CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Every first snowfall of the year, we ran" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 6, 2025

LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...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. 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

Every first snowfall of the year, we ran. It was in a festival. We were running to survive. The date was never a mystery. They told us weeks in advance. It was printed on billboards, blasted on the news, scrawled across the bottom of television screens in red lettering. The first snowfall will arrive on November 12th.

Prepare. People marked it on their calendars. We didn't question it anymore. The day before the snowfall, the entire town shut down. Schools closed early. Businesses locked their doors. No deliveries, no flights, no traffic in or out. It was as if we were preparing for a storm.

But the weather wasn't the problem. It was what came with it. Everyone had their own preparation. Some packed light bags, just enough to keep moving. Others mapped out faster routes, cutting through fields and back roads to avoid getting stuck. People checked their shoes, making sure their laces were tight, their souls weren't worn down. There was no ceremony, no speeches, no sirens, just an unspoken understanding. We waited. And then, when the the first snowflake fell. We ran. I can still feel it. Even now. The burn in my legs, the cold

biting at my skin, the rhythmic pound of footsteps all around me. A thousand bodies moving in perfect unison, breathless, desperate. There was no pushing or chaos. We didn't shove or trample. We moved like a flood. One after the other, single file. There was no greed or malice from society to be found. Everyone had one mission, the same goal. Because stopping meant you would be gone. My first real memory of the run is blurred by time, but some things never fade. the cold, the fear, my mother's hand crushing mine in a grip. I was five years old the first time I remember running, too young to understand why, old enough to know not to ask.

We waited inside until the first flight fell. The moment it did, my mother wrenched open the front door and pulled me into the street. The entire town was already moving. A single file line of people, shoulders hunched, breath clouding in the cold, feet pounding against the pavement. It wasn't like running in gym class or playing tag with the neighbourhood kids. There was no laughing, no stopping to catch your breath. You moved or you didn't make it. I remember crying, tripping over my feet.

My mother yanked me forward so hard, my arm nearly dislocated. She never yelled or scolded me, just squeezed my hand tighter and kept running. Behind us, someone screamed. I didn't look back. No one ever did. By the time I was old enough to ask why. I already knew the answer. What happens if you don't run?

No one ever answered. They didn't need to. Every child knew the stories. The tales were as old as the town itself. We had no crampus, no buggymen, no ghost stories passed down to keep children from wandering too far into the woods. We had the wolf walkers. And we didn't tell their stories. scare people. We told them so people would live. Because people that were caught would die and

disappear. And I know this for certain. Because my father was one of the ones who got caught. I don't remember much about him. Just the smell of whiskey on his breath, the heavy thud of his boots as he staggered through the house. He was drunk the night the snow-kered. came. My mother had tried to sober him up, but he wouldn't listen. By the time the snow came, he was too slow. We had to run anyway. I still remember the sound of him calling after us, slurring my mother's name. His voice got smaller and smaller, swallowed by the sound of the wind, the endless stampede of footsteps. My mother never looked back, and we never saw him again.

By the time I turned nine, running had become a part of life, just another routine in the changing of seasons. I no longer tripped over my own feet or begged my mother to slow down. I had learned the rhythm, the pace that let you breathe just enough to keep going, but never enough to get comfortable. Comfort was dangerous. We knew that better than anything. That year, the first snow came late. The cold had already settled deep into the bones of the town and when the flurries finally started to fall, it was like a held breath finally releasing. I remember feeling something new that night, a thing I'd never felt during these runs.

Curiosity, I'd never seen what we were actually running from. Sure, I knew what they were called, and brief descriptions passed around the community. But I didn't know. We were told not to look back. So that night... I did. At first, I thought they were people. Figures moving between the snowflakes just out of focus, many things. thick furred coats, their heads covered by wolf masks. But then I looked closer, and I saw their arms.

Thin, rotting human arms, stretched too long, the skin peeling in places, revealing raw, darkened muscle. The hands dragged at their sides, fingers twitching. Their legs were bony, discolored, bent strangely at the joints, as if their bodies had forgotten how to be human. The heads were fully wolf, but wrong, too broad. The snouts cracked and split in places where they shouldn't be. The mouths were packed with the rows of teeth that didn't fit together properly, overlapping,

twisted. And their eyes. Some were missing entirely, dark hollow sockets leaking something black. Others were too white, too wide, reflecting light in an unnatural glow. They didn't run, not really. They seemed to be one with the snow, more so phasing with the falling snow rather than actually moving. Their forms blurred with the snow, like they were being dragged forward.

by something unseen. They moved as fast as the snowfall. I must have made a sound, a gasp, a sob, or something, because one of them turned its head toward me. Its snouts split open even further, and I saw something pulsing inside its throat, shifting, writhing, as if it was struggling to hold its shape. I turned forward. and never looked back again. Years later, the snowfall was predicted weeks ago. November 17th, the warnings were everywhere once more. News tickers, radio broadcasts, printed on every storefront window.

A reminder. A deadline. People were already preparing, packing light, mapping their routes, making sure they had the right shoes. I had always done the same, until this year, until I realised my mother wouldn't be running with me. She'd been bedridden for months. Her body had withered beneath the weight of sickness, the strong woman who once pulled

me through the streets, now barely able to lift her own hand. Her voice had turned small, brittle, like something that could be carried away with the wind. But even through the weakness, she still tried. She still begged me to go. You can't save me, she whispered. Run, please. I sat beside her, gripping her cold fingers. I packed my bag that morning out of habit,

but I had never slung it over my shoulder. Because for the first time in my life, I couldn't leave. I couldn't run without her. I couldn't leave her behind like that. Not when she dragged me with her so many times. She saw it in my face. She knew. And she cried. I won't leave you behind, Mom. I can't. Outside, the sky was turning grey. The temperature had dropped. Tomorrow, the first flake would fall. and for the first time in my life, I wouldn't be ready. The first flake fell at 5.46pm. I watched it drift down from the sky, weightless, delicate, beautiful if I didn't know what it meant. Then came the sound.

A deep, rolling hum, like wind moving through a hollow place, but heavier. Thicker. It wasn't wind. And then the city ran. The streets erupted into motion. Doors slammed open. People poured onto the sidewalks sprinting into the fading light. A stampede. A flood of bodies moving in perfect rhythm. Breath steaming in the cold. No hesitation. No second thoughts. I turned to my mother She was so small now

So light She looked up at me from the bed Her eyes filling with something I couldn't name I lifted her into my arms She barely made a sound Her body felt fragile Weightless Like she had already started slipping away

I stepped outside The cold hit me like a wall hit me like a wall. The wind sliced through me, sharp and unrelenting. Snowflake swirled in chaotic patterns, dancing through the air, hiding the shapes of those running ahead. I took my first step, then another. Then I ran. It was different this time, harder. I wasn't running for myself. I was running for both of us. And it was my first taste. of what my mother had gone through when I was a young child. My legs burned with every step, the weight in my arms slowing me down.

Every breath was a gasp, sharp and ragged. Ahead, the crowd was already disappearing into the white. I tried to keep up, but behind me, I could hear them closing in. The change in the air, the way the cold thickened, like the temperature had dropped 10 degrees in an instant. Just moving. It sounds so smooth, it was almost soothing, like something gliding over the ice.

Then came the other noises. A soft gnarling, and then the first scream from behind us. An elderly couple. I didn't stop, but my mother, weaker than she'd, ever been, lifted a head just slightly, and whispered, They're here.

Ahead, the last of the runners vanished into the snow. The line was gone. It was just me, me, my mother, and whatever was closing in behind us. The city had vanished behind me, swallowed by the storm. I could barely feel my feet anymore. My muscles were screaming, my arms ached from carrying my mother's weight. But I held on. I had to.

The snow pounded against my skin, wind howling through the trees as I stumbled onto an old, barely visible path leading into the forest. I didn't know where it led. I didn't care. Slow, labored, rattling frost-bitten lungs. fighting for air. Too close, too close. I kept moving, but the snow was deepening. My boots sank into it with every step, making each movement harder, slower. I was losing. I rest a glance at my mother. Her head rested limply against my chest, her breath coming in cold shivers. Her eyes opened halfway. Then she whispered, put me down, I shook my head, the words burning like a bullet

from a gun. No, you can't run with me. I won't leave you. You have to. Her voice was weak, but I could hear the desperation in it. I held her closer. No, not her. Not her. The gnarling grew ever louder. I could hear them now moving through the snow. I looked behind to see how much distance stood between us and them. One of them stood closer than the others, smaller, perhaps younger. But it zeroed in on us. That much was clear.

The snow bent around the thing like the world itself was trying to look away. I snapped my head back forward, then up ahead. A structure, barely visible through the white out. An old shed, broken and sagging, its wooden door hanging open. I pushed forward, forcing myself to move faster. The moment we cross the threshold, I kick the door shut with my boot and collapsed onto the wooden floor, clutching my mother to my chest. The cold was inside my bones now.

I could barely feel my hands. My heart slammed against my ribs. The wind howled outside. The gnarling slowed. Then. Silence. I pressed my hand over my mother's mouth, covering both of our breathing. I didn't know if the walls were enough.

If they could see us right now. If they could smell us. But we had to stay quiet. The shed was falling apart. The wooden walls groaned with every gust of wind, the roof sagging under the weight of ice and time. It smelled of rot and damp wood, of something old and long forgotten. The only thing between us and them was a thin sheet of splinter timber. And they were right outside.

I pressed my back against the wall, cradling my mother in my lap, my entire body trembling with exhaustion. She was barely conscious now. Her breathing was weak, her lips pale, her arms draped over me like a dead weight. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, faint, sluggish. She wouldn't last much longer. And neither would I. The whispers started slow. I never heard them before, never been close enough.

At first they sounded like the wind, but then the words took shape, fast enough. The voices shifted, changing in pitch, in rhythm, some too high, some too deep. And then one of them spoke with my father's voice. You should have run. creaked, my breath caught in my throat. I barely moved, just my fingers tightening over my mother's wrist, as if holding onto her would keep us both anchored in place. Something was coming. I couldn't breathe, and beyond the doorway, through the swirling snow and shifting shadows. I saw it. It stood just outside, its massive.

of shape barely visible through the storm. Not quite a man, not quite a wolf. The body was too long, too hunched. Its fur was wet, clumped, hanging off its frame like peeling skin. Its arms were wronged. Human hands but stretched too thin, the skin splitting around the knuckles, revealing black and veins pulsing beneath. It tilted its head toward the open.

door. It knew we were here. Then suddenly, my mother grabbed my face. Her fingers pressed into my skin, tilting my head down, forcing me to look at her. I expected her to whisper, to tell me to run, to beg me one last time to leave her behind, but she didn't. She just smiled, soft, warm, like she wasn't afraid anymore. Then, she moved. With the last of her strength, she pushed herself up onto trembling arms. Her entire body shook, her legs barely able to hold her weight. She stood.

Not for long, but long enough, and then, She screamed. The sound tore through the shed, loud and roar, echoing through the trees, cutting through the wind and the whispers. A cry of defiance. The creature turned toward her. I thought she was the only one there. I stayed frozen, cowering behind overturned furniture. My hands clenched over my own shaking body, unable to move.

I wanted to reach for her. to grab her, to stop her. But I couldn't. I was too afraid. The last thing I saw of my mother was a silhouette in the doorway. Small, weak, but standing, she was gone. I woke up, clutching nothing. My hands were frozen into stiff, aching claws,

still gripping the air where my mother had been. For a moment, my mind was stuck in the in-between, the space where I could still feel away to my arms, still hear the echo of a scream in my ears, still believe that when I opened my eyes, she would be there, but she wasn't. The storm had passed. I felt it before I saw it, the stillness, the silence that came after the first snowfall. No wind, no whispers. Just the slow, paking crawl of sunlight through the cracks in the broken shed. I pushed myself up onto numb legs, my body sluggish, like it didn't belong to me anymore. The door stood wide open. The world outside was white and empty.

I stepped out into the snow. The air was crisp, cold in a way that no longer burned, just said. settled into my skin like a layer of ice beneath the surface. The sky stretched above me, bright, endless blue. Nothing moved. I turned back toward the shed, half expecting to see something. Footprints, a trail, some sign of what had happened. But the snow was undisturbed.

No footprints, no bodies, like no one. had ever been here at all. They started walking. There was nothing else to do. The pressure in my chest weighed a million tons. By the time I reached the edge of the city, I already knew what I would find. The people would be back in their homes. The streets would be clear. There would be no talk of those who didn't return, like they had never existed at all. I have run, ever. I have run, every year since that night. Even when my legs burned, even when my lungs screamed for air, even when I wanted nothing more than to let the snow swallow me whole,

I ran. I ran for my mother. And for years, I ran for others too. I reached out, pulled stragglers forward, gripped shaking hands, force people to keep moving when their bodies were ready to give up. Some I saved, some I didn't, but I am old now. My body is not what it used to be. The years have stolen my strength, my speed.

My breath is weak, my legs barely able to carry my own weight, much less someone else's. And the first snowfall is coming. The announcement came last week. scrolled across the bottom of the television screen as I sat in my chair, hands resting in my lap, bones aching in the cold that never really leaves you after that long. November 23rd, first snowfall expected. It was not a warning, not for me. I lay in bed now beneath blankets that do nothing to warn me. The night is quiet, still, I know what comes next.

The air will shift, the first flake will fall, and the world will start to run without me. I turn my head toward the window, waiting. The glass is dark, a reflection of the room behind me. My own eyes stare back, hollow and sunken. Then a shadow passes across the glass. Not fast, just moving. It stops, lingers as if waiting. And then a warmth settles over me.

A presence I haven't felt in decades. I close my eyes. I smile and I say nothing.