CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I Caught Something Disturbing on my Pet Cam" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 3, 2020

LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Frequent-Cat: 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. CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Rune Hrafnagaldur: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/rR...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 not easy living in the city. Everything is expensive. Commutes are bustling and rent is extortionate, especially when you're working as a butcher in a small area of downtown. It's especially harder when you have your child or dog that you care deeply for. I can't bring myself to give him up, even though deep down I know it's the best option. When looking for a place, I first had to find somewhere that'll allow an animal, which removed most options straight away.

and then I have to find one that's remotely in my price range. I succeeded, but at a severe cost of quality. So, my place is a dingy, upper floor apartment in an area awkwardly far away from anything interesting, but I make it work. A blessing is actually the job. Though the pay is mediocre, the benefit was that the head butcher would let me keep scraps for the dog

and occasionally would let me take an off-cutter too for myself. He empathised with my situation and has been such a blessing over the months. For the most part though, my dog, Buster, lives off cheap dry food I can just about afford at the local corner store. Things have been rough though. Recently, Buster has been acting strange lately. I'd always see him pouring at the fridge, which is understandable when I know he wants his weekly meat. But sometimes he'll start pouring at the bag of dried food. For the longest time

He'd never come back for more Even if he wasn't full The dried food wasn't the best quality So it was easy for him to eat enough and be content One day though I gave him his goodbye hug Which he feebly returned He seemed to be fatigued

But I took it as him just waking up I had a usual day at work When my boss pulled me aside Bless him he gave me a bit of a pick-me-up speech and handed me a bag of mixed cuts, some for me and some for the dog. It was far more than what he'd usually give me, and this was after he gave me my usual cuts the day before.

I didn't know what to say at first, wanting to politely decline, but knowing how much I needed it. Picking up on this, he just gave me a pat on the back, which urged me out the door. I turned and shot back the same smile he gave me as I left to go home.

Knowing the stress I lived with on a constant, level, it was a breath of fresh air to have someone who had my back. I happily stored it away, gave Buster some cuts and went to bed. The next day wasn't so great. When I came home from work, I could hear a faint whining through the door. I cautiously entered to see Buster curled up in the corner, seemingly distraught. I started looking around and saw small claw marks around the skirting boards. It looked like he'd been scratching around the walls.

I hoped a god who wasn't rodents in the walls. But when I turned the corner to investigate more, my stomach dropped. The small floor fridge I owned was wide open, its contents warming in the mildew air. As I went to shove it closed, I noticed something missing. The generous butcher's bag of meat I was given the day prior. My heart dropped. Did Buster do this? This was a behaviour I was a behaviour I was.

never seen before. However, he'd been showing strange signs towards his dry food and was acting coy when I looked at him. I couldn't scold him since he wasn't caught in the act, so I resign myself to my spare meal of instant noodles. Buster had nothing to eat that night. I couldn't say anything about it at work the next day. It would seem so unbelievable to tell my boss that my dog had eaten the whole bag, so when he asked how I was enjoying the meat, I loved that they were great, and I was happy to have eaten well for once. His face was warmed that my emotions were cold. When I came home, all that welcomed me was a sad dog, and more scratches.

The first ones were barely visible. However, these newer ones ran deeper. I yelled at Buster and pointed towards them. I didn't know if he got what I was communicating and eventually gave up. I went to bed hungry that day It was another few shifts Before my boss pulled me to his office On his table was a bag

Smaller than the last waiting for me I could tell that he couldn't keep getting away with generous donations So it looked like he was being more reserved this time We caught up a bit And I left a few pounds heavier And came home to cool it in the fridge right away Buster immediately seemed eager at the bit to snap up what was the bag, but it wasn't one of his meat days, so I made sure to put it in the fridge.

To stop any more incidents happening, I took the fridge out the kitchen and left it on the small dining table I had, so it was no longer on ground level. It looked messy. I'm sure if I had anyone over, it would have looked like such a scuffed setup. But luckily, no one ever came over, so I had no reason to be self-conscious. This was my assurance that everything would be fine. Fine the next day. Things were not fine the next day.

Eager to have a meat day with a dog when I came home, I saw the table had been banged up. Grooves edged onto its edge, and the fridge was raided. There was no way he could have gotten the meat. The table space was much too small, and Buster wasn't known for his agility nor dexterity. But I couldn't deny the facts in front of me. The fridge was emptied of all my butcher's products.

I scolded him once more. He acted repentant, but he always did when I took that tone. Days went by, and the scratches got worse. I would find them gourd in the walls around shin height, some deep into the plaster. Upon seeing them, my blood would boil at the thought of losing my deposit check, and as if he could smell the money in the air, there was a knock on the door. When I answered, I was met with a surprise visit from the buildings like that. landlord, here to make an unwarranted inspection, and to bother me about rent.

Usually these went by smoothly, but I didn't want him to see the damage Buster had made. Despite him always asking to enter, he seemed to take my reluctance as a challenge and pushed past, his weight far more overbearing than mine. His frame wafted past me, followed by his warm odour. He was the visage of gluttony. His skin seemed to be in a perpetual state of sheen from wood. grease. His arms are tangle of dark coarse hair. His face has probably never seen a clean shave in his life. I don't know what was clean less, the apartment or his clothes, both of which were marred

with permanent stains with no attempt to rectify. Once inside, he saw the mess. The fridge haphazardly hanging on the table, the furniture damaged with fine grooves, and the walls littered with divot and straight carvings. Boy did he ever feel day. He went around adding up the costs, and by that, I mean he just made up prices with every scratch he saw, which added up to almost exactly what my deposit was, minus some change. It was frustrating, yet strangely convenient. He then sent a scouring look at the dog. The dirtiest look, despite Buster not having the capacity to understand it. My mind raced back to all the times he complained about Buster.

I've always known him to being a quiet dog, yet my landlord would always complain that he'd bark incessantly when I was out. He'd woke him up in the early hours of the afternoon. Seems every day was a lying for him. I'd argue back that he didn't bark or that the afternoon is not a time for a proper noise complaint, but he'd hear nothing of it. All he did was collect rent from his inherited block

and do nothing all day. Anything that intervened with his lazy lifestyle was an issue to him. In the end of his route, he pulled open my fridge and had a look around. I was confused, until he said,

any meat for me here? As he stared at the shelves hungrily. No, I told him, which he seemed to turn away at and took his leave. Why did he come in just as the scratches started? And why did he specifically look for meat?

It was weird. Still, I now had the head. headache of trying to either repair the damages with what little funds I had or forego my deposit when I inevitably leave this place. Days went on and the scratches mounted up. They started small and low, almost like a cat. However, they progressed higher and higher up the wall, now sitting at knee height and deeper than before. One particular day I came in with my bagged meat. Just as I was closing the door, a meaty foot held it in place. There was no stopping my landlord from waddling his way in.

He hummed to himself as he looked around, furrowing his whole face as he scrutinized all the damages he could see just from the entryway. Once he started going off about the damages, he didn't stop for almost half an hour. In the end, I asked them to leave so I could settle in, and that's when he started eyeing up the butcher's bag I still had in my hand. In my heart, I knew I didn't want to give it up. This was my dog and ice treat for the week. This was special. But he very quickly pulled the damages card

and offered to lower the cost if he could have a cut. I reluctantly gave him a slice and he happily left, knowing he now had infinite power over me. To avoid the dangers of the fridge raid, I cooked the meat that night and gave Buster his treat. He ate it almost too quickly, acting like he hadn't eaten in days,

despite his food bowl being empty every time I came back, which was strange, as he usually savoured his meat as much as I did. As I lay in bed, my mind started running everything back, the cuts that just kept appearing,

the meat that kept going missing, and Buster, acting like he hadn't eaten in a while. It didn't add up. After a while of this routine, something new happened. Buster started acting strange. He wouldn't greet me in the mornings or evenings with the same gust, though.

He seemed thinner and didn't have the same spark of joy he once carried. I was worried his age was getting to him, or he got a bug. But a vet visit was out of the question unless absolutely necessary. However, it became necessary. I came home to find Buster collapsed. He was breathing, but barely. I quickly scooped him up and rushed to the knee. nearest vet I could find online.

The whole way there, all I could think about was how this happened. It started with the possibility that the meats were upsetting his digestive system, or maybe there was something in the walls that was bothering him, and was what he was trying to scratch at. But the worst thought was the idea that this was my landlord's way of making one of his mild grievances go away. The weight wasn't too long on paper, but with my mind racing, time elongated to forever.

Eventually he was seen to and they ran their tests. After a while, one of the nurses came out and started asking me questions. She asked me about his eating habits and what he'd eaten recently. My heart dropped when I told her everything. However, she seemed puzzled at this. She informed me that the reason he was sick was that Buster was malnourished. They said it seemed like he hadn't eaten properly in a long time. I protested this with the fact that his food bowl would be empty every time I came home,

and he would steal food from the fridge, but I couldn't argue with the physical facts in front of me. I was left to take a newly fed buster slowly home, with a shame of looking like a bad owner. Once back, I decided to test him a little. I poured out a little bit of food on his plate. He seemed reluctant at first, despite looking ravenously hungry. After a while of looking around, once he had the assurance I was looking, he hungrily lapped it all down.

I was content, knowing he'd now eaten, but this only added to the confusing situation unfolding. That night, all I could do was think about everything I knew so far, that the landlord seemed to conveniently come in when the scratches started. He always gave me back-handed comments about Buster. He seemed to know about my meet takings and took a liking. to the cuts I had. My theory was this. He was sabotaging the apartment and stealing the meat from the fridge.

Once I started eating the meat right away, he started extorting me for slices, knowing I was forced to take the offer. With Buster gone, there'd be more meat, and as a bonus, less noise to keep him up for his daily sleep-ins. The problem is this. I couldn't confront him

because I had no solid proof. So that's what I set out to do. I had to dig a little more into my small rainy day fund, but I managed to swing by an electronic store and picked up the cheapest pet cam I could find. The bonus of its budget price was the fact that it was still compatible with my oldest dirt smartphone. I was set to be able to monitor somewhere in my house while I was away.

The framing was planned to focus on the fridge. I left the camera between some old books, pointed into the small dining area where I set the fridge on the table. If the landlord was sneaking in and pinching the meat, I would have a full view of it. Of course at first,

nothing was caught, but I made sure to walk past my landlord with a butcher's bag in hand. He made a snide comment about if I'm going to eat all of it, and I planted my seed here. I told him I was saving it for the next day. This way,

he knew it would be waiting for him if he broke into my apartment. The next day, work went as usual, with my usual grievances with travel. I was anxious to get home and review the tapes. When I got home, all that lay before me was a mess of a scene. My dining table was collapsed, the fridge was busted open on the floor, and the chairs were all scratched up around the legs. This didn't make sense.

While investigating, another realization dawned, on me. Buster, what was missing? I straightaway stormed to my landlord's room and didn't stop banging on the door until he answered. I did not hold back, yelling at him about what was going on, throwing shade about some of my ideas, which all made him scrunch his face in an anger I'd often see on his red face. When he returned my words, all he threw was that he heard a noise in my apartment, and when he opened the door, Buster ran out. I wanted to go in further, to tear down everything he said and to pry the compassion out of his meaty lips.

But I prioritised finding Buster above all else and left. I spent hours scaring the streets for him, but ultimately it was a fruitless search. I'd have to put in for him at the pound and local vets, I thought, and resigned to investigating what happened at my apartment. I looked over the mess. The daunting thought of having to clean it up swept to the back of my mind. The camera had a light which indicated there was some footage captured. I reached for the camera to review any movements caught. The first signs of movement was just one of the dining chairs, slowly sliding and being jostled around.

I was confused at this. If my landlord had walked in, I'd have seen him by now. Next, the other chair started moving with slight bumps and nudges. The sound was awful. Any sound peaked the audio, so it was either a fuzzy silence or the berating of my ears. The scraping sounds were grating enough, but soon enough there was a horrendous scraping sound there was a cut above any noise I'd heard thus far. The table wobbled with each scrape and did it look like one of the legs gave in and the

table came over. I just heard the sound of something rummaging in the fridge and the sounds slowly crawling away. Did my landlord somehow know of the camera, and so crawled in to steal the meat? No way, that would be preposterous, but what other options were there? My idea of catching him in the act didn't work, so I needed a new plan. When I was finished with the camera, I looked around at the damages. The leg indeed looked like it had been haphazily hacked away. Rough, inaccurate grooves marred around where the leg eventually gave.

in. The chair legs had similar grooves up to thigh height, though the chairs were still intact. I was dumbfounded. There was no way the landlord somehow knew about the camera and took to crawling with a saw to keep out a shot. It was impossible, but I had nothing else to work on for any other theory. Watching the fridge was a lost cause, so I took to the route. I placed my camera in a new spot between a plastic. plant facing the front door. There was no way I could miss him this time, even if he crawled. Sleep did not come easy, and work the next day was rough.

All I could think about was Buster, and what I'd do to the landlord when I caught him red-handed. When I came home, things looked untouched, until I entered the kitchen and saw the fridge door, now relocated onto the floor wide open, the light casting a yellow tinge. to my small bookshelf. Furious, I slammed it shut and reviewed the camera. It started with me leaving the house. Then nothing,

nothing, nothing. I kept skipping through. Nothing. Then I was puzzled when the only movement I saw was myself re-entering the apartment. My mind reeled with ideas. Did the camera miss a segment?

Did the landlord have another way in I didn't know about, had he somehow erased the footage. Nothing was missing from the fridge, because at this point my food supplies were running on fumes from the amount of raids happening. But this had another effect. The scratches from the dining room led further in. This boiled my blood, because if my landlord was trying to frame my dog, then scratches were now proof it wasn't him the whole time, since he was no longer at home. Investigating around, new scratches stood out from the otherwise cleaner walls and went straight into my bedroom. I hesitantly approached, wondering if whatever banged up the fridge hadn't left.

The room was relatively undisturbed. The only thing standing out were a few scuffs here and there. I locked up my door, grabbed my fridge and placed it on my bedroom drawers. I grabbed the camera and didn't even bother hide it. I just placed it, ready to watch anyone enter the door, with a fridge still in frame. I set it on ready for the next day and just collapsed into bed,

exhausted from everything I was dealing with. I woke up in the early hours, light still not gracing the streets, and the alert light on the camera showing that something was recorded. I figured it might have been me rolling around in bed, but when I sat up,

my entire lower half felt moist. Had I been sweating? There was no way I spelled something on me, and it was too consistent to be a little accident. I saw my blanket and bed frame had been marred with marks and scratches. This was the final straw. Vandalising the apartment was one thing, stealing what little I had was another, but this was a blatant threat to my well-being. I stormed to the camera to check what was recorded from the night before.

The footage was grainy. The night view and the cheap setup was a lower standard than what he could pick up in the day and the day quality left a lot to be desired. The greenish-gray tinge was nauseating with pixels blotting around as the camera struggled to pick up the faintest of outlines. But it did pick something up.

Slowly, in the twilight hours of the morning, my bedroom door was slowly pushed open. It was obvious someone was coming in and they were being deliberate with how sneaky they were being. I stared intently, trying to make out the chubby outline of my landlord, hoping it was just him, since that was more preferable than some deranged stalker or a serial killer.

But my God, was it much worse. Around waist height, a strange shape slowly stumbled in. It wasn't short, though. It was long. on all fours as it slithered its way in. The closest it resembled was a Komodo dragon. A strange reptilian base, but anything beyond that was alien to me

and my limited knowledge of the animal world. The back was covered in spiny bones, something I can only vaguely likened to the quills of a porcupine, but nothing I'd ever seen had any of that size. Its claws were sharp, but not in a clean way, like sharpened rock, rather than knife-like blades. It waddled his way over to my bed and seemed to sniff me out with a few pokes of its split tongue.

My breath froze as I watched it slowly clamber up the foot of my bed, my slumbering self, gently stirring with a movement on the mattress. The creature opened its mouth wider and wider, and just as it looked to be as big as it could get, unhinged this jaw to distend the width of its more It scooped at my feet with ease And slid forward inch by inch Friesing many times as it did so

Seemily taking its time to keep me in my paralysed state Eventually it got up to my hips Just below my belly And froze Its lips pushed a few times on the pudge of my gut And it just stayed there for an awkward amount of time seemingly mulling over what its next move is Eventually, its decision was made

and it slowly slid away, releasing my lower heart from its jaw and slithered out of my room. After that, the footage cut. I froze there. Everything I felt I knew had crashed around me and a terrifying reality I didn't want to admit was sinking into my head.

Buster had seen this thing and gotten out while he could. It had been feeding on any meat product for weeks, and had almost gotten big enough to eat me. Almost. I went back and checked out the markings around the house, had they started small, but each newer set had gotten deeper, longer, higher. It's growing at a rapid pace, and it's figured out that it's nearly big enough to eat me. I've received a call from the pound.

Buster has been found. I've spent the last of my money on a ticket out of the city. I'm going to swing by, pick him up and leave with what I can carry in my back. Whatever is going on here will have to resolve without me. This is my landlord's problem now.