J-78

Today's episode is presented by A24's Undertone. In theaters on March 13th, this is the scariest movie you'll ever hear. It follows the host of a popular paranormal podcast who becomes haunted by terrifying recordings mysteriously sent her way. The feature debut of writer-director Ian Tawassen has left critics raving. Every disgusting Joe Lipset wrote in his 4.5-scull review, I can't remember the last time a movie made every hair on my body stand up, but Undertone got me good. Here for yourself, an experience Undertone in theaters Friday the 13th. Get Tickets Now. This is Creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or were simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. To watch the show, please check out patreon.com slash creepypast. It really does mean so much to the show and me personally to see the continued support of our listeners. And not just those that are on Patreon, but also you who just listen to the show every week. Those who share posts send a supportive message and just keep being the creepy people you are. And speaking of creepy things I love, I've gotten to their audio clip for you that I found in the station. But the other ones that I've been finding, there's no rhyme or reason to where these are being catalogued. I just keep coming across as I continue to digitize the old reels. This one, well you'll hear in a second, but I didn't find it anywhere near the date that's mentioned. This is an unscheduled civil notice for residents of county and surrounding areas. The date is June 32nd. If that sounds incorrect, please keep listening. Emergency services confirm widespread closures today. Schools did not open this morning. City offices reported they were never staffed. Traffic cameras show vehicles idling on routes that did not appear congested to interviewed bystanders, but are clearly so in footage timestamped June 32nd. Meteorological data records a temperature of 98 degrees at dawn in Fargo, North Dakota. That aligns with witness statements, though it has not been independently confirmed, as it is well outside the forecasted temperature. Hospitals report a surge in patients suffering confusion, nausea, and a shared complaint. A feeling of having missed something important, like waking after an alarm that never rang. We attempted to verify the date with federal records. The day does not appear on any official calendar, not as a holiday, not as an error. It simply does not exist. However, this broadcast does for now. If you are hearing this, you are advised to remain indoors until midnight, at which point we hope July 1st will resume a schedule. If midnight does not arrive, please understand. This message will not be repeated. I'll be honest, and I'm not exactly the fastest when it comes to figuring out what's going on with anything. But I'm not understanding the point of these. Maybe there was some college radio project or something, or maybe at some point a radio station did a weird transition to some sort of performance art format? I don't know. But I feel like I need to keep digging through these to figure out what's going on. Station manager says he doesn't even know what I'm talking about. But given the nature of terrestrial radio, I have no idea how many times this job has turned over. In between you and me, I have no freaking idea of where these things are going. So let's focus on things we can understand like this week's stories. First up, when two brothers discover and decide to explore a hidden underground facility, they soon discover that not all hidden things are meant to be uncovered. From writer Simon Bleakon, creepy presents J78. The Metal Hatch Open, with a squeal of rusted hinges, has delayed morning sun spread into the depths that hadn't seen light in decades. A murky shaft plunged 30 feet to a dark passageway, thick rungs descending to the hidden world below. Brandon flashed his younger brother, Pete, a triumphant glance. He'd known this would be worth checking out. They discovered the hatch that morning while exploring with their metal detector in the private wasteland by Harrow's wood. The wire mesh fence towering over a tangled jungle of undergrowth, topped with coils of barbed wire, and bearing ancient signs that trespassers would be prosecuted, have been standing for the best part of 40 years. Those storms brought several sections of it down in the past five or six. Nobody had ever come to check on it or maintain it. It lurked, seemingly abandoned, cutting a neat square out of the surrounding woodland about half the size of a football pitch. In so far nature, it made little headway in reclaiming the space, though the old dirt track leading to it from the road had long been swallowed by grass and pelch-robs. The hatch itself had been concealed by rotting leaves and heaps of wind blown to tritus. A heavy and wind-blastore marked only with J-78, infated white lettering. Pete peered in, one hand on the collar of their inquisitive chocolate brown labrador, Toby, as he wondered aloud what might be down there. Pete didn't told him to tie Toby up so the dog wouldn't run off, and then swung his leg out down to one of the rungs to test it. And when it felt solid enough, he cautiously started down, the clang of his footfalls echoing into the darkness below. Pete protested for a moment, then, now wanting to lose sight of his brother, followed him down. They descended in silence, Brandon, first to step off the rungs at the bottom. Through his phone from his pocket and activated the flashlight function. Pete copying him the moment he also reached the bottom. The tunnel stretched into shadow in both directions, water stained concrete walls lined with thick pipes in various stages of corrosion. High up in the corners, lifeless cameras were reaped in dusty cobwebs, and the floor was strewn with decades of filth. Old leaves and twigs, and even rotting shreds of fabric. Pete and Wrinkled his nose at the musty stench that flooded his nostrils. He reminded him of the reptile house at the zoo. By the light of their phones, they edged through the gloom, passing branching tunnels that plunged into inky blackness, and sealed the metal doors with lifeless keepats beside them. The whole place was bigger than Brandon had imagined, and he felt the first fingers of real excitement stirring his gut. Deep down, he knew they should have turned back. In a moment sense, that rarest of commodities shrieked that this was reckless and dangerous, but the soft seductive allure of the unknown beckoned him on. And he placated his worries with the insincere promise that he'd heed their advice once he'd peaked around the next corner, just into one more room, just another doorway. And this place was Warren, and there always seemed to be another room or hallway, and no one had doorways. Even till ladders going downwards to a must of benedict levels, and wonder what secrets were hidden there. Most of the rooms had passed and been largely empty, devoid of furnishings besides a few abandoned chairs, desks, rust-in portable fans, and filing cabinets whose contents were rotted and illogical. Then, turning a corner and pushing through a grimey set of shrieking doors, they knew it once, something had changed. The animal's smell was stronger for a start. Though Brandon wasn't worried about rats, and doubted anything larger could have found its way in here. He always carried a pocket knife and a trowel when using his metal detector, mostly for prising things out of the soil, but he reckoned they'd make adequate weapons if they stumbled upon a nest down here. The other change was that these rooms looked less like offices and more like labs. Philgothed metal benches and discarded equipment, while old cables dangled like artificial roots from the cobwebs of the ceiling. In several rooms, murky glass vats lined the walls, each large enough to have accommodated a grown man with ease. At least one had broken and shattered shards were scattered across the floor. It started to whine about heading back, and Brandon waved a hand dirtably, frustrated by his brother's lack of curiosity, just when things were getting interesting. He told him to go back up and wait with Toby on the surface, but deep down, he knew Pete wouldn't go anywhere. He'd be too much of a coward to try and venture back through those eerie passages alone. And sure enough, when he glanced around a minute later, his brother was still there, glowing like a shadow. A turn in the hallway led them to another set of doors, though these were buckled open, twisted half off their hinges. Within, a larger room opened before them, the far walls again cloaked in black, but another row of vats ran along one side of the space flanked by Rose Vanshin computer terminals. Chunky bygone relics from an earlier era. Now home-only to spiders, roaches, and whatever other bugs might thrive in this hidden, subterranean kingdom. Pete went immediately over to the vats, his light revealing large, but in distinct shapes hanging suspended in the murky fluid. He rubbed the filthy glass with his sleeve, trying to get a better look, and then asked his older brother why he thought it had all just been left like this. Brandon shrugged, and explained that it happened a lot. Things getting lost in the system, especially over time. Places get shut down. People move on, and stuff just drops through the cracks, out of sight, out of mind. It all made sense to Brandon. Maybe over time there were budget cuts, or assets just got forgotten. This place probably wasn't active at the time, like we abandoned for decades, and it probably just ended up as numbers on a page somewhere, easily overlooked. Pete tapped the glass with a nail as if expecting those hulking shapes to twitch or move. He stopped when Brandon hissed at him, be quiet, and then looked hurt and offended. Brandon swallowed back the flicker of guilt. He'd buy the kid an ice cream on the way home as an apology he decided. But the truth was, he wasn't exactly sure why he hadn't wanted his brother poking around you those vats, except that he was getting a growing sense of unease in his gut that was souring his initial excitement. He'd always been over protective of his little brother. It was hard not to be. He practically raised him, having to be both parent and sibling following their mother's death, and their father's not so slow-slide in delacolism. Pete had always been the cautious one, timid and uninventurous. He lacked the drive and, some might say, reckless enthusiasm of his older brother. But Pete was kind and gentle, and had a way with animals to Brandon lacked and was secretly envious of, especially with dogs. As Pete wandered around behind one of the vats, Brandon turned his attention to the floor, which was covered in dense layers of compressed dirt and vegetation, seemingly dragged in from the surface. There were also discarded items of torn and Grammy clothing scattered haphazardly. Mangled shoes, ripped jeans and jackets, torn waterproof coats and old hiking gear. Those last items sent a shiver of alarm through him. The hatch had been closed when they found it. How had any of this got down here? It was a cry from his brother that got his attention. Pete was standing over in one of the corners. They strained and bloodless. His light flickered across a chaotic pile of yellow bones, femurs, tibious and skulls. Most were remains of sheep, deer and cattle, but Pete's light now settled upon something that sent a jolt of fear through them both. It was a human skull. That revelation and noise broke the stillness from deep in the unknown gloom at the far end of the chamber. It was a dry sound, like something flexing, uncoiling, stirring to wakefulness. Brandon's mind made the connection in almost the same instant. The bones on the floor and the soft noises from the darkness. This was a layer. A primal tear burst through him. We've got awareness of prey in the presence of a predator. He sensed the approaching threat in each breath of that stale musk ear. He felt it from every shadow-veiled corner and from behind every half-open door or languid coil of wiring that obscured the path ahead. They were not alone. Brandon pulled the knife from his pocket. It felt far too small when compared with the size of some of those bones. He grabbed his brother's arm and they retreated hastily, hurrying as quickly as they dared with backward glances at the darkness that swallowed everything in their wake. There was definitely something moving around back there, but the acoustics made it impossible to pinpoint. Brandon pushed his little brother ahead of him. Their phone light bouncing wildly across the walls as they stumbled through those forgotten passageways. The space felt airless and the noises whispering through the tunnels and dusty ventilation shafts surrounded them like an army of ghosts. Nothing looked familiar, but surely the hatch couldn't be much farther. Had they really gone so deeply in? I took loom yield at its secrets grudgingly, and it was only when they stumbled into an unfamiliar room filled with long rows of tables like some abandoned cafeteria that they both realized they had taken a wrong turn. Brandon was about to say something, but Pete pressed an urgent finger to his lips, gesturing at the doorway through which they had just come. Brandon had distrained a listen over the racing pulse filling his ears with a rush of warm blood. Something was in the whole way outside, approaching slowly, a dry hiss of scaly flash against the debris strewn floor. With no order to hide, they'd darken their phones and press their backs against the wall, hiding into the deepest corner, hoping it would be enough to conceal them. In the blackness, Pete's hand found Brandon's and squeezed it, and suddenly, Brandon was 12 again. The two of them hiding in their closet, hands held tightly as their father stormed up to stairs in a drunken fury, screaming wildly for them both. Most of the time that trick had worked. Their father crashing in through their door, stumbling and raging, mind clouded by bitterness and jacked anials, only to turn and slink away, fooled by the open window, and never spotting his sons as they peered through the narrow slats in the closet door. But this wasn't their father now, and there was no door to conceal them. The sound was right outside the room. For a second, Brandon thought about trying his phone, the crazy idea of texting for help flashing to his mind. There was no point. The light and sound would give them away, and even if they had a signal down here, which he seriously doubted, by the time anyone arrived, it would be far too late. Now was when he realized the noises had stopped. Now there was only silence, unbroken and intense. They held their ground as each second crawled past, hearts racing and throats dry, the blackness pressing upon them like a choking shroud. Pete's grip had become crushing, and Brandon's legs were trembling as if he were carrying a massive weight upon his back and could bear it no longer. He wrestled his hand free from his brothers and took a slow, careful step towards the door. He heard Pete's sharp intake of breath, and prayed his brother wouldn't say anything. Their blind step, still nothing reached his ears. With the next step, his hip collided painfully with the edge of a table, its scraped loudly and he bit his lip, cursing his clumsiness. In the corner, a light flared to life. Pete had panicked, pulled his phone from his pocket and activated the flashlight. Even as Brandon turned, signaling to his brother to turn it off, he saw something move inside the room with them and realized the awful truth. There was no longer out in the corridor. A long pale tongue flashed, whipped like out of the darkness, studded with what looked like dozens of glistening translucent thorns, enrapt like some dripping typical around Pete's leg, and he screamed as the slender barbs punctured his flesh, sinking in deep as it tightened. So thinking, Brandon lunged forward and slashed at the horrible prehensile tongue with his knife. He recoiled, pulling back into the blackness, and the brother's ran. Behind them there was a furious hiss as something gave chase. The tables and chairs scattering violently like nine pins as it surged after them. Brandon pushed Pete on ahead before turning to slam the door to the cafeteria. He heard the latch engage, and then the whole door shuttered and buckled as the creature slammed into it from the other side. Brandon staggered back, eyes wide before breaking into a run. He hoped it would hold for a few seconds at least. He found Pete leaning against the wall a little further along. His younger brother's face was slick with sweat and his arms were shaken. His phone clenched weakly in his hands, let his face lick a gaunt Halloween mask. Brandon barked at him to keep moving, but Pete shook his head, saying he didn't feel right. He was burning up, and it was an ache in his limbs. The creature slammed against the door again. The metal groaning ominously as Hinge slowly gave way. Brandon put his brother's clammy arm around his shoulders and forced him to move. Pete limped painfully along with him. The tendons and his neck sticking out like steel cables. But they only made it halfway down the next hallway when they heard the door give way with a heavy crash as the hinges finally popped out of the wall. Brandon tightened his grip on the knife, praying whatever was out there didn't have very acute senses. The brothers crouched there for what felt like hours. Hidden behind the moldering desk in the absolute blackness of that underground world. Listening to the sinister hiss of reptilian flesh as the creature swept back and forth through the tunnels was as if it was toying with him. Just when they thought it was moving away, it would double back again. All the while, Pete's condition was worsening. His arms and legs shook and his body burned in the grip of a fever. Brandon tried to roll the leg of his brother's jeans up, risking a quick look at the injury, but the flesh beneath had swollen too much to allow it. When the sounds of the creature seemed far enough away, Brandon told his brother to stay hidden, and that he was going to sneak out and get help. Rottesting Pete sees his sleeve. Brandon couldn't see his face, but he heard the panic in his voice as he begged his older brother not to leave him, promising to be as fast as he could. Brandon adjured to the door, listening to the silent hallway beyond as he turned on his phone. As he feared, there was no signal down here, but he used its light to check the cord or head in behind before hurrying onwards. He scanned the walls as he went, hoping for any signs or markings that might indicate the way out, or give some clue as to the direction of the hatch. He never saw the shape attach itself from the ceiling behind him with the agility that defied its eyes. Some inner sense picked up that something was wrong, though, set the hairs on the nape of his neck on edge and spiked an urgent warning through his body. By then, it was too late. He turned, a choked gasp, never quite escaping his lips as his light caught its arrival. It was descending, uncoiling, like some demonic serpent out of the mass of pipes and cables that hung from the ceiling. There was a glint of scales and spines and two deep crimson eyes that narrowed in the light. As it turned in the air, four legs extruded from pocket-like slits on the sides of that long torso, as if forming from out of the bulk of the creature itself. They were lean and muscled, each terminating in sith-like claws. The head turned slowly as the thin nostrils sent to the air, no long jaw yawning wide like an alligator to reveal that snake-like barbed tongue. Its flesh was a pinkish white, thick and full of warts. Giving the creature the appearance of something that had been born before it had fully finished forming. It had draped the torn skins of various animals over itself as if for warmth, fixing them to the quills on its back, including scattered shreds of human clothing. That was when Brandon screamed. His phone dropped to the floor, the screen shattering and the light going out. The knife went with it. He'd heard his brother's cry from where he lay, shivering and struggling not to vomit. He forced himself to sit up, a cramping pain stabbing through his gut like a blade. Everything had gone quiet again. He wanted to call out, needed some reassurance that his brother was alright, but that terrible screams to lack of it in his ears, and with that came the horrible certainty that it was up to him to get help now. With his heart hammering in his throat, Pete belly crawled through the stinking grime under the desk, fighting the raw panic that threatened to spill the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His calf was throbbing, skin swollen and tender, and his foot was a numb, useless block fused to the bottom of it. He used the edge of the desk to help himself stand. The world swayed drunkenly, and his leg felt as if it was full of broken glass, but he forced himself out of the door all the same. With one hand braised against the wall, he limped agonizingly forward, nearly tripping at least twice over the heap of posits littering the floor as the world spanned and lurched. He didn't turn on his phone. He didn't dare risk it. The urge to call for his brother came again, riding in the wake of a giddy, nauseous panic that cut through him like a razor. But he dug his fingers hard against the wall until the past. He felt like a traitor, a bandening grandin like this, leaving him to an unknown fate. But there had been no hope left in his brother's scream. He found a side passage and stumbled down it, his hands shaking now and then, sinking into the unexpected voids of open doorways that made his heart lurch. The going was slow as he forced one shuffling foot in front of the other, while bursts of white light erupted in his field of vision. And then he heard it, distant and muffled, traveling down the tunnels from the outside. The sound of a dog barking. Toby. Hoped flared like a member within his heart. The hatch must be close by. Fighting through the pain, he stagoured frantically through the veils of hanging wire that tugged at his hair and clothes. Breaking through into a new section of hallway, cobwebs streaming from his head in the contents of his stomach swirling in his gut. The barking was louder now, clearer. Up ahead he saw pale shaft of fading evening light streaming down from above and he knew he had found the exit shaft. The hope that flickered in his heart was growing. But so too was the sense of dread. If he could hear Toby, then it's still the reason that whatever was down here with him could as well, and it would be coming. He toppled against a cold rungs and began to climb. It was slow going, his arms ached like they would pop from their sockets, and his numb foot kept missing the rungs, sending jarring waves of agony through him. Those thirty feet to the surface might as well have been a mile. He'd almost made it to the top when the creature slithered in view below him. A nightmare of scales and quills. For a second he could only stare, and then he clawed his way upwards with a scream, entering mood sense of purpose. He was dimly aware the powerful limbs were sprouting from the sides of that serpentine body, and that it was starting to climb. Glinting talons scraping the metal of the rungs as crimson eyes studied him greedily. Beats hand groped out into the cool air, and his head and body followed it, tumbling out of the hatch way and into the pile of old leaves they had cleared to one side earlier. His head spanned. The world was too bright, and he blinked in shock at the sky. But he couldn't rest. With a grunt of effort he got to his knees and grabbed the heavy hatch. At first he refused to move and remained frozen stubbornly in place. Peep gripped the smooth metal and tried to push, but his arms were weak from the climb, and had no strength left. And he looked down, straight into those hungry eyes just a few feet below, and threw himself against the hatch with a terrified whale, ignoring the white huts passing bursting up from his leg as he forced the metal shot. The hinges shrieked and then obeyed, as the hatch slammed heavily in the face of that approaching death. For a few seconds there was only silence, punctuated by the occasional bark from Toby, and peeped out a long, shaking breath and sacked against the metal, closing his eyes, and gulping down air like a man who had been trapped underwater. His whole body ached. The slightest movement sent screams of protest from his muscles. His arms and legs shivering as they'll palsied. The sweat gummed his hairs and closed to his body. Gradually thoughts broke through the dim haze, muffling his mind like what cotton wool. The first accompanied by a paying of raw guilt was that he had abandoned his brother. He had to get help. Perhaps there was a chance Brandon was still alive that he might be hiding in a waiting rescue. His next was an awareness of the poison still burning through him and the growing need to give medical attention. He pulled his phone from his pocket, relief coursing through him when he saw he had a signal. He had a squint to see the numbers on the screen. His vision was blurring too badly. He was still trying to steady his hand enough to dial when a shadow fell across him, blocking what remained of the sunlight. Glancing up and surprised, he found the beast looming over him as it reared onto his hind legs. Far too late, the penny dropped. The hatch had been closed for decades, but the beast had still been taking things into its layer. There must have been another way to the surface from down there. His bladder voided. He had time to make a small frightensqueak, his beast dragged himself into the air, feet dangling limply, and pressed those scale claws against the signs of his head. His phone tumbled from his fingers as he blinked grogally at the monstrous face swimming in and out of focus before him. And then he saw his own face, red and feverish. The day's dyes struggling to focus, looking back at him, as though his awareness had somehow shifted into the body of the beast. But it was more than just that memories and emotions were being shared too, experiences and understanding, all drawn into that alien form. At the same time, he touched something of its mind, primal and savage, driven by instinct and yet, shot through with stolen flickers of understanding, fragments of words and concepts belonging to the human world, from the victims that had encountered. Each one had given it a deeper understanding of existence and its place within. The head memories of former prey rippled through Pete's consciousness like phantom whispers, echoes of lives swallowed. There was even a fleeting trace of Brandon, like glimpsing a face in the crowd. Then the connection changed abruptly as the two divided sides of its nature battled for dominance. Curiosity was replaced by the instinct of feed upon the warm flesh, clasp in its claws that broke through the fragments of higher awareness. The jaws, yawned wide, the breath fettered, as Pete found himself back in his battered body once more, still held like a rag doll three feet off the ground. At first neither of them noticed the shape darting toward them through the tangled undergrowth, a brown blur trailing a tattered leash behind it. But when Toby, having chewed through his restraints, burst barking from out of the undergrowth, the creature paused and surprised and even took a step back. The connection between beast and man was fading fast, a lingering residual charge, a through it Pete sensed memories of Toby flooding through the beast's mind, snatches of ball games, walks through the woods, snuggling together before the flickering screen of the television, and of the deep bond between the human held in its grasp, and the canine now standing defiantly before it. Pete gasped as he was roughly dropped to the ground, and Toby bravely darted between him and the creature, teeth bareered and ears flattened, the beast blinked slowly. The fresh flood of images and emotions had once more of a come the baser instincts within it. Now I reach gently for Toby's head, as if impending to pet the dog affectionately, as Pete so often had, only to recoil with a startled hiss as Toby snapped furiously. Rejected, it looked from man to dog once more, then the limbs withdrew into the body, and it slithered away through the undergrowth, retreating into the darkness and safety of its layer. Pete watched it go, barely daring the breeze. When he was sure it had really left him alone, he tried to stand, but his legs buckled and refused to take his weight. Instead, he crawled on hands and knees through the coiling brambles hunting for his phone. He's only hope of summoning rescue. Toby was at his side the whole time, tail wagging, lovingly licking Pete's face. His body was a seeding mass of pain both inside and out, and the loss of his brother was a fresh trauma only starting to blossom with an agony all of its own. And yet, deep down, not everything he felt was his. He knew that gut wrenching loneliness and sense of desperate confusion came from a mind other than his own. It was the last dwelling trace of that strange shared connection, aparting echo from the darkness, he retrieved his phone and started to dial. And next, after getting lost during a winter hunting trip, a grieving man stumbles into the territory of something ancient and terrifying that shouldn't exist and survives to tell about it. A year later, driven by guilt, loss, and unanswered questions, he returns to the forest seeking truth, forgiveness, or whatever fate has been waiting for him all along. From writer Daniel Barton, and narrated by Owen McEun, creepy presents, Jack. I was lost. I was cold. I was hungry. I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere along the trail, and had wandered too far into the woods to find my way back before dark. Now, I know what you're thinking. What kind of an idiot goes into the woods in the winter, especially on their own? Well, when your best friend and your wife have been fucking behind your back for the last seven months, you find yourself really needing to get away, and an even greater need to shoot something and not get arrested for it. So I came down south a bit, to a part of the woods that me and that backstabbing bastard by used to call a friend hadn't been to before, and I set up camp, same as I always did. I've been hunting since I was a kid. My brother and I would go out into the woods near our house and try to get as close as we could to animals without startling them. We never did very well. Now Ricky was a quiet kid, but smart, really smart. He could go without talking for days, it seemed like his nose buried in a book about flowers or birds or whatever. He was obsessed with nature and always spouting random facts about what you could find out there in the wilderness. He talked about wanting to own a wildlife reserve when he grew up, one designed to protect not just animals, but plants and trees too. Ricky saw nature as sacred, something to be treated with respect. Of course, being a shy and quiet kid who is definitely of the nerdy variety, there'd always be somebody new in school who thought they could use Ricky as a target for their misplaced aggression and every time I'd have to set them straight. Not always violently, mind, some were smart enough to back off before Fiskot involved. I got more than a few detentions that way. Ricky would always wait around for me and would rattle off all the things he'd found out that day, even if it was stuff we both already knew. I never complained. I knew he was going to go up to be something special one day. Then suddenly Ricky disappeared. It took us all by surprise. He went to bed one night, as usual, and when we got up the next morning, he was gone. The police searched for months and everyone in town helped, but we never found him. It was like he just up and disappeared from the face of the earth. I stopped going into the woods after that. I spent hours sitting alone in Ricky's room wondering where he'd gone, looking through his things over and over, hoping for some clue about where he might have gone. There was nothing. Everything was perfectly neat and tidy the way he always liked it. His collection of leaves, pine cones, and small fossil to be found along a ravine a few miles away all still lined his desk. His books, arranged alphabetically, were neatly pressed against the back of his bookcase. Not a single thing was out of place. My dad stopped hunting and fishing after that. He couldn't bear to be out in the wilderness either. As time wore on, he became more withdrawn, turning to drink and shutting himself away in the garage. Mom, on the other hand, turned to her friend groups. They divorced not long after I graduated high school and moved out to go to college. That's where I met George, my so-called best friend. He became my rock during those years, helping me finally move past my little brother's disappearance. Shit, he was the best man at my wedding. We went hunting for the first time nine years ago for my 30th birthday. It was a blast, no pun intended. I killed a sickly deer while he got a couple of rabbits. It wasn't much, but it felt good to be out there in the wilderness again, walking through the forest as our ancient ancestors did thousands of years ago, hunting the food we would eat for the next few days. I never told George, but every time I'd been out in the forest since we started, I felt like Ricky was there too, like he was watching me somehow. I felt like he was watching me this time too. Though, if you were there, he'd be able to guide us both back to camp with his eyes closed. No doubt while also telling me every single possible fact he could about deer. Shit, I miss him so much. Now usually, either George or I would be doing the tracking, the other would be keeping an eye on supplies and the time of day, not to mention where we were along the many beaten paths those before us had taken. Now it was snowing. The light was fading fast, and I had no fucking idea where I was, much less how to get back to camp. I had to get out of the open, fast, or else they'd be finding what was left of me when the snow melted next spring. I did have a map and a flashlight, so there was that. Taking the both out, I began searching for a likely place to find a cave or some kind of enclosure. How I'd take a measly hole in the ground if it meant getting out of this damn snow. I let out an excited gas when I found what looked like a rocky outcropping and a clearing. I could see the steam from my breath curling and twisting in the wind before disappearing completely. There was a stream running at the base of the outcropping, which meant there might be drinking water. I had a filter. I wasn't stupid. Well, not that stupid. It took about 20 minutes to reach the damn place, and my joints felt every bit of it. If I survived the night, I knew I was going to be paying for it. I reached along the bottom of the outcropping nearest to the river, but no such lock. I'd have to climb. I hated climbing in the day when it was warm and I was well supplied, so you can imagine how thrilled I was at the prospect of doing it at night in freezing temperatures. It took several tries, but I eventually pulled myself up onto a ledge that stuck out from the biggest rock face. There was a small cave entrance. Getting my flashlight back out, once again, I shone it into the darkness of that cave. I cannot tell you how deeply I wish I had not done that. It took a moment to register exactly what I was seeing. It was hairy, and I mean hairy, with huge tuffs of thick white fur that hung down off its face and upper body. My mind froze, and all I could think of was cousin it from the Adams family. Brains sure are dumb sometimes. Its eyes were huge black pits filled with a cold intelligence. It didn't just see me. It knew me. It understood me. I can't explain why I felt that was. I just did. That thing peered into the very depths of my soul and found me wanting. Then there was its mouth, almost as wide as its enormous round head, and filled with huge fangs longer than a person's finger. I know, because I saw them when it opened its mouth to roar at me. The sound was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. It was filled with pure hatred and fury, and on some deep instinctual level I knew I was the one who had erred. I was in its territory, and I was not welcome or wanted here. I tried to turn, to run, to flee. Like not for the life of me find the strength to move. At least, not until something grabbed me from behind, something strong enough to lift me off the ledge and throw me back down to the riverbank. I landed hard enough that it knocked the breath for my lungs. I stared up in stunned amazement, my eyes seeing, but my brain not comprehending. The thing, no, the person who had grabbed me was huge, standing at about seven feet with limbs like tree trunks and wielding an axe that looked like it could be head on moose in a single strike. When the monster in the cave came out of that cave, if the figure who threw me off the ledge was a giant, then this thing was a behemoth. It towered over the man by several feet, its body shrouded entirely in that thick white fur. Its limbs were long and powerful, looking like they could wrap around and crush several strong men at once if it so chose. It bellowed in defiance at the man, but did not attack. When the man shouted something back, though I couldn't understand it, and trying to made my head hurt. The wind was howling now as if to underscore this creature's indignant fury. It gestured at me, roaring again. The figure shouted back. I tried to hear the syllables the man spoke. I felt as if so many were sliding scouple thin knives of ice under my skin into my temples and behind my eyeballs. I damn near past out the pain was so intense like nothing I had ever felt before. It was only my sheer terror that kept me conscious, kept me sane in the middle of this nightmare. The cold was sapping my energy, and the wind was stealing my breath. I could see the snow landing on my clothes and melting, though it was taking longer to melt as time went by. I looked back up at the two figures on the ledge. The creature was significantly less belligerent now, though the man had not raised his axe at all. Now, the guy was big, like a lumberjack 2.0 or something, but there's no way even he should have been able to so clearly subdue a creature that looked as if it wouldn't so much as raise its temperature, ripping him to pieces. I thought back to all the stories I'd heard of Bigfoot and Yeti's and abominable snowmen. Could this thing be one of them? Could they be real? A small part of my brain piped up, helpfully informing the rest of me that Yeti's existed in the Himalayan's. Well clearly fucking not. But there was something, some small part of my brain, that recognized what it was seeing. However, I could not for the life of me place it at the exact moment as I was too concerned with whether or not I was going to even survive the night. The creature bellowed again, though it sounded far less terrifying, more like a nightmare version of the kind of annoyance a dog might make when it realizes it's not getting a third treat or going for a second walkies. The man replied, gesturing toward the cave, and my eyes shifted down slightly when I noticed movement. There, peering out from behind the giant man and from the cave, were two smaller heads much lower to the ground, though both clearly the same kind of monster as the much bigger creature. They ignored the argument and stared at me with childlike curiosity. I guess some things are truly universal. I'd walked in on the things nest, no wonder it was so pissed. But what about the guy with the axe? Why was the creature not bothered by his presence? I felt my stomach growl at that point, and it was as if a spell was broken. Suddenly the creature angrily shoot its young back inside, then looked directly at me and snarled viciously before disappearing into the cave itself. The man then turned around and was suddenly standing in front of me, a flurry of snow billowing around him as he appeared mere feet away. I was exhausted, bruised, starving, and defenseless. I thought for sure I was a dead man, and as exhaustion finally claimed me, I wondered if the axe would even hurt. I awoke with a great deal of surprise the next morning. The sun shone brightly through the trees and birds chirped happily from branches that had given up the last of their leaves weeks ago. I was even more surprised when I heard the sound of a heavy booted foot landing near my tent. I froze as memories of the night previous came rushing back. It was then that I realized I was back in my own tent. I lay there confused for some time before I realized that if whoever this strange figure was wanted me dead, then I'd be dead. Letting out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I slowly got up and checked myself for injuries. I was covered in bruises and my joints were about as sore as I expected, but I was alive, and that was better than the alternative. I finally opened the entrance to my tent, squinting at the bright sunlight, and made my way outside where the giant figure was sitting and joined some food from one of the plates I'd brought with me. I was an overachiever when it came to packing. I always had spares of everything. The name's Jack, the figure said by way of introduction. I don't know what I had expected, but his voice seemed entirely normal, not at all like the voice I'd heard last night. Uh, Tommy, I said in response, taking a seat by the lit campfire that crackled gently in the still-morning air. The figure gestured to a box, another of the things I'd packed, a spare, and it was filled with cooked meat. It looked like rabbit or duck. How do you even get that at this time of year? Who was this guy? I looked away from the tub and met his eyes, opening my mouth to ask that exact question, but something in his gaze stopped me. It wasn't anger or anything like that. It felt more like a warning, like he was saying, if I opened that door, there'd be no closing it. Well, I'd made more than enough mistakes for one hiking trip, so I let it drop and just thanked him for his help. He smiled politely and continued eating. The morning passed quietly, and we sat in eight. Then he spoke again, his voice still strangely normal, strangely human. Most people avoid these parts, especially during the winter months. Normally, they hunt a little further northwest. My blood ran cold, my former friend and I always hunted in the area just to the northwest of here. Had he been tracking us when we were in the forest? I looked in his direction to ask, but he was gone. In his place was a pile of rapidly melting snowflakes. Jack, I said to myself, watching the last traces of those flakes melt away into nothingness. Well, that was a year ago. This year I'm free and single. I kicked the cheating bitch out of my house and cut that backstabbing bastard out of my life. This time, I'm going into the forest, prepared. You see, I did some reading, going through Ricky's old books, and I found it. The thing I'd seen that night. The book said it was an abominable snowman that they nested in caves and migrated with the seasons always following the winter. Not sure what that meant following winter, but decided it might come back this way to following year. Apparently, the early tribes would trade with these creatures, leaving food gifts during the winter months, and in exchange, they would keep dangerous predators away from human settlements. Apparently, because some asshole always has to ruin a good thing, some humans decided to try to hunt them for their fur. Since then, they stopped helping humans and shied away from all forms of contact. I remember that fury in its eyes. It must have recognized that I was a hunter, and there I was like a dumbass in a cave near its children. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Ricky knew these creatures were real, that he'd seen one or something. I tried to remember if any food was missing from the house after he disappeared, but I honestly don't know. Well, not like any of us were keeping track of shit like that at the time, why would we? This time, I have fresh meat, like just carved off an animal, all stored with plenty of blood. I've done a lot of research into this forest, and there's nothing special about it. It seems these creatures, whatever they are, just pick places they like. Then there's the strange language that the figure was speaking. I couldn't find any answers about that, but I was admittedly kind of busy detoxifying my life. Then there's the pole. I don't know how else to describe it. It's like some part of me is yearning to be back in the forest, to be back where I saw that creature, that there were answers to questions I'd never even thought to ask. I don't know what I'm going to find if anything, or whether the creature will let me live a second time, but I have to know. I have to. Whatever the cost. It didn't take long to find the rocky outcropping in daylight, and it's colder this time than before, which means the meat will stay fresher longer. I put it on the ledge outside the cave and set up my tent a minute or so downstream. I don't want to offend them a second time. I just hope they take my apology as genuine. I don't know what's going to happen when those creatures come by, if they come by, but it's not like I have anything to live for anyway. All my so-called friends sided with the bitch in that backstabbing piece of shit, and I got laid off from my job during the summer, which means I'm going to lose the house before long anyway. As I sit here waiting for the sun to set, I find myself thinking about my little brother. I've not seen him in about 30 years, not since he ran away. Is he here in the forest? Will he be waiting in the dark to greet me? I don't know, but I would very much like to find out. And finally, plagued by recurring nightmares of a woman with impossible red eyes, a young girl watches her sleep dissolve into terror and her weight in life slowly begin to change. From writer Jane Gardner and narrated by Alicia Atkins, creepy presents, haunting eyes. The woman's face infected her mind like a deadly disease, consuming its victims. Every night before bed, she sent a silent prayer to anybody up above who would listen, begging to be gifted the usual bliss of her subconscious, rather than the terror for which the woman's glowing eyes now provided. She slipped her slick nightgown over her head and inched closer to her mattress. Each groan against her hardwood floor clawing at her heart, and sank slowly into the stiff bed. As time ticked by and slumber began to eat at her eyes, the window which stood opposite to her chilling corpse started to morph into the red eyes as she had become horrifyingly familiar with. She watched the window, frozen and mocking death, and saw a smile of what she had once believed to be stars formed creepily below their eyes. She realized that the brown branches of her favorite childhood tree, by which she used to fly by a blue wooden seat, had become the woman's thick and frizzy hair. The caterpillar she'd often captured as a rowdy kid were now purring softly above the woman's glowing eyes, acting like thick, meaty eyebrows. She willed her body to move, begged her eyes to stay open, to make sure the woman would not move beyond the window. But despite her desperate pleas, sleep took hold of her unmoving body. In the picture of the woman's nightmare, she faced still sharply in her memory. When she finally came too, warmth hit her face like a wonderful cleansing bath. She felt her features move smoothly in their baptized state, and her eyes flooded open with the beautiful realization that she could now see in the yellow light that suns shown warmly rather than the pale skin of a cold night. She had survived the dream, and with a quick fleeting glance to the window of her terror, she found that the eyes were no longer piercing her own. But blue skies and thick light filled her recently tainted vision. The eyes came to her first in a dream. They were the brightest red she had ever seen. Brighter than the fresh strawberry she used to suck on in the late spring against her mother's best wishes. The sticky sweet juice dripped coolly down her sunburned skin. Brighter than the red dress she had once been enchanted by one late evening in the window of her mother's favorite boutique. She watched her reflection stand confidently in the mirrored dress, and wondered how it would fit her as an adult. Brighter than the ladybug that crawled slowly toward her math work, one late summer evening when Mrs. Shoemaker opened the window for a summer breeze. The picture of red sat cosily in the shallow surface of her thoughts. But beyond this, the memory of warm, thick red ooze coating her naked face lay still, hidden by a dark cave of shadowed nightmares, undisturbed since the accident. But the physical manifestation of red in the woman's eyes was cold and disingenuous. The smile showed itself next, hugging the side of the woman's thin cheeks tightly, and showing two rows of hundred teeth in each. She had imagined a smile as such would be inviting, but seeing her own reflection in every polished glint had been greatly unnerving. The woman's pale skin made the moonlight shine dimly. When she had first seen the light of the woman's face, it had burned her vision, forcing her to find comfort in the soulless ruby eyes that it snuggly in the woman's crease furrow. The woman had stared at her, freezing her body under the glowing red gaze and not letting her go until morning. The woman had whispered incoherent threats to her as she silently wept, tears streaking slowly down her chilling skin, turning into sharp shards of crystal while she had laid still, unable to move. She had awoken with a great gasp and a shiny face wet with sweat and thawed ice. She had raced to her bathroom mirror to examine each individual pore. As her fingers poked and prodded the tight skin that crafted her adolescent face, she found nothing but puffy red eyes and slightly sunken cheeks. Taking in a final full breath, she had chalked that terrifying night to nothing but a nightmare, and moved swiftly along through her day, letting each passing giggle and chore chip a piece of the iceberg her fight chilled away and into the back void of her mind. However, the night falls terror had an end to there as she assumed it would. The night after, she had the same paralyzing dream in each night after that. The whisperers grew louder, yet the meaning of the woman's nightmares threats never sounded clearer to her mind. By each morning, her face had slowly become long and malnourished. Her honey skin slowly losing all color, mimicking the face that visited her each night. The puffy red skin under her crystal blue eyes started staining her vision, but nothing could be done. She complained to her mother, but she had been alone in her sightings as not her mother, nor her father seemed to notice any difference in her demeanor at all. Come this nightfall, the trees had blown harshly, wrapping the branches quickly along her window. The naked bulb floating above her pink shagged rug, marking the middle of the room, had flickered violently until her heart had dropped so low she thought she would surely be dead of a heart attack come morning. She pulled the cold metal string that put an end to the growing shadows on the wall and climbed into bed, dreading what was sure to come. As she closed her now aching blue eyes, the woman's face appeared almost instantly. Like always, her limbs stiffened and her ability to move was taken away by an invisible force that was stronger than anything she had ever experienced. She stared into the darkness until the woman's luminous skin revealed itself to her. She closed her eyes with the tight shot, but as they were forced back open, she found her uncertain safety in the red ruby eyes. The woman's mouth moved quickly, sounds coming out, a whisper at first, but becoming increasingly louder, until the woman was shouting so loud that her hair flew behind her. Her demeanor never changed, nothing but her eyes moved, but she could still not make out a single word the woman screamed toward her. As the woman wailed, she took a step forward, electrifying her with goosebumps, but still no movement. She silently begged something up above to wake her unconscious body, all the while the woman ants closer and closer, still screaming indecisurable chance to her. Her pleas would never come to a fruition, as the woman stepped up to her, stopping as the tips of the woman's white shoes touched her uncovered toes, and all noise stopped together. Her hair fell, hitting her back with such force it could be considered violent. Her ears rung with a long piercing sound as the silence consumed the space around her. The woman's skin was so bright against the dark void they stood in, that the dark brown hair they both shared seemed to turn platinum blonde. The ruby eyes held hers, as the woman slowly leaned in and spoke one final coherent time. I tried to warn you. The woman's raspy voice knocked painfully through her head, bringing a blackened wall to consume her instantly. She saw nothing but fear, her body falling in an endless void of darkened wonder. When she came too, the air around her was sickly sweet and cold. She felt the release of power around her body, and found that she could move her limbs once again. But something was wrong. Her feet shifted against rough grass and soft soil. She could hear the wind brushing through the braids of trees surrounding her, but the cool air felt warm against her icy skin. The ground was illuminated in light, but as she looked toward the open sky above her, she realized the light was not coming from the powerfully lit moon above her, but from her own skin. Horrified, she leaped across the lawn towards the first sign of life she could find. She had no idea where she was, but in running distance was a cream-colored house, light purple against the dark blue shade of the night. With a large window carved in its side and a dark twisted tree she had blocked out of her memory, after the blue would enceit knocked her down. She rushed towards the window, unaware she was still dreaming, but feeling the small shallow cuts from the brush she ran past, painting her skin in a dark black blood. Preferably creeping towards the window, she peered inside to see a small girl peering back at her, straining her small crystal blue eyes to stare deep into her own. She laid still, continuously staring at her for what felt like hours, until her eyes slowly closed, and a bright smile grew steadily on the girl's lips. She lurched back, crunching a branch under her frivolous stepping stomp in her hurry to escape, breaking the silence that had created the night. As she pulled back, she saw a pair of bright red eyes staring back at her. Fear pierced her body, as she realized the eyes were her own. So follow us at Creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative, common, shallow-ite licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the Creepypodcast production team and the stories author.