Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep104: Episode 104: I Worked the Worst Jobs in the World

Episode Date: November 18, 2022

Our opening tale of retail terror is ‘The Tip Jar- A Scary Encounter Working at a Bikini Coffee Stand at 4:00 AM’ by HelloSaroh | #LetsNotMeet  r/LetsNotMeet/comments/4q8f7t/the_tip_jar_a_scary_encounter_working_at_a_bikini We follow that with ''I’m An Employee of a Major Retail Chain, Last Month I Was Bitten By A Karen'' by Nerd Core Creep, shared on the Creepypasta wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/I%27m_An_Employee_Of_A_Major_Retail_Chain,_Last_Month_I_Was_Bitten_By_A_Karen https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:NerdxCorexCreep Next up we have ''I Work at a Family Entertainment Centre, and I’m Pretty Sure the Ball-Pit Is Bottomless'' by Christian Wallis, also shared on the Creepypasta wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/I_Work_at_a_Family_Entertainment_Centre,_and_I%E2%80%99m_Pretty_Sure_the_Ball-Pit_Is_Bottomless https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:ChristianWallis Our fourth tale takes us to the hospital with ''I Work in a Facility for Long-Term Coma Patients'' by Dapper Kitty, once more shared on the Creepypasta wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/I_Work_in_a_Facility_for_Long-Term_Coma_Patients https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:DapperKitty Today’s penultimate offering is ''I Work the Nightshift: This is How I Kill Time'', an original story by Crone Johnson, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. user/Crone_Johnson/ Tonight’s final horrifying tale of therapy gone wrong is ''I’m a Psychotherapist Who Specializes in Unlocking Repressed Memories'' by the wonderfully talented Grotesque Penguin, again kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: user/Grotesque-penguin/

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Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Never continue in a job you don't enjoy. If you're happy and what you're doing, you'll like yourself. You'll have inner peace, and if you have that, along with physical health, you'll have had more success than you could possibly have imagined. But getting a job you like isn't always that easy, as we're about to see in tonight's Five Tales of Terror. Now, 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, then let's begin. Against the advice of my parents, I started working at a bikini coffee stand when I was 17 years old and continued working there until I was 20. Now, if you're unfamiliar with bikini coffee stands, that little drive-thru espresso stands, usually painted in some neon color where the employees all wear lingerie or bikinis

while they serve coffee I know this sounds strange and believe me it is strange however the money was good it was fun at the time and my parents really couldn't afford to pay

for college there's no loud speaker where customers placed their order they simply drive up to the stand order coffee and make small talk as they ogle you in your skimpy ensemble. Anyway, it's kind of hard to explain, so maybe just Google it. The Seattle area has them all over the place.

Within a matter of months, the boss gave me the bus the busiest shift. The shift began at 4 a.m. and ended at 9.30 a.m. Though the coffee stand was not officially open until 4.30, I had to count the till till, grind the espresso beans, fill up the sinks, take stock, clean if needed, and so on. The coffee stand was situated in the corner of a large parking lot, sharing the enormous empty lot with only one other retailer. The other retailer didn't open until 10 a.m., and so, when I arrived, the lot was completely dark, save for one dim street lamp above the stand, and another in the far corner of the lot.

I pulled up to the stand as I normally did, only this time it was my first shift alone. Normally I worked with one other girl, as the shift would get far too busy for just one person. I had a routine with the regular customers, as I literally worked every single day. The boss didn't believe in time off, unless requested. While I worked, I could see cars approach the stand and know immediately what drink to prepare,

based on recognising a regular customer's vehicle. After almost a year on the morning shift, it was rare to see a new vehicle or meet a new customer. My boss was extremely strict about being fast and efficient, and would have us prepare drinks in advance for our regulars while they waited in the line of car. my boss was so strict that for the first six months of my working there he would watch constantly on his camera system and call me on the business phone to scream at me for lack of efficiency after this I became so fast at preparing drinks

I guess he decided he would save money by having me work alone in the very early morning hours yes he was stingy too so like normal I approached the stand and punched in the access coat. I went inside and turned on some music right away to keep myself company. The street lamp directly above of the coffee stand had burnt out a few days before, so it was rather dark inside, coupled with the tinted sliding windows of the coffee stand,

and the knowledge that I was completely alone. I felt a little creeped out, though, not nearly as creeped out and terrified as I was about to feel in a few minutes. Even though the stand was technically open at 4.30, like I said, I wouldn't expect my first customer until about quarter to five. Now, I usually arrived at 4, but since it was my first shift alone, I came at 3.30 to give myself enough time to complete all of the opening tasks. My first customer was always Dave.

He drove a red sports car and ordered a double cappuccino heavy on the phone. He worked for the local Boeing plant and would brag about his high-ranking job, in between awkward remarks about my body. You get used to this sort of thing after a while, but nothing could prepare me for the sort of thing that happened to me on this particular. dark morning. Though many of our customers were pervy men like Dave,

most of the early morning customers weren't as lecherous as one would expect. They simply needed coffee and no other business was open as early as ours. In fact, many of my early morning customers were married women in

soccer mom vans in desperate need of caffeine. I glanced up at the clock as I counted the money in the till. 3.50am. I finished the count and walked from the back of the stand onto the main floor. There were two steps separating the back of the stand from the main floor. Now, the back of the stand had no windows and contained a bathroom, large refrigerator, washer, dryer and such.

This is the area where my co-workers and myself would get ready and jerk around where customers couldn't see us. As soon as we walked onto the main floor, where customers could see us, uniform was required, meaning lingerie or bikini, as well as heels. That morning I was wearing a matching pink laundry set with knit stockings. The laundry fully covered my breasts and buttocks and provided more coverage than a typical bikini you would see at the beach. I counted all of the syrup bottles. I opened the fridge and took stock inside. I turned on the espresso grinder and robotically poured in a bag of espresso beans.

I started filling up the large commercial sink with soapy water. Music played softly on the stereo. Then I heard it over the noise of the faucet, coffee grinder and the music. I wasn't sure I heard anything at first. So, I just ignored it. Then, I heard it again. Someone was tapping on the sliding glass window at the stand. I wiped off my wet hands and grabbed myself off.

4.15 a.m. We weren't open for another 15 minutes. I checked the light switches to make sure I hadn't accidentally flipped on the open sign. Along with an open sign, the stand was equipped with bright floodlights to illuminate the presence of the stand. Due to the sheer darkness that morning, I'd contemplated turning on the floodlights when I first arrived, but it was strictly forbidden to do so until the stand was open. Without the floodlights on, and through the tinted glass, I couldn't see who was on the other side. I stood there, staring at the window.

Maybe it's just Dave, I rationalized to myself. Sad. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. The tapping had definitely grown louder. I picked up the business phone and punched in my boss's number. He had an extensive camera system, complete with night vision, and could see in real time both inside and outside with the stand. At the very least he could tell me who was outside.

The phone rang and rang. No answer. I flipped on the floodlights. I walked over to the window and saw the man, now illuminated by the bright lights. His head was pressed up against the glass. Hands cupped around his eyes as he tried. I tried to see in.

I jumped back. Hi! He yelled through the glass. Can I get some coffee? We aren't open for another 15 minutes, I replied. My boss will be mad if I open early. Oh well, I can wait. The man then walked away from the window and stepped into a small black Honda.

I continued my opening duties, wearily eyeing the black Honda. eyeing the black Honda. At the time, I felt a false sense of security, lulled into the daily routine of my shift. However, this was different. At 4.30, I dutifully turned on the open sign and watched as the man in the black Honda drove up to the window. He was wearing a dark red baseball cap, a thermal shirt and plaid pajama pants. I opened the sliding window. Hi, sorry about that. What can I get for you this morning?

I said, trying to sound as normal as possible. The man looked at me for what felt like an eternity. What I want doesn't appear to be on the menu. He said, not looking up from my cross. Okay, so, I know what you're thinking. What did I expect working in this profession? I brushed his comment aside with a laugh. We have a great white chocolate mocha.

I looked around frantically. Where the fuck was the usual morning guy, Dave? I silently prayed another customer would pull up behind this guy. He looked away and stared at his face. steering wheel, I want you to be my maid. Excuse me, I said, I'm not sure if I'd heard him correctly. I want you to be my maid. I want you to come over to my house wearing a maid costume with nothing underneath.

I want to watch you, and if you don't clean correctly, I'm going to do whatever I want you. He paused and gripped his steering wheel tightly. I am not a nice guy. He looked up at me and smiled. Until that point in my life, I'd never seen a truly sinister smile before. I slammed this long serving window shut. I ran to the back of the stand, hyperventilating at this point. I picked up the phone and called my boss repeatedly.

No answer. I stood on the steps and peered out of the window. The black Honda was gone, replaced by the familiar red of Dave's sports car. I never thought I would be so happy to see Purvey Dave, but here I was rushing to the serving window to tell him what had happened. I opened the window, all the while frantically relaying the story.

Dave just laughed and, muttered something about the guy dreaming. He told me I was being paranoid and the guy just had no filter. For some reason, this put me at ease. Dave reached his hand out of the window to place a $5 bill in my tip jar. He tipped this amount each morning. Wow, he exclaimed. You just opened and your tip jar is already full.

I know you make good. I'd go to coffee, but it's not that great. Huh? I said, slamming the register shut. The tip jar rested on the outside window ledge, so customers could reach it. I made it a habit of leaving it outside in between customers, as it could get very busy. I leaned over and looked into the metal canister. Inside the tip jar was a long white envelope that appeared to be stuffed. to its capacity.

My stomach turned, as I knew it had to be from the guy in the black Honda. Dave? I said cautiously. It's from that guy I just told you about. I am not opening that. Dave sipped his cappuccino and suddenly his goofy demeanor turned serious.

You're right. Let me open it. I have gloves. It was late fall and rather cold out. Dave put on his gloves in a dramatic manner, laughing about my paranoia, and proceeded to step outside of his car. He took the envelope out of my tip jar and opened it.

Holy shit, he said, his eyes widening. He held up a stack of $20 bills held together by a rubber band. On the back of the stack was a folded up piece of paper. He unfolded the paper and began reading it. His eyes grew even wider. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. What? What does it say?

He simply said, get dressed and call the police. I snatched a note from him, his jaw slightly agape. The note was laden with spelling errors and looked as if it had been written in a child's hand. Oddly, there were rather long words that were attempted, but spelled incorrectly. It said some very deranged things. There are some things too sick to mention here, but I'll relay the basic message as best as I can recall. Some things you just never forget, even if you want to. So, here it is.

You will come to my house. When you arrive I would examine you thoroughly. I will then tie you to the post and you will be punished for what you do. Every inch of your body will be bruised and sore. Afterward I will untie you and use you in every way possible. You can scream but no one will hear you. This is your first payment. Upon reading this note and taking this money, you have agreed to follow through.

If you do not follow through, you are stealing. If you do not follow through, you are a stealing, lying whore. And you will be punished more severely than if you cooperated to this initial agreement. You will clean every inch of my house. There will be no mistakes. Or there will be more punishment to follow. I got dressed and called the police and my boss, who finally answered. The police arrived and I went to the station to explain in detail what had happened.

I handed them the note along with the money for evidence. The female police officer, who appeared to be in charge, nonchalantly told me that I should probably quit my job, that this behaviour was to be expected from customers. I told her that I had never experienced anything like this before. My boss reviewed the outside videotape footage. The footage showed a man standing outside of the coffee stand window just staring inside. Occasionally, it showed him leaning his head into the glass and cupping his hands around his eyes for a better view.

It also showed him rubbing his crotch. Apparently he'd been standing outside the window since 3.40 a.m. 10 minutes after my initial arrival. At one point it showed him going back into his car, only to re-emerge several minutes later and finally tap on the window. I was shocked to realize that the man had watched me for almost a full hour without my knowledge. I felt stupid. But most of all, scared. The footage also revealed that the man had his license plates covered with what appeared to be white paper. After reviewing the footage on the note, the police decided that the man posed a potential threat and that this behaviour was not normal.

They sent an undercover cop back to the stand with me. I was shocked that they wanted me to go straight back to work, not even. two hours after the incident. The cop sat outside in an SUV while I worked. The plan was this. If the man drove through again, I was to flick the open sign on and off to alert him of the man's presence. I worked, serving all of my regular customers, trying my best to pretend nothing happened. I was told not to recall the incident to any of my co-workers or customers that morning in case they knew the man and warned him of police involvement. The man did not return that day, but he did return.

Little did I know that day was only the beginning of a year-long nightmare. I know this sounds like a work of fiction. But every single word of it is true. This is the first time I'm fully retelling this to anyone other than the police. My former boss, my past co-workers, and my ex-boyfriend. So please, be nice. Hey, Ontario. Come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive.

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Bed MGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. I'm an employee of a major retail chain. Last month, I was bitten by a carer. When I first started my job at my local retail store, I thought it'd just be a temporary source of income. Unfortunately, days turned to months, turned to years. Today I'm a manager, but still stuck here, droning on day to day, dealing with less than favourable co-workers, other members of management, and worst of all, customers.

You've all heard the stories, and I can tell you, they're all really true and equally horrifying. I've had to clean up dirty baby diapers out of shopping carts, answer questions about departments I was not at all familiar with and dealt with unruly customers of all ages, races and genders. I can tell you right here and now, I'd rather clean up a hundred dirty diapers by hand than deal with what's known as a carrot. My latest experience with a Karen on the clock ended with my arm in this crazy bitch's mouth. Seriously, this 50-year-old soccer mum sunk her teeth right into my arm. Why would a person do this, you ask? I suppose it's best to start way back at the beginning.

I won't reveal the name of my store, as to do so publicly would jeopardise my employment. Whilst that might sound like a good thing, I can assure you my problems would only increase. These people don't mess around, and if they knew that I was to mention them by name, I'd face serious legal ramifications. That being said, I got my first job with the retail giant, which I will henceforth refer to as save-mart, in my local area when I was 19 years old. I had attempted college before that and ended up unfortunately dropping out after my first year. So I found myself desperate for any kind of income as my dreams of being a theatre star were dashed. After about a week of waiting and biting my nails, I finally got a call back for an interview. I was interviewed by an eccentric fellow named George, whom I got the impression was a fun guy to hang out with on the weekends,

even though he was a 40-year-old father. The interview was great, and I was hired almost immediately. I was only hired to be a temporary associate as the store itself was expanding, and they needed their help for a simple 7am to 3pm Monday to Friday schedule. Well, if I'm being honest, I love my job those first six months. The work was simple, the pay was decent, and my co-workers, other temps around my age, were pretty cool. It's during this time that I met my best friend Bill, a gaming nerd I connected with on a spiritual level. as time went on the enjoyment i got from my job diminished and as my temporary employment was near its end

my future became uncertain that was very well liked among my fellow associates and had no problems with management so i was 90% sure i'd be hired on full time once the tent work had finished that confidence however was thrown into question the day before the decision of my employment status when i encountered my first Karen. As I stated before, I was hired to be a temporary associate tasked with helping to expand the store. This means I didn't really interact with the public directly, and if someone had a question for me, I could simply direct them to the appropriate associate for that particular department. This experience, however, caught me completely off guard. I was stocking some action figures in the toy department when I suddenly heard the sound of a throat being cleared. Neeling, I looked up

to see a rather large woman in a yellow sundress holding two Barbie dogs. Can I help you? I asked, knowing very well that I couldn't help her, as this wasn't my primary department, and I knew next to nothing about Barbie dolls, but we were trained to always say that line. Can you explain to me while there were so many of these coloured dolls with the Barbies? She slayed in a slightly irritated and irritating tongue.

I took another look at the dolls and noticed that one was African-American, and another was Hispanic. both Barbie brand, mind you, but not the classic Caucasian version this woman was used to. I myself am a mix of African American and Mexican blood, so I dreaded having this conversation. Is there a problem? I responded, trying my best to keep cool. Yes, there is a problem, smart ass, she answered, holding up the dolls higher as if I couldn't see them. Barbies are classic American brand that's meant to show the beauty of the average American girl. Where are the blonde hair and white skin?

Barbie is not brown, so I want to know why these things are here. Couldn't believe that she just said that. I scoffed and replied with, Excuse me? The tone of my voice gained some bass, and I could see the shit-eating grin slightly form in the corner of her mouth. Was this lady serious right now? I took a breath and tried to de-escalate the situation.

I'm sorry, ma'am, but if we're out of stock of the specific type of of dolly you're looking for, you'd have to talk to this department's manager." She responded by rolling her eyes. No. There are plenty of proper Barbies in stock, she said. The problem is there should be more instead of these non-barbies. She then threw the dolls on the floor and got right in my face. Now get me your damn manager boy. I could feel my jaw clench and my hands form into fists.

I was dangerously close to knocking this racist old bitch to the floor, but luckily my direct manager, Jim, stepped in. Hey, Mike, why don't you go take your break? He said, I'll take care of our valued customer here. Value customer? Was he serious? It took me a minute, but I realized he was merely trying to de-escalate as I'd failed to. As I walked away, I looked back and I could see Karen yelling at Jim.

Who was miraculously keeping his call? It wasn't really surprising as he'd been with the company for years, so he surely knew how to deal with people like this. Next day, Jim gave me my final job performance review and brought up the incident from the day before. Look, Mike, he began. I know that must have been in an extremely uncomfortable situation for you yesterday, and you have my sincerest apologies, but here it saved my way have very strict policies concerning our customers. Well, my stress level began to rise quickly. I was I going to lose my job over this?

Well, that being said, he continues. You've been an exceptional associate, and to my knowledge, this was the first and only incident regarding a customer from you. So as long as we can have an understanding that the customer is always right, on behalf of Save Mart,

I would like to extend a full-time employment opportunity to you. I gave out a big sigh of relief. Oh, man, I said. Thanks, Jim. Thanks so much. What should have been a great day, the start of a full-time job that would help me stay financially stable until I moved on to something better, will be the last good feeling I'd have about Save Mart for the next ten years. I was hired to be a cart collector. You know, those guys you see in the parking lots of all those retail stores that collect all the carts and bring them back inside. Yeah, that was me, and it's not a fun job. I would say honestly it's the worst job I'd experience, though.

thus far. I was outside in the elements on the hottest summer days and the coldest winter nights. The parking lot was huge, so I had a lot of ground to cover. I had to make sure all the carts were inside before I was allowed to clock out, and if there were a certain number of carts outside while I was on the clock, I'd hear an earful. Despite all of that, the worst part of this job was that I had to interact directly with the public. Needless to say, I dealt with many Karen's over the following ten years. I thought things were changing for the better when last month I was finally promoted to department manager in electronics, which was a goal that had eluded me the entire time.

As it would turn out, having a managerial role in retail makes you the prime target for the most vicious Karen's ever. The most dreaded words for me from day one were, Department manager, Mike, you're needed for customer assistance. Well, this happened on day one. I hoped I'd get lucky and it was a reasonable 20-year-old with questions about which gaming console he should purchase. But in my gut, I knew better. When I arrived, I nearly threw up.

It was her, the old racist Karen from nearly ten years ago. She was in a very heated argument with one of the electronics associates, Kenny. Keeping in mind that we were in the middle of a pandemic, here was this massive 50-year-old woman right in Kenny's face. She was wearing no mask, of course, because she's a Karen, and spit was flying all over his face. All employees are required to wear masks, but a shocking number of people don't seem to understand how they work. Waring masks do not protect you from potential infection, they're meant to keep your germs to yourself, so Kenny was freaking out. To make matters worse, Karen looked like absolute shit compared to the first time I'd seen her. I almost didn't. I almost didn't.

recognize her with her once blonde now grey Karen cut, blotchy-looking skin and tired-looking eyes. The only reason I knew it was her was because of her stress-inducing voice and demeanour that I had not forgotten even after all of these years. With years' worth of experience in my brain, I'd hope that this time around I'd be able to de-escalate this conflict much more successfully than our previous encounter. Swallowing my pride, I said the words,

Hey, Kenny, why do you go take a break and I'll take a break, and I'll take care of our valued customer. I nearly threw up as I said this. Whatever, man, he responded. Rude little shit. I'd deal with him later, but for now, I had to slay a monster. As Kenny walked away, I forced a smile

and turned my attention to Karen. How can I help you, ma'am? Don't you ma'am me, boy? She responded. I could feel my eye twitch as she said this. I see this joke of a story, is still hiring stupid little shits like you. Clearly she remembered me as well.

What do you need, ma'am? I said, getting more irritated. I don't need a damn thing from you, she responded. Just get me a damn manager. And how a shit-eating grin formed in my mouth. Ma'am, I said, taking a satisfied breath. I am the manager. The smuggle look formed on my face

as the look of shock and bafflement formed on her. Oh, you have got to be joking, she said in a nasty tone. So not only will they hire any monkey off the street, now they're making your management too. No wonder this store has gone to shit. Well, that was the last straw. Ma'am, you're going to have to leave, I said, completely discarding my fake helpful manager voice. She merely stood there and crossed her arms. Well, my patience was now gone.

get out of my store i demanded completely done with taking her shift she then took a step forward and shoved me to the floor why don't you make me boy the police were called shortly after and they arrived to escort her out of the store surprisingly she fought the police she struggled and thrashed around like a wild animal but before they were able to slap the cuffs on her she broken free and tackled me to the floor This 50-year-old woman flattened me like a quarterback, knocking the wind right out of my lungs. She then proceeded to scream like a psycho, which she slapped and clawed at me like a bear. I covered my face with my arms, at which point she grabbed my left arm and bit right into it. Oh, shit, I screamed as the officers were finally able to restrain her.

I was immediately rushed to the hospital. She'd taken a huge chunk right out of me, and I needed stitches to close up the womb. and, hell of her first day as manager, right. Well, things didn't end there. That would not be the last time I'd see her. Later that night, I was having a beer with Bill and George, and after they left, there was a knock at the door. I thought maybe one of them had left something behind,

so I walked to the front door and looked through the peephole, verifying that it was Bill. He looked hot, though. He was looking down, and I initially thought he must have been drunk, which was unlike him. him to get done near the single beer. I opened the door. I realized something was very wrong.

He was standing there. His head still down. But I realized someone was standing behind him. Suddenly the person standing behind shoved him right at me. His body was limp as he crashed into mine. And we both went down. I screamed when I realized there was a knife sticking out of his back. I rolled him off of me and looked up to see his killer.

It was her. It was Karen. Not only was she not in jail, but she'd somehow track me down. What the hell is happening here, I thought? She walked toward me, a blank look on her sickly looking face. Terrified, I'd crawl back away from her. She stopped when she got to Bill's lifeless body, stepping on his back as she yanked the knife right out of him.

She never broke her line of sight from me as she did this. and as she held the knife once again she continued to advance toward me what the hell do you want I asked panic making my voice crack I need to see the manager she answered her voice raspy and demonic sounding

that same shit eating grin from all those years ago formed once more and then eventually expanded into an evil looking smile finally managed to get to my feet but before I was able to run away she'd swung her knife, slashing me across the back. I screamed in pain as I took off running towards the stairs leading to the second floor.

I ran as fast as I could and realized she was chasing me, damn near matching my speed. I began to panic even more as I heard her bloodthirsty scream of rage as she charged towards me, but I managed to make it up the stairs to my bedroom and slammed the door shut before she got to me. I locked it and backed away. She pounded away on it, creating a loud and terrifying boom with each strike. I would have called 911 to report the psychopath trying to kill me, but I realized that I'd left my phone downstairs. She kept screaming and screaming with every slam.

You have a customer in need of assistance, she screamed, followed by an insane cackle. Soon I began to hear the sounds of cracking. She was going to break through the door. I began to lose my shit and was desperately trying to figure out what to do. I looked all around the room to find something, anything to defend myself with. Then I noticed the window. I could climb out, but there'd be nowhere to go.

I couldn't get down without jumping or dropping down and breaking something. I decided to open the window and quietly hide under my bed. I dab my hand on my back where the knife wound was and wipe some blood on the curtain and ledge to make it look like I climbed out. Eventually, she managed to break through the door, and I could see her pink jogging pants and running shoes slowly walk into the room. I covered my mouth so as not to be heard by her and watched her as she took steps toward the window. And silently, I slid from under the bed and slowly approached her from behind.

It was at that moment that I had a choice to make. I could get out of there and risk her catching up to me, or I could end it. right now. Feeling anxiety over the situation and a desire for vengeance for Bill, I charged right at her, but she turned around quickly, slamming her massive fist right into my face. As I fell to the floor once again, she mounted me and slammed the knife right into my left shoulder. I screamed in pain as she ripped it right back out and tried to do it again. Luckily I grabbed a hold of her arm with both of my own, desperately trying to keep her from driving the knife into me again. As we wrestled, I managed to manipulate the position of the knife until the blade was facing her,

and I drove it right into her throat. Just like that, she stopped fighting, and I kicked her off of me. But somehow she managed to get back to her feet, and with a hateful look in her eyes, she poured the knife right out of her neck, gripping it once again as blood shot out of the wound. In a last ditch effort I charged her once again This time shoving her massive frame right out of the window

She stuck the knife in my back As I used all of my strength to get it out As she tumbled down I could hear her shriek like a beast one final time The scream was cut short as I heard a loud thud I put my head out of the window And saw her large, lifeless body And she laid their face

up the look of horror on her face as her dead eyes stared right at me while I once again paid a visit to the emergency room receiving even more stitches unfortunately save mart has shit medical insurance so I was gonna take a financial hit for this on the bright side though I would never have to deal with this psychotic woman ever again unfortunately she was only a single problem in a much wider issue you may have noticed an increased number of Karen incidents, much more than ever. Unfortunately, my local save-mark seems to be a breeding place for them, as more and more of them show up daily, or nearly as insane as the one who tried to kill me, the name of whom

I will not disclose as it would link back to my employers, which would not bode well for me. It's bad enough that I was not allowed to take paid medical leave, even with all my injuries and mental trauma of seeing Bill's dead body. but now I have to deal with this regularly. I wonder, did I die and go to hell? And is this my punishment? Trust me, if I could leave, I would. But there are issues which I won't go into right now

that prevent me from doing so. Well, that's a story for another day, but right now I have to get back to work. This was my lunch break, but now it's been cut short as I've been called to another customer assistance issue in electronics. This is goddamn ridiculous and unacceptable. I have half a mind to call corporate and demand to speak with the president of the company. Wish me luck.

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We believe OCT scans are so important They're included with every standard eye exam Book an eye exam at specksavers.cavers.cai-exams are provided by independent optometrists Visit specksavers.cai to learn more. I work at a family entertainment center And I'm pretty sure the ball pit is bottomless. I mean, I've worked at this place for as long as I can remember And it's pretty weird and even harder to describe.

Which is your usual family fun indoor park, I guess. There's a million of them all over the place, and they all have different names. We have a shitty little cafe that overcharges for stale hot dogs, and then a buttload of warehouse space filled with random crap to keep kids entertained. There's a jungle gym, an arcade with ancient games, a greasy bowling alley, and obviously there's a ball pit. Honestly, it's a pretty cool job, although it has taught me that kids in general are super weird.

I remember this one time a random kid came up to me, I mean, handed me some marbles, and then just started laughing. It took me a few minutes to get it out of him, but he told that he'd shoved the marbles up his butt, and now I was touching his butt marbles. And he just thought it was the funniest goddamn thing anyone has ever done, ever. Now, we have a high turnover rate, that's for sure.

We chew through new employees like popcorn, and I think it's because kids have this weird ability to hone in on anyone they make uncomfortable and just thrive off the awkwardness. Well, at least teachers and people. parents get to deal with one set of kids right. They get to know them over time and sure those kids will occasionally explode or have prolonged periods of being crazy, high in energy.

But for the most part, the parents and teachers are there to manage the kids. But that's the exact opposite of what we do. We're here to manage the centre, not the kids. Every kid is meant to blow off steam here and that's why the parents bring them. That's why they pay the entry fee. We can't make these kids sit down or write lines. We can't threaten or go door shouts. What we have is a revolving door of kids who are permanently siked out,

and we're just meant to keep them occupied for long enough that their parents can smoke a joint around the back or cry in the toilets where no one can see them break down. I've got to say, it's tough. I only stuck it out because I'm in management, and that means my job is to get a bunch of teenagers to do all the dirty work. Nobody at Enron had to brush vomit out of and crying nine-year-old's hair. still I limit my exposure to the kids

and for a damn good reason they scare the shit out of me for one thing there's always the wrong number this place is always full no matter how many tickets we sell most people don't even stay here long enough to notice but I have I spend a few years now counting tickets

and then heads and I know for a fact that there are rainy days in the middle of the coldest winters when we sell 10 maybe 20 tickets at most but no matter what the floor is crawling with kids another thing kids go into the ball pit and don't come out nobody complains nobody's reported missing but I know for a fact that

not only do some kids never come back out but some kids that do come out never went in in the first place I already know what you're thinking that I'm nuts but I once trialled a photo day just to confirm my suspicions I took picks of the kids and parents coming and going.

I said it was for a competition. I swear to God, I have dozens of photos of parents coming in with one kid and leaving with a totally different one. I thought about trying to empty the ball pit to see if there's anywhere they could go, like a tunnel I never knew about. Well, I did try to empty it once. It was years ago, and I wanted to clean it properly. So I waited after hours and started scooping balls out and dumping them into empty bins.

but after a while I got scared and stopped. Something about the experience just freaked me out. It was like the more balls I pulled out, the quieter everything got. Like the whole place started to anticipate something. All those weird cartoon characters painted onto the wall with freaky eyes that follow you around the room. The zombie shooter arcade machines that make those stupid fake goul noises. The twisty airplane rocket that rocks kids back and forth while blasting of noise. noxious music. It all kind of faded out. It was like the whole place was holding its breath.

My head started to throb like the world's worst hangover, and my mouth started tasting all coppery, and it made me want a wretch. It freaked me out. I stopped and just tipped the balls back in. As soon as I did, the pressure in my head released, and the place was full of noise again, like nothing had ever changed. Now I just cleaned the board pit out with one of the whole. of those nets they use for swimming pools. There's always the weirdest stuff in there. Dead mice, crushed insects, dog shit, random goo. And what I can only describe as a series of gifts or messed up experiments.

I don't know where they come from, but a week hasn't gone past where I haven't had to fish out some half-dead, tortured animal from the depths of the pit. If I'm lucky, the animal dies as soon as I pull it out. But I keep a spare pillowcase around here just in case. I don't know how humane it is to be stuffed into a sack and smashed against an alley wall, but I know it has to be more humane than keeping them alive. I used to think the kids dragged roadkill in there, but after I started paying a little more attention, I noticed things like badly suited wounds stitched together with random thread or even half-heeled amputations.

I don't think it's even possible for a kid to pull off a successful, trippening on a squirrel and keeping the thing alive, half-paralyzed at the bottom of the ballpitz. It just doesn't make sense. I'd keep finding them, half stuffed with bugs, eyelids cut off, Jesus Christ, the worst one didn't even have any cuts. I still don't know who did it or how. I don't know how the bore got inside the rat. He was still alive, and no scars or open wounds, but it was just like it had swallowed a whole damn ball. It wasn't crying or making any noise, it was just shivering, alive and in shock at what happened to it.

The pain must have been overwhelming. All of its organs crushed. and pushed out of sockets. Oh, just looking at it made me want to hurl. It was the most unnatural thing I've ever seen. It's just another reason why I couldn't ask anyone else to do this job. I think most people come and go so quickly, they never realize just how weird it is.

I'd rather no one start asking questions. And I think if I was braver, I'd try to dig a little deeper and encourage others to help me. But no one else has seen the weirdness up close like I have. I guess my conclusion is this. If we don't know what's down there, why bother it? It's clearly best just to leave it alone. That's why I'm glad we have a high turnover rate.

People get super weird if they stick around too long. I've moved a few people on because they started to go a bit loopy. First, we see paranoia settling in. First we see paranoia setting in. They start looking at you funny. Well, the kids, I mean, the kids I get, but me. what's wrong with me? Second, we see them starting to fixate on the ballpits.

People who stay too long, obsess over it. When you're not looking, they'll sneak over and try and jam a broomstick into the bottom. When they can't find it, they'll start freaking out, talking about foundations and floor plans. Finally, the worst ones will start trying to go over my head to speak to corporate. They go nuts, asking questions and ringing numbers and just bugging me over and over. if you're not careful they can actually become quite threatening you wouldn't think it but people really get wound up about this kind of stuff one girl i had to call the cops on she developed a real unhealthy interest in me she even asked me where i lived she wanted to know where i slapped and ate

and who my parents were even after i fired her she kept coming back even tried to burn the place down i think this place messes of people's minds because she started to talk about talking about how the number to HQ just went to my office. My driver's license was fake, and my clothes had someone else's name sold into them. Where did I even go at night? Where did I sleep? Where was my car? She even revealed that one night she camped outside the building and waited for me like some goddamn stalker.

When I confronted her about it, she had no defence. She was completely gone over the edge talking about how the old manager went missing years ago, and I was wearing his uniform and no one had ever seen me outside the centre. I'm glad she's gone now because she made me really uncomfortable with that paranoid rambling. I still don't know what she was implying. Honestly, just listening to her gave me a really bad headache with the coppery taste. I still wonder what happened to her. Well, she's a good example of why we should just leave this thing alone because, sure enough,

the next week I found myself fishing one of her shoes out of the ballpits. I think what was weirdest about it was that it wasn't covered in blood or anything like that. She just had a small no asking me personally for help. Oh, she was so troubled. I tried to tell her to stop, try to give her some clue. When I'd fired her, just before the stalking started, she'd started asking me all these questions about how long I'd been working here and whether I'd seen the bottom of the ball pit.

And I kept trying to tell her, I've been here for as long as I can remember. And I'm pretty sure the ball pit is bottomless. Well, now she can be sure about that too, I work in a facility for long-term coma patients. It began like most other nights at the Lorette nursing home. The sound of my footsteps filled the stark, empty hallway as I did my rounds. I heard the orderlies refer to this area as the vegetable patch,

and their characterization wasn't too far off. What may not be public knowledge is that coma patients oftentimes get sent to long-term care facilities such as this, regardless of age, if they don't have any life-threatening medical conditions, or hope of waking up for that matter. I gladly passed the rooms with my gold in sight. As I neared his suite, my feet picked up their pace. I entered Bill Waters' room and found his wife yet again at his side. I admired this woman greatly for her devotion to Bill.

After nine long years, she was still his doting wife. Seeing her almost daily really touched my heart. This man must have been something special. Recently I built a rapport with this woman and I look forward to seeing her kind face more than I can't to admit. This made what I plan for Bill much more difficult to keep a secret. You know, visiting hours are over, Mrs. Waters, I said with a warm smile. She paused before responding. He's in there, you know.

I'm sure he is, I replied. No, I mean it. I can just sense his presence. When you've been with someone as long as we've been together, you just know. I wouldn't come down here if... A tear streamed down her face. I was mesmerized by how she hadn't let go, but he was still very much a part of her. I found myself gravitating towards him more so than the other sleepers. In fact, I developed a kind of obsession with him.

His wife's affection for her comatose husband was contagious. I'd already decided that I was going to try something unorthodox with Bill. As a matter of fact, it was to begin the following day from my conversation with Martha that evening. Anxiety filled me with restless dreams that night and remained with me the following day. You see, I had big plans for Bill. I had been under the same suspicion as his wife for quite some time. Even though he'd been declared a vegetable by my colleagues, there was just something about his magnanimous face that screamed otherwise.

On a lark, I'd already hooked him up to an fMRI and had seen some startling results. His brain activity was alive and manic. Though I was incredulous at first, it also seemed to indicate that he was capable of responding to my voice and answering simple questions on a strictly neurological level. Played this close to my chest and had not revealed this to anyone for two reasons. First, I guess you'd call this the noble one. I wanted to be 100% certain that he was. in fact still cognizant before filling his lock, suffering wife with any false hope.

Second, I guess the narcissistic reason. As a neuroscientist at heart, I'd stumbled across something potentially earth-shattering. I really wanted to impress the medical community and the public at large with what I was planning. Our facility had an FMRA machine, which I'd nearly unfettered access to at night. So with Bill placed in the tube, I told him to think about a warm summer breeze. I checked the scans and told him to think about it again. The results were astonishingly similar. I spoke clearly and articulately that this means yes,

that if he wants to answer yes to a question, he has to think of that breeze. Do you understand? A flurry of brain activity followed, not indicating the results I was looking for. Listen, Bill, I really need you to focus. Think of a warm summer breeze. This means yes.

Do you understand? The thought pattern appeared once more, and a smile cracked across my face. Now I want you to think about a bucket of ice water. I want you to imagine plunging your hand inside. I want you to really feel the cold bill. The screen shows something wholly dissimilar to the previous command. Think about it again. Same results.

This is no. I had him practiced yes and no for a while he caught on with astonishing speed when I was satisfied with his ability to respond I finally asked is your name Bill Waters the results indicated yes and an even larger smile beam from my face

do you have a wife yes do you have children no I was very concerned that I was going to receive another yes result. When I saw the neurological pattern emerge, my elation and admiration for this man grew tenfold. And then I asked a question I'd been dreading. Are you in pain?

Yes. My heart sank. The activity that I was seeing indicated this. I couldn't even begin to comprehend the existential anguish he was experiencing, let alone the excruciating physical pain. A little piece of me died right there in that room. This only strengthened my determination to help this man any way I could. Do you know why you're here? Yes. You're in a care facility in Roshosha, Wisconsin.

Is that correct? No. I tried again. Simplifying the question. Are you in a care facility? No. No confusion set in. I surmised that I was admiring his progress so much that I failed to realise a strain I was putting on him.

I backed off for that day and kept my findings to myself. He was in no danger of going anywhere, and there were many more tests to run before I could make this stunning revelation public. In my bed that evening I came up with an ambitious course of action. This was going to take a lot of time and effort, but I was confident I could get results. The next day I revealed my plan to Bill. With my knowledge of neurological signatures, I came up with 26 distinct thought patterns that would be easy to distinguish in fMRI results. The letter A is jumping into a pile of sand, but he is rubbing your fingers on a brillo pad and so on. Each one would represent a letter of the alphabet.

This is going to be a long and painstaking process that's going to require a lot of patience. Do you want to continue? Yes. so with time and care we began to work on learning the alphabet progress was more rapid than I ever could have imagined Bill was an excellent student I will never ever forget when he nailed down the letter I I believe it was thinking about your barefoot entering a leather shoe

where his brain lit up like a live wire this is what he was telling me over and over again hi high high high high high high high high high high high high high high high high high My heart exploded with jubilation. I never could imagine that someone simply communicating high to me would fill me with such raw emotion. Strangely, in that moment I felt closer to Bill than I'd ever felt to another human being. And tears welled up in my eyes. Well, hi Bill.

The next day I placed him in the tube again. This is the first thing he said to me. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi, hi. His excitement was palpable. I was touched yet again. However, we were so close to completing the alphabet, I firmly stated that we needed to focus. I taught him to concentrate on the task at hand.

We continued our work that week and made significant progress. I went to bed that Monday with a smile on my face and an unparalleled feeling of contentment and accomplishment. Well, this would all come crashing down the following day. So, Bill, let's talk. Hi, hi. Oh, God. Hell. Hi, hi. Hi, Bill. Now, concentrate for a second. What's your name? I waited patiently as Bill's brain went to work. Oh, God. Hell. Great job, Bill. Right. What's your wife's name? Hi, hi, help.

Excellent. Okay, so, um, where are you now? Hell, my heart skipped a beat. I double-checked the results. That's what it translated to. No, you're in a long-term care facility. You're in a coma. Do you understand?

The image I'd picked for Elle was driving on a Sunday afternoon through the country. To think that such a placid image could be imparting such an unsettling message sent it shivers up and down my spine. I left the room briefly to calm my nerves and also to give Bill a bit of a little bit of, break. As I returned, I could see Bill was still talking. Say me so hot. Help. Please calm down. I stammered. You're in a hospital. You're fine. I'm here. It'll be okay. No, hell. Forever in hell. For the first time in a while, I was feeling helpless. Bill's brain activity was crushing my heart.

With all of the hard work and time we'd spent together, I was beyond attached to him. My emotions ran high. It was unprofessional and spur of the moment, but I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. Bill, just wake up. The emotion in that cry startled me. I'd simply become too invested at this point.

While these thoughts were rushing, through my head, Bill's brain began to react again. I looked at the results. No, won't be me. What? I asked, almost at my wits end. We'll be Och, demon, Nym, Och, fear seized me. At this point, I began to question my abilities to interpret these readings. However, after double-checking everything, the message was loud and clear, so to speak. It'll be all right, Bill. I'm here. It'll be all right. I assured him repeatedly. Hell, eternal. Disturbed to my core, I went home that night and attempted to sleep, but slumber refused to find me. After hanging up the phone, I hightailed it to the nursing home. I didn't care about the hour. I had to see it with my own two eyes right then and there.

Bill was awake, and he was talking. A medical miracle. I entered the room and saw Martha cradling her husband. The unparalleled joy I was expecting in my heart was tempered by Bill's icy glare. As I introduced myself, his eyes trained on me. They exuded none of the warmth I'd envisioned they would. They were cold and calculating. He frowned at me and didn't accept my hand.

Fair enough, he was still recovering, and I didn't take his confidence. and I didn't take his current state as a personal slight at the time. I looked at Martha as she continued to grasp on to her husband. The smile on her face refused to leave, even as Bill was clearly recoiling from her touch. The next day I revealed what I'd done. I made my results, or say for the last session, public. I was lauded as a hero and received the accolades I was expected.

However, it all felt empty. Bill wanted no part of this and remained aloof and indifferent towards me. At first I was worried that he thought I'd exploited him, but this didn't seem to be the case. As soon as I'd heard about his miraculous recovery, I couldn't wait to start a friendship with him. However, the guy just wanted nothing to do with me. With the now indelible frown hanging on his face, he rebuffed any opportunity for future research. He even refused to meet up for coffee, which hurt immensely. This all culminated with a conversation I had with Bill's wife three weeks ago.

She entered my office looking weak and haggard. She'd aged what would seem like a decade in the intervening weeks since I'd last seen her. Before I could posit a greeting, she said, It isn't him. Pardon Martha? He isn't my husband. My husband was a kind and gentleman, always with a warmest smile on his face, but this guy, this thing.

She trailed off as she began to weep. I embraced her while having to choke back my own tears in the process. Listen, Martha, he's been through a lot. Many patients that recover from a comatose state experience personality shifts and abnormalities in behavior. Just have patience. It'll be the bill you always love. Just give it time.

I said this with conviction, but I didn't believe a word of it. Something really was amiss. was no denying it just give it time martha i said once more unfortunately time was something martha didn't have now as i enter the visiting area of the jail i pick up the phone staring back at me from the other side of the glass is a face that once filled me with such hope and now i can barely look upon this homicidal monster without feeling physically ill geez what he did to martha the way they found her. The scowl now hangs below his glaring and wanton eyes.

They're trained on me with a ferocious intensity. He picks up the thumb. Silence. Och! I say with trepidation. My irrational mind barely allows that word to escape my lips. The end of light gleams in his eyes. His frown turns upwards into a nauseating,

smirk. This transforms his face into a visage of pure, unadulterated evil. I have to fight to not avert my gaze. With a wink, he finally speaks to me. Greetings, Dr. Williams. Bill says, Hi. I woke the night shift. This is how I kill time. I lean back on my chair and side. even though I woke up an hour ago the mere thought of boredom that awaited me this night made me sleepy I had two jobs one in the end of the day

the other in the beginning of the night with a two hour's sleep break in between the night shift one which had just started consisted of me sitting in a small booth and guarding this huge warehouse by guarding I mean stopping stupid little kids from sneaking in For such a huge place, the owner didn't store anything of value.

I never complained. Serious criminals didn't waste their time here, making my job easy. My tiny booth was situated at the warehouse entrance. Each night was the same. I killed time with music, phone games, singing to myself, playing with dominoes on my small desk, and finally, after an hour and a half, listening to my favourite radio show. I increased the volume on my phone, slid it on the desk and threw my hands behind my head.

The quick, catchy intro passed, and Mark, the show host, spoke out with his calm, soothing voice. The clock hit the 1-200-0. It's midnight, we are alive. Shout out to the night shift. Everyone with insomnia, the night hours, and to all of you underage folk who should be in bed, even though you'll be getting up at 6 a.m. for school. You know how it is? I love stories, and each night we have a topic. Yesterday's sexual experiences, which put me in the hospital,

attracted a lot of callers. Hopefully, tonight's topic will too. We'll be telling each other scary stories, anything from the monster under your bed to the creep stalking you at work. Hmm, look at that. Seven callers already. As we're doing horror tonight, I'm picking you call the number six, because six is my unlucky number. A quick beep signalled someone was on the line.

Hey Mark, long-time listener, first-time caller. A man cheerfully yelled. Much appreciation for the long-time fans, just tone it down a bit. Right, Mark. My bad. your name and the story you'll be sharing right so I'm Roger you can call me Roger because we're friends right I work from home going out is not something I like all of my food is brought to my door and all my bills are paid online but don't think of me as some fat lazy bastard oh never thought you were Mark replied in a friendly tone right

So one evening I get hungry and order pizza. Talk to some guy on the phone. Tells me you'll be delivered in five minutes. Ten minutes pass. I wait some more and finally decide to call again. I'm more like, hey, order my pizza 15 minutes ago. Right, and the guy says, you never called us. Then I'm like, yes I did.

Here's what he tells me. The guy who answers their phone had been in the toilet. for over 20 minutes. Can you believe that? Then the guy apologizes and takes my order. At the moment I put my phone down, someone knocks. I'm like, damn, that's fast.

This guy deserves a tip. So I open the door and see the pizza box on the floor. But no delivery guy. I'm thinking it's a free pizza to compensate for the long wait. Bring it to the table. The thing was stone.

cold. I yell and throw it to the ground. Someone knocks on the door again. I open it and see a pizza delivery guy with a second pizza, but this time warm, and he wanted money for it. So, a mysterious ghost delivery guy brought you pizza. Weren't you listening? The scary part was the cold pizza. Isn't the part where Mark paused Oh yes Cold pizza Yeah

It really sucked Mark cut the line Mid sentence Oh what a nightmare Cold pizza Next caller Let's see Number 16

You're on the line Yo Mark What's good A low-pitched male voice greeted him. I'm doing very well. Name and story. I'm Gerald. Security of the mall.

This is a true story that happened to my sister's cousin. Me and the listeners are all the ears. We'll name a cousin Ben. Not to give any personal info, you know. Ben is this really big guy. Plays football and wrestles as a hobby. He's playing football, last seconds of the game. It's up to him to win.

This giant Hulk-like creature flies out from behind the bleachers, distracts him, makes him miss. Everyone beats his ass after the game. Nobody saw the Giant Hulk thing. And they don't believe him. Maybe your sister's cousin lied, made it up to avoid admitting he was the reason they lost. Or like them, just because it sounds crazy. It doesn't mean it's impossible. A beep followed, signaling the caller had hung up.

Well, that was enlightening. Next caller. Number one. Muffled laughter became audible. Caller number one, you are on. Mark repeated. The laughing didn't stop. Caller number one, do you have a scary story for us?

My grades A group of kids on the other side burst into laughter Mark cut the line Next caller Time to pick Number 8 Good evening Mark A young girl greeted him

And good evening back to you Why are you up so late You have school in the morning Sleepover My first one A big congratulations from me and everyone listening. My name is Nina, and I'm 13.

First sleeper over at 13. My mom is stuck up. She finally let me use the internet for something aside schoolwork. Oh, you shouldn't talk about your mother that way. She probably has her reasons. But back to the topic. Do you have a story for us? Oh, I sure do.

This happened to me when, well, when I was younger. My parents were out, my babysitter, who used to be this super nice person, came over to make sure I didn't get in trouble. She was telling me stories when the lights went out. There was this constant feeling of dread, so we went over to a neighbor. The lights eventually came back on, and we played ball games and watched TV. Oh, how cute was the power outage what scared you. No, my babysitter. When the lights turned on, she was different.

I could have sworn her eyes turned pitch black at moments, and her skin was ice cold. At the end of the night, we went back to my place. She tucked me in, said she'd check on the neighbor. There was this look in her eyes, like a cat watching a mouse. It scared me. When she left the room, I felt much safer, but I heard sounds from my neighbor. muffled yells. Nobody believed me.

He lived alone, so it took more than a week for people to realize something was going on. They found him in pieces, stuffed in the refrigerator, chew marks all across his body, and pieces of him missing. Now they believe me, and they look for the babysitter, but she disappeared, nowhere to be found. Oh, sounds really scary. Mark said. in a half-serious voice. Oh, and Gerald, I believe you about the giant hawk creature. Thanks for calling, Nina.

I think it's time for you to go to bed. Next caller. Number 20. Yo, Mark. It's Fred. Oh, hello, Fred. This is the fifth time you're calling. Dude, that's so rad you remember.

Now, what do you have for? Or my job is to teach dudes and dudettes how to ride the wave. Surf's up, you know. I have a rule not to rock at night, but this dudette was offering serious mullah, and she was seriously gorgeous. Now, before you continue, were you high? Dude, I'm a professional. You know, I don't get high when I rock.

You said you were high in last night's story, but go on. This is what happens, my dude. Only light is coming from the full moon. The rich dudette is super confident. Complete, I don't give a shit, I might drown level of confident. We're in the water. When the waves start up. One of the waves knocks her off and I, all Aquaman style, jump in after.

The water is really dark. I can hardly see. But I find her hand and eventually make my way down to her. Got my arm around the Dudet. Felt her hands touched mine, and I swam up. But she stops me. Dude, it's hard to be a rock underwater. She's holding me, and she's pulling me even deeper.

When I shits you not, somehow I could see her entire body as it emitted light. She was even more beautiful than before, and her legs morphed into a scaly fish tail. It felt magical. A lack of oxygen and drugs Also makes it feel magical This was different my dude She kissed me Dude no trip no high

No anything compared to that Next level ecstasy Where it felt long and short at the same time Hard to explain I woke up on the beach in the morning She put me under an umbrella and left me a green apple A bottle of water And where was the horror in your story?

Where was the horror? Dude, the horror is, I can't find her. I searched high and low. It was like, here's what heaven's like. Now, screw you. Oh, and I didn't get paid. But you can brag a mermaid kissed you. You've got that.

Yeah, I guess, dude. Gonna get high and listen to the rest of your show now. I know. you will. Mark let out a friendly chuckle. Next caller. Number three. Do you think you can top a mermaid encounter? Oh, I sure can, dear. The female voice answered. Sophia, college student and adrenaline junkie. Oh, are those two the same? Mark joked. They sure are. This is an experience I had with my ex. I'll call him jerk. I'm really into urban exploring and I finally got his bitch ass to come with me. We had a car parked

in front of this abandoned asylum, which I won't name. It's night time. The full moon is up, the mood is on, and we enter. I walked like a boss, well, jerk shivered behind me. Taking pictures here and there, I explored the rooms, decided to check the basement. Here's the thing. A lot of urban explorers come to this place. There are videos and forum discussions, maps. I know the stairs go down to the basement, but now I see an open hatch at the bottom. It appeared to have been hidden by some rubble, which was moved aside. Jurg is too scared, waits in the basement while I climbed down. The place looks entirely different. It was a well-kept, clean corridor with a few steel doors, one of which I opened. Light came out, and I heard voices. This crazy scientist-looking

mother, with blood-covered clothes, strolled out and entered the neighboring door. In fact, my lucky stars, he didn't look in my direction. I finally sneaked in the room he'd exited and see this poor skinny guy strapped on a steel table. Bloody tools to his side, some medical tubes sticking in his arm creepy altogether. I hate suffering, so I instinctively help, get him off the table and rip the thing out of his arm. He's mumbling something I couldn't understand back then. Later, I learned that he was urging me to leave. I was helping him hobble towards the hatch when I heard the crazy scientist ordering me to stop. I froze and looked back, only to see him pointing a gun at me. He looked pissed, really pissed. He glanced at his watch, locked eyes of me, and to my surprise,

told me he was sorry. The wacko walked in the room, shoved the big steel door, and locked it from the inside. So I continue helping the skinny guy. He doesn't weigh a lot, so I throw him over my shoulder and climb up. Jerk is all freaked out. I quickly explain and tell him to help. One of us on each side, we carry him out to the car. He was finally able to stand up on his own. That's when shit hit the fan. He pushed me and jerk back and ordered us to run. Jerk began asking questions, but the skinny guy widened his eyes.

I'll never forget that look of pure fear and terror. His eyelids looked like they were trying to close, but couldn't. His whole body looked like he wanted to run, but just shook. The guy did this weird rapid twitching motion with his lips and fingers. He let out a shout. I can't call it a shout. A shriek, a yell. I don't know.

It sounded like he begged a horrible pain to stomp. It was so loud. His fingers stretched and bony yellow nails ripped through their tips. All of his limbs elongated and his skin began to tear, revealing patches of fur. Now, me and Jirk finally stopped watching the horror show and ran to the car, but the keys weren't in my pocket. They must have fallen somewhere on the way while we were hobbling with the man. Jirk and I ran inside, searching for them. I could hear the shout through the asylum walls.

A second scream emerged from deep inside, slowly growing and deafening the human one. We finally found the key when a monstrous rome. raw sounded and everything when that silence was much more frightening than the loud shrieks. Slowly and carefully, we tried to walk out. Halfway through, something crunched and both of us hid. I crawled under the reception desk while jerk hid behind her ripped out of its hinges door, leaning against the wall. I heard pause, similar to those of dogs. The creature moved closer. The thud came from above, and I felt its weight on the desk. A disgusting clawed hand gripped the desk, and I could hear its panting.

An uncanny snout stuck under the desk and sniffed, slowly lowering and revealing more of the creature's head. Just before it took a peek, jerk made a run for it. I heard his loud, clumsy ass. The thing on the desk instantly leaped, and everything went quiet. I was expecting gruesome sounds of flesh being torn into, but nothing. The solid hour passed, and I finally got out from under the desk. Everything was clear, no traces of blood, nothing. I walked out, got in my car and drove off.

The cops found the hatch the other day, but said it was all burned and in rubble. Jerk, the guy who tried to leave so he could save him. himself was never heard of again. The other creepy part is that when I described the skinny man to this one officer who drew faces, they found a suspect and later confirmed it was him. Two years ago, the man looked a lot healthier and worked as a well-paid chef. Then he supposedly died in a car accident. A werewolf almost killed you and your boyfriend left you to be eaten. What a knight. Totally.

But in a way, I needed it. Showed me that jerk in his true colors. Oh, I'm sure you'll find someone who truly loves you if you haven't already. I'm talking to him right now, dear. The beep followed. Next and final call. Who will be the lucky cherry on the top to end this spooky night? Hmm, number 30.

Hey Mark, awesome to be talking with you. This will be the best story of the night, a young boy shouted. Is that so? We had a ghost pizza delivery guy, a giant hog-like creature, a man-eating babysitter, a glowing mermaid, and an ex-chef warwolf. Name and story. Oh, I'm Thomas, and my buddy Billy is here. Now, this story is going on live as we speak.

Interesting. Well, we're all on the edge of our seats. The floor is yours. Me and my bud heard rumors. Our secret technology was being held in this old warehouse. So we sneaked in just a few minutes ago. Now we're looking through the crates, but so far just random shit. His voice became distant.

What is it, Billy? He talked normally again. Oh, my bud heard something. We're going behind a few crates. Run! His heavy breathing and running sounded for a few seconds before going silence. I'm hiding in one of the crates. This monster attacked us.

It got Billy. Teeth spread ear to ear. Scars and stitches all over the body. His long tongue hovered out from its mouth. No! Mark ended the call Hmm Quite a boring one to close the night with

Jump scares don't make a good story This is all from me for the next hour Now it's time to enjoy some music Earbuds in my ears I whistled I carried the crate Where I'd put these two stupid little kids Into my booth

Lucky me I'll have more ways to kill time this night I whispered and slid my long, sharp nail across the top of the crate. I'm a psychotherapist who specializes in the unlocking of repressed memories. My name is Dr. Elizabeth Hayes. I'm a psychotherapist who specializes in the unlocking of repressed memories. A repressed memory, for those of you who may not know, is a rare psychological phenomenon in which memories or traumatic events may be stored.

may be stored in the unconscious mind and blocked from normal conscious recall. In simple terms the human mind can sometimes hide away memories of trauma or abuse, giving them an illusion as if the event had never happened. Some theorists claim this is a defense mechanism developed in the cases of young children who could probably not be able to mentally cope with the trauma from the experience. At first glance, this may not seem to be much of a concern. What you can't remember can't hurt you, right? For some people, this may be the case.

But in others, they find themselves responding to mental triggers, smells, sounds, or phrases with no prior knowledge as to why they're having these experiences. For others, they may unknowingly stumble across the memory in their sleep. Have you ever had a dream that seemed so vivid and real, yet upon a way to be a way, You think back to it, unable to recall when in your life the scenario happened. What you simply dismissed as a strange dream could have very well been a repressed memory unwittingly stumbled upon in your subconscious. It's weird, I know, but please bear with me. I find the phenomenon fascinating, which is why I chose to specialize in this area of psychology in my studies and practices.

Periodically, from time to time, I'm visited by patients from all over the country who believe they have experienced this phenomenon. After being referred to me by their therapist who suspects their patients may have repressed memories from their childhood, it's then up to me to unlock these memories. Only after using social cues and making notes on their reactions to certain smells, sounds and pictures, can I estimate where in their lifetime the repressed memory takes place? This is a slow process that can take up to a year before we even identify the timeframe of this memory. Once the right time frame of the repressed memory is discovered,

commonly between the ages of four to twelve, I bring in what I call the dream screen. The device invented by the National Centre for Neural Applications lent me by the University of Illinois, The appropriately nicknamed dream screen is a device that measures brain activity while you sleep. This data can be plugged into an algorithm that reconstruct your memory so that it could be played back in a recording. Subjects are first put into a stage of sleep called Hipponagoya. This is a semi-lucid stage of sleep that takes place at the moment between sleep and wakefulness

so that I can communicate with them as I watch their memory unfold on the screen. unfold on the screen, live as if I, myself, with a living memory. While walking the subject through the memory for the first time, it's up to me to coax the subject through the entire memory, asking the right questions, pointing out the hidden details, all while making a conscious effort into not leading the subject too much as to incidentally plant false memories into their subconscious. This is an incredibly delicate procedure and requires absolutely absolute concentration on my behalf. Something I've only been able to achieve after years of experience and practice. This entire process can take up to an entire month to complete,

but the results are always worth it. Some patients were able to recover memories they lost years ago and finally be able to come to terms with the past and put years of not knowing to rest. Other times, missing evidence from crimes and horrific injustices such as rape, torture and child abuse were able to be reported in the court of law so that the victim could finally get the justice they deserve. It is for moments like these and I continue to do what I do. It was only after viewing my most recent subjects results that I ended up having more questions than answers. Questions I'd never imagine asking myself. Questions, in hindsight, even I would much rather be allowed.

left unanswered. The subject, Hugo, was a 26-year-old male from Eden, New York. He was initially referred to me by his family therapist, after identifying gaps in his memories and recalling a strange, reoccurring dream he had no memories of in his childhood. The subject appeared healthy, both mentally and physically. Aside from the obvious signs of sleep deprivation, he was in great shape for someone his age. During our initial interviews, he was able to recall memories from as far back as 1995 when the subject was only two years old. These memories were recorded and replayed to his living relatives and confirmed as being legit. This is very impressive, and gave me high hopes for this being a quick and easy case.

All there was left to do was find the key. I asked the subject if he could recall any false. he could recall any forms of abuse during his childhood years, either from the hands of a family member, a friend, or a stranger. No, nothing like that. He replied with a forced smile on his face. Do you ever recall witnessing a traumatic event such as a traumatic accident or a murder take place? I asked him, curiously.

No, nothing. As long as watching reality, TV doesn't count. he remarked comically. I forced a smile at the bad joke and continued. Tell me about those dreams you've been having. I asked him with genuine curiosity. His smile was quickly replaced by a look of concern as he unconsciously stole a glance over his shoulder

and then back to me. Well, he started. It started happening last year. He said as he took a kid. casual sip of water from his table and continued. I noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he placed the glass back onto the table. I've been having this dream in a field at the old family farm. How do you know it was that particular location? I asked.

According to your file, you move several times during your childhood. I'd recognize those blue skies and open farmland anywhere, he said. My mother would complain all the time about wanting to move back to the city, but my father claimed that the open country air would do us kids some good. Hmm, what else do you remember? I asked, patiently. I, um, I remember standing in an open field walking towards something. Go on, I coaxed him. He sat there for a moment in silence, becoming visibly tense.

Then, well, things get weird, he said nervously. I'm all of a sudden in a dark room I've never seen before, and someone else is there. Do you remember who this person is? I asked him. No, no, I don't, he said. Well, if I could be a hundred percent honest, I don't. I don't remember anything else that happened. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as if trying hard to remember. How old were you when you lived on that family farm? I asked him. Um, nine to ten years old, replied more confidently.

I lived with my grandparents at the time. It was only for, well, yeah, it was only for about a year or somewhere. Anything else you can remember about your time there that you think could be related. related to this dream, I asked. I don't know, the patient admitted. Yeah, that's where my memory begins to get a little foggy. All I know is that hours, even days after having the dream, I just can't shake this feeling of dread. No matter how much I tried, just can't calm my nerves after that dream.

I took a few notes and stood to my feet. Well, I guess the only way we're going to find out is through Phase 2. I moved the cart over to where the patient was sitting and began to prep the dream screen. After leaning the subject seat back into a prone position, I administered the sedative to ease him into his semi-lucid state. After placing the electrodes to his temple and forehead, I slipped on a pair of headphones to the patient so that I could communicate with him from the observation. After guiding the patient through verbal cues and building the scenario, I began to see the first sign of images on the screen. The memory started dark at first, but what began to look like an open wheat field came into view. I began to take in the sights, blue skies, white clouds, the sway of the golden wheat blowing in the wind and appeared to be a small country home in the distance.

Okay, now tell me, where are you standing right now? I asked the subject. The farm, the subject mumbled. The one I grew up on. As he spoke, I took in the surroundings as they began to become clearer as the subject began to remember. Now, tell me who else was with you, my prodded. My, um, my friend, no, no. my cousin, Katie, the subject said.

Good, you're doing great, I said encouragingly as a figure appeared walking next to the subject in his memory. Now describe your cousin. What did she look like? Dirty blonde hair, brown eyes freckles on her nose. The subject said confidently as Katie came into view exactly how he described her. She looked to be around eight years old. Come on, Huey, Kate said excitedly. Can you see it? The old farmhouse. Look, we're almost there. Can you tell me about this farmhouse? I asked the subject.

Yeah, it was an old abandoned house built on my grandfather's property. It was built before my family bought the property. We just lived a few acres away from it. He mumbled quietly. Well, Kate and I wanted to check it out. We were planning on making it a new clubhouse. I spotted a small smile on the subject's face from the window of the observation room as he began to remember. We had a backpack full of stuff. Action figures, comic books, a couple of Snickers bars, he said quietly. We were driven out of our old clubhouse in the hayloft after a family of raccoons moved in.

Now, describe the old farmhouse to me. I asked him as the blurry image of the house began. to come into contrast. Two stories. Peel and dark blue paint, dashed roof, all tire swinging tree out front. He told me.

The image now became clear as the far mouse came fully into view, down to every detail he described it in. Come on, Huey, Kate beckoned. Let's see what's inside. As she walked to the front door,

the subject's eyes darted to a window on the top floor. the figure quickly moved out a view that appeared to be watching them wait i blurted who was that the subject's eyebrows furrowed in confusion oh i don't remember he said after a long pause i let it go and then let the subject continue

okay now um what happened to you after you went inside of the farmhouse what did you find inside I asked. Uh, nothing, the subject said slowly. It was gleaned out. No people, no furniture, not even a single scrap of litter. The dream suddenly grew darker as the subject now appeared in a small, dimly lit room. Light pulled out from the creases in between the boarded-up windows.

Isn't this great? Kate said excitedly. We can have camp-outs. We can have picnics, though? We can even invite our friends over it. Her voice was cut off as a low creek sounded from upstairs. What? What was that? Kate said nervously. It's probably another family of recants. I heard Kate say as the subject's eyes trailed to the top of the stairs. Oh, wait, I remember now, the subject said shakily. Who was it? They asked.

asked cautiously. No, not who, the subject said with genuine fear in his voice. Oh God, it was a... His voice trailed off as a figure appeared from the top of the stairs. I leaned in close, trying my best to make out the figure standing there. Stay with me, I coaxed the subject. Describe what you saw. inside of that farmhouse.

The subject didn't say anything. His facial features remained taunt but his lips quivered. My eyes went back to the screen as the humanoid figure began to walk down the stairs. Huey?

Kate's voice said softly and nervously. Who is... The figure suddenly dropped onto all fours and dashed down the stairs with alarming speed. Teeth, the subject shouted. Odd, white eyes, pale skin. The figure suddenly stopped, inches away from the subject's face.

I began to race as the image cleared up, as the subject began to remember. Most of what I could make out of the face of the figure was only what was visible in the small slivers of light from the boarded-up windows. pale skin, gleaming white teeth and brown receded gums from a mouth whose lips were pulled so far back they almost appeared to not exist. Its eyes were also rolled so far back that the pupils and irises were not even visible, showing only the whites of his eyes. Its nose was nothing but two slits as it breathed heavily only inches away from the little boy's face. The being wore no clothes and appeared to be human, yet showed no discernible signs of gender. For a long time, I watched in complete shock as the figure appeared unmoving.

The slits where the nose should have been flaring with every breath. Its teeth began to click as if in curiosity as a movement was spotted from behind the being. Oh, Katie! No! The subject screamed in unison with the child in the dream. Kate stood behind the figure and swung a two by four at the being's head. The creature spun around with lightning speed, catching the little girl's wrist in his hands and lashed out with the other, slicing a clean cut into the child's stomach with its clawed hand.

Kate fell onto her back, hands covering the open wound and began to whimper, terrified, subdued sobs as the creature slowly crawled on top of her. His face now inches from hers. Leave her alone! The subject screamed once again in unison with his younger self as he made his way forward, arms outstretched as if to push the creature off his cousin.

A creature once again moved with blinding speed, knocking the boy across the room with a mule kick to land roughly against the opposite wall. creature once again drew its attention back to the young girl lying beneath it it slowly leaned forward his mouth only inches away from the young girl's ears it then stopped and a hissing whisper could be heard from the creature's mouth kate looked up in confusion as the creature then broke into a sprint dashing out the open door faster than any living creature i've ever seen move in my entire mind line. The screen went dark as an alarm went off in the observation room. The subject began to shake violently, as if in a seizure. I ran forward, shut down the machine, and quickly removed the electrodes

from the subject's head. Katie, no, leave her alone. The subject cried as the thrashing became less and less, and the patient slipped into unconsciousness. I'll be honest with you. This wasn't the first time I'd seen this creature while using the dream screen. The first time I dismissed it as simply a pseudo-memory. Sometimes the subject's subconscious would replace the person who caused a trauma with a childhood fear, like the monster in their closet, or a creature from a horror movie that scared them as a kid, creating a pseudo-memory. And the second time I saw it, I knew it was so much more than that.

several times before I've seen this thing locked deep into a subject's lock memories, as if its appearance itself was so horrifying that the human brain automatically retracted the memory into the deepest parts of the subject's memories as to keep them going insane. Each subject completely different, unrelated with known discernible trends or patterns in physical appearance, mental health or age. I do not know who or what this thing is, but I have dedicated my entire career to finding out what it is. Every case leads to dead ends, but this case was different.

Never in any of my past subject's memories have I heard this creature speak. Even in my most recent reports, I could not make out exactly what was said. Earlier this month, I contacted the most recent subject's cousin from this memory, Kate. After much convincing on my behalf, I talked her into visiting my office in Washington, D.C., to have her memories examined. The now fully grown Kate was also experiencing similar dreams as the most previous subject prior to our first meeting. Her resulting memory once unlocked ran parallel to that of her cousins. She also bore an old scar on her stomach in the same place the creature had scratched her in the memory, proving its legitimacy.

The only difference between that of Kate's memory was the creature's voice was now clear as day. I'll never forget the words I heard from Kate's memory. The sound of the creature's hissing voice still fresh in my mind of what I heard it say to that little girl almost 17 years ago. Stop searching for me, Dr. Hay. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you.

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