Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I'm a Small Town Detective. This is why I QUIT | Scary Stories

Episode Date: May 8, 2024

This case still haunts me... Story from strange_dangerous Make sure to check out more of their work at u/strange_dangerous  Cover Art from Alfven Ato                Original Post: I had my aura photographed and it revealed something terrifying… : r/nosleep  Original YouTube link: I met the Devil's Rock Band. Their song drives people INSANE          For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

Up until now, no one can say what really happened that fall, the fall before the Black Cat Massacre, especially since it opened up a lot of wounds, old friends turned enemies, and no one especially wants to admit how close they were to committing the same atrocities that led to the tragedy at the Black Cat Motel. Now to understand how one small town could commit such a horrifying crime We must go back to what started it all. We must examine the source and how it poisoned an entire community. It may have taken 40 years, but the events surrounding the disappearance of one young girl shook Pineville to its very core.

And in doing so, it caused a chain of events that unleashed an entity of pure chaos. Now, legend has it that the heavy metal band Corpse Rots were on their way to Cleveland. They stopped in Pineville for a night back in the fall of 82. Their tour van had a flat. All the tire shops were closed until morning, so they rented a room at the Black Cat Motel and hit downtown in search of a good time. Pineville's one and only main street didn't have much in terms of nightlife. There was the Busy Bee bar.

On Sundays, they only offered beer and a single pool table that wasn't really opened to non-locals. The other only option was Bepps Driving. It was a burger joint where the server's roller skated to your window and delivered food with a smile. Four beers in at the Busy Bee, and the band was asked to leave. They'd gotten into a scuffle with a regular. The name of that patron was never released to the public. But I believe it was a man named Ken Shelton. After getting tossed, corpse rot stumbled out into the night.

They made their way down the road, drawn to the loud neon lights of Bepp's Drive-in. This was where the band met Kellyanne Curtis. 17-year-old Kelly-Anne was born and raised in Pineville, but she longed for a better life. She was working at Bepps in order to save money for college. Her parents. parents were proud of her, though they didn't show it much. She was popular and well liked. Few people had anything bad to say about the girl. Killian also often spent her weekends volunteering at the Senior Center with the Meals-On-O-Wills program.

She delivered food to those who had trouble leaving their house. Again, Killian delivered their meals with a smile. Her presence in town was nothing but positive. Which is why her sudden disappearance was so devastating to its residents. Kellyanne's best friend Ruth Myers told officials that she saw the band flirting with her when they ordered. They hung out at one of Bepp's rarely used tables and banged on the trash cans. They whooped and hollered until Kellyan skated out to serve him, as usual, with a smile

on her face. Ruth said that she was surprised to see Kellyan flirt back with a band. When one of them smacked her bottom, she responded with a wink and a wiggle. It disgusted, young Ruth. To her, it seemed out of character for Kellyanne. She was the Polish straight-A student and cheerleader, the perfect all-American small-town girl. Regardless, it was clear that after finishing their meal, Corsot lingered at the tables, the end of Kellyanne's shift. Some reported that the band may have been smoking something

not entirely legal, but those claims were unsubstantiated. No evidence of illegal substances was ever recovered from the diner. Kelly Ann wished her co-workers a good night and left at the end of her shift. Now many people say that they can swear to the fact that Kelly Ann left willingly with the band. They say she was laughing and and even riding on the shoulder of one member, as they walked back to the Black Cat Motel. This was the last time anyone in Pineville would see Kellyanne Curtis, but the events surrounding her disappearance would echo through the town for decades. On the morning of October 30th, Kellyanne Curtis was gone. The band,

corpse rod, checked out of the motel at 927 a.m. They went directly to the tire shop. Their tire was replaced, and they were on the road by 10 o'clock. It's unclear which members were present when the tire was fixed, but it's possible a few stayed behind in the room even after checkout. This was because it was reported that the van stopped at the black cat one more time before leaving town for good. Some believe Kelly Ann got into that van willingly, while others believe. She never got on at all. Sometime after one in the afternoon, the maids discovered the horrific scene the band left behind.

The police were called at 117. What they found was beyond anything the small town has ever seen. All four walls were covered in thick splatters of blood. Worse, they were smeared around to form strange satire. Titanic symbols. Black wax had hardened into the shape of a pentagram on the carpet floor. On each point, it was obvious that candles had been lit, melted, and removed. The air in the room was still thick and steady with cigarette smoke. Vomit was found in the bathtub, sink, and toilet.

Broken glass from empty bottles was scattered across the entire length of the room. The vanity mirror outside the bathroom had been smashed, leaving a spider-web of cracks with a bloody handprint at the center. The immediate horror led to a hasty decision by the motel management and Pineville Police to clean up the crime scene as quickly as possible. At the time, it was believed that the blood and damage were just the usual antics of a heavy metal band wanting to project a certain. certain image. At the time, no one knew if Kellyanne had been in the room with them. Needless to say, the cleanup meant there's very little evidence the police could work with when she was finally reported missing. Some believe that the band sacrificed Kellyanne to the devil in order to gain fame and fortune. The only problem with that theory is that corpse rot never found

fame nor fortune. Their follow-up album, recorded after the Black Cat incident, failed to even chart. The band broke up shortly after. However, to this day, they're the band that influenced the band your favorite band was influenced by. Their only release is highly sought after among specialist record collectors. The less exciting theory is that Killian just left with the band on tour, got pregnant, and married the drummer. The blood and candles were merely stage props, and the damage was no more than any other rock star would have left after a night of heavy drinking. It is possible that the blood on the walls could have been fake, but due to the actions of the Pineville police, we will never truly know. Marge Sinclair claims to have talked to Kellyanne

sometime in the late 90s. Apparently, Kelly Ann dropped the Anne and now goes by Kelly Rund after taking on her husband's last name. Marge says that Kelly lives in California with Bert, the drummer who gave up music after becoming a father. Bert now sells life insurance. Because Corsot never attained fame, and their albums were released under different stage names, such as Love Burt's and Samuel Sadness, the identity of the members cannot be confirmed. It is very possible that Kelly Ann left with a band and found the new life she always wanted

far from Ohio. Maybe she did become a mother and successful yoga instructor. But it is also very possible that this is all a lie, a cover-up, because Kelly Ann's parents never heard from her. after she disappeared. And the strange events that followed her disappearance seemed to be a direct result of what the band left behind. Over 40 years later, the evil that was unleashed in that motel room had spread through the town of Pineville. It all started as small doses of gossip, Rumors of strange behavior, mostly about those who stayed at the black hat. Seedy travelers and victims of divorce were the most common guests at the motel, and they were the source of the most disturbing rumors.

It was the Red Hat Club that were the main source of speculation as to what those guests got up to. They were a group of older women who met for lunch on Tuesdays at Tux Cafe, and it was one of them, Patty Racer, who discovered the record player. And that's how my investigation began on the infamous Black Cat Massacre. Patty was walking past the motel one fateful day. She was taken the long way to Tuck's Cafe when she heard the sound. To her, it was a terrible, inhuman growl. She said it sounded like animals dying.

The noise was coming out of room 13 of the Black Cat Motel, the same room that corpse rot had stayed in 40 years ago. Patty immediately called the police, not out of concern, but out of annoyance. She felt nobody else should have to be exposed to such a horrible racket. And I was the one assigned to the case. I met with Tony Lumen, the manager of the black hat. We went to room 13 together. Tony told me that while the sound coming from the room was admittedly loud, nobody had

actually complained. The room itself had been rented and paid up for the next week. When I asked for details on the renter, he could not remember anything at all about who was staying in room 13. To him, his memory of the guest was a gray blob with undefined features and a low voice, both everyone and no one at once. As we got closer to the room, it became clear that the noise Patty had heard was not a dying animal or domestic abuse, as she suspected.

Instead, it was a song, a corpse-wrought song. The only song that survived... Now, as I said before, they weren't famous. So even after searching every corner of the internet, I was only ever able to find one other copy of this song. All I could find was a poorly transferred MP3. The version that echoed in the hallway outside the room, though, that one was clear. It was the last existing copy of a seven-inch, six-inch, single released by corpse rot, a three-minute song called The Call of Kolgatch. The other side was

supposedly blank. Inside the room, somebody had rigged up a strange machine. It was part jukebox, part Frankenstein stereo, and it had a mechanical claw that reset the needle every two minutes and seven seconds, the exact length of the song. Essentially, the machine was playing it on repeat. Two 10-each speakers were connected to the strange record player. It stood vibrating the air, an annoying patty racer. I didn't even notice it at first, but a narrow circle of salt had been poured on the light beige carpet. It was so faint that I'd almost completely missed the pentagram drawn within the circle.

And right in the middle of the pentagram sat the modified record player. Aside from that, there was nobody else in the room. It looked as if nobody slept in it. The bed was still made and there was still dust on the TV remote. Tony quickly unplugged the machine. The song slowed to a stop. The last we heard was the drawn-out final words of the song, growled out by the lead singer Willie Kill.

You smell that? Tony asked with sudden concern. The sour odor of sulfur crept up my nostrils and into my mouth. It stung the back of my throat. Is it the machine? I coughed. Tony shook his head, but quickly asked for my help to get it outside in case it caught fire. He wanted to take it straight to the dumpster.

But soon, we realized the smell still lingered in the room, and not with a machine. He decided to hold on to it in case someone claimed it. Back in the room, the smell only grew stronger. It got to the point where we both had to leave. Tony later told me that the guest in the rooms next to it needed to be moved as the smell kept getting stronger. The next call came before breakfast the following morning. The coffee was still hot in my mug. Reports of disturbing graffiti poured in from concerned citizens out on their morning walk.

The long brick wall of the busy bee bar had been vandalized. There was something carved in. into the whitewashed wall, revealing the red brick beneath. It was like scratches in blood. The word stood out in bright red letters. Colgotch. The letters were hard to read. It was as if it was written with a forbidden alphabet that only vaguely resembled English.

At the time, I had no idea what it meant. It was later on that I realized it was in reference. to the cursed song. The owner of the Busybee, Gloria Tweed, did her best to cover it up, but multiple coats of paint and filler still failed to hide the ominous word. The most disturbing thing, though, came shortly after the carving was discovered. When I arrived, Gloria had covered her face with a shirt tied around her mouth. She coughed through the fabric, asking me what it means.

I'd opened my mouth to respond, but quickly choked on the thick, lingering stench of sulfur. Gloria had no idea where the smell was coming from. She supposed it was coming from the sewer grate nearby. That smell lingered for nearly an hour. The source remained in mystery. But part of me figured we'd never find it. As the case developed, the more I was sure this wasn't the work of someone, made of flesh and bone. The next few days were largely uneventful. I did receive some calls of missing

pets and strange sightings, but those types of calls were normal for a town that sat on the edge of the woods. Looking back, I now know that I should have given those calls more attention. I should have investigated those sightings. If I had, I may have prevented what came next. I may have known what was coming. But I didn't. Four days later, the field that separated downtown in the highway was flooded with blood. The flat grass clearing was littered with animal corpses, corpses of pets, livestock, and wild game from the woods. There were so many.

Some of them were scattered out of the highway. That caused an early morning delivery truck to lose traction on the bloody sludge and crash into a power line. Half the town lost power before sunup. I woke up to the call and stumbled out of bed in the darkness. I made it to the scene only minutes after the tow truck. The delivery driver was unharmed, aside from a bruise across their chest. But mentally, the sight of the car. it all drove him into stunned silence. Our flashlights cast strange shadows and reflected back

in the fresh puddles of blood, and under the stench of rot and iron, I could still smell sulfur. The same as before, I knew that these events were connected. Meanwhile, a farmer just outside of town had claimed someone got into his rat poison. Whole lot of it gone. Whether the animals got into his poison on their own, or were fed it, it didn't matter. It didn't even matter if they were poisoned at all. Most townsfolk chose to believe the cause was something more supernatural, something evil. I found myself thinking the same. The rumors began to circulate almost immediately. People connected the events on their own. Patty's own report of the strange sounds were verified by Tony, and it was clear that the noise

was in fact corpse rot. The disappearance of Kellyanne was reopened with fresh accusations. Many believed that whatever corpse rot summoned that night by sacrificing her had been called back to collect payment once again. But by whom? The band? Another follower? A fan, maybe. Who had rented the room at the Black Cat?

Who had set up the song to play on repeat? Who summoned the demon that was now wreaking havoc on the small town of Pineville? It became clear to me that if I could figure out who it was, I could possibly understand how to stop whatever was happening. The escalation was horrifying, and the implications of that strange odor were something I don't even want to think about. Two nights after the incident with the delivery truck, shotgun blast were heard at 1.15 in the morning. I was one of the first to respond. My bedroom window was just across the street from the gunfire. I was dressed in only my underwear and a t-shirt, but I stumbled out of the door, my rifle in hand.

I spotted Ken Shelton. He was an old skinny man shuffling down the street, clutching a double barrel. Ken, I shouted. Put it down. He continued walking as if he didn't hear me. My wife leaned out the front door, calling for me in a hush shout. I waved for her to go inside, but she held out the phone. It's Ken's wife, Station put her through, she said. I shouted for Ken one more time, but he just continued onward. So I hurried back to the phone. His wife, Mary, was in tears, frantically asking me not to hurt him.

She told me he had some sort of break. He woke up in a cold sweat and left the cold. the house without a word. She didn't even know where he'd gotten the shotgun. She followed him, but after he fired the first shot, she ran into a neighbor's house to call the police. Knowing that it was my street, they forwarded her to me. Backup was on the way, but she wanted me to try and talk him down before other people showed up and things got ugly. I told her I would do my best. I hung up and put down my rifle. The grass in my yard was cold and stung the soles of my feet, the cold dew making it more painful. I really wished I'd grabbed my slippers, but there was no time.

Ken. Ken, what are you doing out here? I shouted to him, walking over as quickly as possible without alarming him. Ken, I said, and he finally turned, surprised to see me standing 30 feet away. His glazed eyes became clear for the briefest moment as he tried to explain. They're back. They brought it back. They told me they do it 40 damn years ago. I told them God wouldn't allow such a thing.

But they use that young girl. to find a way around God's will. They made a deal with the devil, and the devil sent him a million. Ken's head snapped forward then, as if he heard something only he could hear. His eyes glazed over again, and he raised the gun. Ken, Ken, no, I said, and he pulled the trigger. Red and blue lights flashed across the trees. as a patrol car came across the corner.

Ken didn't seem to notice, but if he did, he didn't care. Instead, he reloaded his gun, pulled it to his shoulder, aimed, and fired. I'll never know what he was shooting at. But the shot exploded into the darkness, bouncing off some metallic siding

in an aluminum mailbox. I heard a shout from a house somewhere ahead, an angry grunt from a neighbor that remained hidden by the dark. Another voice screamed from a different direction, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by terrified voices, calling for someone to do something. Unfortunately, somebody did. A gunshot rang out in the dark, but this time it wasn't from Ken. The old man quickly crumpled to the rough asphalt of the street.

Blood began to pool underneath him. I screamed into the dark asking who'd shot him. But nobody answered. Nobody came to help Ken either. Nobody but me. When I reached his limp body, he looked up at me, terrified. I'm... I missed it.

He mumbled as the light left the old man's eyes. And then the subtle sting of sulfur drifted in on the midnight breeze. By the time dawn came, every witness claimed to have heard the shot that killed poor Ken Shelton. But each one heard it come from a different direction. The bullet that entered and exited Ken's body, was never found. The general consensus around town was that it was justified.

Doesn't matter who fired the shot that killed a man you lived his whole life alongside him. It was self-defense, they said. A sad but necessary action in order to save everybody else. One shot, one death,

to save the lives of others. If only they knew that poor Ken was trying to do the same exact thing for them. The next call came in the early morning hours of the next day. Gorman's butcher's shop had been broken into and looted. The large glass windows of the storefront, with their painted-on signage, had been smashed into a million tiny shards. But nobody heard it happen. The strange events surrounding Ken's death seemed to overshadow the robbery on Main Street.

No cash was taken, but every choice cut and nearly every pound of fresh ground meat had been taken. A trail of blood led from the back fridge. It went straight through the window and under the street. strangely, only lamb remained in the refrigerator. The most unsettling and confusing aspect was the footprint found in the largest puddle of blood. It had five pads like a dog, but stretched into the oblong shape of a man's foot. There was evidence of claws in the way the tiles were scratched near the toes. Four in the front, and one behind the heel.

Now once details of the break-in got out, it spread like wildfire. The people of Pineville seemed more concerned with the robber on the loose than the horrible death of one of their oldest residents. Accusations flew. The Red Hat Club immediately blamed Chad Brimley, a hobo who camped near the river for most of the year. Chad would usually leave once winter came, so the timing of the break-in cast a lot of suspicion his way.

When me and another officer spoke with Chad, we found no reason to believe he was involved. We let him pack up his things and leave town. Chad was lucky to get out when he did. The strange footprint was brushed off by the lead investigator. He blamed a stray dog for the odd print. He even speculated that this dog was the one who made off with most of the meat. He suggested the broken window was a simple act of vandalism or an accident. And some mongrel used the opportunity to feast like a king.

The town, however, did not agree with this theory. Boards went up over the other store windows, and cameras were installed. People started looking at their neighbors with suspicion. Small things, like a bump in the shoulder and a checkout line, became full-on shouting matches. The simmering anger in Pineville was beginning to boil over. When Debbie Gent told Mindy Smith, she didn't like the sultry way she dressed on occasion, Mindy responded with a quick slap to the face. The two women wrestled each other down.

and into the gutter. They ripped at each other's hair as oil and gutter junk soaked into their clothes. The fight was only broken up when Debbie began to spit teeth and blood onto the sidewalk. I began to smell sulfur everywhere. Doesn't matter where I went. The rotten odor followed, and it seeped into every airway. Those cameras that were quickly installed only added more fuel to the fire. More than one resident claimed that someone had tampered with their cameras. They'd see entire minutes of a recording blur into fuzzy distortion. Minutes of static would then suddenly clear, showing empty, still streets. They just made people more suspicious. However, some of the more level-headed folks pointed out that

But the same company had installed all the cameras in town over the course of a few days. It was hard work done quickly, so mistakes could have happened. Everything seemed to come to a head on October 30th. A town hall meeting was called to discuss the unraveling order in the town of Pineville. There were many theories shouted across the podium. A lack of faith. An abundance of sin, a poisoned water supply, a psychic invasion. But the one that most agreed on was a curse.

Even those who hadn't heard about the record playing at the Black Cat had blamed corpse rot. No one forgot the chaos they left behind and their involvement in the disappearance of Kelly Ann Curtis. Mayor Klein faced heated accusations of betrayal. from the citizens when he tried to challenge this particular theory. Nobody wanted to hear it. The meeting would most likely have ended in a riot, if not for the sound of a fire truck outside. I was sitting near Mayor Klein, hearing the complaints and concerns of the people, when suddenly those seated at the back rows began to file out. The shouts quieted to confused

murmurs as the room emptied. I pushed my way through the crowd and into the sunlight. Two large pillars of black smoke came from the black cat motel. A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Everyone froze in place, except for me. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, across the road and through the empty grass lot. The flames reached up to the same. sky between the thick black smoke. I could smell the sulfur stronger than ever. I could smell it long before I reached the inferno. Tony Lumen stood in the parking lot, watching the blaze. He turned to me, calm and collected. I forgot the candles, he said. My immediate thought was that a forgotten candle had started the fire.

But I was wrong. He looked back at the fire. The damn candles kept the thing contained. I didn't realize it. What are you talking about? I asked. Confused. And momentarily, I forgot about the fire. Tony turned and casually walked back towards the lobby,

letting the fire burn wild behind him. I chased after him, yelling, What do you mean, Tony? Is anyone in there? Are there guests inside? But he didn't answer. He just let the door close behind him. I ran inside, throwing the door open,

and I found him seated behind the desk as if it were a normal day. Behind me, the fire grew. Tony looked up with tears in his eyes. I tried to do it like they did. I just needed one little thing, one little ask. I wanted her to love me. She never noticed me, and I needed her to love me. I figured it worked for them.

It must have because Kellyanne would never have left otherwise. I loved her. I loved her, and I just know she loved me back. We weren't steady, but we were going to be. But then she was gone. Whatever they did, it worked on her. He held in his hands the record sleeve to the one and only corpse rot release. Their name was in a nearly unreadable font.

And I noticed that the album art showed a motel rum, an eerily familiar room covered in blood, with a pinagram constructed with salt and black wax candles. At the center sat a young grinning woman wearing roller skates and licking a knife covered in fake blood. Tony ran his fingers over her face, silently confirming what I already knew.

It was a 40-year-old photo of Kelly Ann Curtis in the same rum that was now burning behind me. Tony looked up at me with tears in his eyes and said, Part of me believed that she ran away, and all the rumors were false. So I had to try. Somehow it worked. But not the way I thought.

They did sacrifice her. Whatever they summoned, killed Killianne. Because once I unleashed that same horror. He fell silent. Shame washed over him. What are you saying, Tony? I asked, afraid of his answer. And he just pointed behind him

at the broom-com. closet. Don't worry, though. I think the fire got it. I set it on fire once I realized what it wanted. But I was too late. I thought she was coming to see me, but for some reason she went to that room first, and it got her like it probably got Killianne. As I reached the door, the strange smell of sulfur grew more intense. I turned the knob, open the door. In the closet, I found the body of Ruth Myers, Kelly Ann's old best friend. Her skin was slashed and torn as if she were attacked by a knife, or long, sharp claws. Tony, what it's you? And then I heard it. A loud, bang. A loud, My ears rang and the back of my neck felt wet.

I reached back and felt warm fluid, and I brought my hand to my face and shuddered at the sight of fresh blood. I took stock. I felt no pain, and I was clearly still breathing. So I turned slowly. I didn't see him holding it when I went to the closet, but it's sitting out in the open now. the large revolver he had under the desk, the gun he used to end his own life.

The fire trucks pulled into the parking lot moments after. My ears were still ringing as I walked outside. I was led to an ambulance, too stunned to speak. They must have assumed the blood was mine and not Tonys, but it was his. The fire spread quickly, swallowing the air. office before either Ruth or Tony could be removed. None of the guests staying at the black cat made it out alive either. I sat numbly at the back of the ambulance. Despite the warmth of a fire, I felt a cold chill run down my spine. I could smell sulfur, and I swear I could hear

the quiet growl of that cursed corpse-rots song playing. I looked up at the room, the room where it all started, and through the blurry waves of heat, I saw it. At least I believe I saw it. A towering beast with dripping saggy flesh, so white it was almost clear. Broad shoulders led to long twisted arms, tipped with sharp black claws. The creature's deep red eyes sat inside a gaping tooth-filled mouth.

It seemed to phase in and out of reality as the fire around it danced. I could feel it look at me, but my own eyes refused to acknowledge its existence. Instead, it flickered in and out like frames inserted into a film reel. I could feel my mind unraveling as I tried desperately to understand its existence until the room collapsed in on itself. And the chilly feeling of dread suddenly disappeared. I explained as best I could about what I believed had. happened and what Tony believed. It was hard to separate the two. The rage that infected the town and the bizarre events that coincided with it just stopped after the Black Cat Motel burned to the

ground. Were they the result of some demonic evil unleashed by a rock and roll record? Or was the evil always there? Was it simmering for decades in the heart of the heart of the part of a man who had lost the love of his life stolen by a rock and roll band. I'm not sure I'll ever truly know, but I'll tell you this. I avoid the ashes that wore the black cat. And some days, every now and then, I think I can still smell sulfur.