"The Grither" - The Scariest Christmas Monster You've Never Heard Of...
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Sources:
https://www.scaryforkids.com/grither/ 2/12
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Zevon Odelberg is a true crime podcast host and disability advocate. Zevon has cerebral palsy and he wants Kinda Murdery to be welcoming community for people with disabilities and for people living with challenges of any kind. Life can be hard, but being together makes it better.
Warning, Kind of Murdery contains adult themes, explicit language, and descriptions of
violence. It is not suitable for anyone, and we recommend you stop listening
now. True crime with a dash of the paranormal, the garish, the
strange in the darkly comic. I'm Zevan Odleberg, host of kind of Murdery,
a podcast that's about more than just murder. It's my very own pocket
dimension, home to a curated collection of bizarre and compelling stories, the unsolved,
the unsettling, and the unbelievable. I cover it all just so long
as it's kind of murdery. That's right, folks. It is Thursday,
December fourteenth, and after giving you a couple of kind of Murdery classics,
I am back practically live, busting my butt over a hot microphone. It's
me, just like it says in the intro. I'm Zevan Odelberg, and
this is kind of Murdery. And here we go. Christmas Eve is just
ten days away, and I am feeling in the holiday spirit. But I'm
feeling in the kind of murdery holiday's spirit. And so while you probably think,
and especially if you listen to some of my friends who have paranormal podcasts,
et cetera. You probably think that you have heard of most of the
Christmas monsters. You've probably already heard of Crampus and Frau Beefina and Black Peter,
and there's a bunch of them. I've even done stories about him in
the past. Well, today I'm bringing you a story about a Christmas monster
that I'm betting a lot of you haven't heard of. So hang on to
your hats, hang on to your scarves, hang on to your proverbial butts,
and please do join me as we uncover what truths we can, solve,
what mysteries we may and maybe just maybe scare ourselves along the way.
Happy Holidays, everybody kind. The Murders the grither starts now, in the
shadowed chill of the holiday season, we turn our attention to a tale far
removed from the warm glow of Christmas lights and cheerful carols, far removed from
the twinkling resolve of Honika candles. This story, cloaked in the eerie stillness
of a winter's night, whispers of mysteries untold and secrets hidden beneath the festive
veneer in a small, seemingly peaceful town where the snow blankets the streets like
a silencing shroud. The residents prepare for their holiday celebrations, unaware of the
creeping on ease that has begun to take hold. It's a time where every
snowflake and every whisper of the cold wind seems to carry a story, and
in this town, a particularly chilling tale is about to unfold. As the
townsfolk go about their holidays preparations, an unsettling discovery is made. Something that
doesn't belong to the cheerful decorations and joyful gatherings. It's a mystery wrapped in
the cold embrace of winter that threatens to unravel the festive spirit and reveal a
darker side of the holiday season. I invite you, dear listeners, to
join me as we delve into this creepy Christmas story. Keep your wits about
you, for not everything is as it seems, and the clues to unraveling
this mystery are hidden in plain sight, waiting to be discovered. Let's embark
on this chilling journey together, where every shadow and every snow covered path may
hold the key to a story that's as unnerving as it is captivating, stay
tuned, for this is not your ordinary holiday tale. In the bleak,
frost bitten reaches of the North Pole, where the howling winds cut like knives
and the darkness looms heavy, there lurks a creature born from the very essence
of Winter's desolate heart. This being, known only as the Grither, is
not a figment of joyful Christmas legends, but a harbinger of a more sinister
tale, one that chills the very soul. The story of the Grither is
whispered in hushed tones, a chilling legend that is seeped into the lore derived
from an old episode of a television show called Tales from the Dark Side,
an episode entitled Seasons of Belief. But I've created my own version of the
Grither story, the kind of murdery version. And in this eerie narrative,
the Grither is no mere myth, but a living, breathing entity that embodies
the stark terror of the icy wilderness. This monstrous creature, shrouded in the
secrets of the Arctic expanse, is said to be drawn to those who dare
speak its name. With each utterance it stirs, its long, spindly limbs,
crackling like the ice underfoot, its presence growing ever nearer to the source
of its invocation. In our story, we explore the unsettling notion that the
Grither, despite its legendary status, might be more than just a tale to
scare children. As the cold, dark days of Christmas approach, indeed we're
ensconced in them now, a sense of unease descends upon those who know of
the Grither. It's a reminder that in the long, shadowy nights of winter,
something ancient and fearsome may be listening, biting its time. Dear listeners,
as we delve into this Christmas story, remember that the Grither is a
creature of the coldest, the loneliest parts of the world. It's a testament
to the fact that even in a season of warmth and light, darkness and
fear can find a place to nestle, waiting for the right moment to reveal
themselves. Join me now as we unravel the tale of the Grill, a
story that's as much part of the icy landscape of the North Pole as it
is of the dark, twisted corridors of our own fears. This isn't a
tale of merry Christmas cheer, but a journey into the heart of winter's nightmare.
Stay tuned for the story of the Grither is about to unfold. I
bring you into a cozy living room, bathed in the warm, flickering light
of the fireplace, seemingly a whirled away from the cold forbidding darkness of winter
outside. Christmas Eve has wrapped the family in a blanket of festive tranquility.
The father engrossed in his newspaper, and the mother, her fingers nimbly dancing
over knitting needles, creating a picture for all of serene holiday bliss. The
children, Jimbo and Steppa, lay sprawled on the floor, their young minds
lost in the vibrant hues of their coloring books. It's a scene straight out
of a Christmas card until Stepha's voice, tinged with just a little impatience and
the excitement typical of youth, cuts through the quiet. Tell us a story.
She demands, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Jimbo never wanted to be
left behind, chimes in eagerly, Yes, Yes, the scary one.
The father, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye sets aside his newspaper.
He knows exactly the kind of story his children crave on this ghostly, silent
night. All right, he begins, his voice, dropping to a tone
that immediately captures his children's rapt attention. I'm going to tell you about the
most fearsome, dangerous, and appalling creature in the world. It's called a
grither. The mother, her knitting needles paused mid stitch, casts a wary
glance toward her husband. Oh now you've done it, dear, she says,
her voice a mixture of worry and reproach. You've said his name out
loud. The atmosphere in the room shifts palpably. The innocent request for a
story has unknowingly opened a door to something ancient and terrifying. The Grither,
a name that should never be spoken aloud, now hangs in the air like
I'm a level inspecter, its unseen presence creeping closer with each passing second.
As the father continues, the tale of the Grither begins to weave its dark
magic. The children, eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination,
hang on every word. Little do they know that this Christmas would be unlike
any other, for they had unwittingly invited into their home a legend that was
all too real, a creature from the coldest, darkest depths of Winter's heart.
The story of the Grither was no longer just a tale to be told
by the fireside. It was soon to become a chilling reality, a whispered
threat in the shadows of their very own living room. And as the night
deepened, so too did the sense of dread that something unspeakable might be drawing
near. Lured by the utterance of its name, The children's eyes grew wide,
a mix of fear and wonder glinting in them. Jimbo, with the
bold curiosity so common in the young and foolish, voices the question that now
hangs in the air. Who is he? Dad? Who is the Grither?
Father, now playing the part of the storyteller with a natural flare,
leans in closer, his voice a low, ominous rumble. Well, Jimmy's
the most awful thing in the world. Father begins painting a picture of a
being as ancient as it is terrifying. He lives in a cave at the
end of the world. He lives in a cave at the North Pole.
The coldest, wettest place on Earth is where the Grither makes his home.
As he describes the creature's abode, a cave home to an ancient shipwreck,
where the normal rules of comfort and warmth are defied, a chill seems to
creep into the room unbidden. He doesn't mind the cold, and he doesn't
mind the wet, says father. But the thing he hates most of all
is to hear someone say his name. He has very big ears, and
they get bigger every time his name is spoken anywhere on Earth. Sometimes his
ears gets so big he can use them to fly. Stefa, her face
a portrait of apprehension, can't contain her discomfort. I don't like this story,
she whinds, huddling closer to her brother, the mother. Her knitting
now forgotten, added to the mounting tension, her voice a soft echo of
doom. It's too late now, she says, We've already mentioned his name.
The Grither is probably on his way to our house this very minute.
A heavy silence falls over the room, broken only by the crackling of the
fire. The father, sensing the growing fear in his children's eyes, seeks
to reassure them he will probably take a while to get here, Father says,
his voice steady, but not without a hint of uncertainty. If we
finish the story before he gets here, everything will be fine. In that
moment, the boundaries between story and reality begin to blur. The Grither,
a mere legend moments ago, now seems a palpable threat, its presence looming
over the family's Christmas Eve. The children, wrapped in the suspense of their
father's tail, are caught between the safety of their cozy living room and the
chilling possibility that somewhere in the dark, frozen reaches of the North Pole,
a creature with enormous listening ears is stirring, drawn inexorably toward the sound of
his own name. The room is steeped in the cozy warmth of Christmas Eve,
a stark contrast to the chilling tail unfolding within its walls. The father,
his eyes glinting with the thrill of the story, leans in closer to
Jimbo and Stepha. The children are hanging on every word. Do you know
the origins of the Grither's name? Father asks, his voice a whisper that
seems to blend with the crackling fire. The children shake their head, their
eyes wide with a blend of fear and anticipation. He is a creature of
immense power. The father continues his words, painting a vivid, terrifying picture.
Imagine fists his largest basketballs and arms as long as the mightiest pythons.
When the Grither finds those who dare speak his name, he reaches out with
those monstrous limb with a grasp as unyielding as iron, He envelops them,
squeezing the life out of them like one would burst a balloon. My beloved
children, you see he grithers you in by the top of your head and
squeezes and squeezes with his cold, hard fingers till your brain bursts like a
watermelon at a shooting range. Jimbo, his voice trembling with a mix of
fear and curiosity, asks what does he look like? That? Like a
yetty? No, far from it, replies Father, a hint of solemnity
in his tone. He defies all comparison. Those who have seen the Grither
are no longer here to describe him. The only people who ever see the
Grither are those that he murders. He's an impossibly tall mystery monster, bending
like a willow, with skin as clear as a crystal, revealing beneath it
a maze of his fearsome veins, blue with terror and red with rage.
Stepha's voice, small and fraught with fear, breaks the silence. Can we
end this story now? Please? Before he comes? The little girl is
clearly terrified, but the father relentless presses on the story, spiraling into even
darker depths. The Grither was birthed in tragedy, on a ship lost in
the icy Arctic, surrounded by nothing but the relentless sea and ice. Despair,
death, and madness birthed him, a creature made of the passenger's deepest
fears and angriest cries. But why does he harm people? Jimbo whispers.
The father sighs. Some mysteries remain unsolved. My son, the reason why
he hates hates to the point of murdering, just his own story being told
well that reason, Jimbo is his alone to know. Stepa, Her voice
quivering pleads, please, Father, please finish the story quickly. There's just
one way to shield one's self from the Grither. The father begins, again,
cut off by mother's stern, worried tone. Enough of this, Robert,
The children are terrified. Father laughs lightly, trying to dispel the heavy
air of dread. You don't really believe in the Grither, do you,
he teases. No. Both children lie, their voices barely above a whisper.
That's good, father says, a note of relief in his voice,
because the Grither is just a figment of my imagination. He's not real.
But you didn't finish the story, Stepha protests. Suddenly, the night erupts
into chaos. The front door bursts open with a violent icy gale, snuffing
out the warm glow of the fireplace. Amidst the sound of shattering glass,
two immense twisted arms thrust through the windows, their appearance just as ghastly as
the father's description. Blue and red veins, ropes intertwining, pulsing in the
night. The children can only watch in frozen horror as the hands close over
their parents' heads, squeezing with a force that is otherworldly. Night maarish,
in a moment that seemed to be both an eternity and an instant, mother
and father's skulls popped, Gore flew through the living room, and Jimbo and
Stepha's parents were no more, leaving behind a silence more terrifying than any scream.
In that single horrifying instant, the line between story and reality blurred irrevocably.
A grither, a mere concoction of a father's Christmas Eve tale, had
manifested into a gruesome reality, leaving the children orphaned in a world where nightmares
walk and legends breathe. I'm Zevan Oldelberg and this has been kind of murdery.
Happy holidays, everybody. If you like the show, please subscribe,
review and tell your friends. You can find us on social media at kinda
Murdery or email at Kindomurdery at gmail dot com.
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