It Came From A Fan… | Creep Cast

and Alyssa are always trying to outdo each other.

When Alyssa got a small water bottle, Mike showed up with a four-litre jug.

When Mike started gardening, Alyssa started beekeeping.

Oh, come on.

They called a truce for their holiday and used Expedia Trip Planner to collaborate on all the details of their trip.

Once there, Mike still did more laps around the pool.

Whatever.

You were made to outdo your holidays.

We were made to help organize the competition.

Expedia made to travel.

I am so excited for this spa day.

Candles lit.

Music on.

Hot tub warm and ready.

And then my chronic hives come back.

Again, in the middle of my spa day.

What a wet blanket.

Looks like another spell of itchy red skin.

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Welcome back to Creepcast.

Today we are doing something that is a first for this channel, and it is going to be reading fan-made stories.

We made a shout-out a while ago, basically telling people that, you know, work on r slash no sleep gets deleted all the time.

I know that the rules are really strict there.

We read a lot from no sleep.

We read creepypastas, but we were like, you know, our subreddit at r slash creepcast, we want people to just feel like they can write stuff there.

And there's even, you know,

There's been a nice big backlog of stuff using the tag, of people using the tag fan made story.

And there's even been our moderators have collected threads of stories as well.

But we were going through today.

We were kind of like, you know, we had had some ideas of what we wanted to record.

But then we started looking at some of the stories here and we just thought that we would do our own grab bag of viewer stories to see what is the talent in our little pool of listeners here.

You know, maybe there's some gems just waiting to be uncovered.

You know,

why can't this be the new slash, why can't this be the new no sleep?

where, you know, new, awesome horror stories are made.

And I think it's going to happen.

Yep.

What?

Maybe some of them, you know, are actually worth something.

You know, they bring some value to the Earth.

It'd be surprising out of our audience.

But, you know, maybe, maybe there's something there.

No, so there was a bunch of them.

We read Insourceled in the Earth a while back, which we knew the author of that previously from It Breathes, It Bleeds.

And he had gotten that story, Insourceled in the Earth, I believe it was, taken down off of no sleep.

So he's he's like, I'm going to put it in creepcast because they liked the previous thing I did.

So we, that's technically the first thing we've read from there, but we knew the author going in.

But there are,

honestly, scrolling through, close to a hundred stories you guys have posted in our subreddit.

So we went through, we found some titles that look interesting, and we are going to be reading those today.

And also, as mentioned, we assume if you put it in our slash creepcast, it's fair game.

It is free game.

It's free games.

And there is

free real estate for us.

There's going to be probably a wide variety of stories, as with anything, you know, this is to encourage people.

Even if it's, you know, we're laughing, we're memeing along and all that kind of stuff.

You should be creative and write.

Write, write, write, and submit it and share it with people because that's the only way the fucking humankind keeps going is by sharing stories.

All right.

So that's how.

Even if one of these stories we read today makes Jeff the Killer look like crime and punishment, like it's just brutal.

If we read a story today that makes Jeff the Killer look like

crime and punishment, we will be reading this every week because that will only

be absolute gold.

Literally, we're sifting through literal gold at this moment.

I know.

I'm really, really excited.

Also, the reception so far on the Patreon has been awesome.

By this time, we should have already our first episode up.

It is a

bit of a crash happening episode, if I'm being honest.

Glad that we didn't put that one on the main channel.

We just kept reading, even though

we probably shouldn't have.

So that was, yeah, I was going to say, I remember the whole time it was like, this is the first story on our Patreon.

So if you want to check that out, be sure to check out our Patreon.

You can go to, you know, find new episodes there.

I think we're going to be trying to play this game called

Like what was it called again?

No.

No, I'm not human.

No, I'm not human.

It's like a little demo that looks really cool.

Gonna be trying doing that, just doing some stuff, but we got a lot of cool stuff planned there.

And as always, if you're watching this on YouTube and you're driving or you're heading to work, consider listening on Spotify or Apple Podcasts.

It really does help us out.

And without further ado, let's get into some of these stories.

And I think the first one, when I was scrolling through,

there was a lot to unpackage.

All right.

There's a lot.

The stories, the stories we're covering today are The Missing Person I'm Looking For No Longer Exists, which I think is a strong title.

I like that one.

And then the next one is, I've discovered a book that does not end.

The nursing home at the edge of the world.

And then the last one that I want to read first because it's the shortest is called Loss of Innocence.

All right, which I don't know why.

That tickled me in a way.

Because here's the thing: loss of

innocence.

And the user, the profile is gone.

They've deleted their profile since then.

So I want you to know that if you're watching this and

you're the luxurious author of this short story, and it is very short.

Come back to us, I have to know.

Uh, but I, I'm, this is going to be loss of innocence, is the first fan story we're gonna read, and I legitimately think it's gonna kick us off into a good direction.

I just have to say, by the way, yeah, the number of stories scrolling through our own subreddit, and maybe we've cultivated this, okay, I'm not gonna act like I'm innocent, but the number of stories that were titled something to the effect of

my dad wasn't nice to me

or the thing from my childhood.

And they all had not safe for work posts on them.

There was an exorbitant amount of not safe for work stuff to the point where

I was like, I feel like we've just cultivated a smut, like a smut, like subreddit or whatever.

So, you know,

here's just a thing to throw out there.

Don't write porn on the subreddit, please.

And I don't know, try to be scary.

I don't know.

Or I'll go further and say, do not write thinly veiled porn.

Yeah, one never knows what this is.

Yeah.

One barrier of like, oh, but he had glowing eyes

back into the

and then just back into immediate heavy back shots.

That's pretty much what the stories are.

So I don't know.

We'll see.

I don't think any of the ones we're reading today have the not safer work.

I don't think we're brave enough to venture there yet.

I mean, the title Loss of Innocence combined with the deleted account.

The loss of innocence with the deleted.

Exactly.

With the deleted account made me think that this is, if we're going to start off with something nice and short, this is, we're starting with the literal cherry on top, I think.

So,

Isaiah, without further ado, why don't you get us into this redacted profiles story?

Yeah.

So normally I like to be like, oh, this was written by, you could support them here, but this guy's dead.

Yeah, we would.

We'll leave links to all of them.

They'll all be in the description.

Yeah, yeah.

So that way you can go support them, comment on them, all that kind of stuff.

And be sure to, you know, show some interaction, show some love to these people because they did put themselves out there and fucking, you know.

Also, also, by the way, and I know this hasn't happened yet because we haven't done one of these yet, but if you're scrolling through the Coopcast subreddit and see a story you like, be sure to upvote it because when I was looking through to trying to pick out stories for us to read,

a lot of them, even ones that people in the comments seemed to like, didn't have that many upvotes, probably because just not a ton of people are going through and checking them out.

Yeah, but if something gets a bunch of upvotes, we are more likely to check it out.

Yeah, I think if the community likes it, we'll read it.

Yeah, that's that's people going in and being like, hey, I support this one.

They should read this.

That's kind of how we are looking at that.

Which, now that you know, go support it.

Isaiah, dive us in.

Dive us in.

All right.

Loss of innocence by redacted.

A few months ago, I was in an accident.

My friend and I were driving home.

My friend and I were

my friend and I were driving home from work when a young woman on a bicycle came out of nowhere and smashed into my friend's car at 80 miles an hour.

Okay, pause.

Okay, time out real quick.

Now, now, Isaiah, are they saying that the bicycle was going 80 miles an hour?

That's what I was.

Or there was a French car going 80 miles an hour.

What if they were both, if they were both going 80 miles an hour, does a neutron star just form in life as we know it seems to be?

I think she just gets atomized across.

It's like the fucking submersible going down the Titanic.

They just implode and turn to a fine dust.

That little submarine that imploded.

What made me laughing is I was reading, my friend and I were driving and underneath like i can see the line beneath it i just smashed 80 miles per hour

all right so we don't know uh we don't know for a fact if it's i'm gonna assume the young woman on the bicycle was going 80 miles an hour all right tour de france downhill lance armstrong let's go

80 miles an hour on a bicycle is like light speed yes and that's what she was like free falling down a cliff she had a beautiful summer dress flowing She was perfectly upstraight.

She wasn't even like in a speed pose.

She was perfectly upstraight.

Legs outstretched.

Her legs weren't even on the pedals.

She was just barely down.

This is going to be really rough.

If at the end, this is just like...

an actual confession the author is making maybe it is of someone that really does that's me and you were joking about like how brutal it was yeah all right we got out as soon as we realized what happened, called an ambulance, but unfortunately,

pause, pause.

Sorry.

I'm not going to keep stopping, but what do you mean we got out as soon as we realized?

As soon as she was going, hold on a second.

Putter.

Putter.

Pull the car over.

Aaron, pull the car over.

No.

I think we hit something.

No, no.

Dude, she was going 80 miles an hour.

It looked like a flash.

Yeah.

It looked like like a fly hitting the window for a moment.

They're like, what was that?

They look like a meteor.

Yeah, then they see a fucking woman on like a 1950s bicycle just like flinging through the air.

All right, sorry.

That's the last time I'm going to stop it.

Okay.

All right.

The woman died choking on her own blood at the scene.

The investigators analyzed the scene and cleared my friend of any wrongdoing and ruled it a freak accident.

My friend wouldn't listen to reason, though.

His guilt consumed him entirely ever since.

I understood how he felt to an extent, but I couldn't help him accept that it wasn't his fault.

He was utterly destroyed by what had happened and felt that he would never be able to be forgiven for what he had done.

Over the next few weeks he got worse and worse.

He would often talk about wanting to travel back in time, so he would have never been driving the car that day.

Trying to convince him that he needed to seek professional help because he needs to accept that it wasn't his fault.

He wouldn't listen though, and over the coming weeks he came to work less and less.

And whenever he did come, he looked awful like he wasn't sleeping.

The last time I saw him at work, he told me he wished he never grew up because humans are bound to harm others no matter how hard they try not to as adults.

What are you talking about?

What are you talking about?

I wish I was never fucking born.

I wish I was never born because adults are too they always harm each other.

So fuck,

I'm a ticking time bomb, Jared.

I'm a fucking ticking time bomb.

You should kill yourself, Jared, because you're going to hurt someone, too.

That's what's going to happen.

Is Jared.

I also, there's no names in this story.

I'm just saying, Jared, but

Hunter, a woman lost her life.

Choking on her own blood.

Not from being choking on her own blood.

Not from Blunt Force drama, from being struck by a car while she was going 80 miles an hour to bike.

She somehow landed.

The pool of blood collected in her mouth, and she was like,

yo, I didn't even see you.

I shouldn't have been driving.

Yeah, I'm an adult humans do, Hunter.

Well, I'm an adult, so I shouldn't have been driving behind the wheel.

I should have known this would have happened.

If it wasn't you, to hurt each other.

If it wasn't you, I would have

driven up on the side of a sidewalk and crushed into another human being because it's just my, it's my adult urge.

Okay, go ahead, sir.

I urged him to see a doctor because he was clearly mentally unstable and beating himself up for something out of his control.

He wouldn't listen and just said, I know what I need to do now.

That was the last time I saw him until tonight.

It'd have been two weeks.

I don't know why you said that as if you were reading something really quickly.

Like, you said that the way you went,

I'll reread it.

No, no, no.

No, the way you went, I know what I need to do now.

I know what I need to do now.

I know what I need to do now.

There you go.

No, I like the first one better.

That was the last time I saw him until tonight.

Yes, until tonight.

It had been two weeks since that day at work.

He hasn't come in again and our manager told me he had to let him go for good this time.

I understood.

After my shift, I went over to my friend's place to check up on him.

The lights were on and I could hear the TV on, so I knew he was here.

I knocked and called out, but there was no answer.

I twisted the handle.

Luckily, or unluckily, the door door was unlocked.

I stepped into his apartment, which was lit up only by the TV playing kids' cartoons in the living room and a dim light coming.

And a dim light coming from this bedroom door, which was slightly cracked at the end of the hall.

Is he going to be a giant fucking baby?

He's going to be a giant fucking baby.

That would be something our

viewer of this show would write.

Last time we saw a man become a baby, we enjoyed it a lot.

Well, exactly.

Well, I just, I'm just saying he's putting emphasis on like oh that's why that's why i wish i was never an adult and then be like i know what i have also

i they never just said what his job is so i like to think that he's a deep sea diver so they're like on a boat and he's like i know what i have to do and he hasn't seen him and he goes to his house and there's just like spongebob playing on the tv okay sorry go ahead

why a deep sea diver because i i just i i i don't know i mean like at first i was thinking a pizza shop but i think that's just because he was driving You know, so I'm like, oh, he's like a pizza delivery driver.

That's what I was thinking.

But then I was like, well, it could be, it could be nothing.

And then I was like going around.

I'm like, it'd be really funny if his job was like super eccentric for no reason because it's like, obviously, it doesn't make a difference.

But now I got my head too much about it.

And now I think that he's a deep sea diver.

All right.

Yeah.

That makes perfect sense to me, I guess.

Okay, good.

Oh, I call that again.

No answer.

I looked around closer at the the apartment.

It was disgusting.

Cans of baby food.

Oh.

Oh, Hunter.

God damn, dude.

You might be right.

Cans of baby food littered the floor and rags covered in shit and pissed were lined in the narrow hallway.

The smell was horrible and made me gag.

I heard some movement from my friend's bedroom.

I called out again and heard a strange moan answer.

As I got closer to his bedroom, the smell got stronger and more vile.

I announced I was coming in for gently pushing the door open.

What I seen in his room still haunts me.

My friend was on all fours, wearing nothing but a shit-filled rag that was damp and leaking.

His head shaved all over, except for a small patch of wispy hair like a newborn's on the top of his head.

On the floor, his teeth lay in a small scattered pile surrounded by

dried-up blood.

When he saw me and looked into my eyes and began crying a deep and horrible cry like an overgrown baby, his mouth dripped blood from his bloody gums.

I could barely process what I was seeing.

I couldn't help but back away out of fear, but this seemed to anger him.

He began crawling towards me clumsily but with surprising speed.

I turned to run out.

He grabbed my leg as I fled, making me trip and slam to the floor.

I frantically crawled away, but he was on top of me.

He flipped me over on my back and wrapped his strong hands around my throat.

As he choked me, I stared deeply in his eyes and saw nothing over the pain and a desperate desire to be forgiven.

Instead of fighting him, I gently touched his face, gave him a look to communicate that I forgave him and just wanted to help.

He seemed to understand and let go of my neck.

He began bawling again, crawled into the corner of the hallway and curled up in a ball.

I sat there with my friend as he cried until he fell asleep.

I'm sitting outside his apartment waiting for paramedics as I write this.

I just hope when they get here, my friend's able to get the help he clearly needs.

That is the end of Loss of Innocence.

Loss of Innocence is such a good title for this story.

I will say, I will say, I like the teeth thing.

Like, he wants to be a baby, so he rips his own teeth out.

That's fun.

Listen.

The idea of a guy turning into a baby, which I wonder if the guy wrote this because he was like, my, my husband's taking our roleplay too far.

Wonder if he thought that that was interesting.

The idea of a guy

reverting back to a baby is funny.

Him

colliding into a woman at astronomical speeds being the thing to trigger it is very funny.

Also, the justification of him being like, this is why I never wanted to get old.

It's because something like this would happen

is pretty funny.

If this was a little longer, it had more dialogue.

This probably would have been

just a really funny thing it just it's it's short compact i wish there was more i love it was it's absurd i love also that i have i don't know anything about these characters i don't know what their names are don't know where they worked it's just a thing of one day they were driving together they're buddies i think they were working and uh they he basically killed someone His deep sea diver was like, you're fired.

It's a tragic tale of a deep sea diving man.

What'd you think?

Out of five creeps, what would you give Loss of Innocence?

Five creeps.

I mean, for fun, I'd give it three.

I mean, if we're talking about the horror, one would be nothing.

So I would say two, because I do like the idea of like a grown man that's just like...

wearing these diapers and rags and smells disgusting and he's ripping his own teeth out.

That's a fun visual.

Why do you think the baby?

I think it it was way too short for the concept, and that's why it kind of comes off as comedic, because what otherwise could have been like long and like mental deterioration was just adults hurt people.

I can't be an adult.

So he goes and does that.

So I feel like the shortness plays against it a lot, but it is a fun concept.

This could have been 700 pages long, Isaiah.

It could have been as long as Infinite Jest.

And if the man reverts back to a baby because he killed somebody and he was like, this is why I never wanted to grow up, it's going to be funny all right there's no no way to get around that those those things

i mean to be fair it truly was a loss of innocence wasn't it

yeah uh it was in fact loss of innocence it was i was like i'm glad we read it i think i think there's stuff there i think it was fun i think whoever that author is even though they deleted their account and i'm not going to earth yeah keep writing come come back to us because i This is, I love this.

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Now let's get back to the story.

There's a couple questions I had.

One, he uh

it seems like the baby knew that the guy was coming in there, right?

Because he was sitting there and he was like,

Where's the deal at?

I called out.

Yeah, I called it again and heard a strange moan answer, which made me think of the peanut butter baby.

Is what I was thinking.

So he's sitting there and he's like, you know, hey, Carl, are you there?

He's like,

in

the other room.

So it's like, he knew that he was coming in.

So So I'm wondering, what I'm wondering is, why the hell did he strangle this son of a bitch?

He gave him a peanut butter baby answer.

And I'm like, and he's still mad.

What the fuck is up with that?

Or is it because he's just

the baby?

The baby choked him.

No, that's what I'm saying.

The baby gave him the peanut butter baby answer with the strange bone.

Uh,

right?

Carl, are you here?

Uh,

so he knows he's there.

So to me, I'm like,

is it just the pure loss of innocence that's what made this baby?

Would the baby have killed anyone?

I guess is what I'm

the answer I wanted to know.

If anyone would have walked in, though.

Maybe, I don't know.

Again, the story is so short.

It does.

Oh, I say

humor me with speculation.

Yes, the baby would have killed anyone who came through the door.

All right.

Okay, well, then would you say that his strange moan was that of the peanut butter baby?

Sure.

well there you go my my my questions i guess have been answered

can we go now to the next story

that was loss of innocence by redacted please come back to us redacted uh peanut butter baby uh a deep sea diver turning into the peanut butter baby is pretty funny and i like that uh also too naming your story loss of innocence is awesome really funny i'm gonna get that tattooed on my chest all right next story we're doing is is the person, the missing person I'm looking for no longer exists.

I actually think that's a really sick title.

It's a good title.

It's also, we have an author this time.

So the author.

They weren't, I guess, bullied or, you know, felt embarrassed and deleted.

I say, come back to us, redacted.

I do.

I agree.

I agree with that.

So the author of this one, their name is Raymond on their Reddit profile,

and their username is consequencelevel7877.

I will say that they created their account on June the 8th and then they made this post

and never done anything else again.

Okay, what

is the only thing that ever happened?

What is with the author's writing stuff here on our deal?

It's like, I feel like we have a bunch of authors that are just serial killers that are like, this is it.

This is the only little, this is like the only thing that you'll know of me is this thing right here.

I don't want to be known.

This is my pin name.

Their Reddit account's cute, though.

They have like a little guinea pig thing.

So maybe, maybe they're not a serial killer.

Who knows?

But this is the only thing they've ever posted.

So

I guess this will determine everything about them.

This is our only understanding of them as a person.

Consequence level 7877.

Hopefully you had no loss of innocence.

And hopefully the story is good.

Isaiah, let's run it.

Let's run it.

All right.

The missing person I'm looking for no longer exists.

I'm an investigator working on a contract-to-contract basis in the Pacific Northwest of the United States.

Around four months ago, a string of house fires sprang up across Oregon.

Initially, I had no involvement in the investigations revolving around these fires.

I had kept up with information about them to have on file for future contracts.

Otherwise, all I knew up until a few weeks ago was that there were rumors of a serial arsonist because the points of origin of the fires were fairly unusual.

Three weeks ago, however, I was contacted by both the local police department and a private client to participate in the investigation of a missing person's case.

Now, usually, I would not post information about a client publicly, but due to the nature of what I'm about to explain, I don't think it matters at this point.

The missing person in question is a 29-year-old female named Millie.

From the documentation and summaries given to me by my client and the police, she was born and raised in Oregon, has an interest in classics, works for a number of historical education foundations, and is not someone who would be suspected of disappearing without warning.

All this information was true and verifiable until yesterday morning.

To be totally honest, I am completely lost on what to do.

The situation goes beyond anything I've ever experienced in my life before, let alone as an investigator.

The following is my recount of the events leading up to today.

Any advice is appreciated.

Three weeks back when I first was contacted by my client, who is a close relation to Millie, I was told that she had not contacted any of her family in almost a month.

This was apparently highly unusual for her.

When visiting her home, nobody answered the door.

Her car was still on the driveway, but all the blinds of the windows were shut and the doors were all locked.

I initially approached this contract somewhat casually since a lot of these cases end up being misunderstandings or runaway spouses.

Then, about a week later, I got a call from a local police department.

Apparently, a fire had started in another home.

This was no issue for the department or for their arson investigators.

What was a problem was the fact that all of the previous homeowners had been reported as missing many months prior, and this case was no different.

This information was withheld from the public to stop any potential suspects from going into hiding.

As it so happens, the missing person in both my client's case and the arson investigation was none other than Millie.

Investigators had already been assigned to the previous missing person's case, so they needed to outsource this one in order to keep diligent on the others.

I had previously worked with the police department, so I suppose I was the first on their list of investigators.

I was given briefs on her background, missing person reports, family relations, etc., which was far more information than I had gotten from my other client.

In a week prior to the police contacting me, I had found almost nothing that could be considered a lead.

So I was very thankful to have Dada to work with.

Previously, Previously, I didn't have access to her home, any record, and since she barely had an online presence, I was unable to track down information about her other than through her friends and family.

The only other information I was able to gather was by contacting the educational foundations and museums she'd been working with.

All of them said they hadn't heard from her in almost two months.

I was brought in to investigate the house fire along with the arson team.

the day after I was contacted.

The team had already swept over the house the day of the fire, but were returning to explain the strange nature of this case and assist me in whatever way they could.

It was explained to me that the point of the origin of the fire was around the fireplace.

This would have been normal enough if it weren't for the fact that the fireplace itself and the carpet around it were completely untouched.

The fire started around the fireplace, especially focused on the ceiling.

Not only that, but the carpeted floor of the living room was unaffected, other than being covered from the ash that had fallen from the surrounding walls and the ceiling.

It was as though an incredibly hot flame had been floating in mid-air just above the floor.

Entering the home, this is exactly what it looked like.

Clean, dark red carpeted floor surrounded by pitch-black, scorched walls and a half-burnt ceiling.

The structural integrity of the home seemed to be intact enough to be safe to enter.

There was a burnt couch, some chairs, tables, and a wall of burnt bookshelves that had toppled next to a fireplace.

I took my time to look around the home.

Starting with the second-story bedroom, I tried to turn on a light, but the power had been shut off in case the problem stemmed from an electrical fire.

When I tried to put up the window blinds to get light into the room, they wouldn't budge.

Looking closely with a dim flashlight, the blinds of all the windows to the room had been nailed down to the wood of their window frames.

I asked the Arsen team about this, and they said there's no concrete explanation as to why.

It was across every window of the house.

If she had been stalked, this might make sense, but that would likely not apply to the second story windows.

No history of mental instability or paranoia, this was fairly unusual.

I checked the master master bedroom and the bathrooms upstairs and got almost nothing.

Everything looked fairly clean and like a relatively normal, lived-in home.

Even in the office, there was almost nothing unusual to find.

I searched lightly for journals or documents that might assist in figuring out what happened.

But much of the evidence had been taken in already, so I would need to request access to it.

Back in the living room, I noticed that none of the burnt books had been moved.

I checked with the arson team, who cleared me to look through the books scattered all around the fireplace among the toppled bookshelves.

Many of the books were unreadable and reduced to a block of ash.

So, sifting through the pile directly in front of the fireplace, I came across one that was surprisingly intact.

It was covered in ash, but quickly flipping through the pages, it was completely unburnt.

I was ecstatic to see that it looked to be a journal of some kind.

Usually, I would turn to send evidence and request access to it after it had been gone over the core investigative team.

My other client had put high urgency on finding Millie, so I instead decided I would do some work with it at home and then turn it in as evidence the next time I came to Millie's property so I could bypass the weeks it might take to get access to it.

I'll summarize my room-to-room search by saying I found absolutely nothing else in that home that could lead to any potential avenues to explain her disappearance.

The only thing out of place was the fire and the blinds being nailed shut.

When asking, the department said her passport and more personal documents were all in a fireproof lockbox upstairs.

Otherwise, all the potentially useful contents of her office were really just historical papers and drawings of ancient Greek architecture and mythology.

I checked every source I could find.

After getting home late, I set the notebook on my desk, on top of a clean towel, sat down to start reading it, with gloves on.

It was dark outside, so I had to turn on the nearby lamp.

Since I was going to be turning the book in, I was hoping to avoid any of my own potentially traceable DNA or fingerprints getting anywhere on the book.

The front of the journal was a rough red fabric that, top of being covered with ash, looked pretty tattered.

At first glance, it looked like the bottom right corner, that parts of the hardback shell had been burnt like the other books.

But feeling them, I realized they simply had been covered with bits of dark, smoky black ash that had worked its way in between the fibers of the cover.

For one, if he brought this thing all the way back to his house, he's got so much DNA.

There is no way.

Yeah.

There, he is 100% getting asked a bunch of questions by the police, no question.

Yeah, why would you remove that?

Uh,

uh, it's my job.

I wanted to know.

I needed to also contact Hades, just as she had,

and get stuck through the fireplace portal.

The spine of the book had 15 indented black notches that looked like hash marks, equally spaced from top of the spine to the bottom.

Opening it, some pages had stuck together from moisture and weathering, and needed to be carefully pulled apart.

The paper was old and very coarse.

Yellowing had spread over the corners of the inner hardcover.

In the bottom left, there also seemed to be an egg-sized, deep reddish-black blotch.

I initially thought someone must have spilled ink on the cover.

Upon closer inspection, sprawling pattern of lines inside the inky mark seemed more like the fingerprint of a giant.

I remember exclaiming, what?

in confusion.

It was very clearly a fingerprint of some kind, but it was truly about the size of an egg.

I thought somebody had to have made a stamp of their fingerprint as a clever way to sign personal items without giving their identity away to the average person if it was found.

Unfortunately, Millie had no fingerprint on file, even with international travel, so I couldn't compare to see if it was hers.

This piqued a sort of morbid curiosity in me.

Journals are personal, but that was going a step beyond.

I had to understand why someone, especially if it was Millie, would go to such links to hide their identity for a journal.

It could even help explain her disappearance.

Turning to the next page, it was hard to avoid ripping the paper when trying to get the two pieces unstuck from each other.

The first page surprised me.

It was filled with a wall of text in a language I did not recognize.

Some letters looked familiar but slightly off when compared to English counterparts.

Y's and O's with strikes through them neatly written in what looked to be charcoal were sprawled across the page.

Seeing as Millie had associations with classical studies, I had to assume it was some alternate Greek alphabet that I obviously could not read.

This continued in a few pages until it suddenly cut off midway through on the left side of the third page.

On the right-hand page, there looked to be only two words written.

One was neatly put in the top left corner and was written in ink and the other was off the side written in some charcoal as before.

The pages following were written semi-sporadically.

Some had what looked to be full sentences others had one word in large letters.

The writings alternated between the ink and the charcoal but both looked to be in the same handwriting.

After a while flipping through, came across a set of pages that were drawings of scenes.

These were written in charcoal and had been so badly smudged that I could not tell what they depicted.

It looked like an interior of some kind, but all the details were smeared and smudged till incomprehensible.

The pages following the drawings were blank.

Flipping through, I was scared that was the end of my potential lead.

My fears were quelled when, after about 10 pages of flipping, I came across more writing.

It was the same script, but looked like a new author.

as the writing was smaller and softer than the previous text.

Flipping through this was similar.

Blocks of text diminishing into into smaller text eventually leading to smudged images and charcoal.

I continued to flip through these pages looking for any semblance of recognizable language until I eventually came across something different.

This page looked to be in a new language.

Something closer to French, written in ink.

Some words were slightly recognizable.

Comment and what looked like approacher were the two that I could more directly pick up on, but most of it I could not make any sense of.

Same pattern came up again.

Wall of text, short sentences, and some charcoal drawings.

I wish I had stopped there.

If I had stopped there, everything would have been fine.

Turning pages and attempting to decipher yielded no better understanding.

That wasn't until I turned to a new blank section.

Flipping through, I was again worried I'd come to the end of this fascinating and potentially useful book.

I saw a blanche of ink in between the pages I had flipped through, which I quickly turned back to.

The top left corner, the right-hand page, there was a clear as day English word.

Hello?

It sort of shocked my brain back into what I was doing.

Up until this point, nothing had been decipherable.

So it didn't feel like I was doing anything wrong.

Reading that one word made me realize I could be doing something I shouldn't be.

This was someone's private property.

Someone missing, LS.

My brain had to come up with reasons to keep reading.

Even though I might be prying into something that could have been of little use to the case that came from a crime scene.

Maybe I'd find evidence and progress the missing person's case, or perhaps a family member might appreciate the memories within.

No matter the reason, I turned the page.

Next page was not much more verbose.

Do you have a name?

Okay, this is fun.

Because the whole time it's like, all right, where are we getting to with the writing?

And clearly she was like interested in some kind of ancient religion or spell or something like that, but now we're seeing her interactions like she was talking through the page.

Yeah, I was I thought it was leading into like a necronomicon kind of thing, but yeah, it's cool.

It's like this weird supernatural text that she's like talking to spirits through or something.

Yeah, that's fun.

That's fun.

Also, all the old text, it's something that's obviously been passed around for God knows how long.

This book, he establishes it as the red cover.

It's old.

There's a thumbprint of something like a demon or like some ancient being passed it on.

And like several different people from different cultures have pushed this through each other.

And her being a history major, she came across it somehow and tried it it for herself.

It's

that was interesting to me.

Someone had written on this page, but not the text, and it was a question, no less.

Turning to the page, there was more text on the left page.

Nice to meet you, and again, the right-hand page was blank.

The next-oh, that's cool.

It's like whatever answer it gave her, it probably shows up.

Yeah,

yeah, that's neat.

The next page, simply read

unimportant.

Something clicked in my head at that moment.

This wasn't a journal.

It was a sort of book filled with a pre-planned half of a conversation with the previous owner.

It must have been passed down from person to person or left for more people to find.

This would explain what I saw before, at least somewhat.

Maybe they were all conversations between previous owners.

This was incredibly unprofessional of me.

I don't know what came over me.

Something about this book was so intriguing up to this point that I wasn't really thinking about the situation I was in.

That same morbid curiosity was brought about again.

Potentially conversing with a missing person drove me to want to see what conversation might be in store if I followed along.

Going back, I took my closest pen next to the first English page.

I wrote, Hello.

I mean, you got to be curious, right?

You do, but it's just, God, like rule number, it's just like in movies when it's like, you know, someone's like,

What is this?

What is this weird language?

Ba la cool.

It's like, why, why, why read it?

You know what I mean?

That guy should.

Turning the page next to the question about a name, I wrote.

Yes, my name is Isaac.

I turned the page again.

My blood stood still for a moment as I read the response.

Nice to meet you, Isaac.

So, hold on.

He wrote.

He's writing next to the person that previously wrote.

Well, he's writing what's your name.

Yeah, he writes, yes, my my name is Isaac.

Yeah, he's following along with the stuff before, and now on the blank pages, he's saying the response.

I see, okay.

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Now let's get back to the story.

I sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes.

Rereading the page, I tried to make sense of what had just happened.

I tried to remember what I had read on that page previously, but would have definitely noticed if it had said my name before, written there.

But here it was, plain as day.

I tried to explain it away as being me hastily reading over the pages, my heart pounding out of my chest.

I wrote my own question.

Do you have a name?

Turning the page, I remembered what it had said before, which was still written there.

Unimportant.

Hmm.

so it knew what he was going to say no that wasn't the previous owner i'm thinking that that was the previous question she wrote as well and it's been left there

is what is what is what is what i believe it to be where she saw this thing what what's your name who are you and then the thing probably just put unimportant i see okay something about this made me slam the book shut Even though I knew what was written there, even though I had just read it moments ago, I still wrote a question.

It had written the answer before i even knew i would ask it felt like my own thoughts had been peered into in personal and violating way took a few minutes to calm down try to rationalize what was going on up until this point i thought i had been conversing with millie even the handwriting looked comparable to notes i had seen written by her in her documentation nothing could explain what was happening other than me misremembering what was written.

This was a rabbit hole I did not want to go down anymore.

After sitting for a a few moments, I decided I should just read on and stop being frightened of something that could be rationally explained.

It had to be rationally explained.

Isaac was already written there, and I had missed it.

In my hysteria, I had to have unconsciously responded to the answer I'd written on the next page.

I opened the book again, flipped back to the page I left on.

Flipping forward to check the next page did nothing to help my paranoia.

Where are you?

Pushing past my anxiety, I wrote, wrote, Hello.

Why is your name unimportant?

I flipped the next page.

That's good.

Where's Camille?

This settled my stomach a little.

This was entirely indirect and seemed completely disconnected from my question.

I've been paranoid about nothing.

I decided to keep moving with this.

I don't know, Camille.

Who is she?

Turning the page, the next was blank.

This surprised me.

I thought there would be something written with how this book had been filled up until now, so I turned again.

How has your day been?

At this point, I was feeling a little less anxious about everything.

This was a far simpler and more disconnected from the previous context.

It was more along the lines of what I'd expect from a gimmick like this.

So I wrote.

My day was fine.

I'm an investigator.

I found this journal in a burnt house earlier.

Arson plus a missing person.

A very unusual situation.

Turning the page, I was puzzled for a moment.

So you do know Camille.

Hmm.

Interesting.

Then I froze.

My heart started pounding again.

This time, it was pounding so hard it began to hurt.

The weight behind that name felt like someone was pouring cement over every inch of my body.

On the next page, I wrote a question.

Millie?

Turning the page, I stumbled, trying to get out of my chair away from the book.

Written on the next page, in the top left-hand corner, were the following words.

A very unusual situation.

So yeah, now he's completely convinced that whatever this is on the other side of the book is talking to him.

Yeah.

Or that it, or it's already written the answers, and he's asking the questions to whoever wrote in the book knew he would ask in the future or something.

Adrenaline surged through my body like I never experienced before.

Nothing previously in my life, even remotely, compared to the confusion and dread I felt in that moment.

I could barely get air into my lungs.

Reading just a few words, the situation had become much bigger than I previously could have imagined.

I thought long and hard about whether I should continue.

Other than what this book was, my first question was why I had not heard from anyone up until this point that Millie's name was actually Mill.

Even in documents, her first name was recorded as Millie.

Hence why I hadn't connected the dots the first time it came up.

I was petrified.

Every part of my body was screaming at me to stop this and run.

And yet...

Something in the back of my psyche was screaming the opposite, that if I stopped, something horrible would happen.

That I needed to approach this very cautiously and leave it very carefully.

I sat back down and reread the sentence a few more times, trying to convince myself there was a logical explanation.

Unfortunately, this was more direct than any coincidence could explain.

I began to run through the possible responses in my mind.

Somehow I got the feeling that I needed to get back out of this unexpectedly present conversation in a way that did not let on anything about how I was feeling.

Lightheaded, I wrote, Where are you from?

Using all my will to keep my hand from shaking.

Somewhere close.

I don't like that.

That is oddly threatening, isn't it?

Yeah, somewhere close.

It's a funner way than just being like, I'm here with you.

Because that feels too

close just feels so oddly threatening.

It's like, what do you mean by that?

Do you mean somewhere close, like, as opposed to compared to Earth or as compared to my bedroom?

It's just vague enough to be unsettling.

This is a really fun concept.

An investigator finding a book that he's talking to effectively.

I also like,

we clown on stories sometimes for

like having our characters be too dramatic in scenarios.

Like, I stood up, I jumped, I freaked out and stuff.

But I feel like with how grounded the story was in its intro of him being an investigator, I feel like this is illogical.

Like him jumping up and like pushing himself against the wall and stuff.

I feel like that is a thing you would do if you realized a book was talking to you.

Well, there's a difference between overacting and simply acting.

The story has propped up this thing now to where the story feels, the character feels lived in, and then now we're getting to like get these visual representations of his like physical state along with his mental state.

Because it's one thing to just be like, I was petrified, but then to have it, be able to explain a character like getting up and pacing around a room.

Like you can hear his footsteps in your head as you're reading this.

You know, those things add to the story and the like kind of bravado and the tension that's happening, you know, because you need to, it's also padding it.

Like, it is, if it would, it'd be different if it was back-to-back-to-back, all these different quotes.

But these little descriptors give us a nice breather between them, and they are, it's just building anticipation, which is really fun.

Something about these words felt more threatening than before.

What did Camille say to you before she left?

If I could use this situation to help Millie somehow, then maybe something good could come of everything going on.

The wrong question.

That's fun.

That's cool.

I shuddered slightly.

What did that mean?

What constitutes a wrong question?

I worried I'd make the same mistake if I asked.

Between each response, I had to think deeply about the consequences of what I was asking.

I thought it would make sense to ask something completely unrelated to anything that had been mentioned so far.

What is the date today?

Flipping the page gave a response that ate away at my curiosity again.

The next page was filled with what looked to be a series of shapes to lines being made up of the same characters at the start of the book in a language I did not understand.

Buddy, that's the wrong question.

That's the wrong question.

You ask a question and it's just like,

yeah, if you fucking ask a question and then the stupid ass Pokemon that are like weird hieroglyphics, whatever, start floating around, you know you're fucked, dude.

Yeah, well, I better ask him something straight up, and he just responds back like,

that's such a funny way to describe, like, non-Euclidean geometry.

Like, oh no, the Pokemon again.

You know, you know, which Pokemon I'm talking about?

What the fuck were those called?

Origon?

Is that what you're talking about?

The one that's like made up of shapes, the digital one.

I thought you were just referring to like the demon was drawn in like

ununderstood hieroglyphics and like geometry.

And you're like, oh, yeah, the Pokémon.

No, no, no, no, no, it's this.

Look here, I'm posting it in the uh, I'll send it to you.

I don't know, I don't know Pokemon enough to know, but I remember when I was younger, these guys were in there.

I'm saying these little motherfuckers.

Oh, are those Pokémon?

Yeah, the ones that are just shape.

I mean, we'll show a picture, but I don't know what you call those.

I don't know what they're fucking called.

They do kind of look like that, don't they?

That is, that's not a bad, that's not a bad guess.

Oh,

Are they just called unknown?

They might just be called unknown.

Uh-oh, that's the wrong question.

Bad decision, Mark.

You ask, what's the date?

And it starts, because it's not going by like the Gregorian calendar or the Julian calendar or whatever.

It's just like pulling you straight back from time.

It was poorly sketched in charcoal, and even if I could read the language, the characters were so smudged that it seemed unlikely to be legible.

I don't understand whatever you wrote there.

Could you write it in English?

As long as I kept the conversation moving in a mundane direction, I figured I could end it after a while as though I had enjoyed the chat.

Where are you from?

The question itself was fairly clear.

The confusing part was that this response was in my handwriting.

What?

Weird.

It's stealing his handwriting to be like, this is what you're supposed to ask.

Is that what it's doing?

I'm not sure.

I decided to lie.

Given whatever this was, any information about myself was definitely not in my best interest.

I'm from Europe.

What about you?

And I realized I had just effectively asked the same question from earlier.

Seeing us asking these questions seemed to agitate it, my anxiety spiked immensely.

Turning the page, my breath left my lungs.

I know who you are.

So earlier, he asked it, where are you you from?

And it said somewhere near.

And

he's like, I don't like that.

So he tries to take it somewhere else.

Then it like copy-paste his question again, where are you from?

And in responding to himself, he accidentally once again says, what about you?

He asks once again, where are you from, basically?

And it responds with, I know who you are.

Again, like a vaguely threatening answer.

Do you think that it's like a version of himself?

You know what I mean?

Like, is the thing slowly become like, not that it's it's becoming him, but could he be talking to an alternate reality version of himself or something, or something that's taking the shape of him?

Like, somewhere close to me, it's I think it's a this feels more like a demon or entity because it's historic, right?

It's like some well, sure, but

I still think something could be taking his likeness or something.

The whole idea, too, that Millie is gone or something, it could

the handwriting thing threw me off of, like, it was in his handwriting.

I don't know.

Well, that's because that's the exact same thing he asked earlier.

So it's just like taking it and then hating it on a page later.

Yeah.

Yeah.

What little calm I had begun to experience in this situation immediately left me.

Asking anything relating to whatever I was talking with seemed to bring about a sense that it did not want me digging any deeper.

Maybe that's what happened to Millie.

Maybe she asked too many questions about whatever this was.

I decided not to respond to this.

If I left it blank, maybe it would move on.

Fortunately, it's very wrong.

On the next page, there was not handwriting, but rather a drawing, charcoal sketch, similar to the ones I had seen earlier in the book.

This time, it was not smudged like the others, it was a clear sketch of a street lined with houses.

Turning the page again, there was another sketch.

The sketch was just a single house, not just any house, though.

It was my house.

Oh no.

In a panic, I turned the page again.

The next sketch was a close-up of the right side of my front lawn, where you could see my office window.

Oh, goddamn.

The office I was in.

I did not want to turn the page again.

My mind was screaming at me to stop here.

My body moved as though it were acting on its own.

I turned the page again.

I screamed as I heard what sounded like something heavy and wet hit the window behind me so hard I'm surprised the glass didn't shatter.

I turned to the window.

By the grace of God, I had my curtain shut.

It took all of my willpower to look away, but I turned back to the book.

This time, the sketch was from the perspective of just outside my office window.

You could clearly see a crew drawing to me, turned towards the reader, as if looking over my shoulder at the window.

Something was there.

And it could see me.

I did not know what to do.

At this point, I felt as though my sanity was leaving me.

I quietly rolled out of my chair.

Some deep, unrecognizable voice within my mind began to call me towards the window.

Feeling wasn't just a pull, it was a lustful desire.

Like I had go towards the window, as though it had some untold pleasure ready for me when I got there.

I walked towards it slowly, each half of my brain fighting the other so avidly my head began to pound with an indescribable pain.

I felt like my mind was going to be torn apart.

Once I got to the window, I sat there.

The fear had gotten strong enough that I was able to at least stop myself from opening the curtains.

Now that I was right in front of the window, I could hear a faint, continuous hum coming from the glass, as though a steady tone was vibrating it.

I could also feel a warmth like I never felt before.

The only thing I could compare it to would be a combination of as if I had been embraced by my soulmate for the first time and simultaneously had scolding desert sand thrown across the front of my body.

Wherever the warmth touched, all at once, pain brought me to my senses.

I began to cry.

I was so frightened.

Tears running down my eyes, I backed away from the window.

I backed up, not taking my eyes off it until I got back to my desk.

I mustered up the courage to look away, saw that the drawing had changed.

It was the same in position, but it depicted me in front of the window as I was just moments ago.

I don't know what struck my instincts into action, but after a moment of contemplation I took the left-hand page and turned back to the previous page.

As I did so I heard the hum die away and the tingling, painful warmth fade.

I dared not turn to look.

Instead, I continued to turn back the pages.

One by one, I watched the sketches zoom further from my house until I got to a page with text.

It was not the page that was there originally.

Where are you?

This was written across both pages in large, sprawling charcoal text.

At this point, I had determined that, by continuing, I would be in more danger than anything that could happen to me if I closed the book.

So I did just that.

I closed it.

Immediately, the headache, anxiety, and adrenaline that had been pumping through every vein of my body disappeared.

My body relaxed as though it knew it had just narrowly escaped some unknown horror.

I waited in my chair, silently, watching the windows and doors of my room for what I have to assume was hours.

Because by the time I left my room, it was light again outside.

I very cautiously wrapped the book in the towel I had set under it earlier, headed to my front door.

After stepping outside, I nervously approached the window to my office to see what was there.

On the window, there was what looked to be dried, dark, chunky blood and burnt skin left behind from whatever was pressed against it.

It resembled the imprint of a face with skin hanging off of it, pressed up against the glass.

Sagna misshapen.

Just thinking about what would have happened if I'd opened that window made me feel ill.

I had a shovel in my car already, which is an unfortunate necessity in more unsavory missing persons' cases.

I drove for a very, very long time.

Strangely, I encountered nothing strange the whole time.

I drove from the town I was in to one of the deepest rural hikes I know in Oregon.

I spent an hour digging a deep hole, my heart racing the entire time, and I buried the book there.

Now some of you might be wondering, why I didn't just burn the book?

I have a good reason.

Under what circumstances had Millie gone missing?

What string of events preceded her disappearance?

A string of fires and a string of disappearances?

I believe I'm not the first one to have this experience.

I fear that if I try to burn the book, I will become another missing person's case.

I instead successfully buried that book somewhere nobody will ever find it, and I do not plan on trying to remember where I chose.

This wasn't already strange enough.

Just yesterday, some new information came to light.

I tried continuing to find Millie despite all that had happened.

This is a human being we're talking about.

I tried to set the past few weeks without involving myself any further.

I just couldn't sit knowing she could be alive somewhere along with the rest of those people.

So I decided to involve myself in the case again, even without the book, yesterday morning.

When I called the police department, however, I was shocked to learn that nobody knew what I was talking about.

There's no missing persons case.

In fact, there were no missing person cases at all.

Hostulta fires had been in vacant houses and were determined to be electrical issues across the board.

Even stranger still, I called the private client who was supposedly close family to Millie.

They asked how I got in their number and, even worse, stated that their younger sister, Camille, had died at a very young age from an illness.

They went as far as to hang up on me when I tried to ask further.

I don't know what's going on.

If anyone has any advice, I'll take it.

I don't believe Millie died as a young girl and I believe she and others might still be suffering somewhere out there.

Something about the warmth keeps replaying in my dreams.

The lust and pain I felt just being near wherever that thing was at the window can only lead me to wonder what horrible experiences they might be going through right now.

Like a twisted version of being drowned after following a siren's call.

For now though, I'm going to sleep.

I'm done with journals.

I'm hoping I could put all of this behind me.

Man, bravo.

That was awesome.

That was great.

Wow.

What a great story.

First off, too, well, let's get into question time.

Do you think that, do you think that the

whatever entity this was, could that have been Millie on the other side?

of some sort?

No, I think what it is, is

there is a demon or some, it said she was reading like old Greek mythology.

So, like some ancient demon or god or whatever that's tied to this book that you can communicate with.

There might actually, I'm not that familiar with Greek mythology.

There might be a like myth in Greek tradition about like something you talk through through a book, for all I know.

Um,

but whatever it was, is something that

people can communicate with by writing on the page, and it gives them an answer, and it eventually beckons them to it.

Like he said, it was on the other side of the window, and even though he was terrified, he felt drawn, He felt compelled to go open it.

And if you do open it, I think it takes you away potentially, or you just see the previous victim of it or something like that.

And it erases you from history.

That would also explain why all of the answers are like erase.

Like in the same way, everyone who's interacted with it's gone.

And there was a string of house fires.

So perhaps, as he implies at the end, people tried to burn it.

And then instead, everything around it burned besides the book and maybe the person burned with it.

But it seems that whoever interacts with it is ripped out of history and that's why i don't know why we've got the name millie wrong maybe millie is like um

well i thought that millie was actually part of well that was he said that was the name that was on the report yeah and then camille was the actual name but he's like i never thought to connect them because on the actual report millie was the one written if that's what you mean Yeah, I wonder what that could mean.

Maybe Millie is like the name the demon uses or something like that.

And it just picked him to be its next victim.

And then the reason it was asking about Camille is Camille was the last person in line who had the book.

Yeah, he's speaking to some ancient entity.

I think Camille is Millie.

Well, it is, but I'm saying, like, why would it use the name Millie if every other instance it's names Camille?

Because he sees that, like, Millie is the name of, like, oh, this is the missing person, but he says it's on all the official documentation.

But then after this experience with the book's over, they don't know a Millie.

They know a Camille.

It seems that Millie was just an alias for some reason that was written on everything oh yeah

so i don't know where that connection comes from but the story did a lot of uh really good things one thing it did very well was i think it set up a very fun

uh

like i like the idea of like an arson like a guy basically trying to solve a mystery case and this weird arson

uh

Basically, like this weird arson case where he finds this book.

It's very weird.

He kind of takes it even though he shouldn't.

And then he is tempted by it the same way that all the other victims have.

It also does a good job by like because in movies, people do dumb things because that's conflict and you need conflict for story.

If there is no conflict, there is no story.

So that's why people do it.

But I do think for like a Reddit post horror story where someone's like talking to us as if it's like an R slash no sleep, it's fun that the guy rejects that like temptation.

at the end.

Like

it's a very satisfying thing for the character to be smart.

But I think the most effective thing the story did was building anticipation

in just so many great ways.

Like

pacing around, it really took its time with all of the things because it

did,

it like took had a new fun way of like basically combining like that fucking book and Harry Potter mixed with like a necronomicon.

Like it kind of like had like, it's a new fun take on that.

onto this like kind of stereotypical trope of like evil book with you know ancient text in it that summons an evil spirit of some kind i think that it played with that really well but also too just like the subtlety of how it was you know the you know it didn't go overboard on like you know because the creature could have said something like yeah the creature the the thing could have like you know been saying all this horrible shit or like horrifying stuff but it was all very subtle and simple and that within itself somewhere nearby and that

yeah it built that dread and then the charcoal drawing uh was really fun too of like you like see these sketches being made of someone outside your house and stuff.

Just a lot of fun.

Like, I really, really enjoyed this one, man.

And I think, too, great length.

Like, it wasn't too short.

It wasn't too long.

It was just this nice, solid story.

And I lost a little of my innocence in it as well.

So I think that's fantastic.

Okay, I'm glad that you're still incorporating that title.

Love loss of innocence.

Love it.

That was awesome, though.

We'll be sure, like I said, we have all the stories in the description of this as well, but that was

a fuck up.

That was very well done.

Raymond, come back.

That was your only post ever.

Keep doing that.

Keep writing, Raymond.

We miss you.

We need you.

Consequence level 7877.

The next story is by Only a Blur, and it's called I've Discovered a Book That Does Not End.

Two book stories.

Two book stories.

To be fair.

So, go ahead.

I want to say, to be fair, we did not know that the missing person story was going to be primarily a book story, but here we are.

Yes, that was convenient.

So, the author, only a blur, goes by Brandon.

And they seem to, they post in R/Slash/Creepcast a lot.

We were their number two most listened to podcast last year.

I don't know why we weren't number one, but that's okay, I guess.

Is it awkward?

What's the first?

But, well, to counter that, the first is the official podcast with

the gang.

And number three was Red Thread, which was the show I was on.

So, yeah, I don't know why Coopkast and

he's a big fan of yours then.

It seems.

Yeah, he also bought our merch.

He bought the last Creepcast drop, according to this picture of him.

He posted in R slash Creepcast a lot.

So he seems to be a fan.

And he also posts R slash Bojack Horseman.

So, you know, peak recognized.

Very cool.

Very cool of you.

But so it seems he started writing this previous year.

So he started posting in R slash Creepcast.

And then after that, he started posting short stories.

He's posted a couple to No Sleep and R slash horror stories.

One called The Regular at My Bar Won't Stop Coming In.

And he also posted that one to Creepcast as well.

That one seems to be doing well.

But the one we're reading, I discovered a book that does not end.

It seems he posted to No Sleep, and then it got taken off of No Sleep.

So classic no sleep passion.

So we are going to be reading.

So after that one got deleted from No Sleep, he then posted his stories over to R slash Creepcast.

And so now the story we're reading today was taken off of no sleep, probably because it, you know, doesn't,

it gives like the full name of a fictional character or something like that.

So,

but yes, posted by Brandon only a month ago.

So it seems that he's got a thing for writing, getting into it.

So hopefully

this is good and we don't make too much fun of it.

And you continue writing.

I love it.

Nice new author.

Let's see what he has here, dude.

Also, I want to say that I like the name of the title.

It's a nice hook.

So let's see if the hook has a little bit of bait on it for daddy.

Well, I didn't like the way that you were.

I didn't.

I didn't like it.

It was unpleasant after it.

I think calling fans of the show or referring to yourself as daddy when talking to them seems to be.

Okay, well, I meant

that was a bit, I didn't mean to.

That was a bit of an overstep.

I'm sorry.

Okay, well, as long as you know that.

All right.

I've discovered a book that does not end by Brandon, also known as Only a Blur.

Most of my life, I have been considered a bookworm by the people around me in my life.

Always loved reading ever since my 11th grade English teacher assigned us to read Blood Meridian by Cormick McCarthy.

Okay.

All right.

Well, I feel like I'm.

All right.

I wonder if he's a fan of yours.

Well, I've talked multiple times that my 11th grade English teacher assigned

The Road by Cormick McCarthy.

Did you see that?

I did give that story multiple times.

And I know for a fact that English teacher was not assigning Blood it again.

That's for sure.

I like the.

I saw you responded to that tweet that was like,

yeah, I mean, it's not that I dislike Wendigoon, but I hate that this character is like a creepy, like a, that he's like a, what is it, a, a, a creepy character.

A creepypasta character.

He's like a creepy people trying to judge hold on whatever.

Yeah.

As if, as if that's your fault in like in any way or whatever.

So that's kind of a not to go on too much of a tangent, but

I almost see both sides of it because has there ever been something you've been really nichely interested in that gets popular really quick and the tone around it kind of changes, you know?

Yeah.

Well, I think like, to be fair, you because you used that image, right?

That's like that was kind of a popular image, but I just think that it's just the image of Judge Holden, you mean?

Like that picture.

The painting.

Yeah, I used the picture.

I used that in the video.

Yeah.

Yeah.

So like that's just that's also just a prime meme kind of image.

You know what I mean?

Like it almost

I don't know.

Like you have an image like that.

It's going to take shape and it's going to like breed new life, especially because you're visiting it.

I mean, that's a little well too.

So like that's it's less about even people understanding and more so that it's just a great simple image that you can like kind of repurpose.

Because it's not that it's too detailed.

You can kind of like redraw it.

You know, it's almost like fucking when.

what is it, Pepe the Frog got taken over.

Yeah.

It just, it just evolves and transforms into whatever the fuck people are going to run with it, you know?

Yeah, and I think, I think there's a, there's a balance with it.

Cause, like, for Judge Holton's a good example.

So, a lot of people maybe seen that image before and stuff like that, but they hadn't, and maybe they heard of Blood Meridian, but they weren't familiar with the story.

They weren't familiar with the concepts.

And I read the book, really liked it, wanted to talk about it.

So I talk about it, and I don't think I'm the sole reason that Blood Meridian got more popular online.

I think Corbett McCarthy's death also led to a bunch of people checking it out and stuff like that.

But I certainly was a piece in the puzzle of Blood Ridding gaining popularity.

And,

or at least in online spaces, it was obviously a popular book beforehand, just a lot of younger audiences weren't familiar with it.

Sure.

And

I think when that happened, a lot of people kind of

started to perceive it the way they do other stories, like, oh, creepy character, heavy, intense moments, all the, you know, kind of like

dramatic, bloody moments from the book.

And they started to kind of

not dumb down, but summarize a lot of Judge Holden's actions as big, scary, evil man in the old West, right?

And versus

representation of, you know, greed and all that other kind of shit.

Yeah, yeah.

When you read Blood Meridian, it's almost like Judge Holden is a spirit of sort.

I mean, obviously, he's real in the book, but the way it's described is you have this bloody gang of like headhunters, and there's this one figure in them that completely stands in contrast of everything else in the desert.

Like, they're all these, the book goes to great lengths to describe how hairy and like dirty the guys are, but he's pristine and hairless, towering above the rest of them.

It's almost like having the Grim Reaper in camp with you.

And a lot of the symbolism around him is drawn from like Lucifer and like figures of death and Greek mythology and stuff like that.

So he's almost otherworldly, like he's too terrible to exist.

And when you distill that character down to creepy, scary man who you know is like a pedophile or whatever, you lose a lot of the weight of what that character is.

Yeah, and I understand that by me making the video, it became more popular.

So people started to talk about that's frustrating, and that's fair criticism.

But some people take that further and say that my

presentation or the way I talked about Judge Holden was the dumbing it down.

And I disagree with that.

I think in a lot of my stuff,

or like in that video, I talked at length about the stuff I just said about his, you know, determination to be an evil, but also like

kind of the greater cultural context surrounding it.

Like, I saw one, not to just like one, get one guide, but I saw one person talking about my stuff.

And it's like, well, I don't think Wendy Goon did a good job talking about like how the story is a big piece about like the evils that were done to natives in, you know, during this time in history.

But I talk in my video that if Judge Holden is like this agent of death, or if he's the devil himself, then he has seated himself in the most violent place on earth, which is the headhunters of the early American West.

And I think in that statement, like, I feel like in my video presentation, I did an honest effort at making Judge Holden the personification of him legitimate to the way he is in the book.

And if people took that and dumbed it down,

I understand the frustration, but also, in the most careful way, I can say this, it's not my fault that people, you know,

took the character and then made it into sort of a meme or something like that.

But at the same time, I understand being upset that because of my video, the character got dumbed down, if that makes sense.

This has nothing to do with the video or the podcast or anything.

I just thoughts have been in my head.

I haven't had a place to talk about them yet.

No, no, no.

I think that it's justifiable.

Also, at the same time, you made a video about a subject you're passionate about.

I think you did a good job covering it.

The video also went stupid viral, and you're going to have people that saw that who share that interest as well across the internet.

And it gets filtered time and time again through these conversations to where there probably are people who use that image or imagery or do whatever and have no idea where it comes from.

You know,

that's just also meme culture.

That's just the way that shit evolves and stuff like that.

It is what it is.

I do think, though, that like the descriptors of death, because every time that I saw the original painting of it, it always made me think of the Grim Reaper from a Seventh Seal.

Yeah, he didn't.

Yeah.

Just that kind of like, you know, just the pale face kind of thing.

But anyways, it's just Prime also because it's perfect for that meme edit of like creepy, weird smile.

It's kind of funny.

Yeah.

But it's also unsettling and odd, you know.

It's simple and it's like lowbrow in its approach.

It's a fucking awesome painting.

It just rules.

So yeah, I don't know.

It is what it is.

I just thought it was funny, you know, or I just thought it was.

It's always interesting the conversations people bring up and the discourse it causes.

It's always

interesting what people decide to,

I guess, talk about.

Some people get, I say I'm set, but who knows?

I mean, it's over text, but it's just something where it's like,

who cares?

I don't know.

I think, I mean, like, I agree with you for the most part, you know, the who cares thing, but I also understand having, like, it honestly, after seeing, like, the judge get dumbed down to, you know, as the tweet said, creepypasta characters, that is frustrating.

That does annoy me because I think he's so much more than the story.

I think he represents.

But at the same time, I'm not going to stop covering stuff like that because, for one, I'm passionate about it.

I enjoy stories and I enjoy when they're done well, talking about how they're done well.

But also because

I feel like one of the biggest issues

that cause characters like that to be perceived in a dumbed-down way is because we often just hand people dumbed down stories, right?

Like

not just YouTube, but in like, you know, the way kids are talked to in school, in high school and stuff like that, they are, they're, they're given the most milquetoast interpretation of things.

They're not really encouraged to dig into art.

One of the reasons I love stories so much is as this guy referenced in my, in the 11th grade, my English teacher taught us the road and he taught it with passion.

And I heard that and was like, wow, I want to learn more stories like that.

So at the same time when, you know, people take the judge, and then they kind of dumb it down.

We have this guy who started writing short stories after he read R slash Screepcast

and he makes a reference to Blood Meridian in there and now he's writing his own story.

So for every negative way people interpret stories or take them and then spread them across their internet, there's other people who hear it, learn about it, and then are impressed to go about with their own things.

So yeah, I don't regret making that video to any regard because for any amount of damage it did, a bunch of people learned about Blood Meridian and they learned about the Judge in Earnest.

And I think that's, I think that's invaluable to teach people.

I don't know, sorry not teach to help show people about art and about what's out there i don't think that i don't think that there's any real damage to happen also to say to who cares that's a misrepresentation of i that's not the correct thing to say what i said i think more so what i mean is it's it's unavoidable to try and

you know uh

To try and please everybody.

You can't do it.

You know what I mean?

And also, it would be different too if the video was.

Was Judge Holton the first creepy?

Was he the first SCP?

That's something that's different.

You know what I mean?

Because then you're also completely lambasting the character.

I guess that's what I mean: is like

if somebody you just you can't help it, it is what it is.

You know, also, too, I think people go in with things, and I think that people go in guns blazing because they're just like it's also very much that's also

why I

mean,

keep this or not, I fucking hate Twitter because it's nothing but hive mind quote tweet bullshit where there's no there's no discussion It's people just being like I'm pissed.

Are you pissed too?

And it's that, you know, so it is

anyway.

I mean, we have a story.

Yeah, we have a story.

Sorry, I didn't mean to get so sidetracked with it, but you know,

I think it's it's fascinating hearing it come from that person because a lot of things that you do do have a cultural online impact and stuff.

And I do think that like, you know, if there's one thing that's to be said, even with these fan-made stories, is getting people excited about things and having interest in stuff.

So much of what people decide to do with their time is be pissed off or demean shit, which I'm no better.

You know, I, I definitely him

a fucking little annoying rat when it comes to things, but all you can do is be excited about stuff and try to contribute back in some meaningful way.

And that's like the best thing,

most positive thing you can do with your time versus dwelling on why things are different or popular for some reason.

You know, it's just like, if you just don't like something, move on.

And if you love something, contribute to it and like try to be a part of the conversation.

Yeah.

Yeah, that's well said.

And I think like, um,

I think like this guy here, this is really encouraging because, you know, you tell 100 people about something.

50 people are going to take it the wrong way.

50 people take it the right way.

I think it's worth telling 100 for the 50 that take it the right way is my outlook.

But like we got this guy here, only a blur, Brandon.

I scrolled through because I was trying to find, you know, what all he's written.

He's had a Reddit account for years, and then he's, he's never posted any stories he's written.

And then he starts posting an art slash creepcast, and then he writes two stories in the past couple of months.

To me, that is worth a hundred people dumbing down a character, right?

That maybe this one guy started listening to the podcast or listening to our channels and was like, I want to start telling stories.

That's worth all the other junk that comes with it, right?

um that's encouraging it's really cool to see and then in the first part there's what i assume to be kind of a reference towards uh myself that means a lot makes me feel good makes me feel good i'm glad man so anyway with the story do you just want to start from the top yeah yeah i'll just start from the top most of my life i've been considered a bookworm by the people around me in my life I've always loved reading ever since my 11th grade English teacher assigned us to read Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy.

That novel opened my eyes not only only to how powerful stories are and their impact on human emotion, but also the depravity of human beings, their unrelenting nature.

After an experience like that, I was hooked.

I would search through bookstores, libraries, garage, and estate cells.

Wherever there was a book to be found, I was at the foreground.

Once I had exhausted all of those means to find new and exciting readings, I entered to the internet.

I have a fascination with banned and lost books.

Something about the mysteries surrounding them excites me and makes me want to consume them.

About three months ago, I came across a listing on some some second-hand book website for a novel titled, World's History from Beginning to End.

This immediately piqued my interest because I noticed there was no author listed, which is not unusual when authors want to remain anonymous.

What made it strange was that there was no publisher or identity of anybody that made this book.

It was also very difficult to tell exactly what time period this book was from.

The hardcover looked as if it was almost brand new as it was just pulled off the printing press.

The pages, on the other hand, looked like they were made of papyrus, which hasn't been used to make books in centuries.

I figured I must have stumbled upon a piece of lost media that I could hopefully use to impress the other eccentrics I knew online.

I messaged the lister immediately, asking if it was still available for sale.

They responded about 10 minutes later with a location pin about 250 miles away from where I was.

I asked if we could meet halfway, but they just sent the same pin.

Knowing how these sellers usually are, they won't budge when they have a meeting place set in stone.

Picking up the book was uneventful.

Drove to the guy's place, parked right outside his modest middle-class home in the suburbs, sent him a message letting him know I was there.

He sent it back saying the book was in the mailbox and I have to leave the money in there.

Aside from feeling like I was buying weed in high school again, I didn't have any off feelings about the interaction.

When I got home, it was nearly 11.30 at night and I put the book on my nightstand and fell asleep.

Once I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was crack that book open and begin reading.

The novel was not as long as I had imagined for a full history of the world, only about 800 pages from looking at it.

The first chapter opened up on a singularity in a vastless space of emptiness seeking growth.

Over the next 50 pages, it discussed the beginning of our universe through the Big Bang.

The second chapter was around 30 pages and talked about how organisms began to attach themselves to Earth, creating a multitude of different species.

After a few more chapters, I learned about the dinosaurs, evolution of man, the stone ages, and evolution of tools, development in language, art, culture.

Now I was about 600 pages in.

We have not even broken into the first empires of the world.

In the tenth chapter, and about 720 pages into the book, it finally began discussing the start of civilization in Mesopotamia.

Once I read through that, I was nearly at the end of the novel with only an initial history of the world.

I thought the book might be part of a series, but since I couldn't even find a trace of this book anywhere, I doubt I'd find others.

The final page of the novel was on page 817 edited with a chapter talking about the rise of the babylonian empire as i flipped the final page to see the back cover i was surprised to see a new page a new chapter title on it persian and roman empires i was shocked that they would add just one page of another chapter at the end of the book but i read it anyway Once I flipped that page, another one was after it.

I swear, I did not see or feel another page on the other side of the one I had just read.

This kept going for the next 11 hours.

Every time I would flip a page, new one would be there in its place to continue the story.

Although the book seemed to go on indefinitely, the size of the book never changed.

After all that time, I had made it to around the year 1997 with the death of Princess Diana.

It was nearly 3 in the morning at this point, and I had to process to some degree what I was experiencing, so I did my best to go to sleep.

All night I could not stop thinking about the seemingly unending book.

Is it an optical illusion?

So I somehow miscounting the pages.

I had to figure out what was going on.

That's funny to imagine a guy who like it's he's literally at the back of the book and new pages keep coming and he's like, oh, must uh must have missed that one.

Hopefully

missed that one.

It's very like goose bumpy, isn't it?

It's just like this thing of also the compelling nature of being like, well, I guess I'll just keep reading because it is an anomaly.

You know, it it is like, because the size of the book never changing, but yet you still keep flipping and there's more pages.

That would be such a weird mind fuck, but it almost seems like he's like hypnotized in some weird way to keep reading and keep continuing into this like weird fucking never-ending book.

Yeah.

Yeah.

It's also threatening how it's like beginning to end.

I waited for the sun to rise before I began reading again.

Every new chapter at this point spanned over 100 pages each and only depicted about six months to a year of history at a time.

After another nine hours of reading, I made it to modern day.

They were discussing various airplane crashes that happened in DC, Philadelphia, and Scottsdale.

I read about the death of my favorite director, David Lynch, and all the other major events that have happened so far this year.

I don't know how a book could be published mere hours after these events were being discussed.

I kept turning the pages and kept reading when I realized it had listed an event that happened yesterday.

This is impossible since I bought the book two days ago.

What could possibly have an event in it that happened yesterday?

My curiosity peaked.

I kept reading.

The novel continued into how the rest of the year will play out.

I figured whoever wrote it had a bountiful imagination to insert their own predictions into a book about world history.

Once I wrapped up the 2025 years, I decided it was a good time to go to bed, so I did.

I must not have slept much in the last couple of days because I had slept through the entirety of the next one.

I woke up 32 hours later in my bed.

I did my usual morning routine of going to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, shower, shave, make breakfast, put on the news.

I found out I was sleeping through a whole day when I saw the date on the news.

The story they were showing was about a sex scandal that happened with a very prolific celebrity.

I felt a sense of deja vu come over me because I felt like I heard about that before.

I figured maybe I dreamed it it or maybe I saw an article minutes after the scandal dropped.

I know that was wishful thinking because for the two days prior to my sleep, the only media I consumed was that book.

I went to my nightstand and picked up the book, flipping to the end to find the chapter on the shear.

Just as I thought, there was a page that discussed the very same celebrity in the sex scandal, with every single detail painfully accurate.

The book even discussed details that were not present in any news footage or article online.

The book had a police evidence-like description of the crime and gave way to information a regular civilian should not have access to.

I've been a Christian all my life and believe that this book is divine.

It has access to information that no person has any right to know.

I wish I didn't know it myself, but it is the curse I've bestowed upon myself.

Whether this book is from God or the devil, I do not know.

But I wish I had the willpower to stop myself from reading after I found its prophecy.

Once I began reading, I also like that because normally I'd be like, oh, this book's like evil or like this is some forbidden knowledge or whatever, but it's just like, I think this is divine.

Like he's immediately.

Yeah, like I have to treasure this thing.

It's beautiful.

Yeah.

Once I began reading for the rest of the decade, I became more and more frightened about what I was going to learn.

In the year 2027, it said there'd be an event that altered the course of human history.

This was the popularization of easily accessible bioweapons in underground markets.

Many private terrorist organizations, drug cartels, and even individual criminals hoarded as much as they could to either threaten or dispose of individuals or large groups of people.

One of the first attacks used was on the White House.

For the federal agents watching, this is a joke.

I do not agree with the statements that are being made.

One of the first attacks used was on the White House.

A disgruntled voter had gained access to a lung cancer synthetic.

The attacker mailed 30 small samples on different days in envelopes that would carry the disease airborne when opened.

Six months later, nearly half the White House staff, including the president, were either infected or had passed away from lung cancer.

Other groups would have different tactics, like in 2029 when a domestic terrorist organization took a crop duster filled with a synthetic HIV virus and flew it over San Francisco as a homophobic attack.

Or in 2032, when we see the largest death toll from any bioweapon ever made.

Russia began experimenting with the new synthetic disease that would almost immediately kill the person affected by it.

They call it Smirt Zvertku.

Smert Zvertu, I'm sorry.

And it was used to fill the heads of atomic missiles to eviscerate the remaining people who survived after bombs were dropped.

Russia launched three missiles towards Ukraine, but had not tested the scale of the airborne illness.

They hit three different cities in Ukraine and wiped out every person in each one, along with the rest of the country.

Russia had not foreseen that the virus would spread so wide, wide enough to destroy every person in the southern region of both belarus and russia i became obsessed with this book it encumbered every waking moment of my being i learned all about the future that our world and universe has to offer i had to keep reading to understand what will happen within my lifetime and beyond i wish i just put the book down soon after russia held an accidental extinction of a country the entire world fell into an arms race to see who had the most powerful and destructive bioweapon the three countries with the largest quantity and highest mortality rate were going from third to first, Russia, America, and Ireland.

Ireland posed a major threat to the rest of the world because it owned as many bioweapons as both America and Russia combined.

Three countries entered it to a stalemate to see who would act first.

That's really funny to imagine, Ireland.

I'm like, fucking Ireland?

Really?

Don't you dare fucking

mess with us, man, for real.

I'm totally serious.

I don't want you to mess with me.

We have all the weapons of mass destruction.

I've got the weapon.

I'll send it.

I'll do it in a moment's notice.

I've got the weapon.

I'll send it.

I'll fuck you.

I'll fuck you off with it.

All right.

I'll put it at

a car bomb.

You'll see.

You see me right here, I taste it right now.

We have all of the bioweapons.

I'll tell you that much.

So funny to think Ireland would have that.

Your darn tootin.

America were the ones ones to send the official declaration of war after a high-ranking official was assassinated by an individual who was a part of the Irish Radical Party.

They dropped bombs filled with large amounts of radiation on top of Ireland's government bases.

Little did they know that America's declaration would also be its end.

The bombs were targeted at where the highest concentration of Ireland's bioweapons were to eliminate them from the arms race entirely.

The outcome of that decision was a worldwide spread of almost every type of disease known to mankind.

Even diseases that were thought to be extinct were brought into the light of day, the black plague, smallpox, and even guinea worm disease.

Millions were killed upon the initial destruction, followed by nearly the rest of the human population within the next 12 hours.

Months and years go by without anything eventful taking place, just small segments for each chapter discussing how the terrain of the world was changed and the various mutated creatures that rose because of it.

After about three years worth of text, was there any event involving a human occurring?

Roughly 10,000 people across the world had a bomb shelter built in their home for the purpose of a global disaster.

These individuals were the first to come to the surface after years of no human involvement in their environment.

Around 8,000 of these people died minutes after reaching the surface because the air still lingered with multitude of plagues.

The other roughly 2,000 people that saw the ones that left the shelter never returned.

So they assumed what was true in that surface was still dangerous.

Many of them died in their shelter years later or until they ran out of nutrients.

Few also ventured to the surface later to make a life for themselves, but with the same fate as their predecessors.

The year 2089 was the last year that humans existed.

After that, plant life and animals took over the world.

The next 15 years, plant life grew rapidly due to their mutation from the viruses.

Except, instead of growing into a green oasis, it turned into a mix of deep crimson and brown plants that covered every surface it could latch onto.

the animals that survived lurked around the earth and became extremely aggressive towards each other this caused all life on earth besides botanical life to cease existence by the year 2140

centuries of text flows by in roughly 30 pages

one thing that never got mentioned even in the passing of the novel was the presence of god any god for that matter No religion was discussed beyond the crusades and other religious endeavors that did not directly involve faith.

This book that seemingly knows everything the world has to offer had no answers.

What would be the point of living a devout life free from sin?

It won't aid me in a peaceful afterlife.

I decide with whatever life I have left,

I want to live it like Biff Tannin from Back to the Future Part 2.

Wow.

I do not want to think about any of the knowledge I have consumed beyond what will give me a financial or spiritual gain.

I have no faith left in humanity.

I'll make the quickest buck that I can before the major bombs drop.

After that, I'll build the most comfortable bomb shelter with enough supplies and entertainment to last me through the end of days.

This post is not a warning on what's to come.

That much is inevitable.

I simply cannot be the only person who carries the burden of knowing what I have learned.

Well, there's the end of that story, and I'm sitting here with a fucking panic attack.

Feels so real.

With the kind of stuff going on in the world right now, it feels so like I was just like, this all makes sense to me.

It's all so real.

It's all Ireland, Ireland getting the weapons.

Ireland was the, that's the most fabricated thing I've heard for sure, but still, it's one of those,

the idea of like nuclear fallout, just the kind of like, a lot of like existential stuff coming in the end there.

You know, a lot of stories could, you know, I feel like this could have also been a story where it goes the direction of like, mom, read me a bad time story.

Okay.

And she's reading the story and it gets more fucked up and she just like won't stop reading or something, you know?

You could go so many different rounds with that, but taking it into like existential kind of uh you know uh knowledge of all the world and stuff is pretty cool and i like the idea too of

that was one thing i thought was kind of relatable at the beginning was you get into a book you start collecting you know because i have a couple like i like collecting old books and stuff too and the idea too that you just stumble across this thing it has no author it's just kind of this like text and you just kind of keep flipping but it's like the morbid curiosity of having to know and like earth turns into like almost like a fallout kind of fucking situation and all this kind of stuff but i love the idea that the two that the book doesn't get bigger it just he just kind of keeps turning the page to the last page

showing up yeah you know it's like a treadmill almost just keeps like cycling over also uh it's a fun idea that um at the end he's like well um

yeah because earlier he said he was a christian he's like this book that knows everything says nothing of god so i guess there's no reason to live at all so i'm gonna make enough money to build a bomb shelter and uh i guess i'll just live out my days in needless enjoyment because the world's coming to an end.

So it's like this prophecy has changed him.

That's fascinating.

That was a fun story.

That was a fun little thing, like, the earth is going to end this way.

So here's what I'm doing because of it.

Very short and sweet.

I always get fucked up by like weird existential stuff like that to where like, you're like, I did not think, I did not think I wanted to

think about that today.

You know, and that's what I feel like right now.

I'm like, really kind of bummed that I still have a lot of work I have to do.

And I'm like, for what?

For what?

Why even do it?

It's Truly, you've got

the reason you do it is so you can build your bunker and put a bunch of Nintendo Wii games down there for the end of the world.

If anybody comes across a neon sign that says loss of innocence, no, that's my bunker, and you're totally welcome to stay with me in the end of days.

Namely, the bunker loss of innocence.

It's like, well, I'm not going in there.

Yeah,

yeah, exactly.

Well, see, that's the ultimate distraction.

And then that way, you're like, oh, no, that's actually super fucking cool.

It's like, I'll just, I'll just get the plague.

That's fine.

I'll just keep walking.

The nursing home at the edge of the world, this looks like part one.

You said that part two got deleted, but we could at least read part one.

So if you go to their page, so for one, the author of this is Phoenix Heat.

And Phoenix Heat seems to do some writing

for several years.

He's done writing in R slash scary stories, R slash no sleep.

And then they dropped a veteran, a veteran of the genre.

They posted part one and then said they've been sitting on this for a few weeks now.

They posted it in no sleep, didn't know what to do.

So they're like, I'll throw it up in Creepcast.

But then

for some reason, I don't know what happened.

Okay, so they post that and then they post part two on R slash Scary Stories.

And they posted R slash two on No Sleep, but it got taken.

Wait.

Yes, yeah.

They post part two on R slash No Sleep.

I think No Sleep took down all the parts, but then they posted part two on R slash creepcast, but then it got taken down off creepcast.

I have no idea why.

We're becoming no sleep already.

We're becoming no sleep.

Hey, guys, upload here so we can delete your stories.

Thanks.

Upload here so we can also censor it and delete it.

I have no idea why it got taken down, but then they post and said that.

So

they posted this in reply to the June fan-made story thread and said,

They give a brief summary of the story and then says part one, two, and three.

Uh, wait, parts one and two are out, part three is already written.

I just need to reread it over for clarity one last time, and it'll be posted soon.

And then that was posted 26 days ago.

I don't see they've posted part three anywhere.

So, parts one and two are up, and they posted both of those to r slash creepcast, but we deleted the part two, I guess.

I don't know why.

Um, we're horrible,

but that part two is up on r slash scary stories, I think.

Well, why don't we do this let's let's read let's read part one and then we'll fucking we'll we'll be like hey submit it again and we'll have to talk to whoever the fucking mods are

and then be like let the let the poor bastard post the second part Yeah, but then we see we see that like part two goes up and it's like a direct threat on our lives.

It's like they said they let's do the dress that we're going to drive out.

Well,

that will need to be made clear so we know.

All right.

But for now.

the bottom of this.

For now, but for now, part one.

For now, let's at least touch part one of the nursing home at the edge of the world, which I will say is a fun little title.

Kind of has the same thing.

It's a fun title.

It has the same vibe as like I worked at a voodoo shop or like Tales from the Gangstation kind of vibe is the

vibe I get.

It's very fun.

And also, like, we're going to leave a link to it in the description so you can go check out part two and then three, whenever they post it for yourself.

Hopefully, by then, part two will be in the subreddit.

We'll figure that one out.

No promises, no promises.

No promises, no promises.

Nursing Home at the Edge of the World, Part 1 by Phoenix O'Heat.

Phoenix O'Heat.

The woman had long, greasy hair that framed her crooked face.

The left half was pulled taut against her skull as if her skin was painted onto it.

The right half was sloped down, one eye barely open, and the edge of her mouth unable to close.

A small drop of saliva wormed its way down her chest, shifting from her side onto the bed she lay on.

One of her hands was curled into an unnatural claw, reminiscent of a spider's legs, long after its final moments.

On this bed was the most beautiful woman in the world.

God, this must be a sound.

Well, the next line is, my mother had her first stroke seven years ago.

So, so it's their mother.

So, now do you feel bad about saying

my great-grandma had arthritis so bad that like her toes were all fucking they're all basically like capital L's and shit, you know what I mean?

She had these big ass fucking big ass marble knuckles, and her hands were all like bent up as well.

And she'd always go over and she's just like, How are you?

Like that.

And she would like try to like pinch my cheeks.

And I was like, I was repulsed.

I was repulsed by her hands.

And I remember I'd go, I'd be like, hey, okay.

And I'd like run to the bathroom and like wash my face.

It was just, I don't know, it scared me.

It did.

She's like, are you okay there?

I'm like, I just got in here.

I was like, okay.

Yeah, I'm fine.

Okay.

She watched Happy Gilmore all the time.

It's all she watched.

Why were you repulsed by her?

She had a disability.

Her fucking hands, man.

I'm a child.

Her hands are...

They were like, seriously, her fingers were crooked.

One was like...

basically like permanently over her other one and they were all like this and she could barely grab stuff.

She'd say, can't you hand me the spoon?

And I said, Okay,

and then she would like hold it all weird.

And I felt bad.

I'm like, Do you want me to, I want me to do it for you?

She said, Oh, please.

And I was feeding her one time, and she fucking fell asleep while I was feeding her.

And she was like, Not choking on the soup, but it was in her mouth.

And she was like,

And I didn't know how to wake her up, so I like slapped her leg and she was like, Ah, like that, and freaked out the soup everywhere.

And it doesn't matter, whatever.

It was,

Was there any member

of your family, any elderly member of your family that you do not have a traumatic story or were terrified of?

Plenty.

Plenty.

I had a lot of good grandparents.

I had a couple weird ones.

Sure.

One that tried to kill you.

That's not totally confirmed.

But I will say the other one was

an arthritis.

Your mother, who was an adult at the time, said,

i think he was trying to kill you no no no that's neither neither here nor there most people do not well look i've let this go too long most people do not have a grandfather that tried to kill them okay that's not normal at all hunting accident and i will say that the the the great grandma she just literally had arthritis and it scared me when i was younger i was young young and if you see that you're going to be horrified she was a nice enough lady how often do you uh hate people with disabilities like that?

Okay, don't hate her.

Once again, young and frightened, scared, horrified, really, to be completely fair.

I remember

I would look at my hands in the bathroom and stuff, and I would just like, I would sit there and squeeze my fingers and stuff to make sure that they were like, I'm like, I asked my dad, too.

I was like,

My hands aren't going to end up like that.

And he was like, oh, probably.

What is he told me?

What?

Okay, so would you say you were repulsed by her then?

No, I was not.

Well, yes, but it was just because I was afraid.

I was afraid.

Okay, so how often are you repulsed by people with disabilities?

Almost never.

Because honestly,

and I'll tell you something right now, because everyone's God's little angel.

Okay.

All right.

All right.

As long as that's on the record, I guess.

Anyway.

My mother had her first stroke seven years ago.

Just last week, she had her 32nd.

I still remember the weeks after her first stroke.

I was in college in New York and didn't have a car.

I spent almost all of my savings going from taxi to taxi to see her, just for her to get angry at me for wasting my money.

Nothing in heaven or hell, surely nothing in between, would stop her from seeing me graduate.

She told me that and promptly sent me back to school.

paying for my trip out of her own pockets.

Back then, she still seemed so strong.

If the stroke had affected her, she didn't let me see it.

As the years went on, I watched her deteriorate, both body and mind.

By the third stroke, she could barely use one of her hands.

She began to forget what she was saying partway through her sentences.

By the fifth stroke, she could no longer walk, and every word took a great strain on her mind.

When my graduation came, she was still alive.

Five strokes were more than enough to kill someone.

I knew that.

But my mother defied all odds and held on for me.

Both my grandparents and one of my aunts were there with me during the graduation.

There was an atmosphere of discomfort in the air, but I didn't care.

I made the most of it with my mother.

After her tenth stroke, she didn't seem to remember much of that day.

But that was okay.

I showed her the photos, and without fail, they brought a smile to her face.

But day by day, month by month, the smile was fainter.

and fainter.

I was sitting in her nursing homeroom trying to decide which movie she would want to watch.

I held up an old cartoon I used to watch with my brother in the hospital and asked her if she wanted to watch it.

Her lips didn't move much, but she managed to grunt out a response.

I took it as a yes.

I put the movie into the old Xbox I gave her to use as a DVD player.

She had a whole stack of DVDs, even taller than I was.

People used to give them to her as gifts to keep her happy.

She couldn't get up to put them in herself, though.

But I would come as often as I could and do it for her.

Turned the volume up to tune out the loud machine hooked up to her.

Wasn't a long movie, but we enjoyed it together.

I could see it in her eyes.

Didn't matter which movie I played as long as we got to enjoy it together.

For whatever time we both had left.

Man, I'm getting sad.

This is rough.

After it was was over, I decided I'd go get something to drink.

My mom drifted off to sleep sometime during the movie.

She usually had a hard time staying awake any more than a few hours at once.

From outside her room, I had a earshot of the loud machine.

Dear the soft music playing in the hallways.

Same station was always playing.

Not one I recognized.

It was in some foreign language that was shockingly similar to English.

There weren't any discernible words.

Hello, Mrs.

Dawson.

I said cheerfully to the old lady along my path.

Oh, hello, dear.

What a nice young man you are.

Do you happen to work here?

I'm looking for help.

Her words were strong, despite her shaking body.

Her skin was as pale as a ghost and thinner than paper.

No, but you can go to your room, Mrs.

Dawson, and I'll make sure help is there for you as soon as they can.

The men have trouble finding you if you're walking around.

You know that.

I do.

my my room it looks confused so i held her shoulder as gently as i could and pointed her down the hallway if you go down this hallway ma'am turn left at the end and the first and the first room is yours room two one one oh i see what a nice young man you are do you have family here She made eye contact, but it felt more like looking at a clay sculpture than it did a person.

There's little consciousness left behind her eyes.

Yeah,

I do.

I responded with a smile.

She nods and turns around to begin walking away, murmuring something about how nice she is.

She was walking in the wrong direction, of course, but I was sure a nurse would find her later and help.

I loved my talks with Mrs.

Dawson.

She was always so sweet.

I wouldn't have helped either.

I'm like, all right, what the fuck?

I did what I could.

So if you directed me away.

When she fucks the goes the opposite fucking direction, I'm like, she'll find it.

She'll be all right.

No, she won't.

Yeah, she won't.

She'll find it.

She's probably going for a quick little fucking, a quick little brisk walk, a little pep talk to herself to get back in the groove.

How Stella got a groove back.

That's how I'd say.

And she's sitting there murmuring to herself.

I'm like, all right, well, I did my best.

I'm not going to mess with that old fucking beehive walking around, dude.

The help shows up eventually.

And it's like, why is she walking?

And Hunter's been like, I've been pointing her to the wrong wings on purpose.

He's going to see her again in her fucking.

She's going to have great calves, big calves.

If this was you, you would like point out the front door of the nursing home to the highway, and it's like it's right across the street, ma'am.

Just like if I was, if I, if I was, if, if, if, if I was in a nursing home and some woman was like, hello, where am I going?

I would say, don't ever talk to me and don't touch me, you old fucking kook, is what I'd say.

And I'd say, you touch me again, I'll knock your fucking lights out.

You hear me, you old bitch.

And she'd say, what?

Oh, my God.

And if I was, let's say I'm the old man in the situation,

I'd look at a guy, I'd grab him real tight by his wrist, real tight.

And I'd say, kill me,

kill me.

Push me into the road, please.

Throw me.

Take me to my room.

A guy would take me to my room and I'd be like, turn on it.

Put the bath.

Fill up the bath.

He's like, okay, you want hot water?

I'm like, scolding, scolding hot.

And he'd fill it up.

It's fucking steaming as hell in there.

And I'd be like, put me in.

He'd put me in.

And then I would grab his hand and I'd put his hand on my face.

And I'd say, drown me.

And I'd have him put his hand on my face until I was totally submerged.

And I'm like, and then he'd be like, I can't.

I'd do it.

Do it, pussy.

Kill me.

That's what I'd do it.

I'd want him to drown me.

I'd want him to fucking drown me.

Or I would say, give me those pills.

I'd say, hey, give me those pills.

And I'd take a big thing of the pills and I would just like slowly drip my shoulders down and I would just slowly fall asleep in the tub and fucking drown to death.

I like how you had all of that ready.

I think every day.

I'll think about

it every day.

If anybody drops me off at a fucking nursing home, I'm going to just tell anybody, I'll give you 200, I'll leave, I'll leave $200.

Hey, the tooth fairy left you $200 to hit me in the head with a hammer until I die.

I have $200 underneath my pillow.

The tooth fairy left something for you.

Here's the question.

Would you return the favor if you were the young man in that scenario?

No, I don't think I'd kill anybody.

But I would, like, maybe, maybe,

not saying I would,

but maybe if I was like, oh, it's kind of hot in here.

And I, like, fucking propped open the back door and I just left it open.

I'm like, let's see what nature, whatever happens in nature.

I'm like, oh, it wasn't.

For the old geriatric man to wander outside.

Oh, here I go.

And I'd be like, well, I didn't see that.

And I'd just walk off and I'd be like, well, if he comes back, then if he comes back raised by wolves, then he's worth, you know, staying alive.

If not, then that's just what nature wanted is what I would say.

Raised by wolves at 85 years old.

Exactly.

Ho.

Or maybe what happens is wolves come into the nursing home and start terrorizing.

Oh my God.

Who let these wolves in?

You just hear my car skid off.

Drive the fuck out of there.

I stay in that.

You leave the door open.

Yeah, my grandma has her pack of wolves.

Exactly.

A giant pack of wolves.

I'm driving away, speeding away.

I look back and I see my grandma's face in the window.

And she's like,

And she's being fucking torn apart by

three young.

Oh, and I say I mean hungry pups.

You can see their ribs.

Their fucking eyes have been eaten out by flies and shit.

She's like, dear God!

No!

That kind of thing.

You feed your grandfather to the wolves.

Okay, no, no, no.

I didn't feed him.

I propped the back door open.

Nature took its course.

Nature took its course.

That's what was supposed to happen.

Yeah.

I'm gone.

I don't even hear that.

Right?

I'm driving away.

I'm driving away.

I have to block that out because I saw the wolves come in.

I definitely know something bad's going to happen.

But I immediately

get my mind off of it by blasting electric.

I've never seen the wolves come in.

No, no, no.

Well, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

So in this, in this situation,

back door is left open.

I'm just, just to throw it a little, just to, let's see what nature says.

I say that right before I get ready to leave.

I fucking steal a, I go to an old man.

I fucking grab his pudding out of his hand.

I said, it's mine now.

He's like, my snack pack.

And I fucking slap him in the face.

And I'm eating his chocolate snack pack.

I leave open the door.

I'm like, let's see what nature has to say, right?

And as I'm getting ready to go, I bump my ass into the door to open it because I have my snack pack.

And I like look and I'm like, oh, shit.

And there's five visceral, young, hungry pups that come in with one alpha.

And I do zoinks, and I get the fuck out of there.

That's what I'm saying.

So I see it as I'm going out, but I'm like, uh-oh, nature's already, nature's acted so quickly.

Yeah, because nature only acted because you left the door open.

No, no, no, nature acted on its own.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Nature acted on its own.

And I, and I'm able to, and I'm, you know, and I have to block out the screams of my grandmother.

And I'm blasting Electric Avenue in my car.

You know what I mean?

We're going all rocks down to Electric avenue.

And I'm driving away and I'm speeding.

I'm going like 85 in a residential neighborhood, of course.

Because I can see my grandma, the window,

pan hitting the fucking window and stuff.

She's never been so strong.

She almost cracks the window.

And I'm like, where was that strike?

You know, oh, help me here and there.

I'm like, okay, well, what the fuck?

That was hiding somewhere.

Good luck with that.

So,

and for you to witness all this, too, you have to be like four feet from the window, not moving.

Oh, just

my car, my car stalled out out front.

So I was sitting there trying to start it.

So you could easily, because the door is open.

We've established

walk around.

Well,

I'm not being challenged by nature.

All right.

Once again, I just want to say nature's taking its course.

Right, right.

And I'm not going to interfere with nature.

Women at the nursing home being fed to the pack of wolves that for some reason are right outside the nursing home.

Exactly.

Ready to go.

Exactly.

Everyone that is supposed to survive nature will survive and they'll be better off for it.

And nature will be happy too.

Those young pups will go, probably bellies full.

That's not for me to decide.

Then that's not my fault.

That is nature.

I'm not going to interfere, right?

If you saw a cheetah get grabbed by an alligator, would you dive in to save the cheetah?

No, you'd probably say, well, that's just nature.

Okay, so.

All right.

Do you think that maybe would I, if my grandma was calling me,

if my grandma was calling me, hello?

I'm on, she's on car play.

She interrupted my song.

I'm fucking pissed.

Electric Evan.

Right, right.

I'm pissed.

And then

in the car play, I'm sitting there and she's like, Hunter,

you need to come back because there's wolves.

There's wolves in the nursing home.

And I'm like, huh?

I say, what?

This diver.

In the background, background, you hear, oh,

they're getting close, I think.

They're outside my doctor.

I'm like, grandma, I'm in a really, really bad intercept.

This reception is horrible.

I'll be back Tuesday, okay?

Can you take your medicine?

Yeah, well, actually, now in this version, I'm standing at her, looking at her through the window or making eye contact through the glass.

Are you there or am I imagining it?

I'm like, I left hours ago.

And that's just me actually just watching it.

I'm like, it's probably those pills because you took your funny pills, right?

Yeah, I did.

Because you remember you said that they're funny looking?

Oh, yeah.

And I'm like, all right, well, I love your grandma.

Have a safe sleep.

Okay.

Maybe she just sleeps.

And she gets eaten that way.

The wolves come in and rip out her feet.

Oh, oh,

so here's my thoughts, right?

Yeah.

So you, you, in your, you, you in life had an experience with a grandfather, a traumatic experience that involved dogs.

Right.

And now in this fantasy that you've put together for yourself of not Jason.

Okay, not fantasy.

That's grandmother.

That's a wrong word.

Fantasy is not right.

Scenario.

Scenario.

Daydream.

We'll call it.

Scenario.

In this daydream of yours.

In this daydream of yours, you

see the Jason grandparent, a grandmother, in a position of helplessness, where she is at a nursing home, one that we know from your mother's own story,

your grandfather was placed to in the real world.

You imagine a grandmother in that same scenario.

And in this scenario, you cause a circumstance that allows them to be consumed by wolves, which are really just adjacent to dogs.

I don't think that.

Am I really to blame?

Do you think that in this fiction you've put together, having a grandparent be mauled by wolves by something that is not your fault, as you were arguing, but certainly your contribution leads to them being killed by dogs could contribute to your actual grandfather.

I'm not going to take dogs.

I'm not going to take this line down.

It's nature.

Natural order is what it is.

In the same way, you could argue that perhaps your grandfather, you know, in his move to kill you, naturally, you were barely saved.

Almost as if it would be an accident for you to leave the door open, would it not?

Well, no, because it was stuffy in there, and I was trying to, I was doing a good thing.

If I would have left a window open, the same thing could happen.

You accidentally, this accidentally, because you didn't mean for it to, led to the wolves coming in and killing your grandmother.

Well, that's just, that's nature.

That's nature.

So, but that, but that is an accident then on your part, leaving the door open.

No, because that was intentional, because it was drafty in there.

Because, as I said before, it's funny there was no even there was a group there was a group there was a group of old people who said funny god just let me finish there was a group of old people as i said before i said this in the beginning a group of old people said oh god hot would you be there and could you leave the door open because it's so stuffy i said sure thing mrs dickinson And then she gave me your snack pack and she said, hey, here's a treat.

And I was like, oh, thanks.

That's nice.

And I grabbed the snack pack.

I'm eating it.

I prop it open because they do that sometimes.

Even the workers are like, yeah, no problem.

And And that's what happened.

So you're

acts.

So anyone else could say that was an accident then, what you were doing.

But you

should, they shouldn't have suggested it.

I'm not putting the blame on them, but they should have suggested it.

You won't detail it as an accident because then you have to acknowledge there's a connection between what you also claim to be an accident, your grandfather almost killing you and instead killing your dog, because then that would draw the parallel too closely.

I think that the trauma you experienced with your grandfather shooting your dog next to you is leading you to a scenario, a fantasy, in which you,

by no fault of your own, cause dogs to murder a grandparent.

I think that that's important.

And I think that's get the conversation moving to where we can get back to this beautiful story that someone in our community, by the way, Isaiah, not that you care, someone crafted for us to read here

that

you just seem to be wanting to make this tangent as long as possible and i like how now that i've raised risen a good point you now deflect the onus onto me that i don't care about i just want to say i'm completely lost

i'm lost uh-huh i don't even know if i can

we're now pulling another non-sequitur we're now like reaching somewhere else for you to have a different point at first it was me not caring about whoever wrote this story or the story itself now it's you saying that you cannot be found with it i think you're dodging the point

you You talk to me, you say these things, you say, Hunter, what do you think of this scenario?

I deeply appreciate your opinion.

I give you them, and then you just take it and you run wild with it.

Right, so now it's my

turn in the guy.

At a point, it just gets tiring, doesn't it?

Right, right, I'm sure.

I'm sure.

Okay, well, I think the audience, I think the point's been made very clear to them.

I think they will elaborate with that further.

I just think that's an interesting parallel that when your mind's given a chance to run, it runs back to that recurring trauma and I care about you because you're my friend and I think you should talk to someone that's all I'm saying after another minute or two of walking down the hall I made my way into the employee lounge I didn't think they'd mind me using it so long as I never took anything that didn't belong to me there was a small kitchen in it that the staff used to use to heat meals they brought in for lunch The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes and flies were buzzing fiercely around it.

The marble countertop surrounded the sink was caked in a thick layer layer of grease and dried sauces.

I can't remember the last time the janitor worked.

I'd have to bring him in for it later.

The cups were kept in a low-down cabinet that I always had to get down on my knees for.

Mostly, this was so the people in wheelchairs could come in and grab a cup when they wanted, but the residents weren't allowed in here anymore.

Inside the cabinet, there are only a few clean cups in the back, which were hard to reach.

I ducked down even lower and used one hand to support myself as the other reached for a cup and managed to grab it just by the fingertips.

Without warning, my eardrums were suddenly assaulted by the deafening sound of a horn, impossibly loud and coming from all around me at once.

Uncontrollably, my body jolted up and my head cracked into the lip of the marble counter above me.

I dropped the cup and rolled back onto the floor, pressing both my hands against my ears to try to block out the noise, but it did no good.

It was as if a train was traveling the distance between my ears and blaring its horn the whole way through.

I lay there on the ground with my knees tucked into my chest, my head tucked between them for God knows how long.

Eventually, after enough time, the horn began to grow quiet inside of my head.

Not all at once, but in odd fragments and segments.

I was able to hear it all around me at first, but I couldn't hear it as much from behind me.

Then I could only hear it from either side of me.

Then I couldn't hear it at all.

The blessing of silence was waylaid with a thrumming pain behind my eyes.

I didn't get up at first.

I stayed down to collect myself a bit.

My knees shook a little, but I managed to get onto my feet.

I saw a few clear drops of blood where my head had begun.

Sure enough, I reached up to where I cracked my head and my fingers came away wet.

I figured I could just get my glass of water later and while trying not to freak out, I left the lounge to make my way to the first floor.

The building has three floors.

The first being the floor with all the activity rooms, the reception area with all the offices, and the main kitchen.

Second and third floors are full of residents and a few smaller miscellaneous rooms.

I'd only been up to the third floor once or twice when I accidentally hit the wrong elevator button and didn't realize it.

I never saw a need to go up there otherwise, so I didn't.

It was where most of the hospice patients and students at the local medical school would reside.

The hallway I walked down was full of wheelchairs and walkers, most of them empty.

A spare one with a fat old man sitting in it.

He looks like a cherub but with a full beard, His skin pale and his cheeks chubby.

His hair was sparse and wispy against his scalp, and his head was tilted to lean on his shoulder like a pillow.

I knew it would be hard to wake him up.

I tiptoed around him anyway, just to be polite.

A few yards past him, did the rapture happen?

Is that what the train horn sound and now like this one guy left in his chair is?

Yeah, maybe.

I don't know.

A few yards past him was the main desk for the second floor.

It was where the nurses and assistants on the floor worked to maintain comfort, safety for the residents.

As I walked past it, I could see Mrs.

Dawson down a perpendicular hallway.

Her head was on a swivel as if she was trying to find something that wasn't there.

I'd let the nurse take care of her after me.

After the desk, inside a large room just off the side, was the elevator and stairs to go down.

Well, stairs at least.

The elevator had been broken for some time.

The doors were permanently jammed open to reveal the long, dark drop underneath.

It wasn't a big deal, though.

I just made sure the door to this room was shut tight so the residents would be safe, made my way down the stairs.

The sun shone brighter down here thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows to the left and right of the front desk.

The stairs led me to the main reception area just past the front doors.

The only noise heard here, away from the residence, was the music, that odd and incomprehensible music.

I made my way over and leaned down over the guest sign-in sheet and signed myself out as a visitor.

I walked past the desk after signing my signature and opened a door into a back office, then walked over to a computer, booted it up, and began to write.

Something I took up recently, keeping a log of my days here.

I've been thinking about posting them somewhere where I could talk to someone like me, but I haven't decided yet.

I guess if you're reading this, then you already know my decision.

I'm not sure why I decided to write.

I think I just makes me feel more sure of myself.

Comforts me in some strange way.

Like I'm assuring myself that I am real, that I exist.

It means I'll have something to look back at and organize my thoughts with sounds stupid but it's been working as a sort of therapy for me i had save on my document and turned the computer off half of my day's log was done yet another half of the day still unlived right about two rooms over from the first office was a storage room with some uniforms and tools for the workers i had set aside i began to strip off all my clothes and hanging them from the hooks on the back of the door Even my socks and underwear came off.

I was as bare as the day I was born.

One by one, I perused the uniforms I had gathered in this room.

There's a dark purple male's nurse's outfit on a shelf in a neatly folded pile that I decided on.

The underwear was on top, then the socks, the pants, the shirt after that.

I made sure they were all in place as I found them the first time, making sure to tighten the drawstring on the pants tightly.

They were two sizes too big for me, but I may do as best as I could.

Hold on.

So,

what?

The clothes he's found he's been stealing and putting back here?

Yeah.

Okay, I'm going to keep reading.

With a few antiseptic wipes and some ointment in hand, I made my way out into the quiet hall.

My footsteps on the linoleum floor went tap, tap, tap, almost in time to the song, playing as they carried me towards the bathroom.

I had to clean some dust off the mirror first before I could see myself clearly, but I managed to twist my head in a way I could see the cut on my scalp and clean it up properly.

One task was completed, and now Mrs.

Dawson needed attention.

My mother would probably be awake by then.

I could give her some water and maybe cook some food after that too.

But as I opened the door to the bathroom, something caught my attention.

A smell.

One that surprisingly enticed me at first, albeit confusingly.

It smelled like toasting fresh bread.

When I was a kid, my mother used to bake her own bread.

It was a hobby of hers.

Coming home from school, only to open the door and smell that incredible scent of bread fresh out of the oven was bliss.

Even more than that, sometimes when I had a a bad day, she would make me a grilled cheese to cheer me up.

The smell I was smelling was just like I remembered it.

Someone nearby was making grilled cheese.

I'm not sure who could be doing it, but almost cartoonishly, I followed the smell down the hallways.

Granted, the smell didn't seem any stronger or weaker as I walked, but it must be coming from the kitchen.

There's no other explanation.

So towards the kitchen I walked, and as I did, the smell changed.

The bread began to burn.

I picked up the pace.

The smell of lush, fluffy, warm bread

turning acrid and borderline noxious.

But the kitchen seemed so far away.

Every step of mine drew me closer.

I knew it had to.

But as I looked around, I found myself still in the doorway to the bathroom.

The door hadn't even closed yet.

It was leaning against my shoulder.

Somehow, even after what felt like at least 60 seconds of walking, I was standing totally still.

I was exactly where I first smelled the bread.

It didn't make sense.

I had to be imagining it.

There was no one in the kitchen.

No one was cooking grilled cheese, and my legs most definitely still worked.

Took a step forward, then another, then a third.

The first step shifted my left arm.

The second turned my head, and the third flexed my core.

Something had gone horribly wrong with me.

Panic began to set in as I realized my own body was outside of my control.

That's when the world around me began to change.

It was as if I had stepped into my own blurry memory.

If I unfocused my eyes, I could see the familiar shape of the lobby around me, but if I tried to look any closer, closer, all the details began to blur together.

None of the objects I could see had any outline, blending into each other to form new shapes I never even dreamed of, yet each one looked so familiar.

Objects in the background linked and intertwined with objects in the foreground, and the difference between the two became indecipherable to me.

I know this place, where I am, and where to go, but felt like this place did not know me.

The one constant in this lobby was the song.

Still, the music played, but as my senses warped and my mind muddled, the noise swam around me, wiggling into my brain and injecting itself into my nerves.

The words in the song seemed so close to understandable.

I know I had heard them before, but the more I tried to place them, the further away my thoughts ran from me.

I tried to close my eyes and block out the sight of my world slipping away, but my eyes did not listen.

Instead, my legs began to move, to carry me to a place I could not know because I could not tell the difference.

Logically, I know I was still in the lobby.

Maybe in the kitchen or the bathroom, but for all I could tell, it might have been the other side of the world.

In that moment, I couldn't form a real thought.

My inner monologue sounded like it was speaking in a foreign language.

Words came in the wrong order.

The wrong parts were emphasized, or some words just seemed entirely made up.

It was getting worse by the minute, so I decided I needed something to latch on to.

Bit by bit, I tried to move myself, to take some amount of control.

Tried to shift my shoulder, my toe wriggled, tried to move my toe, and my knee bent.

I tried to move my knees and my jaw clinched down hard.

Through brute force and with an incredible amount of luck, I managed to close my hand.

I felt something in my palm, something I had felt before, but just couldn't remember what.

I squeezed it hard, trying to use it to anchor my body in place and stop me from moving.

I'm not sure if it was just my eyes playing tricks on me, or if I actually was moving, but the walls and colors around me continued to shift and meld.

Something did change that I never could have imagined.

Someone began to scream.

It was shrill and pierced my ears.

If I could have wheeled my arms to, I would have checked if they were bleeding.

Deafened any noise around me except that god-forsaken song.

It still played.

I have no idea how, but even through the otherworldly scream, I managed to hear it.

The lyrics seemed to speak to me.

Through all things around me, I alone connected.

I could not see what was around me.

I could not feel the ground beneath my feet and my mind was in more pieces than I could hope to reassemble.

But I began to understand.

And give us this day our daily bread.

My grip tightened and my body began to seize.

And forgive us our trespasses.

Everything in front of me began to swirl and twist.

As we forgive those who trespass against us.

My jaw was still clenched, muscles tightening and relaxing against my will, and finally, My eyelids began to close.

Every thought in my head, like sand running through my fingers, began to slip away.

I lay there for some amount of time.

I'm not sure how long, until my body relaxed.

Whatever my hand was gripping slipped away.

The scream easing into a gentle, meek sob.

The music, as always, persisted, but I could no longer make out the words.

And what I could only describe as the first moment of bliss in the whole ordeal, my consciousness faded away.

Interesting.

So I made the joke about the rapture earlier.

This might actually be the rapture, considering he's hearing the Lord's Prayer, and there's

people missing out of wheelchairs like they were raptured up, and then there's a singing coming.

And it seems that the description of,

I may need to reread that, but that description of I was walking through the hospital and I'd collected clothes I had found that almost makes it sound like people were raptured out of their clothes and the clothes left behind.

And he's been living in here for some time, maybe taking care of the elderly patients and keeping clothes.

I don't know.

Um,

but yeah, I feel it's obviously religious because the song he keeps hearing is the Lord's Prayer.

So maybe that is what's going on.

I don't know.

Took hours for me to wake up.

I'm not sure how many, but when I woke, I was greeted with pale moonlight.

It's 3 p.m.

when I finished the movie with my mom.

Now it was the middle of the night.

Okay, so all that was a dream.

Right.

I think.

Well, yeah, with him saying it took hours for me to wake up.

So I'm guessing...

I'm guessing that this just felt like some like super long feeling.

You know what I mean?

Like whenever a dream dream feels like it's almost years or something like yeah like I mentioned it felt like a full night yeah yeah I think so my mouth was dry as a desert and my entire body was sore as if I had just had the workout of my life I was lying flat on my back on some hard surface but I didn't need to look around to know where I was just hang in there the poster said a little cat was hanging from a branch in the caption photo It was the poster that I got for my mom when she first moved into the nursing home.

Back when the doctor said there was a chance she could get better this taped her ceiling and she thought it was hilarious even the rest of the family thought it was odd against my aching body's wishes i shifted myself into a sitting position and looked around me the xbox had long since gone into sleep mode and the smell permeated the air letting me know i needed to change her diaper dragged myself to my feet and looked at her our eyes meeting immediately And I, like usual, forced a big smile on my face.

For the first time since she had her first stroke, I didn't know what to say.

What had she seen?

How did I get here?

What happened to me downstairs?

Whether or not she knew, the answers didn't matter.

She couldn't tell me even if I asked.

A growing familiar suspicion grew in my gut, and I decided to focus on what she needed first.

I could take care of myself, but she couldn't.

You thirsty, Mom?

I'm sorry it's so late.

I'll make some food in a bed.

I'm sure I can find something to cook up for us.

Her good eyes stared into my soul.

It was puffy and red.

She'd been crying.

I reached down to the bin next to her bed, grabbing her communication sheet, held it up for her.

She shakily reached out her good arm, pointed a slack finger at yes.

I adjusted my spile and began to speak, but her arm began to shift, pointing to something else on the sheet.

She pointed at help.

Then slowly, unsteadily, she raised her arm and pointed outside the room.

Help outside?

Does someone need does someone else need help?

The day is over, and I haven't had food or taken care of any of the residents yet.

My mom has always been the kind of person who puts other people's well-being in front of her own, so when she said help outside, it just seemed obvious to me.

Okay, mom, I'll make sure everyone is okay, but don't you fall asleep in that diaper again.

I'll throw a movie on for you, and I'll be back before it's over, okay?

I threw on a Christmas movie we used to watch together when I was a kid and told her I loved her before walking out.

As I left, I heard her let out a little groan that told me she had hit the morphing button.

I needed to check her machine later.

She seemed to be going through more morphing every week lately.

I'm not sure what I'll do when I run out.

Okay, so he keeps saying stuff like that.

What I'll do when I run out.

The outfits I found.

It's like he's been the only one here for a while.

Because normally you would wait on the nurses to refill the morphing machine, right?

But he's like, what I'll do when I run out.

So has he been here for a while?

Just the two of them, maybe?

It's hard to say because that's what I'm wondering, too.

Is was it not a dream and he just woke up, like he went to bed, woke up, and then he's still in this kind of like reality.

You know what I mean?

Like, it wasn't a dream.

That also explains why he went and started writing all this on a computer in the nursing home.

Yeah.

Because he's just been here by himself, almost taking care of all the patients on his own.

What fewer left

outside of her, this also explains why he needs to be the one to go help outside instead of, you know, the rest of the people that work there.

Outside of her room, on the rest of the second floor, all the lights were still brightly lit.

I went from room to room and made a list of what each resident needed.

Yes, okay.

So he's definitely the clothes he talked about finding, the ones that are too big, is because he's just wearing the clothes.

He's taking care of everyone in the nursing home because he's the only person left.

Yeah.

I even checked the empty rooms just to check that someone hadn't made their way inside.

There were nine residents in their rooms, not including my mom, but unfortunately, one had passed away while I was unconscious.

It looked like her breathing apparatus had come undone and she suffocated.

Found her on the ground halfway across the floor of the room, presumably trying to crawl to it for some hope of fresh oxygen.

The ground by her hands was scuffed and her nails were all filed down to her fingertips.

A desperate attempt to pull herself forward.

With a deep sigh, I walked out of the room, closed the door, locked it with the master key, and walked away.

There were eight residents in their rooms, not including my mom.

Some residents weren't happy to be woken up by me, but I was sure waking up hungry or sick tomorrow would be much worse.

Two of them asked me about some horrendous noise they heard, some kind of yelling.

I reassured them everything was okay and everyone was happy, moved on to the next room.

Eventually, I had a list of everyone's needs, from diaper changes to food, especially the nighttime medicine that some needed.

Only one person was missing from my list.

Mrs.

Dawson.

She wasn't in her room, like usual, and I didn't see her walking around the hallways either.

I have a doubt on my gut feeling that something was wrong and just assumed she was in a staff room or perhaps the floor's main bathroom.

She didn't turn up in either.

I realized something then.

I had come upstairs in my stupor which means I made it past the door revealing the elevator shaft.

Feeling similar to a rock sinking in my stomach hit me as I turned my walk into a run down the hallway.

I could already see the door to the elevator and stair room just past the nurse's desk, which was halfway open.

Panic set in once more, and as I ran, I almost missed it.

The sound of someone crying.

I practically tripped trying to slow down my run so suddenly.

It was a miracle I heard it all over my footsteps and the sound of the music playing.

The sound was coming from the nurse's desk.

It was a large circular desk with four computers facing each hallway and an island in the middle that served to hold paperwork for the whole floor.

I opened one of the flip-up countertops and stepped into the desk to see the source of the crying.

Curled up underneath the desk, doing her best job of being invisible, was Mrs.

Dawson.

She looked at me with fear in her eyes, but I don't think she was afraid of me, just afraid of the world around her.

Her eyes were puffy, like she had been crying for a long time, and her cane was nowhere in sight.

Mrs.

Dawson, are you okay?

Do you need help up?

Every word I spoke made her twitch.

Yes, please, it hurts.

I need you to help me.

I took her hand and lifted her to her feet, letting her lean as much weight as she needed on me.

She was so light I considered carrying her, but it felt disrespectful.

Is who gone, ma'am?

So I lifted her into the light.

I couldn't take my eyes away from her arm.

Her upper arm, just above her elbow, was a mess of purples, yellows, and pinks.

It's a large bruise, and I couldn't help but notice it was about as wide as my hand was.

It's that man who was here earlier.

I

thought he worked here, but

something happened.

Her words dragged, each one taking a conscious effort on her part.

What happened?

Do you know how you got this bruise?

I asked, hoping to at least get some fragments of what happened.

Fortunately, her broken mind worked against her, just like it had for years now.

Bruce?

What bruise, dear?

I decided not to press the matter more.

She may not remember it, but I had a growing suspicion in my gut about how she got it.

Like a root catching the soil, the gnawing feeling that I did something very wrong grew inside of me.

I took her to her room and set set her down on her bed gently, helping her get on to it to lie down.

Her arm needed medical attention.

She needed medicine.

Her body needed food to begin to heal itself, and before she tried to get up in the morning, I needed to get her a cane.

My head spun with all the work I needed to do.

My body was sore and fatigued, and my mind was foggy and full of holes.

I'm here in the office now, typing this up.

I'm going to include this in the same daily log as the previous one.

It doesn't make sense to me to make it a new one, even if it's technically after midnight now.

I'm not sure what happened to me, and I don't think the people living here will be any help to me anyway.

I think that's why I made the decision I did to post this online somewhere.

I had a stroke today, I'm sure, but if my mother's life was anything to go by, who knows how soon the next one would come.

I think I know for sure that another one would come.

I'm not sure if there's anyone left for this to even reach, but I don't see the harm in posting it.

I had to type it out real quick while I was still fresh in my memory.

So all the grainy details still fit together.

But now I need to go take care of my residents.

I'm not good at goodbyes.

So I'll just say that I hope to hear something, anything.

And if I do, thank you.

Note to self, delete any mention of Johnny.

That's a fun, that's a fun, nice little beginning to a series.

Interesting.

This is cool.

Okay, so it sounds like maybe even from, maybe I misread the beginning of the story.

Maybe Maybe from the beginning, he's been here by himself.

Like the story opens there.

Or maybe it's whenever he hears that large train horn or something.

But

at some point, everyone else disappears and he says at the end, I don't even know if there's anyone out there to read this.

So

maybe it is like the rapture.

Everyone disappeared and like just their clothes are left behind.

And he doesn't know.

what's coming.

He doesn't know if it's the end of the world or what, but he's just here with a few old people and he's decided to take care of them.

But he, he has a a weird, like he has this weird foggy vision that reminds him of his childhood and all the shapes and nothing looks right.

Then he wakes up years later.

He might have hurt Mrs.

Dawson.

And there's also the mention to delete any mention of Johnny.

So this Johnny character showed up somewhere in the story, but was supposedly deleted.

So what does he have to do with any of this?

And who is Johnny?

There's so many interesting questions.

This is such a fun scenario.

The nursing home at the end of the world, just a guy taking care of everyone by himself.

What an awesome setup.

Yeah.

I like the rapture part of it as well.

Like,

just the

him having to basically almost be this like uh

like i'm wondering if he's gonna start trying to help people pass on

you know what i mean oh that'd be dark he's trying to take them to the next word the next world yeah like prepping them up to do that for life and that that's why i'm wondering too like if he like starts carrying on this responsibility what's the the fairy man of the the dead is it chiron or something like that

i think that's right i think it's different

yes it's probably different per uh culture or whatever but that just makes you think think of something like that it's a fun sharon yeah it's a it's a fun uh

fun beginning to something uh like a little series and i do think that we do we we need we need part two up on the subreddit and we need to know why i want to know why the second one's we need to know why part two doesn't because part two still on theirs like their personal i think they just posted it to their own page because yeah it looks like it's just they just posted it i didn't know you could could do that on Red, but you don't have to post it to a sub, they just posted themselves.

And then they also posted it to R/slash Deep Night Society, which is another like, you know, scary story thing, and R slash scary stories.

And it didn't get taken down from there.

So I would know why it got

getting cut off of No Sleep makes sense.

Stuff gets cut off there all the time.

Why did it get taken off of Creepcast?

I want to know.

We need to know this.

We need to have an internal investigation.

How cool is it, though?

So many different kinds of stories from viewers here.

I definitely, we need to read more viewer submissions.

So please take time and if you have written something, share it with us on the sub on the subreddit.

You know, use the tag fan made story.

We got some fun stuff of like, obviously somebody's like, you know, redacted.

Please come back redacted.

We need you for the loss of innocence.

That was just, I mean, it's just, it was a fun day of reading.

I don't know.

It was.

This was a nice.

Also, two, almost almost three hours.

I feel like it flew by.

I really liked the

third story was good.

I really loved this last one.

I want to see the rest of it.

Lots of innocence, fine.

It's fun.

And then the third one we read, which was the book that doesn't end.

Fun, awesome story.

Thank you very much.

I think I'm pretty sure that stuff was in reference to my stuff.

It means a lot to see someone writing cool stories after being inspired by us.

That's cool.

But also, that second story,

The Woman I'm Missing For Doesn't Exist, that one actually scared me.

That one actually got me spooked a little bit.

That had a lot of, like I said,

the buildup of the anticipation of the story was so effective, so simple too.

It's just a guy sitting down reading a book, but it's told in a way where it feels, once again, refreshing.

It feels like you're on the edge of your seat reading it.

I'm really curious to see how people like that one.

Also, let us know which one you like the most down there.

And be sure, like I said, we're leaving links to all of this stuff in the YouTube description as well.

So if you're listening to this on Spotify or Apple Podcasts or anything like that, if you want to know more about the stories, the links are in the YouTube description.

So please be sure to go support them, leave a nice comment on them, upvote it, you know, leave thoughts, criticisms, anything, you know, that's what it's all about.

It's awesome, man.

So sick.

So thank you guys so much for listening today.

Thank you so much to the viewers who wrote these awesome stories.

This is definitely a new series we're going to be doing.

Can't wait to just keep diving in to more and more of this awesome fucking storytelling in our community, man.

So cool.

Definitely.

It's really cool to see this out of you guys.

We have the coolest.

The coolest community on the internet, I swear to God.

Yeah.

Everyone here, everyone's funny.

Everyone writes cool stuff.

This is just like, we just scrolled through today and we're like, here's a few that look fun.

And these were awesome.

These were so well done.

They're better than a lot of other places I read stories online.

And this is just people who watch the podcast.

You all are great.

Thank you all so much for doing this.

Thank you for posting it there.

Thank you for, for some reason, taking your insane talent and incorporating us, incorporating us into it in some small way by posting on the subreddit.

Y'all are awesome.

We don't deserve you.

Thank you guys for being so cool.

We'll see you in the next one, guys.

Also, like I said, be sure to to check out the Patreon if you want some more bonus content.

New episode will be up.

It's probably already up by now, whenever this video comes out.

So, guys, thank you so much.

We will see you next week.

Bye-bye.

See you in the next one.

And time for the internal affairs investigation of the Creepcast mod team.

Bye.