CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "A Face Only a Mother Could Love" Creepypasta

Episode Date: November 25, 2020

PLEASE CHECK OUT THE AUTHOR'S LATEST BOOK► https://www.breakingrulespublishing.c...MORE BOOKS HERE► https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Erutious: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Toni Guil Delgado: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Nx...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

Have you ever heard the sound a scalpel makes as it slides over a bone? If you haven't, it's like a little blade scraping over a hollow rock. The bone isn't as solid as you might think, not as solid as the blade at least, and the sound has an eerie quality to it. The more I reflect on the sound, the more it reminds me of nails on a chalkboard or sidewalk chalk that kids drag over the pavement. It's a weird noise that sets your hair on edge and makes you greet your teeth against the intrusive grinding. I've had a lot of time to think about that sound in the years following my wife's death.

That was the sound, though, that woke me that night. It had been a long week, the department reeling over a series of brutal murders, and this was the first night I got to sleep in my own bed in almost four days. I'd been crashing in the break room, sleeping in my car, and living one cup of coffee at a time while we tried to track the sadist asshole. I know many cops in the same situation, but as most of us are locals the desire to see this guy brought to justice

is palpable the killer had been sticking to a certain area my area actually he was killing with no pattern no particular demographic and seemed to be sticking to those in this particular part of town these were low to middle income families

people who couldn't afford to just up and leave because a crazy killer was on the loose no matter how heinous the crimes were and the crimes were absolutely haines Venus. Seven different victims, none of them having anything in common, had been found with their faces skinned down to the bone and removed. The whole face. It was as though someone had cut the face off, skinned it down to the skull and took it with them when they left. Nothing was ever taken from the apartments, no messages were ever left, and the killer never lingered after doing their strange deed. We called him a killer, but the victims were usually still alive when they left. They died. from the blood loss afterwards, sometimes living for hours, lying there as they watched their life leak away as they screamed wetly. The last one was a store owner, well liked in the community. The one before that was an 80-year-old grandmother. Before that, a 19-year-old girl who was popular

with the boys in the neighbourhood. A bike messenger, a beat cop, an aspiring actress, a high school student who was once a beauty queen. None of these people even knew each other. There was no connection besides where they lived and no one could even find a single person that any of them knew in common. The only connection they all had was being well liked. I had been sent home that night. My captain was telling me I looked like crap and I needed some sleep in a real bed. My wife had been waiting for me. Captain Weems may have called her before I left and the night had been a good one. She'd saved me dinner, roast and potatoes, which I'd like and we had cuddled on the couch as we watched something on Netflix.

As tired as I was, I remember feeling warmer just by the time I spent with her that night. When she looked up at me, her head pillowed in my lap, I remember thinking I was the luckiest guy in the world. When I fell asleep after a rather heated lovemaking session, I found myself looking forward to the next day, hopeful that we could catch this guy and get rid of some of the fear that was hanging around like a cloud. When I came awake, it was because of the scraping noise. Some nights I wish I had just stayed asleep. I lay awake for a few seconds, listening to the scraping sound and wondering what it could be. It was an alien sound, like a nail dragged across a window.

There was an underlying sound as well, a wet and muffled sound that sounded like someone having a bad dream. I rolled on my side, thinking that my wife was having a bad dream and wanting to comfort her. She was prone to nightmares. her childhood had been less than ideal, but I found myself unable to move. My whole body was heavy, my muscles unresponsive, and all I could do was lie there and listen to a soft groaned and husky moans. I kept trying to move, but this was different than a bout of sleep paralysis somehow. This felt like being out of my body, unable to control it.

Then my eyes tracked to the mirror that sat atop my wife's vanity, and I felt a scream hanging my throat like a piece of meat. I was choking, choking on the scream as my mind tried to process what I was seeing. I was dreaming. I had to be. Things like this did not exist in the real world. This was a nightmare. Maybe I was even the one making those noises I kept hearing.

This simply could not be happening. I was dreaming. I was nightmaring. I would wake up and this would all go away. The longer it went on though, the more I concluded that it was happening. The thing reflected in the mirror was nearly seven feet tall. It crouched in the bedroom, leaning over my wife as it slid one, long finger over a face. Its head was large, a large grey baby dull head, with a face covered by a grotesque mask that looked stuck on.

There was a spread of red around the mask's corners and it looked stretched and frayed. The creature's body was grey, long and disproportionately slim, on a pair of spindly legs that disappeared below the corner of the bed. What interested me the most, however, were the long, grey arms that ended in very sharp fingers. Fingers, he was currently sliding over my wife's face. He was taking that long finger along the same track again and again, and I could see a trickle of blood,

sliding down one of her cheeks as I watched helplessly. I could see a trench working its way through a skin The blood beginning to run more freely as he went His eyes, his overly expressive blue eyes Followed the finger's path as he worked And I tried with all I had to break out of whatever held me The two big head looked up from his work And I realized I was shaking a bit as I watched him

His hand stretched out, impossibly long And one of those claws came to rest in my ear It was cold and wet Like a fish that's been plucked from a stream Suddenly my shuddering stopped And I realised why I couldn't move This thing Had done something to me

Had done something to my wife I was forced to lay there and watch As he went about his work The process was not quick Whatever tool he had at the end of his wrist Must be dull indeed He had to make the circuit for nearly an hour and a half And my wife's muffled cries were becoming more and more piteous

The blood was really coming down now Pulling on the bed and turning the white sheets a deep red I saw my wife starting a shudder Thinking she might be coming out of it But he touched her with one of those claws Put the tip in her ear And she went still again I was going to have to watch

As he took her face At some point I realised that but all the realising in the world wouldn't prepare me for it. Finally, after what felt like ours, he pulled the finger back and bent low over a face. He brought both hands up,

ten scalpel fingers peeling the face I loved so much from her two white skull. That's the other sound I'll never forget until the day I die. The sound of my wife's face being peeled away sounds like nothing so much as Velcro separating. I saw it in the murky glass as it came free, and for an instant I could see the creature's face too.

It pulled off the odd mask, and I realised too late it was the face of the shopkeeper we'd found a few days ago. It put the face into his mouth, and as it chewed, I could see a face like a swollen potato, its mouth like a carved jack-o'-lantern sneer. Its rubbery teeth chewed at the flesh as those eyes stared blankly into space. It had a pair of two expressive blue eyes And for a moment I thought they might have come from a doll They looked at me suddenly Locked mine as I stared into the mirror

Those horrible blue eyes held my gaze for a count of 20 Before it slapped the new face on with a wet chuck sound Those eyes stared back in me through the eye holes Of my wife's detached face And the creature went out through the window Without a second look back Those eyes, peeped at the eye, I'm taking jealousy out of my wife's face with the worst part, and that face haunts my dreams

every night by the time I could move. She was dead. She came out of it before I did, though. She lay in the bed, gasping wetly and called for me. I didn't know if she could see me. Did her eye still work? She passed out a few times as she tried to turn her head, finally just laying in her own blood and calling for me softly.

She wanted me to save her, wanting me to wake her up from this dream. It was impossible for her to be dying in her own bed after having a face cut off. I began to get some feeling back in my arms as a voice trailed off. I could flex my fingers, but my arms didn't start to work until after she had slipped off. The light had begun to peek in by the time I could fall out to bed and scramble for the phone. I told them everything. I told them about the creature. I told them about its long.

claws, I told them about the paralyzing dread. I told them how it had taken my wife's face and left out the window. Their response was to send me to a therapist, to give me time to grieve, to have my work with a hypnotherapist to try and decide if I had actually seen something. I had suffered through the bereavement period. I went to the therapists and told them what they wanted to hear. They wanted to tell me that the creature was away from my mind to cope with what had happened. I knew better though. I used that. downtime to gain information on this creature. There wasn't much to go on. The crimes had all been committed within two blocks of each other, all in a central location, all in the part of town that

housed several large apartment complexes. I asked around, seeing if anyone had seen anything like it, but I got a few answers. Some of the homeless people had told me they'd seen something skulking about lately, but most of them were too strung out to be credible. A few of them led me to an abandoned underground station that had once been central to the area but now stood abandoned. The homeless didn't stay there anymore, and if they did, they stayed forever. Or so they told me. After a month of bereavement, I came back with my information compiled and ready to hand to the chief, but I returned to a very different work environment.

No one believed that I had seen a monster steal my wife's face, and I began to hear rumbles around the station, that I was a suspect somehow. A 15-year officer had just lay there and watched his wife have a face taken off? Not likely. Is he more likely that I'd been out all night and came home to find her like that? Is he more likely, still, that I was the killer,

banking on the idea that my reputation would put me above suspicion? I didn't care. I knew what I'd seen, and I took my information straight to my boss. My boss, however, was in another camp. altogether. Is this how you spend your period of morning?

I wanted you fresh, all this monster stuff out of your system. The others already think you're unhinged. The ones who don't think you're the killer. You need to be careful talking about this kind of crap around here. Get back to your desk. You're on light duty until further notice. And I don't want to hear another word about this damn monster. I seethed behind my desk, already planning my next move.

If it was proof that they wanted, it was proof I'd give them. I left early that afternoon and went home to prepare. I backed a bag, took my service pistol and a shotgun from the whole closet. The little pump action fit nicely into my campsack, as well as a rope, a flashlight, and some trail bars. I dressed warmly, the November weather already becoming frigid after dark, and I looked back at my apartment before leaving, unsure I'd ever see it again. I glanced at my wife's portrait on the mantle, though, was enough to send me on my way. The creature wouldn't be wearing her face for long.

The old underground was a dilapidated relic, a toothless mouth that gaped out of the pavement. The gate was locked, but I'd been told the fence was cut around the back. Some industrious bag had made a neat little hole to scurry through, and I entered the perimeter without much fuss. The sun had begun to set as I flipped on the flashlight, and it cast a red glow across the grimy tiles. The glow was gone after the second staircase, and I was plunged into true darkness. The outside had looked bad, but the inside was a ruin. The tiles had been shattered in places, light fixtures hanging from a leaking roof, and a single train stood like a hulk on dead tracks.

There was a constant sound of dripping water, a constant sound of scurrying feet, and it was easy to imagine that this was what Bilbo Baggins had found under the Goblin Mountain. I found myself swinging my flashlight about at every second, my years of cool police training melting away as I descended into the station. Near the tracks, I found a handprint that looked red with dried blood. I jumped down into the tracks without a second thought, drawing my gun and looking left and right. My light fell across a fainter smear going left, light red standing the side of the train,

and I decided this was my direction. I moved quietly, not with it. wanting to tip my prey off, but he could have been hanging over my head, and I'd have never seen him. If he lived here, he could probably see in the dark, and bringing a beacon with me would be as good as screaming down the tunnel. As I moved, I'd little doubt that he knew I was here. The deeper I went in, the worse the scuttling and the skittering became. I told myself it was rats. But how sure was I that the scrambling I heard wasn't the sound of those sharp fingers scampering across the ceiling? How sure was I that that scrambling was the sound of his equally

long toes? Toes I had never seen, gripping the pavement and moving his body along in a quiet scuttle. As he took another corner, I could swear that something big moved just out to my flashlight beam. I held it there for a count of 12 before turning away and continuing down the tunnel. The blood smear's were all but gone, but I felt drawn deeper in as I took turns at random. It was almost as if I could hear my wife's voice calling me, and I had little doubts that he knew I was here now. I had even less doubt when he fell onto my back, slamming my head against the floor and sending my guns spinning out of my hand.

I blacked out, and when I came to, I wished I had died. I was laid across a metal bench somewhere deep in the tunnels, an eerie light. lit the space, some kind of plant life maybe, and I found I was paralyzed again when I tried to move. That was with my wife's face. Her face made terrible by those two expressive eyes loomed over me, and I'd have cringed the way if I were not held by whatever power the creature had. It stuttered me, maybe even recognized me, but his regard was terrible as it came from a face that I loved so much. Her face was decomposed. posed, rotting away as it clung to the creature's skull, and I felt something goopy fall onto my

cheek as he leaned in close to inspect me. I had only thought it couldn't get any worse, but that was before he pressed that finger to the cleft of my chin. He began to circle, the claw digging against my skin, as he slid the nail around and around and around my face. It didn't hurt at first. It was little more than a discomfort, and I began to wonder. I wonder how long he had been carving at my wife.

I stared at him, and he stared back, those baby blues boring into me. His eyes were mesmerizing, terrifying as they held unwaveringly still, and as the minute stretched into hours, I began to feel my face heating up. It was subtle at first, just a little warmth around my chin and forehead, but as the circling finger went around and around, I felt something. I felt like someone was holding a lighter to my skin. I would have screamed, my flesh becoming seared, but I couldn't move.

My horror was trapped to my throat again. I started to feel the flood as it slid there my cheeks and head. First, it was just a trickle, a damp line or two, but soon it was running in riftily. Soon I could feel my flesh parting from my skull. Soon I could feel that sizzling heat as it cut my skin. and I felt as though I must pass out, I must black out from shock. There was no way that everyone was awake as he cut their living face from their body.

It was impossible. It was sick. It was... He pulled the finger back, suddenly. And I realised with horror what was about to happen. All ten fingers gripped my flesh, and I tried to pull away then. Maybe I could still make it to a hospital. They could fix me.

They could make this wrong. right, but there was no way he was going to take my face. This wasn't how he was supposed to go? I wasn't supposed to... He gripped my face, and I heard that same Velcro ripping as my own face came free of my skull. Then he devoured my wife's face as I watched and slapped my own across his gorseaued canvas

that was his lumpy head. He hooted then, hooted and cried in his strange, unknowable language. He turned to a deeper tunnel. and cried out in pure pleasure as he fulfilled whatever ritual he was performing, whatever dark spell he needed these faces for. I hoped he would let me go now. I had lost a lot of blood, but maybe I could still get some medical attention. I felt groggy, weak.

But when I heard something struggling out of the depths of the tunnel, I felt something heavy settled into my guts. What fresh hell was this? Out of the darkness, lit only, Lit, only by whatever phosphorescence dwelt down there, came a hulking thing that slid on long grey limbs. It was spider-like, a massive grey blob that pulled itself along on something like tentacles, each of them ending the same hooked fingers as the creature. It lowered its equally mushy face to the creature, taking in the face, and I heard something speak in a voice made of broken glass. Do I please you, mother?

It cried, and that voice was full of hope and terrible longing. The grey creature seemed to contemplate for a long moment, before it opened its shapeless mouth and whispered her single, horrible word in a language like snakes crawling across a naked face. Ugly. Then it pulled itself back into the depths. I heard the creature sobbing, it fell to its grey knees and wept.

Then, suddenly, I was running. My mind had set itself to waterpilot, and my body and mind simply couldn't take it anymore. Myself pushed against this thing, this thing and its terrible need, and my body propelled itself away, before this knowledge could do my brain lasting harm. I ran and ran, blind in that lightless world,

as the blood trickled down my naked face. If the creature came after me, I never knew. If the thing that wore my face came after me, I never knew. I was running one second, the darkness pressing in all around me, and the next my world was full of light, and I was falling into oblivion. The next thing I knew, I was in a hospital, being told how lucky I was to be alive. An undercover cop had followed me to the underground entrance and had waited to question me when I came back out. When I didn't come out for several hours, he called him people to come look for me. Those people had heard me screaming through the tunnels, caught sight of my faceless form in their

flashlights, and caught me before I fell. I'd nearly died on the way there. I'd simply lost too much blood, and my body was in some kind of shock. They sedated me, my night terrace causing me to buck and scream, and I'd spent nearly a week in a hospital bed. No one thinks I'm crazy and more and no one thinks I'm the killer. Certainly no one believes that I cut my own damn face off. I'm writing this as a warning. This is a warning. A warning to anyone living in the area. Get out. Leave your home and get out. This creature has no rhyme or reason for his actions. He seeks only to gain something that I believe he will never find. I'm safe now. A faceless horror who will have to live with the knowledge I discovered until the day I die.

But you needn't suffer my fate. Get away from the cheap side. Get away from the concrete apartment and get as far away from the city as you can. Lest you become one more face for this monster to show its mother.