First-Time Homeowner & Feeders of the Storm

Today's episode is presented by Vampires of the Velvet Lounge, in select theaters March 20th from Strand Releasing. Deep in the American South, a back alley absent bar harbors a deadly secret. Countess Elizabeth Bathory and her glamorous coven of vampires keep their killer instinct sharp by preying on lonely singles through dating apps, seducing and slaughtering to preserve their youth. But when Elizabeth swipes right on the wrong profiles, a cunning undercover vampire hunter and a band of emotionally stunted bros, the hunt spirals into hilariously horrifying chaos. Wristcutters' a love story producer Adam Sherman writes and directs this hilarious horror comedy that stars Mina Suvari, Stephen Dorf, Tom Berenger, Rosa Salazar, Tyrese Gibson, Lockman Monroe and more. Don't miss Vampires of the Velvet Lounge, in select theaters March 20th. Tickets on sale now. The game has only just begun. Radio Silence directors Matt Bettinelli-Olepen and Tyler Gillette are back for round two with their new horror comedy film, Ready or Not To Here I Come. Samara Weaving returns as Grace, the battle-worn and bloody bride and is joined by stars Catherine Newton, Sarah Michelle Geller, Sean Haddyssey, Nestor Carbonell, David Cronenberg and Elijah Wood. After Grace marries into a mysterious family and is forced to play a life-or-death game of hide and seek, she emerges victorious. But what she didn't know is that by winning, she triggered a whole new twisted battle. This time with her estranged sister Faith at her side, the duo faces a shadowing group of rival devil-worshipping families who control the world and they must fight to the bloody death for the ultimate prize. Two times the kills, two times the Satanic rituals and two times the human combustion. Don't miss the full tilt insanity, Ready or Not To Here I Come, when it hits theaters March 20th. Life's busy. Don't let banking slow you down. Whether you're paying bills, setting savings goals or just splitting the check, Atlantic Union Bank makes managing your money easier. With helpful people and user-friendly tools, we make sure banking with us fits you. Call, visit us online or drop into an Atlantic Union Bank branch today. Atlantic Union Bank, anyway, you bank. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or our simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. All right. Camp. What camp? All right. First up, from writer Emily Ruth Farona and narrated by Alicia Atkins. Creepy presents. First time homeowner. There's a listing for a two-bed, one-bath in the suburbs close to the train station. It's over twice as much as you can afford, but you decided to schedule a tour anyway, just to get an idea of what's available. You're new to the area, having come to start a new job with better pay. You've rented twice over the last two years, but after saving up every spare penny, you're ready to be a first-time homeowner. For three weeks, you've been sleeping on the couch of your cousin's tiny apartment. You're eager to find your own space, to stop living out of a suitcase, and to pull your furniture out from the storage unit you're renting for $1.50 a month. The day of the tour comes and you're buzzing with excitement. Head to toe adrenaline and dopamine. This is it. This is the start of your home buying journey. Only, the photos online seem to have been taking at deceiving angles. It turns out that both bedrooms are the size of a bathroom, and the bathroom is the size of a closet. The walls are freshly painted, and there's decent light in the kitchen, but you don't love the fixtures. Or the floors. Or the fact that the backyard is a pile of rocks against the neighbor's chain-link fence. The street is noisy. The yard has lovely flower beds. You have no idea how to take care of them. The driveway is cracked in several places and will probably need to be resealed. This is what $350k over your price range gets you. Discouraged, you continue looking. Next, a friend gives you a tip on a two-bed, two-bath with a flex space in the attic. There's a real yard and even a garage. But the house is on a major road right by a traffic light. The asking price is within your budget, but there are already three other potential buyers ready to put in offers. The ceiling has water stains, and the carpet has been ripped up but not replaced. There's no refrigerator, or microwave, and the basement is prone to flooding. You skip out on the bidding war and keep searching. You visit six teardowns, four townhomes, three condos, and a studio apartment down the street from the office that costs more than that place in the suburbs by the train station. You start to wonder if you're wasting your time. Maybe you should just give up or rent, except renting in many cases is somehow more expensive than buying. Every night you stare at for sale listings online until you want to scream. Then you switch to rental listings until those where you out to, and you switch back to the for sale listings. Rints, repeat. One day, sometime in the late spring, you find yourself taking a detour home from work when you spot a for sale sign in front of a little back road cottage. It's 20 minutes closer to the office than your cousin's apartment, and the cute bevy of shrubs lining the walkway calls you to lean on the break as you pass. You squint, trying to note the street address so you can look it up when you get home. But when you arrive at the apartment, your cousin is throwing some kind of party. You end up spending the night hanging out with his friends, drinking too much before falling asleep on the couch at midnight. The next day you're hungover and exhausted, and you take the same detour after work. This time, as you pass the cottage, you pull over to the side of the road and get out for a better look. It's cute. Really cute. The exterior is an off-white color with black shutter as in a big bay window at the front of the house. The lawn is attractive, but looks relatively low maintenance. There's a garage and classy stone walkway leading from the driveway to the front door. You check for the for sale sign, dial the phone number, and schedule a tour. The listing agent is a little surprised to get your call, but agrees to show you the house. She says it's got a few quirks, but when you hear the price, your heart begins to pound in your ears. It's been on the market for two years, and over time the asking prices dropped to the point where it's not just in, but a little under your budget. Worried, you ask if the quirks are structural, a.k.a. expensive to fix. And when the agent assures you that the house is sound, you agree to meet the following Monday before work. All week long, you think about the cottage. You picture it in your head, imagining yourself hanging picture frames, arranging the furniture, picking out paint swatches, turning this house into not just a home, but your home. When Monday rolls around, you get there 30 minutes early and wait outside, walking up and down the driveway trying to get a better look at the back of the house. The listing agent arrives on time and is very professional, smiling as she punches in the number for the lockbox on the door. She retrieves a strange-looking key that seems a little outdated. You remind you of skeleton keys used in British period pieces. Upon noticing your curious expression, the agent assures you that this one is just as reliable as any other house key. Inside, she leads you through the entryway into a spacious yet cozy living room with a picturesque little fireplace framed in the corner. She informs you that the house was built in 1921 and that is in great shape for its age, retaining most of the original charm with modern updates that have kept it functional, such as lead-free pipes and central air. The previous owner put in a new roof shortly before the home went on the market. There are three bedrooms and one full bath on the second floor, as well as one bedroom and a full bath on the first floor. In addition to the fireplace in the living room, she explains that there is also a fire pit in the backyard centered on a large patio. There is a two-car garage, gas heat, and a public sewer system. As you cross the living room to the kitchen, you notice a shadow in the corner of the ceiling. At first, you think it's from sunlight streaming in through one of the many windows, but then it wriggles, rides, and scampers across the wall and around the corner. You ask the agent about it, but she smiles that pleasant smile again, calling it one of the unique charms of the house. She leads you into the kitchen, where the stainless steel appliances look fairly new. You find a small dining space just off the kitchen that overlooks the backyard. Here, you notice another larger shadow lurking in the corner of the room between two windows. You squint, as if perhaps your eyes are merely unfocused, but you're pretty sure the form has a loosely structured face and eyes. The agent notices you're staring and merely laughs, assuring you that it's simply another quirk of the residence. She says it isn't a structural concern, merely a spectral one, and the two of you continue. Upstairs, the bedrooms are airy and bright. One even has beautiful wooden beams criss-crossing below the ceiling. The bathroom isn't en suite, but it's three times the size of the bathroom you saw at the house by the train station. The agent informs you that such a big bathroom and an historic home is a rare feature. There's a shower and a soaking tub, as well as a small, but practical vanity. You notice a smudge at the top of the mirror. It moves, and you think it's a bug, but it's not. It's a fine line of what appears to be blood, dripping from top to bottom of the mirror at a painstakingly eerie pace. The agent laughs again. The shadows love to play tricks, she explains, but the sight, however off-putting, is entirely harmless, and she's right. When you pass the bathroom on the way back downstairs not 10 minutes later, the line of blood is gone. There are two more shadows in the first bedroom, three in the second. The third upstairs bathroom, the one with the wooden beams, doesn't have any shadows, but the faint sound of someone crying can be heard from the closet door. The agent shrugs, as if to say, what can you do? And the two of you keep moving. As you head back downstairs, you think you notice a strange reflection in the window on the landing, but when you look directly at it, the face is gone. Back in the living room, that first shadow you saw has been joined by a second, and the two are racing around on the ceiling, chasing one another. The agent explains that this is strictly a daytime phenomenon, and that things tend to quiet down at night across most of the house, save for the garage. There's a peculiar howling past residents have complained about coming from the garage at night. The agent advises you to stay clear past 9pm, though it's perfectly safe to go in and out any time after sunrise. She takes you to the bedroom on the first floor, which smells of sulfur. A chill walks on spider legs down your spine. The agent recommends keeping a few extra blankets in this room. Lastly, you see the first floor bathroom. It's not as big as the one upstairs, but it's got just as much character with a patterned tile floor and an accent wallpaper behind the sink. You love the aesthetic, even if there is a vague silhouette of a body lying in the bathtub. It shimmers, then fades shortly before you leave the room. The listing agents grin never wavers. You like the house, it's got good bones, and appears to be turnkey, which is unprecedented in this price bracket. You ask why the previous owner decided to sell, and she says that after retiring, the couple decided to move closer to the grandchildren. Prior to that, they'd lived happily in the house for over 15 years. When you inquire as to whether the quirks are difficult to maintain, the agent likens them to houseplants or a cat. Thickle, but perfectly mundane. Nothing to worry about so long as you don't go poking and prodding at them. So, more like a cat, you think. But you've always liked cats, haven't you? The price can't be beat. The space is clean, functional, and has more charming personality than a Pinterest mood board. The seller is motivated, so you might even be able to get them to cover closing costs. When you ask why no one has snapped this place up yet, the agent shrugs. People can be sensitive about the quirks, you see. But for the right owner, this house is a dream. You think you might be the right owner. In fact, you feel the rightness of it tingling beneath your skin. Or maybe that chill has followed you into the room. A few stray lines of blood streak down the wall behind the agent as she tells you about the neighborhood. You hear a whisper in your ear, Stay. It begs in a voice warm as smoke and soft as feathers. Stay here with us. You turn around, certain you can feel a presence rising behind you. But all you see is the empty living room, the hardwood floors, the beautiful fireplace. Drawn back into the listing agent's summary of the square footage, you see more blood oozing from the ceiling above. A shadow shifts behind the agent in a way that makes your skin crawl. Get rid of her and her wretched smile. The voice hums. Stay. Well, the listing agent grins, her teeth white and straight and perfect. Just like the facts of the house. It's spacious, not to mention beautiful. There's room to grow, but it's not too big that you can't manage it all on your own. The mortgage won't break you. The neighborhood is hard beat. You consider the shadows that roam the house, the walls with their dripping blood. The voice that no longer sounds like it's coming from behind you, but rather inside of your skull. There is something wrong with this house, something you don't quite trust. But a good deal is a good deal. And in this market, who are you to turn down a bargain? Let's be real. The love we share with our dogs is unconditional. 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Celebrate your number one Valentine, your greatest love, your dog. Head to ollie.com slash creep. Tell them all about your dog and use code creep to get 60% off your welcome kit when you subscribe today. Plus, they offer a happiness guarantee on the first box. So if you're not completely satisfied, you'll get your money back. That's O L L I E dot com slash creep and enter code creep to get 60% off your first box. That's creep. C R E E P. Bringing your business dreams to life takes heart and about a thousand decisions a day. That's why Atlantic Union banks knowledgeable bankers are here for you with the right guidance and customized solutions to help you reach your business goals. So whether you're planning your next move, upgrading your space or scaling to meet demand, we make sure your business is ready for what's ahead because we're big enough to support you yet small enough to know you Atlantic Union bank. Anyway, you bank. For delicious meals, you could go out to eat or you could just make a Marie calendar's meal. Marie calendar's classic chicken Parmesan a bowl is so good. It has marinara sauce that's made from scratch and creamy mozzarella cheese over pasta. It's delicious with no artificial flavors, colors or preservatives and 30 grams of protein. You can find it in the frozen aisle. Marie calendars, what having it all tastes like. And next from writer George Violet Parker and narrated by Nate to Fort creepy presents feeders of the storm. The chaos of three merging thunderstorms, a walloping soup of mist, a sleet storm from slaw and a particularly violent gale, which shook the corrugated battlements and howled as though banshees were back in fashion, kept sif from sleep. Though he'd lived in band 1.3 a designated weather dump for months, the sudden and voracious melting pots of shitty weather that arrived, flung by banishing magic from all over the continent and persisted despite their frequent contradictions for several hours still shat him up. He turned on the replica coal fire and pretended he could feel the warmth in his fingertips. Truth was, after mere weeks on band 1.3 a, extremities were mostly decorative. Automated up the wazoo as the custodian had described them, the pods which housed the wretched workers responded to voice commands and neural nudges, something which had taken sif a bit of learning. Imagine you're nodding but with your mind, custodian julie had said and sif had nodded. With your mind, she'd drawled as though sif were a child and he hadn't been bothered to comment that he'd been nodding in politeness no less at her advice rather than attempting a neural nudge. It wasn't as though any relationship begun on band 1.3 a would last. The amenities in the pods which did depend upon physical touch were kept to a minimum and the sif's relief didn't require fine motor skills. He shuffled to the edge of his mattress and lent his weight against the large pad to the left of his bunk which opened the viewing window hoping that seeing the cacophony of weather would calm his nerves and prevent his mind from creating nightmarish scenarios advice given by custodian julie from the crashes and bumps in the night. Sif couldn't understand why anyone inhabiting the pods would want to see their reflection and angled his thin frame away from the mirrored panel as it slid back to reveal the storm outside. He very soon regretted being able to see outside. The view did nothing to allay his fears. custodian julie was full of crap. A tornado whipped lightning from black cloud making it look as though a vortex straight to hell was outside his window tapping the not so light fingers like kathy beckoning to heathcliff. Hailstones as big as skulls cratered the rock beneath rain flew upwards against the flimsy gravity and the rest of the band was lost behind in a movable and blankly staring high rise of fog. A wayward hailstone ricocheted off one of the outer battlements striking the viewing window with such force that it chipped the glass. Muscles frozen internally sif was frantic. The impact spiderweb to cross the window the fractures jerking away from the center point as they were fissures drawn by a mechanical hand. Sif recoiled and jammed one flailing fist against the switchpad. Such was his fear that he forgot to turn from the closing mirror and before he knew it he was staring into his own wild eyes. His skin around was pale flaking and reddened from the occasional burst of magic radiation. He could see the life draining away and suddenly fear of what was to come struck him in the chest. To his shame a moan escaped his lips. The view from his pod brought less terror. Sif was shaking now the coal fire cold and without comfort and Sif wished beyond anything his heart had ever yearned for that he was elsewhere. Wished that the insulated walls would fall and the sun would shine and that he was laying in the warmth of its rays while it was some other poor fuckers fate to turn veal like under the pounding of magic storms and electric charges moved by those rich enough to employ a weather mage to save their garden parties damn the consequences. Sif imagined the pockets of bad weather as swirling torrents seen from the edge of the atmosphere but he knew that they were even more insignificant than that. That they in their pods and under the flesh softening climatic conditions would go largely unnoticed and unseen and unloved until their tenderized flesh was presented garnished on a plate for someone with wealth bloated eyes their skin tanned with a sun only the Machiavellian capitalists could afford. When they spoke to comment on the softness of the meat how it melted on the tongue you would hear in their voice the years of pure air and the way their vocal folds had never strained against the scream of storms or fear or machinery. Between mouthfuls of Sif and his colleagues they would discuss the colonies and the margins and their latest investments. Sif had to get out. Outside was mandatory for the tenderizing effects but during storms such as this their pods were often locked electronically by a centralized system determined and more than a little manic he tried the door exit pod please the pods automated system was silent still Sif's throat was parched with fear and the fumes of dust and radiation which invariably made it through the pods air filtration system you think their future diners would prefer their food to have had fresh air but so little consideration was given to the human cattle it was a wonder they got any air at all and so he thought perhaps his voice was too weak he tried again pushing the words from his stomach exit pod please he felt he was running out of oxygen the fear had crawled up from his belly to grip his chest and now it was clawing at his throat making each breath fat of a drowning man breaking the surface at last the reply came in advisable conditions deemed high risk Sif smashed his almost numb fist against the door frame in advisable but I still have free will for a moment longer wind shuttered the pod in his desperation Sif wondered if this was his final day that he'd die in his pod like tuna brined tin sold on his product he had to get out after months on the band Sif's fingers barely moved but nevertheless he pressed them into the groove between the wall and the door trying to get enough traction to grip to pull his scrabbling hands were no match for the hydraulic door seal and each dumb knuckled paw bloomed bruises across his skin open he was screaming now but his capacity to care was submerged under the overwhelming need to get out out of the pod out of his life his fate he pitted his pathetic body against the hatch in a twisted embrace of the coated metal almost inaudible under the roar of the storm the door mechanism word the vibrations brought Sif to his feet glancing at the ghoul of his reflection he slipped out of the widening hatch immediately a gust propelled him across the enclosure toward the generator weak Sif was unbalanced unable to hold himself upright in the wind his half numb feet caught on a newly formed hail dent at which point a second gust took hold and slammed him into the generator's housing Sif's bones ached his body shaped itself around the domed casing like water around him hail met metal the vicious thuds shaking Sif's core with each strike so this was it he would die here head and vital organs bludgeoned by hailstones at least his body would be so mangled it would be inedible his mother wouldn't get the final paycheck but neither would a smug sundweller pick the gristle off Sif's medium rare flesh from between his molars with a gold toothpick at that thought ridiculous delight bubbled up past his teeth and before he knew it he was laughing at the obscured sky lightning bolts raining down around him like Zeus was on one and wanted mortals to fucking know it but Sif couldn't stop he was free laughter poured from his lips projectile vomit laughter that rang in shrieking dissonance against the clatter of hailstones and grind of machinery in holler of wind Sif hollered back oh he felt untouchable rada tat tat went the hail and rada tat tat went his maniacal giggles he was untouchable invincible what other word was there for being on the edge of death and still grinning like a stripped bare skull lightning flashed above him its trajectory broken by a sudden anchoring blip from the large cone shaped lightning catchers on the outer edge of the compound which fueled the giant battery shipped out every quarter Sif's laughter stopped the lightning struck again this time bolting straight into the cone's mouth as it descended the flash of light struck the shadows and carved out a lone figure from the dark stood eerily still on top of the battlements surrounding the compound half a mile away they had their arms to the sky as though welcoming death or conducting the winds the silhouette turned and Sif knew although how could it be that the figure stared directly at him a chill went through him he peeled his body from the curved housing and staggered into the lee of the generator another jagged shard of light ran down into the cone structure the figure was gone the storms were easing yet still the sky was fractured colors chasing darkness crouched sheltered from the worst of the gale Sif became aware of his body in a way he hadn't for a long time with a sudden surge of regret he observed the absence of strength the peculiarity in the way his limbs pulled weakly against the bone the pathetic group of his flesh he was fattened and weak he was a calf kept in a dark box what had been his accepted fate for months years even now seemed grotesque and horrific even the thought of his family usually a reliable motivating thought after his mother's years of coaching him for this very role couldn't stem the flow of terror he didn't want this he had to escape from the mosaic atmosphere emerged a steady beam of purple light the headlamps of a patrol droid member 2704 the weather is worsening please return to your pod to ensure the safety of your body the droids tracks came to a standstill about a foot away from sif the comm screen positioned where a face might sit flashed orange with the weather warning sif gave a bitter laugh lest my flesh become inedible the droid ignored his comment please return to your pod at his feet a loose fist of rock called the sif bracing himself on the generator he knelt and worked his fingers around the rough surface feeling its weight never had he felt a violent impulse so tremendous he staggered upright grasping the rock desperately thinking only of the satisfaction he had to flash the droids comm screen until its lights flickered and went out he pulled back his arm preparing to strike then a hand on his gently easing the rock from his palm sif raised his head between him and the droids that the same figure sif had seen on the battlements up close sif could see the deep lines drawn around their full-lipped mouth an angular jaw sported a scar which cut a white crease through otherwise light brown skin from throat to cheekbone sif dared a glance at the stranger's eyes dark pools chestnut rich and filled with some emotions sif couldn't quite place rested in ravaged hollows much like his own the wind blew a tangle of almost black hair across their face for whatever reason sif allowed the stone to drop from his fingers the stranger was silent as sif led them across the compound to his pod stepping forward to support sif's weakening frame when the gusts took hold despite the hail and the unrelenting wind the stranger's skin was hot against sif's when sif stumbled strong hands with dry warm palms kept him upright as if in a dream sif found they had traversed the final few meters and now stood at the entrance to his pod his companion smiled at him waiting patiently for sif to unlock the door sif's voice was reedy as he commanded the pod to permit them the hatch slid open if sif had expected some comment from the automated voice some acknowledgement of his companion's presence none came although he supposed aside from custodian julie he'd never had another person in his pod people didn't come to a band to make friends inside the door sealed against the raging elements the relative quiet consumed them an awkwardness chewed at sif's body making him second guess even the simplest of movements fumbling he knocked his single tin cup from the shelf and the resounding clang met with the sounds of the storm but something much louder was beginning within sif through the wet fabric of his shirt his heart pounded an arm span was all that separated he and the stranger and the thought that he could reach out and finger the dark ringlets that fell around the handsome face made sif's breath catch in his throat what was this person sif had no grasp of their gender no clue as to their position were they another pod dweller another whose family had sealed their fate and dealt for them a future as worker machine tender than ultimately food something about them made them seem otherworldly inhuman in spite of himself as sif surveyed the curves and lines of their body he wondered if the storms and residual magic really did soften human meat and what would that taste like sif heaved at the air inside all at once too thick and confining the pod was so small that the stranger sent pleasantly odd with something spiced and intoxicating lingering in the air around them seemed to occupy every inch of the space he felt like prey every system in his body alert and ready to flee your fight and yet when the stranger crossed the small gap between them sif froze his mind raced who was he anymore why was there such intense emotions charging through him held immobile by confounding desire sif allowed the stranger to cup his chin in their hand a flicker of what felt like static sparked where skin met they turned his head this way in that as though assessing his imperfections through his fear lust shame sif darted another look at their face those beautiful lips were bent into a crooked smile their eyes focused unabashedly on his gaze locked the stranger traced one long index finger along sif's jawline following the red line of own marred face you deserve so much more than to be a frivolity a canopy passed around on a platter the harshness of their voice startled sif but it was hypnotic too and after the words had faded from the air their vibrations rattled sif's insides as though transmuting his very flesh into something newer fuller he felt liquid like the air and he and the stranger and all around them was an ocean unified unseparate still with one fingertip pressed to sif's cheekbone the stranger continued you deserve to be someone's final feast we both do it was as though a spell had been uttered in abeyance to instructions unspoken sif sank to his knees his fear was unreachable trapped somewhere outside him like the storm nothing beyond this moment existed the stranger's fingers tangled in sif's hair as sif hands somehow renewed tugged down the garments covering their erection above him the stranger gasped as sif took their cock in his mouth he took his time teasing and sucking and delighting in every twitch of pleasure that ran through them gripping their buttocks clasping the flesh to him as though it were life raft sif drove their cock deep into his throat relishing the salty heat the dull pain this joining was everything sif existed as though drawn in by gravity consumed utterly by this mysterious figure who'd stood defiant against the storms and spoke with almost demonic musicality so absorbed was sif and at first he didn't feel the knife he opened his eyes and saw the stranger looking almost lovingly down on him a blade was in their hand poised over sif sort of damocles like what came to him was two of swords two paths a choice one which would have to make before the stranger was permitted to continue he made his choice sif lowered his brow and returned to sucking the stranger's cock more vigorous now he had committed to the path ahead the blood from the sliver of flesh carved from his collarbone drew rivulets down his arm so that as he rocked back and forth he covered his lips his fingers the stranger's phallus he looked up and saw his skin muscle fat being chewed the stranger's face bloody lipped mirror like he felt himself go hard the stranger grinned gripping sif's hair still with one hand as the other lowered the handle of the blade to rest in sif's hand sif kept his lips wrapped around their cock teasing with his tongue as he grasped the handle the stranger's body bucked with pleasure sif drew the blade gently upward letting the tip follow the contours of calf inner thigh up along the ridges of the v where sif could see his own reflection in the gleaming metal he noted the strength in his face the lines of his jaw the calm power that rested coiled in his eyes he let the blade decide using no more than its own weight to break the skin so sharp it sank in as though through butter as his tongue worked its way up and down the shaft sif quietly carved a small rectangle in the stranger's abdomen sometimes he watched his own face observe the bulge in his mouth at others he focused on how the blade parted the flesh when he created a three-sided flap he drove the edge of the knife upward to separate a half inch of skin and viscera as he completed the rectangular incision the stranger shuttered they bit down on the last of the mouthful of sif's body sending trickles of red from their lips with a final tug sif lifted the cutaway section twisting the final corner to release it he put it to his lips mesmerized the stranger traced the outline of where sif had cut with their finger then as though the tension that had been building suddenly snapped they snaked an arm around sif's waist and flipped him onto all fours the knife clattered to the floor the stranger seized it this time using it to tear through sif's trousers until he was naked from the waist down they left him there exposed for what felt like minutes all the while sif could feel their eyes roving over his body considering their next bite at last sharp pain followed by swift all-encompassing pleasure as the stranger entered him he gave himself over pressing his balms into the fleck flooring pushing back into the stranger as they drove themselves into him it was slow not frantic but charged with an intensity sif hadn't experienced before they focked out of time when the blade eventually found his flesh again sif almost came this time the stranger drove it into the softness of his flank with each thrust they cut away more of his flesh when the strip had been removed the stranger abruptly pulled out and grabbed sif's chin turning him to face them in their right hand dangled sif's flesh in their left pure magic crackled as he watched the stranger touch their fingertips to the strip of meat magic electric and searing fizzed along the length sparking gold purple and blue the smell of cooking meat filled the pod but instead of making sif nauseous it made him only more aroused proud that was his body and he was sustaining another someone who was more captivating and beautiful than he ever knew could exist again the stranger placed the knife in sif's hand and sif cut delicately slicing until he could hold up his prize showing the stranger their flesh as they had shown his once more they use magic to roast the flesh his tongue roved around the soft meat his mouth watering it was impossibly good he waited until he'd finished chewing then spoke you're a storm mover the stranger nodded why are you here the stranger lazily stroke sif's cock as he answered i've built great wealth without knowledge on those in the bands i am here to atone to give myself to that which i had a hand in destroying sif didn't ask why the storm mover didn't challenge those in power those who made the system and fed the system and defended the system and controlled the storm movers in the rest of the world the trees praise the axe a single storm mover against the rest would be a raincoat in a hurricane the storm mover lent in lips against sif's cheek as they spoke we do this until nobody can find a use for us we will not be product we cannot be sold while the storms raged the storm mover and sif passed the knife between them until their flesh was tatters their hunger sated the feast complete for more information on this podcast including how to submit your own story for consideration please visit creepypod.com you can also follow us at creepypod on social media and youtube all stories told on this podcast are done so through creative commons share a light 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 creepy podcast production team and the story's author bringing your business 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