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Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo coming to you from the lighthouse in Sandcastle, California. Today is a crazy day with people crawling all over each other for Black Friday specials trying to get the deal of a lifetime from stores willing to prey on their lives. I think many of these people would sell their souls for a deal and that, my friend is so easy to do as shown in the first story of this episode, a Spooky Boo story. You don’t even need to leave your livingroom to get a Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time Black Friday Deal. Just visit my T-Spring store at www.scarystorytime.com/teespring and enter the code BLACKFRI21 to get 20% off merchandise.
This podcast would not be possible without the listeners and the Patreon members including madjoe, PA Nightmares, Ivy Iverson, Jenn Mishievous, John Newby, and Patrick, and 933TheVolt.com. If you would like to support Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time, find out how by visiting my website at www.scarystorytime.com/support.
Now let’s begin…
BLACK FRIDAY TV
by Spooky Boo Rhodes
Come one, come all! Have I a deal for you! It’s Black Friday today and that, my friend, means that you can swindle away any of the crumbs you have left after Thanksgiving to buy last year’s items and rock bottom prices. But I’m not selling anything tangible. I’m not selling TVs, air fryers, stereos, or even bedding!
I’m selling your souls.
You sold me your soul last year as you prayed that you would make it out of the store alive. Last year when you stomped over five bodies as you grabbed that cheap television because it looked like a great deal and then realized how crazy you looked when you saw yourself fighting people for the best Black Friday deal on social media. But you didn’t care! You had a giant flat-screen TV and a new man cave recliner which became the prize of your life.
Every night you plopped yourself down in front of that TV thinking it was the best deal of the century. Your cable feeding your mind with make-believe and sports got you addicted and now it has become your goal in life! You take so much pride in that possession, so much that you brag about it to your friends and take great care in telling them how to flip through the channels as they laugh deep inside pretending to listen. They really don’t care about your obsession with your TV and joke about it with their wives when they get home.
Over the year, the pounds creep up and your body spreads out as you watch that boob tube. Nothing else matters now, just your beer, your nachos, and that damn TV with that special recliner. While your friends are out having fun without you, your wife is out with someone else because she realized that she couldn’t compete with the damn device. Yet still, you worship the 67 inches of dreamland in front of you. 67 inches gives you way more than the inches you could ever give her.
It’s Black Friday again and now you’re wondering if you should upgrade. Your friend has a 3D TV that he brags about but he doesn’t seem to care about it as much as you love your television and that special chair. As you think about it, you realize that you’re out of beer so you push the recliner back into the normal position and begin to stand realizing that the leather of the chair has stuck to your legs. Laughing a little, you try to pull your ever-growing ass up out of the chair but something seems stuck. You think it’s your boxers so you adjust them and tug just a little harder trying to get up.
The pain! That isn’t your boxers that are stuck, it’s your skin! You pull harder and it feels like someone is tearing the hair away from your body. Thinking it’s your hairy legs, you jerk one cottage cheese thigh up off the seat and scream in pain as the skin tears away from the ever-growing flab of your thighs. A trickle of something warm and fresh pools beneath you and when you feel for what you might have spilled from your breakfast of leftover Thanksgiving gravy you realize that it wasn’t your food at all, but it is coming from your body.
The blood! It’s thick and sticky as it coats your hand. There isn’t so much that you’re bleeding to death, but it’s more than just a small scratch. As you try to get up from your beloved chair, you realize that you’re infused to it–sewn to the chair you love so much.
Thinking back in a fury of pain, you wonder if you had fallen asleep while watching TV. Perhaps someone came in to rob the place and sewn you to the chair? That sounds ludicrous! Or maybe your wife was taking revenge and glued you to the chair. That must be it. That bitch! She poured some glue down while you slept because she hates you!
But as you try to press your fingers between yourself and the chair you realize that your pasty white flesh and the warm brown tone of the cow leather have become one without stitching. Your fingers probe all along the outsides of your legs and between your thighs as you realize everything, and I mean everything, is suddenly merged with the smooth brown leather.
The pain grows as you rock yourself back and forth trying to work your body out of the recliner but it is of no use because your skin is infused with the leather as if it were from your own. It tears just a little and you feel your skin rip down the side causing you to attempt a stifled cry but nothing comes from between your lips for they too have become blended together. You try hard to open your mouth to scream and the mottled brown leather from the chair tears open just a little but it snaps shut faster than you can purge the air from your lungs.
You can feel your arms sinking into the sides of the armchair and your body melting inside. It feels like you’re suffocating because you can’t take a breath. The harder you try to breathe, the more frustrating it becomes until you feel yourself panicking. Anxiety kicks in and you know you’re going to die. Tears trickle down your cheeks as the lack of oxygen burns your veins and then nothing.
You realize that you no longer need to breathe. Sitting there in the living room you look around using the only mobile parts of your body–your eyes. Your dog sniffs at you, whimpers, and then sits by the door waiting for you to let him out but you are unable to even move or let him know you’re there. At least the TV is still on and you can watch a movie while you figure out what is happening. You watch until you fall asleep in the unusual warmth of leather.
The smell of fresh urine stings your nose and awakes you from the brief slumber you were attempting. It was all a dream your mind screams and your body jerks for a moment. The dog pissing on what used to be your leg suddenly yelps and begins to bark in alarm.
“Biscuit! What are you barking at?” Your wife walks quickly through the room, grabbing a cup of coffee from the machine and stops to look around. “Ray?” she calls out. “Are you here?”
She checks that bathroom and outside then she looks at the chair in confusion and then around the room. “That asshole left the TV on!” she says, shaking her head while turning off the only thing that was keeping you sane, that damn Black Friday TV.
Austin Devine
6/7/2013/12:00 P.M.
Hello, my name is Mark Anderson. I am a city boy born and raised in Las Vegas, Nevada. When I was young my father Tom left my mom and me on the streets for some low-life whore who he met on the Vegas strip.
My mother and I lived off of what we could but it wasn’t much, she was a great lady who fought for me through thick and thin and did things no one should ever have to do for anyone. She died last year, my uncle sent me some mail yesterday saying;
Hey there Mark, I know it is hard living without your mom and all but I think I could give you new home if you’re willing to work for It me and my family would love to have you! Just call my number and I’ll come give you a lift to my house down in Oklahoma.
I called about four days after I got the letter, my uncle arrived and we’ve been riding in silence for about five hours now. The ride is long and the radio is country only, I would change it but I don’t know what my uncle would do if I did. So I said:
“Well we have been riding for quite a while now and you haven’t said a word, are you okay?”
As he stared at the road in silence, I tried to lighten the awkward quietness with some different songs, but when I grabbed the knob to change it the radio started smoking, as it went dead. Uncle ignored the now broken radio and continued to drive, I was in shock thinking that he was going to be mad for me breaking his radio, but he wasn’t as confused as I was I just ignored it. The silence had an unnerving feeling running through me like I have ever had before, I looked out to see the ranch it had a nice little house a big old barn and a really big fence around it.
The truck pulled into the driveway and we were greeted by a deadly silence, there was no one in sight for miles on end, as I was standing by the truck and looking around I noticed a lady standing in the distance quite away. Knowing my uncle didn’t want to be bothered I decided to make my way over to her, as I walked through it seemed endless, the closer I got the farther she got away.
I ended up running into a dog, it had no collar and looked like it hadn’t been fed for weeks so I ran to my uncle’s house to see if he had some dog food, easily enough to the right of the door was a bag of dog food. I grabbed a bowl and filled it up; the dog ate in luxury that day.
I went inside to see where I would be sleeping but my uncle was nowhere to be found, I decided I would go have a look around since I had only been here for about thirty minutes now. The building was two stories with old wood, well everything, everything was made of wood besides furnishings, looking around I found a picture of my mom, uncle and well what I guess would be his family. The only thing strange about the picture is my mom, she seemed well real, she seemed like if she wanted to she could pop out of the picture at any moment.
I heard the dog barking quite wildly, I ran to the window to see uncle walking towards the door with what looked like a big pitchfork. I ran outside and said:
“Uncle, what in the hell are you doing, you’re scaring that dog!” Uncle stared with black eyes as I kept yelling to try to stop him. Uncle, in what I thought was a drunken rage, plunged at me with the pitchfork hitting my shoulder and thrusting me to the ground, my shoulder was pierced and bleeding hard, and the stray attacked uncle and bit his leg!
Uncle in his rage turned to the dog and started swinging the pitchfork at it, the dog dodge every hit uncle threw at him; I quickly got to my feet and talked to my old drunk uncle beating on his face until he passed out. I ran towards the dog to make sure it was okay, it seemed to be fine but it stared into the distance, as I looked towards the way the dog was staring I saw it, the dog had been staring at a large group that was walking in the cornfield you could see only the heads of the people.
There was one thing I noticed though looking towards the large group that was starting to come out of the cornfield was my mom, she was the leader of the group she started in a dead sprint towards me, I turned and ran the dog started barking and running towards me. The only reason I ran was because I watched my mother get buried, the only place I thought would be safe was the barn so I ran towards it and opened the door wide enough for dog and me to get through, as we both were in I closed the door. I took my phone out and used it as my only source of light, I looked at the time and it was three p.m. it was quite dark, I ran around the barn looking for something to help but what I saw was odd.
In the middle of the room was a newspaper dated February 17th, 1990. I looked at it closer to see my uncle and his family in the section where most interesting murders go, it says their cause of death was never figured out all they knew was that they never found the little girl’s body or know if she is alive or not. I looked over a bit and noticed another paper; the odd thing about this paper is it was dated tomorrow, July 8th, 2013. On the front page was a picture of a body bag and above it was my name and a report going with the details of my death, the paper read;
“The death of 22-year-old Mark Anderson was found in the same barn Jimmy Anderson, Marks uncle and his family were found butchered to death by an unknown man.
My heart stopped for a second, I looked up at the dog and started to pet it, it started to whimper as if it knew I was giving up. The barn doors started to move but I blocked it so no one could get in, they started moaning and begging me to let them in, I wouldn’t go near that door. I climbed up the ladder to the 2nd part of the barn, as I reached the top I saw a pair of eyes staring at me from behind a stack of hay bales, I looked at it and asked:
“It’s you, you’re the one who is doing all of this.” But as I looked towards it more I noticed it’s the little girl from the older newspaper, I looked towards the little girl as she slowly walked up to me and got to ear height with me and whispered in my ear:
“The reason I wasn’t found is because they buried me under the barn.”
I looked down at the little girl’s body, she was missing an arm, she was extremely dirty and her hair was quite messy, she was wearing old pioneer-looking clothes and had a bluish looking bow in her hair. As I regained myself I realized the little girl was gone, I looked down towards the barn door to see the little girl opening the barn door, the dog barked and barked until the door opened.
When the door came open the dog ran outside for safety as the large pack of people started after me, I sat down on a hay bale and waited. The monstrous people came closer and closer, my mother was the leader of it all, as she got closer I realized they all had large knives in their hands. It was too late, I didn’t stand a chance I looked out the window in the barn one last time to see the dog, the dog was sitting whimpering like it was trying to say get out of there. But they always said:
“Can’t beat them, join them.”
THE CAMP IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS
Written by Death4
In the summer of 2003, two brothers in their thirties, Paul and Richard Morris, traveled to the White Mountains in Arizona. The Mountains, engulfed in dense forest were full of rivers bursting with fish, and Richard was a keen fisherman. The Morris brothers were heading there to get away from it all for the summer. They were wise to pick this location as its remoteness provided peace, away from other people.
The two would stay in their uncle’s solitary cabin located deep in the central, forested part of the range. Their uncle had sent an email to them about the cabin weeks before. He said he was giving it up for them as he was moving into retirement. After several hours’ cycle ride, they finally arrived at the cabin. They brought in their belongings and noticed the cabin had a computer which Paul checked out: perfect for storing photos and for emailing their friends about their trip. There were no files on the PC or a password, so they assumed their uncle had left it free and clear for their own use.
Later that evening, they went out fishing to a river about a mile away. Richard knew that the rivers there had all the best salmon and trout and he hoped that he would make the catch of the day, or even the month, as his uncle used to say. After more than an hour of fishing, the two set off back home with a fresh catch to eat by the fire. Paul had taken some photos of the fish they had caught and went onto the cabin’s computer to upload them.
However, as they entered, Richard noticed an unusual trail of a brownish-black sooty substance that was leading into the house from the edge of one of the floorboards. Richard followed the trail and saw where it led to and stopped abruptly in front of the computer. Paul asked him what he was doing, and Richard pointed out the trail for him. Feeling disturbed, Paul decided to upload his photos to the PC while Richard studied the substance to work out what caused it. He first thought it might have been a small fire or something like that. Richard looked at the floorboard where the trail started, but couldn’t lift it up, it was stuck like cement.
Meanwhile, Paul noticed an untitled file in the documents folder. This was peculiar as when he logged on previously it was empty. Opening the file, his jaw dropped and he nearly fell off his chair. Richard was alerted by his brother’s shouting and rushed to the scene. Richard tried hard not to cover his eyes when he saw the screen. A disturbing, sepia-like image about the size of an ordinary photo was present in the center of the monitor. The image depicted a witch-like woman with a thin stitched mouth with an expressionless face. It was unclear if it was a photo or drawing, but it left Paul in hysterics.
“Who had put it on and when?!” Paul continuously asked his brother.
“Was it you that did this?!” he demanded.
But Richard strongly denied this. The computer normally could tell them the time and date the picture was saved, but it said nothing.
“Has that trail got anything to do with this?!” he begged for answers more.
Neither of them would know how the image got onto the computer. It had no files before, and this cabin was miles away from any other human settlements. The cabin included padlocked doors, windows and 24/7 CCTV which were mainly there for deterring dangerous animals. But the brothers could find no evidence from these to solve how this chilling work of art could have gotten onto the computer. However, when reviewing the blurry CCTV tapes they could see at the half hour mark of camera #3, the trail randomly appeared from nowhere. This caused Paul to panic more. Desperate for answers, the two went to phone the police, but the phone wouldn’t work.
“What’s wrong with it?!” gasped Paul.
Richard told him it simply would not work, the phone made no sounds when he dialed the cops. They checked its wires which seemed to be in good condition.
Feeling too overwhelmed already from the image that had frightened them out of their skin, they decided it was worth leaving this now-ghastly cabin. They swore they would talk to their uncle as well as the police once they got back to civilization. They called the cops upon arriving back home, who went to investigate with them along with detectives. The police and detectives could not explain the image or the mysterious trail. The brothers turned to their uncle, who they vowed to speak to about this.
“Why did you send us to that creepy cabin of yours?!” Richard snapped to him over the phone, to which their uncle replied “But…I don’t have a cabin?”
Written by Cyanwrites
‘‘Dream Sellers’? That shop must be new,’ I thought. I hadn’t seen it around here before. It certainly looked like a shop that had just opened, in a fairly rough area of town, just off the high street.
I stepped inside. It mostly sold clothes, though there were no racks. The clothes were just folded up (sometimes not even that) and were displayed inside and on top of IKEA shelving units. This place could not have felt any cheaper. No wonder there were no other customers.
The shopkeeper came out from behind the counter and hounded me closely as I looked around.
“Hello, how are you, sir?”
“… Fine.”
Jeez. Didn’t this guy know good business practice? He was starting to annoy me already. He obviously didn’t sense the dark cloud above my head, because he saw me glance at a hoodie and then exclaimed.
“Ooh! You like jackets! Wait here, sir!”
And he disappeared behind the counter, leaving me alone for all of ten seconds, before returning with a very fetching blue jacket with black leather on the shoulders and elbows. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it.
“Do you like this one?”
“Yes. It’s really nice!”
“How much money do you have?”
“£30” I answered automatically, before thinking about why he might have asked that. I realized at that moment that nothing in the shop had a price tag.
“This jacket is £30, please.”
I was not happy. I had not asked to buy the jacket, but here he was, bullying me into buying it. If I didn’t really want that jacket, I would have had strong words with him. As it stood, I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I grumbled to myself and shelled over the £30.
I was happy, though, because I had left the store with a brand new jacket that I loved. I wasted no time in putting it on as I walked home.
My good mood was to be ruined, however, by my noticing that people flinched when they walked past me. Some of them shivered as if it was cold when it wasn’t. Some even turned and stared at me like I had just insulted their mother. People were beginning to act very strangely around me, and I didn’t like it.
Nothing of incident happened for the rest of the day once I got home. Nothing of incident happened… until I went to sleep.
My dream began at the spot where the Dream Sellers shop was, but back before it had opened. Back when it was just a long closed, graffiti covered steel shutter with a ‘for sale’ sign stuck on it. I turned round. There was a teenager standing behind me. He was wearing the jacket I had bought today, and had grotesque growths on his face, most likely the symptoms of a disease. The most striking thing about him was his hideously twisted neck as if he had hung himself. He was just staring at me intensely, but his voice was so meek and timid.
“Do you hate me? Do you think I’m ugly? Are you going to laugh at me? Or call me a freak? I don’t care if you are. At least I have a cool jacket. Maybe it will help stop the bullying.”
I awoke in a sweat, deeply disturbed, though I’m not fully sure why. It wasn’t just his face. Besides, he had been bullied for that face, it seemed. I felt pretty bad for being so scared of it.
Was that kid behind the way people were acting around me earlier? Were they treating me like they treated him? I had to go back to the shop. If I couldn’t return the jacket, I could at least find out who used to own it.
I set off walking back to Dream Sellers, the jacket tucked over my arm. They could have their bloody dreams back. As my journey progressed, one or two people jumped with fright when they saw me, and one particular group of kids laughed at me. Was the effect getting worse? Or was there something else going on?
It took a man to stop me and deliver some bad news for me to realize the reason for the behaviour of those around me today.
“Excuse me, mister. You have something on your face.”
“I do?” I replied, alarmed, and looked over at the nearest shop window. I could see my face in the reflection. The growth had started. It was only a tiny bit on my right cheek, but I had a very strong suspicion that it would continue to grow the longer I owned this coat.
When I reached the shop, my heart sank. It was no longer there. The shutters were back down, and the ‘for sale’ sign was back up. I asked a passer by what had happened to the shop.
“What shop?” he replied. “There hasn’t been a shop there for years.”
Now, I was even more confused. I decided to head back to my house. On the way back. A couple of kids started to pelt me with stones and laugh. I’m not sure whether it was the jacket or the fact that this had never happened to me before, but the impulse came over me and before I could stop myself I roared at them. An inhuman, terrifying sound had escaped my throat and sent all the children running away screaming. I admittedly derived some small satisfaction from this, but at the same time, that roar came from me and that was a very sobering thought.
Back in my house, I went straight to the bathroom and studied my reflection. The growth had spread slightly. It was still small, but there was no mistaking it for ‘something on my face’.
The phone rang. It was Helen, a friend of a friend. She was part of a gang that I pretended to tolerate but secretly found grating to suffer the company of.
“Hey, Jack. You wanna come out tonight?” She giggled in her usual obnoxious voice. Normally, I’d have either reluctantly accepted to be polite, or I’d have made up a fabricated excuse and declined, but an idea grew in my brain like a cancer; an idea that she was just making fun of me.
“Oh ha ha!” I spat acidly down the phone. “Ask the freak out on a date so all your friends can point and laugh!” and then I smashed the phone back down onto its holster so hard I cracked the plastic.
That night, I had another dream. I was in a bedroom that wasn’t my own. Posters for rock bands donned the walls. There was a desk with a P.C. on it, some used and bloody razor blades scattered about the desk, and my blue jacket, slung across the back seat. I felt a breeze behind me, so I turned.
The original owner of the jacket was swinging from side to side. He had hung himself in his own bedroom, and his arms and wrists were cut to ribbons. It took everything I had not to throw up at the sight. His cold, blue face twitched, and then looked down at me.
“They all hated me,” he began. “And now they all hate you.”
I awoke in a sweat again, this time with proper cause to be so. I felt my face. It was like feeling a stone wall. Oh no, I thought, jumped out of bed and made a beeline for the bathroom.
In the mirror, my fears were confirmed. Tears formed in my eyes upon looking at my own reflection. The growth had spread completely overnight. I now looked just like the boy who had killed himself.
I have always hated the idea of sleeping during the day, but this time I was so tired that I decided to lie down on my bed and close my eyes for a minute. It was 4:32 p.m. on my watch when I went to bed and I knew I had finished all my chores, so I just took a deep breath and slept.
I had a dream and I remember some details. It was raining, and I was in the backyard. My mother built an extra room for the house some years ago; the room was next to my parent’s room, which was next to me and there were two ways to enter that room.
One way was going up the stairs in the backyard, that would lead to an iron gate, or through a crystal door in my parents’ bedroom. In my dream, I remember going up those stairs, but instead of going into the extra room, I stood there near the end of the stairs, staring at the inside of my own room. I could perfectly see the figure of someone sleeping on my bed, but, was it me? That’s all I remember.
The sound of raindrops hitting the ceiling woke me up. It took me a minute to realize that I was back to reality and I got up to take a look out the window. Just like in my dream, it was raining; strangest thing in my town, but I thought it was time for it to happen already, so I didn’t pay much attention to it.
I checked my watch and discovered that the needles were not moving and that they had stopped since 4:34 p.m. In my need to know the hour, I tried turning on my computer and my TV, but nothing happened, it looked like there was no electricity in my house.
I walked to the hallway and looked for my parents in their bedroom, but they were not there. I kept on searching in the kitchen, the living room and the dining room, but the house seemed empty. “They must have gone to the grocery store, or something,” I thought.
When I headed to the front door to go out and check if the car was there, I saw that it had an enormous lock keeping the door shut. It was one of those bold, heavy locks made of the hardest steel, but what the hell was it doing there? My parents wouldn’t allow such a thing.
I looked around the first floor, but there were no keys. I don’t mean I was looking for the look’s key, I was looking for any of the keys I use in my house, but there was nothing. I tried to use the telephone, but the line was dead. That’s when I realized that I still had my cellphone in my pocket. Dead battery.
Now I was freaking out; I checked the back entrance and discovered that it was locked too, and so were all the windows. What was going on? I went into my room and checked my watch again, but it was still frozen. I walked through the dark halls of my house and checked the darkest corners, but I just couldn’t think of an explanation, or a way out, then I remembered the crystal door in my parents’ room. It was locked, but it was no big deal since it was made of such weak material, so I grabbed a desk lamp and made a hole big enough for me to go through.
It is a problem when you don’t think things twice, and now, with the crystal door broken, I still needed to open the iron gate before going to the backyard and so, to the streets and know what was happening. I knew there would be no use in trying to open the gate, so I went into the extra room.
It was empty, as always. It was a large, empty room, with white walls and floor and the only light was coming from a window close to the entrance. Despite the illumination coming from it, the opposite side of the room was filled with a deep dark. The more I looked into that darkness, the more I felt there was something there, staring directly to my eyes. A chill went down my spine and I decided to go back to my parents’ room.
There was no way I was letting the crystal door like that, so I pushed my dad’s desk and blocked the entrance between me and that horrible room.
It is midnight, I guess, and the sun has gone down. My parents, like the electricity, are not here yet. Actually, I don’t know if I’ll see them again. Since it got darker, strange noises have been coming from that room, and even though I locked my door, I know there is no use. I saw a big, dark figure, opening the iron fence, and positioning itself on the stairs of the backyard. It has stared at me for over an hour, and I have been here, scared and not moving a muscle.
It went back to the room, and now I can hear him pushing my dad’s desk with no effort. It’s coming for me, it’s outside the door of my room. I’m scared. Help.
