Mother Penitent

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Okay. Back to the reason you're here. First up, a compassionate priest answers a late night call

to administer last rights, only to discover that the dying woman's final confession is unlike anything he's ever encountered. Written by R. Todd Campbell and narrated by Jimmy Furrier, Michelle Kane, and R. Simontanas, Creepy Presence, Mother Penetent. It was a late hour, or it was quite early. Depending on one's own day-to-night sensibilities,

“whatever the viewpoint, it was almost 2.30 a.m., and most homes were darkened, and their occupants”

were likely dreaming. Father Alex, tall, and made to withstand strife, took the most direct ground, as he walked thoughtfully through the still neighborhood to the penitence house. He was familiar with these strains, having traversed the many times over in his life. He was familiar with the people who lived here, including the ones outside of his faith, for it was in his nature to know them. Even if the familiarity wasn't reciprocated,

he was dressed in the standard dark pants and shirt, complete with a white Roman collar, that all in his vocation were. He looked to be in his fifties, but any who met him would swear that he was either much older or much younger. No one could seem to agree.

Yet he was always welcomed by the locals, and really everywhere he went.

Because he made it, his life's work, to be a fixture that folks could count on. No matter their respective troubles were celebrations. He walked tonight with purpose, but without urgency, and the sodium vapor lamps of the streetlights illuminated the seemingly timeless features of his face, and cast various odd shadows on the ground. It was autumn. So the air suggested that one should wear at least a light jacket to keep one's self,

from too much exposure to the emerging chill. Father Alex wore a long trench coat, which may have been overkill for some, but he'd like to be warm. The rectory received the call for last rights about an hour before Father Alex began his trek. Young woman on the other end of the line made it clear that, while it was not an emergency, her mother was indeed living her final days, and thus wished to make confession.

And received her last rights before she passed on. She requested that it happened as soon as possible, just to be safe. As long as it was of no inconvenience, Father Alex was already wide awake.

and the young woman agreed. It was unusual though, because although the young woman had never met him,

“Father Alex knew of her and her mother, and he knew of their lack of religious affiliation.”

But they were not Catholic, and unbaptized was even more unusual for anyone asking for last rights. But this was someone in need, and that was good enough for Father Alex. And while his superior's frowned upon such deviation of protocol, he was a rebel. And he did things his own way. His casual gate fell in step with the tune he whistled quietly to himself.

He strolled closer to his destination. It was the bridal chorus from Wagner and Lowing Grin.

And it had been stuck in his head for the past two days.

Ever since he attended one of the most decant, and celebratory weddings of his recent memory. For him, it wasn't one of those songs that, aggressively and almost had a spike remained in one's memory. Playing on unwanted repetition.

“Rather, it was a welcome reminder of the passion he'd felt for participating in some way in his neighbor's”

most significant moments. Music in general was a source of great pleasure for him. And Wagner was simply one of his favorites. Another one of his favorite things was his role in duty and confession. This wasn't because of any of wearistic tendencies though. It was all about seeing the realness of people.

Your rather light confession. Because he felt a kinship to the penitent, that was often lost in the formalities of his regular dealings with them. Confession? Ment honesty. It was real. It was raw. And he believed when people were stripped down to their most basic humanity.

“They were finally able to transition properly from this life to the next.”

It was his job to hold the mirror that mercifully showed them all the dark things that had made them hate themselves before they succumb.

Finally, after using on his role in the world and the power of Wagner,

he arrived at the home of a dying woman. Much like all others in the neighborhood, the house was built sometime in the late 19th or early 20th century. It could have used a coat of fresh paint. But it was otherwise remarkably well kept. The adjacent homes on both its left and right side were colorful

and his father Alex noted, their poor ceilings were painted of pleasant sky blue. However, the poor tone which he stood had no such distinction. The world was bereft of you, but the earth tones were nonetheless inviting. At least father Alex thought so. A dim light radiated from somewhere inside. Giving the glass pains that decorated the top of the front door, the soft warm glow.

He not firmly. A few moments passed before General Footstep's approach from the other side of the door. He listened to the clicks as the locks were unfassened and the door opened up. Revealing a pan, whisper young woman in early thirties. She wore a plain white dress,

starkly contrasted by the straight blue black hair, the fell below her lift waist. They were visible scars, criss-crossing both her arms. "Hello?" She said with a soft thickness. "Hello. I am father Alex," said the priest.

She stood in the doorway saying nothing more. "Father Alex studied her, peering into her eyes, looking for any inviting welcome nan or the home." "There were none." "Am I too late?"

"No. I'm zen." She said almost anonymly. "It's nice to meet you, Jen. The priest replied." She stared at him wide-eyed, as if he were a hate hoping for the entrance of a brand new hunt.

But she either didn't see it, or are completely ignored the gesture.

For she did not return the greeting.

“Whatever the case, Father Alex lowered his hand awkwardly,”

and smiled in his usual magnanimous way. "May I come in. Father Alex asked as delicately as possible. For it was clear that there was something off with a young woman. And he did not wish for any unnecessary troubles." "Yes, of course."

She said, as she stepped back and allowed Father Alex to enter the home. "Thank you." He said, "As she closed the door behind him and re-engage the locks with their respective clicks. Inside, Father Alex took note of the richness of the decor that gave the home and almost museum quality to it. It was clean.

Yet close to being too cluttered, heavily decorated with a variety of items. Paintings and various clocks on the wall, car figures, glass figures, and many other trinkets of every kind and size.

“And all the colors, sitting upon sturdy shelves.”

He fancied himself knowledgeable on a great many things, and he read a wide array of books on matters ranging from theology to architecture, art, and much, much more. Therefore, he felt confident in determining that many of the things that adorn the walls and shelves of the humble home, were probably at least a century or more old.

He was quite the collection, and anomaly, a brand new shovel, and an array of cleaning products and garbage bags, resting on an antique table stood out from the rest of the older things in the room. Jen caught his gaze moving from the out-of-place items back to her face. She lied to the priest.

Father Alex stole another look at her spotless attire. "You wash up, rather well." He said. "Gen and hail the deep breath,

“hoping that he wouldn't pick up on our nervousness.”

She had never been great at being untruthful.

Which often led to beatings by her mother. If she lied to anyone, and it wasn't perfectly undetectable, she received a beating. But, if she lied to her mother, about anything at all, she also received a beating,

and a severe one at that. So, she collected herself, redirected her thoughts, and forced herself not to shake. "May I take your coat?" She asked, tapping one finger on her stomach. It was one of her ticks that emerged whenever she was uncomfortable,

which for Jen was most of her waking hours. "No, thank you, Father Alex replied. Noticing her disquiet, but remaining calm and composed for her sake, of course." "Something to drink?" She asked.

"Trying her level best to be a gracious host." She wondered if she was actually being gracious, though. "Thank you. I'm not thirsty. Perhaps I should just go ahead and meet her."

He said. Jen hesitated. She realized that she had been stalling her own, conspicuous and feeble way. But there was nothing else she could do. She would lead the priest to meet her mother.

She would have to live with that, as she always did.

When her mother made her do things against her nature. "You seem kind." She said. "Father Alex thought he detected a sense of sadness in her voice. This wasn't anything new to him.

People were always sad during confession. And their last rights. Indeed, it was sad for people when their loved ones were close to death. "Please follow me." He did as she asked and followed her without any further comment to perform his duties for her dear mother.

Jen led father Alex down a somberly, lit hallway that opened into the shadows of her mother's room.

She stepped inside and father Alex did the same.

“Room was decorated much like the rest of the house.”

And takes of all kinds arranged into a busy scene of collective millennia of history. There was a musk of heavy perfumes mixed with the acidic sting of urine that hit father Alex's senses with the strong severity as soon as he stepped inside. And laying on the bed in the center of the room, underneath a thick patched quilt, was Jen's ancient mother, Lily.

Lily's face told it to crept at story of human fragility.

Many years ago, she had been sprung a full of energy that allowed her to do incredible things.

Some would say even unexplainable things. Those days were now far behind her. She had to be in her 90s or even older. She stared at the ceiling, unmoving at the entrance of Jen and father Alex.

“But after a few moments of silence, she lifted her head and shifted her body to acknowledge”

her awaiting guest. "You're the priest, then." She croaked a matter of factly through a noticeably parched throat. And there were her milky gray eyes revealed in eyesight long diminished from proper function.

She nonetheless looked directly at father Alex.

And locked her gaze with his own. "I'm father Alex. And you're Lily." "He returned steadily." "She nodded as best as she could and coughed. She moistened her crack lips with her tongue and turned to Jen."

"Give me a moment alone with her daughter," she croaked. "But mother," Jen began. "Now, girl, I will call for you."

“Lily interrupted with a surprising fury for someone so feeble.”

Jen looked down at her scars and voluntarily. Just as she often did when berated by the old woman. "Yes, mother. I will be right outside." "Sed Jen lowly." She turned and scurried away,

like a rodent fleeing the wrath of the brunt and closed the door behind her. "She is a willful child," Lily stated with unchecked disdain. "Father Alex stared at the closed door after the young woman. Then looked back at the diminished figure on the bed." "He said nothing.

But Lily must have known what he had been thinking." "I imagine that you have questions, priest." She said with a sneer. "Father Alex remained impassive, but intrigued." "Of course he had questions."

"But he knew people and how to read them. He answered his own unspoken inquiry before the spaving figured reply." "How can I be the mother of such a young, soft beauty when my womb would be rotten long before she was born?" She asked in a mocking voice.

"She caulked a thick grey eyebrow and looked amused by the question. She's my adopted daughter." "She came to me late in life," Lily explained. "I see. Father Alex replied simply. He revealed nothing more."

"Although Lily was certain, she was certain that he was bothered." "And that made her happy." "She couldn't wait to tell him more about it." "Come close," she told him. "He approached her bed slowly.

Then jestered to the old desk and chair. Adorned with the plush red cushioned seat nearby." "Man I sent?" "Yes, sir."

"He was always mindful of his manners.

Even when meant with clearly ill-tempered and unpleasant people." "Of course," she offered out of a false courtesy that was both obvious and exaggerated.

"He watched as her wise and breasts.

“He heved up and down with every rattled breath."”

"Heavy with the sounds of great labor and wear. It appeared to him that each in take a bear was painful and drew her closer to the grave." "Gen was wrong when she said that the visit was no emergency." "Her end was imminent and her time was close at hand." She closed her eyes and said nothing for a good minute or two.

His eyes wandered and he observed the room and the embellishments collected on his floor and walls. Again, he noted that the items in the room were certainly not procured for many box chain retail giant. They were unique, well-made and aged.

Some were curiously of the Macomb variety.

With many depicting various stages of human decay and violence, examined in oil painting of a disemboweled pig hanging prominently above the headboard of Lily's bed.

“He recognized it immediately and even knew the name of the artist.”

It was commissioned, painted, and celebrated in mid-18th century New England. Then disappeared sometime during the Great Depression. Its vanishing was one of the mysteries of American art. Yet, here it was. Soking up the stench of the room to match the vulgarity of its canvas.

Father Alex was certain in the discovery for his studies and our led him to have no doubts about its authenticity, truly.

This was a remarkable and priceless find, but the painting could wait.

He was here for one purpose. You have a very lovely home, Lily. He said softly.

“Lily opened her eyes and grew a shuddering breath.”

It's important to keep a clean home. She said simply, nodding to herself and self-agreement. "How long have you lived here?" Father Alex asked, "Since before you were born, priest." She said, "With a testy edge coming back in her voice, the priest grin.

He preferred when the penitent was elucid, whether or not they spoke as surrogly. Now would me in a long time ago, indeed?" A herepide calmly. At that, it began to rain, ostensibly hard. The droplets bombard at the glass of the bedroom window with unexpected force and sudden rhythm.

Lily began to cough, and the spell was of the more violent variety. A nearby glass of water sat on her nightstand. And Father Alex reached for it and brought it to her lips. She drank greedily, then shoved his hand away. Spilling some of the contents onto her quilt.

The wet spot blended in with some older, more yellow stains. He waited until the fit passed before speaking again. I was told that you wanted to make confession. He said when she seemed more stably, repost. "I wish to make a confession to you."

Lily said, as her voice collapsed into a noisy grinding breath. Father Alex studied her features. Mentally noting that the valleys are ridges that made up the ancient wrinkles in her face. He mused on the significance at the end of one's life. It was common to describe them as indicative of life well-lived.

Having only a short time in her presence, he wondered if those who knew Lily would say the same about hers. Only the Lord could judge. "You're not Catholic, are you?" He asked gently, "Already knowing the answer."

Lily's crack lips curled into a smile. "I'm a believer," she said simply. Staring into the pre-stark eyes as best as her mere blinded one's coat. "And I'm ready to listen, Lily," said Father Alex. "Eager to hear all that she had to say."

Most penitence." Father Alex began.

“"I wish for Gen to be here," she cried out.”

"Cunning into the delicate nature of Father Alex's intonations and deliberate delivery."

"Of course." "Ah." He said as he stood up and turned around to retrieve a young pale woman. But Gen was already in the room, standing just inside of the door, which caused him to swallow his words and marvel at Gen's silent nature. "I'm here," Gen said. She appeared unmoored and rocked back and forth in a manner that was unmistakably agitated.

"Perhaps it was even pathological." "Good," Lily noted, "bearing her spoiled teeth." "Now," we may begin.

"Father Alex took a moment, watching the scared young woman,

considering the possible catalysts for her troubles," then sat back down. "Duty must come first." "I'm ready when you are," he said. Turning his back on Gen and addressing the infield woman once more. "How should I," Vicky.

“She asked, "Almost pleasantly," honestly.”

"Just me honest with me," said Father Alex, leaning forward. He was closer to her face now,

and her fetid breath enveloped him in further distorted affection.

He ignored the smell and waited for her to speak. "I've done a lot of bad things," Father Alex. She said, "finally." "None but the Lord is flawless." "All of mankind is lacking."

He said in a scripted manner of response. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

“Priest, because I have the Lord wanted to know the depths of my loyalty.”

"Oh, not your Lord, of course." Lily said, "Father Alex's gaze moved to Gen, as she tried and failed to shrink to be unnoticed. I will spare you the details, only because I'm eager to move forward." Did you know that infant fat contains power?

It extends life. It enhances it. It allows mortals to walk too in front between this world and the next and with all authority. Father Alex sat motionless, taking in all that the woman conceded.

It was not the typical act of confession by any measure of the penitence that he had known in this neighborhood, or anywhere for that matter. But if what he heard was mortified, he remained outwardly placid and stoic. Lily searched for any sense of fear or discomfort in the priest's face. But she saw nothing.

Perhaps it's my poor vision she thought to herself. Her failing blurry senses caught at the limbs of the old wooden clock. One of her favorites, hanging on the wall behind the priest. And she gestured towards the antique with her bony hand. I claimed that from the little one's home, it seemed appropriate to me.

A simple reminder of the preciousness of time and, of course, I just wanted it. Lily started to laugh, but it turned into a cough. Followed immediately by the wind picking up and screaming to a crescendo. Storm outside appeared to mock them and the same shock of Lily's admission.

A rogue tree branch slammed through the window, shattering the glass into thousands of shimmering pieces.

loomed over the bed, but the newly self-pronounce murderous.

“Sit, Lily spurred it out between hacks, but neither Jen nor father Alex attempted to make any”

aid to the old woman. They awaited until the coughing spasms died, which was only a few seconds of a brace of rank or, for father Alex took his seat once more, and Jen merged her back into the false comfort of the wall. And though her throat burned, and her lungs threatened to burst,

Lily was elated. For she had no doubts as to the source of the storm.

It was her Lord, coming to aid her in her most triumphant and glorious time.

“Once she was back in control of her voice, she continued her confession.”

The clock was not all I took. Jen was there, and I claimed her as my own. She was not much older, but she didn't scream once, as I cut her baby sister into pieces.

I thought it, admirable, so I spared her. And when I'm anointed, standing side by side with the Lord

as his bride, Jen shall continue my work here. Lily said with a mixture of both the mutable will and contempt. Jen shrank back even further, and slid down the wall with her mouth again.

“"You don't remember. Do you, Jen sugarhead? Still stunned by the relivatory dread."”

No, she didn't know priest, but it was time. So this is what I wanted to tell you, Father Alex. This is my confession, but there is one more thing. Though the blood of babes have given me a long life and dominion, there is even more power. It's a blood of a priest. She screamed with all the powers of hell, she had left her and her broken down body and lunge that father Alex. As I was widened, he looked down to see a knife protruding from his belly,

held by Lily's kid-davours hand. He toppled over and fell to the floor. And Jen offered her own screams to harmonize with that of the bloody dissonance. "And now the Lord will reward me with eternity because you came so willingly to the slot." She began to laugh. Jen saw him controlfully, holding her face in her hands. Father Alex's moans mixed with terrible mirth from the old evil hag. However, after a moment of unmelodous,

shrill symphony. He joined Lily's dark chair with his own wicked laughter. Then with a snarl, he stood erect and snatched the wooden carved clock from the wall behind him, and smashed it over Lily's face, breaking her jaw and unhinging it. He then sprang over to Jen and grabbed the young woman by her gone face, and hurled her to the floor, instantly breaking her neck. Lily's eyes darted back and forth.

As her breathing became an even more horrible sound than it was before. Father Alex walked over to Jen's lifeless body and stood over her, taking in the crumbled, and his shape in details. She seemed kind. He said indifferently, completely devoid of emotion.

This Lily watched from her deathbed. The gore painted the room in glistening reds,

“staining the wood finishes and colouring Lily's bone-white hair to a ripe crimson.”

After a few brutal moments he stood back up, covered in Jen's decimated visceral. And I trust Lily with a voice that was both his own, and that of a hollow infinity. My bride is on that one child, and one priest would bring you that esteem. Your hair against in this manner is intriguing, but not enough to merit anything more than suffering.

Said father Alex to the mutilated old woman. "I have no need of an equal. For there are none equal to me. I've come because you've earned your eternity, but you will not be how you envisioned it." And with a rapture as hell,

“the figure of the priest ripped Lily apart, with a barbarity rarely seen,”

even amongst the most disturbed men. Her screams were smothered into nothingness. Lily's home was quiet and the sky was clear as father Alex emerged from the front door. His clothes were clean, and his face was unblemished and unbothered as ever. In the coming weeks, a smell from Lily and Jen's wrought would alert the neighbors to call the local police.

Where the terrible scene would make one of the rookie cops abomin all over his newly pressed uniform.

It would be the second time since that night where brutality stole away the peace of the community.

First being the several murders of several priests, the local rectory. According the very night of Lily's confession, only father Alex would survive that attack,

“and a stature among his flock and beyond would become even stronger”

through the symphony and grief of strangers. Of course he already knew all of this, and he mentally rehearsed what he would tell the police. When he called them about the murdered priests,

sending them on a wild hunt that would ultimately lead to an innocent man's arrest.

Here would be fun. He enjoyed this form, and enjoyed being a priest. He smiled to himself as he walked back to the dwelling that father Alex called home. Whistling his favourite turn, from his favourite composer. Ordebel präsentiert, Zwillinge, die unterschiedlicher, nicht sein könnten,

wir waren nie wie hane und nani, und als eine der beiden plötzlich verschwindet, wo zu helle bistumina, übernimmt die Annare. House, ehemann, das ist immer noch mein Sessel und meine Praxis. Und die Therapie praxis? Und, was macht das mit ihn?

Das neue Ordebel original herbuch und was macht das mit ihm, gesprochen von Karolina Herford. Jetzt hören nur bei Ordebel. And next, after waking up trapped in a strange room containing only a deep swimming pool in two towering water slides, a college student desperately searches for a way to escape before

time runs out. From greater hyper-rop and aerated biology icons, creepy presents, better to drown. Water laptiently at my bare feet, stripped of my socks and shoes that I'd tossed into a corner hours ago.

I stared into the blue, sloshing pool, squinting into the depths. At about 11 feet down, I stopped being able to see. Shadows overtaking the otherwise clear water. Too deep to make out. According to the depth measurement on the far wall of the pool,

it went down 63 feet. I couldn't help but morbidly wonder. What lived down there at the bottom of the pool? What I could feel was watching me.

What made me scramble out of the waves with an uncontrollable, primal fear

“whenever I fell into the shallows, even though it appeared as if nothing was coming to get me.”

I knew something was there, waiting. I just didn't know what. I wondered how long it would take for that monster to drag me down to the depths. How long would it take for the air to leave my lungs, bubbling back up to the surface through the brackish water.

How long would it take for me to drown? How long it would take for people to find my body. I shook my head, pushing the morbid thoughts from my mind, rising to my feet and forcibly stepping away from the pool. My feet slapped against wet tile.

When I'd first gotten here, the tile had been dry.

“The water in the pool had been rising, though,”

spilling over the edge and out onto the floor. All right, stop staring into the pool like a sad loser. I yelled at the room, my voice echoing against the gray walls. Back to work! I paused next to the pool to squeeze water out of my damp pants before strolling over to where my

shoes and socks sat. I was relieved to find that at least my socks were somewhat dry by now. Carefully balanced on top of my shoes after I'd fallen into the pool several hours ago, while trying to climb up the inside of one of the slides. The same could not be said for my shoes and the rest of my clothes.

I shivered slightly, closed clinging to my damp skin.

“I pulled my shoes and socks back on, red nail polish catching and flaking off as I did.”

My once pristine nails were now broken and chipped, leaving a small red trail behind me wherever I went. I grimaced when I noticed the lingering green residue glued to my palms, sticky and clinging to my skin. The scum was left over from when I had attempted to climb up the inside of the slides. I had no idea exactly what it was, but it was too sticky and too dark to be algae.

And when I'd experimentally sniffed the slime, I found that it smelled a alarmingly metallic, like blood. I wiped the residue off of my jeans and tried not to think about it. At least I don't have to deal with wet socks. I grumble to myself, reaching up to pool my dripping locks back into a ponytail. My hair having freed itself during my previous escape attempt.

My voice, despite my best efforts, did little to feel the deafening silence of the room. With my hair up and shoes back on, I made my way to the wall where I had taken desgratching tally marks, the source of my broken nails. I quietly added a third tally to the wall, using a small chunk of broken cement that had fallen off somewhere. I had no idea if it had actually been three days.

It was hard to tell, with no windows and the bright, never-ending fluorescent lighting.

But every time I stood up, my vision darkened, and my throat ached, like sanded, had been stuffed past my teeth. I was quickly running out of energy, starving, dehydrated, and restless. I could only assume it had been three days. Despite my very thorough examination of the room over the last three days, though, I still had no idea where I was or how I had gotten there. I had woken here three days ago, sprawled out on the rough gray tile,

head pounding, with no clue how I'd ended up in the strange room. The room was fairly large, with half of it taken up by the pool. There were two bright red closed off tube slides that disappeared into the tall, vaulted ceiling. I had attempted to climb up the insides of both twisting slides, but the only result I got was my drenched clothes. Besides that, there wasn't anything else in the room. Just the pool and the slides.

I shivered at the very memory of climbing up those slides. It had been small within the tube, and it felt like the walls were closing in on me. The metallic smell had been overwhelming, leaving me lightheaded as I tried to climb. I could swear that over the sound of my heavy breaths, that I could hear something skittering in the dark, claw scraping against the inside of the slide. Could swear I had seen a dark, hungry mouth waiting at the bottom,

just waiting for me to slip and fall into its jaws. I blinked, shuddering, and was surprised to find myself just sitting there, staring at the tally marks on the wall. I had been staring

spots flickered in my eyes. Not for the first time, I debated drinking the pool water.

“I blinked again. I think I might have passed out at one point, just sitting there, head bobbing”

limply. The fluorescent lights burned my eyes, watering underneath the harsh beams. I had to shut my eyes and open them slowly, and an attempt to adjust my pupils to the blaring bulbs. I had no idea how long I'd been unaware of my surroundings. It could have been hours or just a few minutes. It was impossible to tell. When I opened my eyes again, they fell on the three flaking tally marks, crooked and small. I wanted a home. I said quietly, the voice raspy and loud in the silent room. The only other

noise the soft lapping of the water in the pool. I want to go home. I wept, attempting to straighten myself to a standing position, head lolling forward. My voice scraped against my throat,

“drawing blood that I could taste on the back of my tongue, pinnies dancing against my taste buds.”

I wiped a tear off my cheek. I was so dehydrated at this point that I could only muster that singled tear. When I'd first woken up here, I sobbed like a baby. Now I could barely cry at all. I slowly crawled my way to the pool, fingers clawing at the tile. What would my parents think if they saw me like this? What would my parents do if I died here? How would they have a funeral if they had no body to bury? Left here in this hell. I had a test coming up next week that I'd spent hours studying for.

I had been two months away from finishing my chemistry major. I had promised to take my girlfriend

out to see the tulip fields that Friday, since she had never seen them. How could I do any of that

if I were dead? I want to go home. I begged. I reached the edge of the pool. With a dry sob, I stuck my chin in the water like a dog and drank. The water tasted like chlorine. I gagged on the first mouthful, but forced to myself to swallow. I drank as much as I could before dragging myself back onto land. Even on the tile, the water covered my ears. Waves muffling the lights buzzing above, making everything feel distant and unreachable as I lay on my back. I passed

out again. When I woke up, I felt less like dying. I was still weak with hunger. My hands trembling harshly, and my mouth tasted foul. But I could stand up and walk without getting too dizzy. Ha! I announced to the silent room, pointing and accusing finger at the water. Take that pool. I didn't die from drinking you. I paused, frowning. Knock on wood. There was no wood in the room, so I just knocked on the wall.

With my energy restored, I resumed my mission to search for an exit with vigor. My search only increased in intensity when I realized that the water had risen to my ankles. It was rising faster. Damn it. I muttered, kicking at the water, sending it splashing against the wall as I waited forward. My socks were soaked again. If I didn't hurry, I'd either starved

death or drowned because of the rising water, whichever came first. Awesome. What great choices of

death I have. I said out loud, sarcasm biting against the quiet water. With a sudden sense of urgency, one that had been bogged down by exhaustion, and the relative peace in the room until now.

“I ran through the room, running my hand against the wall, searching for a hidden door, a secret”

switch, anything. Finding nothing, I moved my gaze back to the slides. Previously, I tried to climb the inside of the slides, but as my gaze traveled slowly up the length of the tubes, I was surprised to see light peeking through the edges where the plastic met the ceiling. I lit my gaze linger on the ridges of the slide. Hope beginning to rise in my chest. Would it be easier to reach the ceiling by climbing the outside of the slide rather than the

water sloshing close to my knees. I ended up on the tile right by one of the slides.

“Taking a deep breath, I tried to will my limbs to stop shaking.”

Once the trembling had eased from my hands, I reached out, grasping the ridge of the slide, and took a standing leap forward, clinging to the outside of the slide. The slide rattled under my weight, and I waited, tense, for the slide to stop shaking. When it eventually settled, I began to inch my way up the tube, hands clenched around it tightly, plastic eating away at my skin. It must have taken at least an hour to reach the ceiling.

I had to keep pausing to take great heaving breaths, exhaustion tugging at my bones as I panted.

My fingers were cracked and bleeding from gripping the sharp edges of the slide, and my ears were beginning to ring, bells filling my head to the point that I could no longer hear

“my own heartbeat, but finally I had made it to the top. The ceiling was oddly spongy and soft,”

and when I tentatively reached a hand upward, wrapping my legs tightly around the slide, and prodded hesitantly at the ceiling attached to the plastic of the slide, it gave way, bending underneath my fingers. My eyes widened, and I pushed harder, beginning to tear the ceiling

away from the plastic. Soft dim light greeted my vision,

caressing my eyes and head gently in comparison to the fluorescent lights. I caught a glimpse of green grass, along the handle I am, and couldn't help the laugh that escaped from my mouth. Caught up in my excitement, I began to shove away the ceiling, ripping it to shreds violently, determined to create a whole big enough to fit through.

“Any pain that I'd been feeling faded away with pure adrenaline,”

pulse thumping in my ears like a drum, breath warm, and shallow as I painted. Leaning forward to just reach a little more ceiling, a little more, and then it would be wide enough that I could escape just a little more. I hadn't even realized how far forward I had leaned, how weak my legs had become. The way my whole body trembled, as I tried to rip apart the ceiling with energy, I no longer possessed. Oh, I thought, as if regarding another person.

I was so close, wasn't I? If I had done this a little bit earlier, if I had been a little bit more careful, I would have been free. I plummeted towards the ground. My arms slammed against the edge of the pool, taking the brunt of the fall, hitting the tile with a loud smack, all nospitting through the skin like my flesh was paper. My head bounced forward with the momentum, the edge of my forehead colliding with the floor. The world spun violently,

and boiling blood began to spill from the side of my head, sailing the clear blue pool with shades of red. I flailed as my body began to slip off the edge and into the pool, choking and coughing as water flooded into my mouth. Head pounding as blood caked into my hair and stained my skin and closed. My arm burned as a fire were licking up the link to the limb. Fingers numb at the tips as if with frostbite. I gurgled desperately,

spitting out water as I tried to heat myself back onto the slick tile with my good arm. But I was too disoriented to do so. As I sobbed, blood trailing down the back of my neck, distantly, I wonder if it would have been better to have just broken my neck during the fall. My death would have been faster, at least. I just wanted it to be over. As I tried to wipe pink water from my eyes, legs thrashing and sending waves of liquid splashing

over the edge, flooding the room further, I could only think that I wanted it all to be over. That's when it grabbed me. A hand gently wrapping around my ankle. It gave a friendly tug as if testing its strength. I could only make out a dark shape underneath me. Eyes bleary. I was sure that it must have smelled my blood, like a shark, sniffing their red-tented bubbles to find where water met flesh. It's teeth clamped around my leg, tearing through the

The creature kept chewing, slowly tearing away pieces of my skin. As if it were a delicate meal,

“almost gentle with its touch. As my consciousness slowly faded to black,”

my last thought was unbidden, not a goodbye to my family and friends, but instead, something as morbid and dark as the water swallowing me whole. It would have been better to just drown. Früher nanken wir es elektrisches licht. Heute sagen wir einfach, licht. Früher nanken wir es elektrische washmaschine. Heute sagen wir washmaschine. Also, warum nanken wir es immer noch elektroauto, der neue Volvo E60, bis zu 810 km/h weiter, jetzt bei ihren Volvo Händler und auf Volvo Karstenere.

And finally, while babysitting during a violent storm, a teenager is stalked by someone or

some thing that keeps begging to be let inside. For major G Christopher Williams, creepy presents, baby teeth.

“She stood on the porch and watched the rain. It fell in the Kevy Sheets, very hard and very fast.”

So hard and fast and fast that when she extended her hand into the wall of water, it was swallowed completely in its torrent. It was the best time of night when baby sitting. When your charge was fast asleep and the big weird house that she didn't belong in belongs to you. Audrey withdrew her hand from the pouring rain and allowed the chilly water to drip down her arm onto the porch. The big puddle would dry in its own, she thought,

figuring that she would have enough to clean up before the backsters return from their party. Not the Beatrice made much of a mess. She was a baby after all. She'd spent most of the earlier portion of the evening rolling back and forth on her back while holding a ring of plastic keys

“high above her hand. She snapped her gums and her few tiny white teeth that those keys”

whenever they happened to dangle close enough to possibly reach with her mouth. It was time to at least faint to do her job. She sighed as she abandoned her view of the storm. Checking on Beatrice just to be sure she thought, as if something would happen to her in an empty house. She shook her head at the simplicity of babysitting at this point in the evening. Before checking, she was thirsty, so she took a quick ride instead of heading upstairs.

As she stood there drinking juice, a dim white light began to play along the walls of the hallway just beyond the kitchen. It wasn't the light produced by car headlights. It was much softer than that. She hadn't left any lights on in a living room when she turned off the television and went out to the porch a few minutes ago. Feeling confused, she put her glass down in the counter and went to investigate. Weirdly, when she entered the room, the television was on. But the display was

so strange that she had a powerful sense of something otherworldly existing in the space.

While for a few moments to television display the field of snow, an emitted the soft growl of white noise, like the television might have been decades and decades ago. A face began to emerge through that field. A whispering bearded man pressed his cheek rotesically against the screen. His thick bulbous nose was pushed to skew against it. And he squeezed his left eye shot, his other giant pop eye looked out at her.

People scanning up and down, left and right. He looked his lips and continued to press his face harder and harder against the glass, as if trying to shove it through the television screen into the living room. The creature insisted, his thick fingers soon emerged right next to the face, pressing at the glass just as hard again, as if seeking away out. She fought a crazy feeling that was rising in her gorge, and looked frantically for the remote.

Inlay perched on the edge of the arm of the couch. She lunged forward and catching it up, pressed the power button. The image of the face vanished. With the remote hanging from her right hand, Audrey stood relieved, staring at the empty screen. She could have sworn that she turned that thing off.

That was when she was with her friend Judas, not alone in a house that she didn't really know all

“that well. Replacing the remote on the arm of the couch, she returned to the kitchen to put her”

glass away. She always liked to clean up after herself as soon as possible when baby

sitting. She didn't like the idea of not keeping the house straight enough as she went. That left much less to concern oneself with before the homeowners returned. In truth, she should probably go get a towel to soak up the puddle that she left on the porch. She was far too concerned with leaving a good impression on the people who hired her to leave any evidence behind that she wasn't a responsible and capable sitter.

Judith would have left the puddle and eaten the whole bag of Freedos left for her in the kitchen.

“But not Audrey. Audrey never touched the chips, and would leave them untouched for the whole”

of the evening, and she wasn't leaving that puddle for them to judge her by either. After putting the glass in the dishwasher, she left the kitchen and mounted the stairs and searched a linen closet. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Unconcerned but curious, she casually took it out and glanced at its face. Was Judith calling now? But it wasn't Judith's voice she heard when she answered and turned on the speakerphone. Nor was it Judith's avatar. A German shepherd with a

long tongue never remained on the phone's screen. Instead, the screen looked gray and cloudy.

A voice entoned. "We need to talk." That horribly widening eye emerged from the cloudy darkness of

“the screen. Then additional features appeared. Thick lips framed by wispy hair and a smaller eye”

that darted in opposing directions from the dominant pot-by that belonged to the weird, learing man. "We need to talk." Two-spittle-fleck lips mulled again. Audrey pressed the cell phone screen where the disconnect button usually lay, who was relieved to see only her own distressed reflection, and then now otherwise dark screen.

She'd reached the top of the stairs though, and now her to gentle tap and coming from behind her.

She was faced with another darkened glass. The glass of the window behind the stairs, which framed the apparition of that pop-eyed face once again. The face pressed against the glass. Pressing harder and harder, distorting itself into uglier and uglier shapes. Frantic fingers search the face of the glass as a ticket locates some aperture. Some opening depressed those lips and then nose and those asymmetrically sized eyes through.

"It's time for me to come in." He said, his face twisting into a grimace than a grin. "Stay out! Stay out!" She shouted over and over again, turning from that grin and retreating into Beatrice's room. She thought she heard the voice again from behind her. "It's time for me to come in." However, as she turned towards the baby's crib in front of her, a little hunched figure already stood on the stool with its back towards her, hovering over the crib.

It turned revealing that familiar, frightful face smiling too thinly now. "I'm already here." He said, "Then, a little man extended his hand towards her, turning his palm up." On it, lace three, tiny, white teeth. "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 light 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 story's author."