CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Do you feel something crawling on you?" Creepypasta

Episode Date: November 14, 2023

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Verastahl: / do_you_feel_something_crawling_on_you AUTHOR'S BOOKS► https://www.amazon.com/stores/Brandon...SITE► https://verastahl.com/SUBREDDIT► / verastahl 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"- • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ... ►"Personal Favourites"- • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher... ►"Written by me"- • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep... ►"Long Stories"- • Long Stories FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: / creeps_mcpasta ►Instagram: / creepsmcpasta ►Twitch: / creepsmcpasta ►Facebook: / creepsmcpasta CREEPYPASTA 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

The festival season is Aangbroken, and that betekent mudder. And so, ging Kim to come to combe On the same a waterdict tent,

a comfortable luggetable bed, oh, so, and Lupeartprint regalarze. Miao. Now, he has Kim

not over the modder, just like the dancing the modder there, oh, wait just even, has he now

only modder on? Oh, yeah, only modder. DROG blithe? Goar for. Find what you need to

you need on Amazon.com. I woke up at the sound of a woman's voice asking me a question. The voice was familiar, but only a little. Had I just met her? Where were we at? I was on a bed, wasn't I? Had we?

Screwed everything up when the railroad closed down the line through Tulson. I don't know if that was true or not. Other than big shipments, there were too heavy for planes or trucks, Did anyone use trains anymore? Either way, it was five years to the day that they ran the last train down the track where the killing started and no one could leave town anymore. They called it the death train, which made no sense for a number of reasons. First of all, it wasn't a train.

It was Harvey Stark in his old conductor's outfit, riding around and Jeff Humboldt like he was prize ball. Stark was a little guy, sure, and Jeff was built like a brick house, so he could tote Stark around on his shoulders with no problem. If that was all it was, people would have giggled and went about their day. But Jeff had on one of those strap-on headlamps, and Stark had that whistle he would start blowing when he felt the need to warn someone that the train was coming. Except, instead of a train, it was a 400-pound naked man, shaved clean and slick with sweat, a machete in each hand, and a hard-on-in-between, making goddamn train noises while the little asshole on his back tuted that horn and spurred him on like a prized stallion.

You'd think people would see it coming and run away? But no. The first three or four just stood there. staring in confusion as the pair master blasted their way toward them and started hacking them to bits. By that point, the police had tried to stop them, but nothing put them down or even seemed to hurt them for long. The cops had fired until the train turned its glowing ironed them, and then even the ones that tried to run got run down. The next day, we found 40 or so bloody and deformed bullets in the street,

Like the old death train had just crap them back out. Maybe it had. But none of this made sense, did it? I didn't live in this place. And yeah, I knew and remembered all this stuff. But what kind of nonsense was it? And had it really happened to me? Or was it all just a dream I needed to?

Wake up, man. I'm trying to give you a chance here. I gasped as a small, hand slapped me across my face. What? Geez, what's going on? A small lamp turned on next to me, and I saw the girl sitting on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me. I remembered her. She was cute. I'd met her at the bar and snap out of it, okay? You awake? You with me? I felt myself wanting to go back to sleep,

but fought the urge. She might slap. me again. I'm awake. You hit me. Rolling her eyes, she let out a sigh. Do you feel something crawling on you? My eyes widened, as I realized I did. Panicking, I began frantically brushing off my chest. What is it? Get it off me. I don't see anything. She nodded. Oh, it's there. We just can't see it or touch it this early. But you've got biggerish. shoes. What you were just in? It's called a Hatter's dream. It's not a normal dream. And if you let yourself, you can get trapped there. Lose your mind there. I stared at her. What? How? Why?

She started to speak and then lowered her gaze before she went on. The short version is that I roofed you. We didn't do anything. I just drew on you. She gestured to a spot in my arm. There was a small black circle connected to a black rectangle that flared out at the bottom. What, you drew? What is that? The woman gave a little laugh as she held up her hand to show a similar, more refined tattoo on the back. It's a keyhole. I'm not much of an artist, just made it with a marker and, well, a bit of my blood and spit mixed in.

I pushed away from her as I sat up more in the bed. What the hell? What are you sick with? Her expression was unreadable as she met my eyes. Me? Nothing now. I mean, thanks to you. It's not like a normal disease.

It moves around but doesn't leave anything behind. You give it with a keyhole and, um, the spit and blood thing. I started shaking my head. You're crazy. She laughed again. No, I don't think so. Not anymore. It stopped crawling on me as soon as I put myself into the drawing.

But my father was crazy. He was crazy for nearly two years before I'd listened to him. I saw she was crying now. He told me these stories about a madness he'd found. Not a problem with the brain or the mind, but a living thing that hunted and crawled from person to person until they were drained dry. When I finally got desperate enough to have him back,

I started to pay attention, and it didn't take long before I believed. He wanted me to help him escape the hospital so he could find someone to give it to, but I knew that would never work, and I could see his grip was slipping. She wiped her eyes, so I finally convinced him to teach me.

what needed to be done and give it to me, just for a little while. He made me promise to find someone cruel, an evil that deserved it, but... How do I know? And I couldn't stand feeling it on me, knowing that it was burrowing into my brain. I shuddered.

She was right. I could feel it still, like a faint breeze that wasn't there. Not just on my chest, but in the dark behind my eyes, rustling around. feeling for cracks and wounds to exploit. Jeez, stop.

She grabbed my hand. No, I need you to understand so you have a chance. I didn't do this to mess up or ruin your life. It's not personal. I did it to save me and my dad, and you can do the same thing that I did, and maybe you can find someone that actually deserves it. Just stay awake.

Get tons of caffeine or pills or whatever. I grabbed her arm back, clenched my teeth. Why don't I just put it back in you? She shook her head and she waved her other hand again. It won't work. Dad says it won't take the same keyhole twice. Standing up, she pulled away and stepped to the other side of the room. Still, I figured you'd be mad.

That's why I'm going to leave before the drugs wear off enough for you to chase me. I tried to move my legs, and she was right. They were there, and I could feel them, but everything still felt loose and liquid below my waist. You asshole! The woman nodded. Yeah, I guess I am, and I am sorry. Good luck, and then she was gone.

It was another 30 minutes before I could get up and walk to the door. We'd been in a cheap motel room, not far from the bar I remembered going to. But this late, all the buses were gone, and taxes were few and far between. I wound up sitting on a bench for nearly an hour, waiting for a ride chair to come, dipping in and out of strange dreams the entire time. I debated calling the police, but I wasn't sure what to tell them. And it was embarrassing. drugged by some cute but insane woman that drew on me and made up some bizarre story.

I decided to just get home, get some sleep, and decide what to do the next morning. Except I didn't wake up the next morning. Instead, it was three days later. I was laying in a bed covered with dried peeces and I was so dehydrated that I had to crawl to the bathroom to drink out of the toilet. because I couldn't reach the sink. I remembered where I'd been. It wasn't just one place. Some of the time, I was back in the town

that was being terrorized by the death train. Other times, I was underground somewhere, crawling through a tunnel littered with wrappers and bits of candy. I spent several hours in a building with fleshy walls that bled when you touched them and groaned with every step you took. Something lived in those walls and was after me, so I had to keep moving despite the stink and the noise and the blood.

On and on through one terrible thing and then another. And the entire time, my unseen invader was crawling all over me, probing me and lightly biting as though testing the flavor of its newfound meat. I say all of this, because I want you to understand. that I believe you now, and I want you to know that, like you said, it's not personal. It's not going to work. I already told you. I laughed a little, turning on the headlamp so I could see better in the darkened room.

I finally found her holed up in after weeks of tracking her down. I disagree. I've given it a lot of thought. I can still give it to you. I just need to get rid of your little keyhole. She was crying hard now as she tried to pull free from her restraints. It's a tattoo. He made me get a tattoo so I couldn't get it back after I got rid of it. I grinned at her, stinging sweat streaming into my eyes.

But that was okay. The pain made everything sharper, just like the machete. I made it extra sharp for a little. clean cut. I pulled the blade out from my rucksack, and she began to struggle harder. Then he should have told you to put it somewhere less expendable. No, no, no! I could hardly hear a screaming as a piercing whistle filled my ears.

Raising the blade in both hands, I took a small practice chop before lining up the final cut. It would all be over soon And would I miss it? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't too minds about it Tightening my grip on the sweat-slipped handle I let out a bellow as I brought it down It wasn't as terrible and musical

As the high-pitched thrilling in my ears But it still felt right Chew, Chew, Chew Thank you.