CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I could do with a few inches less" Creepypasta

Episode Date: March 2, 2021

CHECK OUT THE AUTHOR'S LATEST BOOK► https://www.amazon.com/My-Eyes-Lucas-...​CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Edwardthecrazyman: 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►Grandfailure: https://www.deviantart.com/grandfailu...​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-

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behind the counter as it began to rain. It was a slow day, and the common sound of the weather outside only served to make me drowsier. The book was a detective thing with a dashing PI in search of a femme fatale that had been behind it all along. Predictable, but so good.

I was watching the shop all on my own. We sold an array of cheap items, the things that were the fastest were oily chips and soda pops. This day, though, hardly anyone stopped in. The occasional ring of the bell attached to the glass door would rouse me from my half-reading, half-sleeping stupor.

Rain always made it that way. Dog here in the page, I moved to the other side of the counter, taking stock of the snacks we had on display there. A bag of Cheez-Itzitz was calling my name. I hunked down to pull the bag off the lowest peg and pry the glue at the top apart, dumping two or three of the crackers into my mouth. I could always pay for them later. chomping on them while scanning the entirety of the general store, I could see that there was someone towards the rear of the store where the bathrooms and the manager's office was.

It was a woman. Funny, I'm not seen her, enter. Her hair was frizzy. Even from a distance, I could make out the freckles beneath her clear, water-blue eyes. The alarm bells that were going off were far and away so that they blended in with a background noise. Maybe a manifestation of my brain,

and nothing more. I was immediately enamoured by her. I watched her scan a rack of newspapers or magazines. She lived at one of the thin books as I put a cheese-it up to my mouth, nibbling it slowly without thinking. The crunch must have travelled the distance between us, because she looked up from the words on the page to me. Surely I was looking at her like a Shakespearean admirer, but the way it probably came across was that I was staring her down with bug eyes as I salivated her. a handful of cheesy miniature saltines.

She turned back to a magazine and lifted it so that it covered her face. Good job, me. I removed myself from the spot and returned to the register, try my absolute best not to look in the direction of the woman. Lifting the book, I'd been reading about the detective and the femme fatale. I held the book, so it seems I was reading the words within. Just above the edge of the cover, I spied her. She flipped through the magazine she was holding

Before dropping it on the rack from where it had come She approached the counter And I sat the book in my hand to the side Giving her my full attention This woman She had the eyes of a jungle cat Like she could reach across the counter And tear me to pieces in a second

Bartamy wanted that I cannot fathom why I'm telling you I might as well have jumped onto the counter And showed my whole red ass like a manic primitive baboon She saw right through me As she put the Fago onto the counter Now accounting for taste, I reckon

You'd be cute She reached across the counter pointing her index finger at me Grazing the end of my nose with it If you were a bit taller I flinched She withdrew her finger The Fago bottle was gone

Had she taken it when I wasn't paying attention The sway of her hips hypnotised me As she left the store I swallowed hard. What the hell did she mean? If I was taller? I was 5-11. Not huge by any means, but not short.

Weird. For the remainder of the day, there were no more customers. The rain kept them at bay, it seemed. I was infatuated, hoping she would turn up the following day. I took the trash out after locking the glass door. As the motion centre light around me came alive, the rusty green dumpster was bathed in a soft glow. I tossed the black bag in and examined the paper-strewn parking lot idly

as I lit a cigarette. I stood still. The overhead light shut off, and I was left with nothing more than a small cherry glow off the end of my cigarette. As I puffed, I could barely make out the sound of a strange shifting popping sound. It was like the noise came from everywhere all at once,

and yet there was no place it could have originated. I twisted around. The centre light sprang on again and I was left standing there in the spotlight searching in all directions for the unknown sound. Feeling foolish, I ducked out the cigarette and tossed it in the dumpster. Sliding into the driver's seat of my compact,

I had to adjust the seat. I live alone. No one uses my car but me. It was probably just the components in the seat coming loose or something. I prayed the engine alive and pulled out of the parking. lot. When I arrived home, I was uncharacteristically tired, and my back was sore. No doubt,

this was due to leaning down stock shelves, right? I sat on my bed, switching on the TV, so I felt less alone. My shoes were tough to get off, so I loosened the laces. There comes a time with everything where you must face the facts no matter how surreal. Her words came back to me. I'd be cute if I'd be cute if you'd be. I were taller. I knew, even then, I think, what was happening, but my mind went to the possible, the likely. My shoes were cheap, so they shrank from the moisture of the rain. I gaked back in my bed and covered myself in a light sheet.

With the oscillating fan going in the corner, the TV muttering to me from the wall at my feet and the phone screen in front of my face, I nearly had enough stimuli to forget who I was, the woman I'd met, the crummy job I had. Sleep came the way it always does for me, without warning. The sound of the TV I'd left on during the night was the first thing I noticed. The next thing was that I felt extraordinarily uncomfortable in bed. Had I slept wrong? I tossed around, feeling my feet hang clear off the bed.

Blinking my eyes open, in the meagre daylight spilling through the window near the bed, I scanned the room. The dull glow of the TV illuminated my bare feet. feet. Instinctively, I pushed myself up on the bed till my head struck the headboard. When I craned forward, I felt the sheet was hardly clinging to me as I scooted from the bed. My feet touched the floor too soon. I looked around in a daze, moving to yank over the blinds of the window. It was the strangest of moments, me sitting there, staring down at my legs. In the night, they developed red strands along my calves and thighs. I examined the strands more

closely. I could see that there were places the skin had been pulled to extreme lengths over a short period of time. They were tender to the touch. There were stretch marks. How was it that I developed a post-prebulous and growth spurt overnight? Then the woman's voice echoed in my head. I'd be cuter if I were only taller. What a messed up thing to say to someone, if I'm being honest. I anchored myself for my stilted legs. Trying to walk on them were strange, like the bones were too long. I reached with an arm

and could easily touch the ceiling without even getting on my tiptoes. The stretch marks were there in my arms too. Saw. I was sore all over. There was the dull, numbing sort of pain that came with having my bones grow inches in the night.

But there was that stinging sensation across my flesh too, and I was forced to wonder, not for the first time, whether or not my muscles were tearing beneath my pinkish skin. I forced myself not to think of that, ducking into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, with my feet rested in the shower,

I hoped and prayed that my internal organs were still relatively positioned where they'd been the night before. The last thing I wanted was to turn around and see that my whole gutted prolapsed into the bowl. No, no, Christ, I couldn't be thinking like that. That wasn't the sort of mentality I needed if I were to wake from this nightmare. I shifted the look into the mirror with my drawing. rough neck. It was hard for me to do, even while seated on the toilet. My cheeks had grown extremely gaunt, and my face no longer looked like a face, but a plasticine approximation. I wiped. There was blood, but I dared not look back there. I rose from the seat,

and as my legs awkwardly caught against the shower wall and my waist twisted just so, the sound of something like bones grinding echoed. It was too late to save myself. from what came next. I pulled my knees up to my neck and twisted around on the seat as I pivoted. The skin along my hip tore open and fresh, warm blood ran the length of my long thigh.

A low moan escaped my ghost in the house. It took me a moment to realize the ghost was me. I leveled myself aboard the stick legs clawing my way from the bathroom like a bow-legged creepy past the monster. Do not ask me why, but a thought occurred to me then.

How long would it be before my skull reached the size of a mammoths. What then of my eyes? Would they fall clean out my face, dangling from optic nerves like some peculiar funhouse dummy? Or would they merely roll backwards into the white crevice my skull had become?

I shook this from my mind and moved to the bedroom. I looked at my clothes, sitting in a pile on the floor. Thankfully, I sleep naked. I don't think I'd have a spirit to tear my breeches off. I craned down and lifted a pair

of jeans lying there. As I held them up to my new legs, I could see there was no way I'd be able to put them on. I knew that, though. I looked at the sheets of my bed. Togas were an option, I suppose, at least for now. Looking at the tear of my hip was difficult. The skin had fallen away into a neat sheet that dangled off my side, flapping. I crawled out of my bedroom on my hands and knees, loosely wrapped in my bedsheets.

As I came to the kitchen, I haphazily through the jaws open, searching for duct tape. All I found was a clear roll. I laid the flap on my hip out as straight as I possibly could. This was harder than it should have been, as I had grown since then, and the dead skin no longer came up to the point it had torn away from. I tated down as best as I could, so that I would not bleed everywhere. I crawled out of the house, and once outside, I could once again stand fully. Without a doubt, I wasn't one to clean the gutters,

but I never thought in a million years there would be as full of pine needles as they were. I staggered towards the car, though I'm not sure why. It's not as though I'd fit into the old rust bucket anymore. At least I could walk to work faster this way. I chuckled at this, then found myself crying, walking down the suburban street towards the general store. One thought was burned into my mind. I was going to find that woman that had cursed me. I was going to confront her. And what exactly? Beger to change me back? Strangler and sight? I hadn't decided.

As the grass turned into sidewalks, I passed by people. An older man with wispy hair running along the opposite side of the street in a set of sweats caught a glimpse of me and booked it in the opposite direction. I don't blame him. I looked a mess. I passed by a mother and a small boy, lumbering like an ogre. They stared up at me with wide open mouths, unable to move, frozen in fear. The little boy's mouth moved to say the words He's so gross

This did little for my self-confidence I can tell you that much Their horrified expressions nearly brought me to my knees How would it look for a giant to fall into the street sobbing? I've seen the Hollywood pictures They'd line up the police cars and point their rifles at me Maybe they cast some up-and-coming child star opposite to me

To teach the kiddies about acceptance of difference But I'd be captured How would they even cuff me? Do they have a pair my size? My stomach was spinning and I hope that's just a figure of speech. Given the excess room, that may be physically possible.

My legs were like freshly debarked evergreen limbs, wobbly and inexcusably bowing out from my grown weight. I was sweating, surely, but as I lifted a wayward makeshift Toga flap to dab at the moisture of my face and pulled it away. I could see it was quickly

staining itself red. It was coming out to my paws as they were stretched to the limit. I could feel it. I was getting so tired, whether it be from moving a body so large or from losing the blood. I couldn't tell you.

Why did this have to happen to me? Why did she do this to me? What did I ever do to deserve this? Mr. Fantastic seemed like a pretty rare superhero when I was a kid, but I can tell you now that he's BS. I came to the General Store and stilted across the dirty parking lot, stepping over a car that braked hard as it did so.

Briefly, I caught the expression of the woman in the cab of the vehicle, shocked. Then she remembered choosing a car and honked. I didn't have the energy to shoot at the middle finger. My legs waved over to the General Store, and I sat my hand against the edge of the roof, attempting to catch my breath. Is that you, Jason? I looked round on the ground for the voice. It was my boss, an older guy.

His belly bulged out from beneath his tuck shirt and his tie caught in a breeze. The same wind caught my toga, lifting it. Oh, my boss put up his palm and looked away. Cover yourself. I pushed the yoga down. My voice creaked out. I could feel my vocal cords like torn rubber bands. Help!

I took a knee, careful not to scrape my paper-thin skin, and shovel myself to a city. position with my back to the general store's exterior wall. I think I'm dying. My bus' mustache wiggled on his upper lip as he looked me over. What the hell is this? What happened to you? I shook my head, choking back tears.

I don't know. But that wasn't true. I knew what was happening. I'd been cursed by some weird voodoo woman that had an effigiegated. affinity for tall guys. There's a woman here, said my boss. My heart dropped. What?

I was whimpering as I spied him through a kaleidoscopic weeping. She's been waiting for you all morning. There she was. She came strolling out of the general store, hair all frizzy and wonderful freckles to die for. What a knockout. What a witch. I moved to reach out at a time.

with my torte-jointed fingers, but my arms fell weak to my side. She was sipping on a fago, and she approached me and my boss along the storefront. Oh no, she said. That's far too tall. She shook her head and took another sip of her fago. No good at all. What? I cried. I don't know. I've never been much good at this sort of thing. It's more of an art than a science, really, so I'm sorry about that.

My boss eyed her over, giving her her wide berth, and she directly approached my massive leg. She ran a finger along one of the open wet lengths and the stinging sensation electrocuted my brain. I shivered, trying to get myself under control. You have to change me back, I said. You can't just do this to somebody and expect to get away with it. Oh, you poor thing. She puckered her lips at me Another sip from a fagre bottle followed

Don't you understand I've already gotten away with it Who's gonna believe you As she said this I heard the shifting sound of bones again And was met with a splitting headache I was certain that my damn brain Was rolling around in my skull

Like one of those bouncy balls you get from the quarter machines And lose after an hour of playing with it My boss nervously puckered the edges of his moustache when she turned her attention to him he flinched he was shaking he should have done more than that though he should have run from us he should have gotten into his car and gone home but he did not he stood in awe as the woman approached him with her index finger pointed outward she poked him in the belly as though he were the damn pilsbury doughboy you'd be cuter if you lost a few pounds She walked down the street, out of sight. Just like that. No goodbye, no nothing. He turned and looked to me, dumbfounded.

I know I'm a little round in the middle, but I'm not morbidly obese, right? He asked. I laughed till I cried like a madman. It hurt.