post, coating it like sausages filled with jelly. Something about this struck him as funny, and he died, smiling. A couple of days later, there was an article in the newspapers about a Jenner Colfield, who was found wandering aimlessly in a cornfield. Her feet were bleeding, clothes torn and face riddled with the magnitude of tiny scars. Nothing she said was intelligible, at least not then, and she was taken first to hospital and then to the mental ward.

She didn't speak for nearly a month after she'd been found, but once she did, police officers investigated her testimony. The house deteriorated. Old and condemned, was found, but no bodies. Richie Stewart's, Gage C. Reynolds, Jim L. Bridger, and Anne Moors were all listed as missing. 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 OCT3-3-E health scan, which helps optometrists detect conditions at early stages.

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He had no problems expressing his love for my mother and me. He was a jovial, gregarious man, who loved life and loved those around him. He had the occasional beer or mixed drink from time to time, but never in excess. He was a very restrained and moderate man. In fact, I can only remember one time he yelled at me unfairly. I was young, ten years old or so. I was playing with my friend Benjamin in the backyard. We lived in rural Simsbury, Connecticut.

The town was surrounded by mountains and deciduous forests. We were talking about which monster would win in a fight. The tomatoes from Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, or the Clowns from Killer Clowns. from outer space. The conversation quickly burned out when I taught my friend in a matter-of-fact tone that neither existed so it didn't really matter. It was then that my friend turned to me and said, fake monsters aren't that scary. Now, real monsters, they scare the bejesie out of me. I was worried that he was about to tell

me a bunch of hogwash and try to scare me. but my curiosity overcame me. I had to hear more about this real monster. I paused for a moment before asking him cautiously. Real monsters, what are you talking about? Benjamin said, don't you know anything, man? Haven't you heard of the creeping fiend? I answered in the negative and he told me the story

of the creeping horror. My friend began. They say that there's something around these parts, that there's a creature living in the woods. My dad told me he saw it once, reached down from the trees, and snare a full-grown deer, and pull it up into the tree

and rip it apart with his bare hands. And my father would never lie to me. I asked Benjamin, What does it look like? It looks like a man, but he's super skinny, like he's never eaten. He has an old gas mask on, and he weezes heavily. I've been told he's a soldier that came back from World War II that had his lungs rotted by nerve gas.

I heard that a flamethrower melted the mast to his face, and he can only feed by reducing his prey to a puddle and sucking up the fluids. He was unable to live amongst people, so they banished him out into the woods. Benjamin continued. His name comes from the fact that he skulks around the woods, and no one knows he's there until you hear him wheezing right behind you. But by then, it's too late.

If you hear him, don't turn around because he will get you. Your best bet is to run for your life. They say he comes out to anyone who calls his name. If you shout out his name five times, he'll appear behind you. I was a little scared, but I knew that Benjamin was probably lying to me. I told Ben, you're full of it. There's no such thing as the creeping feet. He quickly retorted.

If I'm a liar, why don't we try calling him? him, you big chicken. I was so angry of being called a coward that I momentarily lost my better judgment. I don't lie to be scared, and there was a likely possibility that I would easily spook myself and send my heart racing. I called my friend out. If I'm going to call him, then you're going to call him with me. Benjamin reluctantly agreed, and we said about calling the creeping horror.

Unbeknownst to me, this would set off an irreversible chain of events. Benjamin and I stood facing each other just in case he would appear behind one of us. We started out in a barely audible whisper. We paused in uncertainty before continuing a little louder. My heart was thumping around in my chest. We practically shouted now. Maybe it was us doing the calling together, but I felt braver. We shouted now, creeping horror.

I sucked in a deep breath to roar his name one last time. But something stopped me dead in my tracks. The door to my house burst open, and my father flew out into the yard with a look akin to horror, mixed with another indiscernible emotion on his face. I wouldn't understand that look for many years, and when I would finally comprehend it, I would tell myself that I would give anything not to recognize it. He roared.

Stop! Benjamin broke into a dead sprint, fearing the tone in my father's voice, essentially leaving my ass hanging. out to dry. My father grived me by both arms so hard that I thought my bones would break. He looked me directly in the eyes and said, never say those words again. Do you understand? Don't. I never saw my father so worked up in my entire life. At first I thought he was mad at me for shouting. Was he angry of me for playing with Benjamin, whom my mother had called a bad influence?

That was true. A few years later, he would fall in with the wrong crowd and vanish off the face of the earth completely. Later it dawned on me what had incurred that fearful look in my father. He was terrified. He was horrified of the creeping horror. He knew something. I didn't. Had he seen the thing with his own eyes? I decided that I needed to get to the bottom of this. I couldn't ask my dad, so I waited a couple of days when I was alone with Mom to ask if she knew anything about the creeping horror.

She looked at me quizzically before responding. It's just old folklore around here. It's just a story the parents told to their kids when they were younger to keep them from running off. I asked, did Grandpa ever tell Dad the story of the creeping horror? She thought for a moment and said, You know, I don't think he ever mentioned it, but probably. I could ask him if you want. I answered in the negative.

I had to do some more sleuthing on my other. I lost interest for a few years. I was a kid, after all, and got easily distracted. Five years would pass before my interest was renewed. I was a teenager then and was constantly in competition with my friends. We always had to prove who was the strongest, the smartest, the bravest. A few of them liked to boast that they had actually gone into the woods and at the top of their lungs called forth the creeping horror. Some embellished the story by saying they saw him and escaped, while one or two said they'd actually kicked his ass.

They were quickly singled out as liars. All this talk brought about a resurgence of interest in the creeping horror. I began tracking the stories back to their roots. I asked my friends where they heard the tale. Most had heard it from their parents. who had heard it from their grandparents, who in turn had heard it from their great-grandparents. I caught a lucky break one day when I was talking to my friend's grandfather.

He told me, Why don't you ask your par about all this? He's got his own story. If the tales are true, he lost two of his friends when he was out playing with him. He cut himself off and said, Ah, old age must have made me a gossip. Ask your father if you want the story.

I tried to press the topic, but he would only respond. Ask your father. I knew I couldn't ask my father that, so I decided to do a little research at the local library. I didn't know the kid's names or even what happened to them. I went to the library and asked the ancient librarian if she had any local papers from the 60s and 70s. She looked at me like I was a huge time sink in her otherwise busy life of sitting behind a desk reading a harlequin novel. I held my ground and insisted that I be allowed to view the records. She huffed and took me back to where the microfiche was stored.

Now, a little side note. Research using microfiche is no way fun or intriguing. I wholeheartedly agree with movies opting to montage it, have someone stumble across relevant information within minutes. It took a week of going to the library after school, asking the same stuffy librarian for permission to use the microfiche, who, by the end, disliked me so much that her hatred was palpable. And then, tirelessly looking through it for hours,

before I found something. I expected to come across a headline like two youth mysteriously vanish. But what I found instead was much more grisly. Two local teenagers' bodies found in the woods. I read and reread the article until I was confident that this was what my friend's grandfather was talking about. The article in the newspaper discussed the discovery of two bodies in the woods. The bodies were badly decomposed and looked like they'd been torn apart by scavengers. They were only able to identify the bodies by linking the parents' missing person report with the discovery of the corpses. The two missing teenagers were named Alan and Justine. No leads had been discovered, but the police were hopeful.

The kids were the same age as my dad and had attended the same school. I exclaimed, it has to be the creeping horror. He did this. All of a sudden, I didn't feel so alone in the back room of the library. It was as if the mere mention of his name was enough to call him to me. I quickly left the library, but the sensation of eyes watching me didn't leave until I arrived home. I wanted to talk to my dad, but I was afraid of what might happen. I didn't know which was a worse outcome.

He might lose it and scream at me, or he might just tell me everything. I quietly ate dinner and went up to bed. I had trouble sleeping that night. Just as I was near in the border between sleep and the waken world, I would hear something. that would snap me awake. I would hear a rasping breath that seemed to be only inches away from me. I decided that I had to confront my dad

or find out what was making that rasping sound. My confrontation with my father went poorly. The minute I mentioned his friends, his face contorted into a look of pure anguish and fear. And he stepped so close to me I was fearful that he would smash my toes with his feet and grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me close

while saying in a tone that could not be disobeyed this is not a fun little mystery to unravel people have died god damn it I don't want to hear this type of talk ever again do you understand me I left the investigation into the creeping horror alone. My father refused to talk, and I realized that the only way I could get the full story of his encounter with the fiend

was through him. Since the other two had died, I had to let sleeping dogs lie. For a couple of nights, I heard the sound of heavy breathing, just as I was about to fall asleep. But that eventually subsided. Time continued to pass. I graduated high school and went to an out of state college. The next time I would hear of the creeping horror

would be from my father's lips as he lay on his deathbed. It was late during my senior year in college that I received a panic call for my mother. My father had been in hospice care for the past few months. He had pancreatic cancer and people who are familiar. familiarly with oncology know that the manifestation has an 80 to 90% mortality rate, depending on when it was discovered. My father dealt with ulcers all his adult life, or what he thought were ulcers.

The cancer crept and metastasized through him until there was little to do, but wait for the end. I drove home as quick as I could, and found my mother had basically entered a catatonic state after calling me. My father was in bed and creeping towards the end. My father asked me to give him a little injection of demoral to help with the pain. I could see from his gaunt body and glassy stare that he was on death's door. I gave him the demoral. It took effect almost instantaneously and he relaxed noticeably. He told me that he was. He told me that he was a he didn't have much longer on this earth, and he had something he needed to confess. It was now

that he told me about the creeping horror and the death of his two friends. Alan and Justine, he began. When I was in junior year in high school, I had two close friends. I'd known Alan all my life and had met Justine freshman year. For two long years, I carried a candle for Justine. ever since I saw her. Your mother would end my life much later in college. Justine was homeschooled until the first year of high school. She and Alan were close friends. They actually lived next to one another,

and when I learned this, I was constantly pressuring Alan to set us up. He was hesitant and I sometimes wondered if maybe he carried the same feelings for Justine. But he eventually relented and set about giving me an opportunity to talk to her. He gave a series of wet coughs before continuing. One day Alan invited Justine and I to hang out. We went to his house and packed a lunch while shooting the shit. We eventually decided to have a picnic out in the woods and go exploring. We all knew of the creeping horror myth, but none of us really believed in it.

I was ecstatic to have this opportunity to make my feelings for Justine known. We really didn't know each other socially, so the only opportunity I had was through the medium of Alan. He played the role perfectly and introduced us and then we ventured out into the woods to explore. He continued. We quickly tired of exploring

and settled down for lunch in the bag I had been carrying. I carved up some bread and cheese and we ate while making small talk in a small, idyllic clearing. I kept glancing over at Justine. I couldn't help it. Looking at her,

just took my breath away. I had a serious case of puppy love. When we'd finish with lunch, Alan suggested that we have some fun and try and call the creeping horror. Justine was at first opposed to the idea, but she quickly relented when I agreed. I desperately wanted to prove myself to Justine, and this seemed like a viable way. We all faced each other and began to call him. We needed only to shout his name five times. We began, creeping heart. My eyes were focused on Justine, and a smile played across her face. Keeping horror.

I knew that I was madly in love with this girl. Her face had dissolved into uncertainty. Horror. Her face was sheer terror now. She broke away from a screaming. She had apparently heard some heavy breathing. She ran off and Alan gave me that commiserating glance that I should be the one to comfort her.

I pursued her through the woods and found her a little while later. She was close to breaking down in tears and was insistent that she heard the breathing right behind him. I soothed her with comfort in words and when she'd calmed down, I made my feelings known. I told her that I wanted to go study with her. She accepted my feelings and agreed to go on a date.

Before returning to Alan, I planted a kiss on her. My first kiss, and it took my breath away. We returned to Alan and were getting ready to return home when he made the challenge. He wanted to complete the summons. My father paused for a second, and I wondered if he was going to continue on with the story. He decided in the affirmative and proceeded. I had no desire for tomfoolery, but Alan was insistent.

Justine was terrified. I realized he wasn't going to back down and consented, but I stipulated that we call the creeping horror as far away from Justine as possible. I didn't believe in superstitions, but I didn't want to scare her any further. Justine agreed to wait in the clearing while me and Alan proceeded further into the woods for this fool's errand. We decided that it would be better to call the creeping horror on our own, far away from each other, so we walked in opposite directions until we could barely hear the other.

I wanted to be far enough away from Justine that should some something spooked me. I wouldn't embarrass her by crying out like a child. He asked if I was ready, and I answered, yes. I swear to God that I would give anything never to have agreed to tempt fate like that, but that ship has already sailed. We began calling his name. The forest was deadly quiet. Our second invocation sent our echoes rebounding through the trees. I heard a twig snap in the distance. I figured it was the wildlife in the area, being startled by our shouts. I shouted a third time.

Creeping, horror. There was a rustle close by in the underbrush. Whatever it was, it was getting closer to me. I called again. creeping horror. I could have sworn that I smelled sulfur. Were we on hunting grounds? Was I smelling gum powder?

I sucked in another breath and gathered myself before shouting one final time. Creeping horror. I literally roared it the last time and had to take a few seconds to catch my breath. When I did, I realized that I wasn't the only one breathing heavily. It was almost negligible at first, but it slowly grew.

Before I knew it, the sound was a few yards behind me. It was the sound of breathing. It was deep and sounded like it was coming through some sort of breathing apparatus. I spent a few seconds thinking that it was my overactive imagination, but the sound grew louder and closer. I knew that if I turned round, it would attack me. I knew that this was the creeping horror. The sound of labored breathing grew closer

until it was just a few feet behind me. I willed everything in my body to run, but I was paralyzed where I stood. Fear and panic washed over me like a tidal wave. I knew that if I tried to run, the fiend would be on me in a second. It was so close that I could hear the dry rattle in its lungs as it huffed and puffed behind me. I knew my only option was to fight. I brought my pocket knife for the bread and cheese for lunch. I slowly slid my hand towards my pockets.

The sound of breathing was just inches away now. My fingers glanced the pocket knife. Then I pulled it up into my hand. I could now feel the breaths heating the back of my neck. I tightened every muscle in my body to prevent pissing myself and voiding my bowels. I had to act quickly. I'll be consigned to death by the creeping hole. horror. I didn't want to be reduced to nothing but a spatter on the bed of the woods when I had so

much life left to live. I was in the grasp of the creeping horror now. It rasped in a low, gravelly voice that went right into my ear. I'm so hungry. I wanted to run. I wanted to plead. I I wanted to be back at home. I thought that I was going to die out there in the woods. He asked for another shot of Demerol, and I relented. I felt that things hot breath on me, and I knew that I was at his mercy. It leaned in close to my other ear and said, Your flesh will be my. That was all it took. I whirled around and stabbed behind me. The blade pierced flesh and caught on something. The creature stumbled backwards, and, as the adrenaline drained away from me,

I realized what I had done. Justine laid on a bed of leaves, gurgling wetly. My blade had pierced her throat, just below the jawline. She writhed in a panic and clutched at the bloody knife. Before I could get to her, she pulled out the blade and blood flowed from the wound. My father paused to compose himself before continuing. I knelt by her and put pressure on the wounds, but it was too deep. It was so bloody.

I told her I loved her. She just gurgled in shock. She died shortly after. I'll wept for a few seconds before I heard Alan exclaim Jesus Christ what happened the pieces slid into place she'd wanted to scare me she crept up behind me

breathing heavily like the creeping horror legend she'd only wanted to play a joke on me Alan knelt at the body and pressed a hand to the ragged wound and took her pulse with the other hand He paused a few seconds as if time would prove him wrong. It didn't. He turned back towards me and was in the process of telling me,

She's dead. We have to call the police. When I stabbed him in the chest. He tried to stumble back and crawl away, but I was on him with my pocket knife. I raised the blade several times and brought it down into his body. The third stab slipped between the ribs and pierced the heart. I had panicked, and in my fear of being caught in a prank on Auri, I had killed my best friend and my girlfriend.

I listened to his tale in shock. He told me how he'd left the bodies where they lied. He told me of the months spent in anticipation of being revealed by the police. That time never came. He said it all with a sense of quasi-relief and shame. He spoke of the guilt that had grown in him, which was compounded by my inquiries into the creeping fiend. The very thought of that memory sent wounds deep into his soul.

It was only now that he was able to confess to his crimes because he was so close to death's door. My father, the benevolent and loving man, had the weight of two souls on his mind. He'd spent 30 years for that secret and no one to tell it to. It had eaten away at his conscience for 30 fucking years. And when he finally told someone, I doubt it eased the pain of it at all.

He wanted to cleanse his conscience, but was afraid of the consequences. It was then that I learned. My father was a camera. He couldn't face the consequence and bring consolation to the two families of his friends. He fled from the truth and, with time, the crime eventually became unsolved. The man I saw as my hero, my role model, was nothing more than a coward. He asked for another shot of Demerol.

I gave it to him, plunged the syringe into the small, Rove a stop bottle and withdrew the entire solution. My father watched me with bright and delirious eyes. I leaned in close to him and whispered, I love you. He mumbled something about Justine, but he was slipping further each second. I'd already given him so much demoral, just a little bit more was all that was needed. I pierced his arm with a needle.

injected the entire solution into him. My memory of him was looking into his face. His face was eerily similar to the emotions he showed me that one day, so long ago, when I tried to call the creeping horror with my friend Benjamin, the emotions expressed in his face were that of unbridled fear and uncontrollable guilt. He died looking that way. I'm telling you this, Now, because I know that he is dead. I killed him. He slipped away peacefully after an overdose of Demerol. I know that the families of Alan and Justine deserve some sort of respite.

They deserve justice, but that time is gone. Finally, their killer can be revealed. At the end of it all, I am ambivalent. There are two conflicting emotions. My childhood admiration and respect that I have for my father. And the horror of that terrible secret he bore for over 30 years. He was my idol, and he was also a fiend capable of unspeakable horrors. I won't conclude this story by saying there never was a monster,

because that's not true. The monster wasn't so. something as simple as flesh and blood, nails and fangs. The monster isn't isolated in the small town of Simsbury, Connecticut. It is everywhere. It was and is a part of us. The creep in horror was my father the day he accidentally murdered his girlfriend and stabbed his best friend to death.

To protect himself, the creeping horror was me that night when I gave him that fatal overdose. In some horrible way, the creeping horror is inside all of us. It is in who we are and what we can become, given circumstances that are entirely out of our control. A couple of important things to note, before I tell you about my experience. You are more than welcome to go check this place out for yourselves. Do a quick Google search of Diamond Fork, Hot Springs, Utah, and you'll get hundreds of results telling you exactly how to get there. For those of you that are curious, it's about an hour and a half drive from Salt Lake City. I would not, however, recommend.

that you go by yourself or that you go at night. Another important thing to know is that where my experience took place and the land surrounding has a significant history, especially related to Native Americans. Unfortunately, much of the recorded history is about the exceptionally bloody conflicts between these Native Americans and early settlers. Just a few examples are Black Hawk's War, the Provo War and the Walker War. I also wish it to be known that I am quite fond of Native Americans and what I know of their culture, and I have absolutely nothing against them.

In fact, I have several close friends that have Native American heritage. I do not mean to offend or accuse by telling my experience. and I mention this side note only because of the possible link between my experience and various legends and so-called Skin Walkers. I will provide the facts and you can make of it what you'd like. That being said, the Diamond Fork Hot Springs are a gem nestled a good half an hour drive and subsequent hike up the canyon and away from the city. I'd been there several times before with my wife Kenna, and I decided to take a Monday off and hike there again this past winter.

The springs are quite popular, and during the summer they tend to draw a large crowd of college students, scout troops, and old men that are overly fond of publicly bathing nude. I'd gone in the winter with my cousin several years previous, and at that point we had the springs to ourselves, so I convinced Kenner to spend one of her days off hiking to them with me. January 11, 2016. We began our hike just before 1pm,

thinking that this would give us plenty of time to hike the springs, enjoy soaking for a couple of hours, and get back to the car before sundown. I'd hike to the springs the winter before the springs, before, and knew that each winter the road is blocked off to cars well before the trail to the springs begins. This is due to snow, though honestly it seemed to me that it wouldn't be hard for a plough to go the additional fourish miles. I guess I forgot just how far four miles is when you're walking through snow and ice. Nevertheless, we walked through the gate

and began our hike. We enjoyed ourselves. and took breaks about every 30 minutes. Each break thinking that the trailhead must be around the next bend in the road. Shortly before our first break, I noticed a hole. Cave would be too generous a term, in the side of the mountain to the left of us. It was obviously a man-made hole, as it was covered by a section of chain-link fence, but it still piqued my curiosity. It was only about 30 feet from the train.

So I told my wife I'd like to check it out and she happily came up with me. Upon further investigation, we found that it was not much more than a borehole. We used our flashlights to shine as far back into the hole as we could, but all we could see was some abandoned piping. After taking another five-minute break, we continued on further into the canyon. We walked and walked and walked. The time wore on and much earlier than we would have liked, our feet began to ache. I was beginning to regret insisting that we go on this adventure, when we finally turned

around a bend and saw the bridge that marks the trailhead. With newfound energy we rushed over to the sign with information about the various trails. this point it was about three o'clock and I was beginning to become a bit concerned about having enough light to make it back before sundown but we were already this far and we weren't going to turn around before spending at least some time soaking in those springs plus we had flashlights just in case and the way back to the car albeit lengthy was very straightforward so we We pushed forward knowing that we were well over halfway there. Our strength seemed to diminish at an exponential rate, which was concerning because we'd have

over a five-mile hike back to the car. But I knew that we'd make it back somehow, perhaps with more frequent brakes than on the way up. We soon began to smell the sulphurous odour that was a sure sign that we were getting very close. We ended up seeing some bikers as we approached the springs. They were riding some of those fat bikes that have huge tires and are designed for the snow. We were happy to see them coming towards us, as this meant they were leaving, and we would probably have the springs to ourselves.

After letting them pass, we hiked another ten minutes or so, and finally reached the springs. I can't explain how heavenly this sight to behold those springs were. The combination of the milky blue water, the red rock with snow on it to our left and our right, the blue sky above, and the waterfall about a hundred yards ahead were too much to take in all at once. And, best of all,

we had it all to ourselves. We quickly stripped down to our swimming suits, and hopped in. It felt incredible, truly like stepping into healing waters. We relaxed for a bit, and our noses quickly adjusted to the sulphur smell. Unfortunately, our bodies also adjusted to the water temperature,

and before long the water didn't feel as amazingly warm as it did at first. There are a few places between the first spring and the waterfall further along the trail where water bubbles out of the earth and flows into the pool of its own. So, I figured I'd check out a couple of the other pools and see if I could find a hotter one. I managed to climb up the runoff of some of the other pools, thinking that this would save my feet from freezing. It did, but in the process my feet slipped several times on the mossy rocks and were fairly banged up by the time I reached the other pools. To my delight these pools were significantly warmer, so I rushed back and beckoned my wife to come join me in these warmer springs.

After a very brisk 30-second dash, we jumped in, and I yelped briefly, as I realized I may have jumped a bit too close to the mouth of the spring. We soaked and enjoyed ourselves for about an hour. We ate some of the chips and granola bars that we packed in, and I downed a good deal of cherry coke. At this point, I'd accepted the fact that, for at least some of the hike back, we would be in darkness and have to use our flashlights. From the springs, it was hard to tell just how much the sun had set, since there are mountains rising steeply to both the east and west, and the sun is only visible overhead for around five hours in the middle of the day.

At about five o'clock, we decided we really needed to get going, as much as we were dreading the hike back. We dried off, took a few pictures and headed out. Shortly after beginning the hike, I realised my feet were immensely sore and that my legs were already begging for a break. I mentioned this to Kenner, and she mentioned that she was feeling the same.

I could tell that we were both in a mood to complain, So, I determined to try and keep the mood light and the conversation lively to distract us from our discomfort. Things got very dark, very fast. We hadn't even reached the halfway point from the springs to the main road when we started seeing stars above us. Now we had a couple of flashlights with us, but I figured we should put off using them as long as we could, since I'd just grabbed them from my parents' house and had no idea how long they

would last. I also hadn't thought to bring extra batteries. All was well, though, as our eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and making out the snow-packed trail wasn't too difficult. I could tell that Kenner was getting as tired as I was, so, in an attempt to distract ourselves from our weariness. I asked her about a scary movie that she'd seen with a friend a few days previously. As she told me the plot, I began to feel a bit anxious and jumpy, but nothing more than what would be expected. It was partway through Kenner's explanation of the plot, though, but I felt a surreal sinking feeling. It was as though my insides were being squeezed. and I was descending into a state of panic.

I generally don't get overly scared when reading or hearing scary stories, especially if I know it's just a movie, but this was different. I determined that this must be due to our circumstances, being isolated in the mountains far from anyone else, with darkness surrounding us on all sides. from the beginning of the sinking feeling to attempting to justify it and brush it off

was only a matter of seconds I hadn't realized it but Kenner had paused her explanation and hiked in silence for those few seconds then hastily wrapped it up and moved on to another subject I was secretly glad that she'd finish so quickly and figured that some discussion on a lighter topic would probably push out the overwhelming feeling of panic and paranoia

that had overtaken me. It was about at this point that I began to hear the whispering. Now, there is a river that runs next to the trail and down about five feet in most places. I tried to brush the noise off as the sound of rush. water. The thing that made me especially uneasy though was that the noise just wasn't coming from the river to the left of us. It was coming from the right and from behind as well. Kenner had gone silent again and I hadn't paid much attention as I was quite distracted by the noises.

They started out very quiet, almost too quiet to even notice over the the sound of the river and they grew slowly louder they never grew loud enough to completely get rid of the doubt that they were actually there but I was sensing a changing Kenner's disposition as well shortly thereafter she said my name which nearly made me jump out of my skin and asked if I'd be okay taking a break I tried to appear calm and said I would though the feeling of panic was still as strong as ever. It seemed to scream to me that we needed to get away from where we were right now.

We sat down in the snow and didn't talk much. I think I mentioned something about how we must be getting close to the road, and that then at least we'd be on a wide paved road rather than this thin dirt trail. I didn't dare ask Kenner if she was feeling or here. hearing anything, in part because I didn't want to sound like the scary movie plot was getting to me, and in part because I didn't want her to confirm that the weird stuff going on wasn't just inside my head. Unfortunately, the whispers hadn't stopped while we rested. In fact, they seem more real than ever.

I was getting antsy and again anxious to at least be able to be able to be. to at least be making our way towards the car and sure safety. I suppose it was more of a desire to be making our way away from whatever was behind and around us. At this point, I began to shiver, and pointing this out to Kenner, I suggested we keep pushing onward. I knew that I wasn't overly cold, at least not cold enough to make me shiver like I was. Put simply, I was overwhelmingly terrified of the darkness around us and what it contain. We hopped up and continued onward. All the same I was hoping and praying that we would see the bridge marking the trailhead

and at least make it off this dirt trail and back onto the pavement. I knew that we would have a several mile walk back to the car after crossing the bridge. bridge, but there was something comforting about the thought of being on the wider road. As we came upon a rather steeper part of the trail, I recognized it as a landmark that was very close to the bridge. I decided that we should pull out our flashlights for this portion. I didn't want either of a slipping on ice or tripping on a route and falling into the river below, and among whatever else might be down there. We each took a flashlight and I decided to go behind Kenner, just in case she started sliding backwards. As we started climbing up, I looked down at the path and noticed

the strange tracks that the bikes had left in the snow. I also noticed some other strange tracks that were going around and over the bike tracks. It looked like a small party of people with The bare feet had gone through with a large pack of dogs. My mind was trying to put things together quickly, but was struggling. Those bikers had been the only people that we had seen, but these foot, poor prints were certainly from people that had come after the bikers. Another strange thing was that these prints were not only on the trail, but were left deep in the snow to either side.

seeming to go off in random directions. Some tracks came to the trail, others left it, and everywhere there were large pawprints mixed with the human footprints. At first this came as a relief to me. My first thought that was that there must be some very dedicated campers who had decided to bring their dogs along somewhere close by. The thought of some tough, burly campers nearby in these God-Forsaken mountains was like a ray of light my mind.

Then a point of confusion began to form, small at first, but then very concerning. Campers don't go hiking around in the snow in bare feet, and this point was far too far from the springs for someone to be walking around without shoes. this thought process from terrified to hopeful back to terrified and concerned happened within a matter of seconds kenner had stopped and turned to me and pointed out the prints in the snow as well i tried to brush it off with a chuckle and here what the hell are people thinking but the look of concern on her face only confirmed that i was not alone in my worried thought The panic was once again overcoming me, and I wished more than ever that the whispering would stop. All I could say was, let's go, and we pushed on with even more determination than before. I kept looking behind us every time expecting to see something following.

time before I look back my stomach would do a flip but not once did I see anything suspicious we kept our flashlights on for the rest of the hike out and at long last we saw the bridge ahead we quickly crossed it and without a word continued on to the main road Roughly four more miles and we would be safe and sound in the car. To my immense relief, the whispering seemed to quiet down now that we were on the road. My legs and feet were aching like the dickens, so I asked Kenner if we could take another quick break. She obliged, and I very quickly regretted making the suggestion. The river still flowed by the road, but it was not nearly as well.

as close as it was to the dirt path, and therefore didn't mask any sounds. At this point, the whispers, though quieter than they'd been on the dirt trail, were very clear and undeniably existent. I stared back to the bridge, wishing that this maddening noise and accompanying sense of extreme paranoia would go away. As I looked to Kenna to see how she was reacting to this menacing noise, I noticed she had her head in her hands and seemed to be shaking. I put my arm around her shoulder and pressed my head up against hers.

And as I looked down, I froze. The snow we were sitting on was covered in human footprints, along with those enormous poor prints. Again, there seemed to be no method or destination in mind for whoever or whatever had been stomping around here. I shone my flashlight with a shaky hand in each direction, trying to figure out where these things had gone. I followed one set of footprints that ascended up the side of the hill to our right, and saw that the human prints ended, and those huge animal prints picked up right where they'd left off. I felt as if I was descending into madness. I wanted to cry.

I began to feel angry towards these things. Was this some kind of sick joke? I wanted to scream and call out to these things to stop messing around and get on with whatever they were going to do to us. More than anything, I wanted this all to end. With hot tears stinging my face, and with this new-found anger given me a boost of energy, I pulled Kenner up by her hand,

and without a word we continued at a brisk pace down the road. I couldn't shake the darkness. This was so much darker than anything I had ever experienced. It was horrible and overwhelming. Even the stars above seemed extremely dim. The darkness was pressing. in all around us, above us, below us, and, worst of all, it seemed to be inside us. Strange thoughts entered my mind, wondering what acts of evil could bring such a feeling to this place, wondering

if we'd done anything to bring this upon ourselves. Was this some kind of sacred place that we were trespassing on? Had we done something to offend these creatures? Whatever the case, I hated this area and felt that I was beginning to give in to the evil ambient darkness that seemed to be consuming us. Oh, I wanted to give up. The thought entered my mind that embracing this evil might be the only way out. Kenner saved me from my own thoughts. Her sweet voice pierced my dark. thoughts and halted this internal spiraling. She'd stopped and softly said my name. After taking a second to recover, I asked how she was holding up. She pointed off to the right, toward where her flashlight was shining on a patch of juniper bushes. Again, that invisible hand seemed to clench my

stomach and I froze momentarily. A pair of eyes were reflecting back at us. I tried to regain my composure and after a few seconds I noticed that the eyes remained unblinking. I quickly realized that they were that of a dead animal. The awkward angle and lack of movement gave that away. As I continued to stare, I realized that this was not just a single dead animal. There were five or so dead deer. And what made my stomach really churned was the amount of blood covering a large patch of the road.

I turned away as the sight made me light-headed and I shifted my focus to the ground right in front of us. Again, the snow was covered in those cursed footprints. this time painted with blood. I'll spare you the details, but let me say it seemed that these creatures had enjoyed themselves immensely at this horrid spot, and there were several trails of blood

streaking the snow. Still focusing on the ground, I led us forward and to the left around this horrible scene of carnage, averting my eyes from the worst of it, I kept expecting to encounter the smell of rotting flesh, but it never came. I guess the deer carcasses were too fresh, and the cold weather probably helped too. Soon thereafter we passed a campground, a landmark that meant we were getting close to our blessed car.

It was at this point that the hollering began. When I heard the first shout, a chill went down. my whole body and I felt sick to my stomach. This was an inhuman shout and it wasn't far behind us. I looked back nearly tweaking my neck in the process but still couldn't see anything. It was indescribably terrifying. I wished that I could see something so at least I would know what we were up against. Anything, I felt, would be better than being kept in this state of knowing something was there, but not knowing what it was. We hurried forward to the car, our legs and feet protesting every step, and the hollering seemed to be getting ever closer and louder.

Every 20 seconds or so I would quickly scan to the left, the right, and behind. Each time I hoped that I would see something to relieve me from this deranged state of not knowing. Still, I was terrified at the core of what I might see. Finally, after hours of wishing we were here, we rounded a band and saw our beautiful car. Never in my life was I so happy to see it. My moment of joy was cut short, however. as I did one of my brief scans of our surroundings. Upon looking behind us,

I saw several dark figures moving slowly towards us. A few had their heads raised, and I wondered what I'd been thinking when I'd wished that we could see what these creatures were. Each of them were human-like in form, though they were unusually tall and walking on all four. They were all covered in thick reddish brown hair and had bright red eyes that reflected perfectly in the dim light of my flashlight. I will never forget those eyes.

What terrified me to the very core and still haunts me to this day is the expression they all wore. Each that had their head up was staring right at me as they slowly crawled forward. And they were each wide-eyed wearing a toothy grin. It felt as if they were boring inside me with their stairs. And I was certain we were going to die. At this point I wasn't afraid of death. I was instead terrified of what the alternative would be once they caught up to us.

I could see an excitement and twisted joy in their faces, as if they were playing a favourite game of theirs, feeding off of our terror. And oh, how I wish I could describe the blackness that surrounded them. It was a blackness that was felt as much as it was seen. It was horribly fascinating, almost even enticing, but those terrifying creatures were so vile that at no point did I consider moving even an inch toward them

at this point I nearly went berserk luckily Kenner hadn't looked back yet and was marching on faithfully toward the car when I finally unruited myself from the spot and found my voice I cried out to Kenna to run and not look back back. I'd caught up to her at this point, and she'd turned to look at me and possibly behind. I screamed, don't. And she seemed startled by my state of near insanity. She looked forward toward the car again, and we both sprinted straight for it, adrenaline overcoming weariness.

We jumped in, slam the doors. I fumbled with the keys and led off the clutch quicker than I intended, nearly killing the engine. The darkness seemed to be thickening by the second. As I unintentionally peeled out, flinging mud and snow all over, Kenner turned around and screamed. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the creature's mere feet from our car. Their sick faces were ecstatic with excitement, and their wide grins made me shout and put the pedal to the floor.

soon we were zooming along the canyon at forty miles per hour very dangerous for such a small winding road and somehow these fiends were keeping up with us everything about them was incredibly unnerving from their horrible gallop to those perverted smiles i prayed that we would reach a straight length of road where we could go faster and perhaps by some miracle outrun these beasts out of the blue the darkness seemed to lift. The star shone more brightly than they had all night, and I was overcome with relief. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the creatures now far behind us, leaping up the sides of the hills to our left. It was still a sickening sight, but somehow I knew they were done toying with us at last. We drove in silence for several minutes until we reached the highway. What a sweet relief it was to see other humans. Seeing the warm glow of their headlights was like walking up to a hot fire after being very cold. I turned to Kenner and saw

that she was crying and I in turn began to cry. We cried and hugged but remained silent as we sat there next to the highway. There was nothing to say at this point. Shortly after getting back on the highway, I noticed I was quite nauseous and shaky. I pulled over and threw up and felt much better afterwards. At long last, the paranoia left me, and I felt like a new person. We got home around 7.30. We turned on all the lights, shut and locked the door, and stayed up all night. neither of us wanted to sleep so we stayed up holding each other tight and trying to distract ourselves

with movies neither of us talked about what we had gone through until well into the next day when the sun was high and everything was bright i could tell neither of us wanted to be the one to bring it up i felt that if we talked about it we would solidify that something really had happened. But I finally brought it up and it was almost a relief to have it out in the open. We've only told a few select people about this experience and much of it is still quite confusing to us. We still have some questions that may forever remain unanswered such as what in the world were those creatures? What did we do to warrant their pursuit? They were certainly the quickest creatures we'd ever seen, so why didn't they catch up with us?

What would have happened if we had tried to confront them? All we know. All we know is that there is a seriously evil presence up at that can you? And if you don't believe me, you know where to find it. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks is all. 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.