WAS SHE A WITCH, A FAIRY, A CHANGELING? The Horrifying True Story of the Bridget Cleary Murder

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:08):
In eighteen ninety five, a law abiding Irish man killed
his wife in front of their family and friends because
he believed she had been replaced with a supernatural creature.
Michael Cleary believed in change lengths, and his belief had
horrifying results for their small community. I'm Darren Marler and

(00:33):
this is Weird Darkness. Welcome, weirdos. I'm Darren Marler and
this is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore,

(00:53):
the strange and bizarre, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and
unexplained coming up in this episode. You know I narrate
audio books on the side. One of those books was
Murderous Mind's Volume four, and in this episode I'll share

(01:15):
chapter one of that book about murderer Michael Cleary. Plus
I'll share the original fictional horror story A Beginner's Guide
to Blood Portals by Michael Squid, and in the show notes,
I not only have a link to the original story
at creepypasta dot com, but I also have a link
to Michael Squid's official website where you can find more

(01:35):
of his stories, as well as is artwork, music, and
YouTube channel. Now bult your doors, lock your windows, turn
off your lights, and come with me into the weird darkness.

(02:04):
Are you a witch? Or are you a fairy? Or
are you the wife of Michael Clary? An old Irish
children's rhyme can still be heard on playgrounds across Europe,
But the story behind the silly song is no matter
of lighthearted fun. In March of eighteen ninety five, a religious,
law abiding irishman murdered his wife in front of their

(02:27):
family and friends. The man, Michael Clary, did not believe
he was committing murder. He did not believe he was
in any way harming his beloved wife Bridget. To Michael,
his actions were the last effort in saving his wife
from a terrible fate. He believed, against the advice of
doctors and priests, that the creature he was killing was

(02:51):
not his Bridget. He believed it was a fairy, a
changeling masquerading as Bridget, while the real Missus Clarey remained
trapped in another realm. In the days leading up to
the brutal attack, the Claary home had dissolved into chaos.
Bonds of trust between family, friends, church officials, and medical

(03:13):
professionals were pushed to their limit. Michael Clarey became a
startling example of what can happen when religious vigor, old
world superstition, and evolving ideas about the roles of women collide.
To understand Michael Clarey's crime, you have to understand what
fueled his impossible beliefs. The world was changing for Ireland

(03:36):
in eighteen ninety five, and that terrifying frontier of progress
broke apart a young couple's marriage and a community's trust.
Bridget Boland married cooper Michael Clary in August of eighteen
eighty seven. She was a bright, lovely, and talented young
woman with charm enough to win her any husband she wanted.

(03:57):
The man she wanted, Michael was a working class man
and devout Catholic. As a cooper, he made barrels, wooden casks,
and other goods created from local timber. Michael had been
trained as an apprentice to make his wares by hand,
a skill that was quickly becoming overshadowed by the industrial

(04:18):
boom and more efficient means of creating and distributing products.
Even so, it seems Michael did not have a difficult
time making a match with the vibrant Bridget Boland. Their
marriage was one of mutual love, Bridget seeing a worthy
and loving partner in Michael, and Michael seeing a sweet
and virtuous girl in Bridget. From all accounts, the early

(04:42):
days of their marriage were normal. Michael was a hard
worker with a determination to provide for his beautiful new
bride and make a name for himself. While Bridget had
a good deal of care and respect for her husband,
she was not satisfied with traditional women's work in a home.
Bridget took up work as a dressmaker's apprentice, a decision

(05:04):
that kindled a small bit of friction between the couple.
Working women may have been more common at this time
than they had been in decades past, but it was
a concept still shunned by more conservative households. This was
equally true but the traditional Catholic families of Ireland. Michael
was not making enough to support him and Bridget in

(05:24):
the way he wanted, but he was still adamant that
a wife should stay home, not worry yourself with a
career outside of the home. This notion was problematic. Bridget's
skill as a dressmaker offered a possibility for the family
to live comfortably, if not very well off. She had
no intention of letting her abilities go to waste in

(05:46):
the interest of satisfying her husband's old fashioned sensitivity. Not
long after their marriage, Bridget returned to her parents' house
in bally Vadlia. Michael stayed behind in Clonwell to finish
up his current affairs as a cooper. Michael wanted desperately
to prove to Bridget he was capable of fulfilling the
long accepted role as husband and sole breadwinner. Unbeknownst to him,

(06:11):
Bridget had expanded her career since leaving Clonmel. She continued
her dressmaking after purchasing a Singer sewing machine. At the time,
the Singer model was state of the art. It offered
women a chance to produce quickly and venture into the
world of business. The same technological boom that was making
men like Michael obsolete was giving their wives more opportunity

(06:34):
outside of the home. Michael wasn't the only man in
Ireland bothered by the uptick in women's professions, but the
prospect of not having to scrape buy in poverty seemed
to win out in many households. Unfortunately for Michael, dressmaking
was not the only job Bridget had taken on. She
bought and kept her own flock of chickens and made

(06:57):
decent money selling the eggs to friends and neighbors. Often
this mat taking long walks in rain or shine across
the moors to her customers. If there is a defining
detail to mark where the tables began to turn between
Michael and Bridget, her daily trek across the moors likely
sparked the fire that would turn into a full on

(07:18):
blaze of superstition. The Irish Moors, much like the English Moors,
were thought to be more than just vast, empty wetlands.
These flat expanses of fog and marsh were the subject
of centuries of Irish folklore. Thought to hide entryways into
the realm of the fairies. These desolate spaces were filled

(07:38):
with tales of dangerous creatures and mischievous tricksters. Irish children
were raised to be wary of them. Those that held
tight to the old Irish superstitions and folk beliefs thought
it possible for someone to disappear into the fog and
be spirited away by unnatural creatures. Michael Clary was one
of these believers. Fairies of Old Irish mythology were not kind,

(08:03):
flower wearing creatures who sprinkled magic dust and granted wishes.
Irish fairies were tricksters, kidnappers, instigators, and monsters. In some legends,
fairies destroyed homes and crops when they felt insulted. In others,
they would spirit away young virgins to corrupt their purity.

(08:25):
The most famous fairy lore were much more frightening. The
story of the changelings was a very real concern in
Old World Ireland. Legend claimed that if a loved one
adult or child began to behave out of character, it
was likely they were not their loved one at all.
These changes indicated the presence of a changeling, a fairy

(08:47):
sent to take the place of a human while the
real human was kidnapped to the fairy realm. Changeling trials
were for a time a popular branch of which hysteria
in Old Europe. It was believed these creatures were evil
and casting them out of the community was the only
way to restore virtue and balance. Unfortunately, the methods for

(09:08):
removing a changeling were often violent and dangerous. Suspected changelings
could be beaten, burned, held over fire or underwater, and
in some cases poisoned by concoctions of deadly plants such
as foxclove. By the eighteen nineties, much of Ireland had
turned from belief in these horrific methods. The Catholic Church

(09:30):
even began to dissuade followers from giving in to the
hysteria of such superstitions and the dangers they could bring.
Still some refused to let go of the fairy realm.
There were still men and women believed to be fairy doctors,
individuals skilled in providing medical treatment when a supernatural creature
or ailment was the cause. Bridgett's own cousin, Jack Dunn,

(09:55):
was one of these so called doctors. Those who believed
in the dangers of the fair realm relied on men
like Dun for help, but also kept an arsenal of
old folk protections on hand to circumvent the possibility of
a supernatural attack. There were safety precautions one could take
to avoid the misfortune of fairies. Many learned to leave

(10:17):
them bowls of milk and sugar to keep them satisfied.
Others would leave out small gifts and offerings in hopes
of appeasing the fairies and avoiding their ire. You could
also adorn your home with iron objects, as the belief
that fairies were repelled by iron was commonly accepted. Above
all these things, the most important way to avoid a

(10:40):
tangle with the fairies was to stay out of the
moors and far away from the fairy rings. Fairy rings
were circles made of natural items and thought to function
as a doorway to the fairy realm. A naturally occurring
circle of mushrooms, trees, or even rocks was thought to
be a dangerous place. Many avoided them altogether, but some

(11:04):
brave souls went to the fairy rings on purpose, in
hopes of summoning the creature to ask for a favor,
or more morbidly, speak to the dead. Some of these
supposed fairy rings had much more explainable and logical origins.
Many were later proven to be the remnants of long
forgotten man made structures that had eroded over time to

(11:27):
resemble circular imprints of stone and other leftover material. Balivadlia
had many of these old circles, which slowly, little by
little townsfolk had begun to disregard. When Michael eventually left
Clonmel to join his wife in Ballyvadlea. He was horrified
to learn of Bridget's professional advancement. The realization that her

(11:51):
new business also took her on frequent trips through the
dreaded moors shook Michael to his core and planted the
seed of paranoia that had not existed in their marriage before.
To make matters worse, after the death of Bridget's mother,
the couple assumed care of her elderly father, Patrick Boland.

(12:11):
Once a laborer, Patrick was able to provide the family
with fine accommodations in a labour village. It was said
he acquired the nicest house in the village for his
small family. But it wasn't cunning or luck that afforded
Boland the lovely new home. The other families in the
village had no interest in the house, many rejecting the
opportunity to live there. The aversion came from a widely

(12:34):
accepted local legend. The Boland house was built on the
site of a fairy ring. The labour village was full
of older and less educated families, making it a community
still primed for fear in the old legends. This information
haunted Michael his wife's differing views were difficult to accept,

(12:54):
but their proximity to dangerous fairy rings gave him the
perfect excuse for Bridget's behaviour. It is likely that Michael
began to suspect their fairy folk were to blame for
his troubles from the moment he arrived in Ballyvadlea. His
firm belief in the superstitious legends of old and devout
Catholicism made him feel as though he were a champion

(13:16):
of righteousness in a world clouded by dark forces. These
beliefs grew stronger as Bridget flourished, mixing with his mounting
frustration of not finding steady work. While his wife became
more successful, a perfect and deadly storm was brewing inside
Michael Clary. In March of eighteen ninety five, Bridget went

(13:38):
out to make her normal rounds, delivering to customers. She
intended to check in on her cousin, Jack Dunn, who
lived across the moors, when her work was done, and
return home afterward. Michael was in a foul mood that day,
still struggling to find work, as well as jealous and
confused by his wife's success. It is believed that Michael

(13:59):
and Bridge fought that morning over baseless accusations of adultery.
Michael had a lot of time on his hands, and
most of it was spent tormenting himself over what his
wife was up to when she was out of the house.
He worried about the fairies and became enraged and embarrassed
that Bridget was effectively the family's provider. Even if Bridget

(14:21):
suggested Michael join her on the delivery route, he refused.
To Michael Clary, the only thing worse than staying home
while your wife worked was working with her in a
business she created. Michael believed Bridget was changing. He may
not have been completely wrong. Bridget was growing more confident,
proud of her work, and happy with the prospect of

(14:43):
making something of herself. Michael's behavior was becoming a cloud
over that pride, reports from some who knew the couple played.
He criticized her hours away from home, methods of prayer,
and choice in clothing, even taking issue with the undergarments
she chose to wear. Michael's idea of a proper wife

(15:04):
was set in stone, and there was no room for
a woman looking to change and progress. Difficult as their
home life was becoming. There is no evidence to suggest
that Bridget was interested in anything other than finding balance
with her troubled husband. She was an evolving independent woman, yes,
but she still held tight to her Catholic faith and

(15:26):
believed in the sanctity of her marriage. She was a
woman at a crossroads, trapped between being the obedient Catholic
wife and keeping her family fed and safe. With the
job she was passionate about. Bridget had decided not to
back down and bend to Michael's will. As far as
she was concerned, he was more than welcome at her side.

(15:47):
If he would prefer to sulk at home all day,
that was his choice. In the days leading up to
her murder, Bridget had fallen ill. She was suffering from
a sore throat and terrible coughing fits that were made
worse by long treks through cold wetlands. Still, illness would
not keep Bridget from her work. The day she set

(16:07):
out to visit Jack Dunn, Bridget's symptoms seemed to have escalated.
She became disoriented while wandering through the moors and was
said to have been lost for several hours before stumbling home.
Her father and Michael were present When she finally arrived,
her father was concerned and urged her to get to bed,
but Michael was completely horrified at her condition. The sick

(16:30):
woman was confused, fevered, and clearly in need of medical attention.
The stuttering, sickly woman struggling to stand up on her
own did not resemble the Bridget Clary that Michael knew.
To most, these would be clear signs of a severe illness.
To the frustrated and suppressed mister Clarey, the symptoms were

(16:51):
signifiers of something else. If Michael had been harboring any
deep desire to harm Bridget, this had given him the
perfect excuse. Michael and Patrick sent for a doctor. Though
Michael believed he already knew what was wrong with his wife.
The woman had returned from known fairyland acting strangely and
almost inhuman. This couldn't be Bridget. Without input from Patrick,

(17:16):
Michael sent for another person to diagnose Bridget's condition, her
fairy doctor cousin Jack Dunn. There are conflicting reports as
to whether or not Michael initially sent for a medical
doctor in the first place, or simply told his father
in law he had. At this period in Ireland, most
villages had few, if any, doctors. If someone fell ill,

(17:40):
a doctor had to be sent for. The journey could
take precious days, which it did in Bridget's case. Some
neighbors believed Michael had sent for Jack instead, only relenting
to call for a real doctor at the anger and
insistence of Patrick. In either case, Jack Dunn arrived and
examined Bridget. His diagnosis confirmed Michael's superstitious fears. The woman

(18:06):
in the home was not even a real woman. It
was an evil fairy changeling. Jack and Michael got to
work planning folk cures to dispel the changeling. If Patrick
was skeptical at first, the urging of both his nephew
and son in law eventually swayed him. Within a day,
he had decided to help the other men with their

(18:26):
nonsensical mission. Patrick would claim he truly had begun to
believe Bridget was in danger. This misguided attempt at protection
made him a key player in the torment and torture
of his own daughter. By the time he came back
to his senses, it would already be too late. Patrick
was an elderly and slight man. Years of physical labor

(18:48):
had taken their toll, which was exactly why Bridget and
Michael had come to look after him in his home.
There remains the slight possibility that Patrick never believed his
daughter had been taken. Playing into Michael and Jack's sadistic
plan may have been the only way he could cope
with the horror unfolding in front of him. He was
no match for two younger and stronger men, even though

(19:11):
Jack was known to walk with a noticeable limp. If
the person who came stumbling into his home that day
was not Bridget, he was helping the other men rid
his home and community of a threat. If it was,
he was witnessing the horrific abuse of his child and
was powerless to stop it. Like Michael, the changeling story

(19:32):
was much easier for Patrick to stomach. The medical doctor
arrived days later and diagnosed Bridget with a severe case
of bronchitis. He noted the woman to be in terrible
condition and took note of the tense atmosphere within the
Clary home. He prescribed medication for Bridget and gave her
husband strict instructions for how to administer it. She was

(19:55):
ill enough that a priest, father Ryan, was called to
the home to deliver communion and last rites. The decision
may have seemed like a normal precaution in a devout
Catholic community, but it would later serve as key evidence
to how badly Bridget was treated and how seemingly intentionally
her sickness had been allowed to progress. During the later trial,

(20:18):
Father Ryan testified that when he arrived at the Clary home,
Bridget was conscious, alive, and agitated. Michael explained to him
that though the doctor had prescribed her medicine to treat
the bronchitis, he would not give it to her. He
told the priest people may have some remedy of their
own that might do more good than doctor's medicine. Father

(20:40):
Ryan was unsettled by Clay's words and encouraged him to
follow the doctor's orders and not be overcome by fairy mythology.
Ryan believed that medical care, not magic, was in Bridget's
best interest. Michael did not agree. Father Ryan left the
home that evening, having been unable to convince Michael. According

(21:02):
to changeling mythology, once a loved one has been taken,
there are only nine days to save them. If left unrescued,
passed the ninth day, they are fairies forever. This meant
that Michael was on a deadline if he ever wanted
to see his wife again. Doctor's orders and the priest's
urging meant little to him. Michael believed that these other

(21:24):
treatments were wasting time, allowing the unholy creature to exist
longer in his wife's place. As days ticked by, Bridget
was defiant. As ever, being close to death did not
stop the wilful young woman from standing her ground. No
matter the torture, She refused to admit any wrongdoing. Michael's

(21:45):
methods of treatment became more severe, an observation which began
to disturb some of their friends and family who visited
the house in those days. Patrick was among the disturbed,
eventually believing the changeling must be gone and Bridget already returned. Sadly,
there was little the loving but frail father could do

(22:05):
to help his daughter. The old man was no match
from Michael, whose anger, frustration, and tension had come to
a boiling point. To make matters worse, Jack actively fueled
Michael's mounting paranoia, offering another extreme cure each time one
seemed to fail. During these supernatural treatments. The sick woman

(22:26):
was held down and forced to drink a tonic of urine.
When that did not yield results that satisfied Michael, he
tormented her with items heated by the fire. As Bridget struggled,
Michael shouted at her to submit and confess to being
a changeling. Bridget held her ground even as the consequences
became more deadly. Bridget's attending loved ones assisted Michael in

(22:50):
many of the initial attacks. Both her father and cousin
were reported to have helped hold her down when the
urine tonic was used, despite the horrified woman was screaming
and pleading through a bronchitis riddled throat. By the time
Bridget was a few days into her illness, her family
had begun to doubt there was a supernatural cause at all.

(23:10):
It became difficult to justify the cruelty, especially when the
victim was a person at least physically they had known
and cared for. It's unclear exactly why her family did
not but a stop to Michael's behavior. On the final
day of Bridget's life, Michael is reported to have demanded
that she admit to being a fairy. Impostor one last time,

(23:33):
a deadly amount of anger rising within him. Bridget, though
badly beaten and still sick, refused no matter how much
Michael screamed and threatened. Bridget was determined to stand her ground.
In a fit of rage, Michael lifted Bridget by her
neck and threw her onto the stones in front of

(23:53):
the fireplace. He then poured lamp oil over her and
set her nightgown on fire. Bridget's father and other her
family members witnessed the event. The poor woman, who was
still recovering from her real sickness, was burned in front
of an audience whom she had once believed loved her.
As Patrick struggled to reach his daughter, Michael held him back,

(24:14):
all while shouting a fevered rant about fairies. He could
only watch in horror as his daughter was consumed by flames.
Whether or not Bridget was burned alive is still a
point of debate. The court was unable to determine if
Bridget died when her head hit the stone floor or
she was killed by the fire, but the result was clear.

(24:35):
Bridget Clary had been murdered in cold blood at the
hands of her husband. Witnesses gave varied reports as to
what happened next in the Clary home. Authorities could confirm
that Michael and Jack took Bridget's burned corpse out of
the house and buried her in a shallow grave nearby.
They reported the death to no one. Bridget's family recalled

(24:58):
Michael keeping vigil on the property. He was seemingly waiting
for his wife to arrive back home, saved by his
valiant defeat of the fairies. On March twenty second, eighteen
ninety five, her body was discovered in a shallow grave
after neighbors reported she'd been missing for several days. Ten
people were arrested for the crime, including Michael. Of the ten,

(25:21):
all but Michael were freed of the charge of murder,
but four were convicted of wounding. The trial gained international attention,
prompting the media to dub Bridget the last witch burned
in Ireland. Some news outlets used the case as justification
for terrible Irish stereotypes, as if the tragic end to

(25:42):
her life was not enough, Brigid became a cautionary tale
meant to insult her own people. The media claimed that
her murder was proof of the Irish, being an uneducated
and backward people incapable of governing themselves without descending into
superstitious chaos. The coverage added insult to innisury, and more often
than not, failed to give any respect to the young

(26:04):
woman that had been senselessly cut down in the prime
of her life. Michael showed no remorse for the killing.
Those present at his trial were horrified to hear. Witnesses
claimed that even as her body burned, he continued to
shout it was only a changeling and the creature's death
would bring his wife back to him. He testified the

(26:25):
same throughout the trial, seemingly never accepting the horrific crime
he had committed. Even the arresting officers would testify that
Michael was incredulous. During his arrest, he seemed completely certain
Bridget would step back through the fairy ring any day
now and the entire mess would be cleared up. Fairies, magic,

(26:46):
the evil beyond the veil were all real. To Michael Clary.
He was convinced he had done his community a favor
by dispelling a dangerous force, with or without fairy lore.
That is likely ex exactly what Michael believed Bridget was
a woman changing the status quo. She showed an ability
and determination to challenge the norm. Even if she was

(27:10):
not a fairy to old fashioned minds like Michael's, Bridget
was a dangerous woman. Michael Clary spent fifteen years in
prison on the charge of manslaughter. There is no evidence
he ever apologized for or admitted killing his wife. After
his release, Michael is recorded to have immigrated to Canada,

(27:30):
where he disappeared from public record. What happened in the
Clary home during that terrible spring of eighteen ninety five
will never be completely revealed. The varied reports of witnesses
leave gaps in the record that still haunts. Why did
Bridget's family go along with Michael? Why did they stand
by for so long? How did one man murder his

(27:52):
wife in front of a group of people who supposedly
cared for her without significant challenge. The answers are long
gone laid to rest with Bridget, But perhaps the answer
lies in belief. Horrific things are possible if you can
sway others to believe in impossible things. When we'd darkness returns.

(28:16):
It's the incredibly disturbing horror fiction story. A beginner's guide
to Blood Portals by Michael Squid. A few days ago,

(28:45):
I got a text message from an unknown number reading
I got your proof. I stared at the words for
a bit, thinking it was a wrong number. Then I
remember the last time I'd spoken to Jeremy. Jeremy, my
younger cousin, was a character, to say the least. He
was always an eccentric rebel, the black sheep of the

(29:06):
family who had dabbled in drugs and acquired a criminal record,
bouncing from job to job and always teetering on homelessness.
He'd been the first to get tattoos and piercings, and
was really into noise and industrial music, and the few
friends of his I ever met straight up gave me

(29:26):
the creeps. He'd introduced me to weed before he moved
on to the much harder stuff as the years passed.
He was also a total conspiracy nut, convinced of camtrails
and UFOs, et cetera, you name it. He drank the
kool aid. The last time I'd spoken to him was

(29:47):
after Thanksgiving dinner a few years ago. We'd smoked a
bowl after dinner at my uncle's house. About three years
before the argument, he'd been driven on about alternate planes
of existence. He tried to convince me that all religions
were based on what he believed to be cracks in
this plane of reality. Jeremy was the type to try

(30:09):
and heal a broken ankle with crystals before snorting a xanax.
Mind you, so I was used to tuning him out.
He kept pressing on, though, ignoring my rebuttals of scientific
facts and basic physics. He kept pushing my buttons, calling
me close minded and shallow, and I just snapped at him, Yeah,

(30:33):
prove it then, instead of just ranting on like some delusional,
burnt out failure, I yelled at him. I bit my
lower lip and cringed after I said it, and I
had immediately apologized, but well, it was out there. He
looked at me with a dark stare from under a
veil of greasy black bangs, and I saw the twinge

(30:55):
in his eyes with a conviction that rattled me. He said,
I will, Mike, I will, and you'll see just how
ignorant you are. I tried to apologize, but he'd stormed
off into his car, slamming the door and driving off.
In the following months, I emailed him a few times
in an attempt to mend things, but well, he never responded,

(31:19):
not until this Jeremy. I typed and soon got a response.
I got your proof right here, came the reply. A
few minutes later, a picture arrived, and I opened it
with a feeling of unease that sat cold in my stomach.
Jeremy faced the camera, his intense eyes staring in at me.

(31:42):
He looked jaundiced and daunt and under slept, but my
concern soon shifted to the crimson bands glazing his forearm.
He was holding a razor blade in his other hand,
dripping red with blood. It appeared he slit his wrist,
cheering me, What the hell did you do? I asked aloud,

(32:06):
choked with tears, I dialed him up, but no answer.
I ran to grab my coat and slid it on,
listening as panic built while I listened to each ring
go on answered. I found the email from years ago
that contained his address, and soon jogged to my Nissan
and hopped in, plugging the address in and trying him repeatedly.

(32:28):
Twenty eight minutes away, I steered wide out of my
driveway and drove dangerously fast toward his house. I kept
texting him and ringing him. Still no response. Following the
turns dictated aloud by the GPS. As I sped up
a hilly incline on the outskirts of his town, I
prayed no cop would pull me over, and that it

(32:51):
wasn't too late. I'd lost a friend earlier in the
year from an OD, and my cousin was not leaving
me with this guilt trip. After about twenty minutes, I
was at the edge of his town. Tall pines gave
fractured glimpses of dilapidated homes built in the sixties and
long since neglected. Sagging roofs, missing tiles, and peeling paint

(33:14):
peeked out as if ashamed of their condition, and soon
his house came into view. I'd never visited his home before.
If I had, I might have bit my tongue that
Thanksgiving when I'd lashed out. It was a depressing shack
of a place, smaller than all the other worn down
homes on the street. I pulled into the short driveway,

(33:37):
disregarding the dozens of stacked boxes and rusted bicycle parts
littering the lawn, and ran out of the car to
the wooden steps. I pounded on the flimsy screen door
and shouted, Jeremy, I'm here, let's talk, but received no reply,
just the swaying branches of tall pines whispering in the wind.
I tried the door open. I ran in and immediately

(34:02):
covered my mouth and nose from the stench. It was
like an outhouse had been overturned. The sour, ammonious stench
of piss and rotting food was overwhelming. Jeremy, I shouted
and squeezed past the pillars of water damaged magazines, wafting
out spores of mildew and mold from room to filthy room.

(34:25):
Old microwave dinners grew fuzzy and green in teetering stacks,
and I saw cat food cans littering the hovel, but
no sign of a cat. Then I heard a wet, sickening,
slapping sound coming from upstairs. I rounded the corner to
see the filthy carpeted stairs, now sign of what the

(34:45):
original color had been beneath the tar like gray build
up that had fused with them. They creaked loudly as
I ran up. I almost expected the bending wood beneath
to buckle in and snap, but I made it to
the top and followed that aqueous sloshing sound toward the room,
glowing yellow from one solitary bulb. I ran in and

(35:08):
stopped dead in my tracks. There was Jeremy, soaking red
and wet with blood in a black T shirt in
the floor, not on the floor, inside of the floor.
I first thought him to be sliced in half. Blood
spilled out in all directions like a crimson mirror, and

(35:30):
he was bisected diagonally from his upper right hip to
his left armpit. But he was sinking down into the floor.
I was stunned, too stunned to do anything but weakly
mutter his name, Jeremy, with a shiver as I watched
him smile lower he sank into the red pool of

(35:50):
what was likely his own blood. Soon only his shoulder
and head remained, with a solitary arm dripping red. I
ran over and grabbed his hand, feeling the warm blood
slipped from mine as I watched in absolute disbelief as
he sank in then vanished completely. I stared in bewilderment

(36:12):
and horror, my brain refusing to comprehend what was completely impossible.
Then I saw that book, a worn hardcover book, lay
near his cell phone, wallet, and other personal effects. A
Beginner's Guide to Blood Portals was written in a flowing

(36:34):
font from the sixties on a purple marbled cover that
looked stained by blooms of dried blood itself. I was
in shock, and I walked with legs drained of strength,
to the book, Picking it up in my shaky hands,
I flipped it over to read the synopsis None. Then

(36:54):
I opened it up to the print details none, no author,
no date, just an index of the chapters one, knowing two,
preparing three, surveying four, tethering five, returning. I flipped the

(37:20):
page and read the first two paragraphs Chapter one, knowing.
There is an imperceptible tissue separating the connecting folds between
realms of existence. Our proteins and cells are just one
of the millions of locking mechanisms that tether us to
our current plane. By manipulating the frequency and adjusting the

(37:43):
vibration of the content of our own bodily content, synchronization
can be achieved. A three foot blood pool represents about
one point five liters shed blood on a non porous
surface should be sufficient in size. Coumerin or dicoumole should
be mixed at zero point five parts per liter in

(38:04):
order to prevent coagulation, which can lead to temporal warping
within and the ceiling of windows prematurely. See footnote on
Severed Pathways, page one forty three. The electronic stimulation of
a pointing vector is needed in order to maintain an
open vortex via an assisting magnetic field. An oscillating frequency

(38:25):
of eight hundred millihertz needs to be maintained or shifting occurs.
See page sixty eight. I close the book with one
hand and tugged the hair from my scalp with the other,
trying to convince myself this was all just some strange dream.
I stared at the reflective pool of still blood, noticing

(38:47):
the two wires insulated with black rubber, leading out and
into a humming metal box near an empty plastic blood bag.
I scanned the filthy room and spotted an ancient broom
and picked it up, Holding it over the pool with hesitation,
I lowered it down, feeling it connect with the wooden

(39:07):
floor beneath the few millimeters of the blood with a
dull tap. My heart pounded as I then lowered to
a kneel and splayed my fingers out over the pool,
staring into my own wide eyed reflection. I lowered my
palm slowly, half expecting a painful electric shock. I felt

(39:30):
my arm hairs raise as my hand descended one centimeter
at a time until it connected with the dark, fluid blood.
I watched in both absolute amazement and horror as my
hand pressed below where the floor should be. Warm blood
covered my submerged hand, then wristd. I laughed a nervous,

(39:55):
terrified laugh. Then I pulled my hand out and now
slick with a red coat. Jeremy was inside of there.
He chosen to risk death in order to show me
there was something beyond explanation, and clearly there was. I
lowered my face to the reflective puddle, staring at my

(40:15):
own worried face. As it got closer and closer, I
felt the hot liquid of my nose and cheeks, and
I plunged my face into what should have been the floor.
It was impossible, yet I opened my eyelids and I
saw it. There was a mirrored red room. I stared
into the ceiling of down below the puddle. The room

(40:39):
was the exact size and shape, but made of what
appeared to be carved black stone, monolithic and ancient. It
was preposterous and impossible, but I plunged my head down further,
feeling the wetness against my skin, and I watched the
room's walls and ceilings seemed to pull and shift. I

(41:02):
shouted out for Jeremy and tasted the tangy copper flood
my mouth. My words stopped shallow, muted by the density
of the thick, liquid like air in the impossible place.
Then I heard a deep moan, gurgling and inhuman, and
forged from lungs that had to be at least twice

(41:22):
the size of mind. Plaustrophobia hit me, and I lifted
up my head from the puddle and gasped for air.
I pulled over a chair to skim over this book
that casually discusses travel between these strange alternate plains. It
mentions things within that can rend the human mind with madness,

(41:43):
echoing chambers that cause feedback of physical matter, sentient beings
that haunt, and other anomalies all outside of our spectrum
of tangible reality. I shiver as I stare at that
impossible puddle, terrified of what I've glimpsed into. I can't

(42:03):
wrap my head around any of it, but options slim
as time ticks. At some point that puddle is going
to dry. An electromagnetically charged puddle of my cousin Jeremy's blood,
sat on the floor before me. I opened my photo
app on my phone, switched it to video mode, and

(42:26):
lowered it into the pool of blood, twisting it around
my neck. Hairs stood on end as I stared at
my arm, missing illogically just past the elbow in what
was only a few millimeters of blood. When I removed
my dripping red phone, it was dead. I cursed, then

(42:48):
ran to Jeremy's on the side of the poddle, realizing
with a sigh of relief, he had no password on
the device. He left alongside his wallet, a coiled five
dollar bill dusted with powder and a stained key crafted
from a dead bird's skull. Cheez, Jeremy, I muttered, then
tried to breathe slowly to ease my rapidly beating heart.

(43:11):
I flipped the Strange book open to the next chapter
in search of any helpful information. Chapter two, preparing anchoring.
A rope, wire or chain anchor should be secured in
order to connect with and return to an adjacent plane.

(43:31):
Fail your anchor may result in a shifting that can
both sever the path and bend the matter within. This
means you, just as neurons, muscle cells, and endicurane cells
emit negative forty megavolts to negative eighty megavaults, all matter
inorganic in nature should carry a forty to eighty megavolt
charge or be coated with hemoglobin or other cellular tissue.

(43:54):
In order to maintain the current breathing I full inhalation,
E full exhalation, s slight exhalation, patterned breathing of issie
issie repeat must be practiced and performed in order to

(44:16):
prevent suffocation and death. Your blood oxygen level should typically
vary between seventy five and one hundred. A significant decrease
in your blood oxygen saturation levels will result in rapid
suffocation and death. Circumventing it is imperative to avert Wand's
gaze when in the presence of most of the entities
within these pathways and inhabitants exist beyond our logic and understanding.

(44:41):
Attempts to comprehend them can and will ravage the minds
of those who traverse these planes. Failure of the autonomic
nervous system will follow, leading to respiratory failure, suffocation, and death.
Undocumented hostile beings dwell in the dimensional folds, scavenging for
protein in any form. This means you if any physical

(45:03):
contact is made, death will likely ensue. The alphabetical list
went on with dozens of pages of additional hazards and threats.
Solidification of the atmosphere leading to an eviscerated body, being
caught in a temporal field, causing the body to implode,
being stuck inside a feedback loop of folding space and

(45:26):
crushing the explorer. Shifting doors causing the amputation of limbs,
coagulating edges of the windows, leading to solidification of bodily fluids.
The list continued for twelve pages, filled with hundreds of
horrific scenarios. I skimmed through, shivering from the combination of

(45:47):
anxiety and wonder at the pages of the guidebook. Time
was short. If I was to attempt a rescue of
my cousin, I'd need to read it along the way.
In the boxes of filth from near the wall of
the room, I found medical clutter. I could only assume
Jeremy had stolen. I gathered a few anticoagulants and blood

(46:08):
packs marked CPDA solution. With shaky hands, the bird's beak
of Jeremy's morbid keychain made a quick tool to punctury
blood packet, gushing out the thick red liquid from within
onto the book. I scoured the adjacent rooms of the
house and eventually found a coil of twine to anchor

(46:29):
myself to the room. Squeezing the contents of the blood
transfer bag over the rope, then slathered its bristly fibers
with my bare, bloody hands. I tied the stained red
cord to a door handle, then returned to the dark spill,
Realizing without care just how utterly insane I must have looked,

(46:51):
covered in blood and daubing it over seemingly random objects.
I peered into that reflective crimson pool, and the humor vanished.
That blood stain in the making would likely be my tomb.
As comfortable as it was, I practiced that odd manner
of breathing, trying to maintain the peculiar rhythm a few

(47:13):
times until it felt natural. Stared into the black spill, deliberating,
Then I jumped in my senses fought to understand or
comprehend my falling into the mirrored room of air thick
and fluid. A vermilion murk gradiated into black nooks and shadows,

(47:35):
tracing the contours of what looked to be ornately carved
coral with strange geometry. Every accent, corner and angle repeated
in a fractal pattern that echoed in an artistic beauty
that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. My hands flowed through
the rippling current of dense, dark air, and I felt

(47:57):
pressure from every angle on my skin that was dry.
From inside the impossible place, I heard a soft hum,
the buzzing rumble from the oscillator's current. I looked down
to the mirrored ceiling and over to the door to
the adjacent room. I thought my lungs ache and realized

(48:18):
I wasn't breathing. The twine was gripped firmly in my
tight fist, and my heart beat against my chest. I
could hear it as if under water, yet I was
neither in liquid or air. I closed my eyes, blocking
out the strange chamber that called to memory ruins of
an ancient civilization. Then I tried to breathe. The coppery

(48:42):
taste of blood choked me as it filled my mouth.
When I inhaled the dense air, panic flared. I was
suddenly both light headed and terrified as spots formed in
my peripheral vision. I was going to drown, suffocate, or die,
never to be found in there, and the air thickened
as if aware of my raising anxiety focus. I opened

(49:06):
my eyes wide, feeling that thick, dark air flowing over
my eyeballs, and then I concentrated on my lungs and
tried again breathe in deep slight exhale, breathe in deep release.
I soon stopped coughing and regained my composure as I
focused on the strange, flanging sound of my breathing. The

(49:31):
taste was bitter, and I felt the air enter my
bronchial tubes within my lungs. It was foreign and violating,
painful yet vital. Slowly I relaxed into the rhythm and
was able to clear my head. I was inside that
impossible place, and I was alive. I took a few

(49:52):
steps on the strange black rock floor that mirrored the
ceiling of the room that I had entered into. The solitarire.
A yellow bulb dangling from this room's ceiling was mimicked
in this plane, yet it was formed from rectangular bismuth
crystals of obsidian stone in a sculpturesque replica. I marveled

(50:13):
at the strange formation for only a moment when I
heard a choking scream from under the door in the
porous black wall. I walked as quickly as the pressure
would allow through the murky chamber, uncoiling that coarse twine
in my trembling hand. Through the doorway, I saw the
limp form of Jeremy in his threadbare t shirt and jeans.

(50:37):
He was clearly unconscious, his eyes rolled back in his
head and a grimace fixed on his pale face. It
took me a moment to notice the coiling, flaky, white
hook of flesh around his ankle. I walked into the
long corridor, focusing on the patterned breathing that was keeping
me alive. Something was dragging him. I smelt it like

(51:00):
a coppery, peaty stench that tickled my nostril hairs, and
screamed into my reptilian brain to run something I wished
I hadn't glimpsed, but I had nothing two or three
dimensional could ever describe that nightmarish form. Teeth sprouted teeth,

(51:20):
which in turn sprouted teeth. Eyes spiraled outward in every direction,
budding other glistening orbs that weaved into infinite patterns. It
resonated with both horror and beauty, seemingly facing every angle simultaneously.
My mind's attempt to comprehend it built a sharp, excruciating

(51:40):
pain in my temples. I collapsed to my knees as
numerous venous tongues twisted out into millions of other, smaller,
branching duplicates that flickered out from a hideous, amorphic mouth.
I had to physically turn my head away with my
shaking hands. When I did, I could hear a shrill
screen that I only then realized was coming from my

(52:02):
own throat. Breathe in deep slight exhale, breathe in deep release, repeat.
I lowered my gaze to the floor, coughing violently as
I fought to regain that pattern of irregular breathing. It
took a few minutes, and when I looked up only
slightly to see where Jeremy was, he was gone, tugged

(52:26):
up through a twisting passage of ridged steps in the
ceiling that mirrored the stairway down in Jeremy's home. I
uncoiled more of that rough twine in my fist, walking
closer to the shadowy square hole in the ceiling where
it had taken him from behind me, I heard a deep,
bubbling howl, neither animal nor human. I didn't dare turn

(52:49):
my head back to look. My only option was to
press on. I moved through towards that strange passage above
building the courage to climb that porous dark wall and
follow Jeremy's dragged body deeper within. Inside the arcane structure

(53:09):
mirroring my cousin's house. Something was dragging his unconscious body
further inside it. I waded through the thick air, which
seemed to glide over my skin with a cold resistance.
Intricately patterned walls and doorways shifted slowly into hypnotic new shapes,
as if alive. The deep bellow of something behind me

(53:32):
sounded as I rushed toward the porous black surface of
the wall ahead. Leading up. I quickly tucked the hardback
guidebook into the back of my jeans to free both hands,
then began my climb into the dark passage above. I
strained to lift myself up the poked walls that resembled
volcanic rock. The sharp surface dug into my fingertips with

(53:54):
jagged edges, causing me to hiss in pain. As I climbed.
The physical exertion caused my breathing to quicken, and I
paused to pace myself and regain the pattern of my
careful breathing. As I continued up into the murky depths
of the passage, a constant humming from the oscillating current
vibrated the shifting walls, a constant reminder of the high voltage,

(54:18):
helping stabilize the impossible place. After a few minutes of climbing,
I'd reached another chamber. I breathed in the thick, cold
air in that forced pattern and removed the book, flipping
it open to try and understand how to proceed. I
opened it to the third chapter, skimming over these strange

(54:40):
details for insight. Keep listening, we'll continue with this creepypasta,
The Beginner's Guide to Blood Portals when we where darkness returns.

(55:23):
Chapter three, Surveying Time is precious when within, as the
oscillating electric charge will gradually disrupt both cellular balance and function.
Ions on the surface of a cell's plasma membrane may
experience irreparable cellular degradation after just twenty five minutes time,

(55:43):
so keep any surveying short. I read the words with
a slow blink of the thick dark atmosphere. As I
understood the need to hurry, I skimmed through a few paragraphs,
looking for insight on how to get Jeremy from the
thing that it nearly cost me my life at just
seeing it. I spotted something a few pages in Entities

(56:07):
within will feed on any foreign source of protein without prejudice,
as they have become accustomed to paralytic and comatose prey
that unfortunately finds itself within their realm. Rapid movement can
be used advantageously. I closed the book and tucked it
back in my waistband, Realizing how critical time was, I

(56:30):
raced toward the pale, limp body of Jeremy, barely visible
ahead in the shadowy corner of the room. The gurgling
moan of whatever had been dragging him deeper within the
illogical place made it clear it had no intention of
releasing him. I focused my gaze to the moving floor,
which grew crystal like patterns as I watched. By squinting

(56:51):
and blurring my vision, I was able to unFocus my
eyes as my mind fought to identify that thing dragging
him deeper within. In a moment as heroic as it
was stupid, I charged, screaming out into the dense vapor
of strange, dark air, and I reached Jeremy. In a
swift motion. I grabbed his ankle and yanked forcefully. An

(57:15):
aggressive howl that pierced my ears rang out, twisting and
echoing in a maddening cry that trembled throughout me. But
Jeremy was freed. My heart pounded and I began to choke,
and I struggled to continue the strange pattern of breathing
as I quickly dragged his body across the shifting floor,
which now seemed to grow taller rapidly. My heart sank

(57:39):
as I realized what was occurring. The portal was collapsing.
I dragged Jeremy by a sock that seemed to flake
and dissolve under my grasp. I looked down to make
sure his leg was still intact, and then I felt
a powerful tug that jarred my arm and its socket
with a sharp pain. That thing was trying to get

(58:00):
its protein back. Time was dwindling. The crystalline patterns grew
rapidly on the floor, climbing over my dissolving sneakers. I
screamed once again. The sound stopped short as I yanked
back in a strange tug of war with Jeremy's unconscious body,
with a violent heave that lit up the nerves throughout

(58:21):
my arm. I finally freed him. I dragged him back
towards the stairwell, and my panic multiplied. The large stairwell,
mirrored in ancient black stone, was a fraction of its
original size. It was now a narrow tunnel, twisting and warped,
shifting in texture rapidly as new layers formed over the

(58:43):
animated walls. The twin tether I had stretched throughout was
thin as a strand of dry spaghetti, frayed and disintegrating
before my panicked eyes. There was no time to think.
I leaned forward, supported by the dragged body of my cousin,
who grunted in a pained moan as he came to hang
in there. Jeremy I called out as I strained to

(59:05):
squeeze him through the tunnel of strange collapsing geometry. Say it,
he mumbled, weakly, barely pronouncing his words. I scraped my
hands on the walls of that tunnel, which had thinned
to the diameter of a manhole. It as I pulled
my slurring cousin through. Uh huh, I responded, barely, able
to find the remaining thread of the tether. Say I

(59:28):
was right, Jeremy mumbled, as if talking in his sleep.
I felt my blood pressure rise at the audacity of
the request. Are you kidding me? I replied, merely considering
letting go of him. Oh for crying out loud, Jeremy, Yeah, fine,
you were right. I could say with absolute certainty that
this is not a good thing. But you were right. Happy.

(59:49):
I asked that and waited for a reply, but there
was none. I looked down at him, only to see
he passed out again. I did a double take when
I got a good look at his face, which was
now and flaky, as if severely soun burnt cellular degradation.
The words pounded in my head as I understood the
severity of that meaning. Now with a heaving yank that

(01:00:11):
screamed with pain in my shoulder, I only then realized
was dislocated. I had dragged my cousin into the remainder
of the room I had first entered into. It was smaller,
built up in patterned layers of crystal like growth which
closed in on the space. I gently dropped my cousin,
who's played on the floor like a rag doll, and

(01:00:32):
I looked up, eager to find the exit above. It
wasn't there. I spun around to search the walls. Nothing.
The exit to that strange and horrific dimension collapsing rapidly
around us was gone. I was in a room that
no longer had an exit, and the thick air was
closing in as it ate my cousin and I alive Jeremy,

(01:00:56):
I shouted, shaking the limp body of my cousin by
a shit. His face was red and slightly swollen. The
proteins in his body were clearly dissolving, and soon I
felt a growing itch over my skin. It was faint
at first, then the tickle continued to spread into an
irritating itch. I reached around the walls for any sign

(01:01:17):
of the twine I had pulled into this strange, horrific place,
but there was none. I flipped open the book and
read with shaking hands as I flipped desperately through for answers,
Chapter four tethering. Due to the volatile nature of matter
within these folds, openings are likely to close upon the

(01:01:37):
tether and obscure the window, which can lead to a
quick demise. It is vital to gauge an approximation of
the window created and physically move the matter in order
to clear the path. Of course, this solution comes with
its own setbacks. The rapid degeneration of a fold is
coarse and difficult to manipulate. Be sure to bring a tool,
preferably metal, as it will degrade at less rapid rate

(01:02:00):
than porous, less dense materials see Disintegration of foreign Matter,
page two fifty four. I looked to the strange, vibrating
substance at the low ceiling black and animated like a
magnetically triggered thorough fluid. I rushed over and pushed aside
the growing mass, feeling the sharp surface that cut into
my hand as I pushed it away Like metal filings,

(01:02:23):
My hands were bright red, flaking wisps of thin layers
of skin, and the tickle, which had become an itch,
was now a stinging pain. I watched in awe as
the blood from my hand clouded in inky red trails
of smoke that floated within the illogical dark air. As
horrifying and painful as the experience was, a small part

(01:02:45):
of me was amazed that a world so secretive and hidden,
so completely fantastic and impossible, existed. I pushed away at
the heavy shale like growth of the living pattern, foot
after foot, as if digging into the earth. As I
searched for the way out. Just as the pain flared
into an unbearable burn, I saw a dim red glow

(01:03:06):
peeking out from the black build up. I looked down
at my hands, which were split open, revealing puffy red
muscle within the lacerations. I looked closer in horror, seeing
the white of bone within one of the slivers. When
I checked back at Jeremy to make sure he was okay,
I shouted from shock at the sight of him. The

(01:03:26):
room was now only a fraction of the size. The
chamber we'd come from was entirely blocked over. The room
we were in was the size of a small bathroom
at this point, and the floor had rapidly grown over
Jeremy's unconscious form. His appearance was horrific. His face was deteriorated,
stripped raw and red multiple layers, as permanent damage to

(01:03:49):
his skin had clearly taken place. The T shirt and
jeans he'd worn were now spider webs of thread, revealing
his eaten away skin that emerged from a cluster of black,
polygonal noise. I raced back and hammered away at the
build up, trying my best to chip away the enclosing
floor and walls that clung to him like wet asphalt.

(01:04:09):
I screamed from the pain as the sting that spread
over my own skin shifted another few degrees on the
pain scale into a steady, stinging burn. Jeremy, I screamed
down to his slack face that sank slightly into the floor.
At this point, Jeremy, wake up, I cried, as a
knot formed in my stomach. I wasn't even sure if

(01:04:31):
he was even alive anymore. The portal was closing and
swallowing everything within. Every instinct screamed to abandon him, that
I'd be sealing my fate in death. If I stayed.
But I kept clawing away the living material that closed
in until I'd freed him enough to yank him out
of my slippery, wet arm. The pain in my own

(01:04:51):
mangled hands distorted the feeling of his arm in mine,
but when I looked back down at it, I could
see the skin had eroded nearly down to the I
dragged his slippery hand as I climbed the narrow path upward,
and then continued to chip away at the rapidly closing
exit to that hostile rift. I was soon screaming in

(01:05:12):
pain as I clawed at the speedily closing build up
from the red oval window in space that puddle of
blood had somehow created. I felt a snap, refusing to
look and register that even I knew was the loss
of one of my fingers. I just dug away until
the surface was breached. Then I climbed, dragging Jeremy's body
through the exit. The lights nearly blinded me, and I

(01:05:35):
began choking immediately upon crossing back into his room, where
the air was thinner, warmer, and of a different nature entirely.
I had to force myself to remember how to breathe,
breathe in deep release. I yanked Jeremy up by the forearm.
Both he and I were drenched red with blood. He

(01:05:57):
looked terrifying. A hole had eroded in the heat of
his cheek, revealing visible molars in a ghastly grin. His
eyes were wide orbs, and it took a moment to
register the fact that his eyelids had deteriorated completely. I
caught a glimpse of my own hands and let out
a whimper. Two fingers were flayed split down, revealing the

(01:06:19):
muscle and white, bulbous knuckles within. They trembled as I coughed,
and then I vomited what looked to be a pint
of blood onto the floor, not far from the poddle
we'd emerged from. I tugged Jeremy out as much as
I could, but his lower legs were stuck. They remained
in that impossible puddle as it dried over completely, with
the dull glaze amputating the remainder in that deadly, mysterious

(01:06:43):
realm outside of our own I cried tears of joy
as I heard Jeremy's gurgling gasps for air. He was alive.
I wiped the tears with the rags remaining of my shirt,
and I called an ambulance or emergency response. As they
answered now to the corner of my eye, I stared
in disbelief at the strange hardcover book on the floor

(01:07:06):
by a bright yellow wallet and a peculiar looking device
where his spawn had been near the drying pool of blood.
I tried to wrap my brain around how it was
back with us in the room. I knew I'd left
it in there, and this room was eerily clean. Curiosity
got the better of me, and I walked over to

(01:07:27):
the wallet, wondering who'd put them there. As I switched
off that humming oscillator, also somehow different. I picked up
the wallet, yellow velcro and emblazoned with some local soccer team.
I flipped it open in confusion, finding a Colorado license,
insurance card, and a few CRISP twenty dollars bills within.

(01:07:48):
It was Jeremy's, but he looked clean cut and almost
normal Colorado, I asked aloud in the confusion. He'd never
been there. Tried to piece things together, but refused to cooperate.
As the reality of the situation became more apparent and
far more terrifying, as I noticed other details about the

(01:08:10):
now clean room, the cell phone kind, and the pile
of his belongings simply didn't exist as far as I knew.
I picked up the strange phone, its white plastic shell
lined with orange and brown accents, emblazoned with the familiar
name Commodore. The shivers throughout my blood soaked spine multiplied

(01:08:31):
as I then saw the green flashing lights approach the
house and that siren that sounded in strange digital bursts.
I walked over to the book and picked it up
in my butchered, bloody hands and flipped it open to
the fifth chapter. I read as my heart pounded in
my chest and my vision blurred from tears. Chapter five, Returning.

(01:08:55):
Little is known about the ability to return to one's
plane of origin. While explorers have been documenting these ruptures
in the fold for dozens in some planes, even hundreds
of years, there has been nothing to suggest a return
is actually possible. Aside from the fact nothing suggests it
is not. Prepare for a one way trip each time

(01:09:16):
you travel. I looked out the window to the yellow
van marked emergency response, lit by the flickering strobe of
green led lights through the leafless trees below. I stumbled
and fell to my aching knees, overwrought with trepidation as
I realized this was not our world. The conclusion to

(01:09:43):
a Beginner's Guide to Blood Portals is up next on
Weird Darkness. I had dragged my severely injured cousin from

(01:10:08):
the electromagnetically charged puddle of his own blood. What we
came out into was a different version of his home.
It happened so quickly it was hard to even process it.
The banging on the door sounded, I know, I heard that.
I faded in and out of consciousness as I was
placed on a stretcher and carefully taken down the stairs

(01:10:29):
by men in fluorescent yellow garb reminiscent of what a
fireman might wear. I tried to ask questions, but even
in my fatigued delirium, I knew I wasn't pronouncing any words,
just a faint mumble. Either shock or exhaustion helped me
separate from the experience. As I was loaded into the
back of the emergency services van, the strobing bursts of

(01:10:53):
green lit the flawless facade of the alternate home of
my cousin. The workers in their yellow vinyl garb were
professional and coordinated, assuring me they would get me the
treatment needed as soon as possible. They placed a rubbery
anesthetic mask over my nose, and I looked into the
kind face of a man in his mid thirties who

(01:11:13):
assured me that they'd take care of my friend. I
tried to correct him by mumbling cousin, but was out
before I had a chance. I woke up in a
room wallpapered with a lavender floral pattern. I appeared to
be in a fairly swanky apartment of sorts. My hazy
eyes fixed on the smooth overhead light fixture, then following

(01:11:37):
the pattern of the wallpaper. It was only when I
turned my head to the left fully that I saw
the plastic bag with an IV drip, as if on cue.
A face I recognized from the ride over walked in
underneath a sweater and slacks casual attire. Mister Stanton, how
are you feeling? He asked with that warm smile as

(01:11:59):
he inner relaced his fingers over his stomach. I hadn't
even thought about how I was feeling until he had asked.
My pain was gone. I feel fine, I guess, I
spoke and then added, where am I you were with
emergency services, mister Stanton, The man stated, calmly, I figured
you would recognize it, or at least me. After waking up,

(01:12:24):
a smile had slipped off his face, replaced by a
look of worry. My fuzzy brain tried to patch together
the events that impossible geometrical nightmare that nearly consumed me.
My cousin, Jeremy is he. I couldn't even say it.
I knew he was gone when I'd seen his eroded face,

(01:12:45):
the bared teeth and eaten eyelids from that terrifying dimensional
fold that shouldn't couldn't exist. Jeremy will be fine, the
man added, walking closer to the side of the bed
in that room that looked like a metropolitan apartment, but
a bit too pristine. We have two prosthetics to replace
the lost portion of his legs. I'm more concerned about

(01:13:06):
your mental state. The look in his eyes flickered with
a coldness that sent shivers up my spine. You don't
recognize me, he asked, sincerely. Something told me to play along,
and so I did. A I'm sorry, I'm just in
shock and a bit exhausted. I suggested, hoping to buy

(01:13:27):
some time to piece together just what exactly was going on.
Of course, I'll check on you after you get some rests,
he said, and walked back out of the room, looking
back with one of those concerned eyes that seemed to
tell me I'd be better off remembering. I sighed out,
and then looked to the bureau with a flat screen
TV and a cactus resting on it. The nightstand to

(01:13:51):
my left had a call button and a few pamphlets
about treatment options and patient rites. It was what appeared
to be a hospital, lacking all of the uncomfortable sterility
that defined one. I found a small remote and figured
out how to power the TV, which I only then
realized displayed a clean logo reading Lorimar never heard of that.

(01:14:14):
I flipped from channel to channel of countless television shows
that simply did not exist. There was nothing remarkable for
the most part. They were similar reality TV shows and
standard films, bachelor and home improvement programming. I even recognized
a few of the actors and began to think my
fears were just that. Then I stumbled across the news.

(01:14:39):
I watched the TV in a headache, formed as I
heard the newscaster discuss the citizens' states. It only then
hit me as I watched the strangely sectioned off districts
of the country during the weather. This was another version
of my world. My heart thumped loudly, triggering the soothing

(01:15:00):
beep for a nurse, who soon came in to check
on me. A man in a Crimson Vinyl outfit entered,
and he lacked the friendliness of the previous man. I
watched the group share ideas around a table for a
bit before I understood they were the leaders of the nation.
It was a panel of four spokespeople for different demographics,
two men and two women, discussing tax ballots at a table,

(01:15:22):
casually sipping coffee. I barely felt the needle in my
arm as the nurse slipped it into the thin skin
of the crook of my elbow. I was too busy
trying to wrap my head around the next segment. The
perfectly koifed reporter disgusted a breaking story. My clenched teeth
parted from the calming effect of the drugs entering my vein.

(01:15:43):
Drool slipped from the corner of my mouth as the
medication coursed through my blood, dulling the sharp panic into
a cloudy afterthought. My face was there on the news,
staring back at me from a picture I had never taken.
It was me, listed as Will Stanton, and I looked
bedraggled and angry. I listened to the reporter continue on

(01:16:08):
about the man who'd been missing for months after stealing
blood packs from the ES station. He worked at The
words scrolling beneath my photo blurred as my heavy eyes closed,
and the reporter's soothing voice spoke the velvety words unstable,
fugitive that finally lulled me to sleep. I woke to

(01:16:29):
the voice of my cousin. It took a while to
adjust from my foggy dream to the clear interior of
the room. I then remembered the strange hospital. I jolted upright,
looked into the deformed face of Jeremy in the doorway.
A glaze of repairing ointment of some sort was slathered
over his exposed skin, catching the overhead lighting with an

(01:16:50):
eerie glow. The hole at his creek was a crater
of exposed teeth. He looked like something out of a
horror movie. He wheeled himself over in a car carbon
fiber wheelchair that looked light and slimmer than I had
ever seen. The knubs of his amputated legspandaged. I'm sorry,
I'm so so sorry, he said, staring those lidless, bulging

(01:17:13):
orbs of bloodshot white that framed milky blue irises at me.
I propped myself up in my elbows, only then looking
to my pink arms also coated with some gel to
facilitate a speedy recovery. My blurry eyes focused on a
tall figure of shiny crimson. Behind him, a sturdy looking
employee stood by in that slick vinyl uniform. I only

(01:17:38):
then began to wonder if the red was meant to
prevent the staining of blood. I'm so glad you're alive,
I said to Jeremy, knowing he needed to hear it.
And I was wrong about everything, especially my arrogant assumptions.
I spoke with sincerity. I watched Jeremy's head fall forward,

(01:17:58):
looking down since he was unable to eyes. I never
met for anything to happen to you, Jeremy muttered in
a shaky voice as his streamlined wheelchair was wheeled backwards.
I owe you my life, and he was wheeled out
as a large man in a red vinyl uniform entered
to read me the equivalent of Miranda rights. The charges

(01:18:21):
against me would lead to appropriate time in a recovery center,
this place's term for a jail. The man held out
a slim tablet of sorts made by the company Commodore,
with patterned plastic that appeared both decades old and futuristic.
He held the device with shiny red gloves, displaying a

(01:18:41):
man who looked identical to myself breaking into emergency services building,
sifting through records, and pilfering blood packs. I had no
case that was clearly me. Still, questions grew as the
screen showed further footage and mounting evidence against me that
sent shiver down my spine. The alternate version of me

(01:19:03):
had apparently broken into multiple stations over the course of
the year. He eyed had been apprehended before and taken
to a recovery services already. The frowning man in red
said nothing as he held out that screen. I watched
as each of my crimes was displayed to ensure I
understood the severity of my punishment. The high definition footage

(01:19:28):
played on, showing my time in the other facility. Sitting
there in a red plastic walled chamber, naked on the
floor in the corner. The mirror version of me was
crying and screaming about how he didn't belong there, how
he was from another place, while text overlaying the screen
displaying evidence of mental instability soon switched to yellow to

(01:19:51):
read evidence of theft of government property. As another feed
showed me procuring what appeared to be a piece of
metal from my armpit in a a plastic cell devoid
of anything but a drain. I watched in shock as
the me on that screen cut his arm open, spilling
blood to the floor before collapsing from blood loss, reminiscent

(01:20:12):
of watching Jeremy do the same on my phone screen.
The text changed to read evidence of self harm and
escaping an eess, and I watched as my doppelganger's limp
body was lifted out onto a stretcher and wheeled into
a facility like the one I was in. The man
with my face only then wearing any clothing a thin

(01:20:36):
hospital gown, managed to work the rubber restraints until freeing
himself from the bed. I watched as a number in
the lower left climbed, only then realizing it was the
sentence date, accumulating with each offense, the number shifted from
a yellow two to a yellow four. I watched as
the alternate version of myself on screen called a worker in,

(01:20:57):
then choked them from behind and stole o their key
fob for the door. The text shifted to read evidence
of assaulting a government employee, and I shivered as I
saw the yellow four climb to an orange fifteen. The
time stamp of the footage sped up rapidly in the
lower right of the commodore's tablet screen to show hours

(01:21:19):
passing as it fast forward it. The collapsed employees shifted
on the ground a bit before waking up, then reached
into their pocket. Still slumped on the floor, they removed
a pill bottle and opened it hastily. As the footage
returned to normal speed, they dumped the sole pill in
the plastic bottle into their hand, then accidentally dropped it.

(01:21:40):
I watched in confusion as to why this particular sequence
continued on for so long. The pill rolled under a cabinet.
The employee wiggled to try and reach it, but it
was clearly too far underneath. The man on the floor
struggled a bit as he grabbed his chest and then
collapsed flat and still. The text shifted to read evidence

(01:22:02):
of causing the death of a government employee. No, I
mouthed as my insides iced over. My gaze shifted to
the orange fifteen, which then vanished from the screen. I
then felt the world collapse as the number was replaced
by red text reading euthanize. I was too weak to
even struggle as he bound my wrists with rubber cuffs

(01:22:25):
and lifted me gently to my feet. I tried to
speak on my own behalf, but the futility of trying
was beyond apparent. Everything I could even try to say,
he'd heard it all before. I remember being lifted up
and frog marched through the hall. I realized only death
awaited me, likely in some lovely postmodern death house. My

(01:22:50):
throat dried and I was sweating so much. I wondered
where the other version of me was who came here,
realizing he must have somehow opened another window and escaped
to some other plane of existence that mostly mirrored our own.
I saw the trees and the highways out of the
window when I heard a loud, meaty banging sound from

(01:23:10):
behind me. I soon fell onto my knees with a
jarring pain that pulsed through my bones. I felt the
rubber wrist restraints being unfastened. Take this and run, The
familiar voice called from behind me, Jeremy. I called back
and turned enough to see the collapsed body of the
man marching me out where Jeremy's feet would have been

(01:23:32):
in that ultra modern wheelchair. This is all my fault,
and there's no time to argue. There's a group of
them around the corner coming to pick you up. I
saw them. I'm sorry. Now run. Jeremy looked down at
me from the wheelchair, a mutilated face incapable of any expression.
But that ghastly grin in his deteriorated arms was the

(01:23:53):
metallic canister of compressed oxygen he'd used to take down
the large worker sprawled out cold on the floor. I
strained as I lifted my aching body to its feet.
As the sound of marching boots came closer to the corner,
I glanced down the red carpeted hallway, showing an exit
marked by a green led shaped like trees. Jeremy held

(01:24:14):
out a keyfob from the fallen employee, and I took
it in my butchered hands and swiped it over the reader.
Turning back to face him, I gave him a solemn nod,
well aware I'd likely never see him again. Then I
ran outside and in too the sunlit unknown. Thanks for listening.

(01:24:42):
If you like the show, please share it with someone
you know who loves the paranormal or strained stories, true crime, monsters,
or unsolved mysteries like you do. All stories in Weird
Darkness are purported to be true unless stated otherwise, and
you can find source links or links to the authors
in the show notes. The true story Murderous Michael Cleary

(01:25:03):
was written by Ryan Becker and Kelly Gaines from the
audiobook Murderous Minds Volume four, and the horror fiction story
or Creepy Pasta, A beginner's guide to blood Portals is
by Michael Squid, posted at creepypasta dot com. I also
have a link to Michael Squid's official website in the
show notes, where you can find more of his stories,

(01:25:24):
as well as his artwork, music, and YouTube channel. Weird
Darkness is a production and trademark of Marler House Productions.
Copyright Weird Darkness and now that We're coming out of
the dark. I'll leave you with a little light Psalm
one hundred twenty one, verses one and two. I lift
up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help

(01:25:46):
come from. My help comes from the Lord, the maker
of heaven and earth. And a final thought, remember two
things define who you are. One your patience when you
have nothing. Two your attitude when you have everything. I'm

(01:26:08):
Darren Marler. Thanks for joining me in the weird darkness.

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