CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I accidentally broke a gravestone, and found a book sealed inside" Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 10, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by _MothMan: 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►Pasquale Scionti: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/L3...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-

It's trashy, I know. Let me just say right now, I know it was trashy. But my girlfriend, has a strange place's fetish. We've done the deed in some pretty public places, and while it's awesome, it's very risky, obviously. We did get caught once on a walking trail. It was the middle of the night, and hardly anyone takes to the trail that late. So we went from walking to do the horizontal Mambo,

and of course some old guy with a flashlight comes around the corner she turned I covered her but the guy saw a lot of me it was mortifying so we tried to smile through it and wave him ahead but he took it upon himself to lecture us about public decency and how ashamed we should be and if he ever caught his daughter out here yada yada I'm sure you can imagine pretty much exactly how it went So, I told her we needed a break from the more public part of our adventures. She agreed.

And a few nights later, we went to the graveyard. Literally, the graveyard of graveyards. It's massive. Big enough for about 14 different driveable lanes and probably 50 more tombs or mausoleums or whatever they are. And a ridiculous amount of regular graves with regular headstones. Some gravestones were in shapes of benches, angels, chalices, crosses, crying maidens. You know, the lady in a robe-looking ones. Mother Mary, maybe.

Anyway, just a huge variety. So, we walked around for a little while. We both liked creepy stuff, and it was chilly enough that walking was nice. The graveyard has enough trees that you never really feel exposed anywhere, but it's not exactly a forest either. We walked and talked, and eventually she stepped to the side and read aloud from a really nice black marble gravestone. Here lies Slade Abarata, whose final studies of death brought him here. Whatever the hell that means.

She shook her head and looked back at me, then leaned over the gravestone and smiled while looking at me. Now, obviously, I'm not going to go into the detail of that, so, If you're reading this far, hoping for that kind of NSFW, you are mistaken. But there was some movement, some forceful pushing, and the last posh, thankfully, ended with a loud cracking sound. By the time I realised that was happening, the top half of the gravestone slid forward and hit the ground. She almost fell forward, but I caught her. I felt all sorts of emotions. The relief was immediately overshadowed.

but the fact that we have just broken a rather expensive-looking gravestone, like someone's last memento to the living world, and we just destroyed it. She stepped back, quickly fixing herself, and looked at me with the same shocked expression I must have been wearing. That sucks, I finally said. Taking a deep breath and sighing, I put my hands on top of my head and mouth the four-letter word reserved for times like this, when I screwed up big time. Yeah, I think this is how people get cursed.

We're definitely cursed now, right? She asked me with a flimsy smile. One of the many things I liked about her was her attempt to make everything better with some light-hearted humor. Oh, for sure. I lifted my arms up dramatically and made my voice sound ghostly deep and spooky.

Return the slab! We looked at it. each other. Any other time we would have laughed, but with post-nut clarity, I knew that my options were, A, own up to it and tell someone, or B, fix it, and live

with knowing I broke a gravestone and screwed up this guy's afterlife marker. Either way, I did need to return the slab. Help me put it back. I'll call someone in the morning. Tell them I sat down in it or something. It didn't make sense,

but it was the best I had. My girlfriend didn't critique my story. She just stepped around to the other side. I walked around, grabbed my half, she grabbed hers, and we lifted while moving it back to the bottom half. Oh, hold on, set it down, I said, noticing the hollowed out centre of the gravestone. What is it? she asked, now seeing it too. We carefully set the top half back on the ground, and I reached in the small, hollow that had been hidden inside the black marble gravestone.

The only thing inside was the book. Not leather, not ordinary paper. It wasn't skin either, so that was good. It was some kind of bookcloth, which meant it was smooth, malleable and felt nice. I removed the book and pulled out my phone to use the flashlight. The book was just pure grey, with no symbols or words. I flipped through the pages and saw that nearly every page

was filled. Mostly words but some sketches and diagrams. The title was on the first page. Thanatology from both sides. The title, like the rest of the book, was handwritten like a diary or journal it seemed. Everything since removing that book has gone horribly wrong.

We did replace the slab. I kept the book with me. I figured I could put it back when the time came to face whoever I had to about the breaking of the gravestone. Obviously, I should have left that book in the hollow. That night, I had some of the worst dreams I've ever had. I was sitting in a study, sitting at a rather nice looking desk that was filled with old parchment paper and scrolls, literal scrolls like I was in some medieval room and maybe I was there was a fireplace

roaring with flames that came up and over the mantle too much flame but it didn't seem to spread and the heat wasn't unbearable there were glass tubes cylinders vats that bubbled and on the shelf were three skulls of various sizes but all of this was just a backdrop for the man that sat across from me.

He seemed unaware of my presence as he scribbled furiously in a book. The grey book. I lifted myself up a little and peaked over the desk. She's pregnant, the man said. Even in my dream, I felt my stomach drop

and my heart's skip a beat. Was he talking to me about my girlfriend, Helen? The man looked up at me, and now I was looking right back into his face. After the initial surprise passed, I realised he was not looking at me. But through me, I turned around and saw another person standing in the doorway. The light from the fire avoided them, as if they were meant to stay hidden. An opportunity, the figure responded, a woman's voice.

An opportunity for what? How can I understand death when I'm distracted with life? The man asked. He closed the journal angrily and looked sharply at the figure. An opportunity to see death during the birth of life, the woman said simply as if it was obvious. The man raised an eyebrow, slowly understanding. An opportunity, he smiled as soon as the smile.

The flame roared higher. And only then did I feel the heat. It was fierce. It crawled across the room. The woman, the man, neither noticed. They didn't move or speak as the flames washed over them, consuming the room. But I felt it, burning my skin and trying my lungs. I screamed and woke up coughing intensely.

Helen switched the light on beside me. Kirk, are you all right? She asked. I continued to cough and reach for the water I always kept to my nightstand. As I drank it, I felt the cold water touch where the fire had scorched my inside. But it hadn't. Not really. It was a dream, a nightmare.

Is something burning? Helen asked. I nearly dropped the bottle when I looked at her. What? I asked, stunned. Helen sniffed the air. Nothing. I thought I smelled burning. It's gone. It wasn't toast. I don't think I'm having a stroke. I didn't have the words to tell her about my dream. I didn't understand it enough to explain any of it.

I told her instead that I was all right and for her to go back to sleep. But sleep for me was something I couldn't do. After a couple of feeble hours of lying in bed, remaining stuck with the feeling of my feeling of being burned alive. I gave up. I carefully got out of bed and made my way to the living room, to the book. I switched on one lamp and opened it. In a matter of days, I will have the opportunity to witness the definition of creation. With the birth of my child, I will see firsthand the power of life, and I will bond it with a gift of death. At my hands, 20 men and women have been given to the goddess of death to better understand what it means to die. But what happens when life and death become one? With the proper chemicals, I am convinced I can assist my wife in the birth of death.

Even after death, my child will still be born. The opportunity to understand death during such a moment is paramount to furthering my studies of death. I closed the book and felt sick to my stomach. I checked the cover, the back. I flipped through the pages. for any trace of the burns from that nightmare vision, but the book was in excellent condition. The fire was only a nightmare. But what had I seen? It happened, hadn't it? I finally fell asleep on the couch, with the book dropped to the floor beside me.

The next day it took a little online searching to find who was in charge of the graveyard, and after calling them, we were prompted to leave a message. I'm calling to tell someone that one of the gravestones was damaged. It may need some repair or something. Whatever it is you folks do. The name on the stone was Slade Aberetta. And the book? Helen asked, not loud enough for the machine to pick up on. I felt the book in my hand.

Considered it. All right, that's it. Give me a call back if you need any more info. I hung up, looking at Helen, who looked back with some confusion. It's a weird book. I want to read a little more of it, I said truthfully. She rolled her eyes and sighed, You're going to be haunted.

I smugged for my reply. I couldn't tell her no, I wouldn't be, because at the same time, I didn't realize how right she was. Every day that I read that book, I had nightmares that felt more like memories. The book wasn't long by any means, but with a hectic schedule of work and life

I made time when I could to read a few pages here and there despite the nightmares I continued It took four days for the graveyard caretaker to call me back When she did a woman named Pine called me back When she did I was nearly ready to deliver the book to her myself Just to be rid of it Once we got the formalities out of the way she said

well I just wanted to reach out and say thank you for telling me about the gravestone I thought you'd like to know that it was taken care of by the family and the stone was fixed fixed how I asked oh well to keep it simple it's sort of like a glue compound we have then it's held in place until it's solid gain she informed me I nodded reflexively like she could see me then realized she said family wait miss pine, you said the family fixed it? Is that right? Yes, sir, in almost all cases, is the family's responsibility to fix and maintain their headstones. When no family is present, it's on us. Would you be able to get me in touch with the family? I asked. The line was quiet for a minute.

I could almost feel pine considering my request. So, I added, I'd just like to pay my respects. it's been weighing on me after seeing the stone broken. I bit my lip. It was true, of course. It had been weighing on me. But not because of the stone. Screw the stone. It was the book I found in the hollow,

the one detailing death and the man's pursuit of understanding death, even going so far as to orchestrate the stillborn birth of his own child. The details of which had been equally horrific in the following pages. Well, normally we wouldn't, but seeing as how you were kind enough to call. Sure, Pine said back. Then she gave me a name and a number. I sat at my kitchen table for a while, just looking at the number I'd written down. Helen was at work and would be for another three hours.

I took a moment, gathered myself, and called. It only rang once. "'Hello?' asked the man's voice. "'I didn't say anything right away. "'My eyes searched my kitchen "'like I was looking for words to appear on the walls. "'Hello!' he said again. "'Jesus, with these damn car warranties.

"'Hello, hey, sorry, I'm not spam. "'Or whatever,' I said quickly, finding my voice. "'I'm calling to tell you it was me that found your grave, "'the grave, that damaged gravestone.' "'I rolled my eyes. and my own inability to speak. Ah, the voice said, followed by a pause. Yes, thank you for that.

It's been mostly taken care of. Mostly, I asked. The voice was calm, collected, smooth, and it made me unsettled hearing him say, yes, mostly, because you see, the stone was a box of sorts for something that was to remain sealed away. It appears whoever broke the stone,

stole the item. He wasn't curious. He wasn't just telling me. He knew. He knew it was me. I don't know how I knew this, but I knew he knew. Have you read the book? He asked slowly.

I almost hung up, honestly. I wanted to drop my phone in the sink and run the water. Instead, I replied, Yes. It was all I managed to. say. He sighed, or groaned rather, into the phone. Well, you didn't finish it. If he did, you'd be dead. I somehow knew he was telling the truth. Death is complicated, he went on to say. I spent my whole life trying to understand it, and when I finally learned everything I could while

alive, I finished writing that book. And do you know what she gave me in exchange for a lifetime of study? I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to breathe properly, and I didn't want him to keep talking. Every word was like adding ice to my already chilled blood. But he did have more to say. He didn't wait for me to respond before he continued. She denied me the one thing I desired, the final step.

In my studies, he asked, Cruel, cruel, mistress. You're slayed, you, you killed your child, I said, the only thing I could think of.

Children, so, so many of them. He sounded, regretful. But I wondered if it was for the children, or for himself.

As seemingly in the supply of subjects, how easy it is, to create life. Of course, I was limited by the mothers. They hated me, rightfully so, and in time they became subjects on their own. I felt sick to my stomach and had to switch hands because the one holding the phone had become sweaty. The man sighed again. The book belongs with the dead, he said simply, You don't want it back You don't want your book

I asked Angry of how casually this man talked about killing his own children Want it back No, I never want to see it again It cost me everything Your wives, your children You didn't deserve them I snapped back

My wives and children He replied slowly He wasn't dumb, he wasn't slow It was me that had been confused I realized my mistake. Death. It cost you death. That's all you care about, I asked, utterly stunned.

She'll come for you, and for that. I'm envious. Read the book, or don't, he doesn't matter to me. I'll be here when you're all but dust. I'll always be here. And so will, that damned book, hidden amongst the dead where it belongs. Then he hung up, just like that. I tried to call back, tried until the number was disconnected.

I went back to his grave a few days later, plagued by nightmares that grew more and more vivid and terrifying. But his headstone was gone, and that night, as I exhumed his grave, I learned that his grave never existed. No body, no casket. It was only ever a headstone. I buried the book back in the hole I dug where his grave should have been, and it appeared back in my house within an hour. So I did the only thing that made sense. I found a new graveyard and found a marker with a secret hollow just big enough for the book. And there, it remains.

I won't tell you where or whose name is on it. I won't tell you if it looks old or new. It could be a simple stone or an angel Or even just the chalice It could be across the country Or it could be in your own town But I will tell you That every now and then

I ride by and check on it I don't stop and I don't get too close But last night I rode by it for the first time in months And saw a woman Standing over it A woman I had only seen

In a nightmare