CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "DON'T Ride the Subway" Creepypasta

Episode Date: October 23, 2020

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Gloeee: 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-

I'm a Amsterdam, why? I've been forgotten how a tooprikes. Doy! Toad, right? With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euro in place of 525. Book you tickets on NMBS International.com.

The festival season is aang broken, and that betet meant modder. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com.com. On look to a waterdict tent, a comfortable luget. Oh, so, knus. And Lupeartprint regalearze. Now, Kim has Kim, more just like that's just like

only mudder on. Oh yeah, Just for what you need to have on Amazon.com.com. You make bones out of sand. Hot blood turns into glass. When flesh grows in,

invited for the parts of the earth that keeps such secrets, a trek through the desert will temper the bones. Like everything else, it starts out fragile. It would have seemed poetic if it hadn't come from the little girl I was sitting across from on the subway. It was actually disturbing as a small, bright face looked at me as she spoke. I looked at her mother, or who I assumed was a mother anyway, and expected something to be said. She just looked down at her phone, scrolling with her thumb intermittently.

I looked left and right to see if any other people had heard, and were as off-put as I was. But the same before subway car didn't carry another person that was paying attention to anything outside themselves. just me. me and the little girl spoke of glass and bones. I opened my mouth but couldn't decide what to say

so I shut it again and pressed my lips into a thin, polite smile. I'd never been good with people, not strangers anyway and that was under normal circumstances. This didn't feel like normal circumstances. The little girl smiled back

and kicked her legs back and forth as she sat on a seat. Un-eased spread through my body, away from the child, and tried to force my tense muscles to ease up, relax. We passed an intersection at just the right speed for me to catch a glimpse down it. I could see the tunnel of fluorescent lights and tracks going on and on out of sight. It was gone in an instant. I didn't know that there were places where the tracks crossed in the subway, but then again I had never ridden one until I moved not long ago. I was still acclimating to public transport, as my last home didn't have much to offer. The image of the tunnel, an unexpected gaping hole in the wall, stuck in my head.

It's not really like that. My attention snapped back down to the little girl when she spoke again. My stomach tensed up as I looked at her. I tried to push away the feeling like I had done so many times trying to swallow my anxiety away. My eyes flickered to her But she was still On her phone What's that, sweetie?

I regretted the words As soon as they left my mouth First of all, calling a random little girl, sweetie made me cringe a little But on top of that I found myself dreading her response The subway

It's not like this Oh, okay My impulse to try And carry on the conversation To be polite was crushed by my growing uneas. It had started as a small bloom in my stomach, but it was vining out and starting to cling to my insides, making my muscles feel like they were forming nuts. I smiled again, but it didn't feel polite. It felt desperate. I tried to casually glance around,

but once again nobody was paying attention to me or the little girl. I reached into my sweater pocket for the small paperback I usually kept on me. The buck was usually a good excuse to keep your head down and keep to yourself. I didn't know if it would dissuade the little girl, but I had to try. My stop wasn't for a while yet. In fact, there wasn't any stop for a while yet, so I knew for certain I would be stuck with her until then. I read a paragraph of my book once, twice, three times. I couldn't focus or remember what I read. It's like the words were whispered from far away by my internal voice, and I sighed. I sighed, on top of everything else, and looked up. Not at the little girl, no, but above her out the window. We passed another crossing, another tunnel running through the

one I was currently gliding down, and I remembered that I never noticed them before. I hadn't been on many trips yet, sure, but it began to seem odd. I put it down to usually being able to read my book with no issue. Do you want to myself? Do you want to know about the secret where flesh is reborn? I didn't even bother looking at a mother for a reaction, or anyone else for that matter. I realized that this child and I were effectively alone in the subway car. I wanted to scream, just to see if anyone else would look at me, but I took a breath instead. The thought was ridiculous, of course, and I wanted nothing less than to cause a scene.

"'Excuse me.' "'did not deter the little "'the little biter the white, "'everything comes from somewhere. "'The sand, the blood, the flesh. "'You have to know where to gather the ingredients. "'I don't understand, but I don't want to talk about this. "'I was more forceful than intended,

"'but hoped I got my point across. "'Children don't offer heat as subtlety anyway. I turned my face back to find a small, a small, sitting on my wrist. I jumped, dropping my book and shook it off. I brushed my clothes to make sure I wasn't still clinging to me somewhere, and a sense of revulsion

joined my growing panic. I then wished more than ever I had gotten a prescription from a doctor that tied me over in my new home. Getting into an office as a patient was more problematic than expected, and I had leaned on my scant supply of anxiety meds to get me through interviews.

You have to go to the deep, where the sun doesn't reach, the soil is fertilized by the remains of the giants. I tried to pick up my book, but just looking at the floor made me dizzy. I was afraid if I leaned over, I would succumb to the nausea that was intensifying with every click of the tracks.

I looked up as we passed another tunnel, another intersection, another long, empty corridor, and it raised goosebumps on my arms when I realized it was different. It was shorter, darker. The quality of the quality of the light were degraded, and they flickered. I realized, I saw too much

for a passing glance, and my stomach dropped. How did I see so much as fast as we were going? I watched the walls zip by like usual. Do you know how deep the subways are? Do you know how deep this subway is? I didn't want to look at her, but I had to.

I couldn't stop my body from casting my eyes down to her. She hadn't changed at all. Nothing in the subway car, ever changed at all. And just looking at a beautiful little face made my blood run cold. I pictured blue blood, starved of oxygen, flooding around glass bones inside my body, and I hated my own brain for creating the thought. It was getting hard to breathe. Do you count the steps down from the surface? She asked, while smiling, to expose a neat, square little teeth that had two missing space.

along the top row. I don't. But that was a lie. I counted every time. I've always counted stairs and ceiling tiles and daisy petals. It felt like I was always counting something just to keep my mind from spiraling away from me. I tried to remember how many steps there were from the surface to the subway. How many steps did it take for the sunlight to transition into the dim, lifeless bulbs below the earth? I couldn't remember. I couldn't think of it, though I'd done it

a dozen or so times by then. I noticed that, in the back of my mind, I was still counting. I'd never really stopped counting since I left the sidewalk. I shook my head to try and erase the countdown, my awareness of it. I tried to will it away, but the numbers, ever growing, stuck to my consciousness.

Spite lasts. It lasts like nothing else does. I put my face in my hands, but the girl didn't stop. Do you know what kind of spite from the giants having a whole world taken from them? A paradise to be ruined. Spite that sits in the earth longer than the bones do. It festers and bruise and feeds. Hey, is this your daughter? I practically shouted at the woman

engrossed in a phone, but she didn't even startle, let alone look up or answer me. It feeds on fear. The girl didn't stop talking in a child. childish, is a voice a voice. a voice that threatens from my throat.

Hey, anybody! I shouted down the subway one way than the other. Is anybody else hearing this? Can any of you hear me? Nobody answered, or moved, or so much as sniffed

in annoyance of my outburst. Spite digests fear like stomach acid digests food, and the earth creates flesh like a womb. I look out the window. desperate for any sign that we were nearing my stop.

I thought to myself, that this just has to stop. It has to. Please, just something make it stop. All I saw was another identical but unfamiliar tunnel. It was shorter. It was darker. It felt like not just another direction for trains to follow, but this whole other place.

No, it was in a place, but a thing that was drawing closer and closer the longer I sat there. I felt malevolent, and my chest, my skin prickling with anticipation for something unidentifiable and horrible that was bearing down on me, on everyone in the subway car, if they existed at all. But why would I even think that? Of course they exist, I told myself. I looked down to see more beetles in my hands and I shook them off frantically.

My skin was crawling so viscerally I hadn't even noticed the bugs at first. I don't want this. It was practically a sob as the words came unbidden out of my mouth. You don't get to choose. A god is forming. A great, horrible god is eating and growing and waiting. The girl laughed, but it was humorless. It wasn't mocking or cruel. It was just the sound that reverberated in my brain, threatening to break apart the tenuous grasp I had in reality. Or at least what I thought had to be reality. because it couldn't be that. no, it couldn't be that horrible subway car of people who couldn't hear me

and a little girl that certainly didn't act like a little girl. Another gaping hole in the wall appeared across from me, through the window. I couldn't tell if my skin was just prickling from terror or if the feeling of movement on my face was tears or if it was all beetles, but I couldn't bring myself to look away from that tunnel.

I just clawed to my clothes and hair as I was transfixed by the gaping across from me. It wasn't even pretending to be a tunnel anymore. The break in the subway was jagged and the hole was darker, yet more alive. The broken subway tiles were like teeth and the flickering lights, more like the wet

glistening of the inside of a mouth. That's when I finally screamed. I screamed as we passed the horrible hole in the subway wall. I stood and screamed and brushed more black beetles from my body and screamed. I screamed so hard, I screamed so hard, I went blurry from the sound of it. Spite, fueled by fear, will feed a god, a god to break anything unbroken, a god of vengeance.

The little girl's voice seemed so far away, but it stirred something inside of me. Suddenly, I didn't have the energy to be afraid anymore. The terror had burned up everything inside me. The anxiety and the stress and the confusion, I completely fried my brain. I didn't even realise I'd stopped screaming until I noticed I could hear the rhythmic clicking of the tracks again. I sacked back down, suddenly calm. This was either real, or it wasn't, but either way, I needed to protect myself. There was no way out, so I did the only thing that years of all sorts of anxiety and a fair

amount of trauma had taught me to do. I shut down. I disassociated. Like a clockworked all, my gear shut down, and the world around me, whatever world it was, became a poorly painted stage I was nothing more than a prop on. Had everyone else already been pushed this far? Is that why they didn't respond? The little girl's legs stopped swinging. What are you doing? Her tone changed for the first time since she had spoken about the bones made of sand. It seemed like hours ago by then.

Maybe a whole day. I'm sorry. My voice itself sounded like a afterthought, monotone, as I numbly reached the floor. As I grasped my book, several black beetles fell from my sleeve with the legs curled against their bodies. I justed off the cover. There we go. I didn't really mean to do or say anything. My body was on autopilot, subway mode activated. The earth is full of boiling blood from creatures ages older than your earliest ancestors.

Oh, I cracked open my book, just an extra in a play, acting out their role as a weekday commuter. The anxiety left and had taken most of my senses with it. You'll all be ruled by an incredible monster. The little girl started yelling and stood on a seat. You'll succumb to an ancient stomach. She may as well have been quiet radiostatic, crackling across from me. I could hear her, but I couldn't process the words in any meaningful way. Everything but basic functioning was turned off.

I barely realised I should care, and even that dwindled away. I turned the page of my book, having not read a word, I started counting until it was reasonable for a person actually reading to need to turn another page. I counted to 100, then proceeded as if I had read every sentence. What are you doing? It was her turn to sound scared. Maybe angry. It was hard to tell.

I looked up and she was then blocking the window. But I glanced her head anyway, as if I could see through her. And I could barely see anything from the haze of my own defence mechanism. I just noticed the wall flitting by in my peripheral vision. I looked back down in my book and started counting to the next page. It felt like my organa and bone and brain were wrapped up in cotton. Everything was dampened. It was a comforting feeling.

So many times in school, With my family, work, college, in public, I shut down to protect myself and get through whatever horror was happening around me. I heard the girl, or whatever she was, thumped back down in a seat. A familiar hiss reached my ears

that signified my stop was approaching. I closed my book and put it in my back pocket. I folded my hands in my lap and stared ahead with a polite smile, default, default, a carefully crafted expression. They not invite any attention. The girl's hands suddenly shot out and gripped my arm, incredibly firm for such a small hand,

but I didn't so much as flinch. I was used to much harsher treatment from much larger hands. I learned to not react decades ago. Reacting makes it worse, whatever may be coming. Shut down, endure, survive. You won't stay with me? She's sounding more like a little girl, a real little girl. I'm sorry, sweetie. My fake customer service voice dripped from her mouth. This is my stop and I have to go to work, but it's been nice talking to you. I didn't mean any of it,

but I didn't have to. But... Her mother, or whatever it was, finally came to life at that. She pulled the child into a seat. Come on leave the nice person alone. It's time for them to go. Maybe next time you'll make a friend that stays longer. The woman smiled at me as I stood and grabbed my things.

I mirrored it back at her. I heard the subway car doors open and I moved towards them. It wasn't until I was out and moving quickly to the stairs that my brain allowed me to register what I had seen on my way out. Every other person in the car

every single person who wasn't me, the girl, or a corpse. . They were in various states of decay, and the more advanced ones were writhing with black beetles. When I was finally in the sunlight and the open air, finally out of that bizarre hellscape, finally out of that disgusting mass grave, I vomited. There was no bush or trash can to throw up into, so I pitched forward and heaved hard several times and to my stomach was completely empty. Then, I fled. I didn't want to be aware of anyone or anything around me. I just walked as quickly as I could towards my job. Work. I felt like that would be safe and I could breathe. I just needed to get to work and everything would be okay and the nightmare would be over. I finally walked into the front doors and it was like walking into a whole new, clean atmosphere and I could breathe deeply for the first time since I boarded this away. and sat amongst the... I couldn't even think about that, whatever it had been.

I couldn't let myself think about the trip, or the doctor's appointments I needed, or the therapy I needed, or... The exorcism? I didn't have the time or the energy to sort out any of that. Who would believe anything I said? I took a deep breath and started heading to my desk. Hey, early as always,

my cubicle neighbour made his way toward me. I looked up and tried to smile, but I must have faltered, because his face turned down just a hair. Are you okay? Can I get you a drink? He gestured with his mug of coffee. Uh, yeah, I'm okay. Thank you though. Just a rough subway ride. I laughed as if to brush it off, but it sounded hollow to me. Thinking about a trip from your old job? His eyebrows seemed to arch impossibly high on his head.

No, but I just want to get to work. I smiled I smiled, willingly, that I was indeed okay. Instead, he frowned even harder. We don't. He lowered his voice and came a bit closer. We don't have a subway around here.

I felt cold all over in an instant. What did I say? I meant food. I hit up subway for breakfast on my way. I hoped. every particle of my being there was actually a decently local subway shop. It was a hassle,

not worth it. Okay, if you're sure. He considered me for a silent moment, but apparently figured whatever I was going through was harmless. Why don't I grab you a bottle of water? Sure, that would be great. Thanks. I walked back to my desk on numb legs and sat down. I was frozen for a moment.

moment. I let myself count a 30 and after that I had to get moving. No subway here? I'd ridden it over a dozen times. I killed the thought before it could awaken new panic. For 30 seconds I just sat like a dummy again, pushing everything unnecessary out of my mind. Then I turned on my computer and started unpacking my things. Once everything was in its place for the day, I reached into my a pocket. The book was more than just for emergency reading. It was a comfort. It helped ground me when everything else felt wrong. Some people have worry stones or stress balls or jewelry to fiddle with. I ruffled the pages of a worn paperback. It was gone. I'd either dropped it in the, or it fell out of my pocket when I'd been throwing up. Either way, it was gone, and I felt a bit

naked. It was still my probationary period at work, so I couldn't just beg to go home early. But I still considered it for a moment when my fingers met the inside seam of my pocket with no resistance. I took another breath and logged into my computer. The rest of the day went on perfectly normal. No giants, no bones, no gods. My neighbour seemed pleased in the positive turn in my mental state since that morning. There was no trouble, nothing that made me question existence or my sanity. Near the end of my shift, I started getting nervous, Part of me wanted to know

if I would be there if I walked to the subway that my co-workers said didn't exist. I couldn't bring myself to Google it, not at work, not before I could really rest and recover. I was getting on by willpower alone, and it was quickly fading.

I felt like it was made out of a soap bubble and the slightest tremor would destroy me. I felt like my brain would pop with any more stress. I scheduled. an Uber to pick me up instead. That also went well as they didn't talk and I stared at my phone the whole time. As the driver pulled up to my apartment building, I could almost convince myself that the whole thing had been an extremely vivid nightmare I had on the way to work.

The subway existing or not, who knows? Maybe I was walking the whole time and just made up the subway to protect myself. I knew that didn't make sense, but I didn't care. I was beyond exhausted. I just wanted a hot shower. No, I needed an extremely hot shower, and then to fall into a sleep, damn near like a coma. I unlocked my apartment door and pushed it open. I heard something to scrape across the floor, and I looked down just to have panic flood through me all over again. Fresh, ice-cold terror washed away any other thoughts as I looked at the floor. It was my book. The one I had looked at lost on whatever journey I had taken. It was covered with dirt. Nearly pitch black, damp earth clung to it, as if it was excavated from a grave. A little black beetle trundled out from between the pages.