435. Deicide begets Hell

story of the passenger that's been circulating online lately? A young couple set out on a van-life

“trip, but a few nights in, they came across a brutal car accident on the side of the road.”

I'm not talking about a typical crash, something about this was off, and there's one detail that keeps coming up. The car they found had three deep scratches carved into the side, not dense, scratches, they stopped, they saw it, and then they left. But here's where things got strange.

Not long after, creepy things start happening. They began to feel like they weren't alone in the

van, like something followed them from that road. People online have started connecting it to something they're calling the passenger. Supposedly, it attaches itself to anyone who encounters

“it and marks their car with three scratches. And once that happens, it doesn't let go. If these”

reports are true, this couple didn't just witness something on that highway, they carried it with them. From Andre overdol, director of autopsy of Jane Doe, comes passenger. Only in theaters may 22nd, get tickets now. Hello, and welcome to Scary You To Sleep. I'm your host, Shelby Novak, and I'm here to tell you a bedtime story. This week, I have quite a doozy of a story for you. It's refreshingly

original, and something I would actually love to see a movie version of some day. This is by

“returning author Daniel Delicuya. You may remember his story void with teeth from episode”

284. Tonight's story was featured in the fifth issue of Doug up magazine. You can also check out more of Daniel's work on his website d-a-d-e-l-l.com. I'll have Doug up magazine and all of Daniel's links in the show notes. So without further ado, this is D-a-side Begets Hell. They came as a god, and left as a ghost, 200 years of techno-theological domination, gone with the autumn breeze. But not before they turned out history books into scar tissue.

The god had co-opted all monotheisms, preaching peace and progress through obedience. Their human disciples were granted a modicum of their might, and soon the miracles had a price. They demanded everything, and our ancestors gave. Those who didn't ever go to be ancestors. One day their sleek cities stopped glowing skyscrapers that towered into space toppled, flattening mountains long stripped of their precious ore. A rogue disciple preached that god had

been assassinated, while tending to another flock. The disciples who couldn't run fast enough were thrown by their former slaves into the mines that gaked in the earth like screaming mounds.

That first night of freedom was lit by fire. By dawn, the mines were clothed with the mind

colonizers. An explosive act of revenge came at noon. Half of the now-free population was driven to self-destruction. The other half were kept alive, but were surrounded by craters. They used to say that there are no atheists and foxholes. Now we say that no believers stand on the edge of a mass grave. A new society was scavenged from the ruins of the former autocracy. My parents' generation had stitched up the world. I could relax in an office for most of the year,

But everyone gets called up. The book goes back on the shelf. The price for a scarred

“but breathing planet. My squad had done little but exile cultists, nowhere habitable.”

The faithful always chose a slow death. They'd rather be a survivor than die and invisible

martyr. They preached to dust and ice. My squad's latest mission was easy. Exile a prophet of the slain god, a simple kidnapping. That's all. It should have been as easy as wrapping a present. The prophet was a corpulent corpse who dubbed himself Neffel. His faith was the old testament, filtered through a blood soaked paper shredder. He claimed to be indirect contact with the god's spirit. I was my squad's leader and documenter. My job was to control the narrative.

“I was selected because I set up libraries and far outposts. I'm also a terrible liar.”

And my government was the first in history to actually want nothing but the truth.

My squad needed proof of extermination but cameras weren't allowed. Cameras made martyrs. An image makes more believers than a miracle. Colts sprouted from fake photos of interactions with the gods abandoned disciples. But a rumor could be redacted with six feet of dirt. My bomb technician was called up while she was teaching her high school chemistry class. No golf took pleasure in blowing things up. It was at odds with her language or a

“we only half joked that she slept standing up. Rumor had it that she'd leveled a cathedral with”

an explosive the size of a thumbnail. Our human battering ram was a mailman. Or at least Taib was

currently a mailman. He was constantly getting fired for in subordination. Only to be moved somewhere else due to his friendship with a bureaucrat. A committed anti-theist. He liked exiling cultists with a black leather rope. I knew so little about our new marksman, Oko. She was a farmer and had replaced a sniper who'd been devoured by a cannibalistic cult. She was the best shot in the area, though it wasn't officially ranked. She preferred the prestige of silence. That was my

squad. Four partisans against one prophet. We were deployed to a rocky desert. Our self-driving armored band felt like a gust of winter wind. Stop shivering. Taib snapped. Pushing my elbow away. You're going to set off a flashbang. Only way she'd do that is if they were strongly across your chest like a bandelier of garlic. No golf muddard. Oko put on black metal to turn off our fear responses and to get us to stop bickering. Your people cried will not be heard

in your god-live dead and buried in the ruins of the pervigate. A great shot and a great DJ. I had banged until Taib shoved me again. No golf pointed a pistol at his head. Your bureaucrat won't save you from eternal sleep. She sighed. Both of you quit messing around. I said. Save it for the prophet. Oko chuckled. Another standoff might have broken out if we hadn't arrived at the compound. The compound had been a food processing plant until the locals got too

scared to show up for work. What scared them? Well, I'd hate my job if I showed up every morning and found scorch marks and blood everywhere. The local committees chalked it up to rebellious teens, but rebellious teens are fickle fuckers and move on to new pranks. Only the religious keeps spinning the barbed wheel. The compound had four sections, a hallway, a shop floor, a kitchen, and a garage. Drone recon revealed that the cars were gone, but that no one had left for a month.

survivors would make it a pilgrimage site if we didn't. The locals would be happy to see it gone.

“A cursed patch in the desert. The silver sky and golden sand surrounded the compound”

were muted like they needed to be shined. A compound's gates should be locked, guarded or at the very least closed. Neffles pearly gates were wide open. I don't like this. I said, "Don't be a whim," tape said. No goth inspected the gate for trip wires. Oco scouted the area through infrared scope. They're all clear as arrived simultaneously. If there's no one inside,

tape said, "I'll buy us all around." Around at a dime bag. No goth yand.

I asked Oco to stand 15 feet behind us when we storm the entrance. Pick off anyone not begging for help. I said, that the government's speaking are you. Oco said,

“"Every one of us is the government, and these basket cases have terrorized enough people.”

Oco nodded, but she was unconvinced. I would have taken no goth for the crypto believer. Now I was nervous about placing Oco behind us in range. But I couldn't retract in order 30 seconds before we rushed in. No goth lazily stuck, see four on the front doors. They were unlocked too, but I wanted them to know we were here. For the poor souls to rush out with their hands up, for their rats to scurry from their holes.

Tape shuffled back and forth. I almost let them smash a window to release some anger, but he needed all of it for the assault so high let them stew.

“With the last charge in place, I raised my fist. My squad raised theirs.”

I looked over my shoulder to see Oco raising her fist so high that she was punching firmament. I dropped my fist. The metal doors scream. No followers answered it's call. Neffel buddy, these are for you. Tape laughed as bullets lit up the dark hallway with thin streaks of light, but these flames drew no, powdered moths. The hallway was full of decayed trash. Everything was torn, burning, blood drenched.

Puddles of fetid black water exhaled gray steam. The punched in walls were stuffed with green embers, brown muck, sizzled, on the undying smolder. It's red smoke wreaked of a kitchen fire. Shredded metal everywhere. Silence. Except for Tape's bullets. Tape was going to buy that round after all. My ear mic buzzed. Oco said. Stop Tape right now. Easier said than done. No, like now. I'm picking up the things on.

I ordered Tape to hold his fire. He took two more pot shots before he stopped. What the fuck? No golf shouted. No golf was gone until a flaming sword illuminated the hallway. It's wheeled or wasn't a woman, not anymore. On its back we're two metal shards held in place by rusty wires. It wreaked of rotten oil. It's fire soared, spluttered, and geysored. It's wings

scraped against the burning wall, releasing a cracked falsetto. The beauty of flight never crossed

its creative mind. It's legs moved without rhythm. Like it had never learned to walk. Its face was stained with feathers and viscera. Its ears were torn off. Angel. Oco gasped. Oco shots whizzed by the ears that came forward when they were pierced. The angel raised its flaming sword. I fired at its ragged claws, but the sword went higher. No golf muttered a curse behind closed teeth. Pink, click, smack. The angel tore at its

scarred face. There was a sticky grenade and its eye. No golf slid between its legs and through herself against a wall. The explosions sent the sword clattering to the ground. I held at a hand

Checking for wounds. What were you going to tell us they had a metal fetish? Tape asked.

“I didn't know. I said they must be salvaging. Oco shouted into the mic and fire”

done smoldering hallway. Four more flaming swords burned the air. My throat constricted. I felt a one knee. Soon the floor was a river of human decay. Shit, these fucks are ugly. Tape said, putting two in every forehead. The angels wore human belts over their sharp skeletons. Gray, as a bad dawn. We're supposed to save some of them. Oco reminded Tape. I don't think they want our help. No golf said. Once we were sure the hallway wasn't full of

hidden angels. We slunk into the shop floor. I used to be a chain of workstations but the tools were missing. Tape found a pot of metal pocked with gravel. Someone forgot their lunch. He said,

“I had hate to get that board on me. No golf yon. The shop floor's air was diseased. Mugus,”

excrement, blood. The ceiling was adorned with a swirling whirlpool of dirty rags. The spiral was a bottomless puddle of stained cotton. Tape took pot shots at the sloshing ceiling but

nothing fell. 130 million people take road trips every year. 15,400 of them are never seen again.

Have you heard the story of the passenger that's been circulating online lately? A young couple set out on a van-life trip, but a few nights in, they came across a brutal car accident on the side of the road. I'm not talking about a typical crash. Something about this was off. And there's one detail that keeps coming up. The car they found had three deep scratches carved into the side.

“Not dense. Scratches. They stopped. They saw it. And then they left. But here's where things got”

strange. Not long after creepy things started happening. They began to feel like they weren't alone in the van. Like something followed them from that road. People online have started connecting it to something they're calling the passenger. Supposedly, it attaches itself to anyone who encounters it and marks their car with three scratches. And once that happens, it doesn't let go. If these reports are true, this couple didn't just witness something on that highway, they carried it with them.

From Andre Ovidal, director of autopsy of Jane Doe, comes passenger. Only in theaters may 20 seconds. Get tickets now. Ogo threw flares into the far corners. The room burned red. Against the back wall was a giant altar of marled furniture. Coils of wire littered with scraps of

flesh surrounded the altar like mangled chess pieces. I hope to never meet what they prayed to.

Do you think they sacrificed themselves? No go fast. Searching the altar for traps. That's the best we can hope for. I said, we knew from experience that a mass suicide left its lifeless shrapnel everywhere. The desert surrounding the compound was empty. There were no coyotes feasting on flayed flesh. We were about to move on to the kitchen when the altar screamed. It was a language I spoke. Be here. A rusty table covering the altar shook.

Tave and I lifted the model flip. Ogo tried to help but I ordered her to be ready to fire. The screams were louder. Something pounded the lid. We cracked it open, freeing a dark triangle. Ground dust floated up to the ceiling spiral. A pale claw grabbed my wrist. I dropped the lid on. Ogo shot off its index finger. It screamed louder. I aimed. It pushed the lid off with its bleeding claw. Out came. What was left of a man? A gray skull with a purple beard.

He raised his lacerated hands but couldn't stand. Tave shine a lighten. He gacked on air. He croaked. I kicked the lid. The man hung over the edge. Wishing he was a corpse.

man's legless thighs and upside down the of squarming skin. I tried talking to the poor soul.

“But it could only slam his chest into the altar's edge. He was needing his ribs into his lungs.”

I shot him. When he smashed his neck against the edge. No golf brought over a bottle of lighter fluid. Ogo stayed back but didn't stop aiming at his swinging head. We torched over the match. His legs convulsed as they melted. Tave wrecked. Can you live without a head? No golf whispered to me. I reloaded in the silence.

No golf laid mines around the altar. Tave collected himself. Ogo peered into the adjacent rooms

with her scope. There's something in the kitchen. She said. No golf tested the door with a rod.

“Unlocked. The body is never forever. Was painted on the kitchen ceiling next to unrecognizable”

scrolled symbols. The cultists ate with their eyes, watching heaven for gods impossible return. The sugary smell of sewage made me gag. They hadn't melted down the benches. They were full of needles then and purple. Ogo pushed around a pile of rotting husks. Their tablespoons.

Leave the fucking cacti. Tave said. They're not supposed to be purple. Ogo said.

They're not ripe. It's a slow poison. A local anesthetic in small amounts. There was nothing edible in the surrounding flat desert. The cults lasted on these cacti. And given the collar bones jammed into the walls. Each other as well. Do you think it's a bigger honor to be a flamingo or a flesh giant? No golf asked. I was tired of the questions. The bureaucrats would be grilling me tomorrow about the same

horrible shit. Scared people asking too much of those who know too little. The ceiling were too much. We shocked where it merged. It's swell like it was being pumped off mud. Shreds of ceiling tile held to dust. Dark masses thudded on the ground. These giants were conflict with their black stitches were uneven. Some stitches bunched together like a coiled moose. Other stitches were slashes holding together scarred slabs. The giants could only

charge blindly. Tave's fire sliced one and half. But both halves tore at him. It ripped off

“his left cheek. I never forget his whole screen. Another burst from the floor knocking me down.”

On Oko fought off three arms using her rifle as a club. I couldn't see no golf. But I could hear her struggle. A giant tore off my helmet. I fired a line of gashes into its flexing torso. Its blood was black with neon yellow flex. It slammed its bodies down until its ditches split. I tried killing tapes giant. But it was using the right side of tape skull to excavate this heart. I turned to Oko. She'd massacred her giant. More of it was writhing on the ground than

standing. Oko used her free hand to throw flares. No golf's flailing leg kicked one toward me. I hurled it at her giant. The flare got caught in her giant stitches. The sparks burned. Its cursed shell. Its six hands reached for the flare. One arm tore out another. But it dropped before it could quell the fire spreading up its back. No golf shoved it away. It crashed into tapes murder. It tried licking the flames on its comrades back, futile. Oko and I pumped more

led as fire consumed the room. The grenades on tapes belt explode. The kitchen filled with a thick yellow fog. We crawled out the door. No buff and I built a barricade while Oko caught her breath on the ground. Nothing slammed against our barricade. Only yellow smoke drifted into the shop floor.

I would have ordered no golf to turn the place into the mouth of a volcano. If I didn't feel

“like I was freezing on a mountain's peak, shivers expelled my coughs. The compound was on fire,”

but frost leathed from the garage. No golf placed c4 on it. Two charges froze before she even backed away. At a safe distance I dropped my shaking arm. Oko stared deep into her scope. No golf pushed the plunger. An explosion shouldn't be purple. Frozen fractals pierced everything. The ice shards had a magnetic pole. My head was yanked to the ground. Oko backfliped. She was

lucky to land near the burning kitchen bear cave. My last mission. Fuck. No golf side.

Her legs were severed. Like they were amputated by a dull katana. Her blood revived the dried puddles all ready on the floor. She began attaching explosives. Do her bleeding body. Stop no golf. I said. I'll crawl ahead. She said. It would be a waste to die. Staring at this wretched ceiling. No golf's last breath was hastened. Oko shot her before I could ease her suffering. The ice converged on her corpse. Like stained glass. I glared at Oko, but her rifle

“wasn't pointed at me. A grim blue aura emitted from her head. Did you tell them we were coming?”

I asked. No. I don't know anyone here. I don't believe in becoming a freak for a master. I got off the ground. She didn't expect me to aim at her. A world without faith in

anything but retribution. It's a cold world. You're going in first. I said. I don't care how

I could have shot you. I will leave you as a snack for these monsters if you so much as look at me the wrong way. How can you have faith after everything you've seen? I'm not a believer. I just don't think everything was as bad as the government keeps bullshit. Your belief has

“betrayed us. We inched into the garage. Oko's aura brightened like a rising sun.”

The walls were coated in purple ice. It was too cold to smell anything. The chamber shifted from freezing to boiling and back. Sweat pounded at my pores. Oko fell to her knees and grabbed her head. She cried. She slid across the floor like someone had kicked her. I lost my balance. The brain signals from my left eye were going to my right and vice versa. I couldn't trust any

thought. My eyes wanted to flee their sockets. I held them in place with a damp hand. The cold air stabbed my lungs. Wittled hail filled me with each breath. I looked for Oko. But was frozen by what descended in front of me. A crooked trident was ushered in by four rusty chains secured in each wall. The prophets' arms were barred on the points. His neck wrapped in a collar of pig iron. Mechle was smiling.

I fired before waiting for his sermon. The bullets sank into his flesh but clinked onto the ground like coins tossed in a dry well. He smiled wider. Underneath the crooked trident, Oko begged me for a merciful death. I didn't know such thing. A pure darkness is nothing to beg for. Neville preached nothing. There were certainty in his face. Oko's frantic pleas were shushed by the sharp sound of chain links tightening. She smashed her forehead into the floor.

I didn't stop her. She'd created her own prison. The crooked trident split in three.

Neville's body tore apart. His arms to the walls his head yanked back. He didn't close his eyes.

“He didn't stop smiling even when his neck was a bleeding mountain.”

He was dead. My mission was over. But Oko's skull kept cracking against the ground. The air somehow grew colder. Oko choked. Again. Rebirth was impossible. Neville's body was an arid canyon. But black blood spilled all over his tattered chest until it shone a light blue. I turned to flee. But the bright blood's light changed me to the ground. Oko's eyes flickered a matching

blue. The hood of a purple robe rose from Neville's shattered torso. The robe and furled

“until it covered his body and pooled at the ground. Oko's and treaty ceased.”

Her gasps shortened and to shallow clicks. The purple robe twisted around her body. Breaking her and to a thin rope. It raised its arms. Black scaled dragon tails. I braced for the ceiling to crumble but it merely swirled. Like it was being thrashed. It hacked at Neville's body. To free more bright blue blood. As more blood flowed its face brightened like moonlight on an icicle. I couldn't see its eyes if it had them. On its forehead

and cheeks were intersecting triangles. They pulse like seizing lungs. I fired at them. It's blood crystallized into sharp green waves. I dropped all my grenades into the waves which coagulated into jeweled masterpieces. When the crystals got thick enough, I kicked and kicked and kicked the robe searched for me but kept splashing the blood around the room. The crystals rose into the air. It cursed me in an ancient tongue. And it killed all its

believers. It's power on earth. And yet it blamed me. A thin dragon tail burst out of its chest. It's existing arms tried shoving it back in but it was futile. The rebirth was a still birth.

Its first breaths have been toxic. At a hollow through a moth, a broken black glass.

A wall's melted and burned. I breathed in steam and smoke. A scaly arm got entangled in a chain. The chain shrieked. The walls collapsed on us. No pain. Only darkness. I woke up under the rubble. The rescue team had no trouble finding me. I was buried under the only pile of debris not scorched. No bodies were found. The flames that had spared me. Devoured the only proof of my jacket memories.

I lied my way through the deep reef. One word of what I saw and I'd be shot quicker than

no gov. What I saw was a crack in my society that would never be filled. No matter how many

squads we sent in. My new squad will proceed without me. They will never see the light blue crystal shards that are buried in my chest. Only I can see them. Only I can run into the desert it's where the shards demand I go. I am a husk. Thanks so much for listening and thank you especially to my author this week Daniel Deliciah.

“Remember you can find links to Daniel's work and his social media in the show notes”

as well as a link to Doug up magazine highly recommend you check them out. This was such a fun one to produce. I actually emailed Daniel to let him know that I was going to delay his story a couple weeks because I really wanted to get really in there with the sound effects.

ads and the intro but the 15 minute mark of the story itself I think I spent four hours alone

“on that part just doing all the just I love sounds of metal and the fire and all of it. I just”

really appreciated the world that Daniel built that he just drops us into where religion is outlawed and you know this idea the culmination at the end where our protagonist confronts Ogo and is like why would you sacrifice no goff to nothingness and there's a big argument about that could be made about that overall about religion and how death isn't as as much of a final outcome for people who are more religious because they know they believe in an afterlife so therefore do they

see human life as as precious as maybe they should because they believe someone's going to a better

place and it's so fascinating and I love I love discussions like that and I love that this was wrapped in this disgusting world and I mean that in the most complimentary way Daniel I promise anyway I just really loved this story clearly and I hope you did as well I was just talking to someone from my network uh someone of the behind the scenes people and we were discussing how I was explaining that I tried to keep this show really eclectic and how sometimes I I try to

choose stories sometimes this one is not one of them clearly because I'm raving about it but I even try to choose stories sometimes that aren't quite my taste to my taste nothing I ever like dislike but sometimes stories that I wouldn't have naturally gravitated towards because I want to keep the show fresher and I don't want it just just to just be you know a curated document of stuff I like you know I'm not an influencer I'm not telling you like what I'm what's in my bag or what I'm

listening to at the moment of course I do that as well but I want the the show just to highlight different different ideals and different talents and different worlds and that live within different authors minds and I don't know I just I've been thinking about that lately and I hope that you all

“enjoy that I do that that it's not the show isn't very same z at least that's what I aim for”

is not is that every episode is a touch different and it's not just the same thing every week and I know we all have our preferences but I feel like this is also as an author helped me expand my I don't know my inspirations and my talents and things because I don't just stay in my little corner

of what I like you know you never know what you're gonna like if you stay with just what you think

you like and you discover you know different things if you delve into things you don't think you're going to like does that make sense I'm talking in circles sorry okay I'm gonna go oh baking corner I didn't bake this week again I did I didn't bake this week did I bake this weekend yes I you know what I did bake last weekend when I was at my parents house like I said I didn't just make a boxed devil's food cake and I made some buttercream frosting from scratch

my mom was like you know when you're just craving a certain thing she was craving a boxed devil like Duncan Heinz devil's food cake and I totally get that sometimes you're craving a certain type of thing so I did I made her a devil's food bunk cake with some buttercream frosting and I used like vanilla paste so I have a little flex it was really great buttercream frosting that's one of my favorite cakes is just like a rich chocolate cake with a vanilla

“buttercream frosting I love it so much the key to a good buttercream frosting in my opinion”

is using enough salt I think a lot of buttercream frosting is the reason they turn out especially American buttercream a lot of people find it way too sweet and I understand but I think a lot of times it's because for one you don't cream your butter long enough to get it fluffy before you add all your other ingredients too you don't then beat it with the powdered sugar for long enough so you end up with something grainy you've really got the box the powdered sugar

box says you can have buttercream in five minutes that is true go way longer than that because it'll make it much creamier and every buttercream recipe like I don't use a recipe anymore but if you are getting new into baking and new into buttercream add more salt

but that's my advice if you don't like an overly sweet American buttercream

or just make a different type of buttercream but American buttercream is just so easy it's so easy so it's so tempting to make you know so there you go those are my little baking corner tips for the week and I don't know what else let's see go check out some my other ventures I've been having so

“much fun on the lady killers go check out the lady killers if you want to hear me discuss movies”

at length I think the most recent episode that came out is we just we talked about hostile too

and of course the bloody disgusting podcast always there for you will accept actually the

last week because we took a hiatus week which was my fault because I went out of town and yeah but there's lots of episodes that go check out lady killers oh and I got to interview Cassandra Peterson aka al-vira back in January with my buddy Michael Rothman from the losers club and Halloweenies and that video is actually on the bloody disgusting YouTube channel so

if you'd like to see a video of me interviewing al-vira then it's there for the taking it is for

there for the watching not the taking you can't take it you can watch it though so yeah go check that out

“and I believe that's all just go I ask you to spread the good word of this show please tell”

your friends post about it on Reddit Reddit is you know of course it's like it's like the town square of the internet so you know please tell people about it on Reddit and all the other social media as well and what else there was one more thing oh my ads by the way there especially real estate on patreon I have a small ad right now the link is in the show notes please click on it even if like please support my show if you have any inkling to use smalls or any of the products

I ever post about or ever talk about on my show please use the my links it helps me so much it helps out so so much and I think it might even help if you just like click on the link or go to the link I think it helps I don't know but like it couldn't hurt you know so if you could just click on the link if you're interested in that I don't want to ever force your pressure you into buying anything I truly love this product I have said no to many things before I've said

no to many different ad deals and brands before so I am discerning when it comes to what I advertise

“on the show so please consider using me if you want to use that particular brand this week”

is smalls and if you're not then if you just click on the link real quick just to let them know hey because they do they track they track the ads they track this stuff isn't that crazy the future it's the future and they like have stuff that you look at if you look it up it's all crazy if you want to get into podcast and you should research the ad tracking it's a whole thing now okay I'm gonna go thank you so much for listening go get some sleep sweet dreams

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