S3: E10 Library of Shadows | Just a Dirty Ol' Grandma | Horror Story

The shelves are full of stories...

Tonight, we're pulling one down.

Welcome to the Library of Shadows.

Tonight, we're pulling down a story from an anonymous writer in Canada.

What begins as a touching story about the unconditional love of a grandmother slowly unravels into something far more unsettling. As memories begin to blur and reality starts to shift, one family's search for answers uncovers a secret they never expected.

If you enjoy atmospheric horror, psychological suspense, and original horror stories, welcome to the Library of Shadows.

📚 Think your story belongs on the shelves of the Library of Shadows?

Visit LooksCreepyCool.com to submit your story.

If selected, your story may become a future chapter on the Looks Creepy Cool Podcast—and if you'd like, you can even narrate it yourself.

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Until next time... another chapter awaits.

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:06

The shelves are full of stories. Tonight, we're pulling one down. Welcome to the Library of Shadows, where strange tales, unsettling mysteries, and unforgettable horror find a home. Tonight, we're pulling down a story from an anonymous writer in Canada. What begins as a touching story about the unconditional love of a grandmother slowly unravels into something far more unsettling. As memories begin to blur and reality starts to shift, one family search for answers uncovers a secret they never could have imagined. So settle in and turn the page. This is just a dirty old grandma.

SPEAKER_01 0:55

I always loved my grandmother for some reason. So many fond memories. We were like best friends. As a young boy, and even well into my twenties and thirties, Grammy was always there for me, especially when I really needed it. To give me that warm, reassuring hug, spoil me to no end, or simply just to sit down and chat with me, attentively listening to all of my stories and problems. Never questioning nor judging me, but always simply there to absorb and analyze things, and then somehow, magically, make everything better again. Unlike my parents, who were typically always far too busy worrying about their jobs, paying the bills, or trying to figure what the hell we're gonna have for dinner. And before I forget, Grammy always baked me the most wonderful blueberry pies. Grams was a strong, independent woman right from the very beginning. Her whole life, I knew her to be nothing shy of a feisty, proactive, ride the shit out of each and every day firecracker type of individual. She'd often lean down and secretly whisper to me in my ear, Why get busy dying when you can get busy living? Hugo Grammy. Her bubbly and extroverted nature and live life to the very fullest everyday attitude not only not only gained her a lot of attention throughout life, but also three husbands. And she ended up outliving each and every one of them. The wick to her candle always burned brightly and never seemed to get any shorter. There was no subject that Grammy and I couldn't discuss. We talked about life, death, and everything in between. She'd often say, The pain of losing a loved one through death is not only psychological, but just as much physical. And from about the time she turned 80 or so, she could always be seen completely covered in dirt from head to toe. Soiled knees, arms, hands, and face. Hell, just about everywhere, really. By the time she reached the ripe old age of 90, and having astonishingly lived on her own ever since the passing of her third and last husband just two years prior, she started showing the telltale signs of both senility and Alzheimer's. My mom and I would take turns popping in to see her every couple of days or so, just to make sure that she was doing okay. We'd usually find her on all fours, hidden somewhere in her garden, kneeling on a canary yellow, smiley-faced foam pad that we got her, either frantically digging or else busily watering one of her rooted babies. If not busy in the garden and standing in the kitchen washing up, or maybe loading one of her many piles of soil-stained clothes into the washing machine. Grammy always managed to recognize us, which made us feel very happy. And she always seemed to be in good spirits. What we weren't too thrilled about was what she was saying. One day, Grammy just suddenly started babbling on and on with something very weird and disturbing. Like saying she'd recently gotten together with her longtime childhood best friend Edna to once again just sit, chat, and share a cup of hot tea together. The only problem with this being was that Edna had passed away eleven years ago. Over the weeks, this syndrome, as my mom and I called it, ramped up and got much, much worse. And just to keep the peace not to upset her, remember this old woman was 90 years old. We agreed it'd be best for everyone involved to simply play along. The next thing she tells us is how she's been regularly spending quality time with all of her dead husbands. Like what the actual fuck, Grammy. They're really starting to freak us out. Hallucinations, delusions, near death visions? What's going on here? We were thinking. My mom and I both figured that, given our old age, that maybe this was just her way of letting us know that it was her time, and that her time was near. And wouldn't you know it? We arrived one bright and sunny morning to find her laying there flat on her back in her flower garden, right in front of her beloved rose bushes. She was completely covered in deeply ground in soil from head to toe. And to make things even worse, she was wearing her favorite long flowing pink nightgown. Mom and I both kind of looked up at each other with her eyebrows raised. Poor grandma surely gone mad, lost her marbles, and has totally lost touch with reality. As she slowly moved her arms and legs back and forth in the damp garden soil, like a child making snow angels and newly fallen snow, she suddenly realized that we were there, and then abruptly stopped. A big, creepy smile that slowly spread across her wrinkled crab apple doll face before saying to us in a frail, quiet voice, Finally, I now have all of my dear sweet men back with me again, right where they belong. And then she went back to making her dirt angels. As we stood there with our mouths hanging open, I then noticed that Grammy had placed small wooden markers in front of each one of her three favorite and largest rose bushes, and on them she'd written in red the first names of all three of her deceased husbands. We then looked back over at Grammy and noticed that she had stopped moving, and that, sadly, was the strange and sudden end of my dear Grammy. After all of the postmortem arrangements had been made, a real estate agent, together with a house inspector, then made a gruesome discovery, revealing the horrifying truth. In the basement, they found a network of narrow tunnels that Grammy had dug out with her bare hands. And with her house sitting right next to, and literally bordering the town cemetery, she had carefully and very meticulously tunneled her way right beneath the gravestones, and had in some cases even hacked and clawed her way into some of the wooden caskets. So, oh yes, Grammy had indeed spent time with not only Edna, but also a few of her other dear deceased friends by lying down right there with them inside of their caskets. Melted down candles, spent matches, as well as a pair of recently used teacups still containing damp tea leaves, were found in Edna's casket specifically. And the horrifying cherry on top was when investigators later realized that Grandma had single-handedly, slowly and painstakingly dragged the decomposing remains of each and every one of her three dearly departed husbands, inch by agonizing inch, about a hundred yards or so back down through those tight and narrow tunnels, back to her house, where she then planted them safely beneath her most cherished rose bushes. And it wasn't until I stood there, bowed down, reminiscing at her funeral, that it suddenly dawned on me. I could clearly remember as far back as when I was just a teenager. Granny, Grammy, often smiling her loving smile, laying her gentle hands upon my shoulders, and calmly saying to me, Love transcends everything, my dear, even the boundaries of one's vessel.

SPEAKER_00 10:24

You've just closed another chapter from the Library of Shadows. Think your story belongs on the shelves of the Library of Shadows? Whether it's psychological horror, supernatural, folklore, creature horror, or dark fiction. We'd love to read it. Visit lookscreepycool.com to submit your story. If your story is selected, it may become a future chapter of the Library of Shadows on the Looks Creepy Cool podcast. And if you like, you can even narrate it yourself. Until next time, another chapter awaits.