As The Raven Dreams Podcast - A Matter Of Self Control By As The Raven Dreams | #Creepypasta Narration

Episode Date: September 13, 2022

Have you ever had one of those moments where you just couldn't control yourself? What Is a Creepypasta? A Creepypasta is a fire-side story, one told on a dark night, under the stars; the intentions are to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and keep you up at night. If you Enjoy Creepypasta, consider subscribing as I will post here frequently. On my main Channel, As The Raven Dreams, I do true scary stories multiple times a week, including; Deep Web Horror stories, Creepy Let's not meet stories, Stalker stories, Glitch in the matrix stories, and much more! The Thumbnail for this video was created by the Midjourney AI. Image Licensed appropriately. ➤ All Stories used w/ Direct permission from the Author, or under some form of CC License (where Noted). True stories are not verified and are considered 'supposedly true'.  ➤All videos come with a content warning for language and sensitive content. Viewer Discretion is ALWAYS advised. This is considered horror content.  #CreepyPasta #AsTheRavenDreams #Nosleepstories --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/astheravendreams/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/astheravendreams/support Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

If you have a story you would like to hear featured on this podcast, please go to ashtheravendreams.com and click the button to submit your story. Also, if the platform you're listening on has the option to rate this podcast, please consider doing so. And thank you. I have a real problem. Or rather, I would say that I had a problem. Well, I guess I do still currently have a problem. but really it's not going to be a problem for too much longer, considering the present state of things.

I know that that may not be an incredibly informative way for me to begin recounting the events that put me in this position, but I have personally hit a point where I honestly do not know what to say, how to say it, or whether it's really worth even saying anything. Worse yet, I don't even know if the words that are coming out of my mouth belong to me, or if the thoughts that are rapidly bouncing inside of my thick skull are actually mine, or if they've been implanted by some foreign entity.

I've done things over the past few days that make no sense, and I'm terrified of what I'm about to do next. Let me start over. Maybe explaining things from the start will lead to some sort of epiphany, of where it all went wrong. If nothing else, it'll be a nice way to document the horrors that I've been through, and... Well, maybe they can use it as some sort of explanation when they try to build that psychological profile for why this all happened. Thinking back, though, when was that first time I noticed something happening that was off? Was it on the drive home from work that one day?

That first meeting or... No. It was that day at work. It was as boring as every other day that I've ever lived through. I guess you would need to know what I do for a living to know how boring that actually is. I work for a crappy call center. I take inbound support calls for insurance companies. Most of my job is taking calls and...

answering basic questions for people that are too lazy to open up an internet browser and search for things like, is a brick flying through my windshield covered by my insurance, or my two-year-old set my couch on fire, and it nearly killed everyone in the apartment complex. Will this increase my rates? No joke. I've had both of those questions. And each time something like this would come in, I could feel the life draining rapidly from my body. It's not even that they're too lazy to Google something. It's that the answers are typically pretty damn obvious.

Where did the brick come from? Oh, your ex-wife. Yeah, probably not covered. Unless you have full coverage. I'm not even going to dignify the two-year-old pyromaniac with a second thought. Anyways, that was my life. Answering the phone, dying inside, explaining why I was dying inside to the customer and then starting it all over again within five minutes.

The only time that I felt like life was worth living was when I was hitting the button to clock out for lunch, or for the end of my day, and that was just because I could go home, pour myself a drink, and forget that my existence was hell. As I said, it was that day at work where this all started. In fact, it was one of the dumbest calls I had ever gotten in the entire time I'd worked there. It went kind of like this. I said hello to the angry man on the other end of the line. He said, why did you raise my rates? I took his information, I looked up his account,

and I found out that he'd been in four accidents in the last six months. And in each one, he was determined to... to be at fault. When I was typing my notes, I tried to type something like, Customer is upset that his rates have increased. Reason, numerous at-fault accidents. Sending email to insurance agent to discuss. But while those exact words were going through my mind,

and I thought that those were the words that I was typing, I ended up inputting a note that said, customer is an angry idiot that has zero understanding of how the world works. and if they were to die in a car crash, the average IQ of the planet would increase substantially. Worse yet, I actually submitted that as the note on the account. At first, as I stared at the words on the screen, I thought that it was hilarious.

But then I realized that since I submitted it, everyone could see it. my co-workers, the insurance agents, my boss, Maria. I panicked. I had no idea what to do beyond just own up to it. I immediately picked up my phone and dialed Maria's extension. I told her that I had typed up a passive-aggressive note about the customer to relieve some stress, and that I accidentally submitted it.

She then took me off the phone and called me into her office. We had to have a corrective action-style conversation about it. She laughed, sure, but she told me that it was not okay, and that this would count as a formal write-up. I told her I understood, and after a short conversation about keeping my anger inside when it came to the customers, I went back to my desk and continued working.

This was that first moment where things were weird. I assumed that I had simply been thinking the words that I typed and not what I wanted to type, and I somehow managed to just type the angry thoughts. Fortunately, it was correctable. She edited the notes to say what I wanted them to say. She documented that I had done something bad, and we moved on. Unfortunately, it wasn't the same. the last time this happened.

In fact, something similar happened the very next day. I was on a call, listening to the customer talk about how they had managed to accidentally break a sliding glass door with a chair, and in the middle of my response, the call went dead. I heard the whole thing just disconnect. I said hello multiple times to try and reestablish this conversation, but the call was definitely, It wasn't until then that I realized my hand was on the base of my phone, holding the button to hang up the call. I was nothing short of confused, but again I thought maybe I was just doing the things that I wanted to subconsciously. Then it happened again, and again. By the fifth time I'd hung up on the customers, my manager had caught on to the fact that something was going on.

My calls were ending abruptly. I was adding notes that the calls were disconnecting without a conclusion, and the customers were getting flagged in our system as callbacks, because they were calling back within the hour. If you've ever worked in a call center, you know all about that number tracking and how they watch you. So Maria once again called me into her office, and she asked me what was going on. I tried to think of something, anything that would work in this scenario.

Thankfully, I've always been a decent liar. I said that I thought the phone line to my receiver must be shorting out because the calls were sounding static-y on my end and then dropping. It was the one thing that they couldn't verify in their recordings because the calls would always sound clear on their systems. It was kind of like a get-out-of-jail-free card for the situation. And she bought it. She said she would have the support desk look,

at my workstation, but until then I was to move to a different desk. I agreed, and set up my workstation at that desk. It didn't get better. In fact, I saw it happening in real time. I watched as I was answering a customer's question. My hand lifted up off of my mouse, moved over to the receiver base, and my finger slammed down on the button to hang up. I watched this whole event play out with my own two eyes.

My hand did all of this on its own. And no matter how my brain told it not to, it didn't matter. My hand followed through on the motion no matter how much I wanted to stop it, no matter how much I tried to stop it. I didn't even feel my arm move. I didn't feel my finger extend, and I didn't feel the sensation as my feeling. finger moved down to hit the button.

It was as if someone else was pulling my arm up and manipulating my hand, as if someone else's brain was firing the synapses that told my arm to move and follow through on the motions. As soon as it happened, I threw my headset down and I pushed my chair back, just staring at my hand. I could feel my hand. I could move it, manipulate it, and do whatever I wanted to, but for that moment in time, it was like it wasn't mine. I moved it around, I wiggled my fingers,

I grabbed my other hand to make sure everything was working, and it all was. At least it all was at that moment. Once again, I was at a loss. I had no idea what I needed to do to remedy this situation, but before I could come up with an answer, I noticed that I was already standing up and walking towards my boss's office.

I hadn't planned on talking with her, but yet I was now standing in Maria's doorway and tapping on the door to get her attention. She very politely looked up at me and asked how she could help. I wanted to say something like, I need to go to the doctor. I'm losing my mind. But instead, the words that came out were, you know what, Maria, I have always wanted to tell you that you're an absolute dumbass. And I genuinely hope that on your way home, from work. You flip your car a dozen times into a river and they never find your body. There's something else here now. Something new. From, exclusively on Paramount Plus, it's the series Stephen King calls it scary as hell.

Everything here is impossible, but it's also real. Sci-fi vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. from Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. She sat there with a stone cold look on her face, almost as if she half expected these words to come from me.

She then smiled and said, Anything else you want to tell me before you leave? The best thing I could have said in this scenario was, I am so sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me. The worst thing I could have said was, as a matter of fact there is. Your sense of style, it's nothing short of a pile of colorful vomit. And half of the office has been making comments about how much weight you've gained over the last month.

You really should lay off the donuts. Also, you're even dumber than you look if you can't see that your husband has been sleeping with Sharon down in HR. They've literally done it in your office in the middle of the day. And numerous people here witnessed it. We just all hate you so much that we didn't actually want to. to say anything about it. I'll let you take a guess which one of those two things actually came out of my mouth, but I'll give you a hint by telling you that I became unemployed at that moment in time.

I wish that it had ended there, but of course it didn't. On my way out the door, as I was being escorted out of the building by my manager and a few of the other higher-ups, I randomly stopped at Sharon's desk, and I yelled out, the whole office knows that you're screwing half the guys that work here. And then I grabbed the photo of her and her husband off of her desk, and I threw it across the room. The security guys that were with my manager ended up having to grab my arms and literally throw me out of the building.

Because no matter how much I wanted to leave, how much I wanted to stop causing a scene and doing what I was doing, I couldn't. It was It was as if I was unconscious And my body was just doing random things that it wanted to do And all I could do was sit off to the side

And watch as the whole thing unfolded It was as if I had been possessed by some kind of evil spirit And it was doing whatever the hell it thought was fun I was simply the victim of circumstance My life was being altered by something outside of my control but it was using my body. After they threw me from the building and I had gotten into my car, I just kind of sat there and stared at the steering wheel.

What in the name of God was going on with me? These past couple days, it was like I was someone's puppet, a marionette that was being told to dance, and I couldn't stop whoever was tugging at the strings. I started the car and I started my drive home thinking that I just needed to get to the house, go to sleep, and when I woke up tomorrow, the sick nightmare would be over. Of course, it wasn't that simple. It never is. On the way home, I stopped at a red light just waiting for my turn to go.

Two lovely ladies with their dogs were crossing the road in front of me, walking in the crosswalk with the light for them to go lit up. they were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing. I was watching them go about their business as normal. When I heard the sound of a revving engine, and then I noticed that they had looked over in my direction, I looked down, and as soon as I did, I felt the jerk of the car as it lurched forward. I have no idea if I hit either woman,

or if I hit their dogs. I honestly didn't look up to see the whole thing play out. I know that there was a lot of sound when I went forward, but I was too much of a coward to see it happen. None of my limbs at this point in time seemed to be under my control. I was passing cars on the wrong side of the road. I was gunning past people in crosswalks. I was speeding through stop signs and lights,

and at one point I just closed my eyes. and waited for my car to smash into something to kill me. I was more surprised when it didn't happen. When I felt my car stopped somewhere, and I heard the parking brake engage, and the engine shut off. When I finally opened my eyes and looked up, I was sitting in front of someone's house, a house that seemed somewhat familiar,

but one that I didn't really know. I got out of my car, and I walked up to the front door, and then rang the doorbell. A man answered. A man that I'd recognized as Maria's husband. He recognized me, and he asked how he could help. It seemed that she hadn't called home about what I had said before I was thrown out. I opened my mouth to tell him that I was sorry for outing him,

that it was none of my business what he did, and that something else was controlling me. Of course, I didn't say it. that, though. Instead, I said, actually, yeah, I was wondering if I could talk to you about Maria. I've noticed a change in her behavior at work, and

I'm kind of worried about her. May I come in? And, of course, he let me in. My words, or rather the words that I said, were kind, and they made me sound like I was worried about his wife.

Nothing about me appeared malicious. Nothing I said. seemed like it was problematic, or was like I was a threat. So he calmly opened the door and let me into his home. His hospitality was the worst thing that he could have offered at that point in time. I had no idea personally why I was in his house, or what I was going to do, but I knew that something was going to happen that was going to be out of my control. I knew it was going to be worse when I asked him if I could get a glass of water first, even more so when I mentioned to him that I would get it myself. He was so kind to me, so polite about this random

man that he barely knew standing in his house. It wasn't until my hands grabbed the large knife from the block that I knew what was going on. My hands pulled the knife, placed it calmly behind my back, and then my feet started walking back towards the living room. I begged myself and my mind not to do it. I pleaded with my own brain to not harm this man, that I had already caused enough damage, and I was silently screaming that I could just stop now and leave, and everything would be fine. Then I heard the thoughts echoing back. telling me that I had to do it,

but only had my limbs and mouth left my control. My own thoughts were now someone else's. The words that rang out in my brain were those of encouragement, telling me to follow through, to murder this man, to end his pointless life in my own voice that was begging myself not to kill him was nothing more than a whisper. As I walked back into the living room, He was facing away from me, standing in the middle of the room and just staring at his cell phone.

He barely got the chance to turn toward me, to utter the words, You said you wanted to talk about Maria? Before the kitchen knife was driven into his back. I have no idea how many times my hands stabbed him. How many times I drove the knife into him before whatever was controlling me had decided that it was enough. I lost count after ten or so. His body slumped on to the ground as my hands pulled the knife from him, and my legs took a few steps back.

I looked at the scene in front of me, and I could feel my lips curl up into a smile. How the hell could I smile after I had just murdered an innocent man? This question was answered by my own brain. He wasn't innocent. He deserved what happened. I could feel my heart rate increasing. I could feel my breathing getting faster as an insane chuckle escaped my lungs.

I wanted to drive the knife into my own body to end this, but I couldn't. I couldn't move any part of my body at all. I was numb. I was empty. All I could do was watch as everything happened around me. I pulled the man from the floor and I situated him in a chair and the living room. And then I went and hid in the closet by the front door. I asked myself what was next, and my own brain answered me back. It said that we needed to wait for Maria to get home.

And that's what I did, whether I wanted to or not. You can imagine how it all played out. She unassumingly walked in the front door, closed it gently behind her, and placed her purse down on the side table. She sighed as she walked into the entryway and toward the living room and then started to say that they needed to have a talk. But I think at the end of this sentence, she must have noticed the display that I had set up for her because she let out a scream, a scream that caused my legs to spring into motion, that caused my hands to grab her throat, and that caused me to throw her down and squeeze until she was no longer breathing. I just watched as my body committed its second murder, potentially third, considering the whole

thing with the ladies crossing the road earlier, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I watched as my hands grabbed her cell phone, as they dialed 911, and as I listened to my voice telling the dispatcher to send the police because I had just murdered these two people. And then I walked over to the front door and I just stood there, leading me to where I am right now. I've been standing here for about ten minutes. Just staring at the front door and waiting. With a knife in my hand, waiting for the police to show up. I can't count the number of times I've tried to do anything to stop myself, but I know what's coming.

next. I have a weapon. I'd reported that I had just committed murder, and the police were coming. I know what my body is setting up to happen. Every second feels like it's passing in slow motion as the sirens get closer. Every breath is slow and meticulous, almost as if my breathing is automated. My eyes are blinking at the exact moments they need to to stop the sweat from dripping into them, I can hear everything. I can see everything. And I'm sure that I'm about to feel every agonizing moment of my own death. And what's worse, I can't do a damn thing to stop it.

Hey, yo, this was a matter of self-control, written and of course narrated by, well, that would be me, Mr. As, the Raven Dreams, or Raven Adams, however you want to call me. Yeah. This is the first story I've written in a while. And I actually liked how it turned out. If you're curious on the inspiration of this story, a taxophobia, or sorry, a taxiaophobia, which is the fear of a taxia, which is muscle in coordination. That's right. I decided to take a taxophobia and make it into a story.

muscle muscular in coordination would be obviously the in coordination of your muscles, muscles not doing what they're supposed to in coordination with your body. Obviously there's more to that, and it's not quite what I described in this story, but I thought it was a fun idea. Fun maybe is the wrong word, but I thought it was an interesting story. It would be a story that would be interesting. I didn't know where I was going from the start to the end, but I think that we hit a good point,

I think it was definitely a fun one. Again, fun being the wrong word. But Raven don't know the right word, so fun it be. Yeah. Hopefully you all enjoyed this story. It's not too often I do original stories anymore. I just don't write them as much. And that's on me, but hopefully it was good.

If you did, please do it that thumbs up button. If you're new to the channel and liked what you heard, please consider hitting subscribe. I intend to once again start posting on this channel again, because I know I'm behind, and I'm slacking. I'm sorry. some things caused me to not want to post here, so we'll get into that. Again, leave me a comment down below letting me know your thoughts, letting me know what you thought of the story.

If I should write another one, another story, if I should just stop writing altogether to your decision. Not really, but anyways. I hope you're all having a lovely day, and I hope that I do see you again, friends, on the next video. But until that happens, I hope you remember you're valid, you're loved, your important, and you're the best you that you can be. No one should ever tell you otherwise. Don't let them. And until I see you again, my beautiful friend, sleep well. Lazzang sur-gillet,

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