Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep239: Episode 239: The Many Faces of Horror

Episode Date: April 29, 2025

Tonight, I present you with a compilation of five original stories by As Afterlife, all shared directly with me via my subreddit and read here for you with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/5a29nb/still_waters/    https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/5khwwf/the_house_on_winchester_road/ https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/59bw7d/the_beast_of_bramston_drain https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/594i7a/love_doll/ https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/628gyw/brain_activity/

Hey Ontario, come on down to BedmGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only available at BetMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge.

BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Horror stories come in many forms, each exploring different facets of fear, from the supernatural and the psychological to the monstrous and the real. Some delve into ancient legends or haunted places, while others confront the terror within the human mind or society itself. Whether it's the creeping dread of isolation, the shock of sudden violence, or the slow unraveling of sanity,

horror reflects our deepest anxieties and darkest imagining. By tapping into universal fears like death, the unknown, or loss of control, horror stories remain endlessly adaptable and powerfully resonant, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tales may contain strong language as one of those descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin.

We begin with still waters, nestled deep within a quaint. little town whose streets align with small businesses and towering evergreens sits a house tucked away beneath the cover of a nearby forest in New Jersey within its many walls lives a family of four a sister a mother a father and a son they sit at the dining room table their merriment manifested by a gathering of food and joyous laughter. A fireplace blazes in a corner of the house,

its flames licking the air surrounding it, transforming the frigid air into a comforting callidity. As they mindlessly wallow away in their gaiety, a man stands just outside the house, glaring at their animated shadows through the shut, ruby red curtains. He places an unlawful, unaddressed envelope inside their mailbox. An ominous smile sprawled across his callous face as he

disappears into nightfall. Morning gifts its presence through the humbling song of the bluebird, rays of beaming light filling the many rooms to its melody. The children get dressed for school while the parents prepared for work. The strong, Allure of curiosity beckons the father to the mailbox, taking notice of the elevated flag. He plucks it open, stealing the unmarked envelope from the inside, and stashes it away in his briefcase. They arrive home hours later. The mysterious man watches them as they ascend into their home, watching with an obtrude uncertainty

to their reaction of the letter. While enjoying the comfort of his reclined lazy boy, the father's mind drifts to the envelope, taking refuge inside his suitcase. He unbuckles the case and pulls out the letter, sliding it open with his finger, beginning to read its contents. I've been watching your family for quite some time now,

and felt it time to reveal my presence. Who am I, you wonder? I am the rightful owner of that house. The honor of watching that house has been passed down to me through generations, and I plan to keep the tradition going. I plan to do wonderful things with you, joyous things. I just need time to get things prepared. Keep those curtains open for me.

signed The Watcher He eyed the letter with confoundment Struggling with its authenticity Feeling an ever-growing Sensation of dread He arose from his recumbent position And shuffled his way over to the exposed bare windows

Roaring the curtains closed He chose to withhold the letter's existence From his family for now Feeling it too early to raise alarm The watcher stared on as copious amounts of anger boiled within his blood. He furiously cleared his desk, sitting down to write out another letter. This time they'll pay attention, he thought to himself, watching from his bedroom window as the mother retrieved his newest letter from the mailbox.

He grinned as she tore open the envelope and hiding her perturbed expression as she showed her husband its contents your children are lovely so young and vibrant their youth will complement my plans immensely you'll find out what those are soon enough signed the watcher the father shrugging off the letter's contents began to speak God, this may be just some teenage practical joke. Don't fix your mind on it for too long. He listlessly tossed the letter into the fireplace. If the issue persists, we'll just notify the police.

The mother looked at him with solemn eyes, clinging on to the hope of truthfulness in her husband's words. The watcher's smile, contorted into a grimace. his gleeful demeaner mutated into one of rage. Once again, sitting down to write his next letter, he knew that this time he would get their attention. He waited outside of their home, palming the letter in his hand. He knew their schedule by now, knew that in any minute.

The children would be arriving home from school, knew that the parents came home later that day. As the school bus pulled to a stop, he waited for the children to exit. Their faces displayed disoriented stairs as they caught sight of the masked man. He silently handed them the note, tilted his hat,

and sauntered off in the opposite direction. When the parents arrived home, They began to hear muffled knocking upon the walls. They headed to their children's room and were aghast to find them with their ears against the walls. A tightened fist the source of the noise. What are you two doing? Why are you knocking on the walls? The mother judged them with furrow brows, waiting for an answer. We received a letter today about something in the walls.

We just wanted to find it. The daughter spoke with an innocence in her voice, forcing the mother to calm. What letter? The daughter pulls a crumbled note from her pocket and hands it to her mother. Dear Brickman family, my letters are not to be taken lightly, so please do not burn them. My plans are almost finished, so I'll be coming for you soon. Yes, have your children found what's in the walls yet? They will soon enough. Goodbye for now.

The watcher. The police were called the next day. The evidence the family managed to save was presented to them, and after searching the house, they concluded there was nothing more they could do. You can file a report for now, but until we find anything on this guy, we can't do much more than that. He stated one of the officers. Sir, with all due respect our lives could be in danger.

Can't you send a squad car every hour to check in? The officer sighed solemnly, removing his hat to show his sympathy. I understand how you feel. I really do. Look, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll send a car out later today. The officer's notion was accepted,

and they were sent on their way. The watcher stood nearby, eyeing the officers with a detesting gaze. His plans were almost ready, and no one, not even they, could stand in his way. He would strike that night, long before anyone could claim suspicion of his identity. He readdied his tools and prepared for nightfall. He stood in the middle of the road, caressing a gun. in his left hand his clothing cloaked in darkness a large duffelback sat beside his feet the squad car barreled down the road droplets of water pelted the window creating a

misty veil the watch readied himself as the car grew closer the officer only now catching sight of him quickly put on the brakes he withdrew his gun as he stepped out of the car, aiming it towards the man's obscured silhouette. Sir, I'm going to need you to put that gun down, okay? Even through the cover of rain, prominent drops of sweat leaked from the officer's forehead. A look of worrymen spread across his face. The watcher smirked and began to slowly place down the gun. The officer watched intently, shaking slightly from fear.

Before he could react, the watcher lifted the gun and shot the officer point blank through his skull. He fell to the ground in a heap of his own blood. One down, four to go. He whispered to himself as he made his way towards the Brickman household. The daughter stared out of the room. her bedroom window watching as the rain cascaded down the tinted glass through the drop she spotted the shadow of a man carrying a large bag headed towards their home mom dad there's a man walking towards her house she said as she ran down the stairs to her parents room what on earth do you mean the father spouted

before jumping from his bed into the living room window. He spotted the man his daughter spoke of, and a cold chill swept through his body. Mary, quickly, call the cops. I think it might be the man who signed those letters. He yelled as he rushed to shut off the lights. The mother tumbled the phone in her hands as she struggled to dial 911.

She could only speak for a few minutes before the power was cut off. The house grew dark. Heavy footsteps echoed upon the wooded porch beyond the door. The mother yelled for the daughter to grab her brother and hide in the closet. She did as she was told. The parents waited as the footsteps halted in front of the door. And then everything went silent. Suddenly the door was smashed open.

a masked man stood in the doorway. The father reacted quickly, rushing towards the assailant with the nearby fire-poker. The watcher, quickly grabbing a large knife from his back, plunged it deep into his chest before he could attack. The father stood there, in shock, falling to his knees, completely void of life.

The watcher turned his attention to the wife. Removing her focus from her husband's body, she ran in the opposite direction towards the basement. The watcher withdrew an axe from his back and followed after her. She ran as fast as she could, stumbling down the stairs as she lost her footing. She quickly gathered herself from the floor

and hid behind a tall stack of storage boxes. The watcher crept down the stairs. His steps virtually silent. Come out, come out wherever you are. I promise not to hurt you. He said with the facade of a reassuring tone. He began to walk in her direction. The mother trying fruitlessly to muffle her breathing.

He hiked back and forth along the boxes. his steps growing fainter as he moved further into the basement. She let out a sigh of relief, feeling free from her pursuit. Just when the horrid realization of the situation filled her psyche, boxes slewed down from in front of her. An axe burrowed deep into her head. Blood splattered from the makeshift orifice. trickling down her head like the pore of rain.

Too down, he headed upstairs to the children's bedrooms. The sister and brother hid quietly in the closet, whispering softly to each other. The watcher tiptoed into the room, held tightly in his hands was a knife and a sore. He searched around the room, under the bed. bed, behind the desk, eventually laying eyes upon the closet. The children cowered in fear as the door flew open. The watchers smiled and placed a finger over his lips. The roar of sirens could be heard through the gush of rain. They plucked their guns from their holsters and aimed toward the door. Come out with your hands up!

One of them yelled, waiting for any sign of movement. The door creaked open, and to their horror, a man with drawn guns soaked in blood, stepped out of the house. He slowly lifted his guns, angling them in the office's direction. In an instant, a barrage of bullets pelted the watcher, forcing him to the ground, laying in a warm, pool of blood. In his final breath, he uttered his last words. I'll see you all again. Very, very soon. Hidden deep within the forest of New Jersey. A mansion sits. Its walls decayed.

Its door cracked open. The horrific tragedy that befell the Brickman family. continues to be remembered to this day. Some even claiming to hear their screams every year on the anniversary of their deaths. The house on Winchester wrote, the thick summer breeze swept over the horizon. Cool air brushed through my hair, drying the warm liquid that rushed down my cheeks.

Blades of grass gripping the soles of my shoes, as if they were trying to hold me in place. I peered over the ten-foot-tall cliff I was standing on, staring down to the murky waters below. They seemed to be abnormally still, as if time itself wanted me to overlook my drastic decision. But there was no turning back. I had made up my mind.

Life had consistently thrown me curveboard, and I struck out every time. The world had turned its back on me, isolating me, transforming me into a social faux par. I'd had enough. It was time for me to stop the pain, the only way I knew how. I tiptoed closer and closer to the precipice. I shutting firmly as I felt the tips of my shoes lose the feeling of the ground. the feeling of the ground. I held my breath, exhaling deeply, just as I was about to take the last

step to my death. That's when I heard a faint, low, growl calling from beneath the waters. The dark figure began to rise from below its surface, its covering remaining undisturbed. It beckoned to me, Its long skeletal fingers waving in my direction. I stumbled back, wanting to run in the opposite direction. But curiosity coerced me to stay. The night clothed the area in darkness, the only source of light emanating from the moon's rays. Despite this, I could faintly make out an unusually white smile,

painted on its almost non-existent face. It began its slow ascent from the water, and with every step it took, I stumbled backwards, eventually running in the other direction. I didn't manage to get far. My body collided with something hard, and I was flung to the ground. I looked up, laying my eyes upon the thing that forced me down,

A sense of fear tingled down my spine. It was the creature. The pale moonlight shone in its direction, and I could clearly see all of its features. Its face was void of eyes, with sunken depressions taking their place. Nails like sharpened blades reached towards the ground. Its skin, as dark as the night itself,

glistening with a slimy texture. Its body was sickly thin and frail, almost to the point of decay. It peeled open its mouth with a grin, the smell of rotted corpses assaulting my nose. Hello, my dear. It spoke with a soft yet raspy voice. It slowly advanced towards me,

I was too afraid to move away. Do not fear me, my dear. After all, I am the one who saved your life. I quickly opened my mouth to speak, confident in what I wanted to say, but all I managed were a few muffled stutters. The creature roared in laughter, tears falling from its eye sockets.

After a few seconds, he managed to compose himself. Know what you're thinking. Stopping someone's suicide attempt isn't really saving them, is it? That was exactly what I was thinking. Tell me, Elizabeth. Why do you desire death so badly?

How did it know my name? I began to speak once more, this time producing actual words. I wish to die for many reasons. Why should some have profitable lives and I have one void of meaning? The creature glared in my direction, the corners of its mouth curving downwards. You do not value your life as it is. He remained silent as he sorted through my words.

Very well. I shall grant you what you so desire. Of course, thorough purpose. rise. I slowly stood to my feet, confused by the creature's words. How can you grant me such a thing? What are you? It toppled over again in laughter. I was becoming increasingly irritated that it found my word so humorous. My dear girl, wouldn't you like to know? He began to laugh again. Tell me we have no deal. It abruptly stopped, straightening itself, anger beginning to show in its almost expressionless face.

My dear, I'm sure you can benefit from this deal more than I. But if you must know, I am many things. But you can just call me the gifter. I began to wear an even more confused look. look than before. If what the beast said was true, I could completely reinvent my life. I quickly thought it over, weighing the pros and cons, then gave him my answer. I'll agree to your deal, but only if you name your price. In due time, now run home. I will be content. I will be in you in a few days.

With those final words, he vanished. I hurriedly ran home. A confection of emotions coiled around my brain like a snake suffocating its prey. Those next couple of days were the longest I've ever experienced. I wanted so desperately to have the life I'd yearned for for so long. A life envied by others and lived by few. Just when I was about to write off the entire experience as nothing but a vivid nightmare, the creature returned once more.

It looked even more sickly and decayed than before. Hello, I fancy seeing you again. His voice sounded like that of a dying man. I felt more sadness and pity towards him than fear. I failed to mention this during our last visit. last visit, but I'm afraid I can grant you no more than seven wishes. So please consider using them wisely. I nodded eagerly, agreeing to the beast's terms.

I'd been thinking of what I would ask him for the last couple of days, and I knew exactly what I wanted. My first wish shall be what I envy most. a life of the rich and famous. I wish to live the life of a famous novelist. The creature smirked and tilted his head towards me. As you wish, my dear. It snapped its emaciated fingers,

and I was instantly transported back to my room. The following day I awoke to a constant ringing emerging from my bedside table. It was my phone. I picked it up and I was surprised to see 17 missed calls on the screen. I redialed the number, hesitantly waiting for an answer. Finally, you're awake! The voice sounded frantic on the other end.

You have a book signing today. Didn't you remember? I'm coming to get you in half an hour. Please be ready. And with that, the unknown caller hung up. The wish had worked. I leaped from my bed scurrying to get ready. Just as the caller said, they were there in half an hour.

I never could have imagined the feeling of been wanted, of being appreciated. But here I was able to experience every positive emotion I'd neglected throughout the years. Book signings, public interviews and publishing deals with some of the top publishers in the US. were some of the perks of my new life. But, despite my newfound fame, I had a reoccurring sensation that something was missing. I mulled over the feeling for many days. I missed all of the fame and popularity.

I arrived at my answer a few days later. I was not happy. Even after gaining so much, I craved more. The satisfaction of this new life was no longer enjoyable. So, Elizabeth, how are you enjoying your new life? It's to your liking, I hope. The gift has slithered up to me, placing his long, delicate fingers upon my shoulders. I cannot say that I am, although I appreciate what you've done.

I still have yet to find complete happiness. I turned to face the creature. He looked a bit less sickly than I remembered. Well, you do still have six more wishes. What is it that you desire? It didn't take me long to construct an answer. I have yet to find a mate, perhaps a lover who would alleviate my woes.

The gifter snapped his fingers. A lover it shall be. The next day I met the man of my dreams. We met in a diner that morning. He was more beautiful than I could ever imagine. Eyes the color of clear blue waters. Hair like the darkest bits of chocolate. Skin as smooth and bronze as if it were kissed by the sun.

His voice was deep and sensual. We fell in love almost instantly. We married a few short months later. For quite some time, my life felt as though it were comprised of a balance between excitement and euphoria. I was beginning to think that maybe I wouldn't need those last five wishes after all. I felt this way until the love I felt for my husband began to slowly... We were always constantly arguing over this or that, and the spark I'm sure I thought was real just wasn't there anymore. I became increasingly distressed, my hair began falling out in clumps, and my face developed subtle wrinkles.

I was settling into the early stages of depression. The gift of visited me yet again, and even more than before, he looked as though he was regaining his health. Oh my dear Elizabeth, you're beginning to look a bit frail. Are you no longer happy? There was an implied pity in his voice, though he wore an expression of glee upon his face. I cannot say I am, dear Gifter.

My husband and I cannot seem to get along anymore. Perhaps another wish shall do me justice. The gift are crouched by my side, gently caressing my thigh. Of course. So, what is your third wish? I thought for a moment about my answer. I didn't wish to relive the cycle of ups and downs. I wanted this to be my final wish.

I wish for nothing more than stability. I wish for nothing more than pure happiness. void of the feeling of agony and despair. I saw the beast snap its fingers for what I hope would be its last time. And, for a few, short, prosperous years, I felt what I could call true. My husband and I's disagreements became scarce.

He'd earned a raise, and the popularity of my book spread like wildfire. Soon we were able to afford a bigger house. fancier clothing and expensive technologies. But the more I reflected on our newfound happiness, the more manufactured it seemed. The smiles received from fans felt forced and fabricated. The praise I was gifted seemed simulated and robotic. Even my husband's love towards me felt artificial. Three more wishes were made in the upcoming.

years, all of which ended in tragedy. I felt the motivation within me slowly dissolve into a pool of molten liquid. I stopped trying to keep up this facade of a life I'd constructed of my own free will. I lost my husband, my book deals, my house, everything. My hair was balding and my skin reduced to a wrinkly, grey texture. The feeling of tiredness and fatigue plagued my body. I was nothing more than an outer shell of flesh and dysphoria. The gift of visited me one more time. And while his flesh grew more and more vibrant,

my own became more tattered and wilted. Oh, Elizabeth, look what has become of you. The look of sheer joy sprawled across his face, stirred awake and angered deep inside of me. Dare you smile while I wither away. Do you find joy in the suffering you caused? The gift of smile faded into utter dismay. I felt a sense of regret at my sudden outburst. Just as the still waters, what is stolen from it is missed.

But it always has what is to be a bit. appreciated. I stared at him in confusion. He smirked, then continued on. You agreed to my terms because you felt the world robbed you of true happiness, of ambitions, and of love. But yet you could not appreciate what you already had. The only one robbing you of that, my dear, was you. He was right. I was so lost in the fairy tale I constructed. that I could not see what I already had to hold dear. My own greed had robbed me of the many roads I could have taken. I'd chosen the road filled with contradictions.

Your selfishness, your envy, your lust, that is what kept you from accepting even the smallest of gifts. After all, what is life without pain? He progressed towards me. standing inches away from my bewildered face. I'm sure by now, you have discovered what my price was all along. Haven't you, my dear Elizabeth?

The beast of Bramston Drain. The legend of the beast began with the birth of the 1800s. Many sightings have been reported along the woods of Hull. The half-wolf, half-man, bipedal. has caused anxiety and hysteria amongst the many disgruntled inhabitants, causing worryment for their safety. This type of folklore has always had a magnetic effect on me, pulling me into theories and philosophies, like a reader is drawn to a well-written book. My background in journalism spiked an interest I haven't felt since leaving the agency. compelled to learn more, I decided to research further into this fascinating ideology.

On my trip to London, I was accompanied by two friends, made in my early studies of journalism, both still working within the industry. Matt, the high-spirited, overly positive transfer from Altgate, London, was my first choice for my departure. He never turned down an opportunity to run. He never turned down an opportunity to revisit his homeland. He'd just hit the big three-oh last week and thought of the trip as a belated birthday gift for himself. My other companion, Lindsay, the straightforward, overly honest ex-girlfriend of mine who's always had a sixth sense for finding out my plans, volunteered herself the third to go. I couldn't turn her invitation down. Despite our breakup, I still had feelings for her.

After all, who could deny those dark green eyes of hers? In a few short hours, we were all aboard the plane, headed towards London. An unexplainable sense of dread fell over me the closer we got to our destination. Somehow, I felt that our spontaneous vacation would end in sudden tragedy. Despite my assumptions, it was already too late to turn back. I wanted to know if the legend was true, but deep inside the crevices of my mind, I wanted it to be nothing more than a fairy tale. The hotel we chose was in a perfect location, just a few blocks away from the drain.

We were in luck to find two rooms still available. Matt and I roomed together, while Lindsay was given her own. The time of our arrival, just a few minutes before 3 a.m., left us tired and weary, forcing us to start our investigation the following day. Thinking our voyage would be more enjoyable during the night, we agreed to some sight-seeing before then. London is more picturesque than I'd ever imagined. The serene environment and aesthetic landscapes almost made me forget the spine-chilling creature that lurks nearby. Many learned of our plans, overhearing us during lunch, and tried feverishly to warn us against it.

I've seen a beast and what is capable of. That drain is a place no man should tread. A voice calls out to us as we begin exiting the diner. We turn to see an old crippled man, draped in tattered clothing slowly approaching us. Lindsay faced the man and began to speak. Thank you for the advice, but I'm sure we can handle this on our own. I've given my warning. Just know.

If you do not wish to listen, things will not end well for you. Sorry to interrupt, but are you threatening us? Matt, increasingly distraught, decided to interrupt the conversation. Young man, I do not wish to threaten you, but I cannot watch another soul be ripped apart by that monstrosity.

Thanks for your concern, but we don't need your help. Matt rushed us out of the door, and we quickly walked back to the hotel and gathered in Matt and I's room. The old man's words began to trouble me. Maybe he was onto something. Maybe he really did witness the creature with his own eyes. Maybe that's why he became crippled. no matter what I began to think I couldn't call off the investigation

my friends and I have travelled too far to let it end on assumptions and word of mouth guys maybe we should listen to that old man he may be right what if it is too dangerous Matt spoke his word softly I'd never heard him sound so solemn

before what and let that man intimidate us? No way. It's not showing intimidation, Lindsay. It's being careful. We're not so sure this thing exists, and I don't want to die finding out that it does. Lindsay sat on the edge of my bed, sighing loudly. I don't know. She looked up at me with those beautiful eyes of hers. What do you think we should do, Alex? We came all this way.

I'd hate this for all... I'd hate all of this to be for nothing. I took a deep breath before uttering a word. We're not going anywhere. We'll just... Bring some weapons along. I'm sure we'll be fine. They nod reluctantly in agreement,

and we soon set out on our daring escapade. Our weapons of choice were a kitchen knife. Matt's custom metal baseball bat, and an axe repurchased at a hardware store. Are you guys sure these will be enough to fight an eight-foot tall werewolf? We'll be fine, Lindsay. We have more than enough to defend ourselves. Matt was smiling ear to ear. I was happy to seem cheerful again.

Only a few feet away from the drain. The man stood staring at us down like a lion stalking his prey. He remained silence, and I could see the anger on his face turned to pity as he began to walk away. The others didn't seem to notice him, so I kept his presence to myself, despite it making me a bit uneasy. The drain was quiet and surprisingly serene. The water glistened under the pale moonlight, forcing my nerves to calm. Well, if that creature does exist, I know why it chose this area to live. Matt must have felt the same about the drain as I did.

Even Lindsay's face displayed a more relaxed expression. We began to walk further along the drain, and, with each footstep, my fears that the The beast was real, slowly depleted, until I heard a low growl in the distance. What the hell was that? I looked around in a panic, trying desperately to find the source of the sound. What? I didn't hear anything. Lindsay looked around as well, confused by my sudden outburst.

I heard the growl again, and this time it was louder. We stopped dead in our tracks, beginning to hear what sounded like faint footsteps. We ran as fast as we could, ducking beneath the reach of the bushes surrounding us. The rustling of steps began to grow at an alarming pace. My heart sank into my feet and I desperately wanted to gain control over my excessive breathing. Oh, we'll have to come up with a plan. Matt gripped his bat tightly in his hands. The footsteps turned into quick and poundings upon the ground.

We began to run once more. What kind of plan would work against a beast? Lindsay yelled. I have no idea. A deafening roar echoed behind us. Matt managed to catch his foot in a branch and tripped, falling hard to the ground. Mad!

Lindsay and I yelled in unison. I ran over to help him up. A low growl pierced my ears. I mistakenly peeled my eyes away from Matt and looked up. There it was, standing right in front of us. I couldn't believe my eyes. Not only were the legends true, but we were now standing face to face with the beast itself.

I didn't know whether to be afraid or be in awe. A few seconds later, I received my answer. Its jaws unhinged, letting out a ferocious roar. Its eyes glowed a bright red. I grabbed Matt by his shirt collar and pulled him up effortlessly off the ground and took off running. The beast was quick. There was no way we could outrun it.

We'd abandoned the use of our weapons, but I felt it was time that we used them. I began to pull out the knife hidden underneath my shirt. No, not yet. It's too close. We need to trap it. I heard Matt's words, but I could not heed them.

I could not allow my friends to die after putting them in this situation in the first place. I yanked the knife out of its resting place and jabbed it into the shoulder of the beast. It yelled in pain, grabbed me by the neck and slam me to the ground. All I'd managed to do was anger it even more. I gasped for the air that escaped my body from the impact. I looked up to see Matt slowly approaching it with his bat. I wanted to warn him against it, but my voice had left me as well. Lindsay watched in horror, unable to do anything to save us. Matt lifted the bat above his head and, with all the strength he had, smashed it over its head. It broke into pieces as if its head were made of concrete. The beast turned abruptly to face Matt, and before he had time to react, the beast had him in his grasp.

Matt screamed, trying to wiggle his way out of his hold, but there was nothing he could do. It placed its head in between his palms and squeezed until he turned Matt's head into nothing but a bloody pulp of brain and skull. Lindsay screamed at the sight. I stumbled backwards, tears streaming down my cheeks, my feet becoming stagnant. Lindsay grabbed me and began to run. Not a second later the beast reached out,

grabbing onto my jacket sleeve. I flared my arm around in an attempt to get free, but it was too strong. It began pulling me towards it. Lindsay, you'll have to let go of me and swing the accident. No, I can't. What if it kills you? What if it doesn't work? You'll have to try. Or we'll both end up dead. She unwillingly let go of me, catapotting me into its arms.

It quickly threw me down and began clawing at my chest. Its razor-sharp nail. I was lacerating my flesh like a pound of ground beef. I cried out in extreme agony, and, just as I was about to lose consciousness, I saw Lindsay sneaking behind the beast, slicing the axe deep into the creature's skull. It fell to the ground with a loud thumb, still barely breathing.

Lindsay began dragging away my feeble body. I drifted in and out of consciousness until I eventually passed out. I awoke, laying in a hospital bed. Lindsay explained to me that, after I'd passed out, two of the townsmen showed up with guns, saying they heard screaming coming from our direction. While waiting for an ambulance to show, she guided one of the men to where we fought with the beach.

It was no longer there. Neither were the remains of Matt, she said, with the confused look that I'm sure I was wearing as well. They were sure we made the whole thing up, but I know what I saw. Matt was... She slowly trailed off, then remained silent. Tears stung her eyes, and the sight of her sobbing made me tear up as well. The cop showed up at the hospital a couple of hours later, and we explained everything. They were given the gruesome task of informing Matt's parents of the incident.

Now, it sounds a bit selfish, but I was happy that they were the ones to do it. It's been over three years since the incident. Lindsay and I haven't seen each other since then. We couldn't bear seeing each other after what happened. I wonder if she blames me. After all, I'm the one who asked Matt to come in the first place. I keep trying to tell myself that he decided to come of his own free will. But that doesn't make the guilt grow any smaller.

I blame myself every day for what happened. I'm saying this to warn anyone who listens against hunting down the beast yourself. My fondness for legends has cost me two of my closest friends. I would hate myself even more if I allowed unsuspecting victims to go exploring as well. So please don't go to the Bramston drain at night. And whatever you do, if someone warns you against seeking out a legend, heed their words. It may just say.

your life. Love doll, she sat, glaring into the mirror at the beastly reflection that evokes her husband's criticisms. The rolls of fat sitting atop her ribcage protruding over her belt loop

and caused many arguments over her eating habits. Her hair was slowly balding becoming less of the luxurious mane she was praised for in her twenties. Rinkles overwhelmed her face, declining its years well beyond her own. She had become a shell of her former self, and her husband was no longer interested in her. She herself felt her appearance had become a burden, once taking so much pride in her maintenance. It's slowly fading

once the depression set in. She no longer took pleasure in keeping up what her husband so proudly worshipped, arrogantly showing her off like the proud owner of a new Ferrari. Exercising seemed too tedious, and plastic surgery was too expensive. There weren't too many options available. She was about to give up, cash in her ticket to those pearly gates in the sky. When the discovery of her husband's long-term infidelity finally pushed her over the edge, she wanted revenge, wanted to show him that she was still that vibrant, gorgeous woman he fell in love with.

Wanted to show him that underneath the mask of flab and matted hair, like the beautiful being she used to be. The internet offered no solutions of a quick fix. Just a bunch of empty lies and deceptive gimmicks. Not even the deepest part of the World Wide Web could give any alleviation to her desperation as she inched the cursor towards the red X in the corner. A pop-up revealed itself on the screen. Do you want back the body you had in your twenties?

Missing the fire and passion in your marriage? Click here for the solution that will change. your life. It was too good to be true. Had the man that claimed their creation finally decided to alleviate her misery, she spared no second in clicking the suspicious message. An order box appeared listing the price

of the unnamed Holy Grail she'd been looking for. $120.95. How could something that promised so much, be so cheap. She quickly entered her credit information, then clicked submit. Giving a sigh of relief, she sat down. She lay down her laptop and leaned back against the couch. Soon, all of the sarcastic remarks and dirty looks would disappear. After waiting for weeks, the quick fix she'd been waiting for finally arrived. She grabbed the box, sprinted to the basement, trying to conceal it from her husband's wandering eyes.

Shaking hands gripped the sides of the box, ripping it open, unable to contain the excitement that brewed inside of her. What was inside the box conjured more questions and answers. Sitting inside were plastic, life-sized doll parts. She was flabbergasted. Was this a joke? Had she been duped out of her money? As she was just beginning to feel the blow of vulnerability,

she noticed a note underneath one of the arms. Separate from the old, replace with the new. It was clear what she had to do. She locked the basement door and grabbed the electric saw. She heaved a sigh of anticipation for the pain she was sure to endure, reluctantly resting her arm upon the table, the blade of the saw hovering above her shoulder. She tightly shut her eyes, fruitlessly preparing herself before cutting into her flesh. She screamed in horror as the muscle was torn to shreds, blood splattering across her face and clothing. the snapping of bone almost making her nauseous. The disorienting deed left her with a mouth full of gurgling blood and less energy than crashing from a sugar hive.

The pain was worse than childbirth, but she couldn't quit. She'd come too far. Stumbling her way to the cabinets, she clumsily searched for a needle and thread. Staggering to a chair nearby, she grabbed the right arm from the box, balancing it under the remains of her shoulder. She weaved in the needle, connecting her tattered flesh to the plastic until it was perfectly fused to her body. Somehow, she was able to gain complete control over its mobility, clenching and reopening her fist.

with ease. It was beautiful, slim and smooth, a small reminder of her youth. Any doubt she had in continuing drifted away. She craved more. She began cutting off more parts, left arm, right leg, left leg, replacing it all with the new synthetic ones. The scream she produced had finally reached her husband's ears. He raced at the basement door, pounding on it like a savaged beast trying to reach his prey. She ignored him. The torso was tricky. It was to be stitched from the front and wrapped around her existing frame. She started up the sword. once more, slicing away bits of flesh and muscle from her sagging build, her husband yelling for her to stop her heinous act, persistently trying to break down the door.

There was only one thing left to replace. The face. She sluggishly plugged the mask from the box and held it up to her face. it would do nicely the saw was much too powerful for such a delicate removal a knife would be its replacement she dug a knife into her skin

ripping it away from the muscle her shrieks intertwined with her husband's pleas she peeled the slivers of leftover skin off and began stitching the mask onto her exposed tissue. Her eyes beamed brightly from the sight of her new physique. She looked as though she had returned to her old self. The money was well worth the result. Her husband, eventually successful in barging through the door, froze from the sight of the monstrosity that stood in front of him. Blood,

trickled from the mask and stitch rooms, parts connected in a haunting manner, twisted and contorted in opposite directions. She limbered closer to her estranged husband, keeping her eyes fixed upon his horrified expression. Do you love me now? Her face crackled as she began to smile. taking several deep breaths before falling to the cold, hard growl. Brain activity. I've been blind for most of my life. Apart from the contours of shadows or clouds of colour, I haven't been able to see anything past that.

Ever since that fateful day that robbed me of my vision, being only six years old, I yearned for the chance to see once more, to remember the difference between red and blue, to see the rainbow of waves reflected through the fading blue skies, to see the bright green color of my girlfriend's eyes. I would give anything to experience what most would take for granted. That's why, when the opportunity arrived through a newspaper ad for an experimental eye surgery, I took no hesitation in signing up.

As I walked into the building, my sweaty fingers intertwined between my girlfriends. I could feel my nerves becoming mangled twists inside my chest. My heart quickened to the point of arrhythmia. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Just try to relax. I exhaled a deep sigh of composure as the doctor walked towards us. My nerves only now beginning to dissipate.

Hi, I'm Dr. Slayton. I'll be the one doing your procedure. If you'd please follow me, I'll explain the process. I stood, holding tightly to my girlfriend's arm as she led me in the direction of the doctor. I was escorted into a brightly lit room and led onto the examination table. I listened closely as the doctor began to explain the procedure. As you know, this procedure is extremely experimental. We've only tested it out.

on lab rats but so far it has been successful you will be our first human reciprocate of this surgery I nodded my head accepting of his declaration when my girlfriend first informed me of this program I was already well aware of the implications I weigh at my pros and cons and figured out it was in my best interest to take advantage of the opportunity what we will do is use your brain's natural ability to process light and exploit it. We'll stimulate the right cortex, forcing it to project light to the optic nerve and the macular first to sharpen their ability to process shapes and colors.

Then we'll send signals to the rest of the iron brain once they begin to improve. The science of it all made my brain feel as if it were being shredded by a cheese grater. Despite my lack of comprehension, I knew that this This surgery would change my life. The doctor prepped me for the procedure, carefully placing specialized contact lenses onto my pupils, and fitting me with unusual looking biphocals. He excused himself from the room for several minutes before returning, wheeling in a rather heavy device.

This is the strobe light that we will use for the procedure. We'll hook your brain up to the computers to monitor its activity while we stimulated with patterns of light. I stood, slowly reaching out towards the machine. I felt its cold, metal exterior beneath my lukewarm fingers. If I could only see

what it looked like, the comforting touch of my girlfriend's warm embrace allowed me to put the thought of losing my sight so suddenly out of my mind. Soon, I would no longer have to dwell

on that horrific night. No longer have to remember my mother's crue. cries as the toxic chemicals spilled onto my irises. Their panic-induced wails as the doctor announced to my parents that I would permanently lose my sight. The regret and resentment in my father's voice for now having to care for a disabled child. The bitter nostalgia was almost too much to bear.

I sling back down onto the exam table as the sounds of the machine powering up pricked my ears. the sounds of working machinery were flashes of blinding illumination. Now, I can usually pick up on subtle shimmers of light, but this was something even a nocturnal creature living in the depths of Antarctica would notice. The goggles lessened a bit of the sting, although the translucent beam still managed to dance around violently behind my irises. After what felt like half an hour, I heard the machine shut down and felt the goggles being removed from my face. There will be some discomfort in the eyes after the removal of the contacts, but thou should diminish over the next several hours. You'll have to wear prescription glasses for the first couple of days. Your next appointment

will be a week from now. I'd advise you not to stay out in the sun for too long. It could cause an irritation to the eye. I nodded in comprehension and thanked the doctor for the opportunity. and then was escorted out by my girlfriend. On the way home, she began babbling endlessly about how the colour of the machine matched my eyes, and how the brazen lighting caught her off guard. The doctor had been right about the discomfort. My eyes were in more pain than Michael Spinks

receiving multiple blows from Mike Tyson. Even the curative nature of pain meds couldn't cheapen the peak. As the hours tick by, just as the doctor promised, the pain began to disperse. I hadn't taken notice of any changes within my vision, but I was feeling pretty optimistic. After all, it was only the first of many surgeries to come. Within the following week came my second surgery. The doctor once again prepped me for the procedure and wheeled in the heavy strobe light.

This time we're going to make my new changes, within the procedure. I'm going to make small incisions within the irises and insert a tiny plate behind the lens. Since the optic nerve has been exposed to the light, it should be easier to stimulate. Will this incision be painful in any way? I was shaking more than a junkie during a heroin binge. We will be using numbing eye drops, so you shouldn't feel too much discomfort. The procedure should only take about ten minutes.

It'll be over before you know it. I didn't take much solace in the doctor's words, but I'd come too far to opt out because of a cut to the eye. I tried, unsuccessfully, to calm my nerves as the drops trickled onto my pupils. The numbing effects worked shortly after. My eyes could have fallen from their sockets and rolled to the floor, and I would still have had the urge to blink.

Imagining the scalpel, slowly slinking towards my eye, forced my heart to sink below the soles of my feet. My eyelids wanted desperately to shield my eyes from the oncoming danger. The moment that the scalpel touched the tip of my eye, I felt like a frightened kitten in a room full of kennels. But the drops must have worked, because I couldn't feel a thing. As he worked, the doctor described the M.O. of the surgery, detailing each incision and insertion of the plates. The surgery seemed to go by a lot faster than originally announced,

which forced my quickened heartbeat under submission. Once again, I was fitted with the goggles and the blazing strobe light flickered patterns of light into my eyes. This time, however, I could see faint, multicolored silhouettes of various shapes within the room. It was amazing. The shape of the machine, the outline of my girlfriend's figure, the tones and shades of the designs that lined the walls. I could see it all. It wasn't anything close to perfect eyesight,

but it was something I would never have dreamed of witnessing. I never wanted the images to end. But the moment the light was switched off, the images vanished with it. I was devastated. The visions had me under their spell, and I wanted nothing more than to stay within its grasp. I felt the doctor removed the goggles and tried my best to disguise my discomfort. Okay. all done. Once again there will be some irritation in the eye for the next several hours.

If the surgery has been successful so far, within a couple of days your vision should start to drastically improve. Before we finish up today, I want to give you a shot of hexyl maltrate. It's a trial drug that should speed along the process. I will administer the shot just above the eye. This should only take about a minute or less for the trial. each side. Oh, great. More sharp things near my eyes. I could feel the anxiety from before rearing up inside of me. As I felt the needle into the fragile flesh of my eyelid, I mustered all of the stereotypical manly distractions I could to keep my mind off the pain. The numbing drop's strength had long since worn off. The moment the needle plucked from my eye, I wanted to run

full force out of that room in fear of more scalples and syringes. The doctor, however, managed to put my hysteria to rest with his next words. Your next appointment should be your last surgery. There will be one last administer of the drug, but instead of using the strobe light, we will be using small, controlled flashes of infrared wavelengths. Aren't those type of wavelengths dangerous to the human eye? my girlfriend asked in a solemn turn. No, the infrared is a hundred percent safe.

There should be no ill health effects from being exposed to it. My girlfriend and I swapped heartening glances. We both had total confidence in the surgery. Before leaving the exam room, the doctor handed me a small bottle of pills. These are called metropoxial separator. These are also experimental, but have to be a small bottle of pills. been proven useful in adding to the optic nerve's ability to process images. Take two pills with every meal with a full glass of water.

The doctor handed me a pair of specialised glasses and we were on our way. For the next four days I didn't notice any permanent changes to my eyesight and my hopes for the surgery slowly dwindled. I desperately wanted once again to marvel at the stunning silhouettes I'd witnessed several days ago in the examination room. I was just about to lose hope. But two days before my last surgery, I received something far more valuable than coloured shadows. I could now see full figured blurs of the objects around me. The different colorations, hues and shades, moulded and compiled together to form the structures I'd lost sight for so long ago. Gratified tears flooded my face,

as I looked around the room in awe. My unsteady hands coupled my eyes, exploring the objects around the room. My girlfriend watched on as I tinkered with things with my hands, pairing their name to their appearance. Although they were blurry, I could identify nearly everything in my house. I could even lay my eyes on my girlfriend's beautiful green eyes,

for the first time. We spent the entire day roaming the landscape of our neighbourhoods. The colours of our surroundings were more vibrant than I could ever have imagined. As my eyes scanned the area, a childlike curiosity pierced my thoughts, and I began to wonder just how much my eyesight could improve. The day of my final surgery had finally arrived, and I felt like a chimp in a crisset. crowded zoo with a buttload of excrement.

The doctor was captivated by my progression, feeling that the infrared lighting should cure the blurriness I was experiencing. The surgery itself took only 15 minutes. I was so excited to see the results that I didn't even flinch when the HECO whatever drug was administered into my eyelids. The doctor handed me one last bottle of pills and instructed me to weapon. prescription glasses until the blurriness faded away. Of course, I had to buy them myself, but I was given a nifty little 50% off coupon for my participation. Over the next few days,

my sight began to drastically improve, and soon the blurriness that played my vision had finally dispersed. Soon, my sight was completely synonymous to 2020 vision. The water in the nearby by lake was a resplendent deep blue. The grass mirrored the vivid hues of freshly ripened apples. The surrounding buildings seemed to animate under the sun's puppeteering rays. With each passing day, my sight became sharper and more precise, eventually graduating to the point of alarming concern. About a month later, I awoke besieged by needle like convulsions, tormenting my irises. Colours swirled into frenzied starbursts, turning the familiar pigments into indistinct tinctures. The immense pain forced my addled brain into a chokehold,

causing pressurized bile to leak up my esophagus. My girlfriend watched in horror as she hastily dialed the number to Dr. Slayden's office. The voicemail prompt, greet. her on the other end. We both elected to hop into the car and drive there unannounced. Upon arriving at the hospital, my mysterious ailment seemed to get worse by the second. My vision blurred, mangling the objects around me, clouding my eyes with disorienting tangles of extrinsic colors, creating ones I'd never even seen before. I collapsed to the floor, shrieks of excruciating pain burned from my throat and fluttered through the air. Nurses began to surround me, slowly inching closer, most likely wary of my mental health. Can you explain what's wrong, sir? One of them

managed to stammer out through trembling cords. It didn't take them long to realize my mental state wasn't the issue. Someone get a gurney. This man needs medical attention. Fast. Somehow, they managed to lift and strap my reluctant body to a gurney and wheel me to the emergency room. My girlfriend walked alongside them, trying her best to explain the situation. Dr. Slayton, he hasn't worked in the medical field for over ten years. Are you sure it was him? I could hear the hesitation in my girlfriend's voice as she forced out the word yes. The nurse who wheeled me to the emergency room ordered one of the others to get in time. touch with Dr. Slayton in any way that they could.

That didn't sit well with me. The nurses got to work, quickly putting me under the influence of anesthesia. Soon after, I blacked out, waking again several hours later. My girlfriend stood at the edge of the bed. Tears fell like pouring rain down her pale cheeks. She had a look of absolute terror sprawled across her face. Judging from the circumstances, I was afraid to pry, but I had to find out what she knew. Dr. Slayton was fired a long time ago for deadly practices with experimental chemicals.

He was working here illegally during your surgeries. I swear I didn't know when I told you. you about it. This is all my fault. I should have checked into it. I'm so sorry, Adam. I was speechless. I certainly didn't blame her, but hindsight hit me hard like a steel bat to the skull. Before I could say anything, one of the nurses came in carrying a couple of papers in her hand. Something seems a bit unusual about her. Her skin seemed to glow with a subtle orange tint. Small scales slithered up her arms in a rhythmic pattern. I was sure my eyes were playing a sick practical joke on me, so I dismissed the matter for now. Less than a minute later, her skin was back to

normal. I'm sorry, but we couldn't get in touch with Dr. Slayton. It seems he's fled the country during your month of recovery from surgery. We were able to remove the place he inserted into your eyes, which was causing you the pain. But it looks like some minor damage has already been done. We'll prescribe you with specialised eye drops which should help reverse the damage, but considering we don't know the extent of the surgery, that's all we can do for now. We'll do a follow-up with you in the next couple of months. We thanked her for the help and fiddled through the paper she handed us before she left. I couldn't believe it. According to the papers, Dr. Slayton had been arrested for two weeks.

counts of unlawful use of experimental drugs. He was imprisoned for over seven years before getting out on a technicality. There's also speculation that he conducted the same experiment in two other hospitals. Over the next couple of weeks, my vision imploded into a disarray of jumbled colorations. I was sure that the minor damage to my eyes was ten times worse than the nurse had led on. Just like the incident in the hospital, I began to notice a change in people's appearance. It started off as a minuscule distraction, appearing and then vanishing as soon as I took notice. Some had blistering sores covering their entire body. Others had flesh wounds that ooze black pulp that dripped onto the sidewalks.

It was horrifying. I couldn't so much as look at another person without being disgusted. The visions didn't last long at first. However, they managed to get worse as time went on. No matter where I went, the distorted features and abnormal physiques of the public seemed to follow. Almost every single one of them looked as though they were trapped in a Halloween costume they couldn't get out of. The funny thing was, I seemed to be the only one who noticed. I knew it had to be a symptom of the surgery, but that didn't explain the reasoning behind it,

or why I was experiencing them. I tried to get in touch with Dr. Slayden myself, although this task proved to be more than difficult. Even the aid of a private investigator didn't conjure up any results. Trying to take my mind off the situation, I decided to use television as a distraction. The results of the surgery had not yet affected any of the shows I watched, so I figured it wouldn't hurt. Oh, how wrong I was! As I flipped through the channels, nearly every single.

single person's appearance resembled that of a Lovecraftian monster. It wasn't until landing on the news that I discovered the reason behind their gruesome transformations. To no surprise, all of the criminals plastered over the news had the same distorted features as the others. But I began to notice a pattern within certain criminal behaviour. Thieves had burned and mutilated hands. Rapists were covered in grotesque purple sores. Murderers were soaked in dried blood.

It was daunting. I put two and two together, quickly realizing that I could now see everyone's true self. I couldn't rip my eyes from the television. The situation was. more than impossible to comprehend. After that, every trip from my house turned into a scavenger hunt. I began taking mental notes of each characteristic, tallying them up and sorting them until they all fitted in neat little categories. A little brainstorming and I was able to gather conclusions for each of the features. Liars, rapists.

cannibals, pedophiles. I could now identify each and every one of them. The most horrifying thing was the realization that most of those people were right outside my front door. I'd had some ounces of comfort when the only existed on TV, but the violation of my safety forced my paranoia to skyrocket. I didn't leave my house much after that. I couldn't risk being stabbed in an alleyway or cooked up as a psycho's next meal. My girlfriend became increasingly worried for my health and wanted to make another appointment at the hospital. But I stopped her. I'd known for a long while now. I'd long since seen the changes in her features. I just couldn't bring myself to confront her. Her skin had turned a faded blue hue, burn marks and scars littered across her body. I knew exactly what that meant. Prostitute. How could so many live their lives through latent veils,

while wearing masks of artificial personas? It was so easy for them to hide their true selves in a world so manufactured that it frightened me. How many others were there? How many can claim truth to the personage they paraded? The more I contemplated the idea, the more my fear turned to rage. What right did they have to hide themselves, while so many others tried desperately to live honest lives? What gave them the right to strip me and so many others of their credulous havens of ignorance? I wanted to rid the world of its evils, to revive the safety I'd felt when I was a child, when I was blind.

My girlfriend's flaccid body laid in bed as I quietly left my house. I hopped into my car, tightly gripping the steering wheel, staring down at the blood-stained hands as I started. the ignition. 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.