CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Every morning, a man on my street keeps eating my mail" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 22, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by CreepsMcPastaCreepypastas 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

Getting one of those doorbell cameras was one of the best investments I made since moving into my new house. If something happens outside your house, you catch it. I was one of those sceptics who thought it would be useful to track package deliveries and ward off porch pirates, especially since I'm not home much because of work. But this has made me privy to little mysteries I wouldn't have figured out otherwise. Like, why was my sprinkler flooding half my yard in the morning? Well, a neighborhood kid knocked it over on his bike on a late-night ride. I even got a clip of one of the local kids taking a hilarious spill on the curb outside my house,

which I gladly shared around the office. But some mysteries are too much for one person, and I wrestled with a moby dick of problems. I got pinged with a notification of motion captured by my doorbell, and when the clip started, I saw a man waltz up to my postbox. He was gleeful with his movement, a semi-prints glide with a wide toothy grin. For him, he was a kid on Christmas, and my postbox was the toy he'd wanted all year.

He reached in and pulled out one of my white envelopes, and immediately I was raging that someone was stealing my mail. Not a package which would have had value, but one of my nondescript bills. I prayed he wasn't doing this to steal my personal information. That notion was quickly thrown out with what he did next. He slipped as much paper would fit into his mouth, bit down and yanked sideways, ripping the letter in half, envelope and all.

He chewed like he was eating A5 Wagyu beef and swallowed with glee. Then he glided away with a jovial step, eating the rest. The emotions I felt couldn't be quantified with a straightforward word. I was angry, confused, shocked, and a mix of many more swirling thoughts. Did a man really just eat one of my letters? It didn't make any sense. I was so taken aback that I didn't know how to respond. How do you report something like this?

He didn't seem to rifle through the letters looking for anything in particular. He seemingly took one at random. When I went home, I checked my mailbox and all my usual letters were there. But as a one-off incident, I wasn't too pressed about it. Most likely, nothing of value was taken since the only letters I received were bills or spam. so I easily chugged it down to a junkie that wandered to the nice side of town. Sadly, no matter how much I believed it was a one-off incident, it didn't make it a reality. Because it happened again.

I was at work typing away when my phone pinged. We were allowed to check our phones while on the clock in case it's about work. but when I saw the doorbell motion notification, I figured it wouldn't hurt to check. When I pulled up the clip, I was dismayed when I saw him again. He glided with more glee this time, down the street towards my house, before stopping at my mailbox. He reached in and grabbed a couple of letters this time. He cartoonishly licked his chops like a Looney Tunes character, about to eat a freshly. made pie. He ate each letter differently, like a kid playing with his food. He slotted the

first letter in his mouth, but he didn't rip it this time, just chewed for a while, then sucked in the rest. He nibbled bits off the second letter like a hamster before getting impatient and shoveling the rest. The third was almost like a magic trick. He tilted his head back, and with a smile, slotted it down slowly, like a soft. sword-swallower putting on a show and swallowed it whole. Then, with a satisfied smile, pranced off down the street, I was livid. It wasn't a big enough emergency to leave work early. I'm sure my company would choose profits over me, heroically saving my junk mail.

But I was seething while on shift, thinking a million miles per hour, scheming ways to stop this nonsense. When I finally got home, I tried to settle down. However, after the anger subsided, I started feeling uncomfortable. The context of the whole situation began to sink in. For a start, I no longer felt that this was a one-off incident. This man had visited twice, which only led me to think he'd come more. Also, every time I want to be. Also, every time I want to be. watched the footage, he never touched any of the other houses in the neighbourhood, only mine. This meant he was specifically targeting me, though I couldn't think of why. I started feeling paranoid.

Despite my doorbell camera not being hidden, he never seemed to look for it in any of the saved clips, which meant he wasn't hiding in any way. But if he was targeting me and wanted to be seen, What if he was doing things he didn't want to be seen? I suddenly felt very watched. Invasive thoughts of him peering through my windows flashed in my head each time I passed by one. Naturally, I closed every curtain in the house

and triple-checked that all my doors were locked. But I never truly felt safe for the whole night. A few days after, I'd finish adding a few new deadbolts on my door. I even added some on the interior doors in case I needed more layers of security. My mind was rampant with scenarios of being closed in on by whatever it was that was eating my damn mail. My heart would drop whenever I got a notification about motion from my doorbell.

Though it had pained me to click the pop-up, I always felt an urgency that made me need to know what was seen. Each time, it would be someone passing by or the package deliveries for the deadbolt. and various tools I needed. But, with these innocuous results, a haunting feeling each time never lessened. The mail in my neighbourhood doesn't come at precise times. I'm guessing I'm further into the mailman's route,

so whatever the various delays he has during his shift means, the time he comes varies drastically, and it was always after I'd left for work. So, when I was pinged that there was movement while on shift, I dreaded watching what was picked up. It was him again. With twirls and leaps, he light-footed he glided towards my mailbox, which contained a fresh batch of letters.

He was at an all-you-can-eat buffet. It was less theatre this time as he scarfed letter after letter, not stopping until my mailbox was empty. I was dismayed. Before, there was a chance he'd just eaten a spam letter or two and left at least some of the important ones. But this time, it was everything. I couldn't process what to do. I just closed the app and finished my day at work, hoping I'd come up with something before he came back. I ended up calling my nephew, who recommended I get the camera door bell in the first place. To say he was confused was an understatement. And though his tone definitely let off that he didn't believe me, he gave me a piece of advice. Try talking through

the camera. I didn't know this, but there was a feature that allowed me to talk to anyone outside the door via a speaker. Technology isn't one of my strong suits, so my amazement at this revelation deflegged off my nephew. But to me, I was armed with the ability to try socially dissuade this visitor verbally. I savored the moment when motion was pinged. I opened the app and saw him. He did his usual prance towards my mailbox.

As soon as he opened the hatch, I clicked the mic setting and started screaming at him to stop. I was so loud that I could hear my voice reverberating back, so I knew he could definitely hear me. And hear me he did. He lifted his head and finally acknowledged the camera. He just stared for a few seconds, a smile still on his face, and somehow he smiled more. The sides of his mouth twisted up. in a sickening way, contrasting the emotion he was trying to portray.

The jovial smile twisted to a grin that exuded malicious intent. It must have been painful to have his skin that taught. I don't think I could have achieved such a face without pulling hard with my hands or wires. However, he managed to do it naturally with no assistance. He grabbed all the letters from the box pulled his mouth open to a gaping moor and shoveled the whole batch in. I don't think he even chewed this time as he consumed them all and waltzed away. Because of my outburst, I was called into the manager's office.

Apparently, my expletives were heard over the phone by an important client. In my emotional high, I used some rather colourful language. My explanation probably got me in more trouble than a thinly veiled lie because I was suspended without pay for a week any other time I would have been dismayed at this my track record of the company had been spotless for years but as it settled in I realised I could be home when he next visited

and I'd be able to catch him in the act I hit up the shopping mall and picked up some goodies. I bought a metal baseball bat from a sports store to help if things got close range. I bought some pepper spray to turn a possible confrontation in my favor. I bought a slings shot with thick metal ball bearings to attack at range if needed. However, after firing a few shots at some tree branches, I realized I'd be more likely to break a neighbor's window than hit him. Watching Batman cartoons while growing up,

warped my perception of how easy little gadgets were to use. So I left it boxed up in the closet. Each morning, I set a chair up in the hallway of the front door. I left only one deadbolt latched, set the bat to my lap, and waited patiently. Each morning, a notification would ping, and I'd burst out, scaring the mailman each time. He must have thought I was a notch up with how paranoid I looked, but there was never a second ping,

the one that tells me he's here. But when it reached the early afternoon, a time later than he'd ever arrived, I'd go out and check the mailbox, and all I'd see was an empty box, maybe a few scraps with teeth marks that were still damp. How was he doing this? Before I knew it, a week was up.

I was scheduled to have a meeting at work to discuss my employment, but all I could think about was the man eating my mail. During the meeting, my phone buzzed. I slipped it out discreetly and checked the notification. Motion was detected. I didn't watch it, knowing I'd probably lose my job, if I did, and my head with how red my boss was getting, but I knew what I'd see once I opened the notification. When I was finally out of the meeting, it was exactly what I thought it was. He came up,

ate every letter, and left. I was at a loss. If there was a way to stop this, I didn't have a clue what it was. I just worked the rest of the day getting emails about failed payments of my various credits. I relied on monthly bills to keep track of them and realized I'd missed a lot of important payments lately. When I got home, I walked up to my mailbox and stopped. I contemplated the whole situation running every detail through my head over and over. Staring at the mailbox, I realized that though we had no physical interaction, this was the only thing that connected us.

I slipped a piece of paper out of my coat, pulled out my pen, and wrote a simple note, Please, leave me alone. A request felt deep down in my heart, condensed to four words. I went home, bolted every door and closed every curtain, trying to continue on as normal. By the time I got the notification at work the next day, I was desensitized. At home, I was still paranoid about an intruder, but watching him eat my mail each day was tiresome. But still, I decided to watch. As he finished, his delectable miss.

meal, lapping it up like a hungry dog. Something was different. He pulled out the note I left and gently scanned it with his eyes. Then he looked at the camera the same way he had before, despite me not using the mic. He smiled that same unnatural smile and stared for a few beats. After an uncomfortable silence, he slipped out a letter of his own from his back waistband. The letter looked unlike any letter I'd normally receive.

A contrast to the stark white or manila brown envelope, this letter was a layer of jet black paper. Its edges were trimmed in a gold leaf that shimmered through the low quality of the doorbell camera. I was enamored at this. Whatever the letter was, it was meant for me, because he slid it into my box and slinked away. All through work, I was consumed with thoughts of this, wondering what it might be. Could it be a response to the note I left? Not likely. He had it

ready, not knowing what I'd have written. This was a pre-arranged event. Could he have been waiting for me to leave a note, or had an arbitrary amount of time passed? This got me excited that it was a farewell, a note to tell me he was moving on, but the hope in my heart twisted with darker thoughts. Could it be an ultimatum, an offer to get him to stop but at a cost? The worst thoughts was that it was a threat. Could he have seen my note as a provocation, something he had ready to respond to with mental warfare, or was it an invitation to something bigger. After all, I felt like I was being tested. My thoughts bounced around like a game of ping pong in my head until it was time to leave. And I rushed back as fast as I could,

breaking a few traffic laws on the way. I turned in my drive so fast, my head nearly hit the window. I rushed over to the mailbox and yanked it open, praying the letter wasn't gone, or that it wasn't some manifestation of my fraying sanity. But, there it was. The black was a juicier darkness than I'd anticipated, and it made the gold trimming pop, even in the mailboxes' shade. I gently pulled it out, its presentation subconsciously creating a perceived value that I was respecting.

There was more to it than I'd see. seen in the glimpses. On its face was a word so ornately written that I had to stare at it to figure out what it said. It was in the old-timey cursive you'd see in a European museum. But I worked out what it said. It was my name. I looked around.

Part of me thought he was lingering nearby to watch me open it. Or worse, use it as a distraction to sneak up on me. So I took a solid few minutes to scan my surroundings. I stared at trees and bushes for an uncomfortable amount of time, enough that if someone was hiding, they'd have twitched a little. But there was nothing. I was utterly alone on the street. Not even the neighbours seemed to be in.

After finally satisfying my justified paranoia, I turned my attention. my attention back to the letter. Inspecting it up close did not give me any indication of what it contained. In fact, I was even more confused by what it contained. But I could no longer delay it. The time for thinking was over, and now was the time for action. I gently lifted it, scrunched it all into my mouth and ate it. Thank you.