A Shoe in the Road & April 31st

This is creepy.

“A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world,”

whether these stories truly happened or about simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories made in teen graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Hey, y'all. You're tuned into AM radio. That's pretty awesome. Until hipsters start doing it. That won't be so cool.

And definitely not once people over the age of 30 start listening ironically.

Then in law disco right back where it wasn't the first place.

I think that's how things work. Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe I would dispense it in the basement of a radio station too long. Don't get me wrong. I really enjoyed my trip up north. And I will say that the rumors about the rustic in are true.

“I think it's only the second time in my life that I wish I had two stomachs like some kind of a human”

cow hybrid, so I could eat more pie. And hiking up there is so beautiful now that all the smoke is gone from the fires. No, I do think it was a little inappropriate for parents to be letting their children run around so much up there unsupervised. And is it really so hard to just make kids get their hair cut? I'm not even talking about how all the teenagers now just look like I'll pack as.

These kids look like they've never seen a hair salon before. It's a bunch of little hairy

men running around. I didn't care for it. I didn't know that the park range is no, but it is stared at me when I told them about them. So, no, I don't know. Communications goes really gone downhill lately. So let's do our part and tell some scary stories.

“Oh wait, before I do, a quick thank you to a particular spionless yellow bellied son of a gun out there”

for sending some really cool stuff to the male bag this week, including a pocket version of the devil's game. I posted a pic on Instagram. I can't wait to use it to find the goods and answers around here.

Okay, first up, from writer Darrell Rothman and Neri to buy Michelle Kane.

Creepy presents, a shoe in the road. Angelique had seen such sad postings before on milk cartons at the grocery stores at gas stations such as that which she had just stopped on the last lake home from her training in Piedmont. But it was the last thing she expected to find here and such a bucolic sleepy little hamlet. Missing. She was ashamed to admit it, but like most folks, she had grown so accustomed to such notices that she typically only glossed over them.

Yet something about this one grabbed her tension. The eyes, the eyes of the young missing girl, round and blue and full of wonder, but it was more than that. They smoldered with a raw hunger. A zeal reserved for those young enough to still believe in life's innocence. She looked a bit like her own daughter, Maddie. The thought of her child brought a smile, though a subdued one in the poor girl.

How devastated her family surely was. Raven, it said, eight years old, from gilding springs, just an hour or so from here. A small poor community. The photo it said was taken the morning of her disappearance. The blue eyes were complimented by jet-black curls, and a wonderfully mischievous grin. She wore a patterned sun dress, long white socks, and bright red shoes. A delightfully

disjointed ensemble only a child could pull off. She had last been seen on April 1st, only three weeks ago. Angelic race in eyebrow. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope. She touched two fingers to her purse's lips, then pressed the finger softly against the child's cheek. She paid for her gas, returned her car, and pulled out of the station. Spring was in full sway, and the days had grown longer, but it was nearly eight, and night was coming.

Cool air pooled in these valleys in the evening. A gossamer mist lifting like a veil from the earth.

Wet daylight remained sank like a fiery anchor in her rearview mirror. The shoulders of the

“highway grew leaner as she drove, flanked on both sides by dense tapiary.”

She had driven the stretch before, often going chunks of time without passing another vehicle.

But never had it felt so meandering and remote.

An exciting world inside her, and she turned on the radio. It was mostly static, so she pressed search, and the numbers raced past, struggling to lock in on a signal. Connectivity was always bad in these parts. Finally, it latched onto something. One of the many gosspel programs which saturated the airways in the snack of the woods. Jesus, angelic-mettered, but it was something. Just as quickly the noise began

“to unnerve her to. It had grown dark and the road felt so narrow, and the strident preaching seemed”

somehow a distraction to her visibility. Funny, she thought the tricks are since his play on us.

She turned the radio off. She drove through Bartle's brush, and then through Longmire, both towns quiet and dark. The woods bring back up, towering and thick. Gelding springs was next to maybe five miles further. Angelic peeled her eyes, following best as she could, the swath of pale illumination her headlights carved through the darkness. Only about an hour until she be home. She smiled. Maddie would be in bed, her father having tucked her in, but she'd be awake, waiting

excitedly for her mother's return. She'd nudge Maddie's door open, and there was something in the road. She slowed the car coming to a stop some 20 feet from the object. She squinted through the malage of mist and high beams. He was a shoe, a shoe in the road, bright red and small, like a child would wear. Angelic peered farther down the highway, then cast a glance in the rearview mirror. Not another car in sight. She angled over to the thin shoulder and parked. A shoe in the road was

not uncommon, she thought. She'd never stopped before. The last crust stitch of daylight flickered

out in the mirror. The evening pressed in, starless and unequivocal. She killed the engine, set her hazards, and stepped from the car. When she got to the shoe, she paused, then bent and retrieved it. It was cold, small, mad, and crested, but remarkably intact. She walked to the shoulder, gingerly, as though trespassing on hollowed ground. Her heart welled as she imagined the delicate foot that had once occupied the shoe, and she thought once again of Maddie. She glanced along the

“highway, still no one. She turned the shoe over slowly in her hands. What was she doing?”

It might not be ravens? Even if it were, what were the odds the child was anywhere near? She turned back toward her car, but stopped abruptly, stayed by something primal. Something motherly. She imagined the precious child wandering, hungry and cold, perhaps injured, somewhere in the thicket of grass which ranged out like a budding forest on either side of the highway. Angelique would want would be desperate for her someone to do the right thing, where it Maddie.

She gazed off to her right, the land rolled out like a dark sea, where it fused with the mist and ink-black ferment in a ghostly horizon. To her left, a mirror image, the hazards pulsed crimson through the cadaverous mist. Her ears cracked. She caulked her head, listened. There was again, a wailing, faint, distant, but there. To her right, across the field, perhaps an owl, for several moments, nothing more. But a minute later, it sounded again.

She glanced up and down the highway, but still no one. Okay, she would call the police, show them the shoe, remind them about raven and they would conduct a search, and hopefully find the dear child safe. She withdrew her phone from her pants pocket. No signal. Angelique cursed softly and paced the shoulder, hoping to grab onto at least one bar,

She could simply wait. Someone would come. Her head jerked now as the cry sounded once more.

“What if she traipsed through the mud and grass and god knew what? Only to find it was an animal,”

or nothing at all? She regarded the shoe. What, she asked herself. If she failed to do so, only to later discover, she had been the child's last hope. She glanced at her phone, still nothing. She continued pacing, inspecting for some manner of ingress into the fields, perhaps a trot and path along which she might more readily so churn. Spodding none, she powered on the phone's flashlight and stepped across the breach of gravel,

into tall, doosliked grass. The heel of her shoe sunk in the soft earth, and she groaned

and extracted it and stepped back. She returned to her vehicle, pop the trunk, and removed her shoes.

“She cleaned the mudded heel with the tissue, dropped both shoes inside and closed the trunk,”

before stepping delicately back into the field. She was unsure why she was bringing the little red shoe with her. In her mind's eye, she saw herself finding the frightened child, who would withdraw from her initially, before edging back forward, and into her arms. Hobbling from exhaustion and fear and wearing the one red shoe. An angelic would embrace her and

tell her she was safe, that everything would be okay now. And she'd sit the trembling child on

her lap, and slide on the other shoe, and together they'd return to Angelic's car, just a short walk back across the field. The earth was soft and planned and shaped around her feet like cold hands.

“Angelic could feel the dew already soaking through her pantlegs, the grass thigh high in some spots.”

She directed her light and determined a makeshift path based upon the more truncated clusters. It occurred to her where there were fields, there were rodents, and where there were rodents, there might be snakes. She could feel the mist. She continued to where it seemed the cries had sounded. An uncertain thing, a cry in the darkness. It had been a few minutes since the last, and all she heard now was the drone of cicadas, the soft thwap of grass yielding underfoot,

and the steady meter of her own breath, and only child in an alien world. Not only, she told herself, "Please, she paused listening. The fog hung about like smoke. She could see no moon, but there was a moon for it had lent to the mist and anemic spectral glow. The cry, louder this time. Closer, puncturing and plaintiff. Angelic closed her eyes straining to home in on its bearing. She waited for another cry, but it did not come, so she opened her eyes

and moved through the grass in the direction from which it had seemed to emanate. She checked her phone again, nothing. A glance back revealed how far she'd gone, how steep of a descent. Only the roof of her vehicle remained visible, and despite the pale illumination, she felt horribly isolated. Her coaps of cottonwoods loomed 20 yards off, bone white. The cry again, close now. It was no owl. It was colder the deeper she traversed, and the damp of the grass rendered it

colder still. But she'd come too far to turn back. She made for the cottonwoods, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck, standing on end. The trees seemed skeletal, gaunt, as though warding the advance of spring. Rooted setinals footed in a thick enough underbrush. The wailing sounded again, from the tree line along with a sharp rustling. Another glance at the phone. No. If she found the child, she'd need to call the authorities, but I would clearly have to wait until they

made it back to the road. She focused her light straight ahead, almost to the tree line now. When she reached it, her light dissolved within the broom of mist and moonlight. She lowered her phone and let her eyes adjust. It was cold, despite the season, desolate, a forsaken place.

Mad, she started to call, before correcting herself. Raven? She saw the eyes first, before more

“wrestling, before the cherubic sound of the reply, gleaming like bailfire through the obscurity.”

"Help me?" Angelique pocketed her phone and rushed forward, brush falling away as the delicate form shaped up before her. She felt the tears wailing in her eyes, and she extended her arms, still holding the little red shoe, as a small and trembling hand extended forth from the gloom. Poor girl, Angelique gasped, bending to the whimpering child. It was the eyes again, which froze her, even more than the shock and pain of being tackled by the large,

grunting figures she hadn't in the slightest perceived. Her breath escaped her as she hit the ground,

it was still the eyes which seared in her royal unconsciousness, timid and innocent a moment ago, yet transformed in an instant, and to the most malign expression, Angelique had ever been

“unfortunate enough to behold. Hold her down! One of the figures atop her caud, a woman.”

"Govern mouth before she gets to Hoorin!" The incongruity of what was transpiring had paralyzed Angelique for a moment. She could discern that both figures were female. The whites of their darting eyes pierced the darkness, accentuated by the dirt-striped facages from which they glowed. Her mind raced, her heart pounded. She exclaimed as the woman on her chest clamped a clammy hand on her mouth, and now her adrenaline girded her, surging, and she bit down on the grimy extremity,

and kicked and twisted with all her might. The woman on her chest yelped and jerked back, and Angelique seized the opportunity to shiver off. The woman at her legs snarled. "Ginner!" She shrieked, gesturing with one hand. "Get back on her!"

“Angelique kicked again, harder, until one leg tore free, and she kicked as hard as she could,”

and her foot landed squarely with the shrieking woman's jaw. The woman screamed and cursed and spit out blood. Angelique kicking all the while. The one she'd bitten dive back a top her, but Angelique had started to roll, and the woman tumbled off and Angelique managed to scramble to her feet. She heard the women snarling and tramping and pursuit. She thought about her phone, but there was no time, and likely no signal. She wanted to scream that her lungs were chilled and

searing, and knew there was no one to hear her, and it would be precious breath wasted. Blades of grass slashed at her as she flew past, and now she vaguely registered the pulsing red lights of her vehicle and angled toward it. "So close!" And yet so far. Images flashed into mine like the flashing crimson lights. Her sweet maddie peeking out the curtains of her window, and anticipation of her return, and her husband anxiously checking his watch and

trying her phone again. These interspersed with those eyes, those horrible, horrible eyes. Maybe 50 yards now. The sound of trampled grass and gutterle cries behind her, through the tumult of her racing mind, it occurred to her that getting to her car was not enough. That she must have her keys at the ready unlock the door, scramble inside, and start it, and race off all before being set upon once again. 20 yards. Her resolve surge, and she thrust her

hand in her pocket for her keys. Her first attempt failed, but she latched onto them with the next

desperate try. Almost to the road. The hazards bright and near. She withdrew the keys and raced toward the slight embankment, which connected up to the road, to her car, to freedom. Her scream owed more to the shock than pain of being tackled once again. She had sensed they were close, but not that close. And he seemed as though the grass itself had ensneared her. She quickly rolled onto her back to fend off her salants. The keys had flown from her hands,

it occurred to her that she was still gripping the small red shoe. She hooked it as hard as she could into the face of the one atop her, flailing away with her legs at the other. Her heart thrunged in panic, but her spirits now void, because at long last, the cast of approaching headlights

and pull off. They must. She redoubled her exertions, kicking, and pummeling away with the shoe,

“which now after several blows to this wretch top her, glistening darker red.”

The sound of the approaching vehicle grew louder, and a moment now it would ease and quiet. Then would come the sound of opening doors, scrambling feet, and frantic voices. She continued to fight, even as she felt her energy flagging. She was in good shape, but nothing prepared you, mind body or soul, for in our deal such as this. The beams grew brighter, brighter than fading. No, dear God, no! The light dimmed,

the sound of the engine epped, and Angelique groaned as she listened to her would be saviors, disappeared on the highway, and into the night.

“Ain't no one gonna help you, spat the assailant on her chest. The woman dragged a forum across”

her dripping head, examined it and cursed. "You got her? Her got her!" replied the one at her legs, wheezing. She cooked her head back behind her, staring off into the darkness. "Come on, girl!" Angelique closed her eyes a moment, endeavouring to remain calm, and regained her senses, and strength for one last sol though. She felt the various grips upon her Titan, and the woman's weight upon her chest was making it arduous to breathe.

When she opened her eyes and groaned again, heart in fear, and part in sorrow, at the dark and ghoulish sight. The child had shaped up out of the shadows, approaching slowly. A vision so grievous that Angelique wished she could envision it,

but she knew she never would. She thought again of Maddie and ached on the most cellular of levels,

that her sweet Angel might lose her mother, and that this once sweet child, who now approached, for were not all children at one time innocent, was somehow so unfathomably corrupted. "Come child!" Exordered the woman at Angelique's legs, Angelique's eyes flew open and she nearly blanched as she felt her pants late being delicately rolled up higher along her leg, exposing her ankle and lower calf. Look at her,

cackled the other woman, always so ravenous, Angelique looked away as the child's face materialized, large and moonlight, licking her lips, eyes starting this way in that. "Come on!" One of the women repeated, "Come ravenous one!" In her mind's eye, she saw Maddie, innocent and sheltered. In her PJ's now, waiting anxiously for her mom to return home and tuck her in. She'd once heard to have a child was forever to have your heart go walking around

outside your body, and that no greater time than present had she understood how true that was. She watched the unfolding scene as if, in fact, from a place of remove, floating above herself, above all of them, upon the theater of this terrible occurrence, watching anxiously and hopefully for signs of one last struggle.

She saw the little red shoe, which the barefoot woman had finally relinquished,

how small and incongruous it appeared, and the crucible of this dark and incongruous night. "And next, for matter James Tachinsky and narrated by Nate to fort, creepy presence, April 31st."

“"Today is April 31st. Where's it, May? I can't remember. Hell, not like time matters much anyway.”

As far as I can tell, it's been six years since the world went to shit. Sitting here upon this log of the flames of the campfire crackle loudly, knowing into the dried desert wood, it's the heat that warms my face while my back rests against the cold night air. The thumb of my left hand absolutely finds the scar that by sex my face.

I toss another log into the glowing embers, no longer worried of its dancing light being seen in

this vast emptiness. The flames pounce upon it hungrily. It's been two years since I've seen

“another living soul, but I thought, could there even be anyone out there to see it?”

The desert air cools these twilight hours considerably here in Arizona, Nevada, well wherever the hell we are. It gets goddamn cold at night. The shivering I grab another piece of wood tossing it onto the flames. Craining my head I look to the stars twinkling in the endless night sky.

We never had nights like this back in New York. I guess you could now,

ever since the population dropped quite considerably in the power grids of failed. The initial virus was ruthless and tore through the world, but in itself it was relatively tame.

“Armistake was the vaccines. They were released in haste to prevent the spread, but”

what we hadn't realized was that the vaccines didn't stop infection or aid in healing from it. No, they caused the virus to mutate and over a period of five to six years. The strain that emerged was repatious and unrelenting. I watched as the world began dying before me.

My friends, family, my wife and my sweet little angels, so innocent.

In 2007, as people were dying off and droves, the power started flickering. Entire towns experienced rolling brownouts. There was hardly anyone around to keep up the equipment. Here later, the world went dark. Now, this wasn't like those old horror movies

“when a hoard of mindless brain eating zombies chased you down. No, this was a gradual fall”

into the pits of hell. People died. The hospitals were overrun and understaffed. bodies began piling up in the streets and the looters. Well, they ran rampant and that's when the real chaos erupted. Stores were wiped clean of anything useful. People became just awful. It was total anarchy. You truly don't know what a person's capable of until they're left with nothing. They will covet and do whatever it takes.

When the quiet old church lady would live next door, took a swipe at me with a machete, over a bottle of Tylenol. So when I decided it was time to leave New York, try my hand out West, I guess you could say. I figured there were less people and odds of survival were better. Sure as hell didn't think there'd be any crazy old bitches roaming the open desert. It's not that I'm a fearful man. Don't get me wrong. I've been in a few scraps in my

day, but I was in no state of mind and fear that I too would become vengeful. My face away I'm making you fall right in mind, doesn't it? I'd been out in search of supplies when I happened upon a shop. Through its front smash picture window, a television dangle upon a twisted mount displaying the pallid face of the president. As he coughed up red into a stained handkerchief, he announced the state of the nation. Every city from New York to LA was in shambles.

The feeds switched to videos of trash laden streets to billowing skyrises upon golden horizons. In Chicago, bodies line the gutters while national guard tanks roll through the city. Bucket loader scooped up corpses in the street as St. Louis amassing them into piles. There were three two of which were burning piers. LA was an inimical war zone. Automatic gunfire erupted in the background while people ran for cover. The female recorder filming all this madness had been

hiding behind the smoking remains of a car when a sniper's bullet fired from some hidden alcove stopped her mid-sentence. The camera fell to the street, cracking its lens while its feed landed upon her face. Gaping hole adorned her forehead, trickling rivulets of blood into those curious opalina eyes as she faded into death. I knew I had to get away from all that. There was

started to make my way west. It was not an easy journey mind you, although the streets remained empty,

occupied mostly by rotting remains. There were pockets of anarchists living out their wildest of dreams. People whose darkest desires kept hidden in society were now roaming free without shackle

“and key. By travel from New York remained unhindered until, I'll just outside since an adious”

where I ran into a bit of trouble. I knew enough to stay out of the big cities where populations were the densest. Traveled there would have been almost impossible anyhow. So I skirted the biggins and stuck to the burbs. I'd been in this little place called Marmont and was running a fever from

this cut here in my face, which had me up good with that machete. I survived that, the virus and

dodged a lot of bullets only to have an infection do in me. Boy, if life ain't a mother fucker, right? No. Knowing I had to get some antibiotics, I decided to pop into the nearest pharmacy. Figured I could stock up on other supplies, too, if it hadn't been rated too much, which it had, it's becoming a bastard trying to find shit you needed. And you don't really know what it is that you'll need either. I took to Boston into homes along the way, but I don't know. It just feels wrong.

But I mean, it's got to live, right? I broke into this house in Indiana a couple of years ago and, you know what? The fucker was home. He knew I was coming in. He wanted me to just so he could play his mind-fuck-all games. God damn asshole lost the smallest two fingers in my left hand because of him.

“I did him up good though, but that's a whole other story. Where was I?”

No, the pharmacy. So I ran downtown in this little shit-hole town and things were quiet. I mean, really quiet. Like, it is now coming from New York. It's how it scares the hell out of you. But I managed to find this little monpo drugstore on the corner, morts, I think it was called. Didn't look into bad shape either. A couple of busted windows, but it seemed about it. I figured I'd take my chances. I went in through the front, had my 45 at the ready. One of the

few momentos I'd found house hunting, but ammo was at a premium. Shattered glass crunched under my feet, I crept inside. Over a small counter near the back,

“sign red, pick up, drop off. I figured I'd be the place to start looking for some drugs,”

even though I didn't know what the hell I was looking for. I knew it then, has I inched my way in. Something just fell off. Mixed with the silence, there's this undertone of rot. It was a smell of death. I should have turned around and got the hell out of there, but I needed something for the infection. Reaching the small counter, I could see into the back through this glass window that had a bloody smear across it, a disheartening sight. It was dark and still and a stench.

A stench that emanated from behind that stained window was atrocious. With gun raised, I used my way behind the counter, listen in for anything. A smell of decay hit me like a ton of bricks as soon as I opened the door. Put my nose into the crook of my arm, I pushed on. What I found was a massacre. Three corpses, a man, woman, and a small child, mutilated and bloated, leaning against the wall under that window. What the worst part was, though,

were their eyes. They were gone. Lifeless hollow sockets watched me as I heaved into the corner.

I'd never seen anything like that before. There are some sick bastards out there, let me tell you,

but I'd gone in there for a reason, so I braided the shelf span as quickly as I could. Grabbing whatever I found, I shoved it all into my back, and I needed to get the hell out of there. As soon as I had everything I could carry, I'd zip my pack and turn to head out. Just as I had my hand in the door, movement through that bloody hamprint in the window caught my eye. I froze. A dark silhouette of a man was easing his way in. I ducked and peered from my hidden

spot behind the door. He walked backwards while clutching a pair of feet. The feet of a woman

and placed his hands on his lower back. He pulled his shoulders backwards and stretched with an

“audible groan. In front of him, lay his burden. The remains of a young woman, her tattered shirt”

pulled up to her neck, exposing ash and breasts. He stood over her corpse, bent down and grabbed a handful of dirty blonde hair, raising her head near to his face. She gaped in a silent scream. What the fuck did I get myself into, I thought? Quick scan for a rear exit revealed nothing. There was no way I could get out without him knowing. I just prayed that he'd leave, but what he did next, and my heart ceased beating. He stuck his hand into the pocket of his dirty jeans

and pulled out a small tool. From my position, I couldn't immediately see what it was.

He raised the tool to the woman's face and to my horror, jammed it into one of her eyes. Where the twist of his hand, liquid oozed into the woman's cheek. As he scooped out her damn eye,

“scooped it out like some maniacal ice cream man. I dropped and cut my mouth to stifle the”

scream. I could believe what I just witnessed, and I knew I'd get the hell out of there. With the 45 in my hand, I chanced another look. No one I had to make a run for. Ready to shoot this asshole. He can back through the window my stomach lurched. Bastard was gone. Not the hell? Where did it go, I thought? The woman still lay there upon a sea of broken glass in the middle of the aisle. Her one eye missing, the other, open pale and dead.

I decided it was now or never, and he's open the door. With a quick glance around, I bolted

for the exit, acting more adrenaline than anything. I looked down at the woman as I ran by her face, streaming tears of red, cried for help. The almost. I was almost there when he tackled me from the

“side, hidden in a dark aisle behind a shelf, he had waited for me. The gun slipped from my grip”

and skidded into the dust. "Well, look at what we have here," he says. "Prion eyes! The man laughed maniacally and slapped me across my face with one large paw. I was stunned in my vision blurred. He knelt and pinned my arms to my sides. And under his weight I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I fought, but was no match." "What a lucky day for me," he said as he reached into his pocket, pulling out his hand. "I could see what the tool was as he brought it closer to my face.

I tried to scream and twist it like I was being jolted by a thousand volts. He held a melon baller before him, a scoop covered in dark red. "Happ, a goddamn melon baller. I told you, there are some sick people out there, or were, guessing there's not too many of us left now. Well, you can see that I managed to get away from that sick fuck, but just barely. He got one eye, though, fucking prick. May he rotten his goddamn grave." "After more month,

I continued out west until I got here. Ran into fewer and fewer folks along the way now. What's it been?" "Two years I said? Haven't seen another living soul." "That isn't till you." "Glad, too." "Man gets lonely out here in the fell in nowhere. Far too many nights tasting the bitterness of a cold steel barrel. I'm left alone for too long, your mind plays tricks on you. You gotta have a hobby. Something to keep you occupied,

or just end up reliving all your past mistakes and regrets. Want to know what I did before the virus? I'll tell you. I was quite an interesting career. You know, those game shows where people had to do some crazy stunt or eat something to scust in an order to move on to the next round? Where if you keep beating out everyone else and then win 50k, that kind of shit? Well, you are looking at the guy who designed the stunts

for shows like that. Had to come up with dozens of them to keep the producers happy. The more fear inducing or revolting, the better. I'd been away from it for so long that I started to miss it. It really was all I knew. And like I said, persons gotta have a hobby. Otherwise, he's hard to go all crazy. To keep myself occupied,

I know, I know. Don't fight. You won't be getting your head out of that clamp.

Not without a key anyway. See, while you were knocked out, sorry for barking you on the head. I went and hid the key you need. Gore, it's somewhere near at hand. You can easily reach in.

“You will need the key to unlock the device that's pulled your head in place.”

I assume you can see my old 45 on a ratchet temple, right? There's a timer attached to the trigger

that'll begin counting down from 60 seconds. And when it goes off, well, I guess that would be game over wouldn't it? That is unless you get the key. Get the idea? I will give you one thing

“to aid in your escape. One item that will reveal you the location of the hidden key.”

Question is, will you know what to do with it? Here's the only tool you'll need.

Same mill in baller that remove my right eye. Remember, 60 seconds. And go! For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

“please visit CreepyPod.com. You can also follow us at CreepyPod on social media and YouTube.”

All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative comments, share a like, licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be re-broadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the CreepyPodcast production team and the stories author. Shicks as well in Sachsen anheit. For the Landfax Wall, ask a lot of how the Landfax will work in the podcast.

In the podcast, there are really no clichés, but there are really a lot in a Bundesland in Wandell. We, from Podcast Radio Detector FM, Shaun Hien and Ordnen 1. Hintergründe stattvore verteile, hört rein, in the podcast that's between in Eura Lieblings Podcast or on detector FM/statswischen.