CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Anyone else remember imagining something sprinting alongside the car" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 25, 2020

Anyone else remember being a kid and imagining something sprinting alongside you when you were in your family car?CREEPYPASTA STORY►by DBTraven: 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...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-

Then I began talking. I never talk so much in all my life. I told Dean that when I was a kid and rode in cars, I used to imagine I held a big scythe in my hand and cut down the trees and posts and even sliced every hill that zoomed past the window. Yes, yes, yelled Dean. I used to do it too, only different sithe, tell you why.

Driving across the west with the long stretches, my sithe had to be immeasurably longer and it had to curve over the distant mountains, slicing their tops, and reaching another level to get at further mountains and at the same time clip off every post along the road. Excerpt from Jack Currocks on the Road, 1957. That was the quote that opened

what was once my PhD thesis. The Chaser, images of accompaniment and malleability in the evidence for collective unconscious in children and young adults via qualitative analysis. Th thrilling stuff I know. I'm bound by a number of agreements do not give you the location of my former university, nor the names of any of my colleagues in the Fantasia research cluster

for collective psycho-imetry. To do so, it would threaten the little corner of academia I've managed to hide myself away in, and nowhere further education college in a nowhere place, where I grind away an imitation of a living, teaching night classes like psychology for business people, to tired-eyed single mothers and senior citizens. But someone has to know the things.

we discovered. Psychoanalytics isn't much regarded anymore, despite the prominent place it held in the foundation of psychology as a field of study. Ask most people, and you'll hear something about Freud and cigars, and oddly close familiar relationships. Modern schools of psychology don't pay it too much mind either, overwhelmingly now focused on scientific approaches to talk therapy, or just getting to the nuts and bolts of the brain with MRI modelling. The era of rattling off grandiose theories from your coked up conversations with Australian housewives is long over. So I was being funneled into doing some thesis and neuron patterns interacting with social media use or some such when I

was approached by a colleague who spoke in whispers. When you were a kid and riding the car with your parents, did you ever imagine a little guy running alongside the car beside you? I chuckled with recognition when he asked me and although I found his tone unusual, responded with the same conspirator quiet. So, it wasn't just me? I reminisced vividly. My mind drifted back to my father at the wheel, hair-knuckled and irritated, wheeling through the long country roads to visit an aunt or uncle.

My mother, unwrapping one of those little sweets she kept in the glove box and popping it in her mouth to avoid tense conversation, filling out the whole car with a smell of peppermint. I would be wrapped, my eyes staring out the wind. watching a wonder as the little man on a skateboard hung for minutes on end in the air, waiting for the rare farmyard vent-post to make his impossible landing. My colleague countered that his chaser, as we came to call them, was in fact a night on horseback. I felt this lent itself to a little less acrobatics than my skateboarder, but given that my phantom would often remain in the air for ten to fifteen minutes at a time, I decided realism was not the best rejoiner. When he told me it was a far-from uncommon phenomenon, I was fascinated, and mind-dalled at the thought of examining grainy images of synapses firing for the next couple of years, I instantly took him up on his offer of a research project based on the chasers.

I asked to send me what he had so far, and I would take a look over it after the undergraduate class I had to teach in the evening. I ambled away with a spring in my step, delighted to be doing the kind of the kind of. of big and bizarre psychology that had gotten me interested in the field in the first place. I was so distracted from my excitement, I hardly noticed how his eyes hovered out the window as he bid me goodbye. It was dreams that got me into this field. I was always fascinated by them since my mother first explained the whole idea to me when I was a kid. Surreal little movies playing in your head while you slept.

Madness. Just one of those crazy things we'd taken our stride. though reading about dreams I discovered Jung who theorized they represented our partaking in a kind of collective unconscious imagination connected to the living memory of humanity Chase dreams connecting us to being chased down by predators and often including archetypal mythical images common to humanity the whole idea fascinated me and that's how I ended up reading the file labeled chaser historiography dot doc instead of looking at dull brain scans.

Mary Shelley writes of experiencing an extraordinary reverie on a horse and carriage one evening, imagining a cloaked, enigmatic figure, keeping pace with the stallion stride. An issue of the Kansas pioneer from 1840 details the author's fanciful imagining of a proud Indian,

riding alongside his carriage on a train journey. The examples are numerous and yet curiously similar. Notably, they seem to occur only in the passenger, as in the case of Rumi's poetry fragment from horseback in the 13th century, and all accounts involved overland travel. No recorded phenomenon of the chaser has ever occurred on a boat or in the context of air travel. To hell with what my supervisor might say,

I was in. On my way to the little campus outbuilding in which the Fantasia Research Cluster had made its home, I found myself looking at the trees whipped past on the bus. whip past on the bus, and, with little effort, seeing the shadowy figure that darted between them. Below, I've enclosed transcripts from our first interview in the project. The participant is obviously denoted with pseudonyms here, per ethics guidelines. Interview 1.

Darius Interviewer Is this phenomenon that we have taken to calling the chaser, something you have experienced in your life? Yeah, definitely. I remember being a kid, and my brother used to drive him to soccer practice. He was like in his late teens, and kind of moody so conversation was in an option. I'd stare out the window and see this big kangaroo just bouncing down the road alongside

us. Interesting. You know it's slightly less common in our observations for people to report animals as opposed to humanoid as their chasers. Huh? That's weird, I guess. I think I was actually doing this project in school about animals or whatever. I picked kangaroo because as a kid I thought they were just wild, you know.

So different. Plus, the boxing. Did the figure of the kangaroo remain constant throughout your imaginings? Did you ever find yourself imagining a human being? No, it was always the same. Well, sort of. It got different too. Different?

How do you mean? I mean, it was the same shape as a kangaroo, still bounced the same and stuff, but the teeth got so long. It got these big claws, big yellow fingernails, and then it started to look at me directly in the eye, scared the hell out of me. I remember my mum were asking, why are you always staring down at your damn feet when you were in the car? I didn't know what to say. That's quite bizarre indeed. We usually find the phenomenon begins in childhood.

and tends to end shortly thereafter. Could you give us a rough estimate of when it stopped? Stopped? Man, there's a reason I got on the road by myself as soon as I turned 16. It hasn't ever stopped. It's only gotten closer. End transcript.

My colleague had a great wide grin on his face as the playback stopped. He stared at me with eager, expressive eyes, and I met his gaze with excited confusion. Jesus, we definitely have something there, but if it's just an anomaly of one guy that hangs onto his chaser into adulthood, I don't know if it's academically viable. Here, an even graddically impossessed, he pulled a frayed mineral folder from the satchel he dragged everywhere with him.

From within, he produced a sheet of paper headed, participant encoding, with a list of names maybe fifty long. Half of them highlighted with an orange marker. Beside a handful of the highlighted names was a little asterisk. The highlighted participants described retention or recurrence of a chaser well into adulthood. The ones with an asterix, the chaser has turned from benign hallucination into a constant illusion, provoking feelings of anxiety, paranoia, even fear for one's life. It was the widest I'd ever seen anyone's smile while describing sheer terror.

Yet I couldn't help but grin a little myself. I understood this feeling. Ten-year-tracked positions were drying up, and academic job security wasn't what it used to be. A wild phenomenon like this could allow us to milk it for papers and conference speaking's roles for years, maybe even decades to come.

Spin-off articles and conferences would emerge from the interdisciplinary spats it would provoke. The media would go wild for it. We'd be on talk shows by day and drinking scotch in our corner offices by night. I took the bus back home from our first session. My eyes were glued to those same trees as the shadow figure fleeted once more between

like a boxer bobbing and weaving around his opponent. But the cloaky war seemed a richer, deeper black now, and I could examine its little creases as my eyes remained fixed to his form. When I thought I saw a little glimpse of silver beneath a fabric catching in the summer sun, I ripped my eyes away and spent the rest of the bus journey

examining the patterns on the back of the headrest ahead of me. When I arrived to the next session, my friend was nowhere to be seen. I popped into the canteen to grab a coffee before the interview began, only to find a graduate student who had also been working on the project.

Strands of a golden hair stuck to her tears at the side of her cheeks. My colleague had been in a car that had overturned. He was in the hospital in critical condition. But unusually, the driver had been just fine. My legs almost went weak at the knees. I questioned whether we should be carrying on with a day's session, but she insisted that

it was what he would have wanted. I agreed with little persuasion. I told myself it was because of my devotion to my colleague and my deep-held belief in the pursuit of knowledge. I can admit now, I was still imagining the talk show appearances and the tenure track. I would conduct this next interview myself. Interview 2. Mary Ann Is this phenomenon that we have taken to calling the chase I called him Sir Percival?

Okay, you know people do not generally name them, unless of course they belong to some existing fiction, or if they're real people. You have no idea how many Tony Hawks is. skateboarding alongside family minivans we've heard about in here. When I was a little girl, I liked night stories. It started with princesses. My dad used to read them to me at bedtime, but I always prefer the strong knight to the princess. I wanted to be strong.

It was King Arthur stories and stuff like that. Maybe it was because of all that that he was a knight. On horseback? It certainly wouldn't be unusual among the cases we've examined. Sort of. He was like one of those... He was part horse, but he had a knight's body, an armour and all that.

A centaur? Yeah, yeah, a centaur. That's what he was. Galloping along beside me, keeping pace. Shiny armour would always pick up the sun. He was so fast. And do you recall when he began to appear to you? Oh, I must have been little.

Just a little girl. I could just make out the metal horns poking out above the window. Horns? Yeah, he always had these weird like protrusions from his helmet. I thought of them as horns. I thought maybe it did something to do with him being a, what do you call it? A centaur? But horses don't have horns?

I don't know. And when did you stop seeing him? That's the weird thing. He disappeared when I hit puberty. I would ride along in the car with friends and I wouldn't see a thing as the road word passed. Nothing. But he's back now. When did he return?

Well, ever since I found out about your study. But he's different. More twisted by any chance. Exactly. His horse body is skeletal now, and there's this flabby gut exploding from the armour. And something, something is eating at it from the inside. That sounds awful.

The man in the cloak wanted me to tell you that he's going to get like that too. End of transcript. The other people in the bus must have been staring at me. Necks straining, veins bulging, eyes popping. Desperally struggling to turn my head away, but unable to keep from staring out the window. I could see the hood of the black cloak now,

and as the figure ran, it billowed and frayed in the braze. It revealed snatches of a face. There was no lower jaw, only a putre connection of yellow, yellow teeth jotting from mandible-like splinters. Sir, this is the last stop. The bus driver practically had to pull me out of my seat.

The figure was motionless now, on the side of the road, looking in at me. He had finally caught up to me. When I stepped down the stairs and crossed the barrier into the outside world, he was gone. This might take a while to reach you. The Wi-Fi in these damn cruises is no top. Spottie, spotty enough that it was four days before I found out the pretty little graduate student, teary-eyed in the canteen, had been killed in a train derailment. But I'm safe now. Nothing can get me out here in the water. No solid ground to stampede

across, no land by which to pursue. Sometimes I turn over in my sleep and see a shadow floating on the waves. The crew tell me they're just great big jellyfish. I turn over But it takes me a while to get back to sleep.