We Bought a Real Cryptid on the Dark Web… Now It Wants to Eat Again

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Go check it out today by searching Crime Hub and the search bar on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or Amazon Music. Be sure to click follow to get notified every time a new episode is released. Drake loads the bong as if I hadn't just told him what I'd just told him. Dude, are you even listening? Huh? What? Yeah, I'm totally listening. Heard everything you said. Just gotta get my head on straight before shit gets weirder. Okay, good. Because if you weren't gonna pay attention, then I'm not even gonna bother. Bother with what? What? You said you wouldn't even bother. With what? What wouldn't you bother with? Showing you what's in the damn cage. Nah, cool. Can't wait to see. Just let me get this packed. Where's my lighter? But there it is. Drake lights the flame and puts his lips to the glass. Then sucks so hard I think the bong will turn inside out and he'll swallow it right before my eyes. Which, considering what's in the cage in the back of my pickup truck, would only be the second weirdest thing I've seen this week. Well, maybe the third weirdest. Possibly the fourth. To say Drake coughs is an understatement. The guy basically doubles over and hurls his lungs out onto the carpet. Which would beat the swallowing the bong's strangeness by a mile. Still not stranger than what I have in the back of my pickup truck though. Drake finally stops coughing. You good? He holds up a finger and takes another hit off the bong until the bowl is empty. The coughing starts again. All I can do is lean back in my chair and wait. Okay, okay, okay. Drake takes several deep breaths. I'm good man. I'm good. Now, what's this shit about the dark web? I mean, is that really a thing? Oh, it's a thing. It's definitely a thing. He offers me the bong and I wave him off. The last thing I need is to be stoned right now. Not with what I have in the back of my pickup truck. You know Wilson, right? The dude we used to work with at Ship and Save? Do you know any other Wilsons? Drake actually thinks on this for a second. I let him. His brain can use the exercise. I don't think I know any other Wilsons, but I could be wrong. Good. Now listen up. I stare at the sign above the bar door, the shelf. Stupid name. The inside was stupider than the name. I'd driven by the place a hundred times, a thousand times, but never wanted to go inside. My instincts were correct when I saw the ratty decor and the even rattier clientele. And one of them was waving at me from the back booth. Hey Brad, long time no see. I sat down across from my old manager and shook my head. Don't say that. It's racist. Seriously? Who cares? Everyone had always been a prick. Okay man, you called me here. Why? We haven't spoken since you got fired for embezzling. Allegedly. They never could prove a damn thing. So you didn't embezzle? Wilsons shrugged. That's what I thought. I'll in the past, man. What I want to talk to you about is your future. I'm not coming to work for you again, man. No offense, but you sucked as a manager. First, ouch. Second, I don't want you to work for me. I want you to work with me. I crossed my arms over my chest, highly skeptical. Doing what exactly? Wilson leaned across the table. You ever hear of the dark web? On TV and shit, yeah. Well, it's a lot more real than what you see on TV. He gave me a huge grin. And I have a straight line to a sure way to make us all rich. Awesome. But what's this us? You and your bud. What's his name? Drake. You guys help me out, and it'll be worth your while. Like how much worth our while? Wilson looks around to make sure no one is listening, and leaned even further across the table. Like six figures worth your while. He glanced left, then glanced right. A month. Bullshit. He laughed with me and leaned back into the booth. Shaking his head, he just smiled. I waited for him to keep talking. But when he didn't, I started to get up. He grabbed my wrist and pulled hard. Hold on, Brad. You haven't heard my offer. Not interested, man. This is obviously some scam, where you're high on crack. I haven't done crack in years. Well, months. OK, weeks. But I'm not high now. No way. Not with what I have out in the back of my van. No way, no way. Got to stay sharp with these things. The thing in your van? What do you have in your van? Have you ever heard of cryptids? The shelf? You went to the shelf? Drake's looking for his lighter again, not realizing it's already in his hand. Frowning, he gives me a hurt look. Aw, man. I always wanted to go there. I can't believe you went without me. Drake? Yeah? You were out of town because of your great aunt, remember? Oh, right. Yeah. Sorta. What's wrong with her again? Is it cancer or something? It was. Yeah. She died from it. You were at her funeral. Shit. That's right. He's still looking for the lighter. I'm not helping him. He's on his own with this one. So Wilson asked me if I know what cryptids are. Drake bends over and looks under the couch from between his legs. Where the fuck is that lighter? Do you know what a cryptid is, Drake? Drake is getting more and more frustrated at not realizing the lighter is still gripped in his hand. Drake, do you know what cryptids are? Yeah, sure, like werewolves and the Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot. He's standing now and spinning in a slow circle, fruitlessly hunting for the lighter. Exactly. Drake's oblivious to my growing annoyance at his lighter antics. Drake, sit down and listen. He blinks at me a few times. You cool, Brad? You seem tense. Dude, I swear to God. He holds his hands up in surrender, then sees the lighter and pumps both fists in the air. Found it. He's back on the couch and about to light up the bong again. But he pauses and frowns over at me. Shit, man. I'm sorry. You were saying something. Keep talking. I'm listening. Just going to hit this real quick. Redeem your lab books on free bet spins or even cash in for real money. That's Lattice Faction from Lab Brooks. And for extra Lattice Faction, here's the T's and C's. Let's rock. 18 plus participates in selective promotions to get lab books. Oh, get lab books with E-man 4. Offers all rewards. Lab books expire for T's and C's are bright. Take time to think, gather the world out for it. Nervous as all hell to be alone with Wilson as we walked to his rusty, dusty van. I glanced around the deserted parking lot behind the ratty bar. If the guy wanted to get all Buffalo Bill on me, I wouldn't be finding any heroes around anywhere to save my ass. Dude, I got to work in the morning. After I show you this and you say yes to my proposal, you won't have to go to work ever again. And what's this proposal of yours? You want me and Drake to take care of and feed some animal you got from across the border? Why not just put it in a kennel? You can't put something like this in a kennel, Brad. No way. Because it's a cryptid? Exactly. Some supernatural monster? I'm not sure if it's supernatural. He shrugged. Could be. I don't know. What I do know is it is worth a ton of money. Really? How much did you pay for it? Wilson looked around the parking lot like someone was going to overhear us. There wasn't a soul anywhere in sight. And I doubted that the barflies inside would ever twitch from their bar stools, even if a gaggle of cheerleaders were screaming bloody murder from the parking lot. Three quarters of a million dollars. I gulped and raised my eyebrows. Where did you get that kind of money? He grinned. Maybe there was more truth to that embezzlement claim than anyone thinks. Dude, there isn't more to the claim because everyone thinks you did it. Doesn't matter. What does matter is I can turn this thing around and sell it for twice what I paid for it. Good for you, Wilson. You should do that. What I need to do is get going. Wilson grabbed my arm before I could turn away. I'll split it with you guys. 75, 25. Let me go, man. I'm tired of your BS. It's not BS. Here, let me get my laptop. He hurried around to the front of the van and climbed inside. When he emerged, he had a laptop in his hand and was already turning it on. He typed for a minute, then spun the computer around for me to see. There, see? The auction is already up. 1.5 million. I studied the screen for a while and had to admit that the website looked legit. Weird and creepy, but legit. Great. I still don't understand why you need me and Drake. Wilson turned the laptop around and closed it. Then he went and set it back inside his van. When he returned, he looked sheepish. Yeah, well, I need your garage. I don't have a garage. But Drake does. You're the responsible one and would be in charge. Well, Drake has a garage, but we can stash the cage until the auction is over. You need a garage? He's yours. I live in an apartment. You guys are the only ones I know who have access to a garage. I frowned at him and he shuffled his feet. OK, you are the only one who has access to a garage you answered my text. That tracks. I looked the van up and down. So you're saying that you'll pay me and Drake nearly $400,000 to feed and take care of some cryptid until this dark web auction goes through and you can sell it for twice what you paid? That's what you're telling me. Well, you wouldn't get paid until after the sale, but yeah. That's a lot of cash for pets sitting. Yeah, well, it's not a pet. You'd be earning your money, that's for sure. So this thing is dangerous? Oh, yeah, very dangerous. And you are willing to trust me and Drake with it? Wilson shrugged. Oh, right. I'm the only one who responded to your text. But I know you guys can handle it. You were my star shift supervisor, Brad. And Drake was, well, Drake has a garage. I shook my head. Before you say no, you got to see this thing. Once you see it, you'll say yes because it's so damn cool. He walked at the back of the van and grabbed the door handles. Then he laughed. If anything happens to me, my laptop password is funkybutt69, all lowercase, all one word. When I didn't laugh with him, he frowned. Just kidding. I'll be fine. Is that really your laptop password? He didn't respond. Instead, he yanked the van doors wide open and stepped back. Ta-da! I walked around and took a look inside. All I could see was a large cube shape covered with a thick, heavy tarp. Wow, a tarp? Oh, crap. Right. He hopped into the back of the van, grabbed the edge of the tarp, and pulled it free, revealing a large steel cage. It looked like something out of an old-time freak show. The bars were thick, and the cage looked strong enough that it could get stomped by Godzilla, and it'd be fine. Then I saw something curled up in a heap of fur in the far corner. Its chest rose up and down, but it didn't move. And the smell, it was awful. What is it? Can't you tell? Why would I know what it is? Weren't you and Drake into strange internet shit? Like that creepy pasta and those UFO conspiracies and all that? Yeah, but that doesn't mean I know what the hell that thing is. It's obviously a chupacabra. A chupacabra? Isn't that like a Mexican werewolf? No, it's not like that at all. A chupacabra is sort of a mix between a coyote, a goat, and a demon. And you thought it'd be a good idea to have one in the back of your van? No, obviously. That's why I need you guys. Driving around with this thing is definitely not a good idea. I looked at the sad pile of fur and shook my head again. It doesn't look like much. You sure it's a chupacabra? It looks more like it's just a mutated mountain lion. That's because it's resting. Here, I'll show you. Then Wilson hopped into the back of the van. I hear they got great drink specials. What? The shelf, that dive bar. I hear they got really good drink specials. I don't know, dude. Maybe. I didn't order any drinks. Are you paying attention? Drake leans forward. His arms resting on his thighs, his full attention on me. Oh, I'm paying attention, man. But we both know chupacabras aren't real. Yeah, well, after what I saw, I'll argue against that any day. What'd you see? What'd Wilson do? Did he poke the mutated mountain lion with a stick or something? Get it all riled up? Pretty much. OK. Then what? I pause and think about the events that unfolded last night. My stomach turns as images flash through my mind. Brad? Dude, you OK? You went green. If you really want to know what happened, I'll tell you. But it'd be better if I didn't, OK? All I need is for you to say we can use your garage. I'll handle the rest. Sounds like you've got some trauma, man. You don't know the half of it. Then tell me the half of it. If we're going to be partners in this cryptid-sitting business, then I've got to know the whole deal, man. OK. But remember, you asked me to tell you. Drake twirled his hand in the air. Get on with it, man. Sue trauma, S. Me trauma. I take a deep breath and continue. Wilson didn't have a stick. What he did have was a goddamn cattle prod. He even turned and showed it to me, sparking up the tip and cackling like an eight-year-old with the sparkler on the 4th of July. This will wake it up. He started to move close to the cage, then leaned back and looked at the cattle prod. Um, this is a loner. So you'll have to get your own. Sorry. I didn't respond. Just stared at him until he moved back close to the cage. Wakey, wakey. He jammed that prod up against the ball of fur and let it have it. Sparks flew, and the creature jumped up, wide awake, and not too pleased about being shocked by a cattle prod. There. See? That's no mutant mountain lion, Brad. That's a 100% authentic chupa fucking cobra, man. Just look at it. It all happened so fast that I wasn't sure what I was looking at for a minute. One second, Wilson's arm was jabbing the chupa cobra with a cattle prod. The next second, the arm and prod were on the bottom of the cage. What's this? What's going on? He stood there, blood gushing from his stump of a shoulder like I was watching a samurai movie. It sprayed the inside of the van to cage the chupa cobra and the severed arm holding the no longer sparking cattle prod. Hey, Brad. I gulped hard. Yeah? Don't forget my password. Then a hairy arm reached between the cage's bars and impossibly sharp claws tore Wilson's throat out. Even more blood sprayed everywhere. There wasn't a dry square inch in the back of that van. I rushed forward and slammed the van doors closed. Then I put my back to them and slid to the ground. I was close to hyperventilating, but I got myself under control. Then the chewing noises started up, and I had to turn and puke right there by the van. After wiping my mouth, I stood up and walked a few yards away. When I turned back, I saw two things. The van was rocking slightly from the feeding time going on inside, and the driver's side door was still open with Wilson's laptop sitting on the front seat. I went and fetched the laptop quickly, then retreated to what I thought was a safe distance. I opened the laptop, typed in the password, which was real, then began searching through Wilson's dark web auction account. It was all real. The monster was up for sale, and there was a bid for 1.5 million. We were going to be rich. Drake narrows his eyes and glances at the front door. Hold on. Hold on. You watched Wilson get butchered by something in a cage? Yeah. And now you're here at my place with the thing? Yeah. Because it's worth 1.5 million. 2.6. But you said 1.5. That was the current bid at that time. When the auction closed, it had gone up. And that money is ours? You have access to it? Funky Butt 69, all lowercase, all one word. Holy shit. Drake hesitates, then jumps up from the couch, clapping his hands together. Hell yeah. Let's do this. Show me the monster. Without his enthusiasm, I get up and walk out the front door and do his driveway. Drake, Drake Benson, I need to talk to you. We haven't even got off the porch before Drake's neighbor is hurrying over across her lawn toward us. Mrs. Nussbaum, nice lady. If you like old women who have nothing better to do, then call the cops on everyone she thinks is a trespasser in the neighborhood, especially if those trespassers have a skin tone darker than pale white, like me. Drake, you were playing your music too loud again last night. I will not stand for it. I will not. Sorry, Mrs. Nussbaum. I fell asleep and forgot to turn it down. Her eyes find me, and I know shit is about to hit the fan. Who's your darky friend? Mrs. Nussbaum, that's just not cool to say. And this is Brad. You've met him before? I don't think so. I'd remember a darky like this. The old woman racist dismisses me with a nasty look, then turns her anger on my truck, and the tarp covered cage in the back. What's in this truck? Is it drugs, guns, probably stolen TVs? She wafts her hand in front of her nose. And it smells. What are you and your darky friend up to, Drake Benson? I can tell Drake is about to lose it on the woman, so I step between him and the old racist. Forget about it, Drake. She's not worth it. Not worth it? Not worth it? It's you who aren't worth it, darky, taking all the welfare and smoking all the drugs. She wags a finger at both of us. I have my eyes on you, too. She then turns on her heels and stalks off. We wait for her front door to slam before moving closer to my truck. I don't know about this, man. Mrs. Nussbaum has really been up my butt lately. Trust me on this. He kicks his toe against the driveway and stares at the tarp. Can we even lift it? I was able to back my truck up to Wilson's van and slide it in. We'll just do the same and slide it out into your garage. I don't know. It'll be fine, Drake. Trust me. Before he can object again, I rush to the driver's door and jump into my truck. Luckily, I already backed into the driveway. So all I have to do is get the bed closer to Drake's garage. Drake moves out of the way as I use the backup camera to get as close as possible, making sure there's still room to maneuver the cage into the garage. Drake has his garage door thrown open by the time I'm done, and he is shoving old boxes out of the way to make room for the cage. For how long? I lower the tailgate. Pretending to be Wilson, I messaged the website, and they said they'll be by for pickup on Sunday. Drake hems and haws, then slaps his palms against his thighs. Ah, screw it. He only lived once. And being a millionaire would sure make that living a lot easier. I smile and punch his shoulder. That's the spirit, dude. It takes us some serious wrangling, but we manage to get the cage to the edge of my truck bed and sort of ease it down onto the garage's concrete floor. And by sort of, I mean we drop it the last foot and have to jump back to get from getting crushed. The tarp falls away, and Drake stares. Damn, dude. You weren't kidding. The creature glowers at us, but doesn't move from its spot, tucked into the cage's corner. A fucking chupacabra? Yup. He looks at me, and his smile falters. What is it? What aren't you telling me? The website people gave me some idea on how to care for it. It'll rest a bit now that its belly is full, but it gets hungry fast, so we'll have to feed it again before Sunday. Feed it? Feed it what? Yeah, that's what we need to talk about. But help me get it all the way in first. Drake jumps, realizing that anyone walking by will definitely see the cage, even with my truck blocking most of the view. We hurry and shove the cage inside the garage and close the door behind us. Then we stand and stare at the thing. OK, man. What does it eat? Be straight with me. Um, yeah. So the website folks say it only eats one thing. Which is what, man? Fucking out with it. I already told you it ate Wilson. He frowns, then his eyes go huge with realization. People? It eats people? Unfortunately, yeah. Have you lost your damn mind, dude? Drake starts to pace. I need a bong hit. I need like a million bong hits. 2.6 million. Drake stops pacing. Oh, right, yeah. I squeeze his shoulder. And we're splitting 50-50. We are? Dude, of course we are. It's your garage, man. True, true. Then he smiles as if he had taken those 2.6 million bong hits. He looks in the direction of Mrs. Nussbaum's house. Hey, wouldn't it be great if this crazy cryptid's next meal was some nasty, racist, old bat who won't leave me alone? Mrs. Nussbaum? I shake my head. I don't know about that, man. Kind of risky. Nah, everyone hates her, man. And she lives alone. This thing will be long gone before anyone thinks to check on her. I laugh. What? You know, the website folks mentioned another auction coming up. This time for a yeti. A yeti? I wonder what they eat. Well, we can probably get it and find out. Drake nods as he stares at the Chupacabra. Then he narrows his eyes and stares at a pile of brown goo on the floor of the cage. Oh, man, what is that? Wilson, I guess. Damn. He shrugs. I'm still mad you went to the shelf without me. Dude, after Sunday, we can buy the damn place. Oh, right. Cool. Then he holds up a fist. Rock paper scissors you for who has to clean up the Chupacabra shit. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.