CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "All my lights keep breaking" Creepypasta

Episode Date: July 24, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saturdead: 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►Ahmed Afazil: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/ea...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-

I was raised in a foster home. I don't have many memories from the time I spent with my biological parents, but I know they seriously mistreated us. Both me and my sister were both severely malnourished when the state took us in, and it stunted our growth pretty bad. My sister is about five feet tall, and I'm about an inch shorter. Being raised in a foster home, I was taught just how important it is to be mindful of others

and care for those less fortunate. I spent most of my adult life working with various charities. I also work as a nurse at a private hospital, and I spend most of my days providing palliative care. I hate to sound braggy, but I think I can safely say that I'm pulling my own weight. I care. That's what I do.

So it's no wonder that, once in a while, I care more than I should, I was coming home from work. It was a pretty late Thursday, and most shops were closed, apart from a single convenience store. I bought myself a salad and a Diet Coke, and followed the main street for about a block. I usually walk to and from work. With most shops closed, the place is a ghost town.

Most bars and clubs are on a different street, but who goes clubbing on a Thursday anyway? No, apart from an older woman walking a dog, I was alone. I don't mind. I'd walk this street a thousand times. There's a fork in the road where they've put up pedestrian lights. Four roads meet, and is by far the most infuriating intersection in town. As I rounded the corner, I saw someone standing there, pressing the cross button. It was a kid.

It wouldn't matter how many times he pressed the button to cross. The light was broken. But he just stood there, crying. pressing the button. There was in a single car on the road, but you know how kids are. He was about seven years old with Asian features and a pale complexion.

His eyes were read from crying, and he was shivering. It was mid-February, and there was still plenty of snow outside, yet he looked ready for summer. Come on, he cried. Just come on! He kept pushing the button,

but nothing happened. I walked up to him and crouched down to meet his eyes. Hey there, I said. Are you okay? Where are your parents? He just pointed down the street and shook his head. They went ahead, he said. They left me.

I'm sure it was a mistake. I want to go find them. You can't cross, he cried. It has to turn green. The light is broken, sweetie. He'll be stuck here forever if you wait for it to turn green. Then how do I know when to cross? He sniffled.

I took his cold hand and met his brown eyes and smiled. Just come with me, we'll find them. That's how I first met Frederick, or Fred. Such an adult name for a scared little kid. Long story short, we didn't find them. We searched for hours. When I called the police, I was told no one had reported a missing boy. He wasn't being looked for yet.

As someone who had a vague memory of abuse and neglectful parents, I got a chill down my spine. Was this my time to step up and help out someone like me? Child protective services were eager to help, but the kid didn't want to go with them. He wanted to stay with me. I had Friday off, and then there was the weekend, so I didn't mind.

I had to fill out a few forms, and they had to come back to my apartment to make sure it was safe. But that was it. It was just a temporary solution anyway, so they were pretty relaxed about it. A temporary foster home. What goes around comes around. During that whole time,

that little hand never let go of me. He needed me. At the end of the night, he came home with me. I offered him my bed while I slept on the couch, but he refused. Instead, he wanted to. to sleep next to me. Of course he could. He had a shower and I made him some juice and toast. We watched cartoons in bed until we fell asleep. At first night I stroked his hair and sang to him,

what my foster parents had done to me all those years ago. He looked so peaceful. It wasn't peaceful for long though. Sometimes during the night I woke up to the sound of someone vomiting. I rushed into the bathroom and switched on the lights, but it stayed dark. Fred was bent over the toilet with shallow breaths. The light, he coughed. It's broken. I'll fix it, sweetie. Are you okay? I'm allergic to oranges. I didn't, I didn't want you to get mad at me. I comforted him as best as I could. I sat next to him for release the hour. My leg's got these square marks from the bathroom tiles. The next day, Fred stayed in bed. He said he was really tired and that he just wanted to rest. He asked me to keep the blinds

closed and the door shut and to leave him some water. I was worried sick. At first I thought he had a fever, but then again it could just be a stressed stomach. I figured he had to be going through hell, not knowing where his parents were or why they'd left him. I put on the TV, left in some water, and told him I'd be in the next room whenever he wanted me to make him something. He stayed in bed until at least 6pm, all day. When he finally got up, he seemed in much better spirits, and he munched down a plate of sausage and macaroni in an instant. He was so much more cheerful.

A man from CPS came by with some extra clothes earlier in the day, so Fred got a fresh change. Looking at Fred that night You couldn't tell he'd been abandoned the day before He was just an ordinary kid Eager to explore the world and make up new adventures I bought an old butterfly net And we went to catch moths in the park

I got his worth a soda And we walked around town playing Pokemon Go Fred had a lot of opinions on the best evolution of Evie And he wouldn't shut up about his favorite Pokemon Gliscore We were about the same to head back at 9pm, but Fred wanted a last walk by the monkey bars before we went home. I caved.

We took the long route back home, so we'd walk past the monkey bars. Fred was way too happy for a kid who'd just lost his parents. But then again, maybe there wasn't that much of a loss. There was another kid playing at the monkey bars. He was maybe a year older, with shoulder-length stroby-blunt hair. I thought it was a girl at first, but Fred seemed to know him. Mom, Mom, Fred called. It's Derek, can I play with him?

Mom? I'm already Mom? I didn't want to correct him, but the word hit me like a brick. Dumbfounded, I just nodded. Of course he had friends. But they were out way too late for kids this young. The two of them laughed and played until well past 10pm, when I convinced him it was time to go. They could play again tomorrow.

It was too late. We got home. I drank a glass of orange juice and we turned in for the night. The next day, I woke up at 11 a.m. I'd slept for almost 12 hours. The kind of sleepwear, when you wake up, you barely know who you are anymore. I had an explosive headache and I stumbled into the bathroom. I barely even thought about where Fred was.

The bathroom light was still broken. My headache was so bad that I threw up. I tried my best to clean it up in the dark, but it was hard. The smell remained even after a shower. I came out into the living room to find Fred and his friend Derek playing. Derek had brought an iPad, and they were taking turns looking at YouTube videos. They'd cover the windows to darken the room and made it blanket fort. Before I even got the time to question it, Fred.

hugged me. I made you lunch, he said. It's in the fridge. I didn't want to wake you. I kissed his forehead and checked my phone. Four missed calls, all from CPS. I opened the fridge, but the light didn't turn on. I could barely see anything.

The fridge was still running. It was cold, but the light was busted. With the covered windows and no other lights on, It was almost impossible to see what he'd made. Using my phone as a flashlight, I found a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches. Then, as I closed the fridge, I noticed two shining eyes looking back at me. Like the eyes of a cat, reflective, before they disappeared into the blanket fort. I barely had time to register it before Fred interrupted my thoughts.

He was standing in front of me, hands behind his back, looking worried. Are you okay? He asked, rocking back and forth. I'm fine, I lied. It's just... The light is broken. The light is broken, giggled Derek from the blanket fort. Is Derek allowed to be here?

I asked. We should call his parents. They're working, said Derek from the fort. But, okay. You can have the number, said Fred. Here. He scribbled it and a post it and handed it to me. The kids were so eager to get back to playing that I didn't know how to handle it.

I called Derek's parents. They said everything was fine and that he could stay as long as he wanted. They didn't ask any follow-up questions and they barely even cared about who I was or where I lived. They seemed irresponsible, quick to anger and very busy. I couldn't blame Derek for not wanting to spend time with them. Once it was dinner time I thought about making a chicken salad Fred suggested we get pizza

Derek agreed We were playing games in the iPad And watching cartoons And as I knew this was a temporary arrangement I couldn't say no They asked if they could stay at home While I got the pizza And I said it was okay

As long as they didn't answer the door Thanks mum said Fred You're the best It didn't sit right with me I was just about to head out, but I turned at the door and met his eyes. I'm not your mom, Fred. I don't know why I said that. His gleeful expression faded from his eyes.

With a completely deadpan expression, he responded. Fine. When I got back, the front door was unlocked. I hurried inside. Every single light in the apartment was broken by now. every door was open, every window was covered and there was no one there. I dropped the Pebroni Peters flat on the floor

and called the police. My fingers trembled so bad I could barely type the number. A patrol car came by and I talked to two officers. Apparently there was still no reports of a missing child. They looked through the apartment,

checked the blanket fort and promised to search the area. There was nothing more to do at the moment. We called CPS and I was told to update them as soon as I could. If Fred was some sort of flight risk, he might need to stay at a more secure location. Later that night, I was alone in a dark apartment. Not a single light was working. As I sat down on my bed, I couldn't help, but cry.

I was so disappointed in myself for not being able to take care of this kid, to not being able to just live with that title of mom without opening my stupid mouth. Of course he was upset. He was staying with a stranger, a stranger who didn't want to be his mom. I couldn't blame him. By midnight, I was exhausted. I just laid in bed, counting down from a thousand, hoping it had put me to sleep. It didn't. Somewhere around 2 a.m., I heard a noise from the living room. A chair moved. I hurried out, using my phone as a flashlight. I'll never forget that sight. There were dozens of little eyes reflecting in the light of my camera.

At least 13 kids in the middle of my living room cramped together. How did I not hear them enter? Sitting on a chair, facing the bedroom door, was Fred. He was dressed up in a black shirt and a white tie in black jeans. It was something an adult would wear, not a kid. He got up on the kitchen chair, making his vest. just as tall as me. What?

What is this? I stammered. There were all kinds of kids, some as soon as four, maybe five years old, the oldest no more than eleven. I dignified and erstwhile undertaking, said Fred. He had a lower voice than before. His hair was combed and parted, cared for. Turn the damn light off, he continued, pointing at me with a stiff finger.

They pushed me down to the floor. Tiny hands held me down and covered my mouth. Fred towered above me with a kitchen knife as my phone went dark. The light broke. Even with no light in the room, their little eyes shone. I could see their perfectly white teeth framed by blood-wred gums. Pay attention and be respectful, Fred said, and there's a chance you'll get out of this.

He made the rules perfectly clear When they needed me I'd answer the phone or turn away anyone who came knocking I'd make up excuses I'd do what I was told I drink my orange juice and nod That was it In return

They wouldn't kill me This wasn't Fred anymore This was Frederick I was locked in the bathroom In the course of less than half an hour I'd come from a grieving foster parent to a prisoner in my own apartment. This continued for several days. The lights were still broken, so I lived in complete darkness.

Every now and then the phone rang, and a kid came in to let me answer. They all had knives, and if I stepped out a line, they were ready to make short work of me. They all seemed so chipper and upbeat, not at all like a normal kid would be in the situation. There was something deeply wrong with them. These weren't normal kids. In a couple of days, I only got a few calls. Once from work, where I had to explain I was really sick. I could barely breathe having a knife pressed against my jugular.

Two calls from CPS to make sure everything was fine and that I would come down to sign some papers at the end of the next seven-day period. One call from a work colleague who wanted to check if they should bring me anything. I would hear the kids go quiet at times. Moments later, the door would open. Sometimes I'd hear an adult voice. Sometimes I'd just hear a dragon noise. Once I heard a man asking about the little girl,

only to be instantly silenced. I think they killed him. Sometimes they'd all just start laughing. It happened spontaneously and in unison. Empty your lungs kind of belly laughter from a dozen kids all at once. Some of them wouldn't even laugh. They'd shriek and stomp.

The apartment started the smell after just two days. I was given orange juice and sandwiches, but that was it. I stopped drinking the orange juice after I realized it smelled funny. I think they drugged it. I drank water from the tap instead. I was going mad imagining what they were doing out there. A few hours before dawn,

I'd hear them leave the apartment. Maybe they thought I was asleep. But I was convinced they didn't leave more than one or two kids behind to guard me. One of these mornings, I finally worked up the courage to try and break out. They always had kids stationed outside to guard me. But I was actually drugged up and asleep during the daytime. This time, when I skipped the orange juice, I was fine. When I finally worked up the courage to peek outside,

I realized. There was no one there. The bedroom was empty. I peeked into the living room. Clouds of flies exploded as I opened the door. The smell stunned me. From a quick peek, I could see body parts scattered on the floor, a pile of wet clothes by the half-open, broken fridge.

It also propped up in the hallway, used as a knife block. Post-it notes with smiley faces and flowers in the kitchen counter. bloodless legs poking out of the blanket fort like stacked firewood. Cigarette butts was scattered around the kitchen area, sharing the space with maggots. Still, all that gore, and barely a drop of blood spilled. Frederick was still in the middle of the room, levitating two feet of the ground. Motionless, as if hung from an invisible string. Eyes closed, he didn't breathe.

His white eyes splattered with red, his hair. thick and unkempt, one canines poking out from his drooping lower lip. My mind broke. As my body relapsed into a panic, I burst through the bedroom door and a sprint. I couldn't hear Frederick's footsteps, but I knew he was right behind me. Mom, he laughed. Mom, wait! I slammed myself through the front door and into the sunlight.

As I turn around, he was gone. A black shirt, a white tie and a pair of black jeans laid empty in the hallway. The light broke him. The police didn't know what to make of it. Those even talks of bringing up charges against me, as if I'd made up the story about the kids in the first place. They're still discussing it, but I'm not the main suspect. There were cameras who caught the victims walking into my apartment on their own. There was not a single captured image of any other kids.

Not even Fred. Not even when I knew he was right next to me, holding my hand. Still, there were plenty of witnesses. There had been kids there, no matter what the camera said. But it was hard to explain. I moved out in mid-March and I'm living in an undisclosed location. The newspapers don't know what to call these. murders, and the sheriff's office has forbidden me from leaving the state.

I don't know if you've even heard about it. Most haven't. I think there was a blurb about it in the local paper. I thought four dead would be a bigger deal, but apparently there are unclassified deaths all the time. Funny how they lumped this in the same category as someone being crushed by a vending machine. But for the past few nights, I've been getting a bad feeling. It started as just a feeling, at least, but there's more to it. I think Fred and his gang are still out there to some capacity.

I've started noticing little flurry post-it at work, some light switches needing an extra push. Or, like just the other night, I was going to watch a movie, so I got coke from the fridge. Then and there, the light broke. And I swear, I heard a goddamn giggle outside the window.