CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Has this happened to anyone else on DMT" Creepypasta

Episode Date: March 5, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by WestFunction: 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...​CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Martin de Diego: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/ZxwXN​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/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-

The festival's season is Aangbroken, and that betekent mudder. And so, ging Kim to come to comasone.com. On the look at a waterdict tent, a comfortable lute bed,

oh, so, and Lupeart print regalarze. Miao! Now, now he'll keep Kim not sure to make over the modder. Net so as the dancing

the modder man there, oh, wait just even, has he now only modder on? Oh, yeah, only modder. DROG blithe?

Goar for. Find what you need what you need to I hit my head really hard when I was a kid. I was six to be more specific. Obviously, I don't remember much from the actual hit, but it concerned the hell out of my mom. When she first told me about it,

she said she'd laughed afterwards. I'd gotten hit in the face with a ball and toppled over, and while she still checked that I was okay, I was a third kid, so she thought it was funny. At first. She told me, I wasn't the same kid afterwards. The happy, bubbly boy she once had

was replaced by a vapid, empty shell of a child. She brought me to therapy, talked to school psychiatrists, the whole nine yards. They told her there was nothing wrong with me, medically, that it was a trauma response,

that the fall just freaked me out and that eventually I'd go back to normal after I got over the shock of it all. It confused her because she didn't think the fall was a big deal. All kids fell. My two older brothers had fallen a million times before me, and she just laughed it off. Doctors just told her this was different for whatever reason.

I went on to have a pretty normal life after that, albeit missing the six years of lust for life my mother insists I had. When she would tell me about the accident and how empty she thought it left me, it definitely did make me sad, but it also made me think, I didn't feel empty per se. I just felt like me. But when she insisted that I was missing something that I had before the fall, I started to believe her. She tried not to make me feel too weird about it, but I could always tell that there was some spark in me that was lost after that day.

One that she always hoped would come back. One that never left for my brothers. Despite all of this, we lived normal lives. My brothers, who were both several years my senior, got married and had kids of their own. My parents were thrilled, especially my mom. We were like the perfect nuclear family. My parents didn't rush me to meet anyone and get married. They knew my time would come and they already had grandchildren on the way.

When I met Sarah, all that changed. They knew she was the one before I even did. My brothers treated her like the sister they never had right after we begun dating. It was truly just like how people described meeting their soulmate and they just nestle right into your life like the last puzzle piece that fell under the coffee table. We were married within the year and had our son on the way by year two.

Waiting for our kid made me feel like there was no gap in my life, no lapse of sparkle. I felt like my brothers, I felt like I lived up to the role in my life that my mom wrote the script for. When everything seems like it was falling into place, I felt like I could take a deep breath and say, finally. Of course, like in any good story, this is the part where everything got screwed up.

My wife was about three weeks away from the date she was scheduled to be induced. I worked in finance at the time with a lot of other guys about my age. Many of them had not been as lucky as I was at the time, and were not involved in committed romantic relationships, and, like many guys who don't have a lot going on in their lives beside work, they like to do a lot of drugs. Normally, I'd hang out with them, and we'd smoke weed, or occasionally take mushrooms and watch a funny movie or something. We never did anything that I felt was serious, dangerous, or life-oldering in any way.

Our nights on one of their couches was a brief escape from reality, one that helped all of us decompress after a long week of balance sheets and annoying phone calls. One night, though, things got taken a little too far. We'd been smoking weed and just hanging out for an hour or so, before the conversation started to lull. This heavy silence hung over the room, like we all knew something was about to change, but none of us knew exactly what it was. A minute or so passed,

and then my friend, Brandon, spoke up. Guys, I have this new stuff. I think we should try it. Brandon was the daredevil of our group. He'd always pulled dumb stuff in the office, never anything actually harmful, but things that would always tick people off. hiding staplers, copying his middle finger in the Xerox, listening to people's phone calls, things like that.

He was harmless, but definitely a risk taker. Nathan was the first to speak again. What is it? It's DMT, Brendan started. By the look on his face, he'd been waiting to give this explanation for the entire night, sitting on the conversation until he had the right moment. He was like a kid in a candy store. I've done it one at the time with Josh.

It was so sick, man. It was like nothing I'd ever done before. Not like weed, not like shrooms. It was different, but so good. Nobody spoke. I couldn't tell at the time if it was because people were actually considering it, or if they were just afraid to be the first one to shoot Brandon down.

None of us wanted to kill his excitement, but this was way out of the realm of what any of us had ever done before. Brandon pulled out this tiny bag, of white powder, almost as if to prove he was serious. I have enough for all of us, I think it'd be really cool if we all did it together. I want you guys to experience what I did. I'm not sure what came over me in that moment, but it was definitely a combination of factors. Everything that was happening in my life felt like it was surging and intersecting right then.

The emptiness of my childhood and the impending excitement of our new baby and the pressure from the office and everything else was telling me for some reason that this might be the first time in a long time I get to have any real fun. I knew a lot more than I wanted to about childhood and newborn babies. I knew that it wasn't fun and that I'd be up at 4 a.m. wiping my kid

for at least six months. I wasn't there yet. And I had tonight. Screw it, I muttered. That's my boy. That's what I'm talking about, Brandon yelled. My enthusiasm seemed to have

sway the rest of the group, and soon enough, we were all hovered over the glass pipe and the lighter that Brandon held in his hands. All right, once you take this hit, you'll feel it immediately, Brandon said. The effects only last like 30 minutes. No matter how long you feel like it's been, I swear it only lasts 30 minutes, so don't tweak out on me. 30 minutes and then it'll be over, and I'll come back to real life. No big deal. It'll be a nice break, even if it feels longer. The pipe was passed to me first, assumedly because of my lack of inhibition. Brandon lit it for me. I took the hit, and damn, he was right.

I flopped back on the couch, and I could already feel myself starting to trip. The living room started to twist and contort. The TV started to grow, swelling and purging, as if it were full of water. My friends were all taking their hits of the pipe, but they were long gone by then. half in the distance small, insignificant to the journey I was taken The rest of the room

started to spiral out of control To the point where I couldn't orient myself On the couch anymore I was positive that I wasn't moving But it just felt like everything else around me was I tried to put my hands down To feel the cushions around me But I didn't want to look like a tweaker

I couldn't feel anything in the room anymore And I'd completely lost control 30 minutes 30 minutes and that's it I closed my eyes trying again to orient myself everything behind my eyelids just kept continuing to swirl even with nothing

that could be swirled it felt like vertigo to the nth degree except I was seeing and feeling it trying to keep my eyes closed was no use so I opened them everything instantly stopped spinning and my eyes were met with bright fluorescent light

everything was blurry like when you first wake up in the morning and have to blink the sleep away. My vision adjusted. I was in a hospital. No, wait. I was in an operating room. I could hear the monitors beeping and the overwhelming home of heavy medical machinery. I looked down at my feet.

I was in scrubs somehow. Blue, thin, with covers on my shoes and powdery latex gloves. In my right hand was a long scalpel. What the hell was I doing here? From across the room, a blood-curdling scream erupted like an active volcano. One that could only be accompanied by life-threatening agony. My wife, Sarah. My feet became bricks.

I couldn't see who was lying on the table, but I was positive it was her. A ball of vomit bubbled in the back of my throat. Every passing second threatening to come up to the surface. Doctors and nurses buzzed around the table like bees to their queen. but they were clearly waiting for something, someone to intervene. As if they could hear my thoughts, they all turned to look at me with dead stairs. Were they waiting for me? How the hell did I have anything to do with this?

I opened my mouth to speak, which is when I noticed it was covered by multiple surgical masks. Sound echoed through my lungs, but was halted by the lump in my throat. One of the nurses briefly stepped forward, and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me toward the table where they had made a gap in their hive. Sarah laid sprawled out on the table, crying out in pain.

Tears streamed down her face and blood pooled underneath a frail body. It was unlike any operating table I'd ever seen, as she was fully awake, and clearly on no painkillers. Honey, please, help me, she pleaded, grabbing my hand.

You have to get him out. I looked down at my right hand, which still clutched the scalpel tightly. None of this was real, I thought. 30 minutes, that's all it takes, and this will all be over. It's a hallucination, a fallacy. I drove the scalpel hard into a bloated stomach and dragged the blade across her abdomen. The urgency of the situation was not lost to me, but I still had no clue what I was doing. A dozen or so doctors and nurses stood around the table silently, blankly watching the

the massacre. Blood gushed from the wound. She shrieked louder and more painfully than before. I dug my gloved hand into the gash and began to pull before she passed out from the pain. Warm liquid swam around my fingers like I just reached my hand into a massive pot of soup. I began to pull it meaty and gorge pieces of flesh, slapping them wetly on the operating table. I had to find our son, if nothing else. After a few moments, I found my wife's uterus and sliced it clean open. Through the blood and fluid, I spotted five tiny little fingers on a tiny hand. I clasped the hand and ripped it from its host, freeing my son from the prison that had trapped both him and my wife.

Sarah's face looked cold and white, stuck in a permanent state of shock and agony. A jaw slack and her eyes glazed. I stepped back from the table. A cry erupted from my hands, one that echoed the first breath being taken in this new and terrifying world. I held my son, after the light, allowing myself to take the first breath I think I'd taken in five minutes. He looked down at me with white eyes. He had no skin. Even through the fluids of his birth, I could see that every inch of his flesh from head to toe was completely exposed.

The whites of his eyes stood stark against his crimson, plighted. pulsating muscle. His newborn cries were not those of confusion, but of pure agony. The room, once again, began to swirl and twist with a violent force. Thirty minutes. It had to have been thirty minutes. The blue of my scrubs and the white tile of the floor and the gray in the ceiling started to blend together into one sickening spiral. I felt the vomit that sank behind my ribcage rise up again. The edges of my vision began to fade, and I could only see directly in front of me. Am I sickeningly skinless little boy? How the hell has it not been 30 minutes?

I fell directly back to the floor, smashing the back of my head into the tile. Everything went completely black. The next thing I heard was a voice in the distance, somewhere very far away. It was faint, but it was beckoning me, calling me, asking me to come closer. I followed the voice through the darkness.

Are you all right? My eyes snapped to focus. I could feel the hot sun in my back and grass pressed against my face. Ambient sounds of summer birds and far off voices of children scented my ears in reality. I was on the ground, outside, in the grass. Honey, are you okay? Mom. It was my mom talking.

There was a gentle, soft hand on my back. I picked up my head. head and looked toward the sky. Oh my gosh, you had me worried there for a second. I thought I was going to have to call the ambulance or something. She laughed and nonchalant sigh of relief. She looked so young. Her mousy brown hair draped around her face in soft curls. She had no wrinkles and a small line had disappeared. I only remembered seeing her like this in photographs. One of the bigger kids over there threw a ball and it hit you in the head, honey. She stroked my here gingerly. I'm sorry. I know that must have kind of freaked you out. You're out for about a minute or so.

What the hell was going on? Brandon swore this stuff wouldn't last for 30 minutes. This was way, way longer than 30 minutes. Something was seriously wrong. Let's get in the car and go home. My mother added, it's been a long day and I think that's enough. She grabbed my hand, which was scarily small. It was closer to the size of the hand. It was closer to the size of the hand. of my newborn than the hands I remembered having. I stood up on my feet and I only came up to a waist. I was somehow six again, at the park, during what my mom would later call one of the worst times of the life,

the day that made me empty. I couldn't believe it. I went home with her and the day went on exactly how I had remembered it, and everything in our home and my childhood bedroom was left exactly how it had been when I was a kid, untouched. For a moment, I was happy. I thought that DMT was making me relive one of the worst moments of my life

in order to make it better, made myself less empty, give myself my spark back. I thought I was being given a second chance. I stopped being thankful once the day ended, and I went to sleep in my childhood bed with my parents tucking me in and reading me a bedtime story.

I thought surely I had done my duty and saved myself from the last. losing my spark, I would soon wake up on Brandon's couch and tell everyone how I was a changed man. Instead, the days turned to weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. I'm ten now. I'm ten, and my parents are measuring my height on the doorframe. I'm ten, and I've already been to a dozen therapists and a dozen other psychiatrists. I'm ten, and I have no spark, and my parents can't figure out why a ball to the face turn me in the same. so a different child.

I just got my first tablet for school. My parents told me they thought in my help with my reading comprehension outside the classroom or something like that. Before this, I haven't had any unsupervised access to the internet. I've been staying up all night the last few weeks looking for anyone

from my old life online, trying to contact them. I don't know what I'd say, but I know, somehow they'd understand. I can't find anyone. No Sarah, no Brandon. and no one. It's like they never existed.

I knew all of their usernames on social media before all of this, and there are no accounts listed with their information. I don't have anywhere else to turn. So please, anyone. Has this happened to you? I'm DMT.