As The Raven Dreams Podcast - Mr. Widemouth | Classic Creepypasta/Horror Fiction

Starting point is 00:00:00 Welcome to aboard Via Rai, Embarked and Profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet. Publié. Savour. Admirate. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love.

Starting point is 00:00:15 During my childhood, my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight. And there we remained until I went to college and college. Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we lived in when I was much younger. Most of these memories are unclear and pointless, chasing after another boy in the

Starting point is 00:01:01 backyard of the house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment that we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on. but there's one set of memories which remains as clear as glass, as though they were made just yesterday. I often wonder whether they are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that spring, but in my heart, I know they're real. We were living in a house just outside the bustling metropolis of New Vineyard, Maine.

Starting point is 00:01:37 Population, 643. It was a large structure, especially for a family of three. There were a number of rooms that I didn't see in the five months we resided there. In some ways, it was a waste of space, but it was the only house on the market at the time, at least within an hour's commute to my father's workplace. The day after my fifth birthday, attended by my parents alone, I came down with a fever. The doctor said that I had mononucleosis,

Starting point is 00:02:10 which meant no rough play and more fever for at least another three weeks. It was horrible timing to be bedridden. We were in the process of packing our things to move to Pennsylvania, and most of my stuff was already sealed away in boxes, leaving my room barren. My mother brought me a gingerail and books several times a day. They served the function of being my primary form of entertainment for the next few weeks. boredom always loomed just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and compound my misery.

Starting point is 00:02:46 I don't exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with Mono. My first memory of the small creature was asking him if he had a name. He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth, because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his body. His head, his eyes, his crooked ears, but his mouth was by far the largest. You kind of look like a Furby, I said, as he flipped through one of my books. Mr. Wide Mouth stopped and gave me a puzzled look.

Starting point is 00:03:27 Furby? What's a Furby? He asked. I shrugged. You know, the toy. The little robot with big ears. You can stroke and feed them, almost like a real pet. Oh, Mr. Widemouth resumed his activity.

Starting point is 00:03:46 You don't need one of those. They aren't the same as having real friends. I remember Mr. Widemouth disappearing every time my mother stopped by to check in on me. I lay under your bed, he later explained. I don't want your parents to see me, because I'm afraid they won't let us play anymore. We didn't do much during those first few days. Mr. Widemouth just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained.

Starting point is 00:04:18 The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with a large smile on his face. I have a new game we can play, he said. We have to wait until after your mother comes to check on you, because she can't see us play it. It's a secret game. After my mother delivered more books and soda at the usual time, Mr. Widemouth slipped out from under my bed and tugged my hand. We have to go to the room at the end of this hallway, he said. I objected at first, as my parents had forbidden me to leave my bed without their permission,

Starting point is 00:04:54 but Mr. Whitemouth persisted until I gave in. The room in question had no furniture or wallpaper. its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway. Mr. Widemouth darted across it and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open. He then beckoned me to look out at the ground below. We were on the second story of the house, but it was on a hill, and from this angle the drop was farther than two stories due to the incline. I like to play pretend up here, Mr. Widemouth explained.

Starting point is 00:05:32 I pretend that there's a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I jump. If you pretend hard enough, you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try. I was a five-year-old with a fever, so only a hint of skepticism darted through my thoughts as I looked down and considered the possibility. It's a long drop, I said. But that's all part of the fun. It wouldn't be exciting if it was only a short drop.

Starting point is 00:06:01 If it were that way, you may as well just bounce on a real trampoline. I toyed with the idea, picturing myself falling through thin air only to bounce back at the window on something unseen by human eyes. But the realist in me prevailed. Maybe some other time, I said, I don't know if I have enough imagination. I could get hurt. Mr. Widmouth's face contorted into a snarl, but only, for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment. If you say so, he said. He spent the rest of the day under my bed quiet as a mouse. The following morning, Mr. Widemouth arrived holding a small box.

Starting point is 00:06:47 I want to teach you how to juggle, he said. Here are some things you can use to practice before I start giving you lessons. I looked in the box. It was full of knives. "'My parents will kill me,' I shouted, horrified that Mr. Widemouth had brought knives into my room, objects that my parents would never allow me to touch. I'll be spanked and grounded for a year.' Mr. Widemouth frowned. "'It's fun to juggle with these. I want you to try it.' "'I pushed the box away.

Starting point is 00:07:24 I can't. I'll get in trouble. Knives aren't safe to just throw around in the air.' Mr. Widemouth's frown deepened into a scowl. He took the box of knives and slid under my bed, remaining there for the rest of the day. I began to wonder how often he was underneath me. I started having trouble sleeping after that.

Starting point is 00:07:47 Mr. Weidmouth often woke me up at night, saying that he had put a real trampoline under the window, a big one, one that I couldn't see in the dark. I always declined and tried to go back to the night. asleep, but Mr. Whitemouth persisted. Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning, encouraging me to jump. He wasn't so fun to play with anymore. My mother came to me one morning and told me that I had her permission to walk around outside. She thought the fresh air would be good for me, especially after being confined to my room for so long. Extatic, I put on my speakers and

Starting point is 00:08:25 trotted out to the back porch, yearning for the feeling of the sun on my face. Mr. Widemouth was waiting for me. I have something I want you to see, he said. I must have given him a weird look because then he said, it's safe, I promise. I followed him to the beginning of a deer trail, which ran through the woods behind the house. This is an important path, he explained.

Starting point is 00:08:55 I've had a lot of friends about your age. When they were ready, I took them down this path to a special place. You aren't ready yet. But one day, I hope to take you there. I returned to the house, wondering what kind of place lay beyond that trail. Two weeks after I met Mr. Widemouth, the last load of our things had been packed into a moving truck. I would soon be in the cab of that truck, sitting next to my phone.

Starting point is 00:09:27 father for the long drive to Pennsylvania. I considered telling Mr. Widemouth that I was leaving, but even at five years old, I was beginning to suspect that his intentions were not to my benefit, despite what he said otherwise. For this reason, I decided to keep my departure a secret. My father and I were in the truck at 4 a.m. He was hoping to make it to Pennsylvania by lunchtime tomorrow with the help of an endless supply of coffee and a six-pack of energy drinks. He seemed more like a man about to run a marathon,

Starting point is 00:10:04 not one about to spend two days sitting still. Early enough for you? My father asked with a hint of sympathy. I nodded and placed my head against the window, hoping for some sleep before the sun came up. I felt my father's hand on my shoulder. This is the last move, son, I promise. I know it's hard for you as sick as you've been.

Starting point is 00:10:29 Once Daddy gets promoted, we can settle down and you can make friends. I opened my eyes as we backed out of the driveway. Mr. Wide Mouth's silhouette was in my bedroom window. He stood motionless until the truck was about to turn out to the main road, at which point he gave a pitiful little wave goodbye, steak knife and hand. I didn't wave back. Years later, I returned to new vineyard.

Starting point is 00:11:01 The piece of land that our house stood upon was empty, except for the foundation, as the building had burned down a few years after my family left. Out of curiosity, I followed that deer trail that Mr. Widemouth had shown me. Part of me expected him to jump out from behind a tree and scare the living bejesis out of me, but I felt that Mr. Widemouth was gone. somehow tied to the house that no longer existed. The trail ended at the new vineyard Memorial Cemetery. I noticed that many of the tombstones belonged to children. So that, my friends, was Mr. Widemouth by Perfect Circle 35 from the creepypasta Wiki. Absolutely a classic of the creepypasta world.

Starting point is 00:12:04 This one has been done to death by probably every narrator that has ever grabbed a microphone and turned on their computer. It's one, however, that I've actually never read. So I wanted to go ahead and read it. And by read, I mean, like, actually read the text. I've heard it narrated, of course. But I've never actually read the story in full. So I went to go ahead and do it. And I need to get some more fiction stories up anyways.

Starting point is 00:12:30 So hopefully, you guys all enjoyed this. If you are on the YouTube side, please do consider liking the video, subscribing and leaving a comment down below with your thoughts. If you're on the podcast side of things, hello. Hopefully you are willing to leave a comment if you're on Spotify, and hopefully you enjoyed the narration. To all of you, if you have a story you want me to narrate, be it fiction or true, please tag it as such whenever you submit it,

Starting point is 00:12:57 but go ahead and send them in to astherravendreams.com. There's a big button to send your story in my way. If you have any trouble with the website, let me know. I've had some issues recently. You can also email your stories directly to me at As the Raven Dreams at gmail.com. You can also join the Patreon at patreon.com slash As the Raven Dreams to further support the show. I am a one-man team. This is my job. This is how I pay for the house I live in, for the gas in my car, and the groceries that I put in the fridge.

Starting point is 00:13:27 So, all support is immensely appreciated. To do that, by the way, you can go to patreon.com slash as the Raven Dreams, where for as little as a dollar, you can get access to all my stuff early, and other things, depending on what you sign up for. Um, yeah. There's probably more than I'm forgetting, but it's not relevant at this point in time,

Starting point is 00:13:47 so I just hope you all have a wonderful day. Hope I see you again here soon. And I hope that you remember that you were loved, you are valid, you are important, and the world is a better place with you in it. Until next time, my friends, much love and sleep well. Lazangue sur-gillet, Puisance-Moyerned

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As The Raven Dreams Podcast - Mr. Widemouth | Classic Creepypasta/Horror Fiction

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