August 21, 2025 • 9 mins
#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #daniellarsoncase #psychologicalhorror #twistedrevenge #missingpersons #darkart When Daniel Larson vanished without a trace, no one could have guessed that the key to his disappearance lay within a kiln. This psychological horror story uncovers the terrifying truth behind a reclusive ceramist’s obsession, revenge, and creation of more than just pottery. As investigators peel back the layers of Daniel’s life and the artist’s past, they find that some art is crafted not from clay—but from vengeance. A chilling tale of obsession, betrayal, and the horrifying consequences of ignoring the quiet ones. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, daniellarson, twistedrevenge, psychologicalhorror, missingperson, creepyartist, horrorinvestigation, smalltowndarkness, kilnsecrets, disturbingtruth, horrorfiction, unsettlingart, obsession, betrayal, truecrimehorror
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
The last free morning of Daniel Larson's life came gently,
almost like the touch of a breeze that barely disturbs
the silence. He woke up to a soft haze of
sunlight spilling through the expansive windows of his high rise apartment,
a penthouse that overlooked the bustling city below. Everything felt calm,
still and unthreatening in that very moment. Daniel had no
(00:22):
idea that his life as he knew it was about
to unravel. Like a thread being pulled from a fine suit.
Stretching lazily, Daniel admired his surroundings, the expensive artwork, the
marble floor, the minimalist furniture that cost more than some
people made in a year. He chuckled to himself, looking
(00:43):
at his reflection in the glass. His white hair caught
the sun, giving it a surreal halo. Who would have
thought I'd end up here? He muttered. He had no
idea he was standing at the precipice of his own demise.
Daniel was a stockbroker, and not just any stockbroker. He
was the best, at least if you asked his superiors.
(01:04):
His record was spotless, his success unmatched, But Daniel knew better.
Behind his perfect numbers was a labyrinth of corruption, insider tips,
and shady deals. Still, that's how the game was played.
Every One looked the other way, and Daniel just looked further.
He always justified it, He told himself it was ok.
(01:27):
After all, he had a disabled brother to support. That
thought alone dulled any guilt that tried to rise in
his mind. Just as the morning light was at its
most golden, a sudden chill ran through him. There was
a strange hum, almost like a vibration, crawling up his spine.
He realized it was his phone, buzzing from the pocket
(01:48):
of his trousers, lying on the nearby chair. The name
flashing on the screen made his pulse quicken. Justin Lawson.
Justin was his informant, the guy with the dirt, the
guy who always knew before everyone else did. Panicked, breathless
and clearly losing it, Justin tried to explain something about
(02:08):
the latest scam being exposed. What bloody idiot slipped up,
Daniel barked, Listen, Justin, you keep feeding me tips and
I'll keep pretending you don't exist. That's the deal, capiche,
he said, smirking at his own brilliance. That smirk would
be his last, because from that point on, everything began
(02:32):
to crumble. Meanwhile, deep in the underbelly of the Dallas
Police Department, Deputy Chief of Police Richard Jackson was not
having a great day. Hung Over, disheveled, and practically dripping
with the scent of regret and stale whisky, he slumped
over a table in the station's tiny cafeteria. His head
throbbed in time with the fluorescent light's buzzing overhead. Across
(02:54):
from him stood Abraham, a brute from internal Affairs, who
munched obnoxiously on a sandwich, casting judgmental glances at Richard.
The smirk on Abraham's face made Richard want to throw
his coffee cup at the wall. No energy for that,
Though the past few years had been brutal, Richard had
been demoted, exiled to a dusty department tasked with handling
(03:17):
cold cases, the kind of cases no one gave a
damn about any more. One such case involved the mysterious
disappearance of eleven stockbrokers back in two thousand thirteen. Daniel
Larson was one of them. Most days, Richard didn't care.
Let the crooks rot He thought they made millions by
(03:37):
ripping off the public, and maybe the world was better
off without them. His wife had left him, his bank
account was a joke, and the bottle was his closest companion.
You shouldn't drink so much, Richard said Omar, his ever
loyal assistant, placing a hot cup of coffee in front
of him. You think I enjoy this, Richard snapped, you
(04:00):
think this is fun. Omar didn't flinch. He simply stared
back with those piercing blue eyes like he knew something
no one else did. Before he could offer one of
his usual philosophical quips, Richard sipped the coffee way too
hot and spat it out in a mist of scalding regret.
The coffee landed on an old newspaper lying open in
(04:21):
front of him. Something caught his eye. A scribbled note
in the margin of the twenty one year old paper read,
I know what happened to Daniel Larson, And just like that,
Richard was wide awake. Across town, in a large studio
filled with rows upon rows of pottery, a man stood
admiring his work. He was tall, well dressed, and his hands,
(04:44):
though skilled and practiced, carried the weight of secrets, shells
of sculptures, plates and pitchers stood like silent witnesses. Each
piece was unique, Each one sold for thousands. What the
buyers didn't I know was that some of these ceramics
contained human ash. Yes ash. It was his masterpiece of crimes.
(05:09):
Years ago, he had found a way to dispose of
bodies without suspicion, burn them and incorporate the remains into art. Genius,
he thought, poetic justice. The very wealthy who destroyed lives
through financial manipulation, now immortalized as teacups and saucers and
Daniel Larson. He was still alive, barely. The seramist had
(05:34):
kept him alive for ten long years in a modified kiln,
a prison disguised as art equipment. Every day, the same
haunting voice echoed from inside. Let me out. It's hot.
It never stopped. The seramist had been slowly raising the
temperature a few degrees at a time. Today it was
(05:55):
at fifty degrees celsius, not enough to kill, but just
enough to make life a living hell. He sometimes regretted
not turning the heat up faster. Daniel Larson didn't want
to die. He clung to life with a desperation. The
seramis found both pathetic and admirable. He opened the oven
door slightly to peer inside, blood feces urine. Daniel was
(06:22):
barely human, now a twisted shadow of the once proud
stockbroker Well Daniel, he whispered through the thick glass. Today's
the day. I'm turning the oven up to two hundred.
Let's see what a stockbroker looks like when he's burned
to a crisp. Daniel cried, he begged, he screamed. Then
(06:45):
don't do it, the voice boomed through the studio. Richard
Jackson had arrived, gun drawn, with Omar right behind him.
I know why you did this, Richard said, heart pounding.
It wasn't just about the money. It was about revenge.
Larsan's father killed your mother in that car accident, didn't he?
(07:07):
And afterward your own father abused you. I know, I
know all of it. But this, this isn't the way.
The Saramis stared at Richard, stunned. For a moment, he
looked like he might surrender. Then, with a sudden motion,
he shoved a nearby ceramic sculpture toward Omar. It crashed
(07:29):
on to Omar's foot with a sickening crunch. Omar collapsed
in agony. Richard raised his gun and fired, missed. The
Saramis bolted out the door. Richard stood frozen for a
split second. Then he looked toward the oven. Daniel's screams
were weaker. Now he made his choice. He rushed to
(07:52):
the oven, undid the lock, and pulled Daniel out. The
man was a wreck. His skin was blistered, his face unrecognizable.
His breath came in shallow gasps. I deserve this, Daniel whispered, everything,
all of it. I stole from the poor. I lied,
(08:14):
I cheated. I thought I was untouchable. Richard didn't reply,
He just knelt beside him. Later, in the sterile glow
of the hospital, Daniel began to recover. He was charged
with dozens of crimes, pleaded guilty to most of them.
His trial became a media circus. Richard and Omar were
(08:37):
awarded medals for bravery. The case of the missing stockbrokers
was finally closed. The Seramis disappeared, vanished without a trace.
But Daniel he lived, scarred, broken, remorseful. For the first
time in his life, he felt something like guilt. And
(08:59):
maybe just maybe redemption the end,
The last free morning of Daniel Larson's life came gently,
almost like the touch of a breeze that barely disturbs
the silence. He woke up to a soft haze of
sunlight spilling through the expansive windows of his high rise apartment,
a penthouse that overlooked the bustling city below. Everything felt calm,
still and unthreatening in that very moment. Daniel had no
(00:22):
idea that his life as he knew it was about
to unravel. Like a thread being pulled from a fine suit.
Stretching lazily, Daniel admired his surroundings, the expensive artwork, the
marble floor, the minimalist furniture that cost more than some
people made in a year. He chuckled to himself, looking
(00:43):
at his reflection in the glass. His white hair caught
the sun, giving it a surreal halo. Who would have
thought I'd end up here? He muttered. He had no
idea he was standing at the precipice of his own demise.
Daniel was a stockbroker, and not just any stockbroker. He
was the best, at least if you asked his superiors.
(01:04):
His record was spotless, his success unmatched, But Daniel knew better.
Behind his perfect numbers was a labyrinth of corruption, insider tips,
and shady deals. Still, that's how the game was played.
Every One looked the other way, and Daniel just looked further.
He always justified it, He told himself it was ok.
(01:27):
After all, he had a disabled brother to support. That
thought alone dulled any guilt that tried to rise in
his mind. Just as the morning light was at its
most golden, a sudden chill ran through him. There was
a strange hum, almost like a vibration, crawling up his spine.
He realized it was his phone, buzzing from the pocket
(01:48):
of his trousers, lying on the nearby chair. The name
flashing on the screen made his pulse quicken. Justin Lawson.
Justin was his informant, the guy with the dirt, the
guy who always knew before everyone else did. Panicked, breathless
and clearly losing it, Justin tried to explain something about
(02:08):
the latest scam being exposed. What bloody idiot slipped up,
Daniel barked, Listen, Justin, you keep feeding me tips and
I'll keep pretending you don't exist. That's the deal, capiche,
he said, smirking at his own brilliance. That smirk would
be his last, because from that point on, everything began
(02:32):
to crumble. Meanwhile, deep in the underbelly of the Dallas
Police Department, Deputy Chief of Police Richard Jackson was not
having a great day. Hung Over, disheveled, and practically dripping
with the scent of regret and stale whisky, he slumped
over a table in the station's tiny cafeteria. His head
throbbed in time with the fluorescent light's buzzing overhead. Across
(02:54):
from him stood Abraham, a brute from internal Affairs, who
munched obnoxiously on a sandwich, casting judgmental glances at Richard.
The smirk on Abraham's face made Richard want to throw
his coffee cup at the wall. No energy for that,
Though the past few years had been brutal, Richard had
been demoted, exiled to a dusty department tasked with handling
(03:17):
cold cases, the kind of cases no one gave a
damn about any more. One such case involved the mysterious
disappearance of eleven stockbrokers back in two thousand thirteen. Daniel
Larson was one of them. Most days, Richard didn't care.
Let the crooks rot He thought they made millions by
(03:37):
ripping off the public, and maybe the world was better
off without them. His wife had left him, his bank
account was a joke, and the bottle was his closest companion.
You shouldn't drink so much, Richard said Omar, his ever
loyal assistant, placing a hot cup of coffee in front
of him. You think I enjoy this, Richard snapped, you
(04:00):
think this is fun. Omar didn't flinch. He simply stared
back with those piercing blue eyes like he knew something
no one else did. Before he could offer one of
his usual philosophical quips, Richard sipped the coffee way too
hot and spat it out in a mist of scalding regret.
The coffee landed on an old newspaper lying open in
(04:21):
front of him. Something caught his eye. A scribbled note
in the margin of the twenty one year old paper read,
I know what happened to Daniel Larson, And just like that,
Richard was wide awake. Across town, in a large studio
filled with rows upon rows of pottery, a man stood
admiring his work. He was tall, well dressed, and his hands,
(04:44):
though skilled and practiced, carried the weight of secrets, shells
of sculptures, plates and pitchers stood like silent witnesses. Each
piece was unique, Each one sold for thousands. What the
buyers didn't I know was that some of these ceramics
contained human ash. Yes ash. It was his masterpiece of crimes.
(05:09):
Years ago, he had found a way to dispose of
bodies without suspicion, burn them and incorporate the remains into art. Genius,
he thought, poetic justice. The very wealthy who destroyed lives
through financial manipulation, now immortalized as teacups and saucers and
Daniel Larson. He was still alive, barely. The seramist had
(05:34):
kept him alive for ten long years in a modified kiln,
a prison disguised as art equipment. Every day, the same
haunting voice echoed from inside. Let me out. It's hot.
It never stopped. The seramist had been slowly raising the
temperature a few degrees at a time. Today it was
(05:55):
at fifty degrees celsius, not enough to kill, but just
enough to make life a living hell. He sometimes regretted
not turning the heat up faster. Daniel Larson didn't want
to die. He clung to life with a desperation. The
seramis found both pathetic and admirable. He opened the oven
door slightly to peer inside, blood feces urine. Daniel was
(06:22):
barely human, now a twisted shadow of the once proud
stockbroker Well Daniel, he whispered through the thick glass. Today's
the day. I'm turning the oven up to two hundred.
Let's see what a stockbroker looks like when he's burned
to a crisp. Daniel cried, he begged, he screamed. Then
(06:45):
don't do it, the voice boomed through the studio. Richard
Jackson had arrived, gun drawn, with Omar right behind him.
I know why you did this, Richard said, heart pounding.
It wasn't just about the money. It was about revenge.
Larsan's father killed your mother in that car accident, didn't he?
(07:07):
And afterward your own father abused you. I know, I
know all of it. But this, this isn't the way.
The Saramis stared at Richard, stunned. For a moment, he
looked like he might surrender. Then, with a sudden motion,
he shoved a nearby ceramic sculpture toward Omar. It crashed
(07:29):
on to Omar's foot with a sickening crunch. Omar collapsed
in agony. Richard raised his gun and fired, missed. The
Saramis bolted out the door. Richard stood frozen for a
split second. Then he looked toward the oven. Daniel's screams
were weaker. Now he made his choice. He rushed to
(07:52):
the oven, undid the lock, and pulled Daniel out. The
man was a wreck. His skin was blistered, his face unrecognizable.
His breath came in shallow gasps. I deserve this, Daniel whispered, everything,
all of it. I stole from the poor. I lied,
(08:14):
I cheated. I thought I was untouchable. Richard didn't reply,
He just knelt beside him. Later, in the sterile glow
of the hospital, Daniel began to recover. He was charged
with dozens of crimes, pleaded guilty to most of them.
His trial became a media circus. Richard and Omar were
(08:37):
awarded medals for bravery. The case of the missing stockbrokers
was finally closed. The Seramis disappeared, vanished without a trace.
But Daniel he lived, scarred, broken, remorseful. For the first
time in his life, he felt something like guilt. And
(08:59):
maybe just maybe redemption the end,
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