Tommy From the Sewer

Welcome to Scary Story Podcast. I've gotten your messages and request on your five star reviews. Thank you for that. I'll mention more at the end of the episode. We have two short stories today, Tommy from the Sewer and the Lady in the front seat. Are you ready? My name is Edwin and here is a scary story. Tommy from the Sewer. When I was twelve years old, my dog died. When I got home from school and went inside through the kitchen door. I left the side door open, just a crack, which Biscuit used to squeeze himself out. I noticed when I heard his barking coming from the outside of the house. I rushed to the front door, pushed it open, and saw Biscuits about to head into the old community center. I went across from the elementary school where I had gone. I ran toward him, calling his name down the street. He stopped just before crossing it and looked back at me. I remember it as clearly as I know my own name. He looked down at the curve and started barking aggressively at something in front of him. He ran a few steps back toward me and then turned around to keep barking. Something had caught his attention. I was running at full speed toward him, but it was then when he was hurled into the street, and then out of nowhere, a large delivery truck hit him and he fell to the side of the road, his hind leg twitching as I watched in terror, as his stomach stopped bobbing up and down to the rhythm of his lungs, and just like that, he was gone. It's hard to figure out what to do when you never imagined yourself in such a situation. I chose to run out into the middle of the street in shock. I called out his name, begging him to please move from his bizarre, stretched out position. The delivery truck was pulled over in front of us. Now the driver came out and asked if he could call my parents. I barely remember the guy. I know. I remembered him as a driver of the truck, but that was it in my mind. He had no face, no name, no tone of voice. It was just some guy, some guy who had killed my dog. I don't remember the conversations with my parents either. The driver talked to them about what had happened, but he tried to get himself out of trouble by saying that the dog jumped into the street, but Biscuit had not jumped. I saw him. I watched the whole thing. He was pulled as if he had been on a lee shore, pushed, startled into the street. Kid had been entertained, barking at something underneath him. He wasn't about to cross. He was afraid of crossing the street, even when we took him out for walks. For God's sake, how could he be trying to get out of the blame by saying that the dog had jumped onto the street. But the guy, whoever he was, stuck to it, and my parents let him go. I don't know what else they could have done, but he drove off after taking the life of my best friend. I barely remember this part, but my parents reminded me for some time of how badly I took it. It was a little before Christmas too. I think the following day had been the last one of school before winter break, but it didn't feel like it. They say that I used to walk to the corner where Biscuit died, and I would sit on the curb, And yes, that was true. I remember walking by myself out of nowhere, getting the urge to go walk to where I had last seen him. There was no blood, There were no cries, not even a yelp, just a sudden thud and death. One night, while I was about to walk back from the corner of the elementary school and the community center, I saw a boy hitting a fallen branch from a nearby tree against the concrete of the curb. He looked my way and waved a small branch, no leaves, but still green. I was hoping that he wasn't one of those kids that liked play fighting with fake swords made out of paper tubes or yardsticks, like the kids in my class. But he looked to be about my age, maybe ten or eleven. He walked up to me and asked what I was doing. I told him that I was doing nothing, just sitting on the curb. Do you go to Johnson Elementary, he asked. I didn't know where that was, but I told him that I was already in middle school. But where did you go to elementary? He asked me across the street. When elementary he looked at me and laughed. Johnson Elementary, he repeated, and laughed. In the strangest way I had ever heard. His mouth moved back and his eyes rolled a little when he laughed. I didn't get the joke that the kid was creeping me out with his questions in the branch she was holding. I told him that I was going to go home. When he interrupted, telling me that he knew about what had happened to my dog, that he was sorry. I stayed quiet. It was the only reason I had been going back to that corner. I had passed by Biscuit's water bowl every single day, having to remember that I didn't have to fill it up anymore. After reliving the day he died, I stood up from the curb that the kid stood up with me. He was a lot shorter than me, thin, with brownish hair that covered part of his eyes. He leaned closer. I can bring him back to life, you know, he said, making it sound kind of like an offer. His mouth stretched into a wide smile. I told him i'd see him later, and then walked quickly back to my house. I was afraid to turn back and have him see that he had scared me. What kind of joke was that? I thought more and more about that corner of the street as the days got closer to the twenty fifth of December, but I didn't want to bump into that kid anymore, so it just sort of stopped going. One afternoon, my mom asked my dad to drop me off at my friend's house. We could play with one of the new Pokemon games that had come out. She thought it would be good for me. When I got there, we got to play, talking and eating dinner that his mom had prepared. I had known Ben ever since elementary school and second grade actually, but his parents and my parents had gone there too, and I think one of his grandparents had been one of the first kids in it. They were always interested in talking about how school was for me and if I had decided what I wanted to do when I grew up, I would always tell them about the same thing. But I don't know that day, I just wasn't feeling it. My friend's dad arrived when I was about halfway done with the spaghetti, and with his usual energy, he asked me the usual questions, but I remember seeing his wife give him a look. That's when he decided to stay quiet and then just abruptly changed the subject. It was an awkward silence at the dinner table by telling everyone about the strange kid from the park. They found it weird, just like me. But then my friend's mom started asking me more questions about him, and then asking my friend's dad questions about it too, as if they both knew who I had been talking about, what he looked like, what he was wearing, what his tone of voice was, and where he went to once he left. I told him what I knew, but once I told him what elementary school he went to, their expressions changed Johnson Elementary. They stared at each other for a bit while my friend and I were getting a little creeped out about the whole situation already. Do you want to hear a ghost story, his mom asked me. I said yes, more out of curiosity rather than wanting to hear a story. But then they both told me, and my body went cold. There was a boy in the seventies who disappeared from Johnson Elementary. That's what Win Elementary, the school where I went to, was called back. Then, after two days of intense searching, a runner reported a strange smell and rats coming from one of the storm drains. The went across the street from the school, that's where the boy, a kid named Tommy Charlesfield, had been found, his eyes completely gouged out, supposedly from the rats. The kids at the school all found out about the story, and even though he had been found in a storm drain, the name Tommy from the sewer stuck, and the kids would claim to see him at night trying to drag them into the storm drain. It was all fun and games until a second kid went missing and then was later found at the same location. They eventually we had community meetings and talks of a serial killer came about, and all they got around to doing was blocking off that storm drain and forgetting about it. But the story, at least around the kids at the elementary school survived the darkest night. Don't turn off the light for there out of sight. They'll give you a fright. Arrives with a smile, uses death as a lure. Boys and girls, come, welcome Tommy from the sewer. I think you saw Tommy, my friend's dad said, tapping me with the palm of his hand on my back. He smiled, His wife smiled. My friend smiled too. This next story is called the Lady in the Front Seat, and it is coming up. Right after this, it was almost two in the morning and we were finally about to get kicked out of the bar we were at. Most of my friends had left, and only my roommate and I were there waiting around for someone she had been dating on and off, but she never showed up was expected. Last call had been a long time ago, and the music was dying down. The lights were on, and the people were searching for their IDs, their phones, and signing receipts from their credit cards, wondering how much to tip. My roommate's phone was dead, so she asked me to get an uber to get us home, which I hesitated with because I knew she wasn't going to pay me back and it had been her turn to pay, but still we had no other choice. I requested it, and it was about four minutes away. You got her jacket and went out to the curb to wait for the driver, a guy named Mike. It was zerally quiet out there, with most of the people already gone in their own cars or walking down to the parking structure by the corner of the street. As an older couple exited the door from behind us and said good night and then walked away. Their steps in distant chatter were the only thing left before one of the waiters came out and asked if we had a ride, because it was about to close the door. I tend to be more cautious with these things, but my roommate interrupted me and told them that yes, we were waiting for a ride, and he said great and just shut the door just like that. I would have asked him to keep the door open just a minute longer so that we wouldn't be out there on our own at night, but again I had no choice but to follow along with what Mandy wanted. Turning around the corner was a white car, a Corolla, just on the edge of being too old for uber, but still I was relieved. Well, that wasn't until I saw that there were two people in the car, the driver and someone in the passenger seat. I looked at my roommate, who didn't seem to notice anything. She was waving at the car. I grabbed her by the arm and told her that we couldn't get in. There were two people in the car and that's not normal. It's probably even against policy of the rideshare company. Mandy promptly told me to be quiet and walked up to the car. The driver rolled down the window as he looked past the woman in the passenger seat and asked, Bailey, that's him. My roommate told me come on. I grabbed her arm again, wondering why she was so cool with someone else being in the car with him. Still, she opened the door and told me to calm down, making a joke that she was the one that had drank more than me. She scooted over to the side of the car and I was left there standing with the car door wide open. Mandy leaned forward and looked me in the eye, Bailey, get in. I got into the car and looked at the woman in front of me, her black hair tangled up and leaning to the right against the window glass. I don't know why, but I started thinking of the trick that my dad told me about that he had seen on the freeway. In order to be allowed on the car polinge without getting in trouble, a doll or a mannequin sitting on the passenger seat would do the trick. But then she moved closer to the window and turned her head to take a look at me. I looked at her and let out a nervous smile. She looked tired, dark patches around her eyes, her lipstick standing of her upper lip. I reached for Mandy's hand, only for her to shake it away and asked what was wrong with me? I could see the driver's eyes looking at us from the rear view mirror. In the awkward silence of the car, there was no way I'd be able to tell her what was going on, that the woman in the front seats was not normal. I could then see her twisting her neck even more to take a look at me, her eyes now peeking at me from the gap underneath her headdressed. That's when she smiled with that same wide smile I had seen countless times in scary movies, and that was my breaking point. I asked the driver who the woman was and why she was there. He looked at me and asked as politely as he could what I was talking about, But I couldn't follow his lead. I yelled, who was that woman in the passenger seat and why did she look at me like that? Mandy's expression changed that she stared at me. I could feel her eyes burning me on the side of my face for a bit before She leaned forward and apologized to Mike. He still kept it together, saying that it was okay that he wanted to know what I was talking about. Who was the woman in the front seat? Mandy repeated the same question in tone as a driver, I stayed quiet. Mandy once again apologized for me, saying that I had won too many drinks, even though I hadn't, but I did manage to calm down a bit. I thought it was your wife. I mean, I don't see anything wrong with it. It just looks so suspicious to people who are writing in your car, Bailey, There's no one there. I looked at the front it was empty. It's okay, Mike said, sounding a bit embarrassed for me. And no, my wife would not have driven with me while I do my job, he said. As we were pulling up to the door of our apartment building, he stopped the car. He looked at me and said, especially on our wedding anniversary. Mandy got loud as she always did when she got excited, and said, oh my god, it's your anniversary. What are you doing driving us around? Congratulations. Mike once again smiled nervously, then quietly, almost under his breath told us that his wife was not alive anymore. Scary Story Podcast is written and produced by me at Win kobar Uyas. It looks like we have more story requests in the form of five star reviews, which is new but very cool. We have a story request about a cursed child, one about an old skateboard. Tom from Tom's Short Scary Stories is requesting one about a phone filter, and a kiki god requesting one about a sleep booker. Plus all of you, including Mikayla Hope with amazing suggestions for a better show. This means a lot. Thank you. These ideas might turn into the next episode, and if you want to request something or make a suggestion, I'll leave a link to my voicemail where you can record straight from your phone and leave me a message. You can also find it on Scary Story podcast dot com. You can Google it or type it into Safari and then find the voicemail button. I replied to everyone. Up next, be sure to check out my other show called Scary Mystery Surprise. It's a funny chat show about scary topics with my co host Michelle. You can find it by searching for Scary Mystery Surprise on your podcast play. Thank you very much for listening, See you soon.