Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I'm a U.S. Soldier and This is a WARNING | Scary Stories

Episode Date: October 28, 2024

They're real. Scary Story by Darkly_Gathers Check out more of the author's work here u/Darkly_Gathers  Cover Art from Ken Nguyen                 Original YouTube link: I'm a U.S. Soldier and This is a WARNING.   Original post: I'm deployed in Iraq; and please heed my warning: there are spiders in the shadows. : r/nosleep  Merch: lighthousehorror.shop For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon 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!

Consider for a moment, if you would, the common spider. Are you scared of it? Maybe you are or maybe aren't? There are widespread enough fear. Scary to some, though to many, there's simply nothing. Something to be gently scooped up and thrown out of a window, or crushed perhaps, swiftly underfoot. You have to admit, though, however you feel, they are alien in their monstrosity.

Animals obey a set of agreed upon rules. Two or four legs. Two eyes, two ears, a tail maybe. Then there are insects. Six legs, they fly, etc., etc. And spiders. Eight legs. Still as deaf.

They sit in place waiting, watching. And then they scurry. They scurry fast. on those eight legs of theirs. Always faster than you'd expect. And if you aren't quick enough, if you lose it to the shadows, then you'll be forced to accept the reality that it lurks with you somewhere in the rum. Fangs? On large enough spiders, you can hear them. You can actually hear the fangs grind as they dream on their next meal. No ears. A body covered in sharp and razor-thin bristles, they instead pick up sounds and vibrations on this fine,

dark hair. And those eyes? Tiny, for sure, but not entirely unrecognizable. Like the eyes of a fly are, for instance. No. Spider eyes are just familiar enough to be unsettling. Look into a spider's eyes, and you can feel it looking back. looking back at you from all eight of them.

Watching. I cough quietly, clearing my throat as discreetly as possible in the cloud of dust, swinging the beam of my flashlight from wall-the-wall of the passage. Sparky, I murmur, in a voice just above a whisper. Here, boy, I whistle in a few long, low notes. I hear no response. I flinch as I feel a tickle along my elbow, but the beam of the flashlight reveals just what I'd expected. Another web.

Warm and sticky. I peel it away and quickly roll down the sleeves of my army-issued tan shirt with a shiver. I wonder if anyone has noticed my disappearance back at the base. I've only been gone for an hour or so, but it's possible. I hadn't anticipated being drawn so deep and foolishly. I never even told anyone where I was going. My footsteps echo around the dark and dusty remains of the dried-up, out-of-use sewer corridor. Sparky fell down the open manhole cover.

The one that I had to climb down to get here. I'm sure of it. I saw him almost do so once before, and you know what I did? I laughed. His reaction was just so amusingly human, you know. I promised I'd close the hole off before he had the chance to stumble again. And I forgot. I didn't deem it a priority, so I pushed the job aside. And now I'm paying the price. Or more accurately, Sparky's paying the price. He's a good dog, you know, he doesn't deserve this. I call his name again, in that hushed, paranoid stage whisper. There's something deeply unsettling about these tunnels, more so than one would expect. The only thing keeping me from bolting and running back the way I came is the knowledge that I probably wouldn't be able to gather the courage to come down for a second attempt.

And I'm not asking for help either. I already get enough shit as it is. I'm not giving the guys more ammo. I wipe the sheen of sweat from my forehead and push deeper into the dusty sewer beneath the desert town above. The tunnel branches off in two separate directions. The webs are thicker here. I've never seen them so thick before in my life. They stretch out in great long strands from wall-the-wall, ceiling to pipe.

They glisten faintly in the light of the flashlight. I called out, Sparky, I call out, daring to raise my voice a little. And at the edge of hearing, I pick up a response, a low whine. It sounds like Sparky, all right, coming very clearly from the left. I swing around the beam and increase my pace, muscles tight and teeth grit, as I push past the freakish webs. We were warned about the creatures before deployment, the desert scorpions and spiders and such. I didn't realize they made webs, though. I've never seen any above

ground. I thought the creatures lived in holes in the sand. They won't kill you, I keep thinking. No worse than a wasp sting. Besides, there's nothing for them to catch down here. Any spiders will likely be dead, so stop worrying. You're okay. Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, I think. My ears catch the sound of nearby water, dripping repetitively under the metal pipes. It makes me thirsty and more aware of the dryness of my own mouth. I look around, but I can't see the water's source nor any puddles. There's only dust and sand and web. I push deeper. The air becomes thicker and hotter. Sweat leaks down my back, but Sparky's close I know it.

And I can't leave him behind. Where are you, boy? I murmur, flinching as the back of my hand connects with another strand of web. I peel it away and wipe my hand on my khakis. A head, the tunnel breaks apart. The main passage is blocked by a tumble of fallen rock and conval. concrete. To my right is a crack in the wall, leading away into shadow. And to my left is another, albeit slightly wider. Sparky, I call out, my voice wavering. And I hear him. It's definitely him. A long series of whines and whimpers. My heart beats fast. He sounds scared.

I clamber over a ridge of rock and threw the crack into the shadows. The room is thick with webbing, to the extent that I can't even see the walls. I have no idea how large this space might be. It's broken up by clusters of pipes, some broken, some still held together, but all plastered in dust and sand. And still, despite the dryness, there's that sound of dripping water and some still, that sound of dripping water against the metal. It's all around me now, but I cannot see it. Jesus, I mutter, taking out my knife and slicing through the nearby strand, ducking past it,

and heading deeper into the room. My boot kicks up against a smattering of small bones, hidden in dust, and they clatter noisily across the floor. I pause. For a moment there's silence. And then the dripping resumes, and I hear a bark, just a little further ahead. Sparky, I'm coming for you, boy, I say. I expect the dog to bark again, perhaps a little more excitedly, but he does not. He only whines. Sparky, it's okay, boy, I'm coming, okay, hold on. I slice my way through a long series of strands that block my way.

sending shivering vibrations off and into the shadows along their networks as I do. The speed of the dripping increases. Little watery taps against the metal. It's maddening. I'm starting to wonder if the sound is even real or it's all in my head. My flashlight flickers and I curse, hitting it lightly with the back of my hand. If this thing goes out, well, I don't much feel. like the thought of trying to stagger my way out of this place in the pitch black.

I step over a line of pipes at knee height and raise the beam up and ahead. And that's where I see him. I see my faithful dog. He barks when he sees me and twitches his head. It's the only part of him visible. What the... Sparky is suspended in the air at an angle. wrapped in thick, translucent webbing.

He struggles against his binding in the dark, whining a little more desperately now. I don't understand. Despite the claustrophobia of the sticky, shadowy warmth all around, I'm forced to suppress a shiver as I'm overcome with a sickening sensation of fear. There's nothing on earth that would wrap a dog in a little. A web. Not a big dog like Sparky.

This is sick. What the hell's happening? Is this some kind of nightmarish prank? I laugh awkwardly, unsure of how else to respond. But there's no surprise reveal. No one jumps out at me. The flashlight flickers. All right, Sparky, let's get you out.

I whisper. I can no longer summon the strength to speak. at a normal volume. I use the knife to slice through the edges of Sparky's binding. As carefully as I can with my shaking hand, it's a slow process. I don't want to hurt him. Eventually I cut through enough for the strands to start stretching. Sparky's able to kick his legs, and he starts to slowly drop towards the floor.

I catch him and help him to pull free. Though clusters of his fur are taken in the process, the poor thing. Once back down on the ground, he presses himself up against my leg as tightly as he can, and as if released on some deeper level too, from some sort of spell perhaps, he suddenly starts to growl. I hear it in the back of his throat. His fur ripples upwards and he looks to my immediate right, barking once, loud and sharp. I swivel to my right, heart pounding.

casting the beam of the flashlight past the pipes and into the dusty darkness. And my breath catches in my throat. I see a man, a shadowy shape in the darkness, leaning against a cluster of vertical pipes. He's wearing army uniform, crumpled and dust-stained, facing away from me. I don't recognize the back of his head or anything. I don't think he's from my barracks. But he's American, at least, going by the combat gear. I take a step back.

Sparky remains pressed up against me, and I can feel his energy through my leg. Hello? I murmur. Then a little louder. Hey, hey, buddy. What are you doing down here, man? Everything okay? Aside from a little flick of his wrist, he doesn't move.

He remains in place. My heart pounds. The dripping continues. And then there's another noise, too. I didn't notice it before, but now that I'm staring right at him, I realize that the man is making a sound. It's hard to place. It's soft and muffled.

Like a ripping or a tearing. His hand twitches again. He shines bright, surrounded by the shadows of webs in this terrible place beneath the earth. Buddy, I try to call out again, but the words don't make it past my lips. His hand twitches for a third and final time, as does his entire arm. And then to my utter horror, it disconnects from his shoulder with a tearing of fabric and the breaking of several strands of thin, grayed flesh. It smacks against the ground and sends up a cloud of sandy dust, the particles catching in the light.

He jerks, something crawls from his arm's socket, two long and sharp black legs, then a third and then a fourth. I realize in stricken dismay that the man's body is held up to the ceiling by several long vines of web connected to his shoulders. This new imbalance in his weight sends him gently turning, spinning on the spot, and his head comes around and into the light as it lulls sickeningly to the side. His face is gone, as is most of the front of his head. Hollowed out.

A cave of flesh. I didn't notice Sparky start to bark. But he is barking, I realize. Like I've never heard him do so before. I can't breathe. I don't even blink. I take a step back. The dripping sounds increase.

Like a rain. Sharp droplets tapping away at the metal pipes. Except it's not rain. It's not even water, I realize. I raise the flashlight towards the ceiling. I can't see how high up it goes. The layers of webbing are too thick, but the pipes are visible. And the sounds are not made by any drops of water.

I see the truth. These are the sounds of hundreds of sharp legs, tapping against the pipework as their owners scuttle from place to place. I don't get a good look at them. There's too many to focus on. But they're spiders, swarming now overhead. Some are as large as cats. Some to my horror even bigger.

Something colossal moves in the darkness. Low, but gigantic. And I run. Sparky with me, I scream. But there's no need. The dog doesn't leave my side. Even when I stumble and trip over the pipes at knee height, as I crash hard into the ground and lose the knife to the shadows,

he stays with me. I cough and sputter and brush the dust from my eyes as I tear back through the darkness, back through the crack in the wall, that incessant tapping growing louder all around. I feel something brush the back of my head. Something catches in my hair. I swear I can feel something scratch at my feet. But I do not stop. I run and I run through that tunnel as fast as I can. I reach the broken ladder. And with the strength that the army drills into us day after day, I hoist up sparky with a grunt, and I raise him above my head to the light. He scrabbles his paws, but he knows where to go.

With a final push and a step up onto the ladder, I force him through the open manhole, and I hear him start to bark loud over and over. I can feel them. The spiders all over my legs. I can hear them behind me in the tunnel. I hear the grinding of fangs, but I do not look down and I do not look back. That'll be the end of me. I just hoist myself up and climb, rung after rung until I'm through the open hole,

back in the dusty red light of the Iraqi evening. And I fill my lungs with a welcome breath of clear air. There's a can of gas right by me. against the wall of the building. I open it in a frenzy, and I start to pour it down into the dark. I can see moving shapes beneath me. I hear the rapid clacking of legs and hissing of fangs. Some of my brothers in arms have heard Sparky.

Hey, boy, I hear him say. Brigh, they called to me. What's going on? But I don't answer. I can't yet. I click on my lighter and I toss it down into the dark. The little flame travels through the shadows, then burst outwards in a ripple of orange fire and a blast of heat shoots up from below.

I veer backwards and crouch behind a nearby slab of concrete, grunting as I push it as hard as I can across the road to cover the manhole. What the hell's going on? Someone says, but I ignore him. I don't stop until the hole is completely covered, and I've hastened away by a good ten or so feet. I collapsed against a nearby wall panting, as the others stared down at me in confusion and Sparky affectionately nuzzles up into my lap. Upon returning Sparky to the barracks, I was treated with a burst of good vibes.

Everyone was so happy to see him again. They helped to combat the creeping nausea, the disgust, and the fear it what lies beneath. And not so far away. I didn't get them all with the fuel and the fire. I know that. There's no way. I'll inform command in the morning. I'll tell them about the soldier, but I'm sure as hell not going back down there.

Not ever. And they can't make me. And I found something else that night as I undressed for bed. I didn't see it at first. I was too busy glancing up to the ceiling, to the shadows in the corners, expecting something to come creeping out in any second, scuttling towards me or across the floor. My boots. Covered in sand and rock dust as you'd expect, they'll need to be thoroughly cleaned before

inspection tomorrow, of course. But there was something else as well. Something smushed into the soul. It wasn't entirely clear what they were. But to me, they looked like eggs. Broken, splattered, open clusters of eggs. And I can't help but wonder if they were broken before I brought them up. Thank you.