CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Every Halloween a House on My Street Puts Out Candy. No One’s Lived There for Decades" Creepypasta

Episode Date: November 19, 2024

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

There's this house at the end of our street. It's been abandoned for as long as I can remember, the kind of place that, as a kid, you cross the street to avoid. Everyone in the neighbourhood knows it, but no one really talks about it, except on Halloween. That's when things get weird. Every year, a bowl of candy appears on the front porch on Halloween night.

It's always the same. A plain black bowl filled with the good stuff like M&Ms and Rieces. Nothing cheap. No one's ever seen who puts it there. And no one ever stays long enough to find out. It just... Appears. The weird thing is, there's never any sign of life at that house the rest of the year.

There are no lights, no movement, nothing. The windows are cracked, the roof is falling apart, and the yard is completely overgrown. Still, like clockwork, every Halloween, that bowl of candy is right where it always is. There's this rumor too. It's been passed around as long as I can remember, passed down from the older kids when I was younger. They say that if you take a piece of candy, you'll get good luck for the next year. A lot of, A lot of kids in the neighbourhood believe it. Some people think it's just a harmless tradition.

Others say it's cursed. Me? I've always been somewhere in between. I didn't really buy into the whole good luck thing, but I can't deny that the house gives me this weird feeling whenever I pass it. One year though, something changed. I couldn't stop thinking about it. the house, the candy, the fact that no one knows anything about who's putting it out all these

years. I grew up hearing stories about the place. Some people say an old man used to live there. Others say vanished years ago, leaving the house behind like a ghost town in the middle of our quiet little street. But no one really knows the truth. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that no one had ever really tried to find out. So I decided that was the year I'd do it. After the trick-or-treaters had cleared out and the streets were empty, I stayed behind. The ball was still there, just sitting on the porch like it always did,

as if it had been waiting. My friends had already gone home, and I could have followed, but something wouldn't let me. There's always been a pull to that house, something I couldn't quite explain, like it wanted someone to notice it, like it wanted someone to come inside. I told myself, I just stay and watch,

just long enough to see if anyone came to take the ball away or refill it, just to get an answer once and for all. But the more I stood there, the more I felt it. This nagging sense of curiosity. It's like the house was calling to me, waiting for someone like me to finally step through its doors.

And that night, I couldn't ignore it anymore. I'd been waiting there for hours, hidden behind the bushes across the street. The neighborhood had long since gone quiet. No more kids running around in costumes, no more porch lights. Just me, the dark, and that house.

The candy bowl still sat on the porch, untouched, since the last group of trick-or-treaters passed by. Nothing. No movement. The house stayed still and silent, as it always did. I was about to call it a night when something caught my eye. The front door creaked open, slow and deliberate, like someone on the other side had just pushed it.

But I didn't see anyone. There was no wind, no explanation, just the door slowly swinging open, inviting. My heart raced. I tried to convince myself it was just old hinges given way. But deep down, I knew better. The house wanted me to come in. I stayed as still as possible, waiting to catch a hand coming out, sneaking away the ball as Halloween ended. Theories ran through my head, thinking it was maybe an old local who either started or was carrying on this local tradition.

But nothing came out. The door stood open, and more of darkness, gently breathing in the outside air. As I watched, it almost looked inviting. Invasive thoughts came in my head, pushing out the idea that someone was in there, but that I was being politely asked to come in. Nothing looked overtly threatening. Sure, the house looked musty and old, but otherwise it was still and docile. I don't know what made me do it. In reality, I should have turned around and gone home.

But I didn't. Whether I was too absorbed with figuring out this mystery or some otherworldly possession, I accepted the perceived invitation. I grabbed my flashlight and crossed the street, my feet barely making a sound on the pavement. I reached the porch, glancing once more at the candy bowl, almost expecting something to happen. But the candy just sat there, untouched. I took a deep breath. and stepped through the door.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the air around me felt like it changed. Thick, heavy. My skin prickled as if I just walked into a room filled with smoke. But there was no smoke. Just an overwhelming sense of pressure like the house was pressing down on me. I shone the flashlight around, but the beam felt weak, swallowed by the darkness. The floor creaked beneath my feet,

but not like normal old wood. It felt different, like something was shifting under the surface, adjusting to my weight. It looked solid, and when I tapped my foot on the floor, it was hardwood. But while walking,

it just felt off. It wasn't just the ground. As I moved deeper into the house, Something in the air felt off too. It wasn't just the silence or the darkness swallowing my flashlight's beam. It was the way the wall seemed to shift, only settling where my light landed straight on it. It was barely perceptible, dancing softly on the edges of my vision, too vague to ever confirm. I shook my head, chalking it up to nerves.

The floor creaked with every step I took. but the creeks felt deliberate like something beneath me was adjusting, sensing my weight. When I turned to check behind me, the door that had been open was now shut without so much as a sound. My pulse quickened, but I tried to reason with myself. Maybe I'd closed it out of habit. I was too in my head to keep track of everything. But then, as I turned back, the hallway seemed to so much. stretch before me, like the space itself was bending.

I stopped, shining my flashlight down the hall. I could swear it had been short, only a few steps to the next room. But now it seemed longer, as if the walls were moving, pulling me further in. It was late, I was tired. I would have preferred to have done this with a clearer head. But sadly, I could not choose. the time to dive into this investigation. So, I was stuck second-guessing everything I was seeing. My stomach twisted. I tried to tell myself it was just my mind playing tricks.

But the house felt alive, reacting to me, watching me. The further I ventured, the heavier everything felt. The air was thick, like I was suffocating. Each breath was harder than the last, and I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, despite the chill. My legs felt like lead, every step taking more effort than it should. At first, I thought it was the fear catching up with me, adrenaline wearing off maybe. But this was different. I felt like I was being drained. I wiped to my forehead, trying to clear my thoughts, but it didn't help.

My head was foggy, like I hadn't slept in days. I checked my phone for the time. It was almost 3 a.m. I couldn't even remember what time I'd gone in, but there was no way I'd been in that long. Maybe I'd waited for longer than I thought when outside. But even then, it didn't add up. I couldn't even tell which way I came from anymore.

It was like the wall seemed to twist and shift behind me, rearranging themselves the moment I wasn't looking. I shook my head, trying to clear the growing fog in my head. I could barely think straight, and my movements were slow and sluggish. It was like the house was pulling the energy right out of me, step by step. As I moved further in, I started seeing things. Clothing, old shoes, pieces of paper. Some were scattered on the floor, others abandoned in the corners of rooms.

At first, I thought they were just debris from squatters. But as I looked closer, I saw all the clothes look like they belonged to children to young teenagers. Sprinkled around with discarded remnants of old costumes, Halloween-themed, all at varying ages of decay. Some looked newer. But between them were pieces that looked older than my parents. I looked at what I was wearing and came to the subtle realization. These were from others who had wandered in, like me, trying to find answers to the mystery of the candy bowl.

Fight or flight kicked in. Panic settled as a thought flashed in my mind. If this is what happened to the people who had come inside and never made it out, What happened to them? Because whatever it was, it couldn't be good. I picked up an old candy wrapper, its edges brittle from age. I glanced around, my flashlight catching glimpses of more wrappers, shoes and bags left behind in the dust. They were just...

There. No sign of a struggle. No signs of what happened to them. That's when it hit me. The candy. It wasn't just some harmless Halloween tradition. It was bait. A mystery so alluring to the young

that it was the perfect way to lure people inside and draw them deeper into the house. Just like me, I turned back the way I came, desperate to leave. The door shouldn't be far. I hadn't ventured that deep into the house, had I? But when I reached the spot where the entrance should have been, it wasn't there.

The door was gone, leading to an inane hallway that matched the few I'd already walked through. Panic set in. I tried another hallway, then another. Whenever I thought I was heading toward an exit, it never led to where I thought I was going, forcing me deeper into the house. It was like the place was changing around me, trapping me inside. My heart pounded, as I was. I stumbled back, searching frantically for the front door. Still, it was like the house was alive,

blocking every possible escape route. I felt the floor beneath me shift, but it was worse than before. I could no longer strike it as my imagination, as it almost felt like it was melting into itself. I took another step, and my foot sank into the floor like it was quicksand. I pulled, but the floor held tight, sticky and thick, like it was pulling me down. The walls around me began to pulse, closing in. The house was tightening its grip. I slammed my fists against the walls, screaming for help, but no sound escaped. My voice was muted, swallowed by the thick, suffocating air.

No one could hear me. The house absorbed everything. Something was feeding off me. The house grew more intense, the weaker I felt. The harder I tried to escape, the more the house drained from me. My legs felt heavier, my breath shallow. It wasn't just fear. It was feeding on my energy, my panic.

As I tried to pull myself out, trying to stay calm, I noticed something else. shadows moving within the walls. At first, I thought it was just from the house shifting in its unnatural way. But then I saw them again. Faint human shapes flickering just behind the wallpaper. Their outlines blending into the structure of the house. They weren't ghosts.

They were people, trapped, unable to leave. I used my arms that pull one leg as free as possible, and what little perch I could get yanked the other out. I finally tore through the last of the membrane. I had given up on finding the door, but there was a window nearby that gave me hope, though with how much I lost myself scrambling through the twisting hallways, I had no idea what floor I was on. But, just as I was about to crawl out, I felt the house latch on. to me. The walls rippled and something shot out from the floor. Tendrils of the house

wrapped itself around my legs and arms, pulling me back toward the pulsing walls. I screamed, but the sound was still swallowed, vanishing into the thick air. The house wasn't letting go. The tendrils tightened, pulling me backwards, and whispers in my mind grew louder. They weren't soft. They were desperate, pleading, almost panicked. Stay with us. Don't leave. You belong here.

It sounded like pleas from children. I thrashed trying to break free, but the harder I fought, the more it pulled, dragging me back toward the center of the room. I could feel myself fading, the strength draining from my body, the way to the house pressing down. me. My vision blurred, and I thought about letting go for a moment. The whispers begged me to stay with them, their tone dripping with loneliness. But something inside me refused. I wasn't going to let it win. With my last burst of energy, I reached up and grabbed the edge of the window,

dragging myself through. The tendrils clung to me, tearing at my skin as I was. I pulled my legs free. They didn't let go easily. They weren't just wrapped tightly, but were lined with something adhesive. My skin felt hot wherever they touched. By the time I was halfway out, my arms were trembling, and I could feel the skin of my legs burning where the house had latched on, like it had taken pieces of me with it. Blood soaked through my clothes, and my entire body ate with a deep, searing pain.

But I couldn't stop now. I gave one last yank, and with a scream, I ripped free, crashing through the window and falling a story down onto the grass. My body hid the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me. But I was outside. I was free. I lay there, gasping for breath, my chest on fire. every inch of me screaming in pain. I glanced down at my legs, blooded, raw, the skin blackened where the house had burned me.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started. Everything stopped, the whispers faded. The house went still, silent, as if nothing had ever happened. The air was calm again. But I could feel it. Something inside me was different. I just lay on the cold grass, gasping for breath, my chest rising and falling like I'd just run a marathon.

The oppressive weight that had been suffocating me inside the house was gone. But I wasn't free of it. My body was trembling, every muscle aching as if I'd been squeezed dry. I stared up at the sky, the stars distant and cold, trying to convince myself. It was over. Slowly, I turned my head to look back at the house. It stood there, as still and silent as it had always been, just a run-down, abandoned structure.

Nothing about it seemed out of place from here. The windows were dark, lifeless, and the front of the front of the first. front porch was as empty as ever. The candy bowl still sat there, untouched, like nothing had happened at all. I could feel it, deep in my bones. It wasn't just some old building. It was alive, waiting. The dark window seemed to watch me like eyes, following my every move. And even though I was out, I wasn't free. I tried to stand, my legs wobbling beneath me, but it felt like my body had been drained of all its strength. Every movement was a struggle, my muscles refusing to cooperate.

My mind felt hazy, like a thick fog had settled over it. I tried to piece together everything that had happened inside, but something felt missing. My memories were fragmented, pieces scattered and broken. I could remember the feeling of the house tightening around me, the whispers, clawing at my mind. But the details were blurred, slipping through my fingers the harder I tried to recall them. It was like part of me was still in there, trapped inside the walls, just like the people I'd seen. No matter how far I got from it, I couldn't shake the feeling that the house had taken something from me, something I would have to go back in to get back.

It had left its mark on me. I made it home that night, but nothing felt the same. Every step I took away from that house felt like I was dragging something heavy with me, something I couldn't see. I tried telling people about it, my friends, my parents about what happened. I also reported what I could to the police about the house.

They didn't believe me. Some laughed it off like it was some kind of prank or a drug-induced memory, a wild trip from some laced candy. No one understood. No one felt what I felt in there. When I reported it, I didn't even try to explain how the house had felt alive, how it had taken something from me, because they wouldn't have believed it. They sent in a unit and found the point. place desolate, with a typical abandoned house layout, then lectured me on the dangers of trespassing in unstable structures. Weeks passed, and things felt like they went back to normal.

But I couldn't shake it. The house, the pall, the whispers were still with me. I could feel it, even as I tried to pretend everything was fine. And the same bowl of candy was there when I had Halloween came around the next year, sitting on that porch just like always. Despite everything, as I stood in front of the house, seeing the locals delight in the free candy. Memories I'd forgotten flashed back through my mind. The pain sang from the scars on my legs, vividly replaying the events of that night in brief moments of clarity. And yet, despite the horrendous experience, I still felt that pull.

Something deep inside me stirred. Even though I knew what the house really was, even though I knew it nearly took me. I couldn't help but look. A part of me still wanted to go back, as if the house hadn't finished what it started. I still live on that street, and as I sit in my room at night,

I stare out the window, the house visible just beyond the streetlights. It's quiet now, the same stillness that always surrounded it. But as Halloween approaches, the pull is stronger than ever. Sometimes when everything's dark and silent late at night, I can still hear it. Whispers, faint, distant, but unmistakable, calling my name, telling me to come back. I tried to ignore it, try to tell myself, it's just my mind playing tricks, but deep down, I know the truth. The house isn't finished with me. I glance out the window one last time, knowing that it's just a matter of time before I can't resist the pull anymore.

One day, it'll pull me back in. And next time, I'm not sure I'll be able to escape.