CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Family_simulator.EXE" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 12, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Plus_Ad_4226:   / family_simulatorexe  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"-    • "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

I wish I could say that my parents' death had meaning, but they died for a good reason. But they didn't. I was only 11 years old at the time. A drunk man, racing home to catch his wife cheating, blindsided them on a turn. My parents didn't die heroes. They didn't die for a grand purpose. They died because someone took them from me too early. This was the first time I felt real, raw grief.

The memory of when I was told, the moment it happened is snapshot in my mind like a burn that never heals. The way my gut sank like the dip of a monstrous roller coaster, the pit left as my child's self-realized the permanent nature of it. I can even still feel the tingles in my fingers as the shock set in. The words played in real time. but my body felt slowed. Breathing became manual as my vision tilted over and over.

I was not emotionally ready for this. I was barely emotionally handling school. So then being taken so callously left me empty for longer than I'd like to admit. After their passing, my grandparents moved into my parents' home with me. They packed up their lives and tried to pick up where my parents left off. Four years they tried to connect with me, but I was emotionally unstable. I resented them for trying to take their place. Their love hurt me in ways they couldn't win.

They tried to coddle me during and after the funeral. For four years they tried to break down my walls, but the walls I built held strong. I sank myself into the last connection I felt I had with them. games. My father was a software engineer, so he spent a lot of time on the computer, and to my mother's dismay, he dragged me into the digital world early on. I couldn't get the hangar of using a mouse and keyboard. I think my hands were too small at the time, so he bought me a console. We would huddle around the TV and play all the best co-op games he could find, While snooping for presents on Christmas, I even found a stack of games magazines, red marker circles around games that specifically mentioned local co-op.

This is how he always managed to find the perfect game for us every time. I skimmed over this in the moment, having not found the presents they hid so well. But looking back, my heart breaks, knowing how much care he put into this hobby of ours. However, there were times I'd catch him playing games on his own. He was a PC gamer born and bred, so that was where I'd find him playing solo. But he never seemed to put the same energy into finding new games to play. Rather, I'd always see him playing games of pixels and numbers, simulation games from his era of gaming.

I'd asked to play too, but he'd always tell me I was too young for these kinds of games. and that when I was older, he'd show me how to play them. This always weld mixed feelings of annoyance in the moment and anticipation for that time to come. But eventually, games lost their luster. No matter how much I played, trying to honour them in my mind, I was now playing solo. Not seeing the screen split with another player alongside me

was a constant reminder of the pain. I was almost exclusively brought up on split-screen co-op experiences. I was never into playing without my dad. But that's when it hit me. My father would play solo, but he'd play those weird pixelated simulation games. So, I had it in my head that to enjoy those types of games

would make me the adult I idolized him as. but I didn't know where to start. He never talked about them, saving that for a time that would never come. His computer was locked behind a password that was forever lost, so I had to find these games myself. I took to the best resource I knew of to solve the greatest mysteries on Earth. Google, I put in buzzwords of what I could remember. simulation games, indie, single player, old, and press search.

These words were not very specific, so it yielded a wide variety of stuff, and after hours of scarring each page, I found a forum post about a game someone had made. Even though it was made in recent times, the screenshots they used to advertise it had that retro style I was looking for. but it wasn't just how it looked. Something else drew me to this game, above all the others that had a similar vibe. Its name, Family Simulator.

It boasted an extensive game system that you had to manage to keep up an ideal family, something I wouldn't have gone for, opting to lean towards shooters. But it was this dichotomy that made me take the plunge. The instructions were fairly simple for my first time not just popping in a disc. It ran through an EXC file that did all the decisions for me. As the green bar filled, a sudden wave of emotions overcame me. My father had always kept me from these kinds of games,

always thinking I'd prefer the modern titles he kept up with. So this really felt like a chance to connect with them post-mortem, no matter how little it was. I launched the game. Initially, I was met with a black screen and then a studio logo screen. An image of a heart came up alongside the words, Famco.

Most likely the game creator trying to get their name out there. Nothing flashier or significant, but charming for something probably made by one person. The title screen faded, followed by a basic text box, a little line flickering,

beckoning me to start writing. The question was simple. Tell me about your life. I thought for a moment. I had been asked this a lot, by counsellors, my grandparents, and kids that never cared about me before they heard the news. A gesture I dismissed at face value,

With a blunt, I'm fine. They should have known the answer, so I felt insulted each time I was asked. After a while, my grandparents were withdrawn about asking this, seemingly respecting my decision of maintaining distance, and yet, for some reason, that frustrated me too. But looking back, I'd never truly thought about the answer above a simple no, much less answered it honestly

I kept all of this inside and it finally bubbled up to a point the straw that broke the camel's back I started typing all the frustration sadness envy jealousy all of it was being shoved into this game time blurred while I hashed out my rant

I was putting my soul into this answer for the first time ever. It felt silly, even in the moment, knowing I was going at it into some indie game of pixels and text. I didn't know why I was given this game so much information about myself, but it felt good to get these feelings out somewhere

where I knew I couldn't be judged. I could just say my peace and not hear hollow rhetoric about hope and healing, and it felt good. The black box, a silent listener that I needed. Something that wouldn't pity me,

but would just listen. I hadn't even gotten into the game, and I was exhausted. I had tied out everything I missed about my parents. How I dearly missed the meals my mother would make. My father had taken me out to a field just to throw a ball around, how he'd show me neat tricks that would have me barely laughing,

the way he would get up five hours before any of us to tell us that he woke up early, only to go back to bed a few minutes after informing us. I miss staring at the watch I gifted my mother, with my dad's help, of course, that my mother adored when we went out for special occasions, the way they treated me, how much I loved them, how much I missed loving them.

Every single minute detail was handed over. The game accepted the information with a satisfying ding sound, and I was sent to another menu. This time, character creation. Now, I've never been the creative sort, so I blatantly just made myself. I named myself Alex, set brown hair and brown eyes, a simple white t-shirt and jeans. I was also prompted with adding personal details, like my birthday, number of friends, and my likes and dislikes. What I didn't expect was the choice of a family.

It wasn't as in depth as the character creation itself, only a couple of presets. Preset 1 was a woman with red hair, a simple crop top and some shorts, the man not too dissimilar from my own outfit. Preset 2 was, they looked like my parents. It sounds crazy, but it just felt like them. The models were just a mashup of simple pixels, but they carried so many of their characteristics. I grew to recognize in them. The jovial look my mother wore on a near constant basis. My father's stoic stature that exuded the confidence

that he was always trying to pass on to me. It was uncanny. I was at a bit of a loss. I know I missed them, but I didn't realize how much I still miss them. Even after four years. I mean, for a second, I'd been convinced that these were,

my parents in some way. The game was something I was looking to sink some time into as a distraction, but now it fully captured my attention. I accepted all the settings and the game loaded up. It played a scenic shot of the house before fading to me in a room with the family. But as soon as I spawned in, I was shook with a loud bang. I jumped a little in my seat and my heart raced at the fright. Alex, go to bed. You have school tomorrow. Those games are going to make you sick.

It was my grandmother on the other side of my door. I always had my door locked, so this was how she would communicate with me. I checked the time and it was already 2 a.m. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. But sleep didn't come easy, with my curiosity swirling around my head about this new game. Perhaps I was mistaken, but the thing I had seen as the game had just loaded in was too much to be a coincidence, surely. It couldn't have been a mistake.

The setting was a near perfect rendition of the house I grew up in, the house I was in right now. The more I thought about it, the more excuses I made to cope. How the game replicated these things so perfectly? But it was the room that was what I couldn't explain. I saw a dining room, but the details were too familiar. The shade of wood on the square dining table, the layout of the cabinets, the door that led to the kitchen.

It was almost entirely the same. It could have been coincidence. my house was a common suburban build with similar layouts in the rows of houses near me but it was the layers of coincidences that had me stumped on an explanation I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized that I was the one

that handed details over perhaps I really had given the game too much information this thought didn't entirely settle me but it eased my mind enough to get some sleep. I rose out of bed with a heavy groan. I looked over my clock and bolted awake, seeing that I missed my first alarm.

I quickly got up and rushed my morning routine. As I boarded the bus, I prepared mentally for another grueling day of education. School was meant to be an escape. At least that's what I was told. A place where you kick back with your friends and get into little adventures, all while building your future. For me, though, that couldn't be further from the truth.

I was an outcast, no small fault of my own, and I refused to socialise. I couldn't. When I started high school, it was not long after the incident. My only thought was, if only I could speak to them one last time. This floated in my head as my peers attempted to make conversation with me. By the time I realized I'd made myself a loner, the clicks were formed and I was labelled as a quiet, weird kid. A prime target. For harassment.

Arriving at class, I was reminded of the grim reality I was facing the thing I dreaded for a week. Group Assignments I attempted to weasel myself into a group. group, but of course Jonathan and his buddies ensured that I would achieve no such thing. The truth was that Jonathan was just as insecure as I was. But the difference was that he projected his much louder than anyone else, and I was the conduit for his emotional baggage. The teacher saw me alone and exclaimed that whoever had no group would take a test instead.

He spoke like he was talking to the class. But it was obviously just about me. I sat in the corner of the classroom away from everyone else. But instead of getting on with the test, I started to dwell on the game again. I could easily chalk everything down to coincidence. But what if it wasn't? Could I speak with them again?

The notion was absurd, thinking my parents was somehow in that game was an impossibility. But with so much unresolved, there was an irrational part of me that wanted to believe it was true. I bombed the test with how distracted I was and school couldn't end any sooner. But I knew it wasn't over yet. Jonathan had a knack for finding blind spots from authority. Somehow he'd always catch me alone, despite my best attempts at stake. within eye shot of people.

Though this sometimes didn't even help when other kids would just turn a blind eye to his outbursts. The only constant was me. A slap here, a slap there. I'd learned to ignore them, but in my already emotional state, I ran, crying. When I got home, my eyes had already run dry.

As I entered through the front door, my grandmother greeted me. How is school today, honey? She soothed. Despite her soft tone, the sadness quickly turned to frustration. I shrugged her off with a blunt. It's fine, and I ran past her. Rushing past the kitchen, a glint caught my eye.

A watch? I didn't have time to check. I needed to get back on the game. I slammed my door shut and latched the bolt. I booted up the game and was loaded in. It was me in my own house with my parents, and it was everything I had always wanted. My pixelated character walked over to my mother,

and as I got close to her, a black square appeared. Press enter to interact. How is school today, honey? Popped up, followed by a box I could type in. This question again. I'd grown to hate this question. The people I'd asked this never seemed to actually care about my well-being, more so just going through the motions of conversation. But I felt safe opening up in this game.

The disconnect helped me disassociate from judgment before, so I wanted to try it again, even if to just vent privately. This is where the game became my escape. Another reality, where everything was as it was always meant to be. Jonathan keeps bullying me. The kids in class despise me, and I can't even muster up the effort to stand up for myself. Because in all honesty, it's the path I chose. I miss you, Mom.

I wish you were here to guide me, to comfort me. As soon as I sent the message, she instantly responded. I see, sweetie, Mom is here for you. Your father and I missed you so dearly, the MPC responded. I felt warm. Those were the words that I'd been craving, a craving that my grandparents, no matter their efforts, could never satisfy. The dialogue option disappeared, and with it, so did my ability to interact with her.

The sadness lingered over the fact that the interaction was so short, but I wanted to see more. I decided I would take some time and explore the house and maybe see if I could interact with the father too. I walked down the corridor of my childhood home towards my father's office. A prompt appeared asking me if I wanted to knock on the office door and I accepted. He called to come in and the screen faded out and back to in to us in the office. In reality, it was now a room full of boxes still unpacked from my grandparents moving in, but here the room was back to life. My father sat at his desk, which spanned the majority of the small offices' width. This time, the conversation began without a need for me to initiate

any prompts. The words of my MPC father flashed across the screen. Hey champ, everything alright. No text box came up for me to type in. Instead, this time, I was met with two choices. Yes, and no. After the talk with the mother, I was feeling a lot better, so I chose the first option. That's great to hear, Champ, he responded.

This made me smile. Though he would cycle through nicknames and titles to call me, champ was sometimes one of them. It might have been added as a cliche, but even as a coincidence, it still made me happy. Then the NBC asked me if I wanted to play ball with him.

Even though I knew who's all virtual, there was still a small excitement at the idea of playing ball with my dad again. The screen faded to black, and we were in the yard. We passed the ball around for a few minutes, The game looking like nothing more than a PowerPoint presentation animation, but in its own way, it was endearing.

Sleep became easier this time. For the first time in recent years, I was fulfilled, as if I had felt parental connections again, even if only virtually. Still, some unease set in as I contemplated the legitimacy of the interactions I just had. if there was simply the execution of basic code or something more. In the moment, I was absorbed with trying to connect to my parents, but lying in bed,

I was debating whether feeling satisfied emotionally from a bunch of pixels was healthy. The next morning, as I rushed through the house to catch the bus, I noticed my father's office door was slightly ajar. I'm not a superstitious person, but that room was not in use by my grandparents or myself. It was, for all intents and purposes, a storage room. I gently pushed the door open, and the first thing I noticed was that the boxes had been rearranged, as if whoever had moved them needed space for something. Then I saw it.

A ball laying in the middle of the room. room. The move boxes could be explained away, but the ball being there made my head spin with questions. It looked uncanny to the one I'd just seen in the game, not identical, but too close to be written off. The call from downstairs had me pull away from the scene. I was already running late and the bus wouldn't wait forever. I gave the room one more look before leaving. The snapshot replaying in my head the whole day at school. Another arduous day of school. More isolation, more pointless assignments, more Jonathan.

Getting home couldn't come any faster. When I got home, I tried going straight to my room, but was stopped. My grandmother deliberately placed herself in the way of the stairs, making sure I couldn't get past without hearing what she wanted to say first. Alex, we worried about you. We thought giving you space to heal would help, but every day you've just shut yourself in your room. I know you miss them. We miss them too.

My grandfather stepped around the corner and joined aside. He wasn't on his feet much in his age, having waited for my grandmother to start as he joined. How can you know how I feel? You're not my parents? I yelled back. my emotional bottle bubbling. To my surprise, this didn't elicit anger from my grandparents. Rather, their faces turned soft.

Look at us, we're old. You don't think our parents are gone too, but you're forgetting something. They were your parents, sure. However, they were our kids, our daughter and son-in-law. We loved them, and every day we hurt without them too. My grandmother soothed. We raised them good, and we can raise you good. You just have to let us in.

My grandfather added. I soaked in what they said, but I closed it off. It wasn't the same. It would never be the same. So, with my eyes whirling, I just ran to my room and locked myself in. After sulking on my bed, I was left with silence. I hated being with my own. thoughts, so I turned to the noise I used to drown them out.

The game, it loaded in, and I was back with my family. My mother greeted me, and I welcomed this much better than how I felt cornered earlier. However, instead of a conversation, she simply told me to wait where I was, so my character sat at the table. My father came in and said some comments about work, something he'd always do, regardless of if I understood what he was talking about or not. But I didn't mind. It was always nice to hear him talk. Soon my mother came back in. Her outfit had changed, a more fancier apparel. Instead of normal house clothes, she wore a red dress and her hair was made up into a bun. Her arms were bare

Which is how I spotted something That stood out In the game It looked like a few red pixels With a yellow dot in the middle Unmistakably A watch And my heart

Was in my throat It was uncanny to the watch My father and I had gotten her for a birthday Red band with a gold face It really was them. My eyes bawled hard trying to take this in. We have a surprise for you, she said, and I knew what it was before I saw it, because I smelled it. The smell of cake wafted in, and I instantly recognized it. A black forest gatto. The cake

always made me for my birthday. In the game, she bowled it. In the game, she bowled it. out and set it on the table, candles already set on top. I checked the date on the bottom right and completely forgot what day it was. I hadn't celebrated my birthday since they passed. My grandparents tried to, but I always dismissed it. It was hard to think of my birthday as a celebration without my parents. A jingle played to the tune of the birthday song, and confetti flew around the room. My parents looked elated as my character blew out the candle, something I wouldn't have been able to do in my current heaving state.

But the smell lingered longer than I thought. At first I thought it was my emotions getting the better of me. But there was the unmistakable smell of cake in my room. Happy birthday, son, they both exclaimed. We want to take you out. for your birthday, our treat, my mother said. Pick any place you want, where do you want to go? My dad asked.

A text box appeared, prompting me to type in an answer. I contemplated the answer. My first thought was KFC. I know it's cheap junk food, but for some reason it was a bit of a family tradition, though it might have been an indicator of our financial status. But I thought about it more, deeper than what the game was asking me. Where did I truly want to go? Well, the answer would be to be with my parents.

So I typed in the place that everyone had told me where they went. Heaven. That's a wonderful choice, son, they exclaimed. Grab your thing, son, let's go there, my dad said. Then the screen faded to black. Then crashed. My heart raced. No, no, no, no, no, I muttered to myself, had nauseam.

I slapped the side of my monitor, knowing damn well it wouldn't do a thing. I was so close. My heart was set on the idea that I'd somehow see them again. But in the silence, I started to think about it. What if this was something they were telling me? the last thing they were telling me but like the game to get to where I needed to go

something had to end life life is what needs to end to get to heaven the place I wanted to be to be with them I looked around my room

and remembered something when they passed I snuck into my dad's office and took his old letter opener A drink it he'd show off to me to open mail. He sometimes let me use it myself, which my mother didn't approve of. It was too sharp for a child to be playing with. But as I slid it out of my drawer, hidden away from my grandparents,

I looked at it. Would it get the job done? I put it down. This was ridiculous. I tried to talk myself out of it, but each round. Rationality was answered with retorts. I was unhappy. I had no friends. I had no family. I was alone.

So why not join them? Even if it didn't work, it would put me out of my misery. I stared at the blade, deep in thought, and was ripped out of it with a loud bang. Alex, can you get out here, please? It was my grandmother and the other side of the locked door. The shuffling footsteps I could hear catching up must have been my grandfather. They had no idea what I was up to.

There was no way for them to know, so they must have been just bothering me. My eyes returned to the knife once more, the thoughts coming back. Yet I was ripped from it yet again with bangs, more of them this time. If you don't want to come out, can you at least let us in? This was new. They never tried twice. The door acted like a voicemail. They'd say their message and leave me to respond to it or not.

Let us in. Those words lingered in my head. I always went to them, but I never let them in. This was my space I'd carved out for myself. and I used it to keep everyone out. This was the choice I had. Go through with a plan to see my parents or see what they wanted. And it was the hardest choice of my life.

The silence of the room weighed down on me and my breath shallowed. Could I make it quick? How painful would it be? Would I actually see them? But the lingering thought was. if I could do it with my grandparents on the other side of the door. So I went with a second option to see what they wanted. I hit the knife and slowly unlocked the door.

Stood outside were my grandparents. Big grins on their faces. Happy birthday, Alex, they said, enthused. I didn't know how to respond and they continued. I know you don't like to celebrate, but we have something special for you. Come with us, my grandmother said. So I did. My mind too foggy to do otherwise.

They led me to the kitchen, and in the middle sat a cake, an exact replica of my mother's black forest cato. This opened me up. What, how? How did you? Why? I was too stunned to form a question, too many of them flying through my mind. Remember, Alex, she had to learn it from somewhere.

Making this cake for your mother was a tradition that started with me, she said proudly. I got something for you too, Alex. My grandfather weised, the walk from the stairs taking the wind out of him. He hobbled over with a box, wrapped in a red ribbon. I looked at it, not having any idea what they could have gotten me. They didn't know me, not in a personal way, to not get me something generic. But I couldn't not open it with them watching me.

So, I slipped the ribbon off and looked at what was inside. It was something that made my head light from shock, needing to have to sit down after seeing it. It was a watch with a red strap and a gold face. My mother's watch. Is this? I started, not having the energy to finish asking. Yes, after the investigation, the police held on to it for evidence. It took a while to get it back, but when I did, I had it restored to give you on a special occasion,

my grandfather answered. I have something else, too, my grandfather added. He pulled his arm from behind his back and pulled out the ball I'd seen in the office, like the one my dad used to have when he played with me. I've been practicing some tricks in the old office. Bet you didn't notice. I'm not as good as the old man, but he showed me some of the basics, he smugly announced.

He twirled it around and tried to catch it as it span, but it caught his knuckle at a funny angle and bounced wildly away, almost hitting the cake. My grandmother's friendly demeanour dropped as she shot him the dirtiest look at almost ruining the cake, which made me do something I thought I'd lost the ability to do. I laughed. It poured out of me, years of pain leaking as joy took its place.

Here they were. They were not my parents, nor could they be. However, they knew that and loved me all the same. They were never trying to replace them. They were just picking up where they left off. And I realized that I didn't have to be alone. And from then on, I always let them in.