Aunt Claire & Remember

Frank, nine. Frank. [MUSIC PLAYING] No. 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, most simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Hey, y'all.

“So how's everyone doing out there in farmland and beyond?”

I've just been chilling here at the station. Working off my post Minnesota State Fair Food Hangover as I understand it, state affairs aren't nearly as popular

basically anywhere else in the country as they are here.

That makes me sad. That means there are people out there who rarely if ever eat foods on a stick. For the record, Pronto Pups are superior to corn dogs. I don't take a lot of stands on hot button issues,

but I will die on this hill. So I just been sitting here with a jumbo bottle that tombs while wrestling with Rocco's Basilisk. And if you aren't familiar with that, feel free to Google it and thank me later

because we'll all be meet in the same grinder anyway. That's our okay O's Basilisk.

“Sure, it's been called the most terrifying thought”

experiment of all time, but really, they might be right. See y'all in the grinder. And just thinking about meat is giving me heartburn. So let's get to today's stories. First up, from my derangelo soy

or a narrative by Lisha Atkins, creepy presence, on Clare. The first time I met Aunt Clare was when I was 17 and she came to support us after my mother died. My father and I came home from our camping trip, my father's attempt at a transition between our home

with my mother and our new home without, to find her waiting on the front porch, a long smile on her face. She didn't pretend to help us as we moved in. She just spent the whole visit silently watching.

The entire time, she kept that smile

that never shifted in this lineest.

But what stuck out the most to me, the thing my father always claimed he never noticed, was the signallingly sweet and somewhat foul smell that clung to her clothes, or maybe it emitted from her flesh, either way,

I recognized it easily from the night before. I'd snuck away from our campsite after my father had fallen asleep.

“I can't remember why, maybe I heard a sound,”

but something had me walking through the woods until I found that bear's nest. It was a hole, dug in front of a boulder, that was too shallow for the bear sleeping inside. Black fur stuck out and caught in the bit of the light.

It was enchanting. I was already halfway towards it when I noticed the rest. Surrounding the boulder and me were half-eaten carcasses, deers, rabbits, and coyotes. I had no idea that bears even eight those.

The decaying meat mingled with pale organs and stripped bones, forming a perfect circle. I gagged. I ran. And the smell from that was what poured off of Aunt Claire. Her visit lasted for two days.

I only knew her for 48 hours. But that was enough to make it so that when the police showed up looking for her three years later, I wasn't surprised. While my father pailed and was shocked here that they'd found 10 bodies disemboweled in her basement,

I barely blinked. They asked me questions, trying to determine where she could have gone, but I knew nothing about her. My father ended up being just as useless as me.

The two had never been close, and despite being her brother,

he barely had any memories of her.

I tried to talk to my father about it,

“see if I could help him through the shock he was obviously experiencing,”

but he just told me to go to bed. I listened. And then I woke up at 3am to that awful smell. I didn't move at first. I figured it had to be some remnant of whatever my dream was,

but it settled into my nose. Curled its way into my throat and made a home there. The decay was real. The first place I checked was my father's room.

He never bothered to decorate it after we moved in.

That would have been my mother's job if she hadn't died. With the room being nearly empty, it didn't take long to see that nothing had happened in there, or to see that my father wasn't inside. My steps quickened through the halls.

“I checked the living room, the kitchen, the dining room,”

every inch of the house. Each room was the same. There was that smell, but there was no sign of my father. The few things that were solely my fathers,

his phone and workboots were both gone. Any call I made to him immediately went to voicemail. So I did the only thing I could. Contact the police. It took them a week to take me seriously.

And that was only after one of them suggested that investigating my father might lead them to Ant Claire. During that week, the smell grew worse. Every day, I'd wake up in my bed, make some food, and sit in the living room with my phone next to me.

My gaze would lock onto the door, hoping for any sign that he was going to walk through. I'd sit, the smell keeping me company, until my eyes started to droop, and the decay escorted me to bed. It infected every aspect of the house until it began to sink into me.

It was a month later when the smell started to grow faint that I finally broke.

I forced each piece of furniture out of the house and scoured them for the smell. My only reward, though, was cobwebs in some non-offensive mold. The inside of the sofa, the pillows, and the beds were all clean. So I went further, buying a hammer wasn't hard, nor was breaking through the walls. Taking out the insulation was annoying, and lifting up floor boards

made walking around the house difficult, but I was dedicated. Even if I had to destroy the entire house, I'd find the source of that damn decay. I went through the rooms one by one, starting with the rooms that didn't matter, until the only one left was my own. Covered and dust and plaster, I started on the walls.

One by one, they came down. There was nothing. The insulation was clean, then I worked on the floor. Half of the boards broke as I used the back of the hammer to force the mom.

But that didn't matter because finally, finally, the smell was getting stronger.

I'd found the source. Surrounding the space my bed had once been were bits and pieces of carcasses. A deer's leg rotted on the left, rabbit skins on the right, a coyote's tail near my feet. And my father severed head, placed under where my own would rest each night. The cut wasn't clean. The tendons jutting out of his neck were afraid.

And the bone sticking out was cracked and uneven. His skin was gray. All of the blood that would make him look alive, pulled underneath him, congealing into a makeshift pillow. A part of me thought to call the police. It's what I did when I'd come home from school to find my mother dead in her bed.

But another part of me wanted to take the head and run. I held my phone and thought about the situation. How would this scene look to another person?

“Who would believe that I didn't notice someone removing and then putting back the floor boards in my room?”

To an outside observer, it would be an open and shut case. And then whatever had actually happened would be lost along side the other half of my father's body. I grabbed a garbage bag, a pair of gloves, and stuffed his head in with the animal limbs and guts. I took it to my car and I drove. The old campsite was exactly as I remembered it.

Even the small fire pit we'd made three years ago was still there. The ashes resting among the stones we placed. It was the perfect spot to lay him to rest.

My feet followed a path that they remembered and I didn't.

“Like the campsite, the bear's nest was exactly the same.”

There were the same carcasses at the same level of decay surrounding the hole. But instead of the fur I'd seen peeking out that night, there was a naked woman. She didn't look indecent. Her chest was covered in so much blood that it looked like she was wearing a tight shirt. Her thighs were covered with a makeshift blanket.

The other half of my father's body that had deflated without any bones or organs to hold it up. And Claire smiled at me. She raised her hand towards the bag I was holding. Before I could think better of it, I stepped into the circle and gave it to her.

“The plastic of the bag tore easily under the force of her hands.”

While the animal parts fell to the ground, my father's head landed on what had once been his own stomach. It was horrifying to look at, not because of the image. But because of how unhorified I was, I should have done something when she started to suck on the knob of the spine protruding from his neck. I shed a run when she turned it towards me, and I definitely shouldn't have indulged.

Thinking of it now makes one a puke. But at the time, I enjoyed it. I drank the last remnant of bone marrow before turning to the veins. With Aunt Claire holding the head, my own hands were free to pull at the meat I ate each bit that I could, then forced the skull out so I could break it open and get just a bit more. At some point, one of Aunt Claire's hands found their way to my head.

She ran her fingers across my scalp, and whispered encouragement and praise. It all felt so good. Once there was nothing left but flesh, she gently led me over to the hole and helped me lay down. She took off my shirt and then my pants, both covered in blood, even though there hadn't been any left in my father's head. And then pulled something over me. It was warm, soft,

a bear's hide from my place in the dark. I could hear her start to walk away. The part of me that was still me wanted to throw the fur off in run. The part of me that was in control closed my eyes and purred in contentment. It made me dosed through the rest of the night. Not even letting me react when someone stumbled onto the nest gagged and ran away. I didn't regain control until the next morning.

After it was too late to vomit up the contents of my stomach. I was left with no choice, but to navigate the woods in my underwear. It was hard. I'd have already been on high alert, but without clothes, I felt more exposed.

It didn't help that retracing my steps never took me past the campsite.

I was sure it would be coming up, and then that I had passed it, but the path just took me to my car. I shook the entire ride home, as I thought about all I'd need to do. I'd have to clean up the blood, put the house back together again, and appear normal every time I left the house from now on. But most of all, I needed to have the memory stop repeating in my head. They flashed in my mind the entire car ride. Up until I pulled up to the house and noticed that

“all of the lights were on. Had I done that? Or was there someone inside? Did the police already know?”

I thought about running away, but ultimately decided against it. Jail was what I deserved. I walked to the door. In sign, I almost tripped over my father's workboots. They fell over as I balanced myself on the wall. The sound of them toppling woke up the house.

Someone, multiple someone, was running towards me. An officer rounded the corner first.

His eyes scanned over me as he turned to the walkie on his shoulder and called for an ambulance. A second officer came around and stopped towards me. An easy task to do since the floorboards were all in their proper place. It didn't make sense. I was already struggling to understand how the house was repaired when the third person came around the corner. My father stared at me for a second.

solid, and oh so full. He nestled his face into my shoulder, placing my lips right to the side of

“his neck. He sobbed and I shook. Thinking about how I'd bitten down just beyond that bit of flesh,”

devouring the muscles underneath. Apparently, I'd been missing for four weeks. My shoes, bone, every sign that I'd ever existed, had all disappeared with me. The officers at all but given up until my father had received a text in the morning. Some unknown number promising that I'd be home soon. The ambulance arrived. They found nothing wrong with me, but I still had to go to the hospital. After the doctor scanned me over, I was questioned and I lied. I told them I didn't know anything.

With the truth, they'd either send me to a mental institute or label the last month as some bender, while the latter probably would have been fine. The thought of being in an institute made

“me uneasy. I'd heard they weren't too bad anymore, but I couldn't handle the idea of not being”

in control. Not right now. I was surprised that Aunt Claire never came up in the questioning.

When I brought her up to my father, he was confused. He held my hand and asked to I meant. In his mind, he was an only child. In the end, the police closed the investigation. Without any leads and with the victim's safe, there was nothing driving the search. I still don't understand what happened, but Aunt Claire has yet to come back. Walking the woods doesn't help either. The bear's nest is gone.

I can't crawl back into that hole. So all I'm left with is the taste of human on my tongue. And the occasional whiff of decay that tempts me more than I'd like to admit. I've heard of your mobile phone calls, but I don't want to come from here.

Who's with your ex ex-girls dreaming? I'm a second-hand. No, I'm not going to let you go.

Just a little bit. With mobile phone calls in the real life, Frank. From the beginning to the beginning, Frank, nine, Frank. My therapist said I should start a journal.

“And honestly, at this point, it doesn't sound like a terrible idea.”

She thinks that I've been overwhelmed with everything going on in my life. And that writing things down will help me process it all. I hope so. I forgot Jason's name at work today. One of the managers who I've done for at least two years now. He's a nice guy. It's not like I have anything against him.

We work at a theater. And he just wanted to buy a ticket for me. I had to put his name on the order and I totally blank. Not even just his last name. But his first one too. I could feel my face burning red. I just stood there staring at the keyboard. Eventually he muttered it. Jason. Jason. I know his name is Jason.

How could I not? I work with him pretty much every day. It's not like we're best friends, but he's a good guy. He totally covered for me last week when I mixed up my schedule and missed a shift. He just told everyone he let me have the day off. I have liked having him as a manager for the last few years.

I've never done anything like that before. I mean, I've gotten high and forgotten the names of my friends, friends,

who were just introduced to me. But I was totally sober this time. I just don't know. My therapist says it was probably just a combination of anxiety and

memory. Maybe she's right. June 3rd, 2026. About a week ago I got a text from my dad saying that he was going to be stopping chemo and entering hospice. He's had lymphoma for years now. And over the last couple of months it's been progressing a lot faster.

I can't say that the idea of his cancer killing him never occurred to me.

But it was still a shock to find out that it actually is happening. He told me that he's made his peace with it. But I don't know if I fully believe him.

“How could you make peace with losing literally everything?”

My parents have been divorced for years. And since a split I haven't seen my dad nearly as often as I see my mom. I love him. But I've been pretty satisfied with getting dinner with him once every few months.

I never used to question our relationship but now I feel like I'm running out of time to fix things.

I want him to know that I love him before he goes. The doctor told him he only has a couple of weeks and most. It's just weird that he's dying. All one hand. I want him to have as much time as possible.

“But on the other hand, I just want this to be over for both our sex.”

It's just as constant limbo where he's here for now. But he can suddenly be gone at any moment. Every time my phone rings, I wonder if this is it. It's torture. I wonder how I must feel for him. I hope when I die, it's completely sudden and unexpected. I'd rather just rip the band-aid off. It seems easier for everyone that way. June 4th, 2020, 6th. I don't feel like riding today.

I don't feel like doing anything. I barely been eating. Seasier forgets stuff like that. I keep reading the text from my dad. It keeps hitting me over and over again. It's almost like I forget. And suddenly, something will remind me. It doesn't seem like anyone else is taking this as hard as I am. June 5th, 2020, 6th. It was nice out today.

The last couple of days since my dad stopped treatment have been rough. But I'm managing. I saw him earlier today. I went over to his house to grab some paperwork. Just my birth certificate and stuff. He couldn't even get out of bed. He'd been waiting all day for my stepmom to get home and bring him a glass of water. I was kind of afraid to see him. But it was nice to be able to help. Even in a small way. I wish there was more I could do.

Even with how sick he is, he still seemed pretty much like himself. I wish I knew how long he has left. He doesn't seem like he only has days. But he also doesn't seem like a man who's going to make it to 100. His birthday is coming up on the 12th. I hope he at least makes it until then. I'm not sure if I should get him a present or not. I don't know what he would even want at this point. Other than him to maybe not die. Can't exactly get him there. Maybe a comfy sweatshirt.

June 6, 2026. I was a couple of hours late for work today. I totally forgot to set my alarm.

“My boss Aaron was pretty understanding. But I think that's only because of what's been happening”

with my dad. It's always so awkward walking in late to work. You can feel everyone staring at you.

And you know there are no way that they've been doing your job while you were at home sleeping.

It was a rough day. June 7, 2026. I really need a haircut. It's getting super shaggy.

“And it's making me feel gross. I've had plenty of time. But I just keep forgetting to schedule it.”

I'll try to get it done tomorrow. June 8, 2026. I was late to work today. Again, that's where I need to start setting an alarm reminding me to set my alarm. The whole tying-dad thing is only gonna take me so far. I wish I could take a leave of absence until this is all over. But I can't afford that shit. It's not like I'd use the extra time to hang out with them. I'm too awkward for that. I just don't know what I would talk to him about anymore. I can't exactly talk about plans for the future

because he's probably not gonna be there for them. I definitely don't want to talk about the fact that he's dying a cancer. And I'm sure he doesn't want to either. June 9, 2026. I saw my therapist today. I told her about how I've been feeling. And she says that I'm experiencing what's called anticipatory grief.

It's basically when you know you're gonna lose someone. So you start mourning ahead of time.

She said everything I'm going through is normal. The depression, the forgetfulness, feeling that my world is coming to an end. It's all just part of the process. I just need to appreciate the time I have left with my dad and stop worrying about what it'll be like when he's gone. It's birthdays in a few days. If everything goes well, I'll see him then. We're gonna have a movie night if he's feeling up to it. June 11, 2026. I'm feeling good today. It's hard to remember

what I have even been so down about lately. It was super nice out too, so I went out for the walk.

“I think the sun is good for me. I've had a few days off of work now, so that'll be nice.”

I could use a break. It seems like it's getting harder and harder to get through the work day. I just keep making stupid mistakes. Like selling people tickets to the wrong show or putting orders on other wrong persons account. Maybe having a few days off will clear my head. June 12, 2026. I haven't done anything today except get way too high and watch you a little submarine for maybe the eighth time. It's kind of a comfort movie for me.

My dad's a big fan of it. He's the one who introduced me to the Beatles. I've been thinking about him a lot today for some reason. I hope he's doing all right. We haven't really talked in a while. My parents split up years ago. And ever since I've been a lot closer with my mom than my dad, he remarried though. So it's not like he's completely

“alone. His new life is nice enough, but she's just not really my kind of person.”

I'm glad he has someone to grow old with at least. June 13, 2026. I don't know what to say. I got a call from my step mom. She told me that my dad died around 5am this morning. I didn't even know he was sick. I don't understand what happened.

I never got the chance to say goodbye. I haven't seen him for months. How could he be gone?

Everyone says that when you die, you go to a better place. I don't know if that's true. It feels like he's just gone forever. Feels like part of me has gone now too. June 16, 2026. My therapist said that they think I should see a neurologist. I told her how suddenly my dad died and she seemed kind of confused. She said that the last couple of visits I talked about how my

All I remember is talking to her about general work and life stuff. I don't know how I could forget something like that. I'm worried that it might be the weed. Everyone says that it can mess with your memory and I've been smoking almost daily for a good few years now. I'm thinking it's time to try and quit. Maybe that'll fix whatever's wrong with me and I won't even need the neurologist. I just wish there was a way to unwind that doesn't involve frying my brain cells

or giving me lung cancer. June 17, 2026. My dad's wake was today. He was super weird.

I have never understood the point of open casket. I already know he's dead. They don't need to rub

it in. A bunch of people came to town for it but I didn't really know anyone and I didn't really feel like talking to anyone anyway. I mainly just sat in drink coffee. I watched the slideshow pictures of him. There were a few with me and it but mainly it was a lot of people I've never seen before. I never knew he had so many friends. Outside the viewing room there was a guest book

“you could sign and a little basket of those black remember bracelets. I took a bracelet and signed”

the book. I didn't recognize a single name other than my own. I would have thought some of my relatives would have come but I guess everyone was too busy. Maybe they'll be more of them at the funeral. It'll be nice to see some familiar faces. I feel like I haven't talked to a single person I know and forever. June 18th, 2026. I woke up at one in the afternoon today to about 20 missed calls for my stepmom and even more texts. Apparently my dad's funeral was

this morning and I totally missed it. I was supposed to be a Palm Bear so they had to get one of my cousins to do it. I feel like such an asshole. It was my last chance to say goodbye to my dad and I fucking blew it. I have left of him as a stupid bracelet. I've been wearing it nonstop since I got it.

“I need the message, apparently. Remember, I don't know why so hard for me. I guess I really should see”

the neurologist. June 24th, 2026. For the last few days I've been getting texts from someone named Aaron asking if I'm okay and if I'm ever coming back, wherever she is. She keeps saying that she's not mad, just worry. I guess it's nice to know someone's worrying about me but really I'm fine. Just today she texted me asking me to meet her in person. She says this was my last chance.

I finally just texted her back that I don't know who she is. She would please stop texting me all the time.

Then I've locked her number in case she got all mad. I don't need to hear all that. June 29th, 2026. I saw some kind of doctor today. She was nice. She did some scans and said everything looks good. She almost seemed confused that my brain looks normal. Not sure why I wouldn't. She really wanted to do more tests but I said that I don't think I need them. Feel better than I happened weeks. It was such a beautiful day today. July 1st, 2026.

I've been wearing this bracelet lately. It's black. And it says remember, I wish I knew what it was that I'm supposed to be remembering.

Maybe it's a reminder to finally text my dad for once. Ever since my parents split last year,

“I haven't really talked to him much. I think his birthday is coming up soon.”

Maybe we'll see each other then. June 4th, 2026. I found this journal today.

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