WEBVTT
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Firefighters expect flames, smoke, and things that don't survive. But
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after one cabin fire, a notebook was found, almost untouched,
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in the ashes. Inside was a lifetime of Halloween nights,
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a blood-soaked railroad tunnel, and a shadow. What's that? You
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want to be scared? Come with me. You will experience
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tales of horror, ghosts, and death. It is not recommended
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for the weak at heart. Listen in the dark. It's
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more fun that way. This is Weekly Spooky. Spooky. Hello,
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my spookies. It's Wednesday, and you know what that means.
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It's time for some spooky in your weekly. And tomorrow,
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spooky season hits full tilt and boogie as October welcomes
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us all. So make sure you're subscribed because tomorrow not
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only will we feature Thursday thrills, but a little later
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in the day, a brand new Halloween Horror Story, courtesy
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of author Morgan Moore. So click subscribe on your preferred
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podcast app. You won't want to miss it, and that's
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not all there'll be. On Friday, we have a very
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special guest talking all about the folklore of the original
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Romanian vampire, the Strigoi. And all October long, we'll have
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bonus scary stories to help you get in that Halloween
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spirit and make the most of your spooky season. So
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not only make sure you're subscribed, but also leave us
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a five-star rating on Apple Podcasts and Spotify to make
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sure other spookies who discover the program know they are
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in the right place. Oh, what a Halloween it's going
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to be. And of course, if you head to weeklyspooky.com
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slash join, You can support us directly for as little
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as $ 1 a month and get two bonus shows every
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single month as well as over six years of original
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creepypasta readings and exclusive audiobooks at weeklyspooky.com slash join. But now,
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as for tonight, the calendar says September, but tonight we're
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standing right on Halloween's doorstep. For most kids, the holiday
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begins with costumes, porch lights, and too much candy. For Joe,
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it begins with a forbidden railroad tunnel and the first
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taste of a world his mother never wanted him to see.
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But some doors only open one way. Years later, the tracks,
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the shadows, and a voice whispering, Home, are still waiting
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for him. So keep your porch light on. Stay away
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from the tunnel and listen very closely. I'm a firefighter,
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and what I found creeped me out. By Michael Kelso
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There was a notebook that survived the last fire I
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was called to. I found it in the smoldering remains
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of the ashes. I'm not sure if I believe the
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story in it or not, but I thought I would
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share it just in case it's real. Mama said there'd
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be days like this. It's a nice thought, isn't it?
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It speaks of a concerned parent trying to comfort her
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child to the harsh realities of the world. The problem is,
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I don't recall my mama ever saying anything like that
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to me. Even if she had, I don't think in
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her Wildest nightmare she could have imagined a day like
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that one. The day I leaned against the inside of
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a train tunnel, soaked in sweat and grime, staring at
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the train tracks that dripped with the blood of my friend.
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Blood that should have been mine. My name is Joe.
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I don't think I'm named after anybody. Mama just always
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called me Joe. There are lots of things that Mama
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always just did, like beating the tar out of me
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when I sassed her, beating the tar out of me
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if I didn't kill anything for supper, beating the tar
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out of me the day I told her I wanted
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to learn to read. At this point, you wouldn't think
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I had much tar left in me, but you couldn't
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tell Mama that. She was a big woman, and I
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think beating me made her feel better about herself. I
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grew up in a little shack in the middle of nowhere.
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Mama always called it a cabin, but it was really
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just four walls and a roof, hastily put together with
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stolen boards and nails from an old barn down the road.
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Mama always told me that she took good care of me.
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Of course, she told me that the cabin was a
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huge house and that learning was bad. I guess, in
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a way, it was for her. I wasn't allowed to
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have picture books or anything like that. I'll teach you
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everything you need to know, Mama said. That's what I
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call a half-truth. She taught me everything she needed me
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to know. Like how to cook, clean, cut firewood, and
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take care of her when she was sick. Anything other
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than that was on Mama's forbidden list. How does all
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this lead to a boy watching his friend being... Horribly
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dismembered by a speeding train? Well, stick with me for
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a little bit. We'll get there. Mama didn't have a job.
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We hunted and grew food. Once a month, the two
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of us would drag our small, rickety cart to a
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truck stop on the outskirts of Larson, 15 miles away.
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We would set up alongside the road, selling homegrown vegetables
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during the day. Mama never let me see or talk
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to any of the people. They ain't no good, she said,
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and I don't want you taken after them. Mama had
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a special word for people who lived in any town. Arrogant.
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I didn't know what it meant at the time, but
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found out later that it meant folks who don't see
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things the same as Mama. At night, we would go
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shopping in dumpsters. The next day, we would head back
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home with a few dollars in Mama's pockets and a
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cart full of treasures. Frost Creek was only two miles
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from the cabin, but to reach it, you had to
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walk through a railroad tunnel, yet another thing that was
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on Mama's forbidden list. That tunnel took your daddy away
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from me. I ain't gonna let it take you, too,
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she said. The funny thing about curiosity is you can
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bottle it up, but once it's out, there ain't no
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way of getting it back in. I found an old
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children's dictionary on one of our trips. You remember the
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kind that had pictures beside the words. Well, I started
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looking at that book, and before you know it, the
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stopper was out of my bottle. I lost a lot
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of tar the day Mama caught me with it. We
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ain't reading, folk, she screamed as she beat me. Nothing
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in that book is gonna put food on the table. But,
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being young, dumb, and, well, whatever, I snuck the book
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away from her and hid it. This was the beginning
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of my new life. Isn't it funny how when you
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latch on to something new, the old just doesn't quite
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cut it anymore? There was a large, empty cave where
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I hid my treasures, the few children's books that I
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had snuck home, my dictionary, and a pair of dress
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shoes that actually fit. I struggled to read the books,
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relying heavily on the pictures. My favorite was the one
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that told me about Halloween, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. Halloween was
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my favorite. The thought of getting all that candy just
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for putting on a costume made me feel excited. I
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planned my first trick-or-treat trip very carefully. I told Mama
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I would be gone most of the day and into
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the night, picking her favorite berries, which were already picked
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and hidden in my cave. She knew it was a long,
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dangerous way to the patch where those berries grew. She
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wanted to tell me no, but Thank you for watching.
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It's funny how desire can override concern. Having gotten her blessing,
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I went to my cave, put on my dress shoes,
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ragged jeans, and shirt. I wrapped my supper in a
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red bandana and hung it on the end of a stick.
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With my outfit complete, I walked down to the railroad
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tracks and stared at the tunnel. The sun was just
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starting to set. bathing it in an eerie red glow.
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The stones that formed the opening looked like giant, bloody
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teeth just waiting to eat me. Mama always told me
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there was evil that lurked in that tunnel. I used
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to think she was just trying to scare me to
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keep me out, but that evening things were different. As
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I stepped into the dark, I felt the wickedness inside
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me like I knew I was doing something wrong but
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didn't care. I ate my supper as I walked through
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the tunnel, leaving the bandana nearly empty. When I came
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out on the other side, the world had been transformed.
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Everywhere I looked were bright, shining lights and people hurrying
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this way and that. I stopped and stared at a
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giant yellow M. The smells that came from inside made
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my mouth water. Someday I'll be rich enough to eat there.
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Mama wouldn't like that, I argued with myself. I dragged
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myself away from the sight and stared down a street
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that on any other night would have seemed bizarre beyond description,
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yet tonight it was the greatest thing I had ever seen.
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I smiled from ear to ear as ghosts holding plastic
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pumpkins floated by. Next was a trio of miniature superheroes
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arguing over which one had the most candy. I walked
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up to the first house I saw and knocked on
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the door. The porch light came on and an old
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man flung open the door. What? He snarled. Trick or treat.
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I said, holding out my bandana. The old man glared
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at me. Do you see my porch light on? He said. Yes,
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I replied, looking up. The old man looked up too
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and harrumphed, as several more trick-or-treaters were drawn toward the
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light like brightly colored insects. He quickly turned the light
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off and they drifted away. You see that, boy? the
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old man said, pointing toward the other houses. All those
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idiots with their porch lights on. Yes, those are the
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ones you go to for your satanic pagan candy. Not
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understanding the word satanic or pagan, I turned to leave,
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but the old man held me back. I do have
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a treat for you, though, he said with a wicked grin.
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Since you were kind enough to wake me up, wait here.
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The old man disappeared and reappeared quick enough to be
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a magician. Here you go, he said, holding out a
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rotten banana. I took it, and tears welled up in
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my eyes. Thank you, I said, hugging him. It was
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the last thing he expected. He pulled away from me, harrumphed,
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and slammed the door in my face. I peeled the
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banana and ate it as I walked toward the next house,
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making sure the porch light was on. As I started
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up the walkway, I finished the banana and tossed the
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peel in the yard. A large man in his mid-thirties
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stood on the lighted porch, holding a bowl of candy
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and frowning as I approached. Trick or treat! I said,
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holding out my bandana. Are you going to throw that away?
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The man said, gruffly. I looked at my bandana, seeing
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no reason why I should throw it away. No, not
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the bandana, the man said. The banana. He pointed to
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the discarded peel I had thrown into his yard. I
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picked it up and looked at the large man. Trash can,
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he said. pointing toward the street. I walked out and
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saw a can sitting beside a streetlight, looked at the man,
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and pointed towards the can. He nodded his approval, and
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I threw the peel in, then walked away. Hey, called
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the large man. Don't you want any candy? I ran
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back to the porch, looked into the bowl filled with
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colorful wrappers, and grabbed a handful. Only take two, the
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man said. It's still early. I need to have some
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for the other kids. I hesitated, then picked the two
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that had the most interesting wrappers. Didn't your parents ever
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teach you not to litter? The man asked. Not understanding
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the word litter, I bluffed by nodding my head. Where
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are they anyway? The man said. Who? Your parents. Daddy's
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gone and Mama's at home, I said. Your mother let
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you go trick-or-treating by yourself? The man said with an
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edge in his voice. Sensing that I had done something wrong,
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I said, I gotta go. Then I ran across the
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street and hid behind a tree. Maybe I should just
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give up and go home. I pulled out one of
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the pieces of candy, opened it, and took a bite.
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My mouth exploded with sweetness. I gobbled it and the
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next piece right away. I could feel the blood rushing
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through my body. The sudden burst of energy dragged me
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to the next house. The lady smiled and complimented my
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hobo suit, then gave me three pieces of candy, which
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I devoured as soon as I got out of sight.
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The rest of the evening was more of the same,
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polite smiles and lots of candy. My bandana never got
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a chance to fill up. An hour later, I headed
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back out of town, moving a lot slower. My stomach
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began to feel strange and make sounds I had never
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heard it make. I stopped at the trash can I
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had thrown my banana peel into and suddenly upchucked all
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the candy I had eaten. The large man came outside
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and watched me heaving into the trash can. You okay?
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he asked. Yeah, I said, breathing hard. Here, he said,
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handing me some paper towels. Clean yourself up and follow me.
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He waited for me to finish, then started walking toward
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the middle of town. I followed him until we came
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to a building with a large star on the front
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of it. I hesitated. Come on in, the man said.
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It's okay. The large man walked inside, closely followed by me. Evening, Sheriff,
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said a man behind a raised counter. Who's your friend?
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What is your name, boy? the sheriff asked. Um... Joe.
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Joe what? Just Joe. But what's your last name? I
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don't understand. My mama always called me Joe. Okay, what's
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your mama's name? Mama, I said, confused. Joe Mama? The
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man at the desk said. Really? The sheriff chuckled a little. Okay, kid,
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let's get you cleaned up. Follow me. He took me
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to the back hallway where the cells were. I got
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nervous right away. Don't worry, kid. I'm just letting you
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shower and get some clean clothes. After I showered and changed,
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he brought me back out and took my picture and prints.