Isaiah (Host - likely Wendigoon)

speaker

1,018 appearances 1 recordings 1 series first heard Aug 2026 last heard 2 Aug

Isaiah (Host - likely Wendigoon)’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.

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recordings per month · last 12 months

Recordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Aug 2026 with 1.

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CreepCast · I Got Hired At A Modeling Agency | CreepCast · 2 Aug 2026 podcast

There's a moment in the pale sunlight that I know my father is leaning over the hole up there, taking one last look at the top of his daughter's head.

Then I hear shuffling, metal scraping, far above me, and I know they're letting the prod down.

I can't see it.

My forehead now rests heavily against the blackened brick, my upper half still inside the chimney while my waist and legs rest just out of the fireplace.

Despite the rope and all coursing through me, my heartbeat quickens and I feel a steadily rising, drowning sense of panic taking hold of my limp body as I feel the metal prongs of the prod align with my shoulders, slowly pushing my body down and out of the chimney itself, the rest of the way out through the tall mouth of the fireplace.

My eyes adjust, staring into the blackness.

The dim, sallow light from the chimney does very little to illuminate the ancient room I'm in.

I can just barely make out the filmy surface of a mirror glinting at me in the corner, stained with a decade of dirt and dust, rotted colonial furniture scattered around the room, dried runnels of mud seeping from cracks in the walls.

I feel coarse wooden floorboards under me, damp and decayed, fly bumps against my forehead, near my eye.

There's a long silence.

I'm unable to lift my head up to gaze up the chimney at the world above, the one with my family and friends in it.

I stare at the darkness around me instead.

I hear my father say something from far above, but I can't hear it.

It's probably meant to be a goodbye, but I couldn't have responded even if I wanted to.

A slow, dirty rumbling sound echoes down the brick hole, and the lid goes back over the mouth of the chimney, sealing me into near-complete darkness.

I want to cry so badly.

Although my chest shakes softly, my tear ducts won't respond to me.

A fly lights on my nose.

Then another.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

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