The Ant Aquarium of Minister Crap & Things | Halloween Insect Horror

He wakes up in a locked basement with a glass aquarium sealed around his head, fire ants stinging his skin, centipede searching for somewhere warm to crawl. Then a television switches on, showing the friend who helped him ruin a child's life. Tonight, Karma has many legs. What's that You want to be scared? Come with me. He will experience tales over our room, ghosts and death gat He is not recommended for the week at heart listeners, in the dark, it's more fun at that way way. This is Weekly Speaking. Hello, my spooky is It's Wednesday, and you know what that means.

It's time for a little spooky in your weekly. I'm your host and narrator, Henrique Couto, and tonight, well we have a hell of a story for you, and it just might bug some of you more sensitive listeners, so be prepared. But before we get to that, I want to say thank you all so much for making my show and our stories a part of your pre Halloween festivities, whether you're getting ready for the season now or you're like us, a true blue spooky that lives in Halloween all year long. Happy to have you here, and if you enjoy the show, make sure to share it with someone who you want to bug and keep the Halloween vibe.

And of course subscribe on your favorite podcast app like Apple Podcasts or Spotify so you never miss something scary released every single day here at Weekly Spooky, And if you want to support us in a very direct way and get two bonus shows every single month, head to Weeklyspooky dot com slash join, where for as little as one dollar a month you get two bonus shows as well as over six years of exclusive audiobooks and creepypasta readings. That's Weeklyspooky dot com slash Join. But now, as for tonight. Most people are afraid of the dark because they can't see what might be hiding there.

But some fears are worse when you can see every single detail. Imagine waking beneath a cold basement light with a glass box locked around your head. The walls are inches from your face, the air is wet, something is crawling across your eyelid, something else is testing the entrance to your ear, and somewhere in the room, a television is waiting to show you why this is happening. Years ago, two boys learned how much pain they could cause when everyone else was laughing. They turned insects into weapons, humiliation into entertainment, and another's misery into a daily ritual.

But now revenge isn't just sweet, it's oddly crunchy. The Antiquarium of Minister Crap and Things AKA When Karma Decides to bug the hell out of You by Gary dee Up in Ontario, Canada. The air is alive with the sound of children's cruel, incessant laughter, hooting, and hollering, all crowded around a single child submissively bent over and down on the ground on all fours in the back corner of a bustling schoolyard. I said, eat it, you, four eyed, pimple faced freak, I say to the poor dumbass kid. As he kneels in the grass with his nose almost touching the dirt.

He hesitates, crying out in a muted whimper, Please don't make me do this, please. I then tightly grip the back of his neck like a wood shop vice, shoving his pie hole even deeper into the soil. Some of the kids standing nearby are still laughing and rhythmically chanting, eat it, eat it, Eat it. Whereas others appear to have grown tired of this humiliating game, seeming to have lost complete interest. One girl feebly yells, let him go. Now, the joke's over. I think he's had enough. I immediately bark back, he's had enough when I say he's had enough, and right now, I say the boy needs to eat.

I then proceed to push down hard, grinding his face and moving it from side to side as I move his head in a circular motion as if polishing a pane of glass, and then fully smush his face firmly into a glistening, freshly deposited mound of dog shit, making damn sure to paint it all over his face and thereby cover his cheeks, his lips, and some of it even gets crammed up his nostrils. The kid then throws a bloody, hairy caniption as opposed to a bald or hairless conniption, I guess, and begins coughing and spitting like crazy, before finally closing the deal by violently projectile vomiting all of his stomach contents onto the grass.

The group of kids that were watching the show immediately vocalize a collective before disbanding and quickly walking off in silence, leaving just me and my best bud, Dave Toth, to just stand there and snicker. We both evillly smirk as we look down at this pathetic, quivering, barely human in our eyes meatsack that's hunched over in front of us, as he balls his little eyes out, with us towering high above him, mocking him and belittling him to such a degree that he must surely feel as tiny, helpless, and worthless as the huns of assorted worms, beetles, ants, and other little bugs that we'd regularly forced him to feast on over the last two years.

Suddenly, the recess bell rings, and as I head back toward my next class, I realized that what I thought was the school bell is in fact just my alarm clock going off, reminding me to get the fuck up and get ready for work. But then, for a split second, just before everything fades away, I quickly turned to look back at the crouched and defeated looking body of the kid I just psychologically disemboweled to see him slowly lift and twist his head awkwardly upward and around to look me dead straight in the eyes and somehow creepily deep into my soul.

What the fuck echoes through my brain As I gaze upon him where his face should have been, I now see nothing but a pair of black billiard ball sized eyes and a huge set of moving mandibles like you'd see on some giant mutant ant, slowly dripping with a black honeylike liquid, and wildly or almost more angrily pinching open and closed up into the empty air. Then all at once all I see is darkness. Man, what a bizarre, messed up fucking dream that was, I think to myself. I'm not really fully awake nor mentally all there yet, so I just lay there with my eyes closed, daydreaming and thinking about the day that lay ahead, when your worst nightmares can sometimes begin innocently enough, shrouded and camouflaged in a veil of peace and tranquility, before inevitably coming violently, crashing down full tilt, and shooting headfirst into the bloody, insidious, and horror filled bowels of hell reality that they really are.

Have you ever started your day waking up first thing in the morning to the annoying sensation of something gently tickling your face and making it feel very itchy. This question really relates more to those of us who regularly have to deal with the daily scourge called active facial hair growth. Sometimes, this feeling of each individual beard or mustache hair slowly growing in with its associated microscopic hair follicle twisting and turn and ever so slight ticklish caressing of the skin can feel an awful lot like a small ant crawling across your face. And with hundreds and hundreds of these hairs doing this exact same thing and at the very same time, this annoying, itchy feeling is then exponentially amplified, making it feel a hell of a lot more like a whole damn colony of agitated ants, all excitedly stampeding across your face.

On this particular morning, though, this feeling was noticeably different. Rather than a swarm of tiny ants parading about, it felt freakishly more like an enraged rampaging herd of long tone, nailed micro turtles with feet that felt much heavier than they should and an excitement level that seemed far more elevated than afeed. And as I tried to get some relief by reaching out both of my hands to give my face a good hard scratch. My fingers were oddly met with a cold, hard, and smooth surface which strangely felt like glass. I quickly opened my eyes and was immediately frustrated by all of the ocular floaters that I was seeing drifting aimlessly around in my eyes, But then soon thereafter realized, after having blinked a few times, that in fact, it wasn't floaters that I was looking at.

The god awful shit truth of my situation suddenly hit the reality fan when I saw something quickly slither straight across my eyeball whilst another unknown, creepy crawley tried over and over again to desperately squeeze and shove itself into my left nostril. What the actual fuck am I dreaming? This has got to be a nightmare, because there's no fucking way this can be real. I breathe heavily, and my eyes continuously dart from side to side as I come to the realization that there's a sizeable rectangular aquarium tightly affixed around my head, and not just any aquarium, but from what I can make out, an aquarium brimming full with what looks to be hundreds of tiny fire ants loads of giant mandibled carpenter ants, noisy crickets, finger length centipedes, several madagascar hissing cockroaches, and what appears and smells to be sickly, foul smelling human shit.

As I firmly grasp two corners of the aquarium, sprittly tugging and twisting it in a frenzied attempt to get it off, all at once, I spot a locked padlock which seems to be securing a strong metal cage infrastructure that's surrounding it, and at the same time also locking in place a very uncomfortable steel collar that's tightly surrounding my neck. I scream uncontrollably as I feel all these thousands of tiny marching legs, vibrating feelers, pinching mandibles, and other assorted quivering insect body parts, all hurriedly scurrying and skidaddling across the sensitive skin surface covering both my face and neck.

Even though being for the most part physically painless other than the constant burning stings of those damn fire ants, the mental torture alone is more than I can bear, as the glass panels of my cranial aquarium cage enclosure continue to fog up from the quickly accumulating condensation created by my constant moist and humid, hyperventilating and frantic screams. I desperately smash it into the wall directly behind me. The cradled aquarium slams violently into the rough, reddish brown brick. But this damages absolutely nothing but my already throbbing neck, muscles and brain. With eyes darting frantically from side to side, I quickly scan the inside of the aquarium, but see that there's not even the slightest damage, nothing, not even a microscopic chip or crack in the glass.

Whoever had designed this constructive torture device clearly knew what the hell they were doing. I then realize that I'm sitting in a basement somewhere, with there being absolutely no windows and just one thick, heavily reinforced steel door, nothing but crude, uneven orange brown brick jutting out here and there from all four walls, and there's a heavy chain attached to a metal ankle collar that's tightly clamped to my right leg, Like, what the actual fuck? And before I can even think of trying to do anything, at all to somehow dislodge this ridiculous, entomological and fecal nightmare cage from around my head.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by the sound of loud static coming from an old TV set standing all alone in a dark corner of the room. I instinctively swing my head around to look, and what I see immediately makes my jaw drop wide open, but only for a split second, because a large cockroach has, at that exact same moment, thought that it had suddenly found a new home. There on a black and white TV screen, I can now clearly see the grainy image of my old high school buddy Dave. I watch as he sits there, strapped in and fully restrained in a padded leather chair, violently twisting, thrashing, and contorting his upper body all around as he wildly screams.

And what seems even more bizarre is that it appears that he's wearing the exact same horrific ant and other insect filled aquarium headgear as me. And just as I feel the strong urge to vomit, I get the sensation of two successive wet pops as a couple of nasty looking beasties successfully squeeze their way up into each of my nostrils and then scamper their way up into my sinus cavity. The agonizing, unreachable, ticklish sensation that this creates is unfortunately an itch that I just can't scratch. I snort over and over again, with tears running down my cheeks and bubbling snot and spittle, as well as strings of long, viscous mucus splashing all around my mouth and nose, mimicking the appearance of two violently erupting fleshy volcanoes, and on the screen in front of me, I can see that Dave is at the very same time also watching me on a TV set, and thereby given a front row seat to then fully experience the horrific effects of my relentless torture.

For several minutes, all that can be heard are the anguished, desperate moans, groans, and strained voices of two stressed, out grown men desperately pleading and screaming for mercy. Then suddenly both TV sets go to black, and the next thing that Dave and I see and hear on our respective TV sets is the image of a shadowy figure from a distance of what appears to be a man. He's sitting comfortably in a very large, padded recliner chair, and like what the fuck, he seems to be giggling uncontrollably, like some kind of immature and overstimulated child. The lens then slowly zooms in, giving us a clear image and close up of just his face.

His smile is beyond creepy. The look on his face is one of pure and complete pleasure and satisfaction, as if he'd won the billion dollar lottery or just witnessed the birth of his first child. Was this the fucking asshole who was responsible for these fucking bug filled aquariums stuck on our heads? Who is he? And why the hell is he doing this to us? Both Dave and I must have thought that at the same time. Then, as I look very closely at the features of his face, the sad, sunken eyes, the long, crooked and bent to one side nose, and a long jagged scar running clear across his forehead, it suddenly dawns on me as to who this is.

I look up up along the walls and ceiling, and then suddenly see a blinking red light that I hadn't noticed before. I can see that it's clearly a video camera, and one that has obviously been watching my every move, not that I have any great moves left to give, especially given my current situation. Before I can even open my mouth to say anything, the figure on the TV screen speaks. Well, well, well, now, looky what we have here. Looks like you finally figured it out. Good to see you boys again. Time has a strange and funny way of turning the tables in life, don't it.

I could see that Dave had now stopped moving and was intently staring at his TV set. He was grunting something over and over again that sounded a hell of a lot like you, son of a bitch, You son of a bitch, So I'm guessing he must have figured it out around the same time that I did. Suddenly I cringe and start screaming like a madman trapped in a shock therapy infused insane asylum basement as I shake my head back and forth, having just felt the nauseating sensation of multiple twitchy little legs of something possibly a centipede or maybe a cricket, as it quickly pushed and then slithered its way into my right ear canal.

You bastard, You crazy fucking bastard, I yelled, in an almost hysterical, maniacal voice, which I barely even recognized as being my own. Knowing that there was absolutely no chance in hell that I was ever going to get this damn aquarium off my head, I then just resigned to this fact and simply gave up, and then, out of both sheer frustration and anger, decided to just open up my mouth wide and just start crunching down on everything and anything that dared to crawl in. And as it turned out, those large, freaky carpenter ants that I was initially so afraid of actually ended up being rather tasty, and I found them to be a little bitter at first, but then had a kind of nutty finish, being somewhat of an acquired taste.

Whereas those bloody, wriggly millipedes and centipedes proved to be nothing more than just a damn nuisance, because even when thoroughly chewed and then a massed into a slimy ball on top of the tongue, their damn bloody squirmy little leg nonetheless never stopped moving. Dave and I realized that who we were looking at on the TV screen was none other than Leonard McGhee bugs McGhee, as we fondly used to call him back in grade school. He was a timid, skinny little shit, constantly building his stupid, geeky model airplanes, wearing his freaky multi colored bow ties and thick lensed pop bottled glasses.

And then there was that ridiculous bright pink pocket protector of his. And worst of all, he always made the rest of us look bad by kissing all the teacher's asses and getting straight a's. He was a total nerd through and through, so naturally the little puke had to be punished, and that's where Dave and I came in. We made sure to torment the crap out of loser Leonard each and every single day, and we did this regularly over the last two years. We need his lunch, or steal his lunch money, beat the crap out of him, and what we found to be most enjoyable and entertaining of all was force him to eat all kinds of different bugs.

These regularly included the likes of ants, potato bugs, spiders, flies, beetles, butterflies, praying mantises, as well as a tasty assortment of worms, snails, grubs and maggots. The glorious showstopper, Pierre de Resistance being getting him to lick and somehow even chew a plethora of various different pieces of both fresh and aged dog shit that we had managed to find in and around the schoolyard. And during those times when he choked or gagged on a rotting worm, an ant, or a cockroach, for example, the only water we'd ever let him drink was the warm, putrid, stinking smells like dead fish tank water from inside the green algae overgrown aquarium located in the science room.

Suddenly, bugs began to speak again, but this time in a rather unexpected and unfamiliar, calm, confident, and now taunting voice. What goes around comes around, as they say, my friends, I've spent a lifetime in misery, and over that time have received countless hundreds of hours of intensive mental therapy, but in the end have still remained nothing but a severely fucked up and depressed man. And that is all thanks to the two of you. Couldn't hold down a job, date a girl, get married, have kids, have friends, hell live anything even remotely close to resembling a normal life.

I even studied hard and eventually became an ordained minister, which then at least brought me some small degree of spiritual peace. He continued on, and no matter how hard I tried and tried to allow forgiveness and complete inner peace to re enter my life, I finally one day just came to the firm unshakable realization and conclusion that this could never ever happen. But now, as I happily look at the two of you and your contorted faces, suffering and squirming like this in my special, one of a kind aquariums, I believe that I'm suddenly feeling much better.

I'm so sorry, Leonard. We were just stupid kids. I know there's no excuse for what we did to you. Please forgive me, and I promise you I'll find a way to make it up to you. I have money, I pleaded, desperately, willing to say just about anything to get this fucking aquarium off my fucking head. I waited for him to respond, but heard nothing but crickets. Literally. By now, I'd gotten quite used to the feeling of having all of these sons of bitches, squirming bugs crawling around on my face and into every available orifice, But the sickly sweet smell of that god awful shit smeared all over on the inside glass never seemed to get old.

Was this perhaps Leonard's personal contribution to the whole equation? Or just a cherry on. Top Karma's an itch, ain't it? Boys? Or should that be payback and revenge? Any who? Seeing as to how much effort the two of you put into continuously torturing and bugging the shit out of me day after day and over those two long years, and as a result, completely destroying my entire fucking life, I find it only fair and totally fitting to now graciously return the favor. And as Bugs uttered these final words, he suddenly began to deconstruct himself, right there before our very eyes, and in the strangest of ways, starting from the very top of his head and then methodically shedding away layer by layer, collapsing downwards and cascading to the floor like so many rows of thousands of dominoes, but in this case in the form of a collapsing mountain or downward surging tidal wave of forever writhing and squirming giant hissing cockroaches.

And the next thing we see is all of them quickly crawling or more like stampeding, into our respective rooms by suddenly appearing both under and along the side cracks of our reinforced steel doors, like a scene straight out of the movie The Shining as the wave of bright red blood, but in this case, giant madagascar hissing cockroaches violently breaches our only path to a possible escape and salvation. Well, my spookies, let that be a lesson to you. If you spend your childhood bugging the head out of someone, Karma may eventually come crawling back with six or more legs, some snapping mandibles, and a reinforced aquarium.

Big thank you to Gary Dee up in Ontario, Canada for yet another twisted and sickly fun terror tale. This one pretty well guaranteed to make every tiny inch feel extremely worrisome when you go to bed tonight. And thank you all so much for joining me here tonight for another scary story. We've done over four hundred of them and we are not slowing down, So make sure you're subscribed on your favorite podcast app and if you have a friend you want to bug, I'm gonna get the most mileage out of that. I can send them this story right now and help them get into the spooky season spirit.

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Thank you all so much for your support, and if you want to hear your name at the end of every episode, go to Weeklyspooky dot Com slash join and sign up at the fifteen dollars a month or higher mark. It really means a lot to me. I really mean that, my friends. But now it's time for me to get back to work, because there's something scary for you to listen to even tomorrow. And we're coming up very quickly on my fortieth birthday, so I need to get the spooky in before I start becoming a fancy, proper gentleman.

So for myself, for my. Executive producers Rob Fields and babbletopia dot Com, my producer Dan Wilder, and my creepy composer Ray Maddis, I will talk at you tomorrow. Thank you for. Listening to me. Make sure to find your way back next week, but for now you are safe, trust me,