CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "An Experiment into the Temporary States of Rapture" Creepypasta

Episode Date: July 5, 2022

JOINSUBSCRIBEDCREEPYPASTA STORY►by Goose_jpg: 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►Stuart Lippincott: https://www.behance.net/gallery/85142...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-#Creepypasta #Horror #CreepsMcPasta

In 2017, a group of scientists and philosopher Baxter Harding collaborated on an experiment named Project Revelations. Under Harding's ideals, the experiment aimed to suspend multiple volunteers into a temporary state of rapture, using century deprivation tanks and a solution named R, fed through IV. They found they could place individuals into rapture, and then pull them back into reality for questions about judgment. day, the afterlife and the secrets of immortality. The team was funded by fanatical religious billionaires who lived prosperous lives. Still, they grew increasingly interested in extending their life beyond their expiry dates. The first few individual tests proved somewhat successful.

However, they soon hit a wall as subjects could only remember the first five minutes of the experience. Their brain activity on the EEGs would drop to zero. Subjects told the scientists that those five minutes felt like 20 and would also experience mental confusion for up to six minutes afterwards. Subjects claimed they floated in silence. Some noticed a dot of light they couldn't reach, while others claimed they saw nothing. Harding and his benefactors became especially interested

in the subjects that saw the light. The project's funding increased and those who could not see the light were dropped from the probe. The remaining three subjects, John, Chris and Eno, were asked to swim toward the light. It wasn't until a year later when an apprentice accidentally put another subject under just minutes after the first one, that they discovered that the second consciousness could start with the first left off. Following the discovery, they attempted the experiment with the same three people. Subjects would take turns swimming towards a light, one and a little.

light, one after the other. After 15 minutes, they found that the dart had only grown slightly bigger, and the final swimmer began to hear a low and bassy tone. It isn't known how damaging the process was, or its long-term effects on the subject's brains, but it was soon discovered that the subjects could go under multiple times, while keeping the same three to six minute rest period. came up with an idea. He proposed that the three subjects swap in and out of rapture until they reached the end. One would enter while others would rest. After 15 minutes, it would be

the next person's turn. This meant that each subject had a 10 minute break before they were to enter again. It wasn't something that could be done straight away. Although subjects only needed a short break, they found that even if their bodies were fit, they needed to be mentally strong to swim in the state of rapture. This set the experiment back by months as the subjects were put on a specific diet and required to visit the facility multiple times a week and enter rapture to train. Within three months, they extended the swim time between the three from 15 to 30 and finally to 45.

After six months, they got to 120, and after a whole year, they pushed it to 150. where subjects claimed they were close to the light source. Harding had decided that this was all the subjects needed and they would push it to a total of 195 on the day and that the subjects would be able to do it if motivated. The subjects were instructed not to eat within 24 hours of their slots and on arrival they were greeted with envelopes of Harding's cold hard motivation before being strapped up and led to a tank.

The experiment started off smoothly. The subjects would go under, recover, and then report their process just minutes before it was time to go again. Their ECGs, EEGs and blood pressure never rose there anything of concern until 170 minutes in. It was strange to see subject one's heart speed up. His EEG showed increased activity in his brain. even a tiny amount during the blackout.

I could tell by everyone else's faces that this was something new. Make a note of increased brain activity at 175 minutes, Dr. Press spoke. Stand by for removal. It wasn't until his recovery moments later that he radioed, demanding to speak to Harding. I couldn't hear it well. Harding had put on headphones.

Faintly, subjects once spoke in a panicked tone. I caught bits of sentences. Words like eyes, four angels and seven leaked through. But I watched on as Harding turned down the volume and took off the headphones. All is fine, continue, he reassured. Once again, Subject One entered Rapture. I observed his stats quietly. Subject One's heart rate is too high, Dr. Ford commented.

I silently agreed. When I had made the mistake of putting subjects two into rapture shortly over a year ago, I thought that was the end of my time here. However, it was Dr. Ford that discovered my mistake was beneficial. Despite progressing the experiment, it felt like I had been walking on eggshells since. It doesn't matter, continue, Harding demanded. And what Harding and his friends wanted, they got. Everyone cared somewhat for the cause.

However, many of the scientists there needed money and publication, and shamefully I was one of those people. The room was filled with a thick silence and anticipation. Everyone had waited for Subject 2 to finally communicate, and when he did, they all seemed to hold their breaths. We were further back, I swear, we're so close. Subject 2 called Breathers'est. the speaker. The waves of the tanks were loud. I didn't think anything of it at the time.

We should be closer. Something is happening. This time, Harding did not put on the headphones. Subject One's channel was the only one turned down. Just keep swimming, subject too. Report back with any other abnormalities, Harding requested. Roger.

I excused myself from the room. The heavy and intense air felt all too much. The chance of failure when we worked on this for years weighed down viciously. If the project was a success, my name would be on one of the most revolutionary experiments in the world. This meant more jobs, more money, and even bragging rights. The promises of a greater future only assisted in pushing back any doubtful thoughts. I found myself in the room with the tanks. I hadn't intentionally set out to go there, but I think I subconsciously worried for John and Chris.

A massive wires fed through each pod and the beeping of machines blanketed the room. But it wasn't until a few minutes after I settled on one of the chairs that the faint sound of scratching caught my attention. I couldn't pinpointed it at first. It would stop occasionally and sometimes start back under the disguise of the beeping. The parts were thick, designed to completely block the world out for those inside, and in return it made it extremely difficult to hear the subjects.

That's what made the scratching so intriguing. Sensory deprivation had always interested me. I was tempted to take one of the pods for a spin without compound R, which I'd never dared. I had thought that perhaps were the new money and jobs that were to come out of this, maybe I could afford my own pod. But maybe I'd start with a few sessions. I'd made it over to subject one's pod and found the source of the scratching. Muffled words escaped the pod, but got lost in the air. I caught a few things such as scroll and light.

Screaming erupted from Part 1. It scared me into shock. I stumbled back, then stood frozen for moments, listening to the screeching and scratching. I had witnessed a scientist's open and close those things multiple times, but with no visible handles or locks, my brain frazzled under pressure. John, I called out in an uneven voice. He returned nothing short of an expression of pure fear. John, I'll get you out, just can't... Do not touch the tank, Mr. Sullivan.

Ice travelled throughout my veins, and any feeling of urgency melted into fear. Subject 1 is experiencing paranoia. They all are. I almost felt like a child getting caught doing something he shouldn't. This is the longest they've been under. Previous tests had the same result after an extended time. It takes a lot of mental strength. Tank 1 grew quiet again, except for the slight scratching.

He most likely had entered rapture again. As a scientist, you should know these things come with side effects. If you want, you can stay here and try to talk to them or return to the observation room. Personally, I think we'd do much better with you in the room. It didn't feel like much of a choice. Harding had a strange aura of authority. I felt like I had to please him.

Hearing him say scientist rather than apprentice brought me joy. I followed Harding back into the room. The atmosphere felt a lot heavier than when I left. The other apprentice was viciously writing down notes spattered in by Dr. Press. We're definitely making less progress. Someone is swimming back, I think. I keep entering facing the wrong way. I was so damn close. Subject 2's voice filled the room. He sounded annoyed.

If something was disrupting the experiment, it could mean more time swimming for them. We need to speak to subject one, Dr. Harding, Dr. Ford suggested. Subject 1 has requested radio silence. I do not want to affect his mental state. I understand Dr. Harding, but if he's purposefully sabotaging the experiment, we need to find out why. Subject 1 is fine. Is he not, Mr. Sullivan? He has just visited the pots.

I should have said something. I moved my gaze from Dr. Trinity forward and back to the monitors. Yeah, he's fine. Dr Ford glanced at subject one's stats. I could tell she wanted to mention them and how they weren't normal, yet her lips remained pursed shot. The subjects are experiencing paranoia, just like they have done previously during limit testing.

Harding reassured. I was stuck. His words made sense as the three subjects had to train to stay in the state, but there was no explanation for everything new, that had happened. Hello, Subject 3's voice rang. Subject 3, how are you doing? One of the doctors responded.

Oh God, his voice was shaky and breathy. I was about to touch it, but... Damn. I'd assumed we were further away. We need to abort, pull John out. Despite the water surrounding him, his voice was dry and hoarse, as if he had been in a desert for days.

Subject 1 is already under. Subject 3, you need to breathe. Oh, God, we're... The radio fizzled and hissed that Subject 3's broken words spluttered incoherently. Subject 2's ECGs and EGs began to blare warning signs as his heart rate and brain activity

dropped and rose rapidly. Pull him out, Harding screamed. I watched as two of the scientists scuttled out of the room. Subject 2's vital. fell flat moments later. Subjects 3. Do you hear me?

Subtext 3? I shoveled past the now standing group of people and out the door, just in time to see the two scientists helping Eno out of the pod. Is he okay? I asked in a panic.

The two seemed relaxed or Eno mumbled something ending with in the light. Yeah, his machines failed. His stats are fine. I sighed and watched them rabbit towel around him and guide him to the resting bay. In the distance, I could hear Harding's voice over the radio.

He'd no concern for Eno's well-being. John's pod was quiet. There was no scratching or screaming. Just silence. He wasn't a friend, but he was one of the only people involved that cared to ask how I was doing. He was a nice guy, and it told me he was doing this so he could pay off his student loans. And although we hadn't spoken much, I considered asking for his number once the experiment was over.

As if on cue, the two scientists returned. It was slightly damper than they were just moments ago. One spoke into his radio and asked for permission to let John out. Harding's voice run through, and I watched him pop open the tank. The first thing I caught sight of was John's smiling face. The two corners of his lips stretched almost entirely across his face, as if in complete ecstasy. His skin folded around the tips of his lips, and the skin appeared to be rubber. I thought the prolonged exposure to salt water caused it, but it looked too synthetic.

The two scientists already gloved up, helped a passive John out of the pod. The water was a deep red, yet John had no visible injuries. He struggled to stand, as if he were a baby, learning to use his two feet for the first time. The smell of rusted pipes filled the room quickly, and the red liquid splashed across the floor and onto my shoes. I flinched at first, worried that the liquid was a biohazard, yet the other two scientists allowed John to lean on them and soak them. Across his body was seven blisters, all extremely sore-looking and ready to pop. They weren't seeping or cracking and clearly weren't the cause of the red water. What happened to him is an allergic reaction? I asked.

The two looked at each other, at John and then at the water. One mumbled something along the lines of not being sure and to ask hiding or press. John? Are you okay? His face slowly turned to me and his head tipped to the side. his neck too weak to hold his weight. I thought I heard it crack. Red droplets fell from his hair and down his cheeks.

Some entered his mouth and stained his teeth, but it did not seem to bother him. His eyes were dim, as if he wasn't there, but his EEG showed more than average activity. John stared at me for what felt like minutes. He gurgled something, the emerging water made it difficult for him to see. say anything. I didn't have time to say much more as the two scientists carefully wrapped him

in a towel and led him into the resting bay. Just as they turned the corner, John stumbled and hit one of the blisters on the wall. He didn't even let out a yelp as it burst and staying in the area with a strange black goo. The scientists led him away, leaving the sludge to slink down the wall. A glance back to the pod. Faint scratch marks covered every visible piece of plastic inside. Most of it had been on the lid. I wondered what John saw in his paranoia. I didn't look at his hands, but he must have had some strong nails that caused the damage he did.

Harding returned to the room, followed by Dr. Trinity Ford and Dr. Press. What is that? asked Dr. Press. Harding simply walked towards the pod, cautious of the red splotches on the floor. Voices mumbled in worry and concern. Seven? Trinidad's eyes focused on the scratches, and it wasn't until then that I noticed they were all sevens.

Interesting. Harding leaned over the tank without concern for the liquid and swiped his finger over the scratches. He then glanced at subject to his pod. He didn't say much. Perhaps he expected it or was mulling it over. It's time to blot subject three, wrote Dr. Jones and Dr. Morris.

They took Subject 1 to the resting bay, I informed him. It was only for a flash, but I swore he looked concerned. All right, Dr. Press, Dr. Trinity, come with me. Mr. Sullivan assists Subject 3. When I finally opened the pod, I was relieved to be greeted by Clearwater. Chris was already sat up, and it appeared he had an experience.

experienced as extreme paranoia as subject to one. Careful does it. I guided Chris out of the pod. He pressed all his weight onto me, soaking me with salt water. I stumbled under him, struggling to keep him up. How are you feeling? I asked. Chris's breaths run steady, and he refused to speak. His hands formed into fists, and he pushed back and away from me.

Chris screamed like an in. injured animal. His voice cracked and echoed throughout the room. He fell back and caught himself on the edge of the pod. I watched as he used it for support. What happened? I asked and handed him a towel, which he took but didn't bother drying himself. I watched in shock and silence as he tried to find the words. At first he stumbled over himself as his mouth tried to find the right words. The light, he began. I thought it was weird, but there was something in the light, something smiling. Gris brought his hands to his face and began sobbing uncontrollably, his tears and snobbed with the saltwater. He swiped the towel across his face aggressively.

I first saw it around 160 minutes in. He breathed heavily. I just thought I was going crazy. I placed my hand on his wet shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. His skin felt strangely soft. But just before I touched it, I saw them. Angels, with animal heads, a lamb with seven eyes and a scroll, the end of the world in stages. Chris rubbed his face with a towel again, harsher than the last. I couldn't begin to comprehend what he meant.

I'm sure it made sense in his head. It wasn't until then that I realised I had yet to see his face. I imagined him with the same disturbing grin that John wore, and at that point I grew terrified of the man in front of me. I watched nervously as he rubbed his face with the towel yet again. The seven seals, I whispered. I looked down at the towel, scared to see blood, and was relieved to see it was the same white colour as previously.

If John made contact, he'd know where they are. Where is he? The resting bay. He wasn't really talking when he came out. Chris pushed himself up and I finally saw his face. It was red, but thankfully there was no unusual grin there. As he took heavy steps toward the resting bay, I watched small puddles of water form on the floor behind him.

He swayed side to side at points and almost collided with a black goo on the doorframe. He stopped and stared at the liquid confused. He even gagged at what I soon discovered was the smell. It wasn't until then that I decided to follow him. I stayed behind him, ready to support him if his exhausted body fell. Chris opened the door. It scraped against the ground.

The hinges had dropped over the years, yet it was never fixed. Damn, Chris hissed. I held my breath, fearing I'd throw up my dinner out of anxiety if I dared to breathe. What? What the hell? he continued. I forced myself to look around the rooms inside. My eyes only ever stained on something for a millisecond. Familiar bodies lay across the floor, bloodied and naked. Some lay atop of each other, as if they fell over one another. I instantly turned away. It didn't feel real.

At first I felt numb, but nausea came and went in unexpected waves. It didn't smell like I expected. The bodies were too fresh, still warm. There was no time for decay as they had just reached death store. My mouth began to water, a tell that bile was soon to follow. Chris took a step in and I rushed to. past him. Cool air leaked through an open window and sent my goosebumps into overdrive. At a disbelief, I shook some of the bodies and checked a few pulses. I hoped at least one of them

were alive. I kept swallowing, but soon vomit rushed from my stomach. I held it firm in my mouth, traces of it trickled out of my nose, and I wiped it away with my sleeve, almost choking on it. I swallowed it back down. Chunks of lunch were sent. sent back to my stomach to finish dissolving. He's... not here. Chris's voice was raised in confusion and fear. He hadn't moved from his first step. I tried to equalize myself to stop the room from spinning.

Jesus, is that blood on your face? What? It took my panicked brain a second to process. I glanced down at my lab coat. A mix of blood and vomit combined at my sleeves. My stomach rumbled angrily again, but I chose to ignore it. Who isn't here? My voice didn't feel like its own.

It was weak and breathy. Every time I spoke, the air oxidized my mouth, and I could taste the acidity on my stomach's remains. I couldn't help it. Rather, I did it without thinking. I wiped my face again, trying to clear my mind and sight. And when I did, I was hate. able to figure out just who Chris was referring to John.