Chapter 1: What is the story 'The Light Beyond' about?
This week's episode is sponsored by the provocative psychological horror Kennold. Walker is a gig worker barely holding things together when he takes on a strange, high-paying job at a secluded mansion. There, he meets clients who live as animals, not as play, but as identity.
What begins as a gig quickly spirals into something far more unsettling, as Walker is pulled into a world where wealth buys transformation and control. Blending the social unease with the surreal identity horror, Kennold explores power, performance, and the cost of survival in a system built to consume you. In a world like this, autonomy isn't given, it's taken.
Watch the trailer and learn more now. No.
This is Creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling, and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.
Here we go, everyone. Back in the studio again. A quick thank you to everyone who listened to this year's Creepboy Camp. It was good to get out and stretch my legs a bit, but it's also good to get back to some routine and schedule. As such, I need to get back on task and thank some patrons.
So please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons Rose the Benevolent, Elaine Scott, Cameron Beal, The Habes, Mackenzie M., Matt the Cat Who Knows Where the Bodies Are At, and Oprah Chetawurst Uftekreipskurdensen. To see how you can support the show and get rewards like early commercial-free access to all episodes, please check out the donation tiers at patreon.com slash creepypod.
Okay, back to the business of digitizing archives. Not exactly the most glamorous or stimulating work, but it's kind of nice to be able to turn off my mind for a little bit and get something done. Though it does look like they decided to move some stuff around while I was out of town. It shouldn't be too much of an issue to figure out where they put some of the gear that I need.
On the plus side, it seems like while I was gone, there weren't any more issues with broadcast dropping into the feed. So there's that, right? Oh, and before I forget, and I realize this might seem early, but we're officially open for 31 days of horror submissions. So, if you have a story for our October event, that's 31... Okay, 32 days of episodes and stories. Please start to send them in.
When we fill up, that's it. And yes, there are always people reaching out in September and even October wondering if we're still accepting stories. Short answer to that is no, we aren't. By September, we're well into production. So, if you have an October-themed story, like Halloween, trick-or-treating, pumpkins, scarecrows, haunted houses, etc., get them in ASAP.
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Chapter 2: How does the character Walker navigate the surreal world?
The boy called out. Hey, kid, don't run off again! I won't hurt you! He paused, breath catching in his throat, before adding, I need your help! Please! And then... No! Wait! The boy'd been chasing that light for hours now, although he never seemed to close the distance.
Every time he grew discouraged, he recalled with misplaced hope that the dark, empty space between himself and the kid who held the flashlight also never seemed to grow. It didn't seem to matter how many times or how often he lost sight of him up ahead. The sewer was a thirsty thing, drinking sound the same way it drank the light beyond.
Every cry from his throat was inhaled mid-echo by the cathedral hush that pressed in from all sides. The sound of the boy's voice bouncing hither and yon on the grubby walls was broken only by the slop of its sneakers through the foul black water. As he trudged on, each step with a splash or slosh, the muck clutching at him halfway up his shins in the dark, round tunnel.
He couldn't help imagining that he'd been swallowed into the decomposing throat of some slain giant. He held a glowstick out in front of him, casting an eerie green light that refracted off the slime climbing the walls. The glow shimmered across the slick surfaces and rippled on the thick, dark water below. If he stood on tiptoe, he could almost touch the ceiling. But he didn't bother.
He didn't want to. That, too, was coated in the foul black slime. Even more thickly here than the mucus sheen that wept from the walls around him. In the dull green light, the mildew clinging to the upper arch seemed to waver, flexing inward and outward like lungs. Breathing. Like the tunnel was breathing.
It was subtle, rhythmic, and more than once he swore the breath could maybe be heard in moments when he strained his ears hard enough and listened close enough. The walls, he could see in places, were made of brick, though most of it vanished beneath layers of mildew and rot.
The filthy water stretched out before him in a never-ending river, backlit in shimmering emerald and black by the green beacon he held.
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Chapter 3: What unsettling transformations occur in 'The Light Beyond'?
It flowed forward until it was swallowed by the darkness ahead, darkness that marked the abrupt, choking endpoint of his sight. He hadn't known a place could feel so confined while still seeming to stretch on forever and ever. The squelch beneath his sneakers shifted.
The wet thud of each step thickened somehow, as though the walls around him were drawn back just far enough to give sound more room to exist. He still felt as though he was moving through swamp water or mud. But the splashing evolved into a broader sound that might have the power to linger in the walls the same way his earlier shouting down the tunnel had, but not quite.
It didn't grow louder and didn't exactly bounce from wall to wall, but it seemed to broaden. The breadth of his footsteps expanded as though something vast was being pried quietly open nearby. Then, in the same moment that his ears noted the tonal shift, he found himself already standing in it. Another intersection.
The new tunnel ran perpendicular to the path he'd already been walking, spreading off to his left and reaching forward with the same sort of ceaseless, boring yawns voicelessly expressed by the tunnels. that the boy'd been following for the last ten or twenty minutes since he took the last right.
The intersection was built from the same stagnant, dark, and slimy mildew as the way before this, and before that, and before that. It was made with the same stink, the same bricks, the same forever damp. The offshoot was painted in the same sweating memories of dark, wet time.
Its surfaces shimmering in shades of verdant green and gleaming lacquered obsidian as he thrust the arm that held the glowstick down the new path and compared it with the old. He hadn't seen it coming. There'd been no curve, no widening. This new pipe, same as the last seven or eight branches off to the left or right, or, on several occasions, both directions at once, appeared out of nowhere.
One step followed another, and then, without warning, the tunnel widened and he was presented with a choice in the silent dark. This time, he didn't turn. He was almost certain he wasn't supposed to. He kept going the way he was headed before the fork appeared. He only looked. He looked long enough to wonder if he was making a bad decision or a good one.
telling himself again that this wasn't the way the kid with the flashlight had gone. Then, the boy kept moving the same way he'd been moving before. The next fork came much the same way, and the one after that, too.
They appeared like tricks of the eye, side passages revealing themselves only the moment he was walking past them, like reality only decided to render their existence in that same instant, drawing them into the tunnel after the fact to see what he'd do. They felt penciled into his peripheral vision, outlines of ghosted shapes not fully present until he turned his head this way or that.
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Chapter 4: What themes are explored in 'Another Viral Internet Trend'?
It was brilliant. It was blinding. The light did not just shine. It expanded, surrounding itself in a ring, a burning corona of hot, bright intensity that flared out from its origin like a sun dying in the cold vacuum of some vast and indifferent galaxy.
It gleamed in a perfect circle, far beyond the place in the sewer dark where the glowstick's green gave out, far beyond the six to ten foot stretching reach of his sight in this lightless hole. It hovered now, a star suspended in space and time. A radiating disk of unburning fire suspended in shadow, burning bright with cold. He could not see the figure anymore.
Then the flashlight vanished sideways down another branch, as the kid holding it ducked into another artery even further down. As quickly as it flared, burning as brightly as a star at the moment of its end, the light collapsed and dark filled the void.
The bright beam of the flashlight transformed into a singularity, sucking the emptiness ahead of the boy into a single inward gasp of the foul sewer's penumbrous breath. He stood there, glowstick trembling in his hand, his own breath caught somewhere between lungs and throat.
The water lapped at his ankles, the algae living on the surface, and probably within the brick behind him, continued to sweat. The tunnel seemed to widen for a moment, then constrict as he called out into the darkness. No, wait! Kid, don't run off! Why? Kid! Hey, kid, come back!
For a moment, the boy stood at the tunnel crossroad, finally ready to surrender to the breakdown he'd tried expectantly to brace himself for. It loomed in the back of his mind from the moment he opened his eyes, no idea where he was or how he'd gotten here.
Disoriented, the boy quickly patted his pockets and found himself in the dark, without a phone and on the verge of hyperventilating in panic. He sat in foul-smelling water that coated his upper legs despite his shorts seeping through them. His sneakers and shins submerged in a slick film of slime. There was nothing in his pockets save for a single round tube, a tube made of plastic.
At first, in the tight darkness of the city's pipes, he wasn't sure what it was as he held it with both hands. But after about a minute, running his fingers up and down the cylinder and tracing the caps at each end, he realized it was a glowstick. When he snapped it alive, he breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment. Then the panic returned with undue haste.
He sat in the viscous sewage longer than he cared to admit, only springing to his feet when something unseen in the shallow current brushed against his ankle. He shot upward, fully and firmly on his feet, moving fast away from where he'd awoke.
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Chapter 5: How does the protagonist experience the Gansfield Effect?
He heard himself crying out the word as he fell onto his knees and began frantically digging through the excrement that flowed unnaturally thick along the concave curve of the pipeway floor. The boy found himself so close to the water now in the empty dark that its horrible miasma, prior kept at arm's length, fully assaulted his nose.
He felt the scent like fingers of something filthy and inhuman digging upward through his nostrils. Up, and then moving down, down, down. Fingers, then hand, then arm, clawing along his neck and forcing itself to be swallowed.
He felt the digits wrapping themselves around each organ and turn on their way down, gripping his lungs and then his heart, then his spleen, until they found the curve of his stomach and squeezed. And squeezed. And squeezed. And squeezed. With such force, he believed it would turn completely inside out.
He felt a surge of vomit rush out along the same path the hand had taken down as it withdrew, its work complete. The expulsion broke past his lips and struck the surface of the sludge. His hands kept moving below the water, frantic and blind. He tried to steady his breathing and failed. As his fingers brushed the unseen glowstick, he grabbed it tight and forced himself upright.
He rose too quickly, bent over again, and vomited a second time before finally catching his breath. He found a dry patch on his chest, near the upper cloth of his shirt, and wiped his mouth. A little lower, he wiped the glow stick clean. Then he took a moment to take a breath, make sure he'd caught it fully, and took up again after Flashlight Kid as quickly as he could manage. "'Kid!'
He slowed slightly, calling out. "'Kid, please! I won't take it, but I need that light!' Don't you see, kid? This is how we find our way out of here. Then he picked up his pace again. He couldn't see the kid ahead of him anymore, but he'd been gaining. He'd been closing the distance.
The flashlight ahead was faint and dying steadily, but it came from the circle of another intersection of pipes, a branch that had opened on the left of the path about twenty yards away. As he drew closer and closer to the artery where the gleam of the flashlight grew steadily dimmer, he began slowing to prepare for the abrupt redirection into another offshooting vein of the sewer pipe.
The impending turn, now imminent, he pivoted his foot, readying himself to follow his intended path, and as he did so, the boy began to slide, sliding off balance and unable to catch himself mid-fall. He went down. The boy landed, body still moving full speed hard on his shoulder, taking his entire body beneath dark surface tension.
He, unstopped by the blight of liquefied putrescence, without thinking, gasped reflexively, taking in a mouthful of thick, awful water around him. He sat up quickly, as the pungence of something entangled with flavors of organic but inhuman waste and the metallurgic foulness of iron pitted with rust moved down his throat.
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Chapter 6: What challenges does the content creator face during the sensory deprivation challenge?
It slid thickly, rancid, like a mouthful of cold, rotten chowder. As he gagged, his mind swam with the screams of meteors as big as city buses ripping their way through the atmosphere of an alien world. He felt the soup change direction and return itself to the pipe as he found himself sicking up again. Other images treaded the depths of his mind, slowly rising to the surface.
Fully conscious and awake, he dreamed nightmares, open-eyed, fist-sized cybernetic invertebrates spidering their way through eruptions and clouds of debris, each pressing its skull-less cerebral mass one by one into blinding, incomprehensible ruptures in reality. one by one passing through, escaping a collapsing dreamscape, one part organic and the other part mechanical.
The robotic cephalopods crawled along the fractures of their reality as it choked to death all around them. They bent themselves into the cracks. They pulled themselves forward, each limb tangled across nearby surfaces. A dozen arms writhing in chaotic motion, while pulsating knots of translucent thought architecture floated on gummy membranes of skin stretched thin.
Squid-shaped neuron jellies sprouted dozens of feelers of gleaming alloy, gunmetal blue and slick. Clusters of obscene ball and socket joints, innumerable tendrils forcing through time and space as their home collapsed, going somewhere else. Going where? Somewhere safer. Somewhere. Here.
Wide-eyed, the boy pushed himself upright and started moving again, following the direction he'd meant to take before the fall.
Overwhelmed, he quickened his pace into the tunnel's newest leftward branch, moving now with the awareness that whatever these tiny eldritch horrors were, their gelatinous labyrinthine folds of intelligence sparked with the light of impulse jumping from synapse to synapse, creeping by way of robotic limbs beyond count and writhing like nightcrawlers.
They moved unseen in the darkness of the sewer pipe's clotted depths. He kept moving quickly down the corridor, slowly, only to gag and gag again each time he thought of the horrid mouthful of chowder, putrid, black, interstellar bile and human excrement replayed in his mind. Yet, he refused to stop, dry heaving while keeping pace as best as he could manage.
The other kids seemed to move through the tunnels like he knew them well. How could he when every tunnel looked the same as the last? What if the new paths appeared because he decided they will appear? What if, he thought, what if I can see them in the corner of my eye only because I decided I would? What if I could open one?
The boy decided that if he could, he'd open a new corridor in the same moment his flashlight kid did, and turn, and there he would be, right in front of him. And when he resolved he would do just that if he could, were he given the ability to open new sewer pipes by will alone.
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Chapter 7: What eerie events unfold in 'An Account of My Disturbance'?
from somewhere else in the distant dark place that lay beyond the light. To be continued... that feels older than memory itself. Blending the psychological dread with the creeping inescapable horror, the demon explores grief, possession, and the horrors we inherit. Some forces don't just haunt you, they consume you. Watch the trailer and learn more now.
And next, a struggling content creator attempts an extreme sensory deprivation challenge to chase viral fame, only to experience increasingly vivid and disturbing hallucinations that blur the line between reality and illusion. From writer Jimmy Ferrer and narrated by Rissa Montanez, Creepy Presents, another viral internet trend.
People will do a number of stupid things for fame, fortune, or hell, even digital attention. Think likes and shares. Myself, I'd repeatedly tried to grow my social media pages over time with little success. Regardless of the viral internet trend, I tried to copy on my page. It would always receive a fraction of the attention that even the smallest influencers would get.
I was about to give up when I started seeing a trend that interested me at an intellectual level. You might have even heard of it. The challenge was, essentially, to kill your senses and put your mind in a state of panic. So much so that it could cause hallucinations. I'd watch so many influencers try to last, but they'd go less than five minutes.
And I think up to that point, the longest I'd ever seen was 15 minutes with the guy acting like he was being murdered, giving a dire warning to his viewers to not try the challenge. The challenge was as follows. the victim would tape half a ping-pong ball over each eye, shine a red light over their face, and then put on a pair of headphones playing white noise.
The thought behind this is that by blocking out all your senses for an extended period, you would cause your brain to panic, in a sense. This panic is said to cause the brain to fill in the unoccupied space with noises, with shapes, and general hallucinations of varying severity. As I looked deeper into this phenomenon, I discovered the name. The Gansfield Effect.
The effect is explained as your brain amplifying the lack of senses. The brain is looking for missing visuals to the best of its abilities, and then it just, well, makes things up to fill the space. What I would be doing is what is called the Multimodal Gansfield Effect. blocking my vision and hearing in a similar way.
It is thought that the longer the time of deprivation, the more fantastical the hallucinations. Some have even reported hearing voices and seeing altered realities. Seeing as people acted like they were horrified in all the videos I was watching, I decided to blow everyone out of the water. I was going to block myself out while live streaming for an entire hour.
That had to be enough to get some attention. I could never have anticipated the horrors that I would experience. Some fame isn't worth the trauma. Per my social media page info, I saw that any attention I did get was on Thursday evenings. A whole three to ten visitors. So I decided that would be the perfect time to start. My rules were simple. I would do the challenge live.
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Chapter 8: How does the story conclude and what is its final message?
That doesn't even begin to describe the hell that I visited. When I started, I wished I were able to blind all of my senses, as being taped to a chair to the level that I couldn't possibly escape was severely uncomfortable. With my eyes covered and the loud static playing, I anticipated something weird happening and scaring me a little, like the stories online.
But fairly soon after I began, all I could feel was claustrophobia. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. I could not move. The tight duct tape squeezing my body against the hard, cold wooden chair felt like it was tightening around me like a snake. My breaths became heavy and labored. I felt sweat starting to bead on my skin. My senses were screaming for freedom.
All I could see was the uniform red light over my eyes. The static of an opera of a million screams. I felt like I was going to die when I felt one of the headphones pull off my ear. And Stephanie asking me if I wanted to stop. It turns out in the entire 30 seconds I had been bound and blinded. I had a panic attack. I told her just enough to regroup and use the restroom.
I looked at myself in the mirror and looked at how heavily sweat had beaded on my face. I normally have some color, but I was all shades of white. Something felt so wrong about this. It was just a stupid internet challenge. Nothing happened to anyone I watched. They just got scared or screamed. So why was I this petrified? I wiped the sweat off myself and changed clothes.
I dressed down to a t-shirt and yoga pants this time to keep cool. I forgot all about the live stream for a second. I actually had 20 live viewers. I wish, however, that I had completely forgotten about it and stopped then. But I read the comments. Why the hell did I read all the comments?
Those sexist, hurtful, horseshit comments written by a bunch of braindead jackoffs who needed more than anyone else to step outside, bend down, and touch some grass. I knew a girl wouldn't last in this challenge. 30 seconds. LOL. You're not built for horror challenges. Get back in the kitchen and go make me a sandwich. Give it up and get an OnlyFans.
You want a boyfriend to do the challenge for you, baby? I'm older and wiser now. Skin's a little tougher. Things like that roll off my shoulders like water off a duck's back. But back then, something primal awakened in me. I needed to squash all the doubters and get this done. I strapped back in and took a deep breath.
This time, for my sake and sanity, Steph uses belts instead of the sticky tape. She covers my eyes again, and I stared up into the white plastic. The headphones slid over my ears again, and the static took over. I breathed deeply, and again, red light shone through the white plastic. My world was now only red light and static.
Stephanie picked up one headphone and whispered, asking me if I was sure that I wanted her to leave and come back in an hour. I hesitated for a few seconds and nodded once. And then she dropped me back into my world of static. 3,600 seconds. That's how long I had to last. To try to keep my mind preoccupied, I started counting in my head. 1, 2, soon enough 61, 62, 300.
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