As The Raven Dreams Podcast - That Awful Dripping Sound By DoctorBleed | Creepypasta Narration

Episode Date: February 19, 2021

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Welcome to aboard of Viarai. Embarked and profited. Embarked and relaxed. Syrotay. Bookine. Oh, that also. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love. Today's story is that awful dripping sound by a doctor bleed from the creepypasta wiki. Howard Radley was locked in his own apartment. No clear way out. No obvious exit, and nothing to look forward to, but that awful, dripping sound. He knew where it was coming from. He had seen the little water droplets falling from his ceiling right near the corner

where he kept the wood-burning stove he never used. But for the life of him, he could never tell what was causing it. His apartment was in the middle of the building, so it couldn't have been coming from the rain. Maybe a pipe burst, or maybe there was some kind of nasty flooding in a room upstairs that never got fixed. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on, but it had been happening for three solid weeks with no end in sight. The water damage made that spot a hideous sight. It became blackened and rotten and ugly. There was definitely mold in the area.

It would be quite an expensive hassle to repair. But those things, they didn't bother Howard. Those were all the things his landlord would fix whenever he would see him again. And if he had to pay a little extra in rent, that was fair. What bothered him was the noise. the insufferable pitter-patter of the tiny drops of whatever falling in perfect secession, one after another, hitting the ground and making tiny little splashes, hitting the pots, the pans, the bowls he put underneath them,

or just hitting the hardwood floor. It was a frustrating sound, a distressing sound. It always meant the roof was getting worse, or something underneath it was getting. getting ruined. It wasn't just the sound of dripping water. It was the sound of his living conditions deteriorating even further. Howard was not an ideal neighbor. His room was in a miserable state of disrepair. His walls were battered and full of holes. His apartment was full of rats and bugs. And worst of all, he was a compulsive hoarder.

It was all junk. Not a single item of even the most remote value, things he had no use for and didn't even truly want. He just wanted to be surrounded by massive piles of junk. It eased his constantly panicked mind. It felt as though he was surrounded by massive walls that protected him. It was all worthless crap that he had procured from a number of different places. Yard sales, goodwill stores, thrift shops, even the curate. of suburban homes on garbage day.

Books that had never been read and only served as clutter. Clothes that had never been worn and wouldn't even fit him. Family photos of people he had never even met, children's toys that he was too old to have any interest in playing with. Appliances. He had no intention of ever plugging in and because he was mortally afraid that they would cause a fire. Indeed?

His apartment was a terrible fire hazard. A single lit match dropped in the wrong place would engulf the entire room in flames. Everything that wasn't clumsily strewn about the ground was shoved into overstuffed garbage bags and massive cardboard boxes. These boxes, they were the bulk of the space in his room, forming thick, maze-like walkways that made the apartment feel, also suffocating in its crampedness. The mess had become so bad. Howard had remembered owning cats at one point, but now, well, they were nowhere to be found.

The only part of the room that was not stuffed with clutter was the small space Howard had cleared out, so nothing would be damaged by the drip. Not that it would matter. He'd keep the items even if they were severely water damaged, They were totally valueless anyways, only there for comforting reasons. For Howard, sleep was a battle. That annoying drip sound would keep him awake all night.

He couldn't handle it. He was a very unnerved out person, and any exterior source of stress was something he could not handle. It certainly didn't help that every night the sound would only become louder and more rapid. Two pillows locked in position by his. arms to smother his head, three layers of blankets covering him. The faded sound of the withered old Walkman on the coffee table next to his soiled mattress laying on the floor, playing random cassette tapes. He managed to scatter from his mess. These were the elaborate steps he had to take every night to try to drown out that noise. It never worked. The sound

still haunted him. The only respite he would ever receive came from the occasional noise of the rats in his apartment, scurrying around through the clutter and garbage, which had become soothing to him, almost like white noise. As time went on, things would only become worse.

Eventually, the dripping became so bad that part of his roof collapsed completely. Rubble and plaster rocketed the ground, making noise almost like a gunshot. Howard's solution was to gather the rubble in a discarded grocery bag and toss it into the mess. Because of this, the sound became far worse. The aggravating trip was joined by two others, and now they formed an obnoxious crescendo, becoming almost a song as they inconsistently fell and splatted on the floor. To make matters worse, more drips began to appear in different areas in his roof, sputtering and pattering,

all at different times, making a horrible song as they slammed against the floor, his boxes, his garbage bags, and the assorted mess on the ground. He was no longer concerned with his things. They no longer brought him any comfort. He had come to resent the way that he lived. No one ever came to see Howard. No visitors. No neighbors. Not even his landlord. He had wondered if his lifestyle had frightened them all away.

He wondered if they had left him to his fate, to wallow in his own miserable filth. He had no electricity in his apartment. He couldn't afford it, and he didn't care to have it. He believed electricity caused brain damage, that it contained microscopic carcinogens. that slowly destroyed your body and ate your viscera away. He had running water, but his pipes, they were old and withered. The water always came out a thin, brown color, and tasted unpleasant.

Howard hated leaving his apartment and took steps to make sure that he never had to. His stockpiled dehydrated food, enough to last a decade. Making it with the water from his bathroom sink made it. taste terrible, but after years of only eating it, he had learned how to keep it down. His only interaction with the outside world was looking out the window right above his bed. The natural light, it brought was the only illumination in the entire room for years. Nights were pitch black, but Howard's eyes had since adjusted to it. He enjoyed looking out the window, seeing all the people,

walking by, the cars driving from place to place, the animals frolicking along and the children playing. It was the only thing that ever brought him true peace. He would stare out of that barred window for hours on end, wishing he could be a part of that world again, wishing he wasn't so afraid anymore. The window could never be opened again. He made sure of that. He had nailed it shut, screwed prison bars over it, chained it up, and locked it tight before discarding the key in a place that he was sure he would never find it again. He had done the same with the door just prior to covering it up with so much clutter that he couldn't even tell where it was anymore. Right under his mattress, he kept his two,

favorite items, a fire axe, and a 38 special revolver, with a small box of ammo right next to it. It was an old superstition that had been passed down from his father, sleeping with weapons to avoid bad dreams. Owning those weapons made him feel safe. He had a pathological fear of intruders, which was a symptom of his phobia of other people. He needed those weapons. He knew it. As the time went on, the condition of his room only became worse.

More of the roof began to collapse. The three dripping spots were now practically faucets that poured in dozens of drops of water every second. Howard tried not to look up anymore because the sight of his own ceiling disgusted and revolted him so much. The roof had become completely decayed and ruined. The areas where the droplets of water would pour out, had become warped and rotted, like a festering open wound that had become infected. The black discoloration of the exposed wooden paneling

was discolored to a sickly greenish, blackish hue, covered in small fungus spores. Around the edges of the gaps of his ceiling were coated in a thick, black mold that was accented with tiny green spores. It looked alien and unnatural. It made Howard sick any time he had to look at it. Even the parts of his roof that didn't have huge tears were covered in thick cracks

and seams that seemed to slowly get longer and thicker. Every time he looked up. His ceiling began to look like a mold jigsaw puzzle with huge pieces missing. He could no longer deny it to himself. His room was falling apart around him. All throughout the day and night, huge chunks of his ceiling would break off and fall to the ground, sending more water and debris everywhere.

He had no longer had any place to dispose of them and had all but given up trying to tame the horrific mess his apartment had become. Sleep became harder to achieve every single night. The deterioration had become unsalvageable one day, as the seminal spot of the damage collapsed entirely, sending an entire section of the roof and the floor from the upper levels of the building down with it. Howard felt sickened and horrified, but relieved that he no longer had to look at the festering detritus that spot had become. He had a view to the room just above his, which was totally. empty and decayed even worse than his was.

It looked like it hadn't been inhabited in a long time. Howard was revolted by the thought of having to leave the darkened room that had served as a makeshift womb for him for the past five years, but it couldn't be helped. The room was falling apart around him, and even the very air he breathed had become thick, foul and repulsive. If he didn't escape, he would die. He was sure of it. He flipped his mattress over and took his pistol and axe with him.

He found the holster for his gun in the water-damaged mass of boxes and bags and created a makeshift sash from discarded belts so that he could sheathe his axe on his back. If he was truly forced to join the outside world, he refused to go unarmed. There were no ladders, no ropes to be found anywhere in his room. His only means of traveling upwards was to gather up the soggy and ruined boxes and bags that surrounded him and pile them together in a disgusting, mushy pile so that he might climb up into the fat crevice in his roof to the next room. Climbing the giant pile he had created was a difficult and incredibly uncomfortable task. It was difficult to gain stable footing on the mass due to the slimy, rotten water that was covering it completely.

and the moldy goo that had formed all over the place. Even the rats in his apartment seemed extremely unnerved, running around and screaming loudly as if they were trying to escape a feral animal or a fire. After much effort, Howard managed to settle himself on the pile and was able to ascend to the rotten hole in his roof. He nearly fell at least a dozen times, and grabbing on to the molded edges of the hole he was trying to escape out of, it burned his hands like hot oil,

but through sheer will, he was able to pull himself up and out of the prison cell that had trapped him for so long. The new room he found himself in was a wrecked and broken mess. It looked as though a fire had consumed the room, and it had been extinguished only by a flood. The roof was filled with several giant gaps that served as makeshift windows to the room right above them. Debris, rubble, and scattered insulation littered the floors. The walls were completely collapsed and coated in water damage.

There were thick spots of black mold all over them. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moyane for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Pre-to-joo? Vive the pleasure with the Ojo. who propose the more recent machine-ass-sou and the show of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours

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apply so applicable. The state of the building grew worse and worse, the more that Howard traversed it. Holes became craters and breaches as large as doors, entire walls were destroyed. Rubble had formed its own insurmountable walls that blocked off huge sections of the hallways. The fire axe had become extremely useful

for tearing down obstacles and wall chunks that obstructed Howard. If he didn't have it to smash away at the rubble and clutter, he believed he would have been completely trapped. The state of the building was so withered that there were instances where Howard would accidentally step on a certain spots too hard, and the floor would simply break away underneath him. The upper levels of the apartment's building were completely abandoned. Not a single sign of another person was anywhere to be seen. The only other inhabitants aside from Howard were these strange rat creatures that scurried along the floors and through the shattered walls around him.

They, not being rats, they were rat-like things. They only vaguely resembled rats from a distance, but upon closer inspection they were too mutant and unnatural. They were bloated and fat. Their limbs crept and stretched similar to primates or some other humanoid creature, and their faces were long and skinless and blotted out. from wads of fatness where their neck should be.

One thing that Howard noticed about these creatures, as he was frantically swinging at them with his axe, as they ran along the walls and tried to pay him no mind, some of them had the strange mold all over the walls of their bodies. It appeared to grow out of them rather than simply cover them, As he proceeded down the unlit hallways

that seemed to become more rotten and more moldy as he went along, he began to notice not just rat things, but large slugs as well. These slugs had worm-like qualities and seemed to feast on the huge mold spots in the walls. They were the size of mice and were covered in tiny,

sharp barbs with not nothing else to call them. He simply dubbed them mold slugs. The final and the worst of the strange creatures he found lurking and the wasted decay of the building were piles of mold that pulsed

on the ground like organs. They appeared as a fungal mass on the ground that looked to be formed from slime and debris. Upon inspecting up close, Howard found that it was moving and he even heard a slight breathing noise from it.

When he squinted at it, he could vaguely make out something that almost looked like an inhuman face. Finally, Howard came to the final door of the hallways. A massive structure, completely consumed by black mold, covered in large green boils and gooey webbing. As he stepped near it, he saw dozens of large spider-like creatures that appeared to be wrapped in flesh and viscera,

dig their way out of the walls and scurry out of sight. Without so much as a second thought, and with no other doors to go through, Howard took his axe and smashed the door down. The sight before him was the worst he'd ever seen. The entire hallway had been swallowed whole by the mass of black and green mold, making the entire area look twisted and warped by the organic growth it had become.

Only faint glimpses of the building underneath were visible. Large cysts that looked like egg sacks grew out of the wall. Rat things were present, but their bodies were completely molded over. Large green, glowing tumors jolted out where their eyes should have been. Their movements were crippled and sloppy. awkwardly waddling around and digging holes in the thick walls of mold around them. Fluttering in the air were large fly-like creatures that sizzled and pulsated like organs. These flying polyps spun around in the air briefly before setting themselves upon the walls

and feeding on the black mass growing all over. There were thousands of maggots crawling and slithering around, surrounding the many mold eaters moving about in large clusters like schools of fish. Flesh spiders, as large as the rat things, were building large webs, apparently made of some strange white viscera goo material. Howard's mind, it had no way of coping with what he was seeing. He was terrified, but completely dumbfounded and numb. All he could focus on was trying to find some way to escape.

He happened upon a room without any sign of the otherworldly and unnatural insects in vermin that he had been exposed to. A room with giant, large egg sacks, the size of human males. The eggs were transparent and green, and from inside he could see completely black bodies gestating in a watery green slime. Their bodies were covered in a strange fuzz and littered with the same green boils he had seen growing out of the walls. He couldn't help himself from touching one of the disgusting eggsacks.

His finger went right through the tissue of the blob, making a small hole and the watery goo began to drip out of it. Howard left the room shortly after. His movements were deliberate and careful, quiet, and tailored so as not to disturb anything that roamed the halls. He wished not to be seen or caught. He wanted no part of the pulsing fungus beast, rat things, or flying polyps all around that building.

The final room that he happened upon appeared to be some kind of cruel pastiche of a church room. There were no pews, no stained glass windows, but there was a great stage, and a gigantic altar all made from the mold, webbing, and some unknown organic tissue. All around the room, bowing down and chanting in low hums that formed no words were the same black figures

he had seen growing in the pods. Large, humanoid figures that were, had no features to speak of, save for a disorganized and inconsistent mess of facial pincers, large green boils, and tendrils, both large and small growing out of their bodies. Some were the size of grown men, and other were the size of children. Some had tentacles growing out of their faces or arms, and some had them growing out of large gashes in their body. Some had claws and long fingers, and some only had stumps.

Some had mouths and teeth with large tongues growing out, but most had no mouths at all. Some, like the rat things, had giant green boils where their eyes should be, and others had nothing resembling eyes at all. Upon the altar, they were all bowing towards a large monster that resembled nothing Howard had ever seen in his entire life. a massive pulsing mass of flesh with dozens of tendrils growing out of its cone-like body. It had no face or head of any kind and mouth like polyps growing out of each tentacle. The black fungal mold men clearly worshipped the horrific creature, looking at the bizarre creature they all worshipped, made Howard's head pound.

At the worst possible moment that it could have happened, the ceiling behind Howard collapsed, creating a large, bashing noise that alerted the strange mold men to his presence. They all gazed at him in unison, and though the great tendrils creature had no face Howard could feel its gaze. He unholstered his gun, and he shot wildly into the crowd, hoping to scatter them, or at least make them frightened. It didn't work. They rose slowly up and walked towards Howard, shambling and waddling and inhuman ways. He tossed his gun aside and began to swing at them with his axe. It had little effect. one of the mold men grabbed his weapon and pulled it away.

All of the creatures grabbed Howard with their arms and tentacles and forced him to the ground. They dragged him away and forced him in to one of the empty egg sacks that he had seen earlier. The acidic green goo filled his orifices and burned his skin. He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. Before his mind withered away, before his humanity was lost for, forever in a foamy green mass, before mold formed all over his body, turning him into one of those freakish creatures that shared a hive mind with the strange tentacled monster that they

worshipped, he could only hear one thing. The last thing that he heard was that awful, dripping. Sound. So that was once again that awful, dripping sound by Dr. Bleed. An awesome lovecraftian-style story that ended in a manner that was not expected, and the main character is dead. So there's that. Hopefully you all enjoyed this. If you did, please do consider subscribing to the channel and hitting that bell icon and then hitting that like button.

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