CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Are there any other teachers that are petrified of their students" Creepypasta

Episode Date: November 30, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►b y thepurplefeline: 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►Mehdi Abdi: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/YqxOXSUGGESTED 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-

Dad, I'm not teaching that school anymore. Honey, teaching jobs like yours don't open up very often. You know that. So if you leave, you'll be teaching again in the inner city. At this point, I'll go teaching North Korea if it meant that I don't have to go back to that school. So what if they're a little weird? And you thought you'd be teaching some well-behaved suburban kids? But you know that they're still better than the inner city kids.

Dad, one of the boys brought live worms and ate them for lunch. Honey, you know that was a gag. he was trying to make the other kids laugh. No, Dad, none of the other kids were even paying attention to him. It's just weird, like the rest of the kids. Some of them probably can't afford to bring in a typical lunch, my father responds. Then they would qualify for our free lunch program. Stop making excuses for them, Dad.

There was something really strange about them all. I don't want to teach them, and I don't want to be in the same building with them. They're just products of their environment. I realized that we both thought the kids would be transplants from Louisville. However, there's still only. fifth grade kids. Dad, they're all weird. I think that there's some odd branch of the Mennonite church or something. Most days, they speak with what I think is German, and they all just ignore me the whole day. I can't even call their parents because none of them have phones for reasons that I don't understand.

Honey, no matter what school you go to, it's not going to be perfect, and at least your current students aren't violent. Dad, I don't know why these kids aren't in a private religious school, or why they're not being homeschooled. The principal does nothing but brush off my concerns. because he knows he could easily find someone to replace me. I think the principal is being paid off by the parents or something because there's very little learning that's going on in the school. Why do you think the principal is being paid off? Because I tell him that the kids look at me like I have three heads

and that the kids do nothing but chat amongst each other in what sounds like some German dialect and he just shrugs me off. For example, I asked the kids, what state do we live in? And none of them was able to tell me that we live in Kentucky. They all just look at me Like I'm asking what does E equals MC squared stand for

Maybe they're all a little slow Or we never taught basic geography Dad, they're in fifth grade What the hell do they learn in first through fourth grades I don't know what else to tell you Other than the grass is always greener Okay, whatever I angrily responded

I'll listen to my father and go back to school tomorrow I know something really odd is going on How do these kids pass the fourth grade, I think to myself. I tried to consult with the other teachers and they just completely ignore me. I'll be walking the hallways and peek into other classrooms and the kids are totally oblivious to what the teacher is saying. The other teachers don't seem to care and will talk for hours to basically themselves. I wake up, miserable like every other day and prepare myself in the most bare minimal way. I swallow as much coffee as I can and then head out.

the door. I blast jazz music that comes in on the radio because I'm just in that kind of mood. I get to school looking disheveled and ticked off. I'm at my wits end, so I decide that today I'm getting answers, one way or another. The kids all sit at their desks and I get up in front of them. I purposely record the class of my phone, which is knowingly against the school's policy, but I really want to show my father what I'm dealing with. Okay, Class, today I'm going to figure out what is going on. Here is a simple question. What season are we in right now?

I wait a few moments to see who will raise their hands first. After a minute, nobody has raised their hands, so I say, Come on, guys, you're in the fifth grade. This is such a simple question. Still, nobody raises their hands or blurts out the answer. So I decided to call on somebody. Ezekiel, you know what season this is, right? He looks at me with his brown sullen eyes, like I'm asking him to spell it was Bekistan or something.

I continue to stare at Ezekiel until he gives me an answer. Ezekiel, what season are we in right now? I ask again. Ezekiel leans over to the girl next to him and says something in what I think is German. Ezekiel, please answer me and stop talking to Eliza. It's grey. Outside is grey, Ezekiel responds. I stand there, baffled, not knowing what Gray means. Ezekiel, did anyone ever teach you the Four Seasons?

I stand there and look at Ezekiel. I can tell that his nervousness is turning into anger. Ezekiel, please answer my question. Do you know the four seasons? He starts the stew with rage and blurt out what sounds like, De Vogueokulkunig would dish be shrasshafen. The moment he says that, Eliza gets up and runs out of the three, the classroom where I assume she's either going to the principal's office or to the bathroom.

I stopped the recording on my phone out of frustration and go sit in my desk. I blurt out, summer, fall, winter, spring. Those are the four seasons and the most unenthusiastically toned possible. I sit with my head on the desk for a moment. Miss Klein, please come to my office. I get it from my desk with a feeling that I'm going to be reprimanded for asking a kid what season are we in right now? I shuffle my feet towards the principal's office,

wishing that I had some whiskey or a noose or something. Miss Klein, Eliza came to my office, saying that you were harassing Ezekiel. What do you have to say about that? Bob, if asking a kid to name the four seasons his harassment, then yes, I was harassing him. Miss Klein, our school has a zero bullying policy, so I'm going to have to give you a verbal warning.

My mind goes numb after hearing that, and I leave his office when he stopped talking. I go back to my classroom and sit at my desk and say, so much for learning algebra under my breath. For the rest of the day, I sit at my desk and look at a National Geographic magazine that I brought at the start of the school year. I get so tense thinking about the principal reprimanding me by saying, I'm giving you a verbal warning, which is clearly unjustified.

As the kids talk to each other in whatever foreign language, I come up with a plan to follow them when they walk. towards their homes together after school, which is weird enough on its own, that they all walk together. I sit at my desk until the final bell rings. Once the bell rings, I let all 24 of the students leave the classroom, and I wait a minute to give enough separation between them and me. I head out of my classroom and follow behind them on the sidewalk, where I maintain a distance, so they can't see me. It looked like it was going to rain all day in this cool autumn afternoon.

He walked close to a mile and I see that the kids have made their way towards a big red barn that I'm surprised hasn't been torn down to make space for high-density development homes. I see all 24 of the kids go inside the red barn and close the door. I see that there is a hole in the side of the barn that is most likely caused by a woodpecker. I look inside the hole and see something that is really strange. where 23 of the kids have formed a circle and one of the kids is flapping around like a bird there's no joy or humour coming from the kids' facial expressions

as they look like they're performing some type of ceremonial worship dance or something I look through the hole in a trance like state because I'm in total shock of what I'm seeing all the kids start wiggling both their hands in unison towards the sky as I'm looking through the hole shaking my head in confusion Then I see Martha stop wriggling her arms As she looks at me through the hole in the barn For a second

I hope that she's not looking at me But then she says something to the rest of the kids But they all stop doing their ceremonial movements And they all start to look at me through the hole That can't be bigger than four inches I quickly move away from the hole and say Oh damn how loud to myself I then hurry away from the barn with the hopes

That the kids couldn't make out that it was me I walk as fast as I could back to the school to get my car. Once I get to my car, I drive towards my dad's place. I feel like one of those mothers who has ten kids but isn't able to manage one kid, where my hair is all dishevelled and I'm completely stressed out. I drive as quickly as possible to my dad's place and make a quick dash for his front door. I go through his front door and say, Dad, I want to show you this video I made. I continued to walk through his house yelling,

Dad? Dad! But he's not responding, which is definitely out of the ordinary, because his car is out front. I text him a couple of times with no response, so I call him, and still I get no response. This is strange for him to not be here with his car in the driveway, and him not answering my text or phone calls, I keep thinking to myself. I decide to replay the video on my phone that I recorded of Ezekiel and the rest of the kids,

hoping that my dad will return. I get to the point where he angrily say something in that language, which I continually pause and rewind until I get to what I think the spelling should be for what he said. I then put those words into Google where I see references that some of the words are German. So I put the German phrase on an online translator which displays,

The Bird King will punish you. Why can a fifth gradeist say something like that? I say out loud to my first. myself. Four hours have passed and I start to panic that I haven't heard from my father, who was on disability for a degenerative hip problem, so I know he should be here. I call the local police and explain the situation about my father and they allow me to file a missing person's report related to his disability. I wait around the rest of the night and he doesn't show up, so I'm certain that something bad has happened to him. I wake up the next morning and

my dad still hasn't returned. I called the police if they have heard anything, and they say that they haven't heard anything about my dad's disappearance. I call Barb, the principal, and explain my situation with my dad, and your response, This is unacceptable. You need to be here. I shake my head in disbelief, and I apologize to him and tell him that I'll be back to tomorrow.

I spend the rest of the day looking for my dad in the car. I knock on stranger's doors and go to the local stores. to see if anyone has spotted him. I get no leads, so I go back to my dad's house and stay the night with the hopes that he would return. He doesn't return, and I even find his cell phone in the centre console of his car,

which is deeply disturbing, because there's no logic for him to leave, and for him not to take his phone. I go to bed again, completely stress out, where I get about a total of an hour and a half of sleep. I drag myself out of my dad's house the next morning and hurry to my apartment to get dressed so I can go to school, which I'm really dreading, but I know that my dad would want me to go.

I drag myself to my classroom, and I don't even acknowledge the kids when I sit at my desk. I take a quick look at all 24 of them, and they creep me out even more now that I'm sleep-deprived because I haven't slept for more than three hours in the past two days. I look away from the kids, and I see what looks like a children's book on my desk that was made for a The book has an oversized baby yellow chicken on the cover, and something seems off about the book just by looking at it. I open it up to the first page and it says, We are all his children, where the oversized yellow chick has these strange red eyes and is flopping around. I turn the page and it says, So we obey his rules.

I blank out the picture of the chicken and focus on just the words as I take the page. turn the pages. So everyone stays safe. Next page. We mind our own business. Next page. And when we don't, things go missing. I pause for a second and with my sleep deprived face, I look up at the kids and see that they're all staring at me intently to see what I'll do next. The last bit of adrenaline goes rushing through my body when I read back. And when we don't, things go missing. I turn the page. Don't despair if this shall happen.

Next page. Just flap around like our dear lord chicken. I sit and stare intently at the book, as I'm certain that this is meant for me. Feeling completely spent and out of options to find my dad, I get in front of the class and flap around like a bird or a chicken. All 24 of the kids stand up from the desks

and wriggle the rounds in unison to the ceiling, which is to replicate the movements of worms. I do this until I'm completely exhausted, where I fall to the floor. Laying on the floor in a fetal position, I think to myself that this must be worse than death. After a few minutes, my phone starts the ring, which I realize is either principal bob firing me, or the police telling me that my father is dead. I slowly get off the floor like the dramatic slow-motion scene from Rocky, where the fate of the match depends on me getting up in time. The phone is still ringing as I get up

and I wobble myself to the desk and answer the phone. Honey, I saw you try to call me. Oh my God, Dad? Is that you? Yeah, what's the matter? Dad, you've been gone for the past two days. Where are you now? I'm in the driveway, in my car. Dad, I was in your car.

How did you get there? I have no idea. I thought I just took a short nap or something. Okay, I'll stop by later when school is over. I feel a sense of elation that my dad has mysteriously returned. I decide to follow the rest of the teachers. So I get in front of the class and pretend that I'm teaching with the intent of never asking any of them a question again.