CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Each month I get a random item from Amazon" Creepypasta

Episode Date: January 27, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by inletharn: 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 just to have Amsterdam, eh? Why? I've been forgotten how a towopriked. Doy! Toy!

With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euro in place of 25. Book you tickets on NMBS International.com.

The festival season is aangboken, and that betekent modder. And so, ging to Kim to Amazon.com. com.

On look to a waterdict tent, a comfortable lugbet, oh, so, and Lupertprint regale-se. Miao.

Now, now, Now, Now, Just like that Dantsen Mauder man, That's He now

Only Modder on? Oh yeah, Only Modder. Droog blithe? Goar for. Find what you know You know A couple of years ago.

But only now I'm able to understand the horrible truth behind the mysterious event of my life. But let me start from the very beginning and not rush the events here. One day, in my life. One day, in March 2020, I was going to do a regular grocery store trip, so I took my jacket and stepped outside the front door, and I almost tripped. There was a small cardboard box lying on my porch with a typical Amazon tape covering the joint on top.

Did the delivery guy mess up, was my first thought. I looked left and right instinctively, looking for a delivery van or any sign of a mailman, and of course nobody. was around. So I picked her the box and checked the sticker. That's strange, I said to myself, as my eyes went over the address and name of the package. I was stated as the receiver. But I was pretty sure that I didn't order anything from them ever since I bought all the Christmas presents back in mid-November.

The box was very light, as if nothing was inside. It could have been a prank or a delivery system failure. Who knows? Maybe some computer had sorting factory malfunctioned and I've been awarded with an empty box sent to my door. So my grocery plans got delayed a bit. I walked back to the house, picked up the kitchen knife from the rack

and carefully opened the box. No chaotic movements, as I still thought that this was some sort of mistake and at some point the thing should be returned to the respective owner. Cautiously opening the box and gaining through all the package pieces inside of it, I finally discovered the content of the package. Deep in the brown craft paper,

a small plastic knife was buried. You know the type, the one they gave out in school canteens to smear the butter from those small plastic capsules. This one was purple, and absolutely brand new. I even chuckled at that point that this was the least expected item

I could ever imagine to receive. And I was worried that I could get somebody's stuff. Anyway, to be extra sure, I logged onto my Amazon account and checked the order history. Everything was as it should be. The last thing I got, to be precise, was a set of fancy shot glasses for my friend, Matt, who was a wannabe bartender, and probably on his first step to a ladder called alcoholism. It was there.

I double-checked my billing pages, checked the inbox, just in case there was some sort of giveaway or anything. Nothing. Well, I thought, nobody will be too upset because of a missing plastic knife. So, I put the box into the garage just in case. Maybe next day somebody would notice the mistake and asked to return the precious possession. But nobody came the next day or even next week. No emails from the company, no nothing. By the end of the month, I'd completely forgotten about this incident.

April came around chirping birds, juicy greens all around spring at its finest Not that March was still winter But it didn't feel as revitalising as his following brother Life was beautiful And even with the grim news from around the world It felt really good after a long snowy season

One day the sun was shining extra bright So I decided it would be a crime not to go outside I picked up the keys and stepped through the front door into the vast warmth. Imagine my surprise when my eyes stumbled upon another mysterious box lying on a walkway next to my house. Okay, this can't be a coincidence. I quickly checked my surroundings. What if it really was a prank? And right now somebody's following me so that the next day I can type in, boom against surprise mail,

prank 100% laugh in YouTube and check myself in HD. But no, nobody was there. Or, let's be honest, I was unable to notice anything suspicious. I picked up the box. It was not that light this time. Probably a couple of pounds, maybe more. This sticker with my name and address was there again, right on top of the printed Amazon logo.

This time, I took it a bit more serious. First thing, check in my accounts. Nothing suspicious on Amazon. no extra bills in my banking app. Next thing I did, I tried to call Amazon support. After 30 numbing minutes of waiting, some guy with a thick accent of an unknown origin picked up. I made him go through the assistant twice,

but he assured me that they didn't send anything to my address neither last month nor this. I thanked him and hung up with a swarm of thoughts in my mind. No, I was not worried or anything. It was just so awkward, strange and stupid at the same time. I decided to look inside the thing. This time, it was a CD player. It was an ancient Sony Walkman.

They used a couple of batteries and was considered hip and cool back in the days. This made absolutely no sense. It was brand new in original box, but I was pretty sure it was some sort of collector's reissue. You know the thing nowadays capitalism and the urge of feed on nostalgia I even checked inside to see if any sort of CD was included still hoping that this was some sort of prank

and my friend would burn there Ha ha we really wish we saw your face when you saw the box jack Over the CD to freak me out and have a good laugh But no Again I was left clueless with the item That I couldn't explain had to do with me Next month it was a pack of peanuts, month after, a sketchbook, and in July I got a PSP.

When August came in a box with what happened to be a pair of brand new red converse shoes in it appeared. I lost my nerve. I went to the police station and spent a couple of hours waiting for the officer on duty to register my complaint and then explaining the weirdness of the situation. By the look on his face, he was not really amused by my husband. story. I wish I was at your place, to be honest. Free stuff every month. Who cares? Most probably. It's a bureaucratic mistake. You know, things like this happen all the time. Just for example, last year someone misplaced a zero in a form, so the paper company delivered to us 10,000 packs

instead of the requested thousand. See, no big deal. If I were you, I'd give a call to Amazon and make them double-check the stuff. Yes, I know you said you did it before. Maybe that guy had a bad day, I don't know. Don't hesitate to contact me if something serious happens. That was everything I heard from him by the time I finished my explanation. With no support from the local authorities, I had to care about my comfort all by myself. So that meant war. At first, I moved my working desk to the window in the hall, so I could have a good sight of people coming to my front door at all times, and since we still had unions and human rights, I was pretty sure that deliveries were made during normal working hours. This approach failed. I must have been in one

of the work calls and missed the September delivery, a pair of sunglasses. Then I took a webcam, a couple of apps, and placed it in the corner of the window so that the walkway was recorded 24-7. The app would start recording as soon as any motion would be detected. Sounded like a sotted plan at the time. I was somewhat proud of that technical solution.

Imagine my frustration when it failed. That month, I got a pair of black suspenders. I rushed to my laptop and went through the logs. Nothing. I mean, there were a couple of videos where my neighbours were walking by my house.

Some guy with the dog, even a stray cat sneaking, but no sign of a person who delivered the thing. Should I say that by that time, every single employee of Amazon customer support knew me by name, I guess. In the end, there was still no results. Nobody saw no errors in the software. There was no bureaucratic mistakes. The parcels just appeared from thin air. That was it. I was getting a top-tier CCTV. situation had started getting in my nerves. Money could solve a lot of problems and for sure they can speed up stuff. No later than three days after I got the suspenders, the cameras were up and

running. I got a four-pack so that every single inch of my front yard, door and walkway, were covered by unsettling eyes of modern technology. A ladybug couldn't sneeze in my lawn without the system noticing. Guess what? The plan messed up royally. With November arrived the chill-filled air, and sitting on frostbitten planks on my porch, the next box awaited.

It was a zipper lighter, plain one, no decor, no engravings, no clues whatsoever. I've chaped the camera logs twice, no, three times, and couldn't believe my eyes. The box just dropped down

from thin air. Wait, what? Was my thought. Did the person notice my cameras and climbed on the roof to stay undetected? I went to the police again, this time with a copy of the video with a little to no result. They said that since no harm was done, and I've received no threats whatsoever, they can't do anything about it. I wouldn't say I was losing my mind at the time, or scared to the bones, no.

But what's for sure was that? I was really frustrated and really annoyed. Further months were all the same. I've tracked, I waited, I've ambushed, I've called, I've visited, I've complained and argued, everything with little to no result. Little, as in, oh, it's you again, sorry, we don't have anything to add at this point, have a nice day, and nothing as in no sign of the person who delivered the boxes. I went as serious as the contact to the higher one.

regional management of Amazon. I, with the help of the higher power, whom I think was making that move just to get rid of me and bring peace and quiet to a support team, try to track where exactly the labels with my name and address were printed. Imagine that. We've tried to locate

the exact printer machine, but that was like searching for a needle in a haystack. In the end, the whole idea failed. I called some people names, and I think I got into a customs blacklist or something. I lost my job at some point.

My search for truth started to take way too much time. I had to sell my CCTV and some personal stuff to raise some money, so I had something to eat and pay for communications. Months passed, the pile of random stuff grew bigger. I became a proud owner of a sweater, backpack, can of vanilla-flavored soda, a pen, t-shirt with a skull painted on it, skateboard, pregnancy test,

and a couple more things I can't recall at this time. Last drop was a book that arrived in October. It was a copy of Fight Club. I'd had enough. That evening, I got drunk, and, as you know, we tend to get the best ideas when booze kicks in. So, at some point in my delirium, I thought, Screw it all. I'll just move to a new place.

Screw that guy. Surprisingly, after waking up with disgusting taste in my mouth and a pounding pain in my temple, the idea remained and still sounded like a good plan. I never claimed to be the toughest guy around, and I did what I could to solve the problem. It didn't work. I had two options now. Continue my struggle and wait till I get completely miserable and insane. I'll move to another place and start anew.

After a couple of phone calls to the landlord, who was a really sweet lady, and telling her that I needed to move out ASAP, as I'll be taken. taking care of a disabled relative from now on. And, I'm not really proud of this lie. I was able to terminate the contract by losing my initial deposit. Who cared? I also called my good old friend Matt and asked him for his help with moving out. You would wonder, why not just order a truck from a moving company? And I would answer, you must have missed the part where I lost my job.

Anyway, Matt gladly agreed to help and promised to keep his pickup truck ready for my next phone call. That guy. I knew him all my life, but you know how adult life makes you separated as you get your own jobs, families and duties. Not that any of us had a family at that point. I didn't meet the misses yet, and Matt was already divorced. Anyway, point is, we were still good friends, and if something happened, we were always

there to back each other up. I found a new career pretty easily. It was not that far away from my current one and the rent was quite affordable especially in my financial situation so after signing the papers being handed the keys I gave my friend a call

a couple of hours later we were carrying my humble belongings to the back of his truck there wasn't too much to be honest as I was settling one of the boxes firmly in the car I heard Matt giggle dude what the hell What's with all this stuff?

Are you back in your punk phase or something? Wait, did that age crisis kick in? What do you mean? The conva shoes, the tea, the board. Damn, you look like a dickhead in high school. He laughed. Well, did you see yourself back then, with all the hair and eyeliner? I replied, yeah, those are the days.

Wait, whoa, where do you get this? He held the Walkman towards me. It's a long story. Don't bother, I see. side. This thing really reminds me of Brandon. Do you remember Brandon? That quiet guy who always had this stupid war man with him.

I mean everybody around used mv3 sticks already. Just not that guy. Oh wait, what the actual hell man? What? I couldn't understand his interest. I'm pretty sure these are suspenders, just as the ones Mikey always wore. And this bag of peanuts? Remember, Gina, the one who was really fat and couldn't go down at snacks,

so the doctors told her to substitute everything. M&Ms with plain peanuts? Did you like start a museum of your childhood or something? These memories never came to mind. Both me and Matt finished school more than 20 years ago. And as a kid, I was always pretending I was on my own, like a lone wolf to look cool and hip, as we laid back in the days.

Well, technically not the truth, as I had Matt and Corey and Barb. But you know how it could be. I mean, yeah, sure. I could tell you, that my balding friend here had massive hair when he was young, and you couldn't imagine him wearing anything but black, pretending he just crawled out to the cemetery

or whatever goth kids did those days. But such details about other classmates? Well, at least not on the surface of my dome. Anyway, Matt uncovered the ugly truth. Somebody was sending me stuff, each one of which resembled one of our classmates. That was getting scary. I quickly explained to me.

Matt where I got all the things and the mysterious way they have arrived in my front door. I also told him the reason I decided to move in the first place. Matt listened carefully and I noticed that slight glimpse of fear flashed somewhere deep in his eyes. By the end of the day we moved everything to my new place and sat at the kitchen table with all the objects in front of us, trying to remember and identify each one of them and who they belong to. Do you have a yearbook? Asked Matt.

No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I didn't even pick up the copy when they were handed out, I replied. Neither do I. But wait, I'm pretty sure Chloe still has one. Remember Chloe, the one with the pig tails? She was dating... I don't remember. Anyway, she lives nearby.

We could pay her a visit tomorrow. That was the plan where we said goodbyes, and Matt went back to his. place. Next morning he dropped by and we went to uncover the mystery. Chloe Jacobs lived in a small villa with a family on the opposite side of town. It still looked tidy and simple, as if somebody's caring hand took care at every detail. Without hesitation, we knocked and put our best smile. A grim man opened and stared at us. Must have been the husband. We briefly explained who we were and asked his

we could have a word with Chloe. What we heard shocked us. Chloe was no longer with us. She accidentally drowned in the communal pool a couple months before.

That was the most unfortunate time we could get to visit this grieving man. I'm not really proud of what I did next, but I guess it had to be done. I faked and lied. I played my most upset mime and almost burst into tears telling him a tale of how we were visiting all our classmates after 25 years from our graduation

and that it would be an honour to get something to remember her by. A yearbook would do. I swear if that didn't work, I'd also drop that I was dying from cancer or some other nonsense. I don't tend to think that I'm a horrible person, but this Amazon anomaly pushed me really hard beneath my limits. We left the house with a book in my firm grasp. Back at my place, we sat down and checked the photos. Purple Butterknife belonged to Martin.

Now I remember he told us a story about it and why it means so much to him, but I can't recall what exactly he was about. Black T-shirt was unsurely. Right there in the book. The pen, as we remembered, looking at the photo, belonged to Christian. He always said he would become a writer

and always carried a pen, spinning it in his fingers, and so on and so. on. Though, there was something strange with the book. The big group photo were all the class were posing together, was missing from it, as if Chloe had cut it off with a scalpel or similar tool. I wondered why. Due to our calculation, there was just four items missing from the collection. I had 20 in my possession, and according to the memories, we were a class of 24 people. So it was Matt, me,

Liam, and Hannah. Matt asked millions of questions. When and how those boxes arrived? Had I ever saw the van, the guy? What was the weather outside? A couple of times I had to retell the whole thing anew. By the end of the day, I felt devastated. But I couldn't sleep that night.

And the night after, I was thinking about who, and why they would do this to us. Matt promised to keep an eye on my previous house. The asshole won't expect somebody else tracking him, so this sounded as if we had a chance. November came silently with no news at this point. Matt was sitting in his pickup by the house, for I don't really know how many days straight.

He turned his car into a mobile base, which sounds better than it smells. Trust me. We waited. I think it was November 15th or 16th when somebody knocked in my door. To clarify, I rented an apartment this time, so it could have been some neighbour asking for a couple of eggs or maybe Matt finally returning from his duty.

I cracked open the door. And damn it. There was a cardboard box. I quickly grabbed it and tore it apart. It was light as a feather. Inside laid hidden. and I almost broke it with my rough actions. An eyeliner pencil,

black one with some stupid name like Children of the Night or Nosphoratine. I can't recall now, as the only thought that flashed my mind was... Matt. I gave him a call. No result. Another, no result.

Was he asleep after all his surveillance or something? I rushed to my old place. There he was. That's his truck and that's him sitting at the wheel. Is he asleep? Yeah, I bet. The guy took too much on his shoulders and now you'll need a horn to wake him up, I thought. I came closer and leaned to a window, gave a gentle knock.

No response. His head leaned towards the wheel, as if he was in a deep sleep, drooling all over. Then I noticed the engine was running. This was not funny. I knocked harder, shouting his name. Some lights blinked in the neighbouring houses. I saw silhouettes in the windows watching me. I didn't care.

I was sending punches and kicks to the door. Matt was not waking up. Finally, I found a stone nearby, and on the third attempt, managed to break the window. He wasn't breathing. Their inside made me dizzy. I will save you the time. He didn't make it.

A visual conclusion. Accidental death due to air exhaustion malfunction. They said that his truck was not maintained properly, so there was a leak and the gas made it inside. And since the windows were closed, I was devastated. I was at the brink. I didn't go to his funeral.

It was a bit too much for me. There were three of us left. Next month. I received a hair comb, Hannah, month after walking cane, the one just like Liam had. My sanity was dancing on the tip of a knife. I became a ruin of a man. I didn't understand who, why, what was happening? After January's package, I headed towards the bus station and took the first bus departing.

Even I didn't know where I'd end. Yesterday I was staying in this motel in the middle of nowhere. when somebody knocked to my door. With trembling legs and holding my breath, I stopped in front of it. There was no people on the door. So, as confident as I could in this state, I asked, Who is it? Of course, there was no response.

I froze, waiting. An envelope with an Amazon logo on it slipped under my door, and I heard the steps moving away from my door. room. I quickly grabbed the envelope and tore it open. Inside, there was just a small piece of paper, or a photo to be precise. A photo cut of our class, all 24 of us, except everybody, except me, had an X crossing their faces. Another detail caught my attention. One guy had his face heavily covered with ink, as if somebody tried to erase it with paint. Who was that? I rapidly recounted the people in the photo.

25. It couldn't be. I counted again. 25, including me, the guy whose face was not covered. I reached the lock and threw the door open. At the light spot in the distance of the shaded parking lot stood a guy, smiling, and suddenly I remembered. I remembered. When we were kids, there was a wimpy kid in our class. He was a weirdo. Everybody hated him. I think his name was Gerald or Jeffrey, something like that. He was mean, he was gross, the kind of guy who would hide in the girls' bathroom to creep them out.

The kind of guy who would eat his buggers and drawl all over the place. He ruined so many field trips when we were kids. It was the reason we didn't show good resorts in local ratings. Every single person hated him, even the teachers, but we couldn't just make him disappear. So yes, he was bullied all the time. But he didn't seem to care about all the kicks and names who gave him, up to a point when THE prank took place. After another failure that resulted in regional humiliation, some boys of our class

designed a prank. They asked Hannah to write that Gerald Guy a note, saying she's willing to give him a kiss if he was at his locker by the lunch break. The guys brought a crap ton of fireworks. We were young and stupid. The school was evacuated and the smoke was flooding from the single locker

with a screams and shrieks spread. Nobody stopped it from happening. Everybody was laughing at first when the guy cried for help. As a result, some people were fired, but none of us got suspended or punished. Everybody knew the guy was a failure, and it could totally be his fault. I think he lost the last dignity that day, as he never pointed a finger to those who did it to him. We never saw him since that day.

I've heard he was transferred to homeschooling after he got out of hospital, that his family moved somewhere. Who cared? Right now, in front of me, I saw not a boy, but a man smiling widely, waving at me. That moment, I understood everything. That we were the real culprits, that consequence of actions can cause even bigger consequence of actions. That, what I thought was a thick accent of unknown origin, sounded exactly like somebody with a mutilated face, was speaking. I finally understood the meaning.

Of revenge. I got less than ten days left. February comes real soon. I gotta hide. I have to disappear. I'll do my best to survive, but my hopes are not high. As it seems, this guy is really persistent.