CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "How to program an organic computer" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 17, 2020

01000111 01100001 01110010 01111001 CREEPYPASTA STORY►by ChristianWallis: 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►Francisco Paioes: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Ya...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/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA 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-

Oh, leon, that I'm in three days. I'm a moor as I'm more on think. Oh, that to seeer that morning off must. I'm all mooh as I'm just on tomorrow. Oh, this is I'm all moor as I'm on thinking. Have you it mollick at home to come? Give you yourself then a boost with biocure maxhot liquid. Three upheppending plants.

Magnesium, Izer. An energy booster to immediately be able to come out. BioCure, Maxxot, Liquid. Foodingsupplement, What is that? I hissed. It's a cat. Gary, have you ever seen a cat? I asked it to make a cat.

Gary was a clever guy in some respects, but he struggled with the finer point in life. If you told him to make a battleship at a French fries, he'd work out how to do it. But it had never occurred to him to wonder why you probably shouldn't. Whatever lay on the floor, crying and retching beneath a vainly membrane of an amniotic sack, is most evidently not a cat.

What cards did you enter? I grumbled, snatching the several hole-punch sheets of metal that quivered in the flesh of the computer. We were standing in the basement of, let's just call it, an undisclosed location. But if you imagine a large, empty room filled with a near-infinite collection

of filing cabinets, then you're on the right track. Most of them contain relatively basic instructions like height, blank foot, blank inches, weight, blank kilograms, material, wood, material, metal, material, bone, etc., etc. Others might be pre-made programmes for something like tree or US currency, but whoever, or however they came into being, is a secret long out of my reach, and they're all uselessly outdated. There's one for entering certain dates for lottery numbers, and it's just about the only one I

ever found of use. Well, saying that, there are a few others. Either way, I could see what Gary had been trying to do, bless him. Material, flesh, mammalian, four legs, apex predator. Ha, damn, Gary, I said. Why did you have to add that last one? Whatever was on the floor was now three feet in length and still growing. Don't you remember what happened with the maternity ward?

I wanted a cat, he began to argue, but I cut him off with a gesture of my hand. I know. Next time I'm just feed it a real-life example. It's always easy than mucking around with homemade definitions. I don't have a real-life example, he said, looking sadly at his feet. That's why I wanted one. Get me a gun, I grumbled. Then we'll go get a real cat, the easy way, okay? His eyes lit up. you mean Yeah, yeah, we'll just go pick one up I said

Trying and failing to hold back a smile Just go get a damn gun I don't like the way that thing is starting to look at me As soon as it grows a respiratory system And can disconnect from the computer All bets are off Go on now I cried

Go get the shotgun and hurry back Gary was practically giggling to himself While he ran into the back room When he returned We put the thing on the floor out of its misery, hose the concrete down, incinerated the remains, and then hopped into the car to drive into town. How's the workshop? I asked.

Some of the tinklers broke down, Gary said with a frown, but I made a few more. I looked at the row of 50 machines working tirelessly at their stations. Wilbur Data Entry Limited was always the workhorse of my finance, and I made sure Gary understood that it was a priority. Each tinkler was a small box, no larger than a computer, which possessed a few sticky tendrils to work a keyboard and mouse, and an enormous eye the size of a basketball, so that it could stare at the screen and do its job. When programming an organic computer, the keys to ask the right questions, and in this case, I'd asked it for something that could transcribe written and spoken words into an Excel file. stupidly simple and a lot less revolutionary

nowadays than when I first whipped them up in the 80s but nonetheless a single tinkler was for all intents and purposes the equivalent to an office worker that didn't need any sleep or food I mean

they did burn out some had a habit of trying to escape but they weren't made by the computer for mobility after all that wasn't what I'd asked for all you had to do was pick them back up off the floor, clean up the blood-speckled ears that they had left behind, and set them back to work.

A good tinkler would last three or four weeks, but if made out of poor materials, it did only take a few days before its eyes imploded in a hemorrhage, and its internal organs leaked out of the socket. That would always upset Gary, since he cared immensely for the gross little sweat boxes. In the early days, he would often try to sneak one or two spares back to his shed to keep his pets, only to watch them die with heartbreaking innocence. Any progress with the latest program? I asked. Still working on it, he answered. I dug up some of these.

He pulled a few cards out of his pockets and handed them to me. They're outdated models of atomic structure. Very outdated. But it should be easy-peasy to make new ones based on these templates that reflect the newer theories. Gary's workspace was a clutter of power tools. aluminum sheeting, endless blueprints, and enough textbooks to sink a ship. I honestly don't know how you do it, I said. Did you remember to feed the cat? To what?

He replied, frowning, like I'd just ask what color the sound of heart makes. No, you have to feed pets, I said. Remember, every day, they need to eat? Gary reran the equation in his head for the thousandth time. Living things eat, I said I brought you enough cat food to last a week Oh God, he said Yes, I remember

Well, the cat should be fine I put the food down two days ago And if it's enough to last a week then I sighed, briefly stopping to pinch my nose That's not going to You know what? I said, clapping my hands together I'll go checking the cat

I thought that maybe you could actually just this once Do something. Gary looked at me, with such self-loathing, I stopped myself dead in my tracks. Actually, everybody needs a bit of help now and then, don't they? I'll go check on the cat. You keep looking into that enzyme. Our lives will be much easier if we didn't have to burn the computer's waist.

Thankfully, the cat was fine. But it had gorged itself. It made a hell of a mess. I had half a mind to go ask Gary to make something that eats cat poop. but I remembered what happened last time I tried to spin up a porter-bottie business and the look on that poor girl's face as you got sucked hole through the opening

no larger than my fist. I gave a shudder and decided there'd be no more waste eaters. Instead, I grabbed them up and spend the next few hours working hard to get the small shed back to some kind of working order. Outside, the forest sang deep. Trees around were dressed

in all the finest lichens and moss. their green gossamer fur draped heavily over their branches while a perpetual mist keeps the horizon at bay the forest looks like something out of a gothic painting and rarely if ever do the trees bear any leaves in winter it is a frozen wasteland of half-dead skeletal oaks and in summer it is a rotten fetid swamp

where mosquitoes the size of dimes poke holes in your skin years before decades rather when I first stumbled across the old church I thought it was a neat find nothing more I visited it maybe three maybe four times before I finally broke in and found the computer

something about the air in this place makes a little bit more sense once you know what it's hiding and yet something felt different that day somehow worse than usual the cloying feeling of being watched lingered heavily as I trotting

to and from the hose, emptying and refilling the bucket of messy soap water. I noticed something odd too, when I left the door wide open between each visit. The kitten did not leave the shed, nor would it let you take it past the threshold. It hissed and scratched and bit, until at last it'll let go and watch it run terrified back under Gary's bed. In the end, I gave up and stood, watching the tree line, list. to the odd bird crow blindly in the mist. As far as I could see, nothing was out there, although I swore the tree seemed more active.

Something was always rustling and swaying in the still humid air, and at times the world would fall so suddenly still, the only sound left would be the pounding of my heart. I decided to leave, going one last time to check on the cat, but it was nowhere to be found. I told myself it had run away, but it didn't sit right with me. It had never gone further than a foot or two from the door. I wanted to stay and take a closer look, but the shed felt strangely threatening,

like the eyes in the woods had followed me indoors. I dragged carefully back to the church, waiting for something to jump out from behind every corner. Every sound from behind had me twisting my head over my shoulder to look, and every time I'd see nothing but an empty path and the faint trace of movement coming to an end some branch would sway back into place some bushel would come to a rest a distant bird would land and groom its feathers

Gary I cried strolling straight through the ground floor and down the stairs that led to the basement floor Gary have you run any new programs lately I know a few things about the basement in that church It is every bit as strange as the machine in the house, and I suspect both are bigger on the inside than out. I know that I have never gone further than the third floor, and for good reason. My last excursion brought me face to face with a withered corpse of three young children,

dressed as you might expect if they had been around in the twenties. They were cradling each other, and I am quite certain they starved to death. and yet the stairs were no more than a few metres from where I had stood. There is a temptation in this place, one that drives you to keep on digging in pursuit of new cards, new programs. I read some of the journals stashed away beneath a pews upstairs, and they're like poorly written horror cliches. I mean, for the guy who tried cloning his dead kid,

I at least felt sorry. But the dumbass who asked for a new messiah? On the second floor There's a greasy shadow in the shape of a man Burned into one of the walls It's always wet Always dripping And sometimes

It almost appears to move I am quite certain That's what's left of the guy who asked the computer To print out a new Jesus I don't know what happened to the guy Who cloned his son But I suspect is down in the lower floors Either dead

Or Well God I hope he's dead Unfortunately for them, none of those guys had Gary, whose unique way of thinking lets him wonder this place freely and with strange purpose. He never gets lost, and he always knows where to find what he's looking for. He just needs to know exactly what it is he needs to find. I'd be screwed without his bizarrely unique insight into the computer. So, why wasn't Gary answering me?

Gary I cried A few feet away The computer coughed and I eyed it suspiciously Right now it was idle Humming quietly from within the oven that had birthed it I don't know what it looks like Hiding in the Dark

But enough of it pokes out of the Iron Moor that you can use the basic controls Personally I don't like handling its various organs It takes as afts hours to wash the smell off. Gary doesn't mind though, and depending on the time of year, its fingertips and nails are often stained by the computer's fluids. The colour is blood red, and the effect is quite unsettling.

What have you done? I asked, knowing I wouldn't get a reply. Gary! I screamed, Gary! I stopped to grab the gun before descending to another floor. I walked down every silent corridor. of metal boxes, hoping to hell I'd find Gary hunched over an open drawer and too focused on the task at hand to listen to me. But each one was empty, and at times I saw a glimpsed movement in the corner of my eyes. It was like something lurked purposefully out of sight, slinking into cover every time I looked. On the next floor down, I found the cat, and I knew something had gone wrong for real this time.

The computer had made us its fair share of hideous monsters But something about this puzzle made me feel a new kind of uneasy The cat was untouched and looked almost peaceful But it was far too still to simply be sleeping And when I picked it up its neck lolled about at an unnatural angle Standing there and holding it I heard a rising note of quiet whimpering It was fragile

childlike, and I recognized it immediately. Gary was sitting on the floor a few hours over, sobbing into the shirt he'd pulled off his back and buried his face in. Hey, buddy, I said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. What's going on? I'm sorry, he whined, refusing to look me in the eye. Gary, I said, I won't be mad. Just tell me what happened. I thought you wouldn't notice.

Is this about the cat? I asked. I didn't mean to. I just thought it could use a friend, and I didn't want to make another one, and I got too excited, and I didn't want to wait, and I found an old program on the fifth floor,

and, and, and... What was the program? I asked. It was for a friend, he cried out, almost shouting in desperation. I knelt down further and put my arm around him, pulling him closer to my chest and telling him it'd be okay. I was thinking a little problem over when something popped into my head.

Gary, I said, all the cards below floor three aren't in English. You said so, remember? It means friend, he said, pulling a small box of cards from his trouser pocket. if it's snugly in my hand, able to hold around 35 cards that lent it a satisfying weight. The box was labelled in an unrecognisable language, something that happens a lot if you go down too far. We've had luck translating some of them, but never anything like this.

How did you know to find it? I asked. It means friend, he repeated. Who told you it means friend? I cried, feeling my temper fray. The computer did, he said, before bursting into a trumpet flare of tears. The computer is never explicitly deceitful, but it does have a sense of humour that's slightly adjacent to the human norm. And, as of late, it's found not tampering particularly irritating. I knew damn well that the word friend was plenty ambiguous enough for it to work some cruel twist.

not to mention it begged the question friend to who how big is it i asked it changes he cried what does it look like whatever it wants he sobbed that was a sobering thought on a strange hunch i stood up and walked back over to the cat but to my surprise it hadn't gone anywhere at all The small body still lay there, a little token of sadness. From behind, Gary approached, and I could feel him hovering over my shoulder. Must be a quick little bugger to beat me down here with a cat, I said. God, he must have snuck in, taken it, and fled down here without... Gary spoke, and the words turned my skin to ice. To hear his voice dripping with such malice, it was utterly alien.

"'Whatever it wants,' he growled. "'In one swift moment I fell, dropping to the floor, "'just as something passed over my head. "'I didn't see it, but the speed let me know "'it would have been a killing stroke. "'In hindsight, I think that as soon as I hit the floor, "'I should have rolled over and fired. "'But God damn it, that thing had me spooked so badly.

"'It was like I could feel his presence "'as a kind of heat that burned through my clothes. My whole body rebelled at the threat of danger, and I hid the floor awkwardly on my hands and knees. I immediately kicked my feet and began to half run, half crawl forward, letting inertia carry me, until I was upright and able to sprint maniacally towards the only stairs. God, I don't know if I was actually going fast, but to me it felt like warp speed. Every second I bought was like gold, and the longer I ran, the longer I felt convinced this was going to work. Just before the stairs, I found myself jumping in time to miss a filing cabinet turn into something completely unrecognizable.

It wore darkness like a fabric, and I could barely even see its outline. But whatever shot out the snatch of my ankles looked like the gills of a mushroom. On the next floor, the same thing happened again, and I became aware of a manic patter of feet that seemed to follow and flank me wherever I went. This thing wasn't going to settle for anything less than a full ambush, which at least meant it wasn't going to try and overpower me. Things only came to a standstill when I burst into the room of tinklers and found Gary lying face down in a pool of blood.

Half the machines had burned out, blood and viscera leaking from their pupils. But a few worked tirelessly away at blank screens, crying sadly to themselves in mute torture. One of them had managed to foreclose to Gary's body, and I noticed it tugging sadly at his sleeve. This was a busy room and I walked carefully down the row of pink machines

trying to pierce the ever-present hum of computer fans when something strange caught my eye I'm not an arrogant man but I was guilty of some pretty sharp tinkering down in that room there was a universal reactor in every tinkler something born out of experience and what I suspect is some primitive genetic memory that grows each time I feed the computer the dead ones

for recycling. Either way, every box in that room that was alive and typing flinched as I passed. It's a subtle tell, but those big eyes know me, they know what I'm like, and every last one paused for just a fraction of a second as I went by. Well, except for one. I turned and fired, discharging both barrels in rapid succession. But goddamn, that thing was so fast that even in that split second it did a already begun to morph and leap. It was lightning quick and clever too, and if it hadn't been for a bit of luck and wit, it had latched onto the back of my head with the force of a bear trap, but it wasn't able to survive the two shotgun rounds. It blew apart in a withering hail

of fire on fleshy strips and fungal stems. I'd never seen a damn thing like it, but what was left of its corpse was like some kind of weird muscular origami. I feel like. I feel it had a strange way of unfolding itself as the changed size, but for some reason, looking at it hurt my eyes. But Gary hadn't been as lucky as I had. When I rolled him over, he was missing most of his face. He was a good guy, real clever and innocent. It pains me to admit this, but he was my closest friend,

and I didn't like seeing him hurt. The next hour or two was going to be tough. I knew that, and I barely took a breath before beginning the long job of dealing with this mess. It was quiet, pulling him out of the back room. All the tinklers stopped what they were doing, and for once I didn't start kicking at them to go back to work. It was never nice when the computer scored a victory. Eat it up, I growled, as I finally heaved Gary's body into the open-mouthed oven. A few of the computer's eyes fixed on me.

me, but otherwise it didn't react. I guess it didn't need to. I was hauling my best friend into its mouth, letting it gorge on his flesh, and, well, I don't even know what it does to the things we put in there. Back upstairs in the church, I returned to my office and took a moment to steady my nerves.

Right then and there, I could have burned the whole damn building down, computer and all. Gary had never deserved the computer's ire or revenge. That should have always been me. I finished a quick glass of whiskey and pulled a small panel away from the wall. It hid a safe, no larger than a hand-length each way. Thinking carefully, I record the code and opened it.

There we go, I said. Time to start again. I removed the small box full of metal cards. I'll never know exactly what they say or instruct the computer to do. But the single word printed on its box made it clear enough that this, and of all the millions of programs and instructions stored away downstairs, was the most valuable by far. It simply read, Gary.